Category: English

1 My husband Matthew’s second wife stood outside the precinct interrogation room, holding a paper bag from a high-end deli. She wore a delicate silk scarf tied around her neck, smiling sweetly as she whispered to the officers that she had brought her husband dinner. At that exact moment, the serial killer sitting inside the interrogation room casually mentioned that the person who hired him had a distinct, cross-shaped scar on her neck. He even tilted his head, flashing a crooked grin, and told Detective Matthew that he should be very familiar with it. The atmosphere in the corridor instantly flatlined. Every cop in the vicinity turned their eyes toward Matthew. Matthew’s face remained a mask of stone. He demanded to know what the hell that had to do with him. The killer, Silas, let out a dry, rattling chuckle. Up until now, he had been relaxed, happily spilling the details of a massive contract he took five years ago. A wealthy buyer had set her sights on the victim’s husband. The buyer ordered Silas to abduct the wife, sever her head, and cut out the unborn child she was carrying on a very specific date. That date happened to be the exact day of Detective Matthew’s second wedding. This sensational, gruesome case had gone unsolved for five years. When the task force finally caught Silas, he was blowing through cash in a five-star hotel. As they slapped the cuffs on him, he didn’t even flinch. He just looked amused, openly mocking them for taking half a decade to track him down. The rich scent of roasted meat and garlic drifted from the deli bag, yet no one was paying attention to the food. Every gaze was locked onto Daphne’s neck. She shrank back slightly, her voice trembling like a startled bird. “Why is everyone staring at me?” Matthew’s sharp gaze softened the moment he looked at her. “What are you doing here so late?” “I heard you guys finally caught that monster. I wanted to bring you something to celebrate.” She tilted her head up, entirely compliant as Matthew reached out and gently untied the silk scarf. There was indeed a jagged scar marring the pale skin of her throat. It just wasn’t shaped like a cross. Matthew’s eyes filled with deep, unmistakable affection. He brushed his thumb just below the scarred tissue. “You really should look into getting that laser removal surgery.” “No way,” she protested softly. “This is my badge of honor. I got this protecting you. I’m keeping it.” The interrogation paused for a recess, and the two of them stood in the bustling precinct, wrapped up in their own private world. I stood a few feet away, watching them. I was completely numb. Ever since I died, my soul had been tethered to Matthew. I couldn’t leave his side. Five years was a long time. It was enough time for him to fall genuinely, deeply in love with Daphne. It was also enough time for him to entirely forget his first wife, the woman who had vanished without a trace half a decade ago. They walked side by side back to his desk to eat. Daphne was an incredible cook, and every dish in that bag was perfectly tailored to Matthew’s palate. Watching him eat with such quiet contentment, a memory surfaced from five years ago. Daphne had sat in my kitchen, smiling brightly as she asked me for advice. “Nora, they say the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Do you ever cook Matthew’s favorite meals at home?” I looked at the woman I considered my absolute best friend in the world and, without a single ounce of suspicion, gave her all of Matthew’s favorite recipes and dietary quirks. She used those secrets well. Over the last five years, every single meal she made for him was a dish I had taught her. She succeeded. She captured his stomach, and then she stole his heart. Daphne packed up the empty containers and prepared to leave. As she stepped out of the bullpen, she glanced back over her shoulder, a picture of innocent curiosity. “Honey, what was that guy saying earlier? Why did everyone look at me like that?” Matthew froze for a fraction of a second. He walked over and gently pinched her cheek. “It was nothing. Just the ramblings of a psycho. Head home. I’m going to be interrogating him all night, so don’t wait up.” The moment the glass doors shut behind Daphne, a junior detective named Bennett practically sprinted out of the observation room. He grabbed Matthew’s arm, his face pale and slick with sweat. “He shut down the second you walked out. Matthew, we still haven’t found the victim’s head. You have to get back in there and break him.” Matthew’s gentle demeanor vanished, replaced by the hardened, lethal edge of a veteran detective. He marched back into the room. Silas sat handcuffed to the steel table, completely unfazed by the blinding glare of the overhead lights. He squinted at Matthew, his posture lazy and arrogant. “Detective Matthew. I hear your lovely wife dropped by with dinner. Tasted pretty good, didn’t it?” The upward curve of his lips was grotesque. Matthew crossed his arms over his chest, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Silas, you’re backed into a corner. Stop playing games and start talking.” Silas’s eyes went wide with mock surprise before he burst into a fit of manic laughter. “I always heard you were the best on the force. Turns out you’re entirely useless. Five years. You couldn’t identify the body, you couldn’t find the buyer, and now you have to beg the killer to put the pieces together for you.” Matthew lunged forward, slamming his fists onto the metal table with a deafening crash. “You know exactly why we couldn’t identify her! You butchered her, Silas! You severed her head, cut out her child, and submerged the remains in chemicals so the lab couldn’t pull a single strand of viable DNA!” “You will tell me who she is and where you buried the rest of her, or I swear to God…” “Or what?” Silas sneered, raising his hands. The heavy chains of his cuffs rattled loudly against the steel. “I’m already chained to this table. What exactly are you going to do to me?” Matthew had broken drug lords, cartel enforcers, and psychopaths. But no one had ever pushed him to this level of suffocating rage. Silas watched him struggle to keep his composure, soaking in the entertainment before deciding to throw him a bone. “The woman I carved up was the woman who shared your bed for three years. Your ex-wife. Nora.” Silas leaned forward, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “She had a gorgeous body. The way she screamed when I pinned her down… it was practically music. She begged me to stop. She offered to let me use her all night if I just let her live.” “But I had a job to do. I tied her to that filthy mattress and made sure she kept her eyes open while I took my knife to her stomach.” He jerked his chin toward the evidence bags resting on the edge of the desk. “I used that exact hunting knife, by the way.” Matthew’s head snapped up. The veins in his neck bulged against his skin, pulsing erratically. “Bullshit,” he growled, his voice absolute. “She cheated on me. I saw her with my own eyes. I watched her get on a flight to Europe with another man.” Matthew cracked his knuckles, the sharp popping sounds filling the small room. He refused to look at Silas, speaking more to himself than the killer. “She was fragile. Always insecure. I yelled at her once, and she decided I didn’t love her anymore. So she found someone else. I sent her a hundred texts asking for an explanation. She ignored every single one.” He paused, pressing his thumb hard against his index finger until the joint popped again. He finally glared at Silas. “I saw her social media updates. She’s in the Swiss Alps right now, skiing with her new boyfriend. Making up a sick ghost story isn’t going to save you from a lethal injection. Or what, did Nora pay you to come here and mess with my head?” Silas stared at Matthew, his chest heaving with silent, uncontrollable laughter. “When I cut her head off, her eyes were so wide. I couldn’t get the eyelids to close, no matter how hard I tried. I always wondered why she died with such a horrific grudge. Now I get it. It was you.” Matthew acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. He pulled out his phone, swiped furiously, and shoved the screen right into Silas’s face. “We deal in facts in this building, Silas. Here’s a photo from last month. She’s alive. She’s thriving. You’re a liar.” I floated closer, my gaze locking onto the glowing screen. It was a picture of my face, pressed intimately against the cheek of a man I didn’t even recognize. Matthew’s face was devoid of emotion, but a phantom pain ripped through my chest. I didn’t understand. Matthew, that isn’t me. It’s edited. Why couldn’t you see that? Why didn’t you recognize your own wife? Silas rested his chin in his hands, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Detective, you can wave that fake picture in my face all day, but nothing beats seeing the truth with your own eyes.” “I’ll only say this once. Five years ago, a woman with a fresh, unhealed scar on her neck tracked me down. She paid me a fortune to execute Nora on the fourteenth of May.” “I asked her why that specific date. She smiled and told me that Nora’s death was going to be her wedding present. To celebrate her marriage to Nora’s husband.” Matthew’s breathing hitched. His spine snapped entirely rigid. “You’re completely insane. If you won’t talk, I’ll let the boys in the basement have a turn with you.” He stood up, his movements stiff and uncoordinated. His hand was just inches from the door handle when Silas’s voice slithered through the air again. “Right before I ended it, I let her call you.” “You picked up. But she couldn’t even get a word out before she heard you and your new bride going at it in the background.” Matthew whipped his head around, slamming right into Silas’s mocking stare. “You have no idea how utterly destroyed she looked,” Silas said casually. “So, as a final favor, she begged me to bury her and the kid somewhere you would have to drive past every single day.” Matthew froze. His lungs stopped working. There was a specific, scenic shortcut he took to the precinct every morning. Only two people in the world knew about it. Matthew stormed out of the room, shouting orders to mobilize a forensics team to that exact stretch of road. Once the chaotic flurry of officers cleared the hallway, he slumped against the concrete wall, trying to drag oxygen into his lungs. I crouched beside him, a sad, bitter smile touching my lips as I watched him fall apart. Matthew was two years younger than me. When we were together, he always tried to act stoic and mature, but underneath it all, he was just a stubborn kid. Now, five years later, the job had stripped that away. He had seen the worst of humanity. He was the legendary Detective Matthew. I watched him for a long time. He took a jagged breath, pulling his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen, shaking slightly, before he dialed a number he had memorized years ago. It rang once before someone picked up. Matthew didn’t even wait for a greeting. His voice tore through the quiet hallway, vicious and raw. “Nora, do you think this is a joke? How much did you pay that psychopath to sit in my interrogation room and lie to my face?” “You are completely out of your mind. You hired a serial killer? Are you not terrified he’s going to turn around and butcher you for real?” He stopped talking. His chest heaved violently, betraying the sheer panic boiling underneath his anger. Total silence stretched across the line. Then, a deep, unfamiliar male voice replied. “Hey, buddy, I think you’ve got the wrong number. There’s no Nora here.” Matthew turned to stone. He pulled the phone back and stared at the screen. It was the right number. It was the matching couple’s phone plan we had bought for our last anniversary. Our numbers were identical except for the very last digit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice dropping into a dangerous snarl. “You’re the guy she ran off with, aren’t you? Listen to me—” “Dude, no. I’m an accountant. I bought this number from the carrier four years ago. Have a good night.” The call clicked off. Matthew stood completely paralyzed. During the first year after I died, he would call that disconnected number every single night, screaming his frustrations into the void. Over time, as he built a new life with Daphne, the calls stopped. He eventually learned to forget the woman who had supposedly ruined him. Time moves on. The dead stay dead, and the living forget. Everything that once tied us together had faded into dust. I reached out, wrapping my translucent arms around his shoulders in a phantom hug, just like I used to when he was stressed. He stood there in silence for a long minute. Then, he bolted. He sprinted down the hall like a man on fire. I was dragged along behind him by our tether. I watched him throw his cruiser into gear, tires screeching as he sped toward the route he took every day. The rural road was already swarming with flashing red and blue lights. Crime scene tape glowed violently in the dark. An excavator idled nearby, its massive metal claw digging into the earth. Matthew ignored the perimeter guards, marching straight to a small curve near an old oak tree. There was a completely unremarkable stone sitting in the dirt. I had placed it there myself. He dropped to his knees, his eyes bloodshot, his fingers digging desperately into the damp soil. “Is it here?” he whispered to himself. “You told me you got this stone blessed at a cathedral… you said you buried it on my route to keep me safe.” I let out a heavy sigh as the night wind rushed past us. He stood up, wiping the wet dirt from his palms onto his slacks. “Bring the machine in. Dig right here.” No one questioned him. The mechanical arm tore into the ground. The heavy, metallic scent of overturned soil filled the air. Matthew stared into the widening pit, his thumb unconsciously digging hard into his own palm. It was a nervous tic he had whenever he was terrified. I used to scold him for it constantly. I leaned in, whispering in his ear to stop hurting himself. But he couldn’t hear me anymore. The excavator hit the three-foot mark. Metal scraped loudly against metal. “We hit something! It looks like a steel trunk!” an officer yelled. Matthew’s breath hitched. He practically threw himself into the ditch. It was a heavy, reinforced lockbox. No one knew what was inside. The forensics team promised they could drill the electronic lock within twenty-four hours. Matthew didn’t say a word. He just knelt in the dirt in his ruined suit, his fingers hovering over the keypad. I stood right behind him, watching as he typed in the first combination. 0-5-1-9. The day of our anniversary. Shortly after our wedding, I had rested my head on his chest and told him, “This date means everything to me. You and Daphne are the only two people in the world who know why. You’re my family.” Matthew held his breath and hit the enter key. The lock flashed red. Access denied. The frantic pounding in his chest began to slow. He stumbled backward, retreating from the center of the pit, his eyes completely hollow as he stared right through me. He was entirely lost in his own mind. A split second later, a soft, familiar voice echoed behind him. “Honey, what are you doing out here? What’s May 19th?” Matthew answered purely on reflex, his mind still somewhere else. The moment the words left his mouth, the warm, concerned smile on Daphne’s face twisted into something ugly and panicked. She instantly smoothed her features back into a mask of innocence. “I have no idea. Nora never mentioned that date to me.” It had been five years. This was the first time either of them had spoken my name to the other. The silence between them was thick and suffocating. I stood in the shadows, glaring at Daphne. Liar. You know exactly what that date means. No one knows better than you. Daphne and I had been best friends for over a decade. She was charismatic, beautiful, and loved by everyone. I was timid and socially anxious. She was the only friend I had. I told her everything. Seven years ago, I confessed to her, “There’s a guy in my history seminar. I think I’m falling for him.” The day I met Matthew was May 19th. Daphne pushed me to go after him. I stepped entirely out of my comfort zone to get his attention. We confessed, we dated, we got married. It was a fairy tale. But as time went on, Daphne began embedding herself deeper into our lives. I thought she just missed me. Yet, every single time she came around, Matthew and I would end up in a screaming match. I couldn’t figure out why. I broke down once, begging him to tell me what was wrong. He just stared at me with this complex, utterly cold expression and walked away. Our marriage began fracturing at the seams. We fought, we cried, we tried desperately to glue the pieces back together. During one of our worst cold wars, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to surprise him. I spent two weeks secretly planning a romantic dinner, hoping a baby would be the miracle that saved us. When everything was ready, I asked Daphne to bring him to the apartment. I waited from sunset until midnight. Neither of them showed. I finally went out looking for them. I turned the corner near his precinct, only to find them holding each other tightly under the streetlights. All the fighting, all the sleepless nights, suddenly made perfect, devastating sense. They were sleeping together. I lost my mind. I threw the heavy, glass-encased gift box I was holding straight at Matthew. Daphne threw herself in front of him. The shattered glass sliced across her neck. Blood poured from the wound. She collapsed, clutching her throat, crying hysterically. Matthew caught her, his face twisting in absolute fury as he glared at me. “Nora, are you psychotic?! Look at what you just did!” Daphne gripped his jacket, her voice trembling. “Matthew, don’t yell at her… she just misunderstood…” “Misunderstood?” Matthew’s teeth locked together. “Is it a misunderstanding that I saw her checking into a hotel room with another guy three days ago?!” “What the hell did I ever do to make you betray me like this, Nora?!” I stood frozen. The world went black at the edges. A violent ringing tore through my ears. My mind was a tangled mess of static. I realized someone had set me up. There was a massive web of lies between us, but before I could untangle a single thread, the blood from Daphne’s neck dripped through her fingers and splashed onto the pavement. Matthew didn’t give me a chance to speak. He hauled Daphne into his car, fixing me with a look of pure disgust. Like I was a monster. “Go home. We’re done talking for tonight.” I took a shaky breath, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. “Fine. I’ll wait for you at the house. We’re going to figure this out.” His taillights faded into the distance. I turned around to make the short walk home. I barely made it three blocks before a rag soaked in chloroform was slammed over my nose and mouth. After that, there was only darkness. I lost all concept of time in that basement. By the time I finally saw the light of day again, Silas was standing over me with a knife. I had been trying to walk home for five years. I still hadn’t made it. A rookie cop came scrambling up to Matthew, his chest heaving. “Detective… the tech team popped the lock.” The kid looked like he was about to be sick. He couldn’t finish his sentence. Matthew’s heart hammered against his ribs. He shoved through the crowd of uniforms and stared down into the dirt. The moment he saw what was inside, every drop of blood vanished from his face.

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I mocked him: “Wow, Mr. Harrison is getting up there in age and still no one wants him?” He mocked me right back: “Likewise. Didn’t Chloe’s little high school romance fail to bloom?” Perfect. It was finally time for me to repay his “teaching grace.” A few months later, I pointed at Carter Harrison standing in the corner of our bedroom: “Don’t even think about getting into bed until you recite Hamlet’s soliloquy flawlessly from memory.” 01 When I went home for the holidays, my Aunt Mary set me up on a blind date. According to her, the guy was 29, held a Master’s degree, and worked as a teacher. He had a nice car, his own place, and no living parents to cause in-law drama. He was well-off, handsome, and had a stable, tenured job. His family—or what was left of it—was pushing him to settle down, which was why he agreed to the date. I thought about it and decided his resume was pretty flawless. So, I went to meet him. Who could have predicted that the man sitting across from me would be my former high school English teacher? The exact same homeroom teacher who used to constantly lecture me about the dangers of dating in high school. “Chloe, you can’t even pick the right answer out of four options on an SAT question. Do you really think you can find the right guy out of 330 million Americans?” “Don’t date in high school, the quality is terrible. Wait until college to find someone to grow old with.” His earnest teachings from years ago were still echoing in my ears. When we made eye contact, we both froze. He still had that refined, scholarly aura. He wore a light gray button-down shirt, crisp slacks, and a clean-cut hairstyle. His handsome face was framed by a pair of rimless glasses. He looked exactly the same as I remembered. Meanwhile, I was wearing sky-high stilettos and sporting ash-gray, wavy hair—the exact hair color he had once marched me to a salon to dye back to black after it had only survived for half a day. I tapped my fresh cat-eye acrylic nails on the table, wearing a smug expression that basically screamed: You might hate how I look, but you can’t send me to the principal’s office anymore. “Wow~ Mr. Harrison is getting up there in age. How is it that no one wants you yet?” Since he wasn’t my teacher anymore, I took the initiative to mock him first. Carter Harrison’s eyes crinkled slightly. He folded his hands together and let out a soft chuckle. “Likewise. Didn’t Chloe’s little high school romance fail to bloom?” He wore an expression that said he had predicted my failure all along. Hmph. Whether it bloomed or not, he knew exactly why. “Well, that’s all thanks to Mr. Harrison’s earnest interventions back then. I imagine the students today are much harder to manage, especially since you’re getting so old.” I was deliberately lying through my teeth. The older man wasn’t old at all; in fact, he was incredibly attractive. His brows relaxed, and the corners of his mouth curled up into a faint smirk. “And that’s all thanks to how ‘obedient’ and ‘well-behaved’ you were. You cured me of ever wanting to be a homeroom teacher again.” Perfect. It was finally time for me to repay his teaching grace. I was going to return every scolding and detention I had ever endured right back to him. 02 “Since we’ve caught up on the past, let’s talk about some sensitive topics.” I flipped my hair, resting my chin on one hand, and shot Carter a sly smile. “Mr. Harrison, I hear your family is pushing you pretty hard. Why don’t we just make do with each other? At least we know each other’s backgrounds.” Carter’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He cleared his throat softly. “You’re a wonderful girl, Chloe, but I’m approaching thirty. I’m afraid I’d be wasting your prime years.” Look at that. Even his rejections were elegantly phrased. “Oh, I don’t mind. I like guys who will kick the bucket before I do and leave me a good pension,” I blurted out. After a moment of awkward silence, Carter spoke slowly: “We used to have a teacher-student relationship. You know the saying: Don’t fish off the company pier.” I looked into his deep, handsome eyes and let out a light laugh. “What a coincidence. I’m a very lazy fisherman~” My words actually made Carter stifle a laugh. He rubbed his temples and sighed with a hint of helplessness. “It seems your rebellious phase is unusually long.” “It’s alright. It’s nothing compared to how long you’ve been single,” I fired back. “I haven’t seen you in a few years, but your debate skills have certainly improved.” “I’m flattered. It’s all thanks to Mr. Harrison’s excellent teaching.” … Great. Even though I got the upper hand in the banter, I had completely killed the conversation. That is, until a booming voice shattered the awkwardness. “Carter! What are you doing here?” I looked up. Well, well. If it wasn’t Coach Davis, my high school PE teacher. “Who’s this?” Coach Davis asked Carter with a gossipy grin. Suddenly, he stared at my face for a few seconds, his eyes darting back and forth. “Why does this girl look so familiar?” Carter spoke calmly. “Chloe.” Coach Davis had a sudden epiphany. “Oh! The girl whose high school romance gave you so much insomnia!” Me: … “Wow, you look so different! I almost didn’t recognize you. So, did things ever work out with that boy you were dating?” Me: Thanks. Thanks a lot. Way to bring up the one thing no one wanted to talk about. How completely inappropriate. I let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t know, Coach. Have you cured that mysterious illness that made you constantly cancel our PE classes?” “Ha! I ended up marrying your Spanish teacher, so I just gave all my class periods to her,” Coach Davis said cheerfully, completely oblivious. He looked between us. “What are you two doing here anyway?” … Carter and I looked at each other. “Why don’t we call it a day?” he suggested first. “Sure. Want to exchange numbers, Mr. Harrison? Please seriously consider my proposal,” I asked. He pulled up his QR code, and I successfully added him. I drove off in my pink Volkswagen Beetle, and he drove off in his black Honda Accord, heading our separate ways. 03 As soon as I got home, my mom turned into a relentless gossip reporter, following me around the house. “Quick, tell your mother! How is he?” “He’s fine.” My mom pressed further. “Your Aunt Mary said he’s a high school teacher. What school? You wouldn’t even have to worry about your future kids’ education!” I gave a dry laugh. “He teaches at my old high school.” My mom instantly became even more thrilled. “Oh my goodness! Isn’t that fate?! You already know everything about him. You even have a foundation of feelings!” A foundation of feelings? Oh yes, the foundation was very deep. During the second semester of my senior year, our homeroom teacher went on maternity leave, and Carter became our temporary homeroom teacher. Back then, the school divided students into AP/Honors classes and standard classes. Our class was the most chaotic standard class in the school. It was composed of art kids, jocks, and chronic slackers. We were the Avengers of Disappointment. And I was what the teachers referred to as “a special case,” “a constant headache,” and “a lost cause.” Back then, Mr. Harrison had worried his heart out over our class. He talked until his voice went hoarse and almost ruined his health trying to keep us in line. “Chloe, do you have a dream?” “My dream is to become the principal of this school so I can give Mr. Harrison a raise.” … “Chloe, when are you going to finish memorizing The Great Gatsby?” “Next year…” … “Question: What literary era did Edgar Allan Poe belong to? Chloe, what did you write?” “I wrote… the Emo Era…” … I was the quintessential rebellious teenager, and Carter was the quintessential strict, father-figure teacher. And he was determined to fix me. Because I was always talking to my desk mate during class, he changed my seat no less than ten times. I had occupied every single quadrant of that classroom. Finally, I told him, “Mr. Harrison, you can stop trying. I can talk to literally anyone you sit me next to.” In the end, he created a special VIP seat for me right next to his podium. And it was right under his nose that he discovered my love letter. He had heard that teenage couples liked to sneak off and make out under the stadium bleachers after late-night study sessions. So, he started staking out the bleachers every single night to catch me. Then he rewarded me with a familiar day-trip to the faculty office. He earnestly lectured me about how high school romance was a tree that bloomed but bore no fruit. I wouldn’t listen. He lectured me again: “Don’t date in high school, the quality is terrible. Wait until college to find someone to grow old with.” I talked back. “Did you find someone to grow old with in college, Mr. Harrison?” He sighed. “Chloe, you can’t even pick the right answer out of four options on a test. Do you really think you can find the right guy out of 330 million people?” I looked at him with absolute confidence. “He is the right one.” Carter looked exasperated. “Then tell me, what exactly do you like about him?” I said, “He’s gentle, handsome, and refined.” Carter looked at me in pure disbelief. “Love really is blind. Where exactly is Hunter Crawford, that meathead jock, gentle or refined?” Hunter Crawford was a track-and-field recruit in our class. All brawn, no brains. We had been classmates since middle school. The day he found out I secretly liked him, he excitedly ran ten miles. “Chloe… I actually… I really like you too.” Seeing that he couldn’t convince me, Carter tried to talk to Hunter instead. “Dating too early leads nowhere. You’re just training someone else’s future wife.” “Someone else’s wife? Mr. Harrison, when you put it like that, it actually sounds kind of thrilling…” 04 The past was too embarrassing to look back on. After washing up, I found a comfortable spot on my bed and opened Carter’s profile. He still had the same generic landscape profile picture. When I clicked on his page, it was completely blank. In this day and age, there were still people who didn’t post anything on social media? Those people were the scariest. It was the classic: I don’t want to miss your life, but don’t even think about knowing anything about mine. I sent a text: “Mr. Harrison, what are you doing?” I waited a long time. No reply… I opened my phone and queued up a game of Valorant. And the result… You have been slain. Defeat. A five-game losing streak… I was furious. Some people drive at night to clear their heads, some look at the ocean, and some are in their twenties getting called “absolute trash” by twelve-year-olds online. I was already absolute trash at the game, why couldn’t I be his type? I remembered playing games secretly in class and getting caught by Carter. He had placed my phone on the projector desk and made the entire class watch. Watch how I died over and over, got flamed by my teammates, and eventually got reported for throwing. I had played the game for four years and was still hardstuck in Bronze. The angrier I got, the more I thought about it. Carter still hadn’t replied. I opened my messages and texted him again: “Mr. Harrison, is it a felony to reply to a text where you’re from?” “If you aren’t going to reply, you might as well trade your phone in for a toaster.” Still nothing… “Mr. Harrison, did the principal confiscate your phone?” Back in the day, Carter would use any trick in the book to confiscate our phones. He once told us our English pronunciation was terrible, so he asked us all to say “Hey Siri” to test our accents. After we said it, half the phones hidden in desks across the classroom lit up and chimed, “I’m listening.” Just think about how devious that man was. … My phone buzzed with a notification: “Apologies. I had something to take care of and wasn’t looking at my phone.” 05 Immediately after, I got a text from my high school classmate, Sarah Jenkins. “Chloe, make sure you come tomorrow!” I almost forgot. Tomorrow was her wedding, and she was marrying Kevin, our class valedictorian. “By the way, the wedding officiant is our old homeroom teacher, Mr. Harrison.” Me: … These two sneaks. Not only did they secretly date in high school, but they even invited the teacher who tried to stop them to officiate their wedding. I really wanted to give her a slow clap. Just then, my mom slammed my bedroom door open, looking uncontrollably excited. “Chloe! Your Aunt Mary just called. The guy from today had a really good impression of you!” A good impression? Who was the one who said he was afraid of wasting my prime years? My mom clearly didn’t understand an English teacher’s polite rejections. “Your aunt said his parents were academics, and the guy is already a distinguished teacher at such a young age. That’s a proper intellectual family, perfectly matched with ours, haha…” I rubbed my forehead, looking at my mother who was desperate to marry me off immediately. “A distinguished teacher from a family of academics, and a nouveau riche slacker from a bottom-tier college. Mom, where exactly do you see a perfect match?” It was true. My family was the textbook definition of newly wealthy. We didn’t have much culture, but we owned a lot of real estate. “Wh-what bottom-tier college slacker? You’re a wealthy heiress who studied abroad!” Yep, my mom knew exactly how to rebrand me. She kept rambling. “Your aunt said he was raised by his aunt since he was little. His aunt’s health isn’t great right now, so she’s really worrying about him settling down.” “I think this Mr. Harrison is a great catch. You better put in some effort and make me proud!” Heh… I wanted to make her proud, too. But I genuinely knew nothing about Carter’s family background before this. After finally shooing my mom out, I pulled up my phone and texted Carter: “Mr. Harrison, I heard you had a good impression of me?” It took a while before I got a reply: “I have always had a good impression of you, Chloe.” I rolled my eyes. English teachers really knew how to use sarcasm perfectly. “Mr. Harrison, my car is in the shop tomorrow. I heard you’re also going to Sarah’s wedding. Can I hitch a ride with you?” My car being broken was a lie; wanting him to pick me up was the truth. I dropped him my address. He replied: “Alright.” Ahhhh… I hugged my blanket and rolled around happily. 06 The next day, I slept in until the sun was high. Carter arrived downstairs right on time. He was wearing a gray trench coat, the hem fluttering slightly in the wind. He leaned against his car with his sharp eyebrows, striking eyes, and a faint smile on his lips. He was already a gentle, elegant man, but the coat made him look even more sophisticated. Seeing me walk out, he waved, the curve of his smile deepening. I had to admit, the scene was incredibly striking… I was such a sucker for a handsome face. He hit every single one of my weak spots… I slid into the passenger seat of his black Honda Accord. The interior was completely black. It felt exactly like riding in my dad’s car… “Um… Mr. Harrison, don’t you think this car doesn’t really fit your vibe?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Then what would fit? A pink Volkswagen Beetle?” he chuckled. “Uh… a GTR?” A flashy sports car paired with his restrained, handsome face. Just thinking about it was amazing. “Chloe, a public school teacher must, above all, keep a low profile.” Carter reminded me. Heh… This was way too low profile. I felt like I was sitting in an Uber. The wedding venue was lively, basically a massive high school reunion. “Chloe, over here!” “Wow, why did Mr. Harrison come with you?” A few classmates waved us over. “I bumped into him on the way and hitched a ride,” I explained with a smile. “Mr. Harrison, please, take a seat!” A few classmates ushered him over. “Come on, Chloe, sit next to your rumored boyfriend.” A classmate teased, making room for me. Sitting in that spot was Hunter Crawford. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he was still the same muscular, sunny jock. “Stop spreading rumors…” He threatened the guy next to him. I didn’t refuse and sat down in the empty seat. “Well, you and Chloe are both single. You might as well just get together.” “Dating now doesn’t count as a high school romance anymore, so Mr. Harrison can’t stop you. If you guys actually tie the knot, you should have Mr. Harrison officiate yours too.” “Isn’t that right, Mr. Harrison?” Our old classmates chimed in one after another, teasing us. 07 Carter gave a soft smile but didn’t respond. The MC invited the officiant to speak, so he stood up and walked toward the stage. I watched him on stage—tall, long-legged, with a breezy smile. He calmly took the microphone and began to speak. “Hello everyone, I am the bride and groom’s high school homeroom teacher. As you all know, dating was strictly forbidden in high school. So standing up here today, I feel a bit terrified. I feel like I completely failed at my job.” The crowd erupted in laughter and applause. “As their teacher, I witnessed their youth, I witnessed their beautiful teenage years, and I witnessed the joy of them getting into college. “To be honest, when they first got together, I rejected it. Just as they mentioned, they started their long-distance relationship right under my nose. They were one of the many couples I tried to tear apart. But they used their happiness to slap me in the face. And I hope to receive many more slaps of happiness like this in the future.” Carter’s humorous speech drew another round of applause, and I couldn’t help but laugh along. But Hunter, sitting right next to me, suddenly spoke up: “Chloe, I have a crazy theory…” I looked at him, confused. “?” Hunter leaned in close, hesitating before whispering nervously: “The guy you liked in high school… it couldn’t have been…” He gestured toward Carter on the stage with his eyes. My heart suddenly tightened. I panicked and blurted out: “That is a crazy theory…” Back then, everyone thought I had a crush on Hunter. It was a rainy afternoon during Carter’s literature class. I wrote a note on a piece of paper: “It’s raining outside. You’re not looking at me, and I’m not looking at the rain. —CH” A gust of wind blew the paper directly to the feet of Hunter, who was sitting behind me. He picked it up, read it, and his face turned bright red. “Chloe… you actually have a crush on me?” His voice was a bit too loud and caught Carter’s attention. From that day on, Carter targeted both of us… Everyone assumed “CH” meant Crawford, Hunter. But it didn’t. Actually, the first time I met him, I was sixteen. He just didn’t remember. From the very beginning, I knew my crush was a silent play. Speaking it out loud would only turn it into a tragedy. So, the fact that I liked him was a secret I never dared to confess. Dreaming about my own teacher felt like I didn’t respect myself, and it felt like an insult to him. So I had to do rebellious things just to get his attention, wondering if he would remember me better that way. Thinking back on it now, it was so childish. Until graduation day. Crying, I handed Carter a bouquet of white hyacinths and stuttered, “Mr. Harrison, actually… I… I don’t hate you at all…” After that, my family arranged for me to study abroad. Years had passed. I never expected our paths to cross again.

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What my wife, Stella, did completely shattered my understanding of human decency. At the time, she mistakenly thought I was lying about her mother being bitten by a venomous snake and clinging to life. As a result, she literally stood by and watched her favorite male student inject the only vial of universal antivenom into a stray dog. Worse still, she stood there viciously cursing her own mother, wishing death upon her. Seeing her true colors, I simply replied to her message with a single word. Pathetic. I immediately turned around and uploaded the audio recording of our conversation, along with screenshots of that male student boasting about the dog on his social media, straight to the university’s public message board. I even had the perfect title ready. Risking Her Own Mother’s Life to Save a Stray Dog. Is This Our University’s ‘Daughter of the Year’? She loved to gloat, didn’t she? Well, she could just wait. Once the tidal wave of public outrage drowned her, I wanted to see if she could still smile. 1 In less than ten minutes, the comments under the forum post had surpassed a thousand. Stella was a highly respected professor at the university. Now that she had committed such an unforgivable and twisted act, the university board was furious. Rumors were already circulating that they were going to strip her of her position. Furious, she bombarded me with over a dozen voice messages, ordering me to delete the post. “My mother has always been in poor health. If the snake venom had really reached her heart, she wouldn’t have survived long enough for me to get the serum to her anyway. Rather than wasting it, it’s better to help a poor animal!” I let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “The person bitten by that snake is your own mother! Get your ass to the ER right now!” The other end of the line was dead silent for a second. Then, the cursing began. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Arthur?” “My mom has bad knees. She would never go hiking in a state park.” “Besides, if she was really hurt, wouldn’t she have called me herself?” If my mother-in-law could have reached her, she wouldn’t have had to call me as her last resort. Just then, the red light above the resuscitation room behind me flicked off. The attending doctor walked out, shaking his head with a look of deep regret. “The venom has spread entirely. The patient is experiencing multiple organ failure. You should go in and say your final goodbyes.” I immediately sent Stella a video call request. I pointed the camera directly at the sterile hospital bed. When the call connected, the screen didn’t show Stella. It showed Felix’s face. “Arthur, there is something I’m really curious about. Silver Peak is a highly regulated state park. How could there be venomous snakes there? Are you just making this up to steal the formula for the universal antivenom?” “I am not!” Stella scoffed coldly from somewhere off-camera. “No wonder you’ve been so obsessed with the progress of the antivenom lately. Now you’re cursing my mother to death just to get your hands on my finished samples?” “You are absolutely shameless, Arthur!” A second later, she snatched the phone and terminated the video call. I laughed out of pure anger. Just as I was about to dial back, my mother-in-law’s trembling hand gripped my wrist. Her eyes were unfocused, darting around the empty room. “Is it Stella? Why isn’t she here yet?” I knew Martha had been holding on by a thread solely to see her daughter one last time. But the person she was waiting for was never going to show up. I stayed silent for a long moment before my voice broke. “Traffic is really bad. She’s almost here. Just hold on a little longer, Martha.” Her pale lips quivered. She clearly had something left to say. I leaned in close and caught her raspy, choked whispers. “Arthur, I failed at raising my daughter. I am so sorry for what she put you through. Please, don’t give up on her.” I didn’t say a word. Last month, at Martha’s sixtieth birthday dinner, Stella had brazenly brought Felix along. Right at the dining table, in front of our entire family, she had hand-peeled shrimp and fed them to him. I demanded a divorce right then and there. The shock and humiliation triggered a mild heart attack for Martha. The ordeal only ended when Stella swore to me that she would cut off all contact with Felix. But from that day on, she stopped coming home. Not long after, using her research project as an excuse, she started sleeping around with him again. That was exactly why Martha had traveled up the mountain. She had gone to an old chapel at the peak of Silver Peak to pray for our crumbling marriage. She had no wilderness experience. When she was bitten, she didn’t even know if the snake was venomous until the toxins rapidly spread through her bloodstream, leaving her on the brink of death. The only thing that could save her was a dose of broad-spectrum universal antivenom. Coincidentally, the latest breakthrough at Stella’s research institute was exactly that. I had called her the absolute second I found out. She had sworn up and down that she would deliver it in time. Yet, it still ended like this. I couldn’t even describe the twisted knot of grief and rage in my chest. Meeting Martha’s desperate, hopeful gaze, I finally let out a heavy sigh. “I will take good care of her for you. I promise.” 2 Stella blocked me on every single platform. But someone had to handle Martha’s funeral arrangements. I had no choice but to go to the city clerk’s office to get the necessary next-of-kin paperwork. The clerk behind the glass looked at my ID, frowned, and pushed the documents back to me. “Sir, our system shows that your marital status is single.” “You must have a power of attorney signed by the deceased’s immediate legal family member before we can process anything for you.” I froze. Three years ago, Stella and I went to City Hall together. I literally watched the clerk stamp the official seal onto our marriage certificate. How on earth could I be single? “There must be a glitch in the system. Here is our marriage certificate. Could you please run the names again?” The clerk typed a few things into her keyboard and turned the monitor toward me. “Stella’s legal husband is named Felix.” “The state database doesn’t make mistakes like this. As for how this happened, I really couldn’t tell you.” I stared blankly at the timeline on the screen. The date of their marriage registration was last October. A memory suddenly clicked into place. Around that time, Stella told me her institute had taken on a highly classified government project. As her spouse, she claimed I needed to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement. She had rushed me so aggressively that I signed the paperwork without reading the fine print. Looking back now, the problem was definitely hidden inside that stack of papers. What an incredible bait-and-switch. No wonder she didn’t look panicked at all when I demanded a divorce at the family dinner last month. Stepping out of City Hall, I received a call from the hospital morgue. They were asking when Martha’s body would be transferred for cremation. Martha’s dying pleas echoed in my ears. She had begged me to believe that Stella was just being manipulated, that she had simply taken a wrong turn in life, and begged me not to blame her. But legally, I was a complete stranger. I had absolutely no right to offer forgiveness, let alone plan a funeral. “I am sorry,” I said calmly into the phone. “I am not Martha’s legal family. I don’t have the authority to make those decisions.” “Furthermore, her daughter hasn’t even seen her one last time. Please transport the body directly to the university campus to find her daughter.” I hung up and took a cab back to my house. But the moment I unlocked the front door, I saw Felix pinning a half-undressed Stella against my living room sofa. Hearing the door click, they scrambled to sit up in a panic. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Stella frowned at me in deep annoyance. The fresh red hickeys on her neck were blindingly obvious. I sneered, stepping inside and deliberately stepping right on Felix’s expensive jacket that had been tossed onto the floor. “Do I need to report to you when I return to my own house?” “I am giving you five minutes. If you aren’t out of my sight by then, I’m calling the cops and reporting a home invasion.” Hearing this, Felix put on a sickeningly pathetic face and bowed to me apologetically. “I am so sorry, Arthur. I was just worried about the Professor walking home alone, so I escorted her. Please don’t misunderstand.” Escorting her home. Did that require lying half-naked on the sofa? I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned and walked straight into the master bedroom. Staring at the massive wedding photo hanging on the wall, I felt nothing but pure irony. Stella was living in the house I paid for in cash, yet she had tricked me into signing a divorce agreement. And now, she was brazenly bringing Felix into my living room. I walked over, ripped the wedding photo off the wall, and threw all of our matching couple’s items directly into the trash. Just as I finished, I heard the front door slam shut. I intended to walk out and finally lay everything on the table with her. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, I found two police officers standing in my entryway. Stella pointed a manicured finger right at my chest. “Officers, I want to report this man for attempting to steal classified national research formulas for illegal profit!” 3 My head snapped up in utter shock. “You are lying!” “Stella, I never lied to you today. Your mother was really bitten by a venomous snake and needed that serum.” “She called your name until her final breath, and you didn’t even care enough to check. If you don’t believe me, I will call the morgue right now.” Stella marched forward and slapped me hard across the face. She let out a cruel laugh. “After all those words, you’re just mad that I didn’t fall for your trap, aren’t you?” “You said my mom was dying? Open your eyes and look closely. My mom texted me half an hour ago to tell me she was perfectly safe!” She shoved her phone screen directly into my face. The contact labeled ‘Mom’ had indeed sent a message thirty minutes ago. Princess, everything is fine. But I knew Martha inside and out. She never, ever called Stella ‘Princess’. That message was absolutely not sent by her. I opened my mouth to point this out. But Felix stepped right into my personal space. He threw an arm over my shoulder in a mock-friendly gesture. “Arthur, the institute invited you to join us earlier this year, but you rejected the Director’s offer because you weren’t happy with the salary. Now you’re jealous that we made a breakthrough, and you want to steal the formula to sell it? That is just pathetic.” “When you get to the station, make sure you confess everything. Maybe you can learn to be a better person when you get out.” His blatant provocation completely snapped my last nerve. Not even caring that the police were standing right there, I drove my fist straight into his smug face. “Why don’t you just die, you absolute piece of trash?” The man beneath me didn’t even try to fight back. He practically absorbed my punches, making sure to dramatically cover his face and whimper. “Arthur, I know you hate me.” “But I never blamed you for interfering in my marriage or harassing my wife. How do you have the nerve to play the victim here?” Stella decided to drop all pretenses. She forcefully shoved me away from him. Then, she pulled a document from the coffee table drawer and threw it directly at my face. “You are the one trespassing, and you are the one who deserves to rot!” “Read it carefully, Arthur. Half a year ago, you voluntarily signed an agreement giving up all marital assets. What right do you have to bark in my house?” “You maliciously slandered my mother’s name for your own selfish greed, and you assaulted my husband. I am not letting this go!” The sharp edge of the thick paper sliced a thin cut across my cheek. But I acted as if I couldn’t feel it. My hands tightly gripped the thin sheets of paper. So, she had planned this all along. Even this house, the one I had purchased entirely with my own money, was now legally a “voluntary gift” I had handed over to her. After a long silence, I looked up, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You really played a good game, Stella.” “But I promise you, you are going to regret this.” She crossed her arms, watching coldly as the police handcuffed me and led me to the cruiser. Right as the car door was about to close, I saw Felix pull a phone out of his pocket behind Stella’s back. My mind exploded. My eyes went wide. That was Martha’s phone. Why on earth did he have it? Felix shot me a triumphant, arrogant smirk. I could clearly read his lips. You are always going to be a loser. 4 It wasn’t until I was sitting in the interrogation room that I finally processed everything. Martha had always treated me well. When my own parents were hospitalized from a bad accident, she drained her retirement fund just to help me cover their medical bills. Every holiday, there was always a plate of sweet and sour ribs on the table, just because she knew it was my favorite. In the past, Stella used to mock me for it, saying a grown man shouldn’t have a sweet tooth. But Martha never cared. She always defended me to Stella. “Arthur works hard for this family. I’m just glad he likes my cooking.” And now, after her tragic death, she was being used as a pawn in a sick game, and I was forced to watch the mastermind gloat. After I gave my statement and the police verified the actual timeline of events, they realized the assault was a minor domestic dispute and the espionage claim was baseless. I was released without charges. As I walked out, my phone buzzed with a text from Stella. For the sake of our past, I’ll drop the assault charges. But the condition is that you must publicly apologize to Felix. Otherwise, once the allegations of you trying to steal state research go public, your entire career is over. Seeing how blissfully unaware of her own impending doom she was, I typed out a quick reply. I agree. Stella thought I was terrified. She happily called me, demanding I take a cab straight to the university campus. I was to apologize in front of the entire university board for my behavior. On the ride over, I called the funeral home. “Please transport Ms. Martha’s casket to Oakbridge University right now.” “I sent you her daughter’s phone number earlier. When you arrive, just call her to accept the delivery.” The director readily agreed. I hung up the phone and pushed open the door of the cab. Stella was already waiting for me with the university board and a swarm of local media reporters in tow. “I invited everyone here today primarily to clarify a few things,” she announced, her voice steady and professional. She didn’t even glance in my direction. “As many of you know, Arthur and I were married for three years. But we legally divorced six months ago. Despite that, for the past half-year, he has continued to harass me. He aggressively tried to force his way between me and my new husband, Felix.” “Out of respect for our past, I tolerated his behavior. But I never imagined that because he couldn’t have me, he would try to destroy me. He lied about my mother being bitten by a snake, trying to trick me into abandoning the institute’s serum.” “Arthur caused this disaster, and he should take full responsibility for it.” The crowd erupted. The reporters sighed in sympathy for Stella’s “endurance” and turned their cameras toward me, openly spitting insults. Amidst the flashing cameras, Felix stepped forward. “Arthur, Stella and I are willing to let the past go. But to try and steal classified research for your own profit is unacceptable.” “Since everyone is here today, give a proper apology. You owe it to all the researchers who worked on that project.” “Get on your knees. Show some actual sincerity.” I curled my lips into an icy smile. “I can apologize. Forget kneeling, I’ll even bow my head to the floor.” “But before I do that, I have a few things to say as well.” I pulled out my phone and played the audio clips of Felix’s provocations, swiping through the screenshots of his obnoxious social media posts. “You claim I have no shame and that I interfered in your marriage. But for the past six months, I am the one who has been constantly harassed.” “And I never lied about today. I can prove it to you right now.” Without missing a beat, I dialed Martha’s phone number in front of the dozens of rolling cameras. A second later, a loud ringing sound vibrated from Felix’s coat pocket. He panicked, frantically pressing his hand against his pocket to muffle the sound, but it was useless. Stella rushed over and ripped the phone out of his coat. “Why do you have my mother’s phone?” Felix stuttered, completely unable to form a coherent sentence. Right at that exact moment, Stella’s own phone began to ring. A gruff voice echoed over the murmur of the confused crowd. “Which one of you is Ms. Stella? We need a signature for the delivery of your mother’s body.”

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1 I was three months pregnant when I found a half-empty condom box in my husband Kevin’s car. I demanded a divorce immediately, not even knowing who the other woman was. He begged on our porch for days. My best friend Brooke warned, “Men are unreliable. Let me set you up, and you should lose the baby—it’ll only hold you back.” But I couldn’t. Each time I touched my growing belly, I softened. We reconciled. Kevin changed—came home early, gave me his unlocked phone, even added a GPS tracker. My mother said a changed man is precious. I believed her. Until the day I started bleeding heavily. Rushed to maternity in agony, I needed a signature for an emergency C-section. Shaking, I called Kevin over and over. No answer. Finally, he picked up, voice sharp with impatience. “One late night and you’re already tracking me?” A woman’s laugh cut in from the background, clear and cold: “You haven’t even fixed things with Brooke yet, and your wife is checking up. Aren’t you scared she’ll find out?” White noise flooded my ears. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone, desperately hoping I had misheard. Then came Kevin’s low, familiar voice. “If she was going to catch me, she would have done it by now.” I could practically hear the smirk on his face. “It’s her own fault for telling Brooke everything. It just makes logistics easier for us. Plus, Brooke actually knows how to act. She’s wild in bed and easy to keep happy.” His buddy gave a half-hearted warning. “Have your fun, man, but keep it in check. If you end up putting the girl in the hospital, things are gonna blow up.” Their laughter echoed through the speaker, twisting like a serrated blade in my chest. No wonder Brooke hadn’t come to visit me the last couple of days. She said she was “busy.” Right after Kevin and I got married, Brooke moved into the apartment right next to ours, claiming she wanted to be close to her best friend. Her appliances were always magically breaking down, giving her the perfect excuse to knock on our door and ask Kevin to fix them. I had never thought twice about it. The day I first caught Kevin cheating, I was a sobbing mess. I called Brooke. When she rushed over to comfort me, there was a fresh hickey bruised into her collarbone. I didn’t connect the dots. I didn’t even notice the faint, triumphant little smile playing on her lips while she held me. Back then, I was obsessed with finding out who the homewrecker was. Kevin swore he had been black-out drunk and couldn’t even remember the woman’s face. I went crazy playing detective, stalking the socials of every woman in his orbit. I found nothing. I stopped sleeping. I couldn’t understand why the man who vowed to cherish me forever would throw it all away. I fell into a deep depression, paranoid of everyone around me. And Brooke was the one who held my hand through it all. Eventually, for the sake of the baby and the years of history we shared, I went back to him. But the reconciliation was tainted. Every time Kevin tried to be intimate, my mind would instantly flash to the image of him sweating over someone else. Nausea would rise in my throat. I would physically shove him away. “Just… give me some time,” I had pleaded. He had looked so hurt. He nodded, eyes red. “It’s okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes.” After that, he played the role of the perfect husband. Breakfast in bed, drawing my evening baths to the perfect temperature. He even volunteered to sleep in the guest room, promising to give me space until my trauma healed. I really thought things were getting better. I really thought he had changed. But a cheater never stops. They just get better at hiding. Another violent wave of pain hit me. The phone slipped from my sweaty fingers and clattered onto the linoleum. Hot fluid gushed between my legs, soaking the hospital sheets. “The patient’s vitals are crashing! We’re out of time, prep the OR for an immediate C-section!” Cold steel instruments brushed against my skin. The blinding surgical lights faded into total darkness. When I finally opened my eyes again, the doctor was standing over me, his expression grave. “The fetal asphyxia lasted too long. We did everything we could.” I stared blankly at the ceiling. Tears spilled over my temples, soaking into my hair. Because of my fragile health, I had to go through IVF. I endured daily hormone injections until my arms were bruised black and blue. I swallowed handfuls of pills that ruined my stomach lining, all to finally conceive this child. The day we found out I was pregnant, Kevin wept tears of joy. He went to the local chapel and prayed all night, thanking God for our miracle. Brooke had hugged me so tight, practically squealing about how excited she was to be the godmother. But now… maybe God just didn’t want me wasting any more of my life on this toxic marriage. So He took my baby back. Ignoring the tearing pain in my abdomen, I dragged my hollow, exhausted body out of the recovery room. I walked straight to the nurse’s station and asked for Brooke’s room number. As I turned to leave, I overheard two nurses gossiping behind the counter. “That patient is so lucky. Her boyfriend is amazing.” “I know, right? When she came in sick last month, he stayed by her bed the entire night. Didn’t even close his eyes.” My footsteps faltered. Last month. That was my birthday. Kevin had promised to get off work early. He had even pre-ordered my favorite cake. But as the sun went down, all I got was a phone call. “I’m so sorry, babe. Emergency out-of-town conference. I can’t make it tonight.” He had FaceTimed me from a generic-looking hotel room just to prove it, swearing up and down how guilty he felt. I was disappointed, but I told him not to overwork himself. He never texted back. I assumed he was busy. He was busy, alright. Busy taking care of my best friend. 2 I stood outside Brooke’s hospital room. I raised my hand to knock, but my fingers were trembling so violently I couldn’t make a sound. Through the thin door, Brooke’s whiny, sweet voice drifted out into the hallway. “Once you’re a daddy, you’re going to spend all your time taking care of your wife and kid. You’re going to forget all about me.” Kevin’s response was lazy, laced with a casual arrogance. “We’ll split it. She gets me Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. You get me Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Deal?” “What if she catches us again? Who are you going to pick? Me or her?” I didn’t wait to hear his answer. I grabbed the handle and shoved the door open. Two heads snapped toward me, their faces draining of color. I forced a stiff, mocking smile onto my face. “I heard my husband went so hard he ruptured my best friend’s ovarian cyst. Thought I’d drop by and check on the patient.” The first time I caught Kevin cheating, he looked like he was going to vomit. He was a trembling, frantic mess, terrified I would walk away. This time, he was infuriatingly calm. He looked at my disheveled hair, my swollen, bloodshot eyes, and just let out a heavy sigh. “Sarah, let me explain. It’s not what you think.” Seeing him so composed made something snap inside me. I choked back a sob, my voice cracking. “Did you forget what you promised me?! You swore on your life there wouldn’t be a next time! And with her? How could either of you look me in the eye?!” All the tiny, overlooked details from the past year suddenly flooded my mind, slotting perfectly into place. Whenever Brooke came over for dinner, she intentionally went braless. When I gently suggested she cover up, she just rolled her eyes and laughed. “It’s the twenty-first century, Sarah! Free the nipple!” She acted so righteous about it that I ended up feeling like a prudish, jealous housewife. I remembered coming back from the bathroom at a restaurant once, catching Brooke reapplying her lipstick, her breathing slightly heavy. Kevin was wiping his mouth with a napkin. The air between them was thick and sticky, but I had been entirely blind to it. Then there was the time Kevin had to go away for a week-long “business trip,” right around the same time Brooke announced she was going on a solo vacation. When Kevin got back, he gifted me a pair of stunning diamond earrings. I cherished them. A few days later, I noticed Brooke wearing a diamond necklace with the exact same cut and setting. I thought it was just a coincidence. Now I realized the earrings I refused to take off were just the free gift that came with her necklace. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I raised my hand, fully intending to slap the life out of Brooke. “I treated you like my sister! Is this how you repay me?!” I had known Brooke longer than I had known Kevin. When I was twenty, I was in a horrific car accident. Brooke stayed in the waiting room until dawn, praying for my survival. When I needed a massive blood transfusion, she stepped up without hesitation, donating until she passed out from severe anemia. When I woke up and called her an idiot while crying, she just gave me a pale, weak smile. “You’re my best friend, Sarah. I can’t lose you.” When I found out Kevin was cheating, she was the only person in the world I didn’t suspect. And in the end, it was my best friend who slid the knife the deepest into my back. Before my hand could make contact with her face, a strong grip clamped around my wrist. Kevin stared down at me, his eyes dark, acting like he was dealing with an unreasonable toddler. “Sarah, I’m a normal guy. I have physical needs. You have to be realistic.” “You wouldn’t let me touch you. What was I supposed to do? I had to find somewhere to blow off steam.” “You’re pregnant. Stop causing a scene.” I froze. A pathetic, acidic burn stung my nose. How long had it been since he actually looked at me? He didn’t even notice that my stomach was flat. The baby was gone. A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips, but the tears fell faster. “We’re getting a divorce, Kevin.” He paused for a second, then gave a dismissive scoff. “Don’t pull the divorce card again. It was exhausting the first time. You’re a mother now. Act like an adult. You really want our baby to grow up in a broken home?” Maybe he thought my love for the child made me weak. Maybe he thought I was completely trapped. He let go of my wrist, stepping forward to pull me into a suffocating hug, lowering his voice to a coaxing whisper. “Look, Brooke and I just needed to scratch an itch. There are no real feelings there. You’re the only woman I actually love.” “As soon as you’re ready to be a real wife to me again, I swear I won’t touch another woman. And honestly, considering how close you two are, it’s better I do it with her than some random escort off the street, right?” His cologne mixed with the sterile hospital smell made my stomach heave. I shoved my hands against his chest, ready to fight my way out. But as I turned my head, I saw my mother standing in the doorway. I didn’t know how long she had been there. Her face was an ashen, terrifying gray. Her chest was heaving erratically. On our wedding day, Kevin had gotten down on one knee in front of my mother, swearing he would protect me with his life. Three years later, he had shattered that promise twice over. My mother’s lips trembled violently. She raised a shaking finger, pointing at the two of them. She only managed to choke out the word “You…” before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed hard onto the floor. 3 Kevin panicked, taking a step toward her. I shoved him back with everything I had, dropping to my knees to cradle my mother’s limp body, screaming for a doctor. The diagnosis was a severe stroke triggered by massive emotional trauma. After hours of agonizing resuscitation, they moved her to the ICU. “You need to prepare yourself for the worst,” the doctor told me gently. “Even if she stabilizes, she may remain in a vegetative state.” The words felt like a slow, deliberate execution. I broke down right there in the hallway, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. My father died when I was young. My mother sacrificed everything to raise me. When she first met Kevin, my usually fierce, independent mother had teared up. Before he left our house that night, she handed him my late father’s vintage watch, officially accepting him into the family. “Sarah has a pure heart,” she had told him. “Please treat her well. Don’t break her.” The first time Kevin’s affair came to light, my mother drove straight to our house to defend me. She looked him dead in the eye and said, “If you don’t love my daughter anymore, just let her go. Stop making her suffer.” I snapped back to the present, pressing my face against my mother’s ice-cold cheek. My voice was a broken whisper. “Mom, don’t worry. I won’t let them step on me anymore.” “I’m leaving him. For real this time.” As if she heard me, two tears slipped out from the corners of my mother’s closed eyes. Once she was stable enough, I left the hospital to meet with a lawyer to draft a bulletproof divorce agreement. The lawyer, Nathan, was an old college classmate. As our meeting ended, he slid a sleek black business card across the table. “If things get rough, call me. Anytime.” When I walked back into my mother’s hospital room, I froze. Brooke was kneeling by the bed, her eyes red, putting on a flawless performance of a remorseful sinner. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Miller,” she cried softly. “I was the one who seduced Kevin. I betrayed Sarah.” “But please don’t be mad at him. If you want to blame someone, blame your daughter. She’s the one who divorced him and then came crawling back like a pathetic dog.” My mother was awake. Her whole body was seizing with violent tremors, her eyes wide and burning with furious, helpless rage. She couldn’t speak. She could only shake. I sprinted across the room, grabbing Brooke by the shoulders and throwing her backward. “What the hell are you doing?!” I screamed, scrambling to press the emergency call button for the nurses. Brooke caught her balance and grabbed my wrist, a vicious, triumphant glare replacing her tears. “Am I wrong?!” she hissed. “Kevin was sick of you ages ago! He told me I’m the only one who can actually make him feel like a man!” I ripped my hand free and slapped her across the face. The crack echoed in the quiet room. “Is that how you justify destroying my life?” I spat. “It’s a shame that Kevin was willing to beg on his knees outside my door, yet he never once considered marrying you. What does that tell you?” Her face morphed into an ugly, mottled purple. “You don’t know anything! You think he took you back because he loves you? He only did it because you’re obedient and stupid!” She paused, a sickeningly sweet smile stretching across her lips. “Did you know? In exchange for me sleeping with him, he promised he wouldn’t let you get pregnant. Those special herbal fertility blends he brewed for you every night for three years? They were contraceptives. Toxins.” “Those herbs were meant to make you permanently infertile. And if by some miracle you actually conceived, the baby was supposed to be born deformed!” 4 I stood paralyzed. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Those three years of grueling IVF. Every single night, Kevin would meticulously boil those foul-tasting herbal teas, claiming they were holistic supplements to prepare my body for a baby. I choked down every bitter drop, my heart full of absolute devotion, dreaming of the family we were building. It was all a lie. A calculated, venomous lie. My chest caved in. The pain was so sharp it felt like thousands of surgical blades slicing through my organs. My vision went red. Before I even realized what I was doing, I lunged. I tackled Brooke to the floor, wrapping my hands around her throat and squeezing with every ounce of strength I had left. Pure terror washed over her face. She thrashed, gagging and clawing at my arms. I didn’t let go until someone grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me backward. I hit the floor hard. Kevin was standing over me, pulling Brooke behind him, his face twisted in disgust. “Have you completely lost your mind?! Are you trying to kill her?!” he roared. “I never knew you were this deranged!” When he shoved me, my head clipped the edge of the metal bedside cabinet. Warm blood instantly started dripping down my temple. Kevin flinched, a flash of genuine panic crossing his eyes. He took half a step toward me. But Brooke dropped to her knees, clutching her throat, sobbing hysterically. “Sarah, I know I wronged you! But you can’t just cheat on him to get revenge!” “Kevin has been so good to you! How could you sleep with another man behind his back?!” Kevin froze dead in his tracks. “What did you just say?” Brooke pulled out her phone. On the screen was a gallery of photos. Me, tangled in bed with another man, entirely naked. My lungs seized. I screamed until my throat tore. “She’s lying! Those are deepfakes! It’s photoshopped!” I scrambled up, trying to snatch the phone from her hand. As I did, Nathan’s business card slipped out of my pocket and fluttered to the floor. The man in the fake photos had Nathan’s exact face. The temperature in the room dropped below freezing. The fury in Kevin’s eyes shifted into something psychotic and terrifying. He ground his teeth together, spitting out his words like venom. “You wouldn’t let me touch you… but you’ll spread your legs for some lawyer?” I looked at him. The coldness radiating from my own body was absolute. He didn’t believe me. He didn’t even hesitate. Suddenly, I was just so exhausted. I let out a soft, broken laugh. “So you can screw whoever you want, but I can’t?” Kevin’s jaw tightened. He pulled his phone from his pocket, hit a speed dial, and gave a sharp command. Seconds later, three massive, suited bodyguards stepped into the room. I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall, a deep, primal panic rising in my throat. Kevin wrapped an arm around Brooke’s waist, staring at me like I was a stranger. “If you don’t like me touching you, maybe you’ll like it when they do.” He nodded to the guards. “Teach her a lesson. Just don’t hit the stomach.” The men moved in instantly, grabbing my arms and twisting them behind my back. “Kevin, are you insane?!” I shrieked, kicking and thrashing wildly. On the bed, my mother saw what was happening. Using the absolute last dregs of her strength, she dragged herself over the railing, tumbling onto the floor in a desperate attempt to reach me. Brooke casually stepped forward and shoved her back down with the toe of her shoe. My mother lay there, her body convulsing, cloudy tears spilling from her unblinking eyes. My vision tore at the seams. “Mom!!!” “Stop! Stop it, please! Kevin, please, help her!” Kevin frowned, his eyes darting between me and my mother, a flicker of hesitation finally breaking his cold facade. He opened his mouth to say something, but Brooke tightened her grip on his arm, her face flushed. “Kevin, my stomach is cramping really badly…” He immediately turned his attention back to her, gently resting a hand on her waist. “I’ll take you down to ultrasound in a second.” My mother’s convulsions slowed, and she lay perfectly still on the linoleum. Kevin glanced at her in annoyance. “Stop faking it. You’re awake.” He turned, leading Brooke toward the door. Seeing that Kevin didn’t care, the guards tightened their grips, their faces twisting into crude, menacing smirks. Staring at those disgusting faces, I thrashed like a wild animal, desperate to crawl to my mother. One of the men got annoyed and shoved me hard. I stumbled backward. Kevin had stopped in the doorway, probably waiting for me to beg for mercy. But as I fell back, my oversized hospital gown rode up. His eyes locked onto my stomach. The slight, rounded bump from a few days ago was completely gone. Only a flat, empty abdomen remained. His face drained of every ounce of blood. His eyes went wide and manic, and a raw, terrifying roar ripped from his chest.

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I woke up inside the belly of the pregnant secondary character, reborn as a newborn baby. My dad was an A-list actor who had a drunken one-night stand with my mom, resulting in me. But in the original novel, I was never even born! 1. I was currently being cradled in the arms of a weak but stunning woman. She was whispering to me: “Baby, I, Chloe Sterling, will no longer beg for Carter Vance’s love. Having you is enough.” Wait! Chloe Sterling? Carter Vance? Aren’t these the names of the male lead and the wicked female antagonist from that Hollywood romance novel I read recently? The male lead was a top-tier actor, and the female antagonist was a C-list starlet. After a drunken night, she got pregnant. Meanwhile, the female lead, Serena Brooks, was the male lead’s childhood friend who secretly loved him and entered showbiz just to be near him. In the novel, after getting pregnant, the female antagonist threw endless tantrums and tried to keep the male and female leads apart, completely destroying whatever little affection the male lead had left for her. And in the novel, the antagonist’s child was never born. Could it be that my sheer will to live was strong enough to alter the plot? The original story ended with the female lead becoming a celebrated actress, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the male lead at the pinnacle of the industry. The sole purpose of the female antagonist was just to make the male lead realize his true feelings for the female lead. A classic plot device. But the gentle, beautiful woman holding me now didn’t look anything like the hysterical madwoman from the book. Was it because her character’s role in the story had ended, freeing her from the plot’s control? Or was there another reason? A tear fell onto my cheek. She was crying. It suddenly dawned on me—could her erratic behavior in the book have simply been caused by pregnancy hormones? It’s a known fact that a lack of emotional support makes new mothers highly susceptible to postpartum depression. The only person staying with her in the hospital room was her manager. An auntie who looked strict but held me with incredible tenderness. Thank goodness she had someone by her side. 2. I’m six years old now. Chloe seems to have genuinely forgotten all her past drama. Just as she said back then, she stopped begging for Carter’s love; having me was enough. She poured all her heart and soul into me. Around me, she always maintained a calm and stable demeanor. There was only one time I saw her lose control. “Riley Sterling, why have we never seen your dad come play with you?” “Do you not have a dad?” “Hahaha, my grandma says kids like you are feral brats without a dad.” Kids can be so directly cruel. Six-year-olds understand perfectly well what they’re saying. Faced with these obnoxious brats, I let my fists do the talking. Eventually, the parents of the bruised kids marched up to Chloe, demanding an explanation. The loudest and most aggressive among them was the gossiping grandmother. “You single mothers just don’t know how to discipline your children! Look at what she did to our little Timmy! A little girl hitting people so viciously—she clearly lacks a proper upbringing.” I walked up and pointed right at her: “You’re Timmy’s grandma, right? So you’re the one who told Timmy I’m a feral brat without a dad?” Hearing that, the other parents immediately shot the grandmother dirty looks. “So you taught your kid to run his mouth. No wonder he got beat up; he deserved it.” The other parents gathered their kids and left, apologizing to Chloe before they did. “We’re so sorry, Riley’s mom. We should have watched our kids better.” Timmy’s grandma still tried to make a scene. Chloe’s face hardened: “Shameless people come in all ages, but some just get thicker-skinned as they get older.” The onlookers started whispering and pointing at Timmy’s grandma. Feeling humiliated, she grabbed Timmy and hurried away. It wasn’t until we got home that Chloe finally dropped her tough exterior. “Riley, do you… ever wish you had a dad?” Hearing the exhaustion in her voice, I hugged her tight. “No way. I already have the best mom in the world.” I thought the incident was over. But someone had recorded the whole thing and posted it online. At first, the comments were all condemning the old lady for being a toxic gossip with no morals. But then someone pointed out: “Doesn’t that heavily disguised single mom look a lot like Chloe Sterling? And the little girl looks just like her too.” After that, the situation quickly spiraled out of control. Chloe’s manager called, saying they couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. After hanging up, Chloe posted a tweet. “I have a daughter, and she is my whole world.” Over the past few years, she had been steadily acting. With a change in her mindset, she had truly focused on honing her craft, gradually transforming from a C-list starlet relying on fleeting fame into a highly respected, talented actress. Because of this, the reaction to her tweet wasn’t a bloodbath. “So she had a baby girl six years ago?” “A single mom… Chloe, how did you survive these past six years?” “We see the mature, brave woman approaching thirty now, but how did you get through it when you were twenty-four? The video shows Riley was raised so well—brave, reasonable, and protective of her mom. But I still can’t help but cry for the carefree, joyful Chloe I first became a fan of.” “Is no one else curious about who the baby daddy is?” “Just whispering here, but doesn’t Riley look a bit like a certain Mr. Vance? Weren’t there rumors about them hooking up six years ago?” Even the netizens had guessed it. How could my deadbeat dad not have seen the news? I frowned, looking at the man standing in front of me, wrapped up tight in a coat and sunglasses. I thought to myself: Carter Vance, don’t you think you look exactly like a kidnapper right now? 3. Carter’s opening line was: “I… am your father.” My eyes went wide. I had never seen someone so shameless. You can’t just walk up and claim fatherhood out of nowhere! I don’t know who gave him Chloe’s address, but he ambushed me at the small park I usually played in. He timed it perfectly, appearing right when my nanny went to grab something, leaving me alone for a few minutes. “Riley, I’m your biological father. No one will ever call you a feral brat again.” Wow. Carter was really high on his own drama. Did he actually think saying that would make me accept him as my dad? He abandoned Chloe when she was pregnant to pursue his so-called “true love.” He ignored me for six years, and if it weren’t for that viral video, he probably wouldn’t even know I existed. “I’ll take good care of you and give you the best life possible.” This is hilarious. Is Carter a comedian? Why did he think a few words could outweigh Chloe’s six years of devotion? And what was that about giving me “the best life possible”??? Excuse me, my mom, Chloe Sterling, might not be the most famous A-lister in Hollywood, but she’s worked her way up, step by step. She has a stellar reputation and incredible acting skills. After all these years of hard work, she’s rich too! I looked around and saw plenty of parents watching their kids play. I geared myself up, squeezed out some tears, and started wailing at the top of my lungs. I cried and screamed: “Help! There’s a kidnapper! He’s trying to take me away!” “Stranger danger! He’s stealing kids!!!” For parents, there is nothing more despicable than a kidnapper. My performance instantly drew a crowd of parents who surrounded Carter and shielded me. “How dare you! Trying to snatch a kid in broad daylight! You heartless monster, stealing someone’s child—do you have no shame?” Someone even pulled out their phone to call 911. Carter fled in a panic, looking completely different from his usual glamorous, superstar self. Hahaha, serves him right. 4. When Chloe found out, she asked me anxiously if I was hurt. I shook my head and told her I fought off the bad guy without a single scratch. The nanny felt terribly guilty, blaming herself for leaving me alone for those few minutes. Chloe didn’t blame her at all. “The security in this community is great, and you’ve always taken such good, attentive care of Riley while I’m working.” She hesitated for a moment, looked at me, and then continued: “That man wasn’t a kidnapper. He’s your biological father.” Chloe crouched down in front of me. “Riley, did he say anything to you?” I told Chloe everything Carter had said. She suddenly pulled me into a tight hug, whispering to herself: “I won’t let him take you away from me.” I kissed Chloe’s cheek. “Mom, I’m not going anywhere. I just want to stay with you. Besides, I already knew he was my dad.” “How did you know?” I tried to look profound. “Whenever his shows come on TV, you change the channel. You don’t even let me watch his commercials.” Chloe looked at me and gently touched my cheek. “You look a little bit like him.” I nodded. Genetics are powerful; I really did look like a perfect blend of the two of them. “His only useful contribution was giving me his good looks.” “Mom, isn’t Riley Sterling the cutest, prettiest kid you’ve ever seen?” Chloe smiled and nodded. “Riley is the prettiest, cutest, smartest kid in the world, and Mom’s good baby.” “This vacation, how about you come to the set with Mom?” It made sense. Who knew when Carter might try to ambush me again? I nodded. “Okay, since you’ll miss me so much, I’ll go keep you company.” 5. The show Chloe was currently filming was her first time playing the lead in a serious, prestige drama since she entered the industry. She was the undisputed main character. You could say this drama was crucial for her career. If it succeeded, her career would reach a whole new level. If it failed, it would be very difficult for her to land the lead role in a major production like this again. I tried my best to be a good kid and not cause Chloe any trouble. In the show, the male lead was a passionate, idealistic rookie. Off-screen, the lead actor was a talented young star. He loved playing with kids, but seeing him act so childish made me feel like I was the mature one. “Leo, could you act a little more like an adult?” Hearing me call him that, Leo suddenly got very serious. “Wrong, little Riley. You should be calling me ‘Uncle Leo’.” I was a bit speechless. Fine, if he didn’t mind me making him sound old, whatever. “Okay, Uncle Leo.” He was playing with me when he suddenly froze. I followed his gaze. Uh-oh, the ghost that won’t leave us alone. Carter had arrived and was talking to Chloe, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Chloe’s expression was stiff. Leo looked back at me, as if he wanted to ask something. I met his eyes and nodded solemnly. “You don’t have to say it. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re right.” His eyes widened; he looked like he had just stumbled upon the juiciest gossip of the century. Maybe I was mistaken, but did I sense hostility in the way he looked at Carter? Makes sense. Who wouldn’t despise a cheater? I walked closer and eavesdropped on their conversation. “A child needs a father growing up. You don’t want Riley being called a feral brat.” “I want to take Riley to live with me for a while. You’re balancing filming and taking care of her; you must be overwhelmed, right?” I have to say, Carter was truly despicable. Every word he said was designed to stab Chloe right in the heart. Ever since that incident at the park, it had been a sore spot for Chloe. She had done her absolute best, yet the daughter she cherished more than anything was still called a feral brat. Chloe had been reading books on child psychology non-stop. I secretly peeked at one once, and she had written a note in the margins. “Even if I do my absolute best, can I really not replace the role of a father in a child’s development?” I really, really hated Carter. He was talking down to Chloe, declaring his dominance. No matter how well you do, you still need me. And I definitely didn’t sense that Carter loved me all that much. His mentality seemed to be more like: This is my daughter, and I need everyone to know I’m her father. Chloe asked me if I wanted to go. I smiled and nodded. Carter wanted me to go to his house, right? Perfect. I wasn’t going there to join his family. I was going there to wreck it. 6. At Carter’s house, I finally met Serena. The woman who was Carter’s childhood friend and had loved him for years. Honestly, Carter was such a scumbag. Six years ago, he left Chloe to pursue his “true love.” That’s where the original novel ended. And now? Serena had been living with him for six years, and Carter still hadn’t proposed. His “true love” was awfully cheap. Serena thoughtfully prepared everything I might need, bought me a ton of gifts, and showed me around their home. And Carter? He acted like he had completed a mission and won a war. He completely washed his hands of the aftermath. He left everything to Serena and played the hands-off boss. But I wasn’t here for a vacation. I was here to cause chaos. “Waaaah, I’m so scared.” In the middle of the night, I knocked on Carter’s door, crying. He looked incredibly annoyed. “Riley, what’s wrong?” “I’m scared to sleep alone. Mom always sleeps with me.” Suppressing his frustration, Carter let me in. Halfway through the night, Carter was jolted awake by something freezing cold. He felt something on his face, reached up, and realized it was a wet, icy towel. He opened his eyes and saw me looking at him timidly. “I wanted to wash my face, but my hand slipped.” Carter took a deep breath and threw the towel across the room. I heard him mutter: “She’s just a six-year-old kid. She didn’t mean it.” In just one week, I tortured Carter in every way imaginable. He went from a glamorous, polished movie star to a haggard, exhausted, rough-looking mess. To be fair, I was just letting him experience what taking care of a kid is actually like. Sure, I was an angel around Chloe. But the exhaustion Carter endured over these seven days was nothing compared to what Chloe went through. Serena truly loved Carter. Seeing him look so haggard broke her heart, and she volunteered to stay with me at night. I lowered my head and whispered, but made sure my voice was loud enough for all three of us to hear. “But my mom took care of me exactly like this all the time. Uncle Carter says he’s my dad, but he couldn’t even last a week.”

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Ever since the new intern at our company found out I hold a lifetime Platinum card with Apex Airlines, her attitude toward me became suspiciously warm. Right before the Memorial Day weekend, she slid over to my desk and batted her eyelashes. “Sarah, do you want to fly to Paris with me for the holiday? If we use your miles to book the tickets, we wouldn’t have to spend a dime.” I politely declined, telling her I had plans with my family. I didn’t expect her to cross her arms and casually drop a threat. “Well, if you aren’t going, then I’ll just go by myself.” My heart skipped a beat at those words. A flight to Paris, even a cheap economy ticket, would cost well over a thousand dollars. This girl was so cheap she smuggled rolls of toilet paper out of the office bathroom. How could she suddenly afford a European vacation? The more I thought about it, the more something felt off. Was she plotting to steal the miles off my Platinum card? My gut instinct was spot on. She actually tried to hack into my loyalty account behind my back, using my hard-earned miles to book four luxurious First-Class tickets for her entire family. But she didn’t stop there. She booked the VIP lounge, premium in-flight Wi-Fi, and even pre-ordered expensive duty-free luxury goods under my name. When her family was sitting in the VIP lounge, stuffing their faces and eagerly waiting to board their luxury flight, reality hit them like a freight train. 1 I was staring at my monitor, frantically trying to finalize a pitch deck, when our new intern, Jessica, leaned over my partition with an overly sweet smile. “Sarah, you’ve been working so hard this month. The Memorial Day long weekend is coming up. Want to take a trip to Paris together?” “Domestic tourist traps are going to be a nightmare. Paris is gorgeous this time of year. We should totally go.” I had already promised my family a trip to Florida for the long weekend, so I shut the idea down. “I’m spending the holiday with my family. I can’t go.” Her face immediately fell. Trying to soften the blow, I suggested an alternative. “I don’t think Riley has any plans for the weekend. Why don’t you ask her?” Jessica’s expression soured even more. “Her? She’s so broke she probably couldn’t even afford the passport renewal fee. If I travel with her, I’d end up subsidizing her whole trip. It’s way more fun traveling with you, Sarah. You’re like a walking blank check.” She had always been a gold digger with a massive superiority complex, looking down on anyone she deemed beneath her. I was going to laugh it off and get back to work, but my brain snagged on her exact phrasing. What did she mean by a blank check? Did she honestly expect me to fund a European getaway for the two of us and act as her personal ATM? She must have noticed the shift in my expression because she awkwardly laughed and quickly changed the subject. “Well, since you aren’t going, I guess I’ll just go by myself.” I watched her walk away, my suspicions kicking into overdrive. Jessica had only joined the firm three months ago as an intern, and I was her direct supervisor. She was a textbook social climber, obsessed with money but completely unwilling to spend her own. Every single day, she swiped a box of premium tissues from the supply closet before clocking out. She regularly emptied the reception snack bowl into her purse. Worse, she borrowed money and suffered from sudden amnesia when it was time to pay it back. Last week, she borrowed fifty bucks from Riley to cover her electric bill and still hadn’t returned a single cent. There was no way she could afford a last-minute flight to Paris on a holiday weekend, let alone the exorbitant costs of European hotels and dining. Even with my salary, I would have to budget for a trip like that. Where was her money coming from? Then it clicked. A cold realization washed over me. She wanted to use my Platinum miles to book her tickets. A month ago, a colleague in our department had a family emergency. His father was critically ill, and all the last-minute flights home were sold out. I called Apex Airlines, gave them my Platinum member number, and used my miles to secure him a seat on the next flight out. Jessica must have assumed that all you needed to book a free flight was a member ID. Now that I thought about it, she had asked an uncomfortable amount of questions that day. “Do you just give them your phone number?” “Can anyone in your family use it?” “Do you get a text alert when a flight is booked?” She had interrogated me like a detective. I had brushed it off at the time, casually mentioning that I got so much spam from the airline that I never checked their text alerts anyway. I distinctly remember her eyes lighting up. She had smiled a little too brightly. Looking back, that smile was pure, calculated greed. My lifetime Platinum status with Apex Airlines was the result of over a decade of grueling business travel. It took millions of flown miles to earn. The points sitting in that account were enough to book over a dozen First-Class international flights, complete with VIP lounge access and duty-free shopping perks. It wasn’t about being stingy. If a coworker was in a genuine crisis, I was more than happy to help. But the sheer audacity of Jessica casually planning to commit identity theft and drain my account filled me with absolute disgust. Still, I couldn’t exactly confront her without proof. After some careful thought, I picked up my phone and dialed the airline’s customer service line. 2 “Hi there. I have a security question. If someone knows my frequent flyer number, can they redeem my miles for a ticket without my explicit consent?” The representative replied almost instantly. “Please don’t worry, Ms. Davis. Redeeming miles requires not only your member ID but also a two-factor authentication code sent directly to your personal mobile device. Without that code, no booking can be finalized.” “When you booked a flight for your colleague previously, you were calling from your registered phone number, which verified your identity automatically. Rest assured, if a third party tries to use your account online or at a desk, the system will demand the authentication code.” Perfect. As long as she needed a code sent to my phone, Jessica’s little scheme was dead in the water. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I didn’t have to cause a scene at the office, and my miles were safe. The next morning, I had just sat down at my desk when Jessica strutted into the office. She looked completely different. She was wearing heavy, glamorous makeup and a pair of ridiculously high designer heels. A shiny gold bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She intentionally rolled up her sleeves and paraded around the open-plan office, making sure everyone got a good look. “Oh, this?” she said loudly. “My dad just got back from Paris and bought it for me. It’s Cartier. I told him not to spend so much, but he just insists on spoiling me.” I glanced at her wrist. The metal looked cheap and too yellow. The engraving was blurry. It looked like it came straight out of a vending machine. As someone who frequently shopped at high-end boutiques, I could spot a counterfeit from a mile away. That thing was a cheap knockoff from Temu, worth maybe twenty bucks at most. Brenda from accounting let out a sharp laugh. “Wow, Jessica. Cartier is seriously expensive. How much did that set your dad back?” Thrilled that someone had taken the bait, Jessica launched into an elaborate, entirely fictional backstory about the bracelet. When it finally came to the price, she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it wasn’t that much. Only around thirty grand. My dad told me to just wear it for fun as a reward for surviving my first three months of the internship. Money isn’t really an issue for my family anyway.” Riley, who was taking a sip of her morning coffee, nearly choked. My phone buzzed with a direct message from her. “Thirty grand for that cheap junk? I literally saw the exact same one on Wish.com last night for $13.80 with free shipping.” I let out a soft snort of laughter. Completely oblivious to the awkward atmosphere, Jessica kept bragging. “For the long weekend, my whole family is flying to Paris. Four tickets. First Class, obviously.” Another coworker raised an eyebrow. “Is Paris really all that?” Jessica scoffed, looking at him with pure disdain. “Paris is the ultimate luxury experience. You don’t know what true civilization and high culture look like until you’ve been to Europe. But I guess people who have never been just wouldn’t understand.” She kept talking, hyping up France as if even the oxygen there was superior. But everyone had lost interest. People turned back to their monitors and put their headphones on. Realizing her audience had evaporated, Jessica packed up her ego and sauntered over to my desk. “Sarah, you’ve probably never been to Europe, right? If you come with me this weekend, we could book a luxury spa hotel and get massages.” “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come?” 3 I smiled and shook my head. “I promised my family I’d spend the holiday with them. Plus, I have to drop a friend off at the airport. I’ll pass.” Jessica’s fake smile stiffened. “What a shame. Maybe next time.” She stared at me for a few agonizingly long seconds. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, calculating her next move. I pretended not to notice and went back to typing. But the whole interaction left a bad taste in my mouth. She was definitely plotting something. That night, after working late, I was scrolling through Instagram on my couch. A post from Jessica popped up. It was a glossy, filtered photo of the Eiffel Tower. The caption read: Paris bound for the long weekend! Living my best life! Underneath, a coworker had commented: Look at you, flying international for the holiday! Must be nice to be rich. Jessica replied: Hehe, the world is my oyster! When your family has the means, you have to explore the globe. Reading her replies brought that uneasy feeling rushing back. It felt exactly like being targeted by a con artist. Everything I owned was earned through years of sleepless nights and relentless hard work. If this girl managed to exploit a loophole and drain the miles I had spent a decade accumulating, I would be genuinely furious. I opened the airline app and checked my balance. Everything was normal. Still paranoid, I called customer service one more time. “Hi, I just need to be absolutely certain. If someone has my account number and password, is it physically impossible for them to book a ticket without the SMS code?” The agent was very patient. “Yes, Ms. Davis. We recently upgraded our security protocols. Even if they somehow guessed your password, the system will not authorize a booking without the two-factor authentication code. For high-value transactions like First Class international flights, it even prompts for facial recognition on the app. No one can steal your miles.” I finally relaxed. The morning of the holiday weekend, I drove my friend to the international terminal. After dropping her off, I walked past the Apex Airlines VIP Lounge, planning to grab a quick espresso before heading home. As I approached the frosted glass doors, a familiar figure caught my eye. It was Jessica. I stopped dead in my tracks and stood out of sight, observing the scene through the glass walls. Jessica was standing in the center of the ultra-exclusive lounge with her parents and younger brother. The contrast was jarring. Her parents were wearing faded, worn-out clothes that looked like they came from a thrift store bargain bin. Her brother’s jacket was visibly stained with grease. It completely shattered the “old money heiress” illusion she maintained at the office. Her brother was standing at the gourmet buffet, grabbing handfuls of food with his bare hands, taking a bite, and throwing the half-eaten pieces back onto the trays. A lounge attendant rushed over, keeping a polite customer-service tone. “Excuse me, young man. Please use the tongs provided.” Jessica’s mother rolled her eyes dramatically. “He’s just a kid, his hands aren’t dirty. Why are you being so bossy?” Meanwhile, Jessica’s father was walking around with five plates stacked high with enough food to feed an army, far more than they could ever eat. When the staff looked away, the mother pulled several plastic grocery bags from her oversized purse and started shoveling fresh pastries and expensive fruit directly into them. Instead of stopping them, Jessica actually helped. “Mom, these artisan cakes are super expensive outside. Grab a few more. They’re delicious.” The younger brother started sprinting laps around the quiet lounge, shrieking at the top of his lungs. The wealthy business travelers around them glared in absolute disgust. Jessica’s family didn’t care at all. Her mother laughed loudly, her voice booming through the glass. “This place is fantastic! That coworker of yours is amazing for letting us use this for free!” Jessica flipped her hair, looking incredibly smug. “Of course. I basically do all her work for her at the office. She owes me big time. She practically begged me to use her account.” She lied with such flawless conviction it was almost impressive. I let out a dark, quiet laugh. When exactly did I owe her a favor? Listening to her boast, everything fell into place. It wasn’t me being paranoid. She genuinely believed she had successfully stolen my Platinum benefits. Thank god I had double-checked the security protocols. If I hadn’t, this leech would have actually gotten away with it. 4 Jessica set up a small tripod on a table and started vlogging inside the lounge, even harassing the waitstaff into taking family photos of them. Minutes later, she updated her Instagram with a nine-photo carousel, tagging her location at the VIP First Class Lounge. The first photo was the Boeing jet on the tarmac. The second was the luxurious interior of the lounge. The third was a selfie of her posing with a crystal coffee cup, trying to look like a brooding billionaire. The fourth was a massive table covered in high-end food, featuring a massive, perfectly roasted whole lobster. The caption read: The lunch spread at the VIP lounge is to die for. You can even order whole Maine lobsters a la carte! So blessed. The service is a bit mediocre though, they really need to train their staff better! I zoomed in on the last photo. I could clearly see the menu price for the a la carte lobster. Two thousand dollars. Seeing that price tag made me laugh out loud. She wasn’t just stealing; she was trying to bleed my account dry. Did this idiot actually think she could pay for a la carte luxury dining with frequent flyer miles? The comments section on her post was pure gold. Wow, Jessica is loaded! Dropping two grand on a lobster while waiting for a flight! Wait, don’t you need a lifetime Platinum card to even get into that specific lounge? Living the dream! So jealous! Jessica replied with her signature fake humility. Oh, it’s nothing special. Just my standard travel routine! A few of our colleagues couldn’t resist calling her out. If you’re so rich, why did HR publicly reprimand you for stealing toilet paper from the office bathroom last week? I snorted. Just last month, the office manager caught Jessica stuffing her tote bag with premium coffee pods and paper towels. She was officially written up and ordered to pay fifty bucks to restock the supplies. She had made a million excuses, trying to get out of paying, until the accounting department threatened to deduct it directly from her paycheck. She finally paid the fine, glaring at everyone. The very next day, she went right back to stealing paper towels. Her greed truly knew no bounds. Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was a call from Apex Airlines customer service. “Hello, Ms. Davis. We have a situation at the terminal. A Ms. Jessica gave the desk agent your frequent flyer number, claiming to be your immediate family member. She requested to use your miles to book four First-Class tickets to Paris.” “Due to a system error on our end regarding guest passes, they were temporarily allowed into the lounge while the booking was pending. However, the transaction requires your SMS verification to process. Did you authorize this redemption?” I didn’t hesitate. “I am not flying today, and I absolutely did not authorize anyone to use my miles or my account.” The agent’s voice turned strictly professional. “Understood, Ms. Davis. Furthermore, her party has accrued a significant bill for a la carte dining inside the lounge. Do you authorize the charge to the credit card linked to your profile?” “Absolutely not. That has nothing to do with me.” “Understood completely. We will handle the situation immediately.” I hung up the phone and looked through the glass one last time. Jessica and her family were still tearing into their lobster, completely oblivious. I shook my head, let out a cold laugh, and walked away from the airport. An hour later, I pulled into my driveway. When I checked my phone, I had 99+ unread text messages and over a hundred missed calls. All from Jessica. Before I could open the chat, a text notification popped up from the airline. Dear Member, a request has been made to deduct 500,000 miles from your Platinum account ending in 6688 for four First-Class tickets and VIP lounge access. If you authorize this, reply with code 27054. If you did not authorize this, reply NO.

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My husband Preston is severely allergic to dairy. He refuses to touch anything containing even a trace of milk. During our first year of marriage, I accidentally made him a dairy-based pudding. He threw an absolute fit, screaming and demanding to know if I was trying to kill him. From that day on, dairy was strictly banned from our house. But just moments ago, at his own promotion banquet, he downed an entire glass of milk handed to him by his assistant. I didn’t act shocked. I simply turned around, pulled out a divorce agreement, and handed it to him. The friends and family surrounding us immediately accused me of causing a scene. Preston was so furious he splashed the remaining milk right into my face. “Tracy was just worried the alcohol would upset my stomach! She kindly poured me a glass of milk to coat it. What is your problem?” he yelled. He actually had the nerve to add, “Besides, Tracy is married and has a baby! Are you seriously jealous of a married woman?” I let out a soft laugh. I turned around, poured another glass of milk from the pitcher, and shoved it in front of him. “You love milk so much? Keep drinking.” 1 Preston stared at the glass in my hand. Realization seemed to hit him. Furious and embarrassed, he slapped the cup away, sending it crashing to the floor. “I drink at these corporate dinners for work! I do it to give you a better life! If you don’t care about my health, fine. But demanding a divorce in public over a glass of milk?” His little speech instantly won over the entire banquet hall. “Everyone knows how hard Preston works. He literally drinks until his stomach bleeds just to spoil Audrey. I can’t believe she is acting like such an ungrateful brat!” “Preston is famous for spoiling his wife. I heard he specifically hired an assistant who was married with a kid just so Audrey wouldn’t feel insecure.” His assistant, Tracy, stepped forward with a perfectly crafted look of victimhood. “Audrey, I am a married woman. My baby just turned one. How can you possibly be jealous of me?” “I was just worried about Preston’s stomach. It was a completely innocent gesture. If you hate it that much, I will never pour him a drink again!” I raised my hand and wiped the sticky, sickeningly sweet liquid from my face. A sharp, pungent smell invaded my nose. My stomach physically turned. I slammed the divorce papers onto the table. “Once we are divorced, you can feed him all the milk you want. I won’t get in your way.” Seeing I was dead serious, Preston snatched the papers and ripped them in half. His face was red with anger. “I am not signing anything. You are just throwing a tantrum over Tracy. Fine. I will never drink anything she pours me ever again. Happy?” “Tonight is my promotion party. Are you really going to ruin everyone’s mood?” His sister Brittany stepped up, patting my shoulder with fake sympathy. “Audrey, you are just a stay-at-home wife. You need to know when to quit while you are ahead. If you actually divorce him, you will never find a guy half as good as my brother.” My mother-in-law Eleanor glared at me with pure disgust. “You have been married to my son for three years. He never even lets you step foot in the kitchen. He wakes up early to cook you breakfast before work, and rushes home to make you dinner. He doesn’t even let you wash his socks.” “As his wife, you watch him destroy his body for his career and you feel nothing? You want a divorce over a glass of milk? Are you even human?” Eleanor’s words made the crowd look at me like I was absolute trash. I looked down at the damp stains on my dress. My eyes stung slightly. In everyone’s eyes, marrying Preston was like winning the lottery. He was the undisputed husband of the year. For three years, he took on all the household chores, treating me like a delicate flower in a greenhouse. But this “perfect man” had actually turned my entire existence into a sick joke. The warmth vanished from my eyes. I pulled out my phone, submitted an official divorce filing online, and forwarded the confirmation to Preston. “I don’t care if you agree. This marriage is over.” “Meet me at the courthouse at ten tomorrow morning. If you don’t show, I will let my lawyers handle it.” Preston froze. His tone immediately softened. He reached out to grab my hand, shifting into his usual coaxing voice. “Honey, I know you are just acting out because you want my attention. I promise you, from now on, I will only drink what you pour me. Okay?” Fighting down the bile in my throat, I yanked my hand back. I poured another glass of regular milk and pushed it right to his chest. “Then drink this right now.” Preston stared at the glass. His face instantly darkened into a thundercloud. “You know I am severely allergic. Are you seriously trying to force me into the ER tonight?” “Audrey, why are you being so completely unreasonable?” I looked at him and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Oh, so now you remember your allergy? Then why didn’t you have a reaction when you downed the glass Tracy just gave you?” “Or does her milk magically cure your allergies, while mine sends you to the hospital?” Preston’s face went ghost white. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. The veins in his neck popped. 2 Before Preston could explode, Tracy took a quick step forward and snatched the glass of milk. “Audrey, this is all my fault. I will drink this to apologize. Please, just stop torturing Preston.” “He is still my husband. Who the hell do you think you are to drink for him?” Watching Tracy’s pathetic, theatrical act made me want to throw up. I ripped the glass out of her hand and dumped the entire thing directly over her head. “Does your husband know you are breastfeeding other men?” Seeing her dripping wet, Preston violently shoved me backward. He pulled Tracy into his chest, shielding her. “I spoiled you way too much! I let you get away with everything, and now you think you are untouchable!” “If you want to walk away, fine. We are getting a divorce. But you are leaving with absolutely nothing.” There it was. He finally ripped his mask off. He was completely convinced I wouldn’t dare leave him. In his mind, I had been his little caged bird for three years. I sneered. “I am not the one who crossed the line. Why should I leave with nothing?” “The person getting kicked to the curb with empty pockets is going to be you.” The moment the words left my mouth, the entire room erupted into mocking laughter. “Everyone knows you haven’t worked a day since you got married. You survive entirely on Preston’s paycheck. How shameless do you have to be to demand he leaves with nothing?” “Bankrupting your husband over a glass of milk? You are actually psycho.” Eleanor was so furious she raised her hand and swung it directly at my face. “Without my son, you are just used goods! Let’s see who wants a spoiled brat like you!” I covered my stinging, red cheek. Before I could say a word, Preston grabbed his mother’s arm. “Mom, stop! Audrey is still your wife. She is just throwing a tantrum right now. Once she cools off, she will come crawling right back to me.” The crowd collectively swooned over his “protection.” They praised him as an absolute saint of a husband, painting me as a heartless, ungrateful leech. “Look at that. You act like a total lunatic, and Preston still defends you. If you keep pushing this, you really have no soul.” Everyone expected me to take the out and back down. I didn’t. My eyes swept past Preston and locked onto Tracy, who was hiding behind his shoulder. “I guess I have no soul, then. This divorce is happening.” Seeing my absolute resolve, Preston’s eyes turned bloodshot. “Audrey, are you screwing someone else? Is that why you are so desperate to leave me?” I didn’t even want to waste another breath on them. I turned toward the exit, but Preston gripped my wrist like a vice. “Tell me! Who is the guy? If you confess right now, I am willing to give you one last chance!” Tracy seized the opportunity to play the empathetic peacemaker. “Audrey, I know Preston works long hours. It is normal for a housewife to feel lonely and empty at home. But since he is willing to forgive you, just tell the truth. Are you leaving him for another man?” As she breathed heavily, trying to look concerned, the fabric of her silk blouse shifted. A faint, wet stain was clearly visible on her chest. It burned my eyes. I raised my free hand and slapped her straight across the face. “Stop throwing your dirty water on me. You know exactly why we are getting a divorce.” Tracy clutched her cheek and buried her face into Preston’s chest, sobbing hysterically. “Preston, I was just trying to help her! I don’t know why she hates me so much! I’m just a mother trying to do my job!” Preston wrapped his arms tightly around her, glaring at me with pure hatred. “Fine, Audrey. You want a war? I will see you in court.” Hearing him finally agree to the divorce felt like a massive weight lifting off my chest. I turned and walked away. I didn’t look back once. As soon as I stepped out of the banquet hall, I noticed the door to the hotel’s private nursing room was wide open. Sitting right on the counter was a freshly used breast pump. My stomach violently convulsed. I ran to the nearest trash can and threw up everything I had eaten. 3 Walking out the hotel doors, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my private assistant, Harper. “Ms. Kensington, the lab results from the glass are in. I sent the report to your inbox.” I opened my email immediately. At the very bottom of the report, the chemical breakdown listed one undeniable result. Human breast milk. Even though my stomach was completely empty, I hunched over and dry heaved on the sidewalk. I wiped my mouth and dialed Harper’s number. “Compile every single piece of evidence we have. I am going to obliterate Preston in that courtroom.” I hung up, glanced back at the glowing hotel, and started walking down the driveway. I reached the valet stand, but the driver immediately blocked the door of my assigned car. He looked at me with total disdain. “Sorry. Mr. Preston gave strict orders. Since you are getting divorced, this car is his personal asset. You are not allowed to use it.” I stared at the pitch-black mountain road ahead, my nails digging into my palms. The banquet was held at an exclusive halfway resort. The scenery was beautiful, but it was incredibly remote. Getting a rideshare up here was impossible. He was trying to put me in my place. The driver sneered at me. “You are just a parasite living off a man’s wallet. Throwing your life away over a glass of milk. Let’s see how long you survive in the real world without him.” I ignored his trash talk, gritted my teeth, and started the long walk down the winding mountain road. The road was rugged and the night air was freezing. It took me two full hours to reach the bottom of the hill. Just as I hit the main highway, a sleek Mercedes sped up from behind and slammed the brakes right next to me. Preston and Tracy were sitting in the backseat, staring at me with icy arrogance. “Do you finally understand what happens when you cross me, Audrey?” Preston sneered. “Apologize to me and Tracy right now, and I promise I will let you get in the car and come home.” Tracy chimed in, perfectly echoing his tone. “Just apologize, Audrey. Preston was just promoted to regional director. The sky is the limit for him now. If you throw this away, there is no magic pill to cure your regret.” I looked at Tracy’s smug, toxic smile and let out a scoff. “You clearly love collecting trash. But I don’t. I’m a germaphobe.” Preston’s face turned violently green. He glared at me like a venomous snake. “I am going to wait for the day you crawl back to me on your knees!” He barked at the driver, and the Mercedes peeled out into the night. The second his taillights vanished, I walked straight toward a custom black Maybach parked quietly under a streetlamp. I slid into the plush leather seat. Harper immediately handed me Preston’s corporate employment file. “Ms. Kensington, Preston doesn’t possess a fraction of the talent required for that director position. If it wasn’t for your secret backing, he would still be a bottom-tier sales rep. Do you want me to terminate him right now?” I waved my hand, staring out into the dark night. “No. I want him to stand at the absolute peak before I push him off the edge.” Years ago, Preston’s pure, unfiltered devotion had actually moved me. To protect his fragile masculine ego, I gave up the spotlight and played the role of the quiet housewife. I secretly funneled all my family’s corporate resources into paving his way to the top. And my reward was absolute betrayal. That night, I slept in my own multi-million dollar private estate. Just as I was about to close my eyes, my phone lit up. It was an emergency call from a close friend. “Audrey, it’s a disaster. Someone just leaked a massive folder online. They used deepfake technology to paste your face onto highly explicit photos with dozens of different men. They even posted manipulated adult videos of you on several underground forums.” 4 I hung up the phone. A barrage of text messages flooded my screen instantly. I clicked on one and saw a grotesque, heavily doctored photo of myself in bed with a stranger. Below it was a link to a sketchy forum hosting the fake videos. Before I could even process the image, a random number called me. “You filthy gold digger! You belong in the gutter! Go burn in hell!” I slammed the end button. Two seconds later, another call broke through. “Audrey, you cheated on him and then tried to frame him over a glass of milk? Preston is the unluckiest guy on earth to have married trash like you.” My personal data had been completely exposed. I quickly popped the SIM tray out and removed the card. Preston moved incredibly fast. The very next morning, I received a formal lawsuit and a court summons. He was filing for divorce and demanding everything. That afternoon, I drove to our old apartment to collect my personal belongings. But as I pulled up to the gate, I saw a massive pile of clothes and boxes scattered across the dirty pavement. I stepped closer. They were all my things. He had tossed my belongings onto the street like actual garbage. As I bent down to pick up a box, Eleanor suddenly appeared with a mob of neighborhood Karens, completely surrounding me. “That’s her! The shameless tramp! She slept with half the city, got exposed online, and used a glass of milk to demand a divorce!” A barrage of rotting lettuce and cracked, foul-smelling eggs rained down on me. The smell was unbearable. I couldn’t even shield my face. The women descended on me like rabid animals, violently grabbing and tearing at my jacket. “You are a jobless housewife! Every bite you eat and every thread you wear belongs to my son! How dare you cheat on him? You should be locked up!” My coat was ripped at the seams, hanging off my shoulders in tatters. I was completely cornered. Right on cue, Preston came rushing out of the complex. He dramatically ripped off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders. He turned to his mother with a deeply disappointed look. “Mom! As long as the judge hasn’t signed the papers, she is still my wife. You cannot treat her like this!” His theatrical performance won over the entire crowd instantly. “Look how she treated him, and he still protects her! What a saint!” “Audrey, if you have a shred of conscience, you should be begging for his forgiveness right now!” Preston looked down at me, his eyes brimming with fake, deep affection. “Honey, if you just admit you were wrong and come home, I will drop the lawsuit today.” I looked at his sickeningly hypocritical face, grabbed his blazer, and whipped it directly at his chest. “Save it, Preston. I will see you in court.” The day of the trial arrived quickly. Relatives, friends, aggressive internet vigilantes, and local reporters packed the gallery. They were all waiting to watch me burn. Preston walked in with Tracy glued to his side. He looked at me with a perfectly crafted look of pity. “Audrey, it is not too late to back out. If this trial starts, you are leaving with zero.” I looked at his arrogant posture and let out a dry laugh. “We will see who leaves with zero. You are celebrating way too early, Preston.” His fake smile instantly vanished, replaced by a dark, vicious glare. “Then don’t blame me for ruining you.” The trial officially commenced. Preston eagerly submitted his mountain of “evidence” to the judge. “Your Honor, my wife committed adultery with multiple partners. Furthermore, she has been monetizing illegal, highly explicit content online. Her actions have caused catastrophic emotional and reputational damage to my family.” He shot me a smug, victorious grin. Just as he thought he had me completely cornered, the heavy courtroom doors swung open. A team of sharp-suited lawyers marched down the aisle and took their seats next to me. The gallery started whispering frantically. “Wait, isn’t that the most elite corporate litigation team in the state? Why the hell are they defending a broke cheater?” Preston scoffed, leaning against his table. “You can hire the best lawyers in the world. It doesn’t matter. I have witness testimonies and hard physical evidence.” “You are dead in the water, Audrey.” He stood tall and recited my alleged sins to the courtroom one by one. The judge adjusted his glasses, looking down at me coldly. “The plaintiff has submitted the evidence. The defendant is accused of serial infidelity and the illegal distribution of explicit material for profit. Do you have any objections to these claims?” I smiled calmly. “I absolutely object.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a single folder. Preston saw the logo on the folder, and a slight tremor ran through his shoulders. I looked at him with a deadly smirk.

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My high-school-aged cousin has been using my selfies to catfish guys online, posting my face all over his Snapchat. I couldn’t hold back and messaged him: “Are you ever going to stop?” “Just bear with it a little longer, sis! I’m one rank away from Conqueror. Once we hit it, I’ll break up with him.” Later, my cousin and his “online boyfriend” broke up. And the physics professor from the department next door specifically requested I visit his office. 01 Lately, my high-school-aged cousin has been acting weird. He frequently posts my selfies on his Snapchat story with the weirdest captions. Like: “The weather is so nice today, perfect for some boba.” Then, not long after, he’d post another story: “Thanks! Got the boba.” My eye twitched as I read it. I messaged him privately: “?” “…Crap, forgot to block you from viewing my story.” I continued my interrogation: “Are you using my photos to catfish someone?” “Sis, he’s super good at League of Legends. I just wanted him to carry me.” I didn’t want to get too involved, so I just warned him: “Play less games, don’t scam people out of their money, or I’m telling your dad.” He laid low for over a week, but then his story updated again. It was a selfie of me, bizarrely paired with a picture of a Lego set. The caption: “My birthday is coming up. I really want this Lego set.” …Good lord, he’s actually starting to scam money now. I couldn’t hold back and messaged him: “Are you ever going to stop?” “Just bear with it a little longer, sis! I’m one rank away from Conqueror. Once we hit it, I’ll break up with him.” I wanted nothing more than to drive to his house and punch him. “I don’t care about the gaming, but stop ruining my reputation. If you want the Lego set, I’ll buy it for you.” Half an hour later, he finally replied: “No need, sis. I already got the Lego set.” “?” I sent him some money via Venmo. “Give the money back and break up with him immediately.” My cousin accepted the transfer and reluctantly replied: “Ugh, fine.” I still felt uneasy, so I called him and gave him a stern lecture. He apologized repeatedly and promised he would change his ways. I’m a third-year grad student, and with the holidays approaching, I was swamped with errands and didn’t have time to keep an eye on him. He stayed quiet and didn’t post any more updates. 02 The holidays arrived right on schedule. I was curled up on the couch, devouring clementines, when my best friend, Chloe, sent me a screenshot: “Your cousin has some moves.” I clicked it open, and there it was—my cousin’s Snapchat story, still featuring my selfies. The few photos I had posted on my own social media had been completely exhausted by him. Refusing to give up, he somehow dug up my high school graduation photo and posted it with a fake, sentimental caption: “I’ve changed so much.” He said he would change his ways; did he mean changing his privacy settings? I shot up from the couch, stormed into his bedroom, grabbed him by the ear, and hauled him up: “You dare steal my photos again? Do you have a death wish?” “Ow… ow, ow, ow.” He exaggeratedly clutched his ear while begging, “Sis, perfect timing! He wants to do a voice call. Could you take it for me? I’ll give you all my Christmas money, please?” “In your dreams. Confess and apologize to him right now.” “Sis, it’s the holidays. Breaking his heart by telling him he got catfished by a guy… that’s so messed up.” I punched him hard: “Oh, so now you realize you’re messed up.” “Just a few more days and I’ll get my Conqueror rank. Then I’ll tell him I need to focus on my studies and break up with him.” He held up three fingers. “I swear, this time for real.” Under his relentless pleading, I finally, reluctantly took the phone. “Mia, happy holidays.” The deep, magnetic voice on the other end caught me off guard. This incredibly alluring voice actually made my long-dormant heart flutter a little. “Hello…” As soon as I spoke, I realized I was subconsciously making my voice sound sweeter. I quickly coughed a few times, trying to sound as emotionless as possible, “Hello, happy holidays.” “Mia, what do you want for a holiday gift?” Hearing this, my cousin immediately sat up, swiped on his iPad, and pulled up a picture of a Nintendo Switch. He pointed at the screen, winking and gesturing frantically at me. I nodded calmly, signaling that I understood. Then I turned to the phone and said: “For the new year, I want a complete set of AP prep books and practice exams.” My cousin’s eyes widened in horror. In his disbelieving gaze, I saw his shattered heart. Heh, little punk, that’s what you get for catfishing. “Hmm? Why do you want that?” the voice asked. “Because my AP exams are coming up soon, and I want to study hard. I won’t be able to play games with you anymore either.” “Ah, then you really shouldn’t be playing games. If you have any questions you can’t figure out, you can still ask me.” The voice remained gentle. “Okay, thank you.” I exchanged pleasantries, hung up, and shoved the phone into my dumbfounded cousin’s hands. “I’ll be checking your progress on those practice exams every month. Also, refund him the money for the books and pretend you bought them yourself. If you don’t, I’m telling your dad. Happy holidays, bro.” I walked away with swagger, leaving my cousin standing there, wanting to cry but having no tears left. 03 Back in the living room, I had unread messages from Chloe. “What’s going on with your cousin?” I furiously typed on my phone, bragging about my brilliant move. “How about that? I’m awesome, right? Put him right in his place.” “I bet my cousin is done with online dating for good.” To my surprise, Chloe’s focus wasn’t on that at all. She replied with a “lol.” “Even your cousin can get a boyfriend, but you can’t.” “…” Okay, I’ll shut up now. Chloe and I are polar opposites. If we had an annual review, it would definitely be: “Beginning of the year: Chloe is dating John. I’m single.” “Mid-year: Chloe is dating Mike. I’m single.” “End of the year: Chloe gets back together with John. I’m still single.” Chloe is a magnet for romance. While I might just have an anti-male forcefield. At first, watching Chloe post her sweet relationship updates every day made my heart flutter a little. I tried going on dates with a few guys, but none worked out. So, I remained single all the way into grad school. I’ve always felt that the “butterflies” in my stomach probably died of old age. It was only earlier today, during that phone call, that they showed signs of resurrection. But someone who could be fooled by my cousin’s terrible acting is highly likely a naive, inexperienced kid. A minor with a nice voice and a bit of pocket money. For the next few days, I forced my cousin to break up with him and made him uninstall the game. After he uninstalled it, I secretly downloaded League of Legends. If my cousin can find an online boyfriend using my photos, why can’t I, the actual person in the photos? However, for the next few days, it was just Chloe playing games with me. Even though she was only average at the game, she had to drag me through ranked matches every day. Since I didn’t know how to play at all, she taught me to pick Garen and gave me two instructions. “One, click whatever lights up.” “Two, if you see someone, charge.” So, here I was, a young woman in her prime, playing as Garen, wandering all over the map, charging at anyone I saw and mashing buttons wildly. By the end of the holiday break, forget about an online boyfriend, I hadn’t even heard a boy’s voice. I even managed to drag Chloe down to Gold rank with me. Chloe sent me a screenshot of her rank: “I can’t rank up anymore. Can I use your photos to catfish a boyfriend too?” I silently sent her a sticker: “Warning: I will block you.” 04 The break ended. First day back at campus. My advisor suddenly called me: “Mia, Professor Hayes from the Physics department needs to see you urgently. Go to his office right now.” I hung up, a bit confused. Julian Hayes, the youngest and arguably the most attractive professor in the Physics department. Candid photos of him lecturing—impeccably dressed in a white shirt and gold-rimmed glasses—easily garnered hundreds of thousands of likes on TikTok. Logically speaking, even if a professor of his caliber needed an errand run, it wouldn’t fall to me. Feeling a bit nervous, I knocked on Professor Hayes’ office door. Just a light tap, and the door opened. I was greeted by the sight of him in a perfectly tailored white shirt, faintly revealing the toned physique of someone who clearly works out. My eyes drifted upward: a few buttons at his collar were casually undone, exposing delicate collarbones and a prominent Adam’s apple. I looked up and crashed right into his deep, dark eyes. “Professor Hayes, you wanted to see me.” I gave a polite nod, keeping my tone steady. No one could know that, internally, a thousand marmots were screaming at the top of their lungs. “Mhm, come in.” He stepped aside. I obediently walked into the office. As I passed him, a faint, elusive scent of sandalwood drifted by, almost pulling my soul right out of my body. Before I even came to a complete stop, Professor Hayes spoke. “Why did you break up with me?” I froze, turned around, looked everywhere—no one else was there. I looked at Professor Hayes’ ears; he wasn’t wearing AirPods. “Huh?” I was completely bewildered. He looked down, his gaze fixed intensely on me: “Didn’t you say that if I bought you a console, you wouldn’t break up with me?” …I turned to stone. “A… a console?” “Yes.” He nodded slightly. “If you wanted something else, I could have given you that too, as long as we didn’t break up.” “Professor Hayes, do you think you have the wrong person?” I asked cautiously. Even though the “console” clue was screaming in my face, I refused to believe that the erudite, sophisticated Professor Hayes was actually dating someone online. Julian stared at me for two seconds, then looked down and woke up his phone screen to show me. “No mistake.” His lock screen was clearly a photo of me. I was curled up on the couch, happily sipping a strawberry macchiato. …That was the boba my cousin brought over when he visited. I remember back then, he hadn’t started posting my photos on Snapchat yet. So when he offered to take a picture of me, I didn’t refuse. Looking back now, that boba was highly likely bought by Professor Hayes. Seeing me standing there dumbfounded, Julian took a step closer: “Are you still going to deny it?” As he got closer, that faint scent returned. I hesitated to speak: “Professor, you might not believe this, but it seems… you were scammed by my 16-year-old cousin.” “?” He frowned slightly. “The person… you were chatting and playing games with, was actually my cousin.” “You forgot we talked on the phone. I remember your voice.” “It really was my cousin.” I quickly pulled out my own phone. “Look, this is my actual Snapchat.” He glanced at my screen: “Whatever account you use, add me back first.” “Professor…” I was about to explain further when my phone rang. “Sis, I brought the papers you asked for. Where are you?” Talk about perfect timing. Excitedly, I gave him my location and told him to hurry over. Julian’s expression didn’t change. He picked up a book and started reading on his own. I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him. He sat in a leather office chair, his long legs crossed, his clean, slender fingers brushing across the pages. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a glow on his face, making him look aloof and elegant. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could someone so detached and ethereal be involved in online dating? To be exact, how did he end up online dating my 16-year-old cousin and getting scammed into buying so many toys and snacks? Is his scam awareness really that low? A ringing phone broke my deep thoughts. “Sis, what building was it again? I can’t find it.” Sighing, I had to run downstairs to get him. It took quite a while before I finally saw him waving a folder: “Sis, over here!” “Mhm, great.” I grabbed his sleeve and dragged him toward the building. “What’s up, sis? Are you taking me out to eat?” he asked cluelessly as we walked. I smiled faintly: “No, I’m taking you to meet your online boyfriend.” “?” He stopped dead in his tracks and refused to take another step. “Sis, stop messing with me.” I opened the door, but my cousin stayed glued to the wall, refusing to move. I kicked his butt: “Professor Hayes, my cousin is here. Do whatever you want to him, no need for mercy.” The room fell dead silent, awkwardness permeating the air. The lowly cousin, wearing a school uniform and a backpack, and Julian, wearing a white shirt and black slacks with a face full of indifference, stared at each other in silence. My cousin took one look at Julian, guiltily averted his eyes, and meekly stared at the floor, picking at his fingers. “Didn’t you love scamming people?” I whispered harshly. “Hurry up, introduce yourself.” Unable to withstand my glare, he spoke with a tremor in his voice: “Hello, sir. I’m your online girlfriend, Sweet Strawberry.” Julian sat in his office chair, his fingers gently tapping the desk. His eyes were unreadable, radiating a very “teacher-like” intimidating aura. My cousin didn’t dare look up at all. Standing behind him, I could see his body shaking slightly. He was probably crying. Even though I felt a bit bad, he totally deserved it. After a moment of silence, Julian turned his head to look at me: “Mia, your cousin toyed with my feelings. As an adult, shouldn’t you take responsibility for your cousin’s actions?” “Yes.” I kept my head down too, honestly admitting fault. “I’m sorry, Professor Hayes. I will cover all your financial losses.” “Financial compensation isn’t necessary.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just that, now I have no one to play games with.” “Huh?” I was confused. “My heart was broken by your cousin. Shouldn’t you take responsibility for that?” I glanced at my cousin, who was playing ostrich by the side with his backpack on, and my mouth twitched: “My cousin… broke your heart?” Julian said very seriously: “Yes, I bought him boba, sent him gifts, and played games with him. Even though it was online, I took it very seriously.” Me: “…” Really? I don’t believe it. But I didn’t dare say that out loud. He raised an eyebrow: “Being scammed by your cousin hurt me deeply, and I need company. Since your cousin has his SATs coming up, you’ll just have to make the sacrifice.” I was stunned. He curled his lips into a slight, meaningful smile: “I’ll be in your care from now on, Mia.”

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Twenty years ago, when I was completely over the moon thinking we were about to welcome a new life, my wife asked me to get a vasectomy. I agreed without a second thought. But shortly after the surgery, she told me she was pregnant. The news left me utterly bewildered, yet entirely overjoyed. Time flew by. Two decades later, at the company’s annual shareholder meeting, my wife suddenly announced she was transferring forty percent of her equity to our twin boys. In that moment, I noticed Tristan’s reaction. He looked even more ecstatic than I was. At the time, I just figured he was happy for us. It wasn’t until the meeting wrapped up and the two boys ran straight toward Tristan, sweetly calling him “Dad,” that the truth hit me like a freight train. I finally understood the reality behind that “accidental pregnancy” twenty years ago. 1 I stared at the two names on the equity transfer agreement. Asher and Blake. My knuckles turned white, joints aching from how hard I was gripping the paper. How did forty percent of the Sinclair Group end up under the names of two kids I had never even heard of? The secretary mentioned my wife had it notarized just last week. A loud, deafening ringing echoed in my ears. Ten years ago, my mother-in-law suddenly announced she was retiring to the French Riviera. It turned out she was just paving the way for these two boys. “Sylvia, what the hell is going on with these kids?” I slammed the agreement onto the dining table. The clatter of silver knives and forks made Sylvia flinch. She looked up at me, her eyes darting away instantly. “They are Tristan’s boys. I was a surrogate for him ten years ago.” A surrogate? A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my throat. Ten years ago, she packed her bags for Switzerland, claiming she was attending a six-month executive program. When she came back, her suitcase was stuffed with baby clothes. When I asked about it, she brushed it off, saying she was bringing them back for a friend. Now it all made sickening sense. There was no friend. She had given birth to them herself. “You told me you didn’t want kids. That’s the only reason I got the surgery.” My throat felt tight, choked with gravel. “All these years, when our parents pressured us, I took the fall. I let everyone think I was shooting blanks. I swallowed those shady, experimental fertility pills for five years until they gave me a bleeding ulcer. And you just played me like a fool?” Sylvia dropped her fork. Impatience laced her tone. “Tristan’s mother was on her deathbed. She begged me to leave their family an heir.” “I figured we wouldn’t have to raise them anyway, so I did IVF and came right back after they were born.” She stood up, reaching out to hug me. “Please don’t be mad. I just didn’t want you to suffer through a reversal surgery. Besides, the Sinclair empire is going to need heirs eventually…” I shoved her away. Back when the Sinclair Group was facing bankruptcy, I dragged myself through hell for her. I swallowed my pride, begged every investor in the city, and drank at business dinners until I was vomiting blood just to secure our first lifeline contract. She had cried in my arms, telling me she couldn’t survive without me. Now that the company was a titan, she handed over the shares to another man’s kids and spoke as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Those annual overseas business trips you take… You’ve just been playing house with them, haven’t you?” I unlocked my phone and swiped to the photos my private investigator had sent. Pictures of her wearing an apron, feeding two little boys. Pictures of Tristan with his arm wrapped intimately around her shoulder, both of them beaming. “Even your mother knew. I was the only idiot kept in the dark.” All the color drained from her face. “Arthur, you hired someone to follow me?” I ignored her. In the photos, my mother-in-law was holding the boys, laughing so hard her eyes crinkled. It was a stark contrast to the cold, disgusted glares she gave me when she was forcing those fertility treatments down my throat. They had treated Tristan and his sons like real family for a decade. And I, the devoted husband who married into their wealth, was nothing more than a glorified corporate slave working to build their empire. 2 “Come on, Arthur. Sylvia did it for the future of the company. Stop making a scene.” Cousin Marcus slid a cup of coffee across the table toward me. “It’s not like you have to pay for the kids’ college funds. Just look at them as two extra nephews.” “Shut your mouth.” My hand trembled as I slammed it on the table. The living room was packed. Sylvia’s parents, a few of my own relatives, and the old board members from the company were all crowding around, trying to talk me out of a divorce. My mother-in-law rolled her eyes. “You can’t even give her a child, and you’re throwing a tantrum? Sylvia is generous enough to let you keep your dignity. Don’t push your luck.” Sylvia stood by the window. The afternoon sun stretched her shadow across the hardwood floor. She twisted her wedding ring and spoke softly. “Arthur, I know you feel wronged. But Tristan really doesn’t have any ulterior motives. He just wanted to give the boys a proper title.” “A proper title?” I burst out laughing. “So you give forty percent to the boys, and ten percent to Tristan. I’ve bled for this company for twenty years, and I don’t even get the scraps?” My father-in-law slapped the armrest and stood up. “You married into our money, and now you want to fight over the assets?” “Sylvia’s shares belong to her. She can give them to a stray dog if she wants!” He pointed a trembling finger right at my face, looking exactly like the creditors who used to spit on me and call me a gold-digger. Sylvia walked over and grabbed my arm. The cloying scent of Tristan’s signature cologne clung to her clothes. The investigator told me she went to Tristan’s suburban estate every weekend. She attended parent-teacher conferences where the sign-in sheet clearly read “Mr. and Mrs. Tristan.” And me? I was always stuck at home, waiting for texts about her “international meetings,” not even knowing what time she’d walk through the front door. “Arthur.” Sylvia suddenly dropped to her knees. The heavy thud echoed in the silent room. “I’m begging you, don’t file the papers. I’ll visit them less. We can even change the equity agreement.” “Change it?” I pulled the divorce papers from my briefcase. “It’s already notarized. What’s left to change?” “When we stood at the altar, we promised no lies, no secrets. You played me for ten years.” My mother-in-law sneered. “Men who shoot blanks are always the most sensitive. Sylvia is giving you an out. Take it.” “That’s enough!” I cut her off, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Haven’t I swallowed enough of your garbage? I ruined my stomach on your quack medicine. I let the whole social circle mock me for being half a man. All because I was protecting her decision to be child-free.” “And now I find out she secretly baked someone else’s kids in her oven. What the hell am I to you people?” Sylvia wrapped her arms around my legs, sobbing openly. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I’ll listen to you from now on. Let’s go reverse your surgery. We can have our own baby, okay?” I pried her fingers off my legs one by one. A freezing chill settled deep in my chest. Ten years ago, when she was pushing those babies out, did she ever think about the day I lay on that operating table, signing the consent forms to end my bloodline? Did she ever think about the endless nights I carried the shame of infertility just to shield her? “Let go.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “You never had room for me in your heart. Just your ‘duties’ and your precious ‘heirs’.” As I walked toward the door, my mother-in-law was still hurling insults. Marcus was still making useless excuses. Sylvia was crying hard enough to tear her vocal cords. But I didn’t want to look back anymore. For twenty years, this marriage was a building I held up all by myself. Now I finally saw the truth. The child-free vows were fake. The “building our future together” was fake. I was just the idiot who handed over his beating heart on a silver platter. This marriage was over. 3 At my father-in-law’s seventieth birthday banquet, I stood by the champagne tower and watched Tristan walk in with the twins. He wore a custom-tailored suit and a polished, arrogant smile. He looked absolutely nothing like the scrawny college kid who used to wear faded t-shirts. Beatrice rushed forward to greet him, practically glowing. She took the velvet box from his hands, pulled out a diamond-studded watch, and immediately strapped it to her wrist, laughing loudly. “Tristan always has the best taste. Unlike some people who bring bad luck.” She threw a sideways glance at me, then tossed the vintage Rolex I had carefully selected straight into the messy pile of discarded gift bags. Sylvia had been resting her hand on my arm. The second she saw the kids, she dropped me like a bad habit. “Asher, Blake, did you miss Mommy?” She crouched down in her designer gown, pulling both boys into a tight hug, kissing their cheeks repeatedly. Tristan walked up and naturally wrapped his arm around her bare shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Tired from the drive? Hope the boys weren’t too much trouble.” Sylvia smiled affectionately, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his lapel. They looked like a picture-perfect married couple. I clenched my fists so tight my fingernails dug into my palms. In twenty years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever seen her look so painfully tender. When I was hospitalized with exhaustion, she stayed for three hours before claiming the office needed her. The night my ulcer ruptured and I was coughing up blood, she cried and said she was heartbroken, but she didn’t even stay the night in my room. “Arthur, this is Asher, the older brother.” Sylvia led the boy over to me, a lingering smile still warming her face. Asher looked up, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “You’re ugly. Not as handsome as my dad.” He twisted away and tugged at Sylvia’s dress. “Mommy said you got me a huge present for my tenth birthday. What is it?” “Be polite. This is your Uncle Arthur.” Sylvia gave him a light, playful tap on the shoulder. There was absolutely zero discipline in her voice. Asher stuck his chin out, glaring at me. “I know who he is. He’s the loser who stole my mom!” “We hate you! Go away!” The grand ballroom went dead silent. Beatrice cleared her throat, trying to smooth things over by muttering that kids say the darnedest things. She didn’t ask him to apologize. Tristan walked over and patted Asher’s head, though his tone carried a thick layer of smug satisfaction. “Watch your mouth, buddy. Uncle Arthur is Mommy’s friend.” Friend? I stared at Sylvia, waiting for her to reprimand the brat. But she just sighed and whispered that I shouldn’t take it personally. Then, she turned around, taking a silver tray from a waiter. She pulled off the velvet cloth to reveal three keys to luxury sports cars, the deed to a penthouse downtown, and a matte black limitless credit card. “Tristan, you guys will live in the city from now on. Use the cars and the card however you like.” Applause erupted. The wealthy guests swarmed Tristan with congratulations. I stood completely ignored in the corner, watching the light in Sylvia’s eyes. It was the exact same look she gave me when I signed our first million-dollar deal. Now, that light belonged to another man and his sons. The family lawyer took the microphone and stepped onto the stage to announce the equity transfer. “Forty percent of Sinclair Group is hereby gifted to Asher and Blake. Ten percent is gifted to Mr. Tristan.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. I heard a socialite nearby whisper, “The poor husband worked like a dog for two decades, and the outsider gets the goldmine.” Sylvia walked back toward me, reaching for my hand. Her fingertips were still warm from touching Tristan. “Arthur, giving them the shares is just a business move for the Sinclair legacy. Please don’t…” “Don’t what?” I cut her off coldly. “For the legacy? So you treat the man who built this company from the ground up like a ghost?” “When I was on my knees begging for loans with you, you promised me the shares would be ours. What happened to that?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Tristan strolled over, wrapping his arm around her waist and physically guiding her back toward the crowd of elites. As he passed me, a flash of pure mockery crossed his eyes. “Sylvia, I don’t think I’ve met the CEO of Vanguard yet. Care to introduce me?” After they walked away, I sat alone on a velvet sofa and downed half a bottle of neat bourbon. I remembered twenty years ago, taking a punch to the jaw from a furious creditor to protect her. She had cried, holding my bleeding face, swearing we would make it. I remembered the night in the ER, where she swore she would never leave me. Now, her “never” meant a happy family of three with another man. The next morning, Sylvia brought the kids back to our house. “Asher, Blake, play nice with Uncle Arthur. Mommy needs to run to the office.” She crouched down, adjusting their collars with a softness she never showed me. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, Asher marched right up to me, his eyes full of venom. “Mommy went to see my dad. He said you’re just a pathetic leech nobody wants.” “This is our house now. Get out!” I reached into my pocket to call Sylvia. Asher lunged, snatching the phone from my grip and smashing it against the marble floor. The second the glass shattered, he threw himself backward, wailing at the top of his lungs, smearing a tiny scrape on his hand against his shirt. “Dad! He hit me!” Tristan arrived faster than Sylvia did. He scooped Asher up, acting like a devastated father. “Arthur, if you have a problem, take it out on me. Don’t touch my son.” His eyes were red, every word perfectly calculated. Sylvia walked in right at that moment. Her face hardened into ice. “Arthur, you’re taking this out on a child?” “I didn’t…” A sharp slap echoed through the foyer, cutting off my sentence. A burning sting spread across my cheek and settled right in the center of my chest. Her eyes held a coldness I had never seen in twenty years. She pointed a trembling finger at the front door. “This is the Sinclair house. Asher is the heir. What gives you the right to treat him like dirt?” I looked at her, and suddenly, I chuckled. So this was it. In her heart, I wasn’t even worth the benefit of the doubt against a lying ten-year-old. I crouched down, picked up the crumpled divorce agreement from the coffee table, smoothed it out, and signed my name in bold, steady strokes. Sylvia’s voice came from behind me, suddenly laced with panic. “Arthur, where are you going? I’m sorry, don’t…” The rumble of my suitcase wheels drowned out her words. As I reached the door, Asher peeked out from behind Tristan’s legs and stuck his tongue out at me. Beatrice was leaning over the upstairs balcony, screaming about the ungrateful leech leaving. Sylvia’s tears hit the hardwood floor. I didn’t look back. Twenty years ago, I walked into the Sinclair family for love. Twenty years later, I finally understood that some people’s greed is a bottomless pit that true love can never fill. This time, I was going to make every single person who looked down on me regret it.

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Mom always told me I was born broken. For as long as I can remember, I have been confined to a wheelchair. My legs were dead weight, completely incapable of even the slightest twitch. Every single aspect of my life depended on my mother. I never knew my father. Mom said he walked out on us. Every day, she vlogged her life as my full time caretaker on social media. Her followers flooded the comments, calling her the most beautiful, resilient mother on the internet. Viewers would constantly send tips and donate to our GoFundMe. I was thrilled about it, thinking the money would finally lift some of the crushing weight off her shoulders. Even though I was dealt a bad hand in life, I considered myself incredibly blessed to have such a devoted mother. That was until I uncovered her sick secret. That was when I realized just how deeply she had destroyed my life. 1 Mom always blamed herself. She claimed she accidentally took the wrong medication while she was pregnant with me, resulting in my lifelong paralysis. She apologized to me every single day. She cried about failing to give me a healthy body and swore she would spend the rest of her life making it up to me. My dad left when I was just a toddler. Mom used to hold me tight, rocking me back and forth while whispering softly. “It is just you and me against the world now, Mona. We are all we have.” And for years, she genuinely took immaculate care of me. I was the perfect, obedient daughter, doing everything in my power to be a burden free child. Long before the sun came up, I would hear the familiar clinking of pots and pans in the kitchen. Without fail, Mom was already up preparing my breakfast. I lay in my small bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. This was our daily routine. She woke up earlier than anyone else in our neighborhood. She would get the oatmeal simmering on the stove, then head to the bathroom to draw warm water. By the time I opened my eyes, the water was at the exact perfect temperature for my morning sponge bath. Shortly after, she would walk in carrying a washbasin, stepping lightly so she would not startle me. “Morning, my sweet Mona. Are you awake?” She would walk over with a warm smile, gently resting the back of her hand against my forehead. “No fever today. Thank goodness.” She would prop me up, stuffing thick, plush pillows behind my back before carefully slipping off my pajamas. My arms were weak, making even the simple act of lifting them a massive chore. Getting dressed relied entirely on her. Her fingers were incredibly nimble and practiced, always terrified of hurting me. While wiping me down, she would always murmur the same hopeful words. “Mona’s legs are just sleeping right now. If we take really good care of them, maybe one day they will wake up.” Her eyes would always glass over with tears when she said that. I used to think those tears came from a place of pure, agonizing maternal love. I learned later it was nothing but an Oscar worthy performance. She made my breakfast at four in the morning. Terrified I might choke or struggle to chew, she boiled the oats until they were practically liquid. She peeled my hard boiled eggs with surgical precision, ensuring not a single speck of shell remained. When she fed me, she blew on every single spoonful until it was exactly body temperature. She never ate with me. By the time I finished my bowl, her own portion on the counter was always ice cold. After breakfast came the medication. Chalky white pills dissolved in a cup of lukewarm water. It tasted horrible. But she always had a strawberry gummy waiting in her pocket. The second I swallowed the bitter medicine, she popped the candy into my mouth. “There is my brave girl. All gone,” she would say with a bright smile. Once the dishes were cleared, she dragged a small wooden stool to my bedside and began massaging my dead legs. She would rub her palms together to generate heat before pressing into my muscles. The pressure was firm but soothing, creating a dull ache in my calves. “Tell Mommy if it hurts.” She would look up at me periodically, her voice dripping with absolute tenderness. I always shook my head. I never told her it hurt. I did not want to add to her stress. I knew how exhausting it was for her. Every time she finished massaging my legs, I saw her secretly rubbing her aching lower back. “Mommy isn’t tired. As long as my Mona gets better, I would do anything.” Around ten in the morning, the ring light clicked on. She opened her phone and began filming our daily routine. She angled the camera toward me, her voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register. “Hey everyone. Mona is doing so well today. She ate a good portion of her breakfast and was so brave during her physical therapy.” Then she flipped the camera to show her own hands. They were visibly weathered, lined with wrinkles, the knuckles slightly swollen. “These hands dress her, cook for her, and massage her every single day. It is exhausting, but having my beautiful girl smiling beside me makes every second worth it.” The moment the video went live, the comment section exploded. 2 “Your strength is incredible. You are the absolute definition of a supermom.” “Mona is such an angel. Praying for a miracle for you both.” “It breaks my heart seeing a single mother raise a disabled child completely alone. You have so much patience.” “Just sent twenty bucks to your CashApp. I hope Mona gets better soon and you can finally get some rest, mama.” “Supermom! Keep fighting!” Mom would scroll through the comments, reading them aloud to me with a glowing smile. “Look at this, Mona. So many people are rooting for us. You are going to walk one day, I just know it.” Back then, I swallowed every single word. I truly believed the kindness of these internet strangers was easing my mother’s heavy burden. I believed her bone deep exhaustion was the price she was paying for my hypothetical recovery. I believed that even though I was trapped in a wheelchair, having a mother like her made me the luckiest girl in the world. “Once you are all better, I will take you to the countryside. We will climb trees and pick wild apples together.” My eyes lit up at the thought. I leaned over the armrest of my wheelchair, looking up at her. “Really? I could really climb a tree?” She stroked my hair softly. “Of course, baby. As long as you take your medicine and do your massages, you will absolutely get there.” With that, she walked over to the counter to prep my pills. Two small brown tablets sat in a little porcelain dish next to a glass of water. “Time for your meds, Mona. This is what helps your legs wake up.” I obediently opened my mouth. The pills slid down my throat, leaving a faint, bitter metallic aftertaste. Back then, the thought never even crossed my mind. Those two daily pills were not the key to my recovery. They were the chemical chains keeping me locked in that wheelchair. But I was oblivious. I had no idea the “recovery” I prayed for every night was never meant to arrive. My mother’s grueling sacrifices were nothing but a meticulously crafted illusion. And I was the naive, grateful little fool playing the starring role in her twisted reality show. It happened on a random Tuesday morning. Mom stepped out onto the balcony to hang the laundry, leaving me alone in the sunlit living room. The warmth seeped into my legs. Suddenly, I remembered a faint tingling sensation in my knees from the massage a few days prior. Acting on a bizarre impulse, I tried to flex my muscles. First, my big toe twitched. Then, miraculously, my knee slowly lifted upward. The movement was agonizingly slow and incredibly weak, but my leg was actually moving! A rush of pure adrenaline and joy hijacked my body. My voice shook violently as I screamed for her. “Mom! Mom! Look! My leg moved! I just lifted it!” I fully expected her to drop the laundry basket, rush over, and sob tears of joy with me. Instead, she froze dead in her tracks. The soft smile vanished from her face instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated panic. Her eyes darted around like a cornered animal. She practically lunged at me, pressing her hands heavily onto my thighs. Her posture was completely rigid. “Mona, are you sure you aren’t imagining things?” “You have never had feeling down there. How could it just suddenly move?” “You are just tired, sweetheart. It was probably just a muscle spasm.” “It wasn’t a spasm!” I argued desperately. I tried to lift my leg again to prove it. But this time, no matter how hard I strained my brain, my legs felt like solid blocks of concrete. They refused to budge. Mom let out a very audible exhale, her shoulders dropping. She patted the back of my hand. “See? It is okay. Don’t overthink it. Just rest, I will go make breakfast.” She spun on her heel and speed walked into the kitchen. She was moving so fast she completely forgot about the wet laundry sitting on the balcony rail. I sat in my chair, a strange knot forming in my stomach. Why wasn’t she happy? Did she not want me to walk? That night, I woke up around 2 AM. I heard muffled voices coming from the living room. I silently peeled back my bedroom curtain just a fraction. Mom was pacing in the dark, her back to me, gripping her phone tightly against her ear. “…I didn’t miss a dose! Who could have predicted she would suddenly claim she could feel her legs today?” “…She physically lifted her knee. Is her body building a tolerance to the dosage?” “I don’t know what happened! I gave her the exact amount you told me to…” “Fine. I understand. I will come pick up the stronger batch tomorrow…” I could not make out the person on the other end, but my mother’s hushed, frantic tone echoed in the quiet house. The very next afternoon, she returned home with an unlabeled amber pill bottle. The tablets inside were larger and a much darker shade of brown. She shook one out, pressed it to my lips, and gave me her signature warm smile. “Mona, Mommy reached out to a holistic specialist out of state. He sent over this new medication. It is supposed to work miracles.” “If we stick to this routine, you might just be walking in no time.” For the next few days, I swallowed the new pills. Whatever faint tingling I had experienced was completely eradicated. My knees felt completely numb again. My legs returned to being two cold, lifeless stones. 3 Mom walked toward me holding a glass of water, pinching that new, oversized white pill between her fingers. Her smile was as gentle and loving as ever, but looking at it now made my chest constrict with anxiety. “Time for your medicine, sweetie.” She pressed the pill against my lips and tipped the glass toward my mouth. “Drink up and take a nice long nap. Maybe tomorrow your legs will feel brand new.” I stared at the chalky tablet, the memory of her frantic late night phone call screaming in my head. But I kept my face totally blank. I parted my lips and let her place it on my tongue. She watched me closely. I took a large gulp of water, tilted my head back, and put on a show of swallowing hard. Seeing my throat bob, her loving smile deepened. She reached out and stroked my hair. Her palm was physically warm, but to me, it felt like freezing ice. “Such a good girl. Always so cooperative. You are going to be completely healed before you know it.” “Get some rest.” She turned off the lamp and gently pulled my bedroom door shut. The absolute second the latch clicked, I shot up in bed. I slapped my hand over my mouth and coughed violently. The pill, which I had jammed deep under my tongue, popped out into my palm. It was perfectly intact, leaving a sour, chemical burn on my taste buds. I was terrified to leave it in the trash or on the nightstand where she might find it. Running my fingers along the side of my wheelchair, I found a small tear in the fabric underneath the seat cushion. I shoved the pill deep inside the foam padding, smoothed the fabric over, and lay back down as if nothing had happened. I stayed wide awake staring at the ceiling until dawn. Without the drugs coursing through my system, that heavy, leaden feeling in my lower half began to fade. By the early hours of the morning, a faint, electric buzzing sensation returned to my kneecaps. That tiny spark of feeling filled me with a chaotic mix of elation and sheer terror. Elation because my body was actually capable of healing. Terror because if my mother found out I was faking it, I had no idea what she was capable of doing to me. Just as the sun started to rise, the door creaked open. Mom stepped in and froze when she saw my open eyes. “You are up early, Mona. Did you sleep poorly?” I quickly softened my expression, rubbing my eyes to feign grogginess. My voice was sweet and innocent. “No, Mommy. The birds outside just woke me up.” She walked over, automatically checking my forehead for a fever before her eyes darted straight down to my legs. “Any discomfort down there? Need Mommy to rub them out?” I could feel the intense, paranoid scrutiny in her gaze. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced a bright smile. “Nope! Still feel exactly the same. But maybe yesterday’s medicine is working its magic deep down.” Hearing that, her tense shoulders visibly relaxed. The sickeningly sweet smile returned to her face. But hiding beneath it was a dark, calculating look I was finally learning to recognize. “Don’t lose hope. We will take another pill today, and the results will be even better.” I nodded enthusiastically. As she turned her back to head to the kitchen, I clenched my fists tightly under the blanket. I knew right then and there. From the moment I spit that pill out, the game had completely changed. I could no longer afford to be the obedient little doll. I needed to find out exactly what she was feeding me. And more importantly, I needed to know why she was doing this to her own flesh and blood. For the next few days, I executed my routine flawlessly. When pill time came, I happily opened my mouth. The second her back was turned, I spat it into a napkin and stuffed it into the secret compartment of my wheelchair. As my stash of hidden pills grew, my body started waking up. It started with the tingling in my knees. Then, I found I could slightly flex my calf muscles. By the fifth night, sitting alone in the dark, I gripped the edge of my mattress and dragged my dead weight forward. I managed to swing both legs over the side of the bed. When the bare soles of my feet actually felt the freezing chill of the hardwood floor, I broke down. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at my toes, tears streaming down my face in the dark. They were not tears of sorrow. It was pure, unadulterated triumph. I focused all my energy downward, and my toes curled against the wood. I wasn’t permanently broken. I actually had a chance to walk on this earth just like a normal person. But as the euphoria faded, the grim reality settled back in. What the hell was in those pills? Why did taking them turn me into a vegetable, and stopping them bring me back to life? I had to get to the bottom of this. Not just to save myself, but to expose the monster playing house with my life. 4 Whenever the camera was rolling, I was the picture perfect disabled daughter. When Mom set up a vlog, I would stare wistfully out the living room window, perfectly portraying a girl longing to play outside. When she cried to her live stream audience, I would lower my head and look heartbreakingly pitiful. When viewers asked me in the chat, “Do you want to walk, Mona?” I recited the exact script she had drilled into my head. “More than anything. I want to walk in the park with my mom so she doesn’t have to carry me anymore.” The moment the camera turned off, she would shower me with praise. “Good girl, Mona. You really know how to help Mommy out.” She would pull up her banking app, showing me the massive spikes in donations. “Look at this. People feel so bad for you. Keep this up, and we will have enough for your treatments in no time.” But looking at her glowing face, I felt nothing but a chilling disgust. During one particular live stream, a viewer dropped a comment that caught traction. “What exact medication is Mona taking? Maybe we can crowdfund a better specialist or find imported alternatives.” Mom’s eyes flickered with panic for a fraction of a second, but she quickly smoothed it over. “It is a highly specialized prescription. The name is ridiculously long and complicated.” “Her doctor explicitly warned me not to share the name online so people don’t try self medicating.” A troll in the chat immediately pounced on the excuse. “Sounds like a scam to me. She’s faking it for the GoFundMe money.” The chat quickly spiraled. “Actually, yeah. Refusing to name the meds is super sketchy.” “Is she even paralyzed? The internet is full of grifters faking illnesses for clout these days.” “No medical records, no doctor names… this has scam written all over it.” Mom’s face drained of all color. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, completely failing to come up with a believable lie on the spot. A lightbulb went off in my head. I was trapped in this house and couldn’t test the pills myself. But the media could. I immediately leaned into the frame, putting on my best performance. My voice trembled with forced indignation and desperate tears. “How can you guys say that about my mom?!” I gripped the fabric of my shirt, forcing my eyes to water. “She wakes up in the middle of the night to take care of me!” “She dresses me, feeds me, and massages my legs until her hands cramp!” “She works night shifts just to keep the lights on. She measures my medicine down to the milligram because she is terrified of hurting me. How could you call her a liar?!” I took a shaky breath, staring directly into the lens with fierce determination. “If you don’t believe us, then call a news station! Tell them to come broadcast our life live on TV!” “They can film her waking me up, doing my physical therapy, and putting me to bed.” “Let them see for themselves if my legs work, and let them see how hard my mom fights for me!” The energy in the chat did a complete 180. “Mona is right. A kid that age wouldn’t lie like that.” “You trolls are disgusting, bullying a single mom at her breaking point.” Right on cue, a verified account pinned a comment. “We are producers from the local Channel 7 News. We would love to do a live documentary on your daily routine tomorrow. Would you be open to this?” Mom sat completely paralyzed in her chair. She stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. She clearly never expected me to hijack the stream like that. I turned to her, flashing my most innocent, angelic smile. I whispered so the mic would barely catch it. “Mommy, this way nobody can ever call us liars again.” Once the stream ended, she hovered over me, her expression incredibly tense. “Mona, why on earth did you invite a news crew here? What if… what if something goes wrong on live TV?” Her voice lacked its usual confidence. She could not even make eye contact with me. I looked down, softly tracing the fabric over my numb knees. “Mom, I just couldn’t stand them attacking you like that.” “You sacrifice everything for me. You break your back working late, and they treat you like a criminal. It made me so angry.” I looked up, letting my eyes shine with naive hope. “Besides, isn’t this a good thing? If we go viral on the news, everyone will see how amazing you are.” “The donations will go through the roof. You won’t have to work those awful night shifts at the convenience store anymore.” She stared hard into my eyes for several agonizing seconds, searching for any sign of deception. Finally, she let out a long breath, her vanity winning out over her paranoia. “My sweet girl is growing up. You are really looking out for Mommy.” “Okay. You are right. Let the reporters come tomorrow.” I nodded obediently. I knew exactly why she caved so fast. She genuinely believed her acting was flawless enough to fool a professional camera crew. But she had no idea what I was actually planning. I did not want the media here to validate her “sacrifices.” I wanted them here with high definition lenses to witness her force feeding me those pills. I wanted them here to broadcast her fraudulent tears to millions of viewers. I was using this live documentary to burn her empire of lies to the ground. That night, I spit my pill out into my palm again. Lying in the dark, I practiced firing the muscles in my thighs. My calves were actually responding to my commands now. Give me a few more days, and I might actually be able to pull myself up using the bedframe. I slipped my hand under the cushion, brushing my fingers against my hidden stash of pills. Mom, I thought to myself into the darkness. Everything you took from me… you are going to pay it back in full.

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