Category: English

After the miscarriage, my husband, a psychiatrist, erased my memory. He did it so he could take his patient, a young woman suffering from “depression,” on a therapeutic retreat. For the next three months, he and our son traveled with her, living a carefree life. When they had their fill of fun, he finally deigned to restore my memories. I was a wife and mother again. Except now, I didn’t care. I wasn’t a bother. They thought I was sulking, playing hard to get, trying to make a point. They didn’t pay it much mind. Not until they saw the post I made online. [HELP! My memory is back but my feelings aren’t. What do I do?!] [I can’t even empathize with my past self. Living under the same roof with my husband and son feels so tense and awkward now. Help!!!] … I was fast asleep, buried under the covers, when the lights flicked on with a sharp click, flooding the room with a hazy brightness. My eyes flew open. A tall figure stood by the door, his handsome face, framed by silver-rimmed glasses, was a mask of cold indifference. I blinked, my brain slowly catching up. It was my husband, Larry. His voice was steady, utterly devoid of emotion. “Why are you sleeping in the guest room?” I sat up, clutching the duvet to my chest, and forced a dry laugh. “My memory just came back. I’m still getting used to things.” “Let’s just sleep separately for a while, give me some time to adjust.” He nodded, as if it didn’t matter to him at all. “Suit yourself.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, he asked, “You didn’t call me today.” I looked at him, confused. “Call you about what? I didn’t need anything from you today. Why would I call?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Before, if I came home after ten, you’d blow up my phone.” I cringed, the memory of my old behavior making my toes curl in embarrassment. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It won’t happen again.” Looking back on those memories was like being a professional and stumbling upon your cringey high school social media page. The secondhand embarrassment was physically painful. The whole reason he’d hypnotized me in the first place was because I had called his patient at midnight. I had screamed at Serena, calling her a slut, accusing her of faking depression to seduce other women’s husbands. I told her if she was really sick, she should be taking medication, not stripping naked in a man’s bed. My tirade had left Serena sobbing. When Larry took the phone, his voice was as calm as ever, simply telling me he’d be home soon. I had been smug, thinking I’d scared off the homewrecker. But when Larry came home, he told me something else entirely. “I’m taking Serena to a cabin in the mountains for three months. Getting close to nature is part of her therapy.” Our son, Bobby, who was standing nearby, jumped up and down excitedly. “Me too, I wanna go! Serena gave me candy last time! I want to go with her!” I couldn’t believe it. “What about our anniversary trip? I’ve been planning it for two weeks. We were supposed to go as soon as Bobby was on vacation.” “We’re not going. Serena’s condition is serious. I need to be there for her treatment.” “I want to go to the mountains! I don’t want to go on a boring trip with Mom. I like Serena better anyway.” Of course, I refused. I screamed, I fought, I became hysterical. Larry shoved me away impatiently. Bobby rammed his head into me, pushing me back. A sharp, searing pain shot through me. A gush of warm, sticky blood pooled beneath me. I lost the baby we had been trying for for six months. And he, afraid I would cause more trouble, used a risky, experimental hypnotic procedure to erase my memory and left me in the hospital. “I promise,” I said, my voice firm, “I will never bother you with pointless calls again.” Larry’s expression only darkened. After a long moment, he stated with cold certainty, “Claire, you’re just sulking.” He turned to leave, tossing one last comment over his shoulder. “Throw your tantrum if you must. Just remember to tidy up my study.” I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it. Instead, I picked up my phone, yawning as I started searching for a good housekeeper. I couldn’t do it. I really couldn’t. I had to admire my past self. Waking up at six every morning to prepare a special breakfast for my son with his minefield of allergies. At seven, making a separate meal for Larry’s sensitive stomach. After grabbing a quick bite for myself, I’d start cleaning the entire house. Larry was a neat freak and couldn’t stand a speck of dust. His study, in particular, had to be immaculate. I had tried to replicate my old routine today and nearly passed out from exhaustion. I’d just shoved the files in his study into random drawers, which was probably why he’d made a point to remind me. I drifted off to sleep, but what felt like minutes later, a loud banging on the door jolted me awake. “Are you going to get up and make breakfast or not? I’m going to be late for school!” It was Bobby, yelling impatiently from the hallway. Time for breakfast. Good thing I was prepared. “I scheduled a delivery from that café you like,” I called out. “It’ll be here soon.” I rolled over and fell back asleep, vaguely hearing Bobby kick the door in frustration. “Dad never should have brought you back. Serena always makes me breakfast. You’re useless.” I was ripped from sleep again when Larry violently pulled me out of bed. “What did you feed Bobby!” I stared at him, completely bewildered. He dragged me to where Bobby stood, covered in red hives and struggling to breathe. “Even if you’re angry, you don’t take it out on our son! He has severe allergies. If I hadn’t found him when I did, he could have suffocated.” An ambulance rushed our son to the hospital. I ran after them, trying to explain. “I honestly don’t know what happened. I sent the café a list of his allergies when I ordered, I double-checked with them, and they promised they’d be careful. I never thought he’d still have a reaction.” Larry shot me a look of pure disgust. “Stop making things up. You’re the one who drove away the two nutritionists I hired. You’re the one who obsessively controls his diet. He said a few nice things about Serena because you suffocate him, and this is how you punish him.” “No, that’s not it, it’s because—” “Save it. Don’t make me regret giving you your memory back.” His icy words cut me off. I controlled Bobby’s diet because his body was incredibly sensitive. He was allergic to almost everything. And those two nutritionists? They quit after less than a week because they said dealing with his dietary restrictions was too much of a hassle. Whatever. It was too complicated to explain. Once the new housekeeper arrived, none of this would be my problem anymore. The doctor said it was a mild reaction to honey. Not a big deal. One IV drip and he’d be fine. I called the café. The manager explained that the honey sticks were a free promotional item, packaged separately and clearly labeled with an allergen warning. So, Bobby must have snuck it. He always had a sweet tooth, but he was allergic to honey, chocolate, and so many other things. The old me would have been watching him like a hawk. The new me… didn’t. And this was the result. “Claire!” I turned to tell Larry what I’d learned, but a small, warm body suddenly latched onto my legs. “Cece? What are you doing at the hospital?” I broke into a smile, crouching down to hug the little girl. She had been my friend during my amnesia. In the hospital, I had been lost and terrified, a huge, hollow emptiness where my heart should have been. I wandered through the days in a fog, a rudderless ship tossed in a storm, with no idea what to do. I didn’t even remember basic things. It was Cece who, like a patient teacher with a kindergartener, taught me everything again. She stayed with me, her presence a small, bright light in that cold, sterile place. “She got a little too ambitious on the swings and fell, bumped her head. Just getting it checked out,” a man’s voice said. It was Cece’s uncle, Alex. His eyes lit up when he saw me, a genuine warmth spreading across his face. “Oh no! Are you okay? Does it hurt?” I fussed over Cece, gently touching her head. She hugged me tight, rubbing her cheek against mine. “I’m okay, Auntie Claire. I just missed you so much.” “I missed you too, sweetie.” Alex watched us, his handsome face etched with concern. “What about you? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” “I’m fine. It’s my son, he had an allergic reaction.” “Oh, good.” He breathed a sigh of relief, then immediately backtracked. “Uh… I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, is your son okay?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s fine. Just needs some medicine.” He was about to say something else when Larry’s voice, laced with anger, cut through the air. “Claire—” I turned. His gaze shifted from Alex to me, my smile seeming to irritate him. He frowned. “Bobby is crying.” I quickly looked over at my son. The swelling on his face had gone down, but tears were streaming from his eyes, probably from the discomfort of the allergic reaction. He pointed a trembling finger at Cece, his voice choked with anger and hurt. “Who is she?” “This is Cece. She kept me company when I was in the hospital.” “Don’t cry now,” I said softly. “The tears will make your face itch. Besides, you’re the big brother. You have to set a good example for her.” For some reason, that only made him angrier. He started screaming, thrashing around. “She is not my sister! Go away! I don’t want you here!” He had never liked me much, and this wasn’t the first time he’d told me to leave. I saw the blood backing up into his IV line from his agitation and quickly stepped out of the room. I didn’t see his little face crumple as he started to cry even harder. After offering a significant amount of extra money, I finally found a housekeeper willing to come for a trial run. I gave them a heads-up. “I’ve hired someone. She’s coming over this afternoon. I’d like you both to be here to see if she’s a good fit.” Bobby, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the hospital incident, spoke up in a small voice. “Mom… I thought… you didn’t like having other people in the house.”

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It took five years by the side of Rhys, the undisputed heiress of the Redwood Lakes fortune, before she finally agreed to give me a title. But on the day of the reception, she was nowhere to be found, leaving me alone to face the room full of mortified guests. The officiant did a painful jig around the subject, and a few of her closest socialite friends burst into laughter. “Welcome to the big leagues, brother-in-law,” one of them chirped. “Consider this your first lesson in being a trophy husband.” They miscalculated. I took the money Rhys had funneled to me over the years and quietly vanished from the City. The truth was, I knew from the start that I was nobody to Rhys. The first night she brought me home, five years ago, I feigned drunkenness. I listened from the hallway as she screamed into the phone. “Evelyn, you are ice! You think you can just walk away? What was I to you? Do you really think I can’t live without you?” “I begged you. I threatened to hurt myself. I drank myself into the ER with a bleeding ulcer, and you didn’t even look back? Fine. We’ll see who breaks first. I’ve already found someone a hundred times more biddable. I’d like to see how long you can last.” By the end, her voice was a choked sob. So, no. From the very beginning, there was no truth between us. 1 Three hours past the calculated auspicious time, Rhys still hadn’t appeared. Ignoring the sympathetic and, more often, mocking glances around me, I calmly removed the white boutonniere from the lapel of my tuxedo. Harper, Rhys’s older sister, leaned against the doorframe, a sneer playing on her lips. “Eager to run, are we? Rhys is only a little late. You have to have more patience than that if you want to be the future man of the house.” I didn’t look up, continuing to unfasten the accompanying accessories in the mirror’s reflection. Her cousin, Finn—who had always treated me like a particularly pungent piece of floor lint—sidled closer, his voice sickeningly gentle. “Don’t take it personally, Sloan. Rhys is usually so punctual. This… maybe Evelyn suddenly got sick, and she needed to care for him?” He drew out the name Evelyn slowly and deliberately, the pleasure in his handsome eyes poorly concealed. I looked at his expression in the mirror and smiled. “Take it personally?” I repeated, placing the final platinum cufflink gently into its box. “Why would I take it personally?” The air in the private dressing suite instantly thickened. I turned around, my gaze sweeping over their various shocked expressions. “You all thought I was waiting for her for three hours, didn’t you?” Harper’s face darkened. “Sloan, what is that supposed to mean?” I stood up and slowly began to unbutton the tuxedo jacket. “This suit is expensive,” I said, my voice flat, as if discussing the weather. “It’s a shame not to get a picture in it.” “Sloan, don’t be an ingrate!” someone snapped. “Rhys is giving you a life! You’re not going to pull a runaway groom stunt now! I promise you, you walk out that door, and you won’t have a corner to stand on in the City tomorrow!” The jacket fell away, revealing the simple shirt and jeans I’d changed into underneath. I reached into a pocket of the discarded garment, retrieved the old phone I’d used for years, and looked up at every pair of eyes fixed on me. I gave a faint, cold smile. “I never belonged here anyway.” “So, there’s nothing for me to lose.” I didn’t wait for their stammering responses. I walked out without looking back. Rhys was the sole heir to one of the City’s oldest fortunes, and the people around her were naturally the children of wealth. They always looked down on me. Compared to them, my background was a marble dropped among pearls. Nobody understood why Rhys had chosen me, and even on the day I was meant to become her husband, their contempt never lessened. The person who disappeared was her, yet the shame and scorn still fell on me. I should have fought them, given back every ounce of stored-up humiliation from the past five years. But I was out of time. I had a flight to catch tonight, and I needed to pack. I wasn’t surprised by Rhys’s decision to ditch the wedding. Not at all. The night before, unable to sleep, I’d found myself scrolling through Evelyn’s livestream. It was 3 a.m., and he was still desperately hawking cosmetics to his viewers. Since leaving Rhys, his life hadn’t been easy. The viewer count was surprisingly high, though most weren’t there for the products. They were drawn by the barrage of gifts and the mysterious top donor. [Log off and rest.] [You can’t stay up, your stomach is weak. If you collapse again, I won’t come.] [Unblock my number. Send me your banking info. I’ll transfer the money.] [I’m getting married tomorrow. Don’t contact me again, and stop looking so pathetic.] With every cold, stark message, a new wave of shimmering, expensive digital gifts lit up the screen. Rhys was generous to everyone, even the ex she had once claimed to despise. Evelyn’s voice, as he described a serum, was trembling slightly. He dabbed the corner of his eye and murmured, so soft I almost didn’t hear it: “Rhys, don’t cheapen what we had with cash.” [We had something?] [Evelyn, I nearly bled out for you. I broke away from my family. I’m marrying a man I don’t love just to force myself to erase your memory. You were the one who walked away. You destroyed us.] I stared at the phrase, “a man I don’t love,” and allowed myself a rare moment of blankness. The comments section was chaos—Don’t marry! Get back together! Evelyn bit his lip, his eyes red and fixed on the camera. “Rhys. If I said I’d come back, that I’d do anything to make it up to you…” “Could you… please not get married?” 2 I didn’t see Rhys’s response, but her absence spoke volumes. Rhys couldn’t let go of Evelyn; that was never a secret. Two years ago, when my chronic back pain flared up, Rhys insisted on skipping the top specialists in the City. Instead, she dragged me a thousand miles away to a remote clinic Upstate. Predictably, we ran into Evelyn there. He looked just like the tattered photo in Rhys’s wallet: young, beautiful, and devastatingly unaware. Rhys held my waist, her face impassive as she watched him. But only I knew what happened in the second Evelyn appeared. Rhys’s fingers dug into my side, the pressure so intense I winced slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Evelyn stammered, stepping back. “I said I wouldn’t bother you again.” Rhys’s lips were a thin, tight line. I stood quietly, my eyes falling on the faint, intricate tattoo visible on Evelyn’s collarbone—a small dog. It was a perfect, heartbreaking match for the tiny cat tattoo on Rhys’s collarbone. “Move,” Rhys’s voice was as cold as marble. But as we waited for the elevator, her eyes kept flickering to the end of the hallway where he’d disappeared. “Hold onto this,” I said, looking at the black Amex card Evelyn was clutching. “Don’t lose it.” It was Rhys’s secondary card. She was a woman of clear boundaries—those who crossed her in business were never forgiven. Yet, that unlimited card was her final concession to him, a lifeline to keep him afloat, but out of sight. Despite her claiming he was the one person she never wanted to see again. On the drive back, a sudden rainstorm hit. Rhys was steering one-handed, clearly distracted. Her phone lit up—an unsaved number. She glanced at it, then slammed on the brakes. I lurched forward, my forehead cracking hard against the dashboard. Blood instantly rushed down my face. “Rhys…” The voice on the phone was a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called… but my mother is critical. The hospital says it’s urgent. I don’t know who else to call…” “I’m terrified…” Rhys looked at me, her eyes wide with a frantic panic I’d never seen before. “Sloan, I have an emergency. You need to get yourself home.” I rarely saw Rhys like this. Even when her company was on the brink of collapse, she hadn’t been this visibly unmoored. Unmoored enough to drop me off on the side of a highway late at night. Unmoored enough to speed into the storm without a backward glance. Unmoored enough to forget I was wearing only a thin sweater in twenty-degree Fahrenheit weather. She just left. I stood in the howling wind, shivering. The exit ramp was deserted. I couldn’t get a ride, and I stood there for nearly four hours until Rhys finally returned, her hazard lights blinking in the rain. She looked utterly exhausted. “Evelyn fainted,” she said. I lowered my gaze. “When I got to the hospital, I found out his mother was just in for routine observation. He panicked and exaggerated the details. I turned to leave, and he had a breakdown and collapsed. He’s fine now.” She reached out and gripped my hand, which was ice-red from the cold. “I’m sorry, Sloan. I shouldn’t have left you. He’s been unstable lately, and I was afraid he’d do something drastic.” I didn’t know what to say. “Are you truly over him?” I heard my own voice ask. If she truly was so incapable of letting him go, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to stay in the way. Rhys drove for a long time before finally answering. “There’s nothing to ‘get over,’ Sloan. I’m not an idiot; I don’t obsess over one mistake.” “It’s just… I pity him. He’s all alone.” Oh. So she wasn’t over him. After that night, Rhys consciously hid all news of Evelyn from me. I knew, but I didn’t care. Because every time she was pulled back into Evelyn’s orbit, she’d toss me a new property deed or a ridiculously expensive watch as compensation. What did it matter? A man can’t sacrifice real money for mere dignity. 3 Because everyone knew how deep Rhys’s attachment to Evelyn ran, no one thought I would last. That’s why the wedding announcement shocked the whole City. A week before the wedding, Harper hosted a grand, cynical pre-wedding mixer. She rented out the most exclusive private club and invited the wildest bachelors in the City. And, of course, she invited Evelyn. I had no reaction, but Rhys frowned slightly and murmured to me, “These people get out of hand. If you’re uncomfortable, find an excuse to leave early.” Before she could lead me in, Harper blocked our path, smiling. “Sloan, you don’t usually come to our gatherings. I get it. This is how we unwind. A little different from your quiet life, huh?” She handed me a flute of champagne. I took a sip and adjusted my cufflink. “No worries. You all have fun. Just keep an eye on Rhys. Don’t let her drink too much.” Rhys paused, seemingly thrown by my calm. Harper didn’t notice her sister’s hesitation. She threw an arm around Rhys’s shoulder. “Rhys, he gave you permission. Come on! I specifically told Evelyn to show up. Last night of freedom, you know?” I was past being bothered by Harper’s childish provocations. I simply gave Rhys a small nod. But she suddenly grabbed my wrist, her brow furrowed. “What are you doing, Sloan? Pushing me out the door?” Pushing you away? When were you ever truly mine? I almost laughed. I looked up and challenged her. “What if I asked you not to go, not to see Evelyn? Could you promise me?” The club lights were dim, the music loud. I waited. Harper broke the silence first, raising her voice. “Rhys! They’re waiting!” Rhys’s eyes flickered. Her fingers twitched, and then she let go of my wrist. “I’ll be home, Sloan.” Before she could finish the sentence, Harper yanked her inside. I stood in the hallway’s shadow, watched the door swing shut, and turned to walk away. I didn’t look back. On my way out, a glass shattered in a nearby suite. Then, a man’s choked cry. It sounded familiar. As I neared, the door flew open, and a woman stumbled out, clutching a bleeding forehead, reeking of liquor. “Who the hell do you think you are? You hit me?” Evelyn was standing in the doorway, looking wronged and terrified. “I don’t know you! You kept coming onto me!” “You spoiled little poor boy, playing high and mighty!” the woman shrieked. “Pay me, or you’re not leaving tonight!” Evelyn’s eyes welled up. He was crying but fiercely trying to hold it in. His swollen eyes swept toward me. “Go ahead and watch! I don’t have any connections, but I’m not trash! You don’t get to look down on me!” He made it sound like I was the one humiliating him. The woman grabbed his arm. “Pay up.” “I don’t have cash!” “Then drink all this. I’ll let you go.” She noticed the corner of the black Amex card poking out of his wallet. “You have a card like that, and you’re poor?” “No!” Evelyn screamed, tears streaming now. “I can’t touch this!” “I’ll drink it!” He grabbed a liquor bottle from the coffee table and began chugging it. The alcohol made him cough violently, but he wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t watch anymore. “How much? I’ll cover it.” “I don’t need your fake pity!” Evelyn shrieked, losing control. He raised his hand and struck me. Hard. My ears rang. The side of my face instantly burned. In the dizzying moment, I saw the door burst open. Rhys rushed in, pushing past me without a second thought. She grabbed the trembling man and pulled him tight against her chest. “Evelyn, don’t be a coward. Hit him back!” she shouted. “Why aren’t you using the money I gave you!” I staggered, holding the wall. The pain in my cheek was nothing compared to the shock. “Sloan!” Rhys looked up at me, her eyes like chipped ice. “You said you were going home early! You came here to harass Evelyn?!” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I turned and walked away. She would never know the truth. I desperately wanted her to believe I was the villain. The more she hated me, the easier it would be to leave. Rhys finally came home around 3 a.m., smelling of smoke and expensive liquor. I was still up, researching immigration forms in the study. She snuck up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. The warmth of her breath, mixed with alcohol, feathered my ear. “Why are you still up? Waiting for me?” “Yes. Is Evelyn okay?” “I’m so sorry, Sloan. I misunderstood. That woman was harassing him. I handled it and came straight back after dropping him off.” She rubbed her face against my neck, her voice laced with a childish attempt at placation. “I kept checking my phone. You didn’t text me once. Are you still mad?” I was too tired to humor her. But she was unusually clingy, forcing me to turn around so she could look into my eyes. “Were you jealous? I swear, I didn’t touch Evelyn. Harper will tell you. I didn’t even give my number to the other guys.” I held her gaze for a long time, then sighed, resigned. I wrapped an arm around her and led her toward the bedroom. 4 The first time I saw Rhys was outside the university gates, near a used bookstore. She had probably just come from the City club across the street, holding a black umbrella, her expression dark, like she’d just ended a devastating fight. Just as she was getting into her car, the store owner grabbed the tattered dictionary I was putting back on the shelf. “Hold it! You folded the page, you buy the book!” “I just opened it. That crease was already old,” I tried to explain, my voice thin in the wind. The owner was relentless. “I say you did it, you did it! Thirty dollars, or you don’t leave!” In the scuffle, my backpack strap tore, spilling my textbooks everywhere. A flimsy, water-stained student aid appeal form fluttered out, instantly soaking up the mud. As I knelt to retrieve it, a black umbrella settled steadily above my head. “How much?” Rhys’s voice was low but carried a cold, absolute authority. The owner stammered, looking her up and down, sizing up the expensive car behind her. “Thi-thirty…” Rhys didn’t speak. Her female assistant stepped forward and handed over a hundred-dollar bill. The owner grumbled and retreated. Rhys finally looked down at me. Her gaze passed over my wet hair and settled on the crumpled form. “Which university?” “…A&M.” She nodded, handed me the umbrella, then knelt down herself. She gathered my waterlogged books one by one. She took off her tailored cashmere coat and, without asking, draped it over my thin sweater. “Get in the car. I’ll take you back.” Her car was parked by the curb. The interior was spotless, the heat already blasting. “Need money badly?” she asked, looking straight ahead, her tone as neutral as discussing the weather. “Yes.” “Your name?” “…Sloan.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, contemplating. “Work for me. I’ll cover your tuition and living expenses. I’ll give you a five-thousand-dollar monthly allowance.” My rational mind screamed at me to refuse. It was absurd. There were no free lunches. But in my periphery, I saw the designer bags and the stacks of US currency carelessly tossed onto the back seat. I wavered. I needed the money. I needed to escape my immediate reality. I needed to grab this sudden, irrational opportunity. She stopped the car beneath a leafy canopy near the dorms. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. She waited silently. “Why?” I heard myself ask. She turned to face me. There was no warmth in her eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she said. She paused, then added: “And this amount of money means nothing to me.” She was right. My desperation, my struggles, were insignificant in her world. I lowered my gaze, clutching the soggy books to my chest. “Thank you. I’ll consider it.” At the time, I didn’t understand her motives. But after hearing her furious phone call, it all made sense. I was an impulse buy, a tool to prove to Evelyn that she’d moved on, a blunt weapon to incite jealousy. But perhaps it was the lure of the money, or a faint flicker of longing I couldn’t name, that made me choose silence in that moment. I knew exactly what I was doing, and exactly what I wanted. Anything but love, I was willing to take. … Perhaps it was my utter calm in the face of Rhys’s desertion that unnerved her friends. One of them quietly called her. “Rhys! Sloan is packing. It looks like he’s actually leaving the City!” I heard a man’s loud, joyful laugh on the other end, and then Rhys’s voice, a shade impatient from being interrupted. “Leaving? What is he pulling now?” “It’s your wedding day, Rhys. The guests are all here.” “And?” Rhys gave a light, dismissive laugh. “Tell him to stop being so melodramatic and wait until I’m finished.” “Rhys, this doesn’t seem like melodrama. He looks serious.” “Why wouldn’t he be serious?” Rhys’s voice was utterly careless. “He’s with me for the money, isn’t he? I’ve given him houses, stock options, jewels—what have I skimped on? To pull this stunt now… he’s taking himself a little too seriously.” She paused, perhaps taking a drink. “Tell him I’ll transfer another million to his account. Tell him to settle down. Men like him just need to be placated.” The hushed conversation ended abruptly outside the door. Even her most loyal friends looked uncomfortable. “He’s only with me for the money.” “Men like him just need to be placated.” I gave a deeply sarcastic curl of my lip as I looked at the lone wedding band on the vanity. I pulled open the door and, ignoring their various stares, calmly walked out.

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After my parents passed away, I finally found the true heir to the Sterling family empire scavenging for trash on a street corner. I snatched the moldy bun from his hands. “Idiot, you can’t eat that. It’s dirty.” Later, the idiot buried his face in my chest muscles. I grabbed a handful of his hair and gritted my teeth. “Stupid dog, you can’t eat that either.” 1 I found Liam in a small, run-down town in the South. He was dressed in rags, curled up in a corner, wolfing down a dirty, foul-smelling bun he held with both hands. I approached slowly and crouched beside him. Liam looked up warily, hiding the rotten food behind his back. He bared his teeth at me, fierce and feral. I put on a friendly smile, staring at his sharp, white canines. “Why are you acting like a stray dog?” Liam stared at my perfect smile, stunned for a moment. I took the opportunity to snatch the sour bun from his hand and tossed it aside. “Idiot, you can’t eat that stuff. It’s dirty.” Liam froze. He looked at his empty hand, then at me, and finally at the bun lying in the dirt. Just as he was about to snarl, I pulled out a soft, white, fresh bun and stuffed it into his mouth. I had been watching Liam all morning. He had rummaged through six dumpsters and fought two stray dogs just for a bite to eat. I had sent someone to buy a whole bag of fresh buns. I came prepared. Liam instantly settled down, holding the bun with both hands and gnawing on it intently. I took the chance to lead him away. From the trash heap to the hotel, it was a twenty-minute drive. Liam ate seven buns. Every time he finished one, he would stare at me with those puppy-dog eyes, looking like he was about to let out a “Woof.” I wasn’t trying to humiliate him. But Liam really looked like a stray dog. Feeling mischievous, I pulled out another bun and waved it in front of his eyes. “Want it?” Liam stared at the food in my hand and swallowed hard, his eyes lighting up. If he had a tail, it would be wagging right now. I smiled, a bit wickedly. “Call me ‘Brother.’ If you call me Brother, I’ll give it to you.” Liam looked at me, then at the bun. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes were practically glowing green with hunger. His mouth moved a couple of times, but he was too anxious to make a sound. I guided him patiently. “Be a good boy. Say ‘Brother’.” Liam got desperate. A loud sound erupted from his throat: “Woof!” ? What the f*ck! Is he actually a dog? Before I could recover from the shock, Liam lunged, snatched the bun from my hand, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. Then he quickly scrambled to the other side of the car, putting as much distance between us as possible. He chewed with difficulty, eyes fixed on me in warning. Looking at this six-foot-three man trying to curl himself into a ball of distress, I felt speechless. And a little heartbroken. What kind of life had this guy been living? Feeling a rare pang of pity, seeing him choke on the food, I reached out to pat his back. “No one is taking it from you. Eat slowly.” Liam instantly turned vicious. He stared at my hand, a threatening growl vibrating in his throat. As if he would bite my fingers off if I reached any closer. Great. Eight buns, wasted. Being this food-aggressive isn’t good. I withdrew my hand, tapping my fingers on my knee, and lowered my eyes with a chuckle. A bit wild. Once I get him cleaned up, I’ll need to train him properly. 2 Cleaning him up was another challenge. The smell on Liam wasn’t exactly pleasant. And he refused to bathe. Once we got to the hotel, he huddled in the corner of the sofa, staring at me warily, keeping a safe distance. I talked until my mouth was dry, but I couldn’t coax him into the bathroom. I couldn’t catch him, and I certainly couldn’t beat him in a fight. After a two-hour battle of wits, I saw the complimentary candy on the nightstand. I grabbed one, unwrapped it, and quickly stuffed it into Liam’s mouth. The puppy didn’t have time to bare his teeth before he froze. He stayed stunned for a full thirty seconds. He lowered his head, spit the candy into his palm, tentatively licked it, his eyes lit up, and then popped it back into his mouth. I don’t have OCD, but even I couldn’t stand his lack of hygiene. I closed my eyes, chanting silently: He’s silly, he doesn’t know better, teach him slowly, don’t despise him. Once I convinced myself, I opened my eyes and used the candy as bait to lure Liam into the bathroom. I discovered that while Liam was cognitively impaired, he had some basic self-care skills. He could brush his teeth and wash his face. Afterward, he even arranged the toiletries neatly and folded the towel into a square. Someone must have taught him that. So, showering shouldn’t be a problem. I stripped him naked and threw him into the bathtub. I wanted to ruffle his hair, but it was too dirty, so I pulled my hand back. I’ll save that for when he’s clean. I peeled another candy and fed it to him, coaxing, “Good boy, wash yourself. If you smell good, Brother will give you more candy.” Less than ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened. A dripping wet, stark naked Liam walked out. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs, tight glutes. His proportions were shockingly perfect. My eye twitched. I took a deep breath, mentally reciting “lust is emptiness” three times before walking over to inspect the results. He was cleaner, but definitely not scrubbed properly. He hadn’t even used shampoo. I overestimated him. He probably only knew the basics like washing his face. I herded him back into the bathroom, pressed him into the tub, and resigned myself to washing him. Liam watched curiously as I scrubbed him, surprisingly obedient. The more I washed, the more jealous I got. How does a guy living on the streets maintain this much muscle definition? I ran my hand over his stomach. He had two more abs than I did. No wonder he eats so much. All my time in the gym feels like a waste. As I was scrubbing, that part of Liam that shouldn’t be standing up suddenly and shakily raised its head. I stared at the beast in shock. “You…” How do you get hard just taking a shower? Liam blinked his innocent puppy eyes at me and swallowed. Forget it. Can’t argue with a fool. I gave the thing a light slap and greeted it. “Alright, I know you’re happy to see your brother. Stand down.” I looked up at Liam teasingly. “You tell it to kneel and behave.” Liam grunted when I slapped it, his eyes lighting up. He stared at my hand. After a moment, he suddenly grabbed my hand and pressed it against his lower abdomen, his voice hoarse. “Hit it.” “More.” “Hit.” My whole body went numb. What the hell? Did hitting it make him feel good? Liam whined impatiently, his breath hot. “Hurts. Hot.” “Hit it.” It was over. My hand was no longer pure. Expressionless, I pulled my hand away and turned on the cold water, drenching Liam. “Cool the f*ck down!” Liam wilted under the cold spray. “Woof…” 3 That night, Liam refused to sleep in the bed. He curled up on the floor beside it. He slept soundly, but I couldn’t sleep. I stood on the balcony smoking. Before I found Liam, I didn’t expect him to be like this. Liam wasn’t born this way. He went missing at age five. Our parents looked for him their entire lives. Even after they adopted me, they never gave up searching for Liam. After Mom died of grief and Dad followed soon after, I spent four years looking for him alone. Mom said Liam was smart from a young age. He spoke early, loved picture books, and learned everything instantly. The current Liam only knew how to bark and bite. He acted like a wild animal. I didn’t know what Liam had been through, but earlier, I had touched every scar on his body. Old wounds, new scars. He must have suffered a lot. I exhaled a cloud of smoke, my chest feeling tight. Growing up alone, confused and impaired like that… how hard must it have been? I turned my head and suddenly met a pair of bright, wide eyes. “Holy sh*t!” My scalp tingled, and the hair on my arms stood up. Liam had woken up at some point and was standing silently behind me. I clutched my chest, pointing at him while cursing, “Are you a ghost?! You walk without making a sound!” Liam didn’t listen to a word I said. He stared at the cigarette between my fingers, his gaze incredibly clear. Then, with lightning speed, he leaned in and snatched the burning cigarette from my hand with his mouth. I stood there dumbfounded. When I reacted, I frantically tried to pry his mouth open. “That’s a damn cigarette! You can’t eat that! Spit it out!” Liam frowned from the heat but refused to let go. I forced his jaw open, threw the cigarette away, and stuck my fingers into his mouth. “Where did it burn? Does it hurt?” Liam opened his mouth obediently, wrapped his tongue around my finger, and licked. He tasted it, then licked again. Probably deciding it tasted good, he grabbed my hand and took a big lick of my palm. Saliva covered my hand. I shivered, the sensation tickling from my palm down to my bones. I pulled out my wet hand and slapped the back of Liam’s head. “Are you a dog? Licking everything! Isn’t it dirty?!” Still angry, I slapped him again lightly. “If you eat random things again, I’ll beat you.” Liam tilted his head. “Woof!” “…” Great. After all that, he only understood the word “dog.” 4 The next morning, full and bored, Liam started scratching at the door. First pounding, then kicking. Like a damn husky. Unable to tolerate it, I dragged him back and put on a TV show for him on the tablet. Liam settled down. Leaning against the bed, holding the tablet, he watched without blinking. I sat in the chair, catching up on the backlog of work online. Exhausted, I fell asleep waiting for an email. I slept restlessly, vaguely feeling an itch and pain on my chest. I opened my eyes groggily and looked into the mirror opposite me. The handsome man in the executive chair had his bathrobe open, and a large, fuzzy head was buried in his chest. The handsome man was me; the large head belonged to Liam, who was kneeling between my legs. Before I could recover from the shock of this erotic scene, a sudden pain in my chest made me gasp. I grabbed Liam’s hair and pulled him back. “Sucking is one thing, but you’re biting?!” I looked down. It was swollen! How long had he been eating?! Liam’s lips were glossy. He looked at me and said, “Candy.” He stared at my chest aggrievedly, reaching out to flick it gently. “Not candy.” I froze. I realized what he meant. He wasn’t saying “Not candy”; he meant “Not sweet.” Because before yesterday, he hadn’t eaten sweets, so he didn’t know the taste called “sweet.” I told him the gummy bears were “candy,” so “candy” meant sweet. “Not candy” meant “not sweet.” I looked at the poor little thing on my chest that Liam had tortured. Pink, soft. It did look a lot like the strawberry gummy I gave him yesterday. Now that it was swollen and shiny from his gnawing, it looked even more like one. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. “That’s not damn candy! How could that be sweet?!”

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Over the course of our three-year marriage, my wife hypnotized me three times. The first time, her childhood sweetheart was running against me for a seat on the board of directors. My wife personally orchestrated the “accident” that crushed my hands, turning me into a cripple. The second time, her sweetheart needed liquidity for a failing venture. She liquidated my luxury cars and our villa, taking out massive loans in my name, drowning me in debt. The third time, he was critically injured in a car crash. She ruthlessly authorized the harvesting of our son’s corneas and liver while he was still barely alive, transplanting them into him. Every single time, I fought back. I screamed for a divorce. I tried to cut her out of my life. But every time, she would hold me, weeping, claiming she would go insane without me. And then, to keep me by her side as if nothing had happened, she forcibly hypnotized me, erasing my memories of her betrayal. It wasn’t until the day of my son’s funeral that I accidentally stumbled upon the whole truth. “Ms. Davis, this is the fourth session. Another induction could cause irreversible damage to Mr. Sterling’s frontal lobe. He could end up cognitively impaired, permanently. Are you sure you want to proceed?” “He has to forget what happened today! If he remembers, he’ll leave me. I can’t let him pose a threat to Caleb!” The doctor sighed heavily. “Why must you trample on a man’s heart like this?” “I have no choice. He happens to possess exactly what Caleb needs. For Caleb’s happiness, I’m willing to be the villain.” Hearing this conversation through the thin door, I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. My fists clenched at my sides, but I kept my eyes squeezed shut, feigning unconsciousness. I had only wanted to find my missing wife during our son’s funeral. Instead, I stumbled into a five-star hotel suite where she was throwing a lavish birthday party for Caleb Vance, her childhood sweetheart. Before I could confront them, I was knocked out cold. I woke up here, listening to the doctor and my wife. The doctor’s voice rose in agitation. “But, Ms. Davis… back then, his hand injury was treatable. You paid the hospital to intentionally botch the surgery. He lives in chronic, excruciating pain every day.” “You lied to him, told him he was a gambling addict who lost everything. You told him there was no money for a ten-dollar painkiller shot, yet you drained his accounts to throw this meaningless party for Caleb Vance! Do you hate him that much?” Claire Davis shook her head calmly. “How could I hate him?” “It’s all for Caleb. His biggest dream is to lead the company. I’m just the woman quietly supporting him from the shadows.” “As for Ethan… blame his brilliance. He shone too bright; he blocked Caleb’s path. I need him broken and dependent to feel at ease.” The doctor opened his mouth to argue, but Claire cut him off coldly. “Enough. Watch your mouth. If you leak a single word to Ethan, I will ruin you.” “Now, wipe his memory. Make him believe he caused a scene today. He needs to feel guilty so he’ll stay by my side and never leave.” I felt Claire’s hand gently caress my cheek. Once, that touch brought me warmth. Now, I felt nothing but disgust. Years ago, when the Davis family business went bankrupt, I was the one who secretly injected a billion dollars to help her rise from the ashes. When Caleb Vance was disowned by his family for being the black sheep, I was the one who took him into my company, mentoring him all the way to the executive level. Back then, Caleb knelt before me, swearing he would repay my kindness with his life. Back then, Claire confessed her love to me, saying she had always adored me. I never imagined that Claire would steal my fortune for him, gaslighting me into believing I was a degenerate gambler who lost it all. She even committed to the bit, moving me into a cramped, moldy apartment in the slums, living a life of performative poverty. And when Caleb crashed his car, she gutted our son to save him. While my son died screaming in pain, Claire was busy feeding Caleb soup and wiping his brow. I had fought her. I had demanded to leave. But every time, she used hypnosis to reset me. I had forgotten three times. I nearly lost myself a fourth. When the session ended and I “woke up,” I saw Claire looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. She hugged me, sobbing theatrically. “Ethan, thank God! You’re finally awake.” “You were so grief-stricken over Leo’s death that you started a brawl at the hospital. When I saw your head bleeding, I thought I’d lost my mind. If you left me too, I really wouldn’t survive!” The concern in her eyes looked so genuine. It made me sick. Claire didn’t notice the coldness in my gaze. She pulled a plastic container out of a cheap grocery bag, presenting it like a treasure. “Ethan, you must be starving. Look what I brought you. I’m working cleaning shifts at the hotel now, and I managed to sneak out some leftovers. It’s top-tier wagyu steak.” Since the “bankruptcy,” Claire always cried about how every cent she earned went to my “gambling debts.” I loved her so much that I starved myself, living on scraps so she wouldn’t worry. But today, at the hotel, I saw Caleb’s party. Abalone, lobster, caviar—flowing like water. This steak wasn’t leftovers; it was trash. I had seen Caleb stomp on this very container, spit in it, and order the waiter to mix in raw bloody water. He called it “dog food.” I felt bile rise in my throat. I pushed her hand away. Claire didn’t get angry. Instead, she grabbed my hand, her eyes widening in shock. “Your hand… it moved?” “Oh my god, Ethan! You’re finally healing!” “You always said you wanted a divorce because you were a ‘useless cripple’ who didn’t want to burden me. Now you can’t say that anymore!” She excitedly grabbed a hot water bottle to warm my hand, massaging it tenderly. She acted like a devoted wife overjoyed by her husband’s recovery. But I knew better. I forced a smile and pulled away. “Don’t you have another shift? Go. Don’t be late.” She paused, surprised by my dismissal, but after checking my face for suspicion, she kissed my cheek. “Wait for me at home!” Shortly after she left, I walked out too. Before I was knocked out, I had been holding my son’s urn. It was gone. I had to find it. But I barely made it down the block before the world spun. I woke up screaming. Someone had smashed a steel pipe directly onto my wrist. The pain was blinding, white-hot agony radiating through my entire body. In the dim light, I couldn’t see the attacker’s face, only heard him speaking in a thick accent into a phone. “Ms. Davis, the hand is taken care of. Guaranteed he won’t lift it again.” “We were discreet. He didn’t see us.” Claire’s cold voice drifted from the speaker. “You promised that last time, yet he recovered in three years. Are you sure it’s permanent this time? I want zero chance of recovery.” The thug confirmed it. Claire laughed, a chilling sound. “Good. Double payment is on the way.” “I drugged his water. Just leave him there, barely breathing. I’ll come ‘find’ him after I handle things with Caleb. I’ll cry a bit, play the victim, and he’ll never suspect me.” My heart shattered. I was already broken, yet she needed to destroy me completely for Caleb. But she miscalculated. I had only taken a sip of that water. The thug hung up and raised the pipe for a finishing blow. I grabbed a loose chain from the floor and swung it with everything I had left, choking him out. Adrenaline masking the pain, I stumbled out of the room. I realized I was in the basement of the Davis Corporation building. I dragged myself toward the exit, but froze when I saw two figures in the garden. Claire was leaning against Caleb, her head buried in his chest. “Caleb, your arms are so warm. I wish I could stay like this forever.” “I’m in such agony. I want to divorce Ethan every day, but I’m terrified that if I let him go, I’ll lose control over him. He could threaten you.” “Since he saved your life once, I just swallow my pride and take care of that invalid.” Caleb didn’t push her away. He held her waist. “You’ve suffered, Claire. I know what you’ve done for me.” “But I have ambitions. I need to secure this deal with the massive conglomerate coming to town. Rumor has it the CEO hates Ethan Sterling. Do you think… if I handed Ethan over to him to torture, it might seal the deal? I just don’t know if you could bear it…” Claire didn’t hesitate. “Of course I can. Just tell me when. If you hadn’t given me that billion dollars when my family went under, I wouldn’t be here today.” She paused. “Just… leave him alive, barely.” “Soft spot?” “No. His blood type and marrow match yours. If you ever have an accident, he’s your spare parts bank.” I laughed silently, a cold, bitter sound. So, Claire thought the billion dollars came from Caleb. No wonder she worshipped him. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in five years. “Dad. I’m done being rebellious. I was wrong.” “I’ll agree to your terms. I’m divorcing Claire. Send the chopper.” I hung up and turned to leave. But as I exited the building, I ran straight into Caleb. He crossed his arms, looking at me with pure sneering contempt. “Enjoying eavesdropping? Look at you. The once-great Ethan Sterling, now a beggar reeking of blood. Did you not enjoy the ‘special meal’ I prepared for you?” My clothes were bloodstained, my body broken. My wrist throbbed with a pulse of its own. I didn’t want to waste breath on this parasite. I moved to pass him. Caleb pulled a small box from his pocket and shook it. “Looking for this?” The urn. It was so small in his hand. “Hard to believe a six-year-old boy fits in such a tiny box,” Caleb mused. “Just days ago, he was calling me ‘Uncle.’ Too bad Claire had to gut him like a fish.” “She said his only value was being my organ farm. And now that he’s dead, you’re next. Hereditary duty, I suppose.” He laughed, tears forming in his eyes. Rage, pure and primal, exploded in my chest. I lunged at him. “Give him back! That’s my son!” But I was weak. He sidestepped me effortlessly. “I can’t just give it to you. Claire wanted to throw it in the trash; I saved it. You should be thanking me.” Suddenly, bodyguards materialized, kicking the back of my knees. I collapsed. They dragged me into the company lobby. Former colleagues and employees stopped to stare. “Is that Ethan Sterling? He looks half-dead.” “I heard he gambled away his fortune and killed his own kid. He’s been dragging Ms. Davis down for years.” “Probably here to beg Mr. Vance for money. Pathetic.” The scorn was palpable. Caleb smirked. “You want the ashes? Crawl through my legs. You have five seconds.” “Five. Four. Three…” I gritted my teeth, preparing to humiliate myself for Leo. But Caleb laughed, opened the lid, and dumped the ashes into a potted plant next to him. The white dust drifted down, landing on the dark soil. Caleb ground his expensive leather shoe into the dirt, mixing my son’s remains with mud. “Oops.” I snapped. I roared, surging upward with strength I didn’t know I had, and punched him squarely in the jaw. “He died for you! You soulless monster!” Caleb barely stumbled. He touched his face and laughed. “Was that a tickle? You really are a cripple.” “No wonder your wife says you can’t satisfy her. Yesterday, she was screaming my name so loud the neighbors probably complained.” He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper. “You know, when you were kidnapped and tortured years ago? We watched the livestream. She wanted to help at first, but I pulled her onto the couch… and eventually, your screams just made her more excited.” I shook with fury. The trauma of those days flooded back. Caleb grabbed my injured hand and punched himself in the face with it. “See? That’s a punch!” “Caleb!” Claire screamed, rushing over. She shoved me back, shielding him. Then she slapped me across the face. “Ethan Sterling! Stay away from him! If you hurt a hair on his head, I will destroy you!” I laughed, wiping blood from my lip. “Destroy me? Haven’t you already done that?” Panic flickered in her eyes. “You’re delusional!” Caleb held her back, playing the saint. “Claire, don’t. He saved my life once. Let this punch be the repayment. We are bigger than this.” He led her away. They looked like a power couple. I didn’t chase them. I went home to pack.

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It was 11:59 PM. I forced myself to push past the anger of being woken by my phone and shoved open the gilded door of the private room. “Excuse me, everyone, I apologize for the interruption, but I’m here to pick up my husband.” The next second, the room’s raucous New Year’s countdown came to a screeching halt. Dozens of eyes belonging to a room full of society’s elite were suddenly pinned on me. And the man sitting in the center seat, impeccably tailored, his expression cool and remote, was slowly tracing the rim of a cocktail glass. “…Audrey Rose?” Someone finally broke the heavy silence. “This is the Crestwood University Alumni New Year’s Eve gathering. This isn’t a refuge for Midtown State rejects.” A wave of laughter erupted. “Isn’t this the one from the ‘Primacy of Audrey’ scandal? The time Crestwood’s star student risked his academic career by rewriting the core thesis of his Political Science paper to be about her?” “I heard you had to desperately trick your way into your stepbrother’s bed and then force a wedding. Why else would he marry a scatterbrain like you? Now his wife is a Cambridge PhD. That’s what you call a perfect match. Why would you even dare show your face here?” The table full of gazes felt like tiny needles stabbing into my skin. They would never know. Rhys had once been the last-ranked student in his class. His desperate, brilliant climb to the top was all for me. But the past was the past, and it no longer mattered. I met all their stares, displaying none of the shame or panic they anticipated. I pulled my lips into a small, calm smile. “I’m not here to join your elite little countdown, ladies and gentlemen. I’m here to take my husband home.” Rhys finally looked up, his eyes deep and unsettling. “Audrey. We’ve been divorced for three years.” I gently curved my lips, putting on my standard, customer-service smile. “I know.” “And that’s why, Mr. Rhys, I wasn’t talking about you.” 1 “The nerve. Still trying to claim a piece of Rhys even after the divorce.” A few repressed snickers echoed in the room. Jax lit a cigarette and watched me with a bored, detached expression. “First time I’ve seen someone so eager to play the mistress.” Jax had been my and Rhys’s best friend in high school. And once, he had been the second-kindest person in the world to me. But when Rhys and I fell apart, Jax didn’t hesitate to side with him. Because the woman he loved was the very reason for the end of my marriage—the other woman. And he had spent years helping Rhys keep their relationship a secret from me. Only I had been the fool, kept completely in the dark from start to finish. “Jax, enough.” Rhys’s lips tightened as he gave a cold warning. Jax, annoyed, stubbed out his cigarette. “What’s the big deal? A couple of words won’t hurt. A dimwit like Audrey Rose can’t possibly compare to someone as brilliant as Sloane. You only kept her around because you felt sorry for her, and she just held you back for years.” Rhys met my gaze, his voice low and firm. “Audrey Rose isn’t dumb.” Audrey Rose isn’t dumb. Coming from the mouth of a genius like Rhys, the statement always felt faintly ridiculous. But the sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose had believed it. The year I finished middle school, my mother married Rhys’s father, forming a new family. Rhys and I were the same age and ended up at the same average high school. We were even in the same class. He was dead last in the rankings; I was comfortably average. Rhys hated me, so he never spoke to me. I often saw Rhys getting into fights and facing disciplinary action. Then my mother would have to go to the school, quietly enduring the scoldings and abuse. One night, I went out for water and saw my mother sitting on the sofa, weeping late at night. “Audrey, what can I do to make Rhys accept me?” I didn’t know. I only knew that after that night, The cold truce Rhys and I had was replaced by open warfare. I put mustard in his drink, poured dirty water into his backpack, and slipped laxatives into his lunch. Rhys finally snarled a threat: “What else you got? Listen, Audrey Rose, if you don’t manage to ruin my life, I’m going to ruin your mother’s.” We maintained that vicious standoff for over six months. I thought I would hate Rhys forever. But in the end, he became the only person left in the world who loved me. 2 My conflict with Rhys ended after an incident of domestic violence. Rhys’s father beat my mother so badly that she ended up in the emergency room. As she was being loaded into the ambulance, his father was still spitting venom. “I chased you for a year or two, and you’re useless! All beauty, zero substance.” My mother was nearly forty, and for the first half of her life, my own father had spoiled her rotten. She naturally hadn’t learned to do much for herself. Hearing that comment, the cold mask Rhys wore instantly shattered. He stared at me in shock, murmuring to himself. “My dad didn’t tell me your mom seduced him…” Rhys hated my mother. He’d always believed she actively broke up his parents’ marriage, which led to his mother leaving. It didn’t matter anymore, because after that day, I didn’t have a mother, either. I took her favorite White Gardenias to the hospital to visit her, only to learn she had run off. She hadn’t taken anything. And she hadn’t taken me. Audrey Rose was homeless. I didn’t know where to go. Wandering the streets late that night, Rhys was the one who found me. His eyes were red, and he looked furious. Afraid he was going to hit me, I curled into a ball. Amidst my terror, his warm embrace wrapped around me. For the first time, I heard him speak with such tenderness. “Audrey Rose, come home with me.” “From now on, I’ll be your whole world.” I took the hand he offered and held on tight. And so, from that day when I was sixteen, Audrey Rose’s world had consisted of only Rhys. 3 After my mother’s passing away, Rhys’s father’s temper became increasingly volatile. Rhys, worried I might get hurt, moved us out. Our lives continued, but they were different now. I was no longer mischievous or a troublemaker, and Rhys’s eyes held a gentle softness. Rhys started spending more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him about it. “You never liked reading or going to class before.” He looked at me with great seriousness, then finally pinched my cheek gently and said with a warm sigh, “Audrey Rose, I want you to have a better life.” I saw the flush on his ears and nodded firmly. Audrey Rose, you absolutely cannot hold Rhys back. So I studied even harder, but while Rhys flipped his rankings from last place to first, I remained stuck in the middle. Rhys tutored me until midnight every night. I just stared at the Calculus problems, shaking my head. He’d say, “Audrey Rose, you really are a bit dense.” “But I love that about you. You’re adorable when you’re confused.” Sleepiness washed over me, and the pen slipped from my hand. I mumbled, “Rhys, can you slow down a little? I’m going to be left behind.” Rhys promised me. I would never have to chase him. He would always wait for me. He broke that promise. Later, he came to despise that confused, clumsy side of me. It only irritated him. 4 “Not dumb? You practically tutored her full-time, and she still only managed to get into a second-rate state college.” Jax played with his lighter, picking up the thread of the conversation. I glanced around the room, not seeing my actual husband, Leo Maxwell. Leo had indeed attended Crestwood, the same as Rhys, but they were in different programs. It was unlikely they would be at the same alumni party. I figured Leo must have sent me the wrong address. I couldn’t be bothered to dwell on the past any longer. “My apologies for the intrusion.” I dropped the words and walked out. I texted Leo, but he didn’t reply. His phone went straight to voicemail. I decided to head home. Just as I reached the car door, a hand clamped down on my wrist. “Please, Audrey. Can you forgive me?” Rhys looked down, an expression I couldn’t decipher in his eyes. Audrey. That casual, familiar use of my name. It used to make me blush, a perfect way for a conservative guy like Rhys to flirt. But later, that very familiarity was what ruined me. “Rhys, are you addicted to performing?” I shook off his hand, my face blank. “I don’t need your forgiveness.” The tension was broken by a soft, contemptuous sneer. “Audrey Rose, I never expected to see you here.” Sloane approached in high heels, as arrogant and self-satisfied as always. In the past, I would have been intimidated by her presence. I would have felt admiration, even a reflexive self-loathing. But now, after that shameful history had tormented me countless times, all that remained was a profound calm. “Audrey Rose, why don’t you come home with Rhys and me? Your mother misses you so much.” I didn’t think I’d be able to say it so calmly, three years later. “I don’t have a mother.” My former love, my mother. They all chose her, Sloane. And I had long ago decided I didn’t want any of them. Sloane grabbed my wrist, subtly exposing the gold bracelet on her own. It was Rhys’s mother’s family heirloom. I had worn that bracelet for ten years. Rhys and my relationship had only lasted ten. 5 Jax was right; I was always dense. Even though Rhys worked himself to the bone tutoring me, I could only manage to scrape into Midtown State. Rhys, however, crushed the college entrance exams, was named the state’s top scorer, and went to Crestwood University. We were both in the city, not too far apart. Though we couldn’t be together all the time, our relationship was intensely close and affectionate. It was the simplest happiness, and a memory I would cherish for the rest of my life. Rhys was handsome and brilliant; many people chased him. But he always gave me complete security. I often went to his campus to visit him during college. He was too famous; the smallest rumor would draw attention. Gradually, people on the forums started saying I wasn’t good enough for him. That I was worthless aside from my face, a fool with no ability or background who didn’t deserve a prodigy. Rhys had already made our relationship public. He was furious when he heard these things. He said they didn’t know how wonderful I was. So, on a major final exam that semester, He took the foundational principle of Dialectical Materialism and replaced it everywhere with The Primacy of Audrey. He nearly failed the course and was publicly reprimanded by the department for having “love on the brain.” The incident rocked the entire campus. Rhys was afraid that anyone might not know I was his girlfriend, yet when we got married, he insisted: “Audrey Rose, let’s keep this a secret for now.” “Just wait a few years. I’ll make a name for myself, and then I’ll marry you in the grand style you deserve.” I agreed. In the fourth year of our marriage, Rhys’s career had soared. I never got the wedding I dreamed of. I got his betrayal. 6 On our fourth wedding anniversary, Rhys flew into a terrible rage. Because I had apparently lost the bracelet he gave me. Furious, he slammed the door and stormed out. It was the first time in his life he had ever spoken to me with such venom. It was pouring rain that day. I searched everywhere we’d ever been. I suddenly remembered the little house where Rhys and I had lived in high school. Rhys had bought that house later on. Because the walls inside were covered with thousands of photos of us from those three years. The moment I pushed open the door. I saw Rhys with another woman pressed underneath him. A moment of intense, breathless frenzy. My head spun, and I instantly lost my voice. I knew who she was: Sloane. Rhys had mentioned her, but rarely. He initially told me her father had forced her onto his team and he figured she’d be nothing but trouble. But later, he’d said Sloane was incredibly capable, brilliant, and sharp. It was around that time that Rhys started thinking I was dumb. Our common ground shrank. Rhys would often say: “Can you please stop asking? I tell you things, and you still don’t get it.” “Audrey Rose, you’re so slow.” Yet, I was genuinely happy he had found a compatible colleague. But now, Sloane was wearing that bracelet, her eyes filled with cold provocation. I had been tormented by guilt, searching like a dog for something I thought I’d lost. It turns out I hadn’t lost it. Rhys had personally handed it over to someone else. She slowly stood up, leaning against Rhys. “Why so surprised?” “We’ve done it in your bedroom, in the bathroom, in front of the window in your penthouse—everywhere in the city you thought was yours. Today, we just wanted to try the spot where you two first did it.” A ringing in my ears deafened me, and all the strength drained from my body. Operating on pure instinct, I grabbed the photo frame from the table and hurled it. Rhys shielded her with his body, his eyes bloodshot. “Audrey Rose, are you insane!” The man who had promised to be my whole world. He shoved me hard to the floor. My hand was covered in glass shards. The photo— It was the first picture Rhys and I ever took. He was beaming, his arm around me, showing me off. But now, it was shattered. And the look in his eyes was pure revulsion. Before I could even process that, another bombshell exploded near my ear. “Audrey Rose, can you stop the drama? You’re suffocating! No wonder your own mother walked out on you!” It turned out my mother had remarried. She had married Sloane’s father and had genuinely doted on Sloane for ten years. My decade of fantasy had become a nightmare. Later, Rhys demanded a divorce. I didn’t want to give them what they wanted, but I couldn’t fight them. Everyone I loved had defected to the other side. My partner, my friend. And, my mother. 7 Rhys locked me up in the city apartment. For nearly a week, he unleashed all his rage on me. “I won’t sign. You want to marry her? In your dreams.” At the time, the marriage certificate felt like my only leverage. I was stubborn, desperate, and felt like a madwoman. A week later, a blurred video was leaked. The audio, however, was painfully clear. “My darling, I love you most. Just try to love Audrey a little more than you do now.” This was from years ago, when he was always traveling. He’d said he needed a way to feel close to me when I wasn’t there. Rhys was terrifyingly conservative. So when he initially suggested making the video, I was both shy and surprised. Rhys and Sloane were masters of spin. That one sentence on the video completely turned public opinion against me. And the final nails in my coffin were driven by my own mother and my closest friend. My mother said I was a manipulative child who had trapped Rhys, forcing her to leave. Jax claimed Rhys had only ever seen me as a little sister, that I was the one who climbed into his bed, forcing him to take responsibility and marry me. The final, fatal blow came from Rhys himself. I lay numbly on the bed, watching my family and friend’s accusations, when Sloane came to see me. She told me she had confessed her love to Rhys in college. Rhys had rejected her. His reason? He didn’t feel worthy of her yet. If she was willing, she could wait a few years for him. Wait until he had the success to stand beside her, until he could approach her openly. That night, I finally gave in. I agreed to the divorce. As I signed the papers, I thought back. Sixteen-year-old Rhys, full of ambition, promising me a better life. But twenty-six-year-old Rhys’s future never included Audrey Rose. Wiping away my tears, I forced myself to ask him. “What was I to you? A consolation prize?” “Or just a temporary fix until you found the person you truly loved?” Rhys said, “I did love you, Audrey Rose. That was real.” I held back my tears. The love was real, but the change of heart was just as real. 8 During the mandatory cooling-off period, I barely left the house. The scandal with Rhys and me had become too public. Leaving the apartment meant I was mocked and insulted, or worse, subjected to various forms of harassment. The day we were officially divorced, I discovered I was pregnant. Rhys and I had tried to conceive for two years with no luck, but on the day we divorced— I went back to the old high school house. I hadn’t taken any assets from the divorce, only the title to that one small property. I threw out the bed they had used, and I lived curled up on the sofa every day. Listening to music, playing the guitar, reading. When I thought of Rhys, I would burn a photo. In the beginning, I burned hundreds a day. I forced myself to wait at least an hour between sessions. Later, the frequency of burning photos became less and less. I never paid much mind to the baby growing inside me. I suppose the child knew I didn’t want her. She was very gentle, very quiet. For six months, I had an easy pregnancy. But in the sixth month, I terminated the pregnancy. Because in the sixth month after the divorce, Rhys and Sloane got married. It was an enormous wedding. Even grander than the unfulfilled fantasy of the one Rhys had promised me. That day, I ran out of photos to burn. How could twenty-six-year-old Audrey Rose possibly be dumber than sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose? What sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose had held onto so tightly, Twenty-six-year-old Audrey Rose could finally let go of. Rhys would no longer be a part of Audrey Rose’s world. 9 “Audrey, you’ve changed so much, I barely recognize you. You weren’t this cold before.” Rhys frowned at me. I smirked. “Oh, really? And you used to say you only loved me.” Sloane shot me a fierce glare. “Audrey Rose, don’t be shameless. Are you trying to flirt with my husband right in front of me?” “I have zero interest in your husband.” I glanced at Rhys, my heart devoid of any reaction. I pushed past them. “Get out of my way. I’m going home.” The moment I opened the car door. A man’s coarse yell echoed through the parking garage. “Sis! Don’t you dare leave! Your husband is about to tear this whole place apart looking for you!” Finn, Rhys’s younger brother, gasped as he ran up to me, his face pale. “Holy hell, thank goodness you weren’t lost, Sis. My brother was about to kill me.” I was a bit slow to process. I looked up to see Rhys’s face frozen solid. He opened his mouth and squeezed out a few words: “You got married? When? To who?”

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It was Christmas Eve, and I was pushing my cart, selling roasted fish & chips outside an upscale preschool in Astoria. A luxury car, a Rolls-Royce Ghost, glided past my stall. When I recognized the custom license plate—the one he’d always been so annoyingly proud of—I instinctively pulled the brim of my wool cap lower. But the small boy in the back seat rolled down his window. He pointed a chubby finger at my stall and yelled, “Daddy, I want those chips!” Marcus Sterling pulled the car over. I knew the moment he took a step toward me, pulling his son along, that I couldn’t hide. The streetlamp cut through the snow flurries, catching my face. He froze. “Sera. Seraphina, is that really you?” His voice was a strained whisper, quickly hardening. “I thought you died in prison.” Chelsea Hayes, draped in a mink coat that had likely cost my father’s entire year’s salary before everything, rushed to his side. Her face turned icy. “Marcus, she’s a felon, a convicted killer! Her mind is twisted. What if she hurts our baby?” Marcus snatched his son up and took a panicked step back, his disgust a palpable wave. He bundled the child into the car and sped away, leaving only exhaust fumes and fresh snow. I remained rooted in the flurries, my voice mechanically calling out to passersby. Once, I would have thrown myself in front of a moving train for Marcus Sterling. Now, I felt nothing. The five years in confinement had scraped away every last speck of love, leaving behind only polished, brittle glass. Chapter 1 It was Christmas Eve, and I was pushing my cart, selling roasted fish & chips outside an upscale preschool in Astoria. A luxury car, a Rolls-Royce Ghost, glided past my stall. When I recognized the custom license plate—the one he’d always been so annoyingly proud of—I instinctively pulled the brim of my wool cap lower. But the small boy in the back seat rolled down his window. He pointed a chubby finger at my stall and yelled, “Daddy, I want those chips!” Marcus Sterling pulled the car over. I knew the moment he took a step toward me, pulling his son along, that I couldn’t hide. The streetlamp cut through the snow flurries, catching my face. He froze. “Sera. Seraphina, is that really you?” His voice was a strained whisper, quickly hardening. “I thought you died in prison.” Chelsea Hayes, draped in a mink coat that had likely cost my father’s entire year’s salary before everything, rushed to his side. Her face turned icy. “Marcus, she’s a felon, a convicted killer! Her mind is twisted. What if she hurts our baby?” Marcus snatched his son up and took a panicked step back, his disgust a palpable wave. He bundled the child into the car and sped away, leaving only exhaust fumes and fresh snow. I remained rooted in the flurries, my voice mechanically calling out to passersby. Once, I would have thrown myself in front of a moving train for Marcus Sterling. Now, I felt nothing. The five years in confinement had scraped away every last speck of love, leaving behind only polished, brittle glass. 1 The ground was slick with smashed fish fillets where a child had trampled them. Each piece was a five-dollar loss. A shame. I crouched down, scraping the pulpy mess into the slop pail, my movements slow and deliberate. “Oh my God, did you see that? That was the ex-fiancée of Marcus Sterling, the CEO!” “I heard she killed a man, right? News said she got five years!” “A killer? She’s a killer, and she’s selling food outside a school? That’s insane! She must be mentally unstable.” “Keep your kids close, close. Who knows what kind of vendetta a person like that might be nursing…” The parents collecting their children hadn’t dispersed yet. They eyed me, whispering behind gloved hands. I calmly tended to fry my chips, acting as if the subject of their morbid fascination was someone else entirely. Five years ago, I was Seraphina Jones: the shining talent at the Astoria Conservatory, the Golden Girl, and the fiancée of Marcus Sterling, heir to Sterling Global. Marcus, back then, would charter a jet to bring me to the Swiss Alps just because I’d casually mentioned I wanted to see fresh powder. I genuinely believed we were untouchable, until Chelsea Hayes arrived. Chelsea was the impoverished student I’d mentored and financially supported for four years. After graduation, I used my influence to get her a junior position at Sterling Global. I never imagined she would repay me by sliding into my bed—or rather, Marcus’s bed—and then, while I was locked away, marrying him and bearing his child. Once the crowds finally thinned, I packed my cart and pushed it toward my sub-level studio. I struggled to lock the cart near the stairwell entrance. As I turned, I saw the man standing at my door. The motion-sensor light in the hall had been broken for months, but I recognized the silhouette instantly: Leo Maxwell. He was the younger brother of a woman I’d met inside—a tough woman who became a reluctant protector. He was also my only neighbor. He was holding a small plastic bag containing a few tubes of medicated ointment. By the faint sliver of light escaping my cracked door, he saw my hands. The fresh, raw blister where I’d fumbled by the hot oil, the panic of pulling my cap down—it stood out starkly against the landscape of old, thick scars that already covered my skin. Leo’s brow instantly furrowed, and the old, jagged scar running above his left eyebrow twitched, giving his face a look of rugged severity. To me, it was the only source of warmth I had in this frozen world. “What happened to your hand?” His voice was deep, raw, like sand and gravel. I automatically tucked my hand into my sleeve, forcing a strained smile. “It’s nothing. Just a small burn. What are you doing here?” Leo said nothing. He simply stepped forward, took my wrist, and pulled me inside. “Let’s go.” My basement unit was an icebox—no heat, just damp concrete. Leo, with a strange sort of domesticity, flipped on the switch of my tiny space heater. The rusty coils began to glow a muted orange, casting a meager halo of warmth. He made me sit on the unit’s only folding chair, then knelt on the cold floor in front of me. He twisted open a tube of ointment and carefully began to dab it onto the burn with a cotton swab. The medication was cool, mentholated, and it finally stifled the throbbing, raw heat. I looked down at him. He was a man of few words; we’d exchanged maybe ten sentences since I moved in. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that without his silent help—an extra blanket, a shared meal, a word with a sketchy landlord—I might not have survived that first month out of the system. “I saw him today. And her,” I admitted, the sentence hanging unfinished in the cold air. Leo’s body went rigid. He didn’t look up, but his voice was tight. “You haven’t let it go, have you, Sera?” 2 I stared at the mold and moisture staining the wall, my mind drifting back to that torrential rain five years ago. I’d received Chelsea’s frantic call. “Sera, please, I need help! I hit someone… on Seaview Drive…” I drove out immediately. When I arrived, the scene made my blood run cold. My luxury sedan—the one I’d lent Chelsea—had a crumpled hood. The bumper was slick with blood. A few yards away, an elderly man lay in the mud, lifeless. Chelsea hadn’t been hit; she was the one who had struck and killed him. She was huddled in Marcus’s arms, wrapped in his bespoke suit jacket. The air inside my car, which she’d abandoned, was thick with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and stale champagne. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened just before the accident. “Sera.” Marcus saw me. There was no apology, no shame. He strode toward me, and his first words cut deeper than any knife. “You’ll take the fall.” I recoiled. “What are you talking about? Marcus, have you lost your mind?” He gripped my wrist so hard I thought he’d snap a bone. He leaned in, screaming over the drumming rain. “Chelsea is pregnant! I can’t have my child born while its mother is in a federal institution!” I stood there, drenched and utterly stunned. My former mentee was carrying my fiancé’s child. “I won’t…” I backed away, tears mixing with the rain on my face. Marcus’s expression turned utterly vicious, a coldness I’d never seen. “Did you forget? That car is registered to you.” He lowered his voice, making the threat feel more intimate, more terrifying. “Also, your father’s company is running on fumes right now. It’s only Sterling Global’s bridge loan keeping them out of bankruptcy. And your mother’s bypass surgery? Scheduled for next week.” He pressed closer. “Do you want to wake up tomorrow morning to the news that Jones Industries has collapsed, your father jumped from the roof, and your mother’s heart medication has been pulled?” I was paralyzed. A sudden chill shot from my feet straight to the crown of my head. “Marcus! You’re not human!” I shrieked. My tears tasted bitter, salty. “I’ll get you the best lawyers, Sera.” He gently brushed the water from my cheek, a terrifying act of tenderness. “When you get out, I’ll marry you. Just take the charge for Chelsea. I have people on the inside; I promise you, I can get you out in two years, max. The Jones family funds will be transferred by sunrise.” Chelsea, hiding behind him, started to sob dramatically. “Sera, please… I can’t go to jail. I have my grad school applications, my life is just starting…” She gave me a sickening, saccharine look. “You’re different. You’re the Jones heiress. You’ll be fine, even if you do a little time.” Police sirens wailed in the distance, closer now. “You know what to do,” Marcus commanded, his voice softening to an urgent plea. Between the survival of my family’s legacy and my own freedom, he had already made the choice for me. I walked toward the squad car. Due to the severity of the death, and the way the story was handled by the media—painting me as a drunk, reckless heiress—my sentence was extended to five years. Inside, the environment was brutal. One of the hardened inmates, the self-appointed queen, despised me. Toilet duty, sleeping on soaked mattresses, cigarette burns—it was routine. The worst was the late-night beatings. The agony was so intense that I curled into a ball, feeling a hot, wet rush between my legs. When I was finally hauled to the infirmary, I found out I had been pregnant. The doctor, a callous woman, simply cleaned up the bloody tissue and told me flatly: “You lost the baby. It’ll be tough for you to conceive again.” I lay staring at the ceiling, numb, until the guard told me I had a visitor. Marcus. It was the only time he ever came. 3 I grabbed the phone like a lifeline, screaming and pounding on the glass partition. “Marcus! Our baby is gone! They kill our baby!” “It was Chelsea! She must have bought people inside to hurt me! Marcus, you have to help me!” He looked at me with a deep, crushing aversion. “Sera, what are you doing to yourself? Why have you become this person?” He shook his head, his face etched with disapproval. “Compulsive lying. Hysteria. Chelsea is the kindest soul I know. She wouldn’t harm an insect. Why would she hire someone to hurt you?” “Are you so desperate for sympathy that you’d fabricate a pregnancy? Why don’t you just say you have cancer next?” “I’m not lying! You can check the medical records…” I choked out, desperately. “Enough.” He cut me off, cold and final. He stood up and adjusted his expensive cufflink. “Just serve your time. You’ll be out soon. I’ll make it up to you with a spectacular wedding.” He walked away. He never looked back. That was the moment I died inside. Back in the cell block, the queen-inmate, seeing my shattered expression, cackled savagely. “Still calling out for your Prince Charming? We must have been too soft on you.” “I heard these hands were meant for the piano. Such beautiful hands. A real tragedy.” Then came a sickening snap. My right index and middle fingers were stomped on, deliberately. Without proper treatment, the bones fused crookedly. The joints twisted and knotted, resembling the brittle branches of a dead tree. Now, I couldn’t even hold a pair of chopsticks without a tremor of pain when the weather changed, let alone touch a piano key. “Done.” Leo’s voice pulled me back to the cold present. My hand was carefully bandaged. The stark white gauze glowed faintly in the dim orange light of the space heater. I realized Leo was watching me intently, an emotion I couldn’t quite place churning in his dark eyes. “You’re shaking,” he stated. I looked down at my disfigured, knotty fingers. He was right. I was shaking because Marcus had broken his promise. The promised “short stay” had turned into the full five years. And my parents… they didn’t want me back. The few chances I had for a call home were always met with a busy signal. The one time the call connected, it was Chelsea. “Sera, stop calling. Mom and Dad get chest pains whenever your name comes up. Their bodies can’t take the stress.” Mom and Dad? My mind went blank. My mother quickly snatched the receiver. “You have the gall to call this house? You disgraced the Jones name!” “Drunk driving, manslaughter… how did we raise an animal like you?” “Mom, no, I did this for—” “Shut up! Don’t call me that!” My father’s voice, thick with disgust, cut in. “We don’t have a daughter named Seraphina. Never call us again. You can rot in there for all we care.” Then, Chelsea’s sweet, cloying voice: “It’s okay, Mom, Dad, have some tea, calm down. I’m sure Sera will reform herself eventually.” “Oh, Chelsea is such a good girl,” my mother sighed, her voice instantly softening. “If only Sera was half as sweet as you. From now on, you are our daughter. That failure, she can stay in jail.” The line went dead. I held the receiver, listening to the hollow dial tone, a ghost abandoned by the entire world. She hadn’t just stolen my fiancé and my freedom. She’d stolen my parents, my home, my entire identity. After that, I never called again. I couldn’t bear to hear the tenderness they reserved for her, or the venom they saved for me. 4 The day I was released, I stole away to my parents’ suburban home. I just wanted to see them, even from a distance. But the imposing wrought-iron gates were padlocked, and a foreclosure notice was plastered on the front door. A neighbor told me the cold facts: “The Jones family? They lost everything. Didn’t you know? Mr. Jones had a massive stroke and died on the floor of his study. His wife, she just withered away a few days later. Broken heart, I guess.” I stood in the bleak winter wind, staring at the house where I had grown up, now a sterile mausoleum. I had no family left. Every promise Marcus Sterling ever made me was a lie. “Leo,” I lifted my head, my voice dry. “How can people be so black-hearted? How do they live with themselves? How do they… sleep at night?” Leo didn’t answer. He stood, his broad back blocking the draft from the hallway. He pulled a thick bundle of hand warmers from his jacket pocket and shoved them into my lap, followed by a bag of warm, fragrant pastries. “Eat something.” He didn’t wait for a reply, turning to leave. As he reached the threshold, he paused, his back still to me, his voice low and guttural. “Sera. Don’t look back. Those kinds of vermin aren’t worth dirtying your hands over.” He paused again, turning his head slightly, and the scar on his brow was prominent in the gloom. “From now on, you have me.” The door shut. When I woke again, the morning light was a weak, pale gray filtering through the tiny basement vent. I got up to open the door, preparing for the day’s grind. I pulled the door open just a crack, and a rush of cold air, mingled with the familiar scent of an expensive, smoky cologne, hit me. My body locked up. Standing in the narrow, shadowed hallway, a figure totally out of place, was Marcus Sterling. He wore a cashmere coat, the picture of refined wealth. But his eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept, and the floor by his feet was littered with cigarette butts. Seeing me, he stubbed out the cigarette and fixed his eyes on mine. “Sera.” His voice was hoarse, tinged with an almost imperceptible tremor. I tried to slam the door shut. A large, determined hand shot out, jamming the frame. Ignoring the pain of the metal grating against his knuckles, Marcus forced his way inside. The cramped basement unit instantly became suffocating. I stumbled back, grabbing the small fruit knife from the table, my hand shaking as I pointed it at him. “Stay back! Marcus, what do you want now? I have nothing left! What more can you possibly take?!” Marcus’s pupils dilated, and a flicker of genuine pain crossed his face. He took a hesitant step closer, his voice strained. “The accident… five years ago… I had my reasons, Sera.”

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I am the true heiress, and Caleb Vance is the true heir. During the ten years we were lost and adrift, we relied on each other for survival. We made a pact: whoever was found first would come back for the other. But when his wealthy family finally found him, he gently pushed me away. “The adopted son is here too. The car is full. I’ll come back for you next time.” I knew he wouldn’t come back. Later, he lost the battle for inheritance against the adopted son. Disheartened, he returned to find me. “Raising fish and planting trees is a life worth living,” he said. “I’m willing to spend the rest of my life like this with you.” I shook my head and waved the DNA test results in my hand. “This time, it’s my turn to go home.” “And my family doesn’t have a fake heiress.” 1 When the mayor ran up to tell me Caleb was back, I was sweating, sleeves rolled up, picking passion fruit. I froze for a second, then wiped the sweat from my forehead and smiled. “Well, make sure you treat Mr. Vance well. We’ve been struggling to find a buyer for these passion fruits.” Caleb had been gone for three years. In those three years, he never came back to see me, nor did he come to pick me up as promised. I went from heartbreak to silent disappointment, and finally to this calm smile. I guess that’s growth. Growth means focusing on reality. Caleb is a wealthy heir now. Buying my passion fruit should be easy for him, right? “Luna, aren’t you going? Maybe Caleb is here to take you away,” the mayor said, happy for me. I shook my head, squeezing a fragrant passion fruit in my hand. “No, I’m racing against time for the harvest. If I don’t pick them now, they’ll be overripe.” The mayor was surprised, but then seemed to understand. He sighed and ran down the hill. I continued to work hard with the other villagers, racing against the clock. Just as I was dizzy from the heat, I looked up and saw a thin figure standing in front of me. I paused and greeted him, “Mr. Vance, you’ve lost weight.” 2 Caleb had lost weight. I remember when he left three years ago, he was a tall, energetic boy with a handsome face that looked out of place in the countryside. Everywhere he went, he attracted attention. Now, he was thin, silent, and lifeless. The only thing that hadn’t changed was that devastatingly handsome face. Reuniting now, the first thing I looked at was still his face. He didn’t speak, just stared at me intently. His eyes were red, his lips trembling, as if he had suffered a great injustice and desperately needed a hug. I inexplicably took a step forward, then stopped. I didn’t want to hug him. In the past ten years, I had hugged him many times. He was a proud person, stubborn since childhood, never wanting to lose. Once, he fought a homeless man for half a hamburger, getting beaten bloody, just to snatch it back for me to eat. Afterwards, he cried silently in pain, and I held him all night. He clashed with villagers for his foster mother, wielding a sickle and roaring like a madman. Exhausted, he collapsed into my arms, and I held him all night. He missed his home, staring blankly at the sky in the middle of the night, and I held him all night. This ambitious boy had never left my embrace. But three years ago, he left without hesitation. 3 That day was the day Caleb and I officially led the villagers to plant passion fruit. I was on the mountain fantasizing about a bountiful harvest and making a fortune. Caleb suddenly went down the mountain and met the family he had been dreaming of. By the time I ran down excitedly, he had already finished reuniting with his family and was packing his meager belongings. I hugged him tightly, weeping with joy. “Caleb, that’s great! You’ve finally found your family!” His body stiffened, and he was silent for a moment. I was surprised and wiped my tears to look at him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” He was happy, but beneath the joy in his eyes, there was a hidden emotion. “Happy,” he replied with one word, looking at the mountains outside the village. “Aren’t you busy? The villagers don’t know much about planting; you need to guide them constantly.” “Even if I’m busy, I have to come see you! Your family found you!” I didn’t catch the implication in Caleb’s words and continued talking to myself. “This is great! We’ll have money, and we can help the village develop. Perfect!” Caleb fell silent again. I finally realized something was wrong. Caleb was happy to see his family. But he wasn’t happy to see me. I pursed my lips and playfully punched him twice. “Cat got your tongue? You’re not thinking of abandoning me, are you?” I asked this jokingly. But Caleb’s tone was serious. He hesitated, his eyes flickering. “My parents adopted a son, and he came too, so…” He paused, looking away. “So, the car is full. I’ll come back for you next time.” 4 My head felt like it exploded. The car is full? I had seen that car from afar. It was huge and long, more spacious than Old Man Wang’s truck. How could it be full? I’m not stupid; I understood Caleb’s meaning immediately. But ten years of feelings are hard to let go. I really couldn’t believe it, nor did I want to. So before the tears welled up, I kept joking, “If the car is full, I can sit in the trunk, or even on the roof, haha.” My forced laughter sounded like the sharp cry of a dying duck. Caleb sighed heavily, turning his back to me. “Luna, wealthy families in reality are more exaggerated than in novels. They care more about matching social status. “I was engaged since childhood. It’s an arranged marriage; I don’t have a say.” With every word he said, my tear ducts broke down a little more. When he turned to look at me, my face was covered in tears. But he remained calm, his tone full of ambition. “I am the heir to a wealthy family, and there is a favored adopted son at home. If I take you back, you will definitely be a burden to me. “I can’t afford any mistakes. I don’t want my biological parents to think I’m an emotional loser. So, you must stay!” I was crying my heart out, unable to refute a single word. Caleb’s eyes flickered, but he still hugged me, his voice softening. “Be good, wait for me to come back for you.”

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After my family declared bankruptcy, I was sent off to marry into the Thorne family to clear our debts. On the very first day of our marriage, my new husband threw a black card onto the table and told me that the only thing he could give me was money. Not only that, he seemed to despise me. He would rather do all the housework himself than let me touch a single thing in the house. After three years of this cold treatment, I wanted a divorce. I walked to his study, divorce papers in hand. But just as I reached the door, I heard the distinct sound of sobbing coming from inside. “Three years! I’ve been waiting on her hand and foot for three years! I transfer a million dollars to her account every month, I cook dinner for her every single night, and she still doesn’t care about me!” Then, his best friend’s angry voice cut through the air. “I told you not to be so dramatic back then! You’re a total house-husband, why the hell did you brand yourself as a playboy?” 1 My family went bust. As a result, I was engaged to Sterling Thorne. The Thorne family is old money—deep ties in both politics and business. Their foundation is rock solid. Logically speaking, a family like that shouldn’t have looked twice at a bankrupt heiress like me. But, as fate would have it, their second son, Sterling Thorne, was a disaster. He was the city’s most notorious playboy. The number of girlfriends he’d had was uncountable. Because of this, any decent socialite with a bit of family wealth who had the luxury of choice wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Sterling’s parents were desperate. When they heard about my family’s financial collapse, they immediately sent a proposal. They told my parents that as long as I married Sterling, they would wipe out our debt. Although we were broke, my background was clean. I graduated from an Ivy League school, I was reasonably attractive, and I had a reputation for being gentle and well-mannered. I was exactly the kind of docile daughter-in-law they wanted. My parents looked at me with guilt. Despite the tempting offer, they knew exactly what kind of man Sterling was. I, however, just nodded. “No problem. I can get married anytime.” My reasoning was simple: rather than struggling and potentially ending up with a broke jerk later, I’d rather marry a rich jerk now. 2 I had heard plenty of rumors about Sterling Thorne, but the day we signed the marriage license was the first time I actually met him. He didn’t look like the playboy I had imagined. He was wearing a soft, light blue cotton shirt. The top button was undone, offering a glimpse of his collarbone. He wore gold-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly, almost refined air. He looked elegant. Sophisticated. It was hard to believe this man was the wildest player in the city. You really can’t judge a book by its cover. Sterling didn’t seem to like me much. During the signing at City Hall, he kept a poker face and didn’t say a word to me. But when he took the marriage certificate, he paused. The hand holding the document trembled slightly. Maybe even he couldn’t believe that a free spirit like him had actually gotten married. We didn’t have a wedding ceremony. After getting the license, I moved directly into Sterling’s villa in the Hamptons. That same day, he handed me a bank card. “I’ll wire a million dollars into this account every month. You can spend it however you like. “I have nothing else to offer you. The only thing I can give you is money.” I accepted it calmly. We were a business merger, after all. There were no real feelings involved. He was upfront about it, and he was generous with his money. I had nothing to complain about. I nodded and started dragging my luggage toward the guest bedroom. I’d heard Sterling often brought women home. I figured I should be a considerate roommate. 3 Sterling’s expression stiffened for a second. He called out to me. “Harper, where are you going?” I looked at him, confused. “I heard that… your villa gets a little lively at night. So, I prepared the guest room for myself.” Sterling looked like he didn’t understand. “Are you worried about noise? I had the butler install soundproofing in the master suite. You don’t need to sleep in the guest room.” I decided to be more direct. “No, I mean… I heard you often bring female friends back to the villa. I don’t want to disturb you.” Sterling’s face suddenly turned bright red. “No… that’s just…” But seeing my knowing look, he awkwardly nodded. “Right. Yes. I do… sometimes bring female friends home. You know, a guy with my reputation, I have to keep up appearances. “I’ll sleep in the guest room. You take the master bedroom. Don’t worry, I won’t let them bother you.” I raised an eyebrow. Them? Sterling really played the field. While I was still processing this, Sterling grabbed my suitcase, carried it into the master bedroom, and started unpacking for me. He hung my dresses in the closet. He organized my skincare products on the vanity. He even folded my socks into perfect little squares. Watching his practiced movements, I couldn’t help but marvel. Is the competition among playboys this fierce nowadays? They have to be domestic gods too? 4 It wasn’t until Sterling had organized all my belongings that he seemed to realize what he was doing. He froze. We looked at each other, silence stretching between us. “I didn’t expect… you to be so thoughtful,” I said. Sterling’s eyes darted around the room. “No… don’t misunderstand. I just…” “I get it,” I said, nodding understandingly. “You have a lot of relationship experience, so it’s a habit. I won’t read into it.” Sterling paused, then nodded firmly. “Right… exactly. That’s it. I’ve had a lot of ex-girlfriends. I got used to serving them. Don’t mind me.” I waved my hand. “No, I don’t mind. Everyone has a past.” Sterling suddenly checked his watch, as if remembering something urgent. “I have a meeting at four. Can I come back at five to make you dinner? What do you want to eat?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re coming back… to cook for me?” Sterling froze again, but he recovered quickly. “Sorry, I was just using my watch to text a friend. I promised her I’d cook this afternoon. You don’t mind, do you?” I gave the sensible answer. “Not at all. I understand.” However, as he walked away, I stared at the Patek Philippe on his wrist with confusion. Since when can a mechanical watch send text messages?

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I was trapped by a System, forced into a mission: save the tragic hero, Keir Vance. For him, I bore two children. For him, I drowned in a five-year fog of postpartum depression. And for five years, Keir took care of me. To the outside world, we were a story of enviable devotion. The System’s voice was a constant whisper in my ear. “See? Isn’t this happiness? A husband, children… such a perfect family. Why would you ever want to go back?” On the television in my hospital room, a news report flashed across the screen: Keir Vance, spending a fortune on his new girlfriend. That supposed girlfriend was my son’s tutor. The photo showed the three of them in a tight embrace, a perfect, happy family. For the first time in years, a genuine smile touched my lips. “He seems to have found his true love,” I said softly. “Can I go home now?” The System shrieked, its voice hysterical in my mind. “I’ve had a hundred hosts, and you are the most ungrateful one I have ever seen!” “So what if his affection for Sophia has spiked to fifty-one percent? He hasn’t divorced you, has he? He hasn’t thrown you out! That means he still loves you! Are you really going to give up after everything you’ve been through?” I managed a weak, tired smile. Five years. Five years swallowed by the suffocating darkness of depression. Countless pills. Round after round of electroshock therapy. A fine web of scars crisscrossing my wrists. My only reason for living, the single thread I clung to, was the thought of returning to my own world, to my parents. I stared at the track marks from countless needles covering my arms. My voice came out as a raw rasp. “But you promised. You said I could leave when the mission was complete.” Just as the words left my lips, a small, sweet voice came from behind me. “Mommy, are you leaving?” I froze, turning my head slowly. My daughter, Mia, stood in the doorway of my room. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, but she forced a brave little smile. “If you leave… does that mean you won’t have to cry secretly every night anymore?” I crossed the room and pulled her into a fierce hug, the dam of my own tears finally breaking. She burrowed into my chest, her voice muffled. “If that’s the case, then you should go, Mommy. Mia will be a good girl. I’ll listen to Daddy and Aiden.” This was the daughter I had pushed away, a casualty of my depression. And yet, she was so perceptive, so kind. Her words were like a knife twisting in my heart. I wanted to go home, but how could I leave her? Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Sophia stormed in, her face a mask of fury. She marched up to me and slapped a newspaper across my face. “Mrs. Vance, I took pity on you. I helped you take care of Aiden because of your depression. Is this how you repay me?” The corner of the paper sliced my cheek, a sharp, stinging pain. I picked up the newspaper. The headline made my blood run cold. [VANCE MATRIARCH’S DEPRESSION OPENS DOOR FOR HOMEWRECKER TUTOR] The accompanying photo was the one of them on the Ferris wheel, locked in their family embrace. Sophia’s face was flushed with rage, but she stood tall, defiant. “As Aiden’s tutor, I have given him nothing but the best care and guidance. And you, instead of being grateful, you turn on me like this.” “It was your own flaunting that…” Before I could finish, my son, Aiden, burst into the room, his face contorted in anger. “I was the one who asked Miss Sophia what it felt like to have a mom! That’s why she hugged me!” he screamed at me. “You’re a psycho! Why don’t you just die? How did I end up with a mom like you?!” The color drained from my face. It felt as if all the strength had been ripped from my body. Mia stepped in front of me, her small face red with indignation. “Mommy’s not a psycho! She loves us so much! Miss Sophia is the bad one! She’s always pinching me when no one’s looking!” Aiden glared at his sister, his eyes vicious. “You’re lying! That crazy woman has already corrupted you!” Without another word, he lunged forward and shoved Mia hard. My heart seized as I watched her stumble backward. I threw myself forward to catch her. At that exact moment, Keir pushed the door open, his brow furrowing at the chaos in the room. His gaze landed on Sophia, and his voice dropped, turning cold. “Didn’t I tell you that you weren’t allowed to come here?” Sophia flinched but recovered instantly, plastering a gentle smile on her face. “A child’s education must be nurtured from a young age. I came to take Mia home. She’s old enough to begin professional instruction, not spend her days in a hospital watching over… a depressive.” Her words hung in the air, pointed and cruel. Keir’s eyes shifted to Mia. Mia clung to me, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to leave Mommy! Miss Sophia pinches me and hits me, and she tries to make me call her ‘Mama’!” Any hesitation on Keir’s face vanished, replaced by a cold, hard mask. “So instead of focusing on your treatment, you’re spending your energy slandering Sophia? You’ve even taught Mia to be a liar. It seems it’s past time she was away from your influence.” His words struck me like a physical blow. I clutched Mia tighter. “I didn’t…” “You’ve disappointed me, Clara. Deeply.” He turned to the nurse, his face a picture of strained patience. “Give Mrs. Vance a sedative. She needs to rest.” The needle pierced my skin, and a wave of weakness washed over me. Powerless, I watched as they took my daughter away. A moment later, the System’s voice buzzed in my head, practically seething. “This is all Sophia’s doing! She orchestrated the newspaper leak to frame you! She’s the one who brainwashed your son and abused your daughter! Now even Keir is on her side!” “Clara, stay and fight her! Fight for your husband, for your children!” I closed my eyes, my voice a dry whisper. “You leaked the story to the papers, didn’t you?” The System went silent. After a long pause, its voice returned, softer now, laced with an irresistible, soothing quality. “It doesn’t matter who did it. Just stay, Clara.” “Time is frozen in your original world. You can go back whenever you want. There’s no rush.” “You are Keir’s true love.” As it spoke, images of my parents flickered in my mind. But five years is a long time. So long that if I didn’t actively try to remember, their faces would begin to blur. A spike of panic shot through me. I spoke to the System, my voice firm. “I want to go home!” Before the System could protest, the phone a nurse had left for me began to ring. It was a video call. On the screen, my daughter’s face was beet red. She was crying, her voice choked with sobs. “Mommy, I’m so hot. I feel sick.” My heart twisted. I looked past her, at the electric heater on the wall behind her, its dial cranked up to a hundred and fifty degrees. My pupils contracted in horror. “Mommy, I can’t breathe. Daddy and Aiden went out. Miss Sophia told me to be a good girl and do my homework.” I fought down my rising panic, soothing her as best I could. The second I hung up, I ran. I didn’t even stop for shoes. I flew out of the hospital like a madwoman. The taxi hadn’t even come to a full stop when I leaped out and started pounding on the front door of our house. The door opened quickly. Sophia stood there in a pristine white dress, a look of perfect, polite confusion on her face. “Mrs. Vance? This late, you…” I shoved her aside and sprinted for my daughter’s bedroom. The door was locked. From inside, I could hear faint, shallow breaths and weak cries. “Mrs. Vance, the child is doing her homework. Barging in like this will only disrupt her concentration.” Seeing her put on this sickening act, raw fury burned through me. I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. Then I turned to the maids, who had come running at the sound. “The key!” I screamed. They just stared at each other, then looked helplessly toward Sophia. Just then, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Keir was home. He looked surprised to see me, but his gaze fell on Sophia’s red, swollen cheek, and his face instantly darkened. “Clara, what the hell are you doing?!” Sophia swayed, leaning against him, her body trembling as she put on a brave front. “Keir, I know Mrs. Vance is unwell. For five years, I have tried to be patient. I have helped raise your children.” “But it’s clear she will never be grateful. Perhaps it’s time for me to leave.” Keir looked at me, at my wild eyes and disheveled state, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in weary frustration. “Clara, I am begging you, please stop this.” “I have taken care of you for so long. I have done more than enough. Can’t you just be normal for once?” “After all these years… I can’t take it anymore.” I’m the one acting crazy? Tears streamed down my face, but my laugh was desolate. I was the one who pulled him out of the darkness. The day his company went public, he swore he would love me forever. I really thought I had found true love in this world. I had even considered choosing him over my own parents. And now, he couldn’t take it anymore. In the next second, Aiden shot out like a cannonball, slamming into me and sending me tumbling down the stairs. “How dare you hit Miss Sophia! I’ll hit you back for her!” My head cracked against the wall at the bottom of the staircase. Blood blurred my vision. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my heart. I staggered to my feet, staring at Aiden in disbelief. The hatred and disgust in his eyes were a mirror, reflecting my shattered heart back at me. I had almost died giving birth to him. His birth was the trigger for my depression. But in my moments of clarity, I would hold him all night, my heart melting with a love so fierce it hurt. I gave him all the love I had. And for Sophia, he had just tried to kill me. And Keir… Keir just stood there. He didn’t move. My voice was a raw croak. “Mia is in there! It’s a hundred and fifty degrees! I’m begging you, just let her out!” Seeing the cold indifference on Keir’s face, I crawled to him, grabbing at the leg of his pants. “Please. My baby is in there.”

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Near finals week, my boyfriend received a love letter that read: [Mr. Thorne, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. Will you be my boyfriend?] Soon after, amidst the cheers of her classmates, the girl confessed loudly. She asked: “Mr. Thorne, will you be my boyfriend?” Just then, I saw the bullet comments. [Here it comes! The female lead finally confesses to the male lead. The classic teacher-student romance plot is officially starting!] [The female lead is confessing, so why is the vicious female side character just standing at the door? Does she think she’s not enough of an eyesore?] 1 I stood frozen at the classroom door. The person being confessed to in the center of the classroom right now was indeed the male lead mentioned in the comments, my boyfriend whom I was discussing marriage with—Ethan Thorne. The comments in front of my eyes continued: [So sweet I’m crying. The male and female leads have the cutest age gap. Old woman, get lost!] [Don’t worry, don’t worry. The Dean will get rid of her with a text message. After all, this is the scene where the leads confirm their feelings. How could the old woman be allowed to be a stumbling block here?] [Male lead, say yes quickly! Then you can unlock the classroom play tonight! Gotta say, these young couples know how to have fun!] [I remember that part. The male lead bows down before the female lead. She takes off his glasses and steps on his shoulder, and he pants like a dog. The female side character should reflect on herself. Can her old face still excite the male lead?!] ? Thinking of Ethan’s unsatisfied, craving look this morning, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. Are these comments real? But the next second. My phone vibrated violently. The Dean sent a message. [Sarah, come to my office.] As soon as I entered the Dean’s office, he locked the door and asked with concern: “Sarah, I heard a student wrote a love letter to Ethan? This could be big or small, you guys have to handle it well.” I knew what he meant. More than a decade ago, the Dean had a favorite student who became a teacher. Because she was young and got along well with the students, a boy in her class soon developed feelings for her and confessed loudly. As a teacher, she sternly refused. But unexpectedly, after being rejected, the boy acted extremely radically. He left a suicide note that was practically a confession of love, then turned around and jumped off the school building’s roof. In the end, although he didn’t die, his lower body was completely paralyzed. A promising student destined for the Ivy League was ruined. The parents came to the school and made a huge scene, pointing at the female teacher’s nose and calling her a seductive bitch and a slut. They even went to her boyfriend’s house to mourn. The teacher was first dumped, then fired, and finally suffered from severe mental illness. Therefore, facing us young teachers, the Dean would bring this up from time to time to warn us. “Don’t be fooled by some students being introverted. The more introverted the student, the more likely they are to do crazy things.” I thought of the girl who confessed to Ethan. The female lead mentioned in the comments. She was the girl with the lowest presence in the class, Lily Evans. “Also, Ethan has been sponsoring Lily Evans for a year. Did you know about this?” 2 The comments were now updating me on the progress of the leads’ relationship in real-time. [Look at the female lead’s little face, all flushed. Reminds me of my puppy love days. Oh youth!] [The male lead called the female lead out! They’re gonna go out and smooch!] [Makes sense. Rather than kissing the old woman homeroom teacher a hundred times, it’s better to kiss the female lead’s soft, pink lips once.] [The male lead only has responsibility towards the female side character. Passion and love are long gone. True love is…???] The comments froze. My heart sank. Ethan and I were middle school classmates, childhood sweethearts. In middle school, his parents were busy with business, so they sent Ethan to live with his grandmother in our town. We were desk mates then. At first, we just secretly liked each other, but no one broke that layer of window paper. It wasn’t until the year of the SATs, when Ethan’s parents retired and settled in the capital, wanting to take Ethan back for his senior year and the exams. Ethan finally confessed to me, grabbing my hand and asking me to trust him, saying he would definitely go to the same university as me, and that I had long been in his future plans. Those hands were sweaty, but his eyes were full of stars that made my heart flutter. It was the sweetness and shared goals of these years that made me unable to believe the love-crazed man in the comments was Ethan. I suddenly thought of the day Ethan received the love letter a week ago. That day was the grade-wide cleaning day. The homeroom teacher of the class next door went into labor days early. The whole floor was in chaos. Ethan and several other male teachers went to help take her to the hospital. When getting off work, I picked up Ethan’s textbooks and backpack for him. Just as I picked them up, a thin pink letter paper fluttered to the ground. The handwriting was like the person. Delicate and quiet. It read: [Mr. Thorne, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. Will you be my boyfriend?] Signed: Lily Evans. That night I showed the confession letter to Ethan. His face looked terrible. “Did Lily really write this?” “Could it be a punishment for losing a game of Truth or Dare?” “I’ll go to school tomorrow and have a good talk with her!” The more he spoke, the more Ethan seemed ready to fight. I was the one who stopped him, telling him to ask the experienced Dean for advice first. I also persuaded him. As a woman, being both Lily’s homeroom teacher and his fiancée, if we really needed to talk to Lily, I might be more suitable than him. But with heavy teaching tasks and many homeroom duties, this dragged on until today. Lily’s confession. Ethan’s attitude. And the Dean’s sentence just now, the fact that Ethan had sponsored Lily for a year. I pinched my brow, feeling a headache coming on. The comments that had frozen just now started scrolling again. More densely than before. [What nonsense is the male lead talking about?! What do you mean ‘demonstrate how you concluded you like the teacher’?!] [This is smut, bro. Just do it already. How can you use your 98.6°F mouth to say words that cause premature ejaculation?!] [I’m out. I’ll come back tonight when the female lead gets framed by the male side character for the paid content.] [Hohoho, I’ll come back tonight too.] 3 I decided to call Lily’s parents. Unexpectedly, as soon as I spoke, I was caught off guard by their attitude. “Don’t look for me if there’s trouble. Isn’t there a sucker willing to sponsor her? Go find whoever’s sponsoring her! We didn’t ask her to study. Unless she gets knocked up or dies! Otherwise, don’t bother us!” In the background, besides the grumpy middle-aged male voice, there were a woman’s screams and a baby’s loud crying. “Damn woman, can you feed the kid! Make Jack stop crying! My head is about to explode!” I couldn’t believe it: “Lily’s parent…” But the next second, the phone hung up with a snap. The busy tone beeped in the receiver. The substitute teacher for the class next door asked: “Was that Lily’s family?” Seeing me nod, she sighed. “That child is pitiful.” “Her parents worked out of town before and left her with the elderly at home. Last year her parents got pregnant and had a second child. Seeing it was a boy, they immediately didn’t want their daughter to continue studying to save money for the family.” “I heard that they even beat her up at the school gate before.” I quickly asked when this happened. The substitute teacher said it was last year, right when she started tenth grade. Seeing my face turn pale, she comforted me, saying there were so many students in the class, even a homeroom teacher couldn’t cover everything and notice everyone. “Especially since this is your first time being a homeroom teacher.” She comforted me like this. But my heart was still heavy. The second period was my class. Lily sat in her seat with her bangs drooping. I carefully observed this girl for the first time. Thin, frail, face pale, sitting there silently with very little presence, as if any random shadow could crush her. Could such a girl confess to a teacher in front of all her classmates? After class, I called the Chinese class representative. I had seen her holding hands with Lily going to the restroom a few times before, thinking they were good friends. “But Ms. Sarah, Lily and I haven’t been friends for a long time.” The girl twisted her fingers, looking uneasy. “She always lies, saying how good her parents are to her, saying her parents made big money in the city and would buy a house when they return, giving her the best room as a bedroom. But actually, her parents ignore her.” “Last New Year’s Eve party ended too late. My parents happened to be on a business trip and I was afraid to stay alone, so I asked if I could go back to her house with her. As a result, her parents wouldn’t even open the door for her. We waited for fully half an hour before her grandma opened a crack for us to sneak in. Only then did I know her family wasn’t like what she said at all.” “Teacher, I don’t want to be friends with a liar. Is that wrong?” the class representative asked me. Is it wrong? My subconscious answer was no. But as a teacher, I couldn’t jump to conclusions so easily. “Is there any student bullying her in class?” The little girl shook her head, avoiding my eyes, and said: “I don’t know.” I smiled at her, signaling her to leave first, then called the next student in. Asked the same question. “Are you friends with Lily? Is anyone bullying her in class?” A class is like a small society. No matter how much of an ivory tower it is, students will be divided into ranks. Those with good grades, rich families, and good looks will naturally be sorted into the most popular tier. I asked more than ten girls in a row. The answers I got were that they weren’t friends with Lily, weren’t familiar, and didn’t know if anyone in class bullied her. Although Lily was reticent, she was careful and serious. Teachers usually asked her to help collect homework, so her interaction with classmates couldn’t be too little. But the answers I got now made me suspicious. Ding. The phone vibrated. Ethan sent a message saying he took the afternoon off. I didn’t reply to him. The next period was self-study. I decided to sneak into the class to take a look first. 4 Just approaching the class, I suddenly heard a gasp. Looking in through the small round window at the back of the classroom, I saw Lily bending over to pick up a homework notebook, while the class monitor, Brad Miller, stood in front of her with a bad smirk, stepping on the notebook with his limited edition sneakers, preventing the girl from pulling it out no matter how hard she tried. Brad was not only the class monitor but also handsome, had excellent grades, and his family was very wealthy. Several teachers told me they saw a driver picking him up in a luxury car after school. The boys sitting below had lights in their eyes. The girls all kept their heads down, as if reading seriously. “Yes, bend over just like that. The view from this angle is the most beautiful.” “Didn’t expect the lying girl to brag so much, but her chest is flat as a runway.” After speaking, Brad ordered Lily not to move and took out his phone to record. I watched dumbfounded, simply unable to believe it. The thin girl bent over in humiliation. Even from this distance, I could see her tears falling drop by drop. Other classmates in the class acted as if sacrificing Lily would keep them safe, all lowering their eyes and staying silent. Not friends?! No one bullying her?! This was clearly isolating Lily for fear of getting burned! In an instant, my anger shot to the top of my head, feeling like every hair was about to explode. I lifted my foot and walked towards the classroom. Sharp-eared students obviously discovered my arrival. There was a flurry of panic in the classroom. By the time I walked in, Brad had already picked up the notebook on the ground and handed it to Lily seriously. “Student Lily, this is my homework.” At this moment, he put on that good student mask again. Sunny, gentle, polite. I pretended not to see what just happened and looked at Brad. “Brad Miller, come to my office.” In my peripheral vision, Lily’s expression was pale and terribly ugly.

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