Category: English

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

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

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

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Every year, Mom bought Savannah and me a piece of gold jewelry, saving them up for our future dowries. I’d always believed she treated my sister and me with perfect fairness, dividing everything down the middle. That illusion shattered when I overheard a snippet of conversation at the local jeweler’s. “I’m telling you, this mother is something else,” the clerk was saying. “She buys jewelry for both daughters every year, but one is solid gold, and the other is just gold-plated.” I froze. When I got home, I tried the online test I’d quickly looked up on the cuff Mom had given me last Christmas. It was solid gold. I was just starting to feel a familiar, gut-deep shame for having doubted her—for questioning the one constant in my life—when her call came through. “I mixed up your bracelet with Savannah’s,” she said, her voice tight with a sudden urgency. “You need to switch them back right now.” My throat constricted. I managed to ask, “Aren’t they exactly the same, Mom? Why do they need to be switched?” 1 The first thing I did after getting my first paycheck was drive out to the good jewelry store to pick out a necklace for Mom. Since we were kids, she had faithfully bought Savannah and me one piece of gold jewelry each year. She called them our “investment pieces,” our future bridal trove. Even when money was tight—and it was always tight—she never missed a year. “We don’t have much, Piper,” she’d always say, polishing the box. “But we can always find the money for these. They’re your security. They’ll make sure your in-laws never look down on you.” The irony was that in all those years, she had never bought anything for herself. I was determined to change that with my first salary. I was browsing the glass cases, trying to decide between a simple chain and a pendant, when I heard the low murmur of gossip from the staff counter. “That mother is seriously something else,” one voice whispered. “Buys jewelry for both daughters every year, but one is solid gold, and the other is gold-plated.” I stopped, the sound buzzing in my ears. I couldn’t help but listen. The other sales clerk asked, curious, “How do you know that?” The first explained, “I’ve worked here for years. She comes in every December. She picks out the solid gold one, and then she asks us to make an exact replica that’s just gold-plated silver.” “She says she’s building a dowry for her girls.” She sighed, a sound full of tired judgment. “But I guess some mothers just can’t treat their children equally.” My mind went blank. The situation she described—a mother buying gold jewelry for two daughters every year, but one real and one fake—why did it sound so much like my family? No. It can’t be us. Mom had always insisted she treated Savannah and me with perfect parity. Besides, this store was a good fifty miles from her house; she wouldn’t drive this far just for a necklace. “Ma’am? Ma’am, how do you like this piece?” The clerk was calling me back to reality. I gave her a weak smile and tried to focus on the display. But my heart wasn’t in it. The conversation kept looping in my head. I finally settled on a gold chain the clerk recommended and rushed out of the store. I drove home that weekend, eager to give Mom the necklace. When she saw me, her expression went oddly blank. “Piper? Why are you here? You didn’t call ahead.” “I wanted to surprise you.” But her reaction was chilly, distant. She didn’t smile, just stated flatly: “Well, you didn’t tell me, so I haven’t picked up any groceries. We’ll have to eat something simple for dinner.” I nodded, not arguing. Mom went into the kitchen, intending to make some pasta and a quick salad. Just as she started, the front door opened again. My sister’s voice, bright and familiar, rang out. “Mom, I’m home!” Mom instantly dropped her work and rushed out. Her face broke into a radiant smile as she looked at Savannah. “Oh, darling! You two both decided to come home today,” she cooed. “Sit down, relax. Tell me what you’re craving, and I’ll make it for you.” Savannah tossed her bag onto the sofa. “Oh, anything is fine, Mom. Don’t fuss.” Mom shook her head disapprovingly. “Nonsense. You work so hard. You need something hearty.” She went to the refrigerator. It was fully stocked—meats, fresh vegetables, organic eggs. Everything. It was nothing like the barren kitchen she’d described to me just ten minutes earlier. A profound, sickening coldness settled in my gut. 2 Mom finally called us to the dining table. The table was laden with food, a feast of rich, savory dishes. Every single one of them was Savannah’s favorite. Trying to sound lighthearted, I asked, almost joking, “I thought you said we didn’t have any food, Mom? How is it that the fridge is suddenly packed the second Savannah walks in?” Mom lifted her eyes and shot me a look of pure exasperation, then slammed her chopsticks down on the table. “You always have to pick a fight, don’t you?” she spat. “I do treat you two equally. I buy gold for your sister every year, and I never leave you out!” She leaned in, her voice rising. “Your sister came home with a stack of groceries and flowers, and look at you. You’re a working adult now, and you still walk in here empty-handed.” Savannah chimed in, glaring at me. “Seriously, Piper. Just eat. Why do you always have to start drama and try to compare yourself to me?” I realized then why she was so cold to me. I had committed the ultimate sin: I hadn’t brought a gift. I quickly pulled out the necklace. “I didn’t come empty-handed. This is for you, Mom. I forgot to give it to you earlier.” Her expression finally softened. She took the chain, sniffed, and gave a grudging, “Well, at least you have some conscience.” She waved me toward the table. “Now stop dawdling and eat.” The awkward moment seemed to pass, but my appetite was gone. All I could hear was the jeweler’s clerk: “One is solid gold, and the other is just gold-plated.” After dinner, I wrestled with the thought for hours before finally voicing it. “Mom, the simple cuff bracelet you bought us this year? I want to start wearing mine.” Mom’s movements stilled. She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Aha. I knew that necklace wasn’t a spontaneous gift. You gave me a flimsy chain just so you could trade up for your more valuable piece. That’s a good strategy, Piper.” Her voice hardened. “Those are your dowry pieces. Are you that desperate to take possession of them already?” I swallowed hard. “But Savannah wears the jewelry you buy for her all the time.” “Piper, can you and Mom have a fight without dragging me into it?” Savannah burst out. She shoved her chair back and stomped off to her room, slamming the door. Mom gave me a disgusted look. “Honestly, Savannah finally comes home, and you just have to ruin it. Here,” she said, pulling the bracelet box from a high shelf and shoving it into my hand. “Take it. Are you happy now?” I drove back to my rental apartment first thing the next morning. I searched online again for the gold-plating test. I held the bracelet in my hand, frozen. If it was solid gold, I was the worst daughter alive, guilty of the deepest, ugliest suspicion. But if it was gold-plated… The clerk’s words had hollowed me out. I needed an answer. After a long, painful moment of indecision, I performed the test. I followed the instructions from the video exactly. The result came back: It was solid gold. A wave of relief and crushing guilt washed over me. I shouldn’t have doubted her. I owe her an apology. That’s when my phone rang. It was Mom. I answered, and her voice was a high, panicked edge of urgency. “I mixed up your bracelet with Savannah’s. Get back here and switch them immediately.” My throat tightened, a thick, metallic taste in my mouth. “Mom,” I managed. “Aren’t these bracelets exactly the same? Why do they need to be switched?” 3 There was a moment of silence on the line, a space where she was scrambling for an excuse. Then she gave up even trying. Her voice exploded in a sudden, furious burst. “Stop asking stupid questions! Just switch them back, like I told you!” I had my answer, but I needed to hear her say it. “Because the jewelry you bought for me all these years,” I pushed, my voice trembling, “is all gold-plated, isn’t it?” I had brutally broken the lie she had maintained for years, and in doing so, I had shredded the last thread of affection between us. Mom didn’t speak. My voice was barely a whisper. “You always said you treated Savannah and me with a perfectly level bowl of water. You always said we were equal.” “Why does she get solid gold, and I get plated junk?” Every slight I had ever rationalized, every ignored detail, rushed forward in agonizing clarity. In childhood, I wore Savannah’s hand-me-down clothes. Mom called it “fairness.” I was a better student than Savannah, so Mom poured money into tutors and expensive classes for her. “Savannah needs more help than you,” she’d explained. “If I don’t help her, it won’t be equal.” When I got into a university, Mom announced, “Your sister didn’t go to college after high school. If I pay your tuition, it would be unfair to her.” “You’ll have to figure out the tuition and living expenses yourself.” The examples were endless. She had never, not once, held the bowl level. I tried to keep speaking, but Mom had already hung up. That evening, I saw a new post on Savannah’s social media. The gold chain I had bought for my mother was now draped around Savannah’s neck. The caption read: My sister absolutely insisted on trying to steal my cuff. Thank goodness my mom is always fair and replaced it for me with a brand new necklace! I scrolled back through my contacts and found an account I had blocked long ago. The chat history held only a single, isolated message from years ago: Piper, can we meet? My father, Neil, had been trying to contact me for years. I had always refused, telling myself that meeting him would be a betrayal of the mother who “raised me alone.” This time, I agreed. I had one question he needed to answer. Neil and I hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. He tried to make small talk, but the awkwardness was crushing. I cut him off. “What was the real reason you and Mom divorced?” He paused, then sighed. “She said I didn’t treat you and your sister equally. She said I played favorites, and she demanded a divorce.” It was the same story Mom had told me—that she divorced him to protect me, because he favored Savannah. She always said I was supposed to live with him, but she fought tooth and nail for my custody because she feared I’d be neglected. But Neil added a detail my mother had carefully omitted. He did play favorites, he admitted—but the favorite wasn’t Savannah. It was me. Because Savannah wasn’t his biological daughter. The revelation hit me with a dizzying force. I had always assumed our different last names were just Mom keeping her maiden name for my sister and giving me his last name. I never dreamed this was the reason. They had been a blended family before I was born. Then I came along. Mom started arguing that he wasn’t giving Savannah as much attention, and they fought constantly. Finally, he said something that detonated their marriage. “I try to keep things level, but Piper is my biological daughter. I admit I might lean toward her slightly in my heart. But I have never financially cheated Savannah.” That was it. The argument that led to the divorce. He may have been painting a generous picture of himself, but I knew one thing was certain: Mom’s claim that she divorced him to protect me from his favoritism was a lie. I felt no sudden surge of fury or renewed pain. Only a cold, calm sense of recognition. Of course. I stood up to leave, but he stopped me. “Piper, we haven’t seen each other in years. Can’t we talk for a little longer?” I shook my head. He may have felt justified in the divorce, but he had still been absent for most of my life. Mom had been biased, but she had still raised me. He hadn’t paid a dime in child support. I said the thought out loud. He looked genuinely shocked. “Child support? I paid it every single month.” 4 “I’ve paid child support every month since the divorce,” he insisted. “She even made me pay extra every year—she said it was for the gold jewelry to build your dowry.” “And just a few months ago, she told me you were starting work and needed a down payment for an apartment near the city. I wired the money to her.” Now it was my turn to be stunned. Mom had always told me she never received a cent of support, that she had tirelessly raised us all on her own. But he was claiming he paid monthly support until I graduated college, funded the “gold dowry” jewelry, and most recently, gave her a large sum for an apartment down payment. I had never seen any of that money. My jewelry was gold-plated. I had paid for my entire university education with student loans and work-study. Seeing my disbelief, he pulled out his phone and showed me years of detailed wire transfers sent directly to my mother’s bank account. I don’t remember how I got home. Even with his bank records in my hand, a part of me didn’t want to believe it. What if he faked the records? What if he’s just trying to poison me against Mom? Then I saw Savannah’s new post on social media. It was a picture of a newly framed deed of ownership for a condo. The caption: So grateful to my amazing mom for the help. So excited to finally have my own place! #Homeowner My hand trembled as I held the phone. I remembered when I had first moved out for my job, I was broke and had asked Mom if she could lend me a little for a security deposit on a rental. She had snapped, “Where would I get that kind of money? You know our situation. Every cent I’ve ever earned has gone to you kids. I have nothing saved.” I ended up borrowing from a friend. She had no money to help me rent a tiny apartment, but she had hundreds of thousands of dollars to buy Savannah a condo. The post vanished a second later. She had blocked me. But I had already screenshotted it. Before I could figure out what to say to her, she called me first. “Piper, did you meet with that sorry excuse for a father today?” I didn’t deny it. “Yes.” The next second, her voice erupted in a violent rage. “I told you never to contact him! Don’t you remember what kind of man he is? He never cared for you after the divorce, never paid a dime! How dare you sneak around and meet him after everything I sacrificed to raise you?” She had used that narrative my entire life. That was why I avoided Neil—I thought seeing him would be a betrayal. But hearing the truth today, a terrifying possibility formed in my mind. She didn’t want me to see him because she was afraid the truth about the hidden child support would come out. I remembered the ferocious fights my mother had with my father over my custody. I had always convinced myself she fought for me because she loved me so deeply. That was the only thing that had allowed me to forgive her bias. But now, knowing Savannah wasn’t his… I realized Mom only fought so hard because my custody was tied to the constant, substantial child support payments from Neil. My mind drifted as Mom yelled into the phone, her tirade of accusations washing over me. Finally, she ran out of steam and hung up in a huff. Immediately, a notification popped up from the family group text. It was a photo of Neil and me sitting across from each other. Mom must have hired a private investigator. Below the photo, her message blazed across the screen. [Family, look at the daughter I raised with blood and sweat for twenty years.] [She knows that father never looked after her, never cared, yet she runs straight to him. She is an ungrateful wretch!] The barrage of relatives began, piling on the judgment. I smiled, a cold, hard finality settling in my chest. There was no going back now. I typed a single line, calm and absolute, and pressed send. [Then you can finally go back to pretending you don’t have this daughter.]

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The old spiritualists in this City—the ones who whisper fortunes to the families whose names line the skyscrapers—they called me the ‘Dynastic Anchor.’ Marry me, and you didn’t just get a wife; you acquired a generational guarantee: a century of prosperity for the Rhodes line, with the promise of strong male heirs. When I was eight, they brought me from the tiny, rugged fishing island and placed me in the Rhodes mansion, where I became Sterling Rhodes’ shadow. He treated me like a priceless treasure, catering to my every wish, and the entire Rhodes family embraced me as their own daughter. But in the first year of our marriage, at my five-month checkup, the ultrasound confirmed I was carrying a girl. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Rhodes, dosed me with something. While I was unconscious, she had me rushed to a private clinic for a surgical termination. Sterling knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, promising me that such a horrifying mistake would never happen again. The second time I conceived, I guarded myself obsessively. Yet, during labor, I was given a powerful anesthetic. They suffocated the baby inside me, a silent, smothering death in my own body. As I lay on the hospital bed, empty and consumed by despair, Sterling walked in with my maternity nurse, Penelope Hayes. “Penny is carrying my child, Clara. A boy, already four months along.” He spoke with the cold, measured tone of a CEO delivering bad news. “I won’t hold the ‘Dynastic Anchor’ lie against you, because I do love you in my own way, but I have a family duty that comes before everything else. I can’t abandon that.” He continued, his eyes meeting mine: “Penny will move into the penthouse’s East Wing. I’ll oversee her care myself. Once the baby is born, we will register him as your son. He will be presented to the world as the heir you delivered, a final act of service to the Rhodes name.” I stared at Penny’s gently rounded belly, and an eight-year-old memory flashed through my mind: the spiritualist’s final, chilling warning as I left the island. “Fortune is tethered to you. But should the day come when someone wrongs you or breaks you, your luck will drain completely, and calamity will follow.” 1 The old spiritualists in this City—the ones who whisper fortunes to the families whose names line the skyscrapers—they called me the ‘Dynastic Anchor.’ Marry me, and you didn’t just get a wife; you acquired a generational guarantee: a century of prosperity for the Rhodes line, with the promise of strong male heirs. When I was eight, they brought me from the tiny, rugged fishing island and placed me in the Rhodes mansion, where I became Sterling Rhodes’ shadow. He treated me like a priceless treasure, catering to my every wish, and the entire Rhodes family embraced me as their own daughter. But in the first year of our marriage, at my five-month checkup, the ultrasound confirmed I was carrying a girl. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Rhodes, dosed me with something. While I was unconscious, she had me rushed to a private clinic for a surgical termination. Sterling knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, promising me that such a horrifying mistake would never happen again. The second time I conceived, I guarded myself obsessively. Yet, during labor, I was given a powerful anesthetic. They suffocated the baby inside me, a silent, smothering death in my own body. As I lay on the hospital bed, empty and consumed by despair, Sterling walked in with my maternity nurse, Penelope Hayes. “Penny is carrying my child, Clara. A boy, already four months along.” He spoke with the cold, measured tone of a CEO delivering bad news. “I won’t hold the ‘Dynastic Anchor’ lie against you, because I do love you in my own way, but I have a family duty that comes before everything else. I can’t abandon that.” He continued, his eyes meeting mine: “Penny will move into the penthouse’s East Wing. I’ll oversee her care myself. Once the baby is born, we will register him as your son. He will be presented to the world as the heir you delivered, a final act of service to the Rhodes name.” I stared at Penny’s gently rounded belly, and an eight-year-old memory flashed through my mind: the spiritualist’s final, chilling warning as I left the island. “Fortune is tethered to you. But should the day come when someone wrongs you or breaks you, your luck will drain completely, and calamity will follow.” … I hadn’t even finished my recovery period when Sterling ordered me home. Stepping into the marble foyer, the first thing I saw was the staff clearing all my belongings from the master suite. Penny stood there, her belly slightly protruding, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Clara, I truly didn’t want to take your room. But my doctor insisted that pregnancy requires a space with maximum light and good qi flow—it’s crucial for prenatal education. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Eleanor, my formerly kind and doting mother-in-law, watched me with open contempt. “After deceiving the Rhodes family for this many years, she should be grateful we haven’t shipped her back to that shantytown she came from. What right does she have to complain? All that talk of being a ‘Golden Key,’ and she couldn’t even produce a male heir. What a waste of fifteen years of our investment, and what a cruel delay for Sterling’s life.” I looked to Sterling. He was gently cradling Penny’s lower back, his gaze skimming past me. He said nothing. Penny sidled up to Eleanor, linking her arm sweetly. “Mrs. Rhodes, please don’t be upset. As the City’s premier family, the Rhodeses are bound to attract some opportunists. But since I am carrying your grandson, I can resolve this issue for you. Don’t be too hard on Clara.” Eleanor’s eyes lit up. Her tone softened instantly. “You have a truly good heart, Penny. And stop calling me Mrs. Rhodes. Soon, you’ll be calling me Mom.” Penny’s cheeks flushed pink. She turned and buried her face in Sterling’s chest. He paused for only a second before beginning to stroke her hair in a compliant, proprietary way. I stood in the opulent foyer, a stranger holding a small bag of clothes. I bent to pick up the luggage at my feet, turning toward the guest wing. Eleanor’s voice, sharp as a glass shard, cut through the air. She pointed toward a prefabricated metal shed tucked near the landscaping. “That’s your room.” I spun back to Sterling. His expression was flat. No denial. “Sterling! It’s over a 40 degrees outside! You’re putting me in the maintenance shed with the housekeeping staff!?” My voice cracked. “I accepted that you brought her home! I accepted giving up my room! But I haven’t even finished recovering from a major medical trauma! You…” The crash of a heavy vase interrupted my protest. Sterling loosened his tie, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Keep your voice down, Clara. Don’t ruin the peace for everyone.” He sighed, the perfect portrait of a man inconvenienced. “The guest rooms are being converted into a yoga studio, music room, and meditation space. We’re bringing in several pre-natal specialists to live here for Penny’s early education. She’s an expert in the field.” He paused. “Just see it as temporary. I’ll find a separate place for you to move into in a few days.” As the City’s wealthiest tycoon, Sterling owned properties spanning the continent. The fact that it would take him ‘a few days’ to find me a place was a calculated effort to punish me. I walked toward the sweltering metal structure, acutely aware of the contemptuous stares from the staff and my in-laws. The shed contained a few wooden cots, surrounded by scattered sandals and cleaning supplies. A broken, dust-coated fan whirred futilely, doing nothing to cut through the oppressive heat. An old plastic basin was shoved at my feet, splashing me with fetid water. “These are our uniforms. Wash them before dark and hang them outside.” I looked coldly at the housekeeper, a woman who had once knelt to adjust the train of my wedding dress. “Why should I?” She spat a mouthful of grape skins at my feet, grinning. “You still think you’re the high-and-mighty Mrs. Rhodes? Everyone knows the boss is replacing you. You’re a low-born piece of trash from a fishing village who tried to climb the ladder on the back of a superstitious lie. You have a lot more coming.” They snatched my bag and, using a broom and a mop handle to prod me, forced me into the blazing sun to wash basin after basin of clothes, socks, and even their undergarments. The sun beat down, turning my face crimson, pushing me toward unconsciousness. Through the heat haze, I looked up and saw the full-length window of the master suite. Sterling was inside. One moment he was carefully folding Penny’s clothes; the next, he was kneeling, cautiously pressing his ear to her slightly swollen belly, a picture of warm, doting devotion. When I was pregnant with our first child, he feared the housekeepers would be too clumsy to care for me. He had personally helped me dress and folded every piece of my maternity wear. “I will only ever be this devoted to you,” he’d sworn, “pregnant or not, I will wait on you like this for the rest of my life.” He had kissed my forehead with such genuine sincerity. I was naive enough to believe it was true love. Now, watching him rush to cater to the child in another woman’s womb, I understood the true extent of my foolishness. The thick, hot air pressed down, making my breathing shallow and tight. A suffocating pressure seized my chest, and I pitched forward, collapsing into the basin of soapy, gray water. Just before the blackness took me, I thought I saw his face—the man in the window—catch my eye. Was there panic? Does he still see me at all? When I woke, I was lying on a sofa. Sterling was sitting beside me, holding a glass of iced tea. He gently blew on the surface to cool it and held it to my lips. I kept my mouth shut, staring at him. “Why, Clara? What was the point? You know the entire family is furious with you. What harm is there in staying in the shed for a few days? Once this blows over, I’ll take care of you. Why are you making a spectacle right now?” My face was stark white. I managed to force out two words: “I’m making a spectacle?” He slammed the glass down, his expression hardening. “Isn’t this just attention-seeking? You deliberately put Penny’s personal laundry in with the staff’s, and then you poured pest-control spray into the basin! You know that was meant to upset her!” “She is pregnant! Did you even consider the consequences? If anything happens to this baby, it can’t be undone!” A raw, humorless laugh escaped my throat as tears streamed down my face. I whispered, “You know that a child’s loss can’t be undone.” My voice rose to a broken shout. “What about my children? The two children murdered by your family’s hands? Were those losses justified?” Sterling flinched, then his eyes turned cold as ice. “Clara, children founded on a lie shouldn’t have been kept.” A deafening roar filled my skull. All thought ceased. I felt like a stunned marionette. Founded on a lie? Shouldn’t have been kept? In his eyes, those two aborted fetuses weren’t even worthy of being called his children. I took a deep, shaky breath, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet. He reached for my hand, a flicker of something that looked like regret in his brow. “Clara, I love you. But Penny is carrying my son. Once she gives birth, I’ll pay her off handsomely and send her out of the country to pursue her education.” “But don’t try anything else. I told you, next time, you know what I’m capable of.” He strode quickly away, leaving me shivering in the suffocating heat. Twenty years of knowing him, and he had just prioritized another woman by explicitly threatening my life. I walked back to the shed, collapsing onto the foul cot. A sharp kick landed on my shin. Rosa, the head housekeeper, snarled, “Hey, Disaster. Stop slacking. Get up and finish the wash!” She raised the wooden broom handle, ready to strike. I grabbed the nearest object—a spiked high-heeled shoe—and swung it with all my remaining strength at her head. Then again. And again. I didn’t stop until her face was streaked with blood and her eyes were wide with pure terror. I surveyed the stunned staff. I spoke slowly, my voice flat. “I’m a disaster. Anyone who touches me again, I will kill them.” Surrounded by a circle of sudden, palpable fear, I let myself fall onto the wooden slats, still clutching the blood-splattered heel of the shoe. A sudden, insistent beep-beep woke me deep in the night. [Come up to the second floor. Got a little something to show you.] I took a deep breath and started walking toward the main house. A gripping, terrifying premonition had seized my heart. The moment I reached the second floor, I heard the faint sounds of gasping and moaning. The moonlight streamed through the slightly ajar door, throwing the intertwined, intimate shadows onto the wall. Sterling’s hard, muscular silhouette was clear even in the dim light. Penny’s eyes found mine, filled with a look that was both seductive and utterly provocative. “Sterling, who’s better? Me or Clara?” Sterling bit his lip, refusing to answer, but his movements grew deliberately more intense. Penny ran a finger across his chest and asked again. “Mmm… you. You’re the best.” He gasped the answer, his eyes glazed over. “Do you love me?” “Yes. I love you.” “Then when I have your son, I’ll stay here forever. Day and night. I’ll be your only Mrs. Rhodes, won’t I?” I was past pain, numb. I held my breath, waiting for the final, mortal blow. Sterling was silent for a moment, but as Penny’s hands urged him on, he surrendered completely. “Yes. Stay with me forever. You’re my only one.” On the wall directly facing the bed, our wedding portrait—the one where we were laughing into each other’s eyes—still hung. I fled the villa, swallowed whole by the inky blackness of the night. The cold shock of water woke me before dawn. Sterling leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a plume of smoke. Two security guards dragged me by my hair to his feet. “Clara, why won’t you behave?” He crushed the cigarette under his heel, grabbed my chin, and spoke with icy detachment. “The surveillance showed you entered the villa last night. This morning, we found Penny’s prenatal vitamins were switched with Mifepristone. That’s an abortifacient!” “Since you have such a cruel heart, you will never be allowed to have a child again.” A terrible premonition chilled me to the bone. My voice shook. “What are you going to do to me?” He released me and nodded to the guards, who dragged me onto the lawn. Every member of the staff surrounding us had been handed a heavy wooden dowel. Sterling turned his back and lit another cigarette. “Give the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Rhodes a solid beating. Pay special attention to the abdomen. Make sure she understands the true meaning of a mother’s devotion.” As the cold words dropped, a barrage of blows rained down. They aimed viciously at my stomach and hips. I could feel the warm, sticky flow of blood immediately run down my legs. The extreme agony made me crawl, forgetting all dignity, to Sterling’s feet. I gripped his pants. “Sterling, I didn’t—” My legs were violently yanked out from under me. “Clara, you were a mother once. How could you try to harm an innocent child?” Penny approached, gently stroking her belly. “Oh, I forgot. Your children were either terminated or stillborn. A woman who can’t even protect her own lineage doesn’t deserve to be a mother.” She looked at the staff with a sweet, feigned confusion. “Are you all tired? You’re barely hitting her.” Rosa, the head housekeeper—the one whose head I’d split—stood at Penny’s side, her bandaged head still oozing. With the new permission, she began to kick and strike me with a horrifying ferocity. “That’s what you get for being defiant! You low-class slut who everyone has had a turn with, daring to challenge me! You deserve to be barren for life!” Sterling, who had remained indifferent with his back to me, suddenly turned when he noticed Penny near the action. He extinguished his cigarette and rushed to support her waist. “Why are you out here? The doctor said you needed bed rest.” Penny instantly transformed into a picture of fragile worry. She looked at me with what she hoped was ‘concern.’ “Maybe that’s enough, Sterling. After all, I managed to throw up the pill. Isn’t this too much?” Sterling glanced at my prone body. “She needs a lesson that will stick. She won’t learn otherwise.” I was so numb that I forgot how to struggle. Surprisingly, even the pain in my heart had dulled. As I faded into unconsciousness, I watched Sterling gently lift Penny into his arms and carry her away. His final words drifted back to me: “I’ve punished her. This is over.” I awoke in a sterile hospital room. Faint voices carried through the closed door. “Mr. Rhodes, is the former Mrs. Rhodes truly refusing surgery? If we treat her now, there’s a small chance she could conceive again. The injuries are severe, and delaying the procedure will make it impossible.” Sterling’s voice, cold and clinical, cut through the quiet. “No. No surgery. The goal is to ensure she never gets pregnant. Just make sure she’s stable, and process the discharge immediately.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, unique talisman I had carried for years. I remembered the spiritualist’s instruction: “If you wish to sever the karmic bond and end your flow of fortune, burn this charm.” I picked up the lighter Sterling had left on the bedside table and, without a second’s hesitation, set the unique Talisman of Fate alight. Within three days, the bond would be severed, and the Rhodes family would face the ruin they had so desperately tried to avoid. The early summer sun on my body did nothing to relieve the chill in my bones. I was shoved into Sterling’s car, still in a thin hospital gown, and driven to the City’s most exclusive hotel. Security guards flanked me and threw me into the middle of a massive, high-society gala. The elite crowd—all in couture and holding crystal glasses—turned, their stares filled with shock and malicious curiosity. “Is that Mrs. Rhodes? Why is she dressed like that?” “What is this? Some kind of morbid performance art?” “Haven’t you heard the gossip? The headlines say she ‘Snapped from Grief and Obsession’—husband has a mistress, and she’s carrying his heir.” Their gazes were like razor blades, peeling away the last vestiges of my dignity. Penny, dazzling in a custom-tailored evening gown, was hanging sweetly on Sterling’s arm, gazing at me with a smirk that was anything but sweet. I tried to escape, but the bodyguards blocked every exit. A journalist, invited for the spectacle, rushed over to Sterling. “Mr. Rhodes, can we get a photo of you and the Second Mrs. Rhodes?” With her designer clothes and her proudly visible pregnancy, Penny looked every bit the legitimate socialite. In this city’s old money circles, a mistress who was publicly acknowledged was no longer just a mistress—she was the official Second Wife. She had everything but the certificate. And I, the legal wife, had nothing but the certificate. The journalist, sensing a better story, swiveled toward me. “Oh, there’s the official Mrs. Rhodes! Why don’t you join them for a family portrait?” The room erupted in suppressed laughter, waiting for the show. Sterling frowned, his voice cold. “Get over here. Help Penny stand, Clara.” I remained frozen. “Clara, I know you hate me,” Penny purred, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “But the baby is innocent. I’m willing to forgive the past. I truly hope we can all move forward and be good friends.” With a single, perfectly crafted sentence, she cast me as the unforgiving, jealous villain. “Do you know the difference between a person and a parasite?” I countered, my voice sharp. “People and parasites don’t become friends.” My retort drew a ripple of laughter across the floor. Penny’s face drained of color, then flushed crimson. She burrowed tearfully into Sterling’s chest. Sterling held her protectively, then raised his hand and struck me across the face, a hard, echoing slap that silenced the room. “Serve Penny a cup of tea. Apologize.” He wanted the legal wife to publicly submit and serve the mistress. “And if I don’t?” I wiped the blood from my lip and stared at him without flinching. He dropped his arm, his voice lethally calm. “Then we divorce.” “You will get nothing. No assets, no shares. You will be sent back to that island with nothing but the clothes on your back. And I will ensure no one in this entire City’s social circle will ever touch a discarded trophy wife who was thrown out without a cent.” He looked me over. “If you serve the tea and apologize now, I’ll pretend this never happened—” “Fine. Let’s divorce.”

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The night Liam slashed his wrists, I swore I’d help him rebuild his empire. For two years, I worked the dirtiest, hardest gigs imaginable. But on the very night I finally paid off his last debt, I accidentally saw the texts between him and his frat brother. 【Aren’t you worried she’ll find out the debt’s been gone for weeks and flip out?】 【Nah. Chloe passed my little test. I’m planning to propose. Since she loves me so much, a marriage license is the only thing I can offer her anyway.】 【So, do you need me to get that card ending in 7785 back from her? You’re getting married, dude. You can’t keep sending Serena money every month.】 I turned and looked at my haggard reflection in the mirror, and I laughed. Liam, starting today, I’ve decided to stop loving you. 1. When I saw the text history between Liam and his best friend, Brad, I felt the blood drain from my body, rushing backward from my feet to my head. Tonight, we had just celebrated clearing the final debt. Liam had opened two bottles of cheap Cabernet and was currently wasted. Right now, he was lying harmlessly in my lap, asking for kisses. A storm of emotions roiled in my chest, finally settling into a cold sneer. That debit card ending in 7785. I knew the number by heart. Because every payday, I transferred almost my entire paycheck onto that card, saving up to pay back Liam’s creditors. I knew who Serena was, too. She was the campus queen bee back in college—gorgeous, flashy. She and Liam had a toxic on-again, off-again thing for three years. But after she failed to get into Juilliard, she chose to move abroad to study. A while back, her Instagram popped up on my feed. She looked vibrant and expensive. Her mirror selfies were dripping with designer labels. Back then, I’d smiled and shown her profile to Liam. “Serena’s practically an influencer now. Do you ever regret not choosing her? You wouldn’t have to work so hard paying off debt if you had.” Liam had looked dismissive. “No regrets. I still prefer a grounded girl like you.” I didn’t know then that half of Serena’s wardrobe was probably funded by my backbreaking labor. No wonder my grandma used to tell me, “Chloe, your hands are too bony. You hold no luck.” The year Liam and I got together, his family’s real estate business collapsed. I heard they owed a fortune. I never knew exactly how much. I just knew that Liam, then a junior in college, got dragged down with them and had to drop out, retreating to our small hometown. His family had moved to the city after he graduated high school, so their old Victorian house here was gathering dust. Liam returned alone and locked himself inside. That day, I was glancing at his windows as usual, only to find him lying in the bathroom, the tub filled with crimson water. I practically carried him on my back across town to the ER and saved his life. But he cried and demanded to know why I’d saved him. I held him, and we sobbed together. “It’s just money, Liam! I’ll help you earn it back!” He sighed, his eyes suddenly turning gentle. “Silly girl. You only have a high school diploma. What kind of money can you earn?” Despite his doubts, I followed him to the big city to find opportunities. Because I had no degree and no skills, I could only do manual labor to survive. Driving for Uber Eats, working double shifts as a barista, even competing with older ladies for housekeeping gigs on TaskRabbit. During the most intense period, I did cleaning jobs in the morning, pulled shots at the coffee shop in the afternoon, and delivered food until midnight. When payday came the next month, I excitedly showed him my bank balance. A solid four thousand dollars. His eyes got red. He patted my head, held my calloused, bony hands, and choked up with guilt. “Our Chloe is just too amazing.” But I didn’t feel bitter. For me, as long as I could be with Liam, no amount of hardship mattered. People say true love always feels like it owes something. Back then, looking at the boy who was once the high school golden boy now reduced to living in a cramped tenement apartment, I only wished I could clone myself ten times over to lighten his burden. Thinking back on every moment of the last two years. I stared wide-eyed until dawn. Liam woke up groggily, rubbed his eyes, and hugged me tight. “Why haven’t you gone to work yet today?” I fought back the stinging in my eyes and rubbed them. “I quit my jobs.” Four thousand a month. Ten hours a day on my feet making lattes. My wrists were chronically inflamed from tendonitis. I had to wear smelly pain patches almost every day. He froze, then patted my head affectionately. “Good. Thanks to you, I was able to pay off the debt so quickly.” “When we get married, you just stay home and look pretty. I’ll earn the money and support the family.” The words I had longed to hear for two years finally arrived, but suddenly, I didn’t want them anymore. 2. I walked aimlessly down the street. The owner of the greasy spoon diner I frequented spotted me. “Hey hun, eating here today?” I forced the corners of my mouth upward. “Yeah.” She raised an eyebrow. “We got a new meatloaf special. On the house for you today.” “The usual otherwise? Two orders of rice, one with no meat, one with double meat packed to go?” That’s how we always ate. Liam had a big appetite and it was never enough. So I secretly asked the owner to add my share of the protein to his takeout box. Actually, he didn’t know that I also had a big appetite. But to save money and help him with the debt, I often skipped meals, literally starving myself into gastritis. Now, eating more than a few bites hurt anyway. I shook my head. “No. Just one order today. I’ll break my rule and try that meatloaf.” Two years. I hadn’t saved a dime, and I’d wrecked my body. My life was somehow worse than when I was back in the small town. If my parents and Grandma could see me from heaven, they’d be heartbroken. After finishing the meal, I got a phone call. “Chloe? You asked me before about that Newborn Care Specialist training program, remember?” “The agency has a spot open now. Training is free upfront. Once you get placed with a client, they take 5% of your salary monthly as tuition. I thought you’d be interested.” My body trembled slightly. I stood up quickly, my voice shaking with excitement. “Yes! Kelly, I’m in! I’ll do it!” When I got back to the rental apartment, Liam had already set up a proposal scene. His buddy Brad was there helping. My sudden return caught them off guard. Liam frantically hid the bouquet and balloons behind his back, looking awkward. “Chloe, why are you back so suddenly?” Brad just started cheering. “The cat’s out of the bag, dude. Just propose already.” He kicked Liam, and Liam knelt down in front of me. “Chloe, uh.” He stammered. “I’ve rehearsed this scene in my head a million times, but now that it’s here, I’m seriously nervous.” “I want to tell you, I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?” He pulled a ring from his pocket, one knee on the ground, his eyes burning into mine. Seeing this, my eyes reddened. Yeah. How many times had I fantasized about this exact moment? But now, I didn’t know how to face it. Brad was clapping and chanting in the background: “Marry him, marry him…” Liam looked at me with teary eyes and said, “A good wife supports my ambitions; a good wife is worth her weight in gold.” “Chloe, after we’re married, I won’t let you suffer anymore.” When he finished, I put away my tears, stepped around Liam, and started packing my luggage. Kelly, the woman who introduced the job, said the training was residential and completely closed-off to ensure quality. I actually felt relieved. Closed-off meant room and board were covered. No extra expenses. Liam watched me putting things into my suitcase, confused. “Chloe, what are you doing?” I took a deep breath, smiled, and brushed his hand away. “Since the debt is paid, my debt of gratitude is also repaid. From now on, let’s go our separate ways.” Because I was an orphan, I got bullied a lot in school. The worst time, they cornered me in an alley, calling me a jinx, threatening to strip me and film it to sell. It was Liam who accidentally stumbled upon us and saved me, fighting like a maniac against three guys. He ended up with a bloody face, warning them never to touch me again. Thanks to him, before graduation, no one put gum in my hair or dead animals in my desk anymore. Although I was used to it, his appearance made me temporarily give up the idea of looking for my biological parents. Even though he probably forgot about it like a random good deed, every day I survived, I was grateful to him. Later, gratitude turned into love. That’s why I willingly followed him when he had nothing. At this point, I didn’t want to argue anymore. These two years… consider the debt repaid. Liam tilted his head. “What does that mean? I don’t get it.” My teeth bit down hard on my lip, desperately trying not to make a sound. “I mean, we’re breaking up.” 3. Panic was visible in his eyes. “Chloe, did I do something wrong?” “You’re joking, right? This kind of joke isn’t funny at all.” Brad chimed in, too. “Yeah, Chloe. If Liam did something wrong, tell me, I’ll beat his ass for you. No need to break up over it.” I feigned nonchalance and shook my head, gesturing for him to check his phone. “Last night, I accidentally saw your chat history with Brad.” Liam’s breath hitched. Brad immediately tried to explain for him. “Chloe, you misunderstood, it’s not…” Liam struggled for a long time, not knowing how to explain. Finally, he just said, “But I really do love you.” I smiled and nodded. “Yeah.” Love is paying off the debt ages ago and not telling me. Love is using my blood and sweat money to support your white knight complex for your ex. He frantically grabbed my hand, trying to shove the ring onto my finger. “I know what I did was a little messed up, but I only did it because I was sincere about this relationship.” “I just wanted to see how long you could last. I was terrifyingly afraid you were just acting on impulse.” “My dad and mom were like that. After our family got into debt, my mom couldn’t take it and ran off. My dad faced setback after setback and ended it all.” “I was so afraid that after I became dependent on you, you’d be like my mom—unable to handle the hardship and leave me.” “So for two years, you just watched me go out in the wind and rain every day, living like a dog?” He knew exactly how much I suffered to help him pay the debt. Liam’s face was pale. “But isn’t everything getting better now? Your sacrifices paid off.” “Last year, I made a million dollars trading stocks and crypto. I know you gave up a lot for me. Life will be sweet from now on.” I felt a lump in my throat. Finally, I asked him one question: “What about Serena?” Liam suddenly started stammering. “Her family ran into trouble too. Serena is a girl all alone overseas, her funding got cut off. If I didn’t help her, she really had no other way.” “You… you know how she is. She’s a spoiled princess who can’t lift a finger. She can’t handle things like you can.” I clenched my fists, fingernails digging into my palms. Yeah, Serena is the beloved princess who can’t handle hardship. I’m the stray kid with no parents, so I deserve to suffer. But Liam didn’t know that when my parents were alive, I was their princess too. I looked at Liam, who looked guilty in front of me. He felt so strange, as if I hadn’t truly seen him for two years. I wiped my tears, ignored his pleas behind me, dragged my luggage, and left the rental apartment. From now on, I’m living for myself. After entering the training camp, I voluntarily handed over my phone and dedicated myself to the program. In just one month, I graduated as an honor student and got my certification as an NCS (Newborn Care Specialist). The day I got out, standing in the sunshine, I felt emotional. A new life was finally beginning. The supervisor handed me my phone with a serious look. “Someone kept calling your phone. No contact name, and different numbers every time.” “Chloe, be honest with me. Did you take out some secret payday loans and now the collectors are chasing you?” Perplexed, I took the phone, charged it, and turned it on. Countless texts flooded in at once. Half of them were bank balance notifications. At first, it was just transfers of a few hundred, then thousands, then tens of thousands. The final number stopped at one million dollars. The unknown numbers also sent many messages. The latest one read: 【Have you calmed down enough? Please talk to me.】

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During the years I believed in pure love, I wrote a love diary every day. Sterling Vance pretended he didn’t care about anything. But when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he blushed and blurted out that he wanted my diary. My heart was so sweet it could burst. Until the class president, Aria Sterling, sent me a video— In the first part of the video, there was my diary, filled with words I had written stroke by stroke. The lines spoke of a girl’s sincere, innocent, and secret love. In the second part, Sterling smiled lazily. “If it weren’t for making Aria jealous and giving her a little sense of crisis, I wouldn’t be interested in dealing with a low-achiever like Stella Starling.” “Compared to a trophy girlfriend who follows me around like a puppy, I much prefer a cool, intellectual type like Aria.” Oh. So I was just a pawn in their love game. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I asked my brother to transfer me to another school, voluntarily exiting their passionate world of two. Eight years later. Sterling, who had searched the entire city for me, suddenly saw a trending topic about a top star’s wedding. The beautiful bride wore a pure white wedding dress, smiling brightly at the camera. Hundreds of love diary entries written to his wife on the star’s secret social media account were also exposed. “May 6, 2025. Tuesday. Sunny.” “The Blue Gum has met its migration bird; I love nothing in this world but you.” 1 While I was getting an IV drip at the hospital, a message suddenly popped up on my phone. It was from our class president, Aria Sterling. She had forwarded a video to me. The first part of the video showed the diary I had painstakingly written. Between the lines, it poured out a young girl’s sincere, green, and hidden affection. Then the video cut to Sterling Vance. He was leaning back, his long legs stretched out, looking bored. “Reading that trashy diary every day makes me sick. No wonder her grades are so bad; you don’t need a brain to be a clingy admirer.” He glanced casually at Aria, who was sitting not far away. “Compared to a pretty vase like Stella Starling, I much prefer a cool, intellectual type.” Aria kept her head down, reading her textbook, acting as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Sterling scoffed and walked over to her desk. He leaned over, placing both hands on the desk, trapping her between the desk and his arms. “So, my genius lady, are you going to keep rejecting me?” Aria looked up, pursing her lips, cool and stubborn. “Sterling, what do you take me for?” “You’re already with Stella. I won’t be the other woman.” Sterling raised an eyebrow. “Who said you’re the other woman?” Tears instantly welled up in Aria’s eyes, looking full of grievance. Sterling’s gaze softened. He ruffled her hair and explained gently. “I’m just playing around with Stella.” “If I didn’t provoke you, how could I force you to show your true feelings?” “If anyone is the third wheel, it’s Stella, not you.” … The video ended. I stared blankly at the phone screen. I was at a loss. What did Sterling mean? What did he mean by “just playing around” with me? 2 Before I could recover, Aria sent another voice message. “Stella, did you watch the video?” I took a deep breath. Clutching the phone, I wanted to demand an explanation. But my hands were trembling so much that I couldn’t type a single word. Aria’s voice messages came one after another. “I have your diary. Sterling gave it to me.” “Actually, Sterling has been chasing me for two years, but I wanted to focus on my studies and never agreed.” “I just didn’t expect him to get involved with you just to force me to admit my feelings.” “I’m really angry, but I have to admit, his tactic was very effective. I can no longer ignore his feelings.” “Sterling said you’re too love-struck and was afraid you couldn’t handle it if he told you directly. He wanted to break it to you slowly. But I think it’s better to rip off the bandage quickly. So Stella, I’m officially notifying you—” “Don’t have any delusions about Sterling. He belongs to me.” “We’ve already agreed to apply to Stanford together.” “I advise you to focus on your studies. The SATs are in a year. With your current grades, it’ll be hard for you to get into even a decent state college, right?” Aria’s voice was clear and cool, her pacing unhurried, her emotions calm and stable. She carried the unique confidence of a straight-A student. 3 Sterling had said similar things to me. My grades were lopsided. I excelled only in English and Creative Writing, having won several national writing competitions. But my other subjects were barely passable, and my Math was a complete disaster. If I was a natural underachiever, then Sterling was a natural genius. His grades were incredibly stable, always ranking in the top ten of our grade. The gap between us was like a chasm. But I was delusional. I studied day and night, wanting to apply to Stanford with Sterling. Sterling saw through my little ambition and laughed at me. “Why torture yourself?” “With your grades, forget about Stanford; you’ll struggle to get into a mediocre state school.” My heart stung, and my eyes couldn’t help but redden. He then came to comfort me. “Okay, okay, my bad. How about I tutor you to make up for it?” During that time, for the sake of tutoring, we were inseparable. I had attended cram schools and hired tutors, but Sterling was better than all of them. His explanations were clear, and he knew my weak points. Under his tutoring, my math scores actually improved significantly. When I got my report card, I excitedly hugged him and cried loudly. His eyes held a smile. But his gaze was wandering, landing somewhere in the distance. At that time, immersed in the joy of progress, I was oblivious. Only now did I realize. The direction he was looking at back then was clearly where Aria sat. Proactively helping me with tutoring. The intimate interactions. It was all an act. Sterling indeed never confessed to me. I thought we had a tacit understanding of mutual affection, just waiting for someone to break the silence. But in Sterling’s eyes, I was just a tool to make Aria jealous. 4 Just as I walked out of the hospital entrance after finishing my IV, I heard someone call my name. “Stella!” I looked back. Sterling and Hayes were standing under a huge oak tree. Standing together, the two of them were handsome in their own unique ways. Sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling light and shadow on them, like a scene from a teen drama, causing passersby to glance over repeatedly. I walked over slowly. Looking up, I stared straight at him. Noticing my gaze, he asked with amusement: “What? Is there something on my face?” I lowered my head and said nothing. Sterling suddenly leaned in close, examining me carefully. “Why are your eyes red? Like a little kid, did you cry from the shot?” Saying this, he took my hand and blew gently on the needle mark. “Let me blow on it for our little Stella. It won’t hurt after I blow on it.” I awkwardly pulled my hand back and asked in a muffled voice. “Where is my diary?” A trace of unnaturalness flashed in Sterling’s eyes, then he frowned and said. “It’s on the bookshelf at my house.” “Since you gave it to me, it’s mine. Why are you asking?” I didn’t expose him. Sterling took out the notes for the classes I missed today from his backpack and handed them to me. “Hayes took these notes. His handwriting is better than mine, and he marked the key points for you. Take a look yourself.” Hearing this, I glanced at Hayes, who had been standing silently by the side. Seeing me look at him, he smiled at me, his eyes curving. Sterling hooked his arm around Hayes’ shoulder and continued. “I won’t tutor you today. Hayes and I are going to play basketball tonight.” “I suddenly have something to do. You go play by yourself,” Hayes said calmly, pushing Sterling’s hand away.

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The year-end bonuses were announced, and the entire department erupted. Everyone got $60,000. I was the only one who got zero. My supervisor advised me, “Young people shouldn’t get so hung up on gains and losses. You need to see the big picture.” I nodded and went back to writing my code without another word. At the end of the year, the chairman called me in, beaming, to renew my contract—a direct offer for six years. “The company needs a workhorse like you.” I turned my laptop towards him. On the screen was the final version of the project I had just completed. The buyer was his arch-nemesis. At the same time, I placed a resignation letter and a request for a non-compete agreement waiver on his desk. “Mr. King,” I said, “my new employer offered me a six-million-dollar signing bonus. I’m done playing your games.” 1 My phone vibrated on my desk like a trapped animal. In the company’s tech department group chat, the red notification bubble glowed stubbornly, the number climbing from 99+ to a height I couldn’t be bothered to count. The mood was jubilant. The screen was a blur of digital red envelopes and bold screenshots of bank transfers. “Holy crap! $60,000! The company must have made a killing this year!” “Mr. King is the GOAT! Stick with him and you’ll eat well!” “Confirmed in my account! Thanks, team! Ready to give it my all again next year!” In every screenshot, the glaring “$60,000.00” was like a raging fire, searing the eyes of everyone who saw it and igniting a frenzy throughout the office. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of money, mixed with the irrepressible excitement and boisterous laughter of my colleagues. I, Luke, was the sole outsider to this celebration. I opened my pay stub, my fingertip feeling a chill as it touched the screen. The page loaded. Every other line item was normal, until my eyes slid to the very bottom. Year-End Bonus. Followed by a number that felt like a cold, calculated insult. “$0.00”. No shock, no anger. In that moment, my mind was a complete blank. It was as if a deep-sea mine had detonated inside my skull, and in its wake, the world fell into a dead silence. All sound, all color, bled away. All that remained was that “$0.00,” burning itself onto my retinas like a vicious brand. “Luke, my office.” My supervisor, Leo Kane, stood at his door, beckoning to me. He wore that familiar smile—affable, yet permitting no argument. I stood up without expression, pulling back my chair and walking through the ecstatic crowd. My colleagues, who had just been cheering, now wore complicated expressions as they looked at me. Some pity, some gloating, but mostly, the detached amusement of watching a drama unfold. I didn’t care. I walked into his office and closed the door, shutting out the noise. Leo pointed to the chair opposite him and poured me a glass of water himself. “Luke, you saw the pay stub, right?” he began, his tone as calm and steady as a therapist conducting a session. I nodded, saying nothing. “I know you must be feeling like this is unfair,” he continued slowly, taking a sip of his tea. “But you have to understand, as a young man, you need to see the big picture. You can’t just focus on short-term gains and losses.” The big picture? A cold laugh echoed in my mind. Such a familiar phrase. When he made us work late into the night, he’d say, “Young people need to hustle to grow quickly. That’s seeing the big picture.” When he made us take over failing projects for free, he’d say, “With great ability comes great responsibility. This is the company’s trust in you. You have to have perspective.” Now, with those same words, he was erasing the blood and sweat of more than three hundred days and nights of my life. “You are the core of Project Zenith, the soul of the operation. The company sees it, and the chairman sees it,” Leo’s voice was laced with a persuasive power. “This, you could say, is a special test from Mr. King. He wants to see if you’re just in it for the money, or if he can truly entrust the company’s future to you.” “Pass this test, prove your loyalty and your perspective, and your future will be limitless.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial, solemn whisper. “Trust me, the company will never mistreat a true contributor.” I looked at him, at the face that seemed so sincere as he sold me this fantasy. I could see the calculation and contempt in his eyes. He saw me as a tech nerd he could easily manipulate, a fool who didn’t understand office politics, someone who could be placated with a few empty words. I didn’t argue. I didn’t question him. I just nodded calmly. “I understand, Leo.” My compliance pleased him. His smile widened. “That’s the spirit! I knew you were a smart guy. Go on, get back to work. Finish up Project Zenith, and I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the chairman.” I walked out of his office. The air outside still felt feverish. A few people were gathered around my desk. Evan, my college classmate and the lead of Tech Team Two, was at the center of the huddle. He saw me, pushed through the crowd, and came over to slap my shoulder hard. “Luke, man, don’t sweat it. It’s just a bonus, right? My treat tonight at The Gilded Lantern. I’ll make it up to you!” His voice was loud, dripping with charity, ensuring everyone around us could hear. I saw the brand-new Rolex Submariner on his wrist, glinting under the office lights. I saw the pristine, limited-edition Jordans on his feet. All bought with that $60,000, I presumed. Bought with my hard work. And his so-called “treat” was just an opportunity to parade me around as a pathetic charity case. I ignored him and went back to my seat. I opened my phone. The last message in my chat with my girlfriend, Jenna, was the “Good morning” I’d sent her. I sent a new message: “Bonuses are out.” A long time later, she replied with a single word. “Okay.” She didn’t ask how much I got. Not a single word of concern. I opened her social media. Her latest post was from ten minutes ago. A nine-photo grid of her and her friends shopping at designer stores. A new Chanel bag, a Cartier bracelet. The caption read: “Choice is more important than effort. So happy!” In the photos, she was smiling radiantly, a brightness I had never seen before. I shut off my phone. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, tightening its grip until all the blood was forced out, leaving only a cold, suffocating ache. Humiliation, resentment, fury… a thousand emotions churned in my chest, threatening to shatter my composure. But I held them back. I took a deep breath, pushing it all down. I opened my IDE. The blue light from the screen cast a cold glow on my face. I typed a single command. git push A seemingly innocuous security patch for Project Zenith was calmly committed to the repository. Just then, in the department chat, Leo tagged everyone, then tagged me individually. He shared an article titled, Young Man, Your Perspective Defines Your Future. The group chat immediately filled with agreement. “Leo’s right!” “See the big picture, and your path will only get wider!” “We should all learn from Luke, not sweating the small stuff!” The praise felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. I closed the chat window without a flicker of emotion and opened an encrypted email client. An unread message sat in my inbox. I opened it. The body contained a single sentence. “The fish is off the hook.” The sender was Mr. Cole, CEO of Stratos Tech and Chairman King’s mortal enemy. My lips pressed into a thin line. I typed two words in reply. “Into the net.” 2 It was drizzling when I left work. I called Jenna, wanting to take her out to dinner, to talk things through. I had already booked a table at her favorite French restaurant and even rehearsed my opening lines. I wanted to ask her what had gone wrong between us. She answered, her voice edged with impatience. “Hello? What is it?” “Jenna, let’s have dinner tonight. I booked—” “I can’t!” she cut me off sharply. “I have to entertain a really important client tonight. You eat by yourself. If there’s nothing else, I have to go, I’m busy.” Beep… beep… beep… Listening to the dial tone, I stood at the entrance of the office building, letting the cold rain fall on my face. The wind bit at my skin. I laughed at myself, a bitter, hollow sound, and walked towards the parking garage. My car was in the furthest corner of the second basement level, a dimly lit, deserted spot. As I approached it, a ripple of tinkling laughter echoed from behind a nearby pillar. A voice I knew all too well. It was Jenna. I froze, my body rigid. Beside Leo’s new BMW 5 Series, Jenna, in flawless makeup and a tight black dress I’d never seen before, was laughing as she bent down to get into the passenger seat. She wasn’t carrying her usual Coach bag; a brand-new Hermès was slung over her arm. Leo gallantly closed the door for her and walked around to the driver’s side. As the car started, he rolled down his window, his gaze landing directly on me. He paused for a second, then a knowing smirk spread across his face. “Luke, still here? Good timing. I’m just giving Jenna a ride. You young people should communicate more.” His tone was that of a caring supervisor, but he stressed the word “communicate” with a heavy, suggestive emphasis. I watched the BMW’s taillights disappear at the garage exit, feeling as if I’d been turned to ice. The cold started in my fingertips, spreading inch by inch until it reached my heart, solidifying into a block of permafrost. So her “important client” was our supervisor. So “I can’t” just meant she couldn’t for me. So her post about “choice is more important than effort” was about this. I went home. The apartment was dark and empty. On the dining table sat a beautifully wrapped gift box. My anniversary gift for our three years together, something I had been planning for a long time. A Tiffany necklace. It had taken me three months of scrimping and saving to afford it. I had imagined her look of surprise a thousand times. How laughable it all seemed now. In her eyes, that necklace was probably worth less than a single tire on Leo’s car. On autopilot, I opened my laptop. On the desktop was a small program I had written myself, with an icon of an inconspicuous blue radar. I had coded a location tracker for her phone, worried about her walking home alone at night. She had accused me of not trusting her, and we’d had a huge fight over it. I deleted it in front of her, but I had kept a backup. I double-clicked the icon and entered Jenna’s phone number. A blinking red dot immediately appeared on the city map. The location was Miyabi, the most expensive Japanese restaurant in the city. The kind of place where a meal costs five figures. I stared at the red dot, the last shred of hope in my heart extinguished. I refreshed my social media feed. A mutual friend from the marketing department had posted something thirty seconds ago. It was a screenshot of a bill, the background clearly the private room at Miyabi. The name on the bill was Evan’s. The caption read: “Thanks for the amazing dinner, Evan and Leo! Best meal of the year!” Below it was a group photo. In the picture, Jenna sat between Leo and Evan, a wine glass in her hand, her face flushed and her smile dazzling. She was looking up at Evan, her eyes filled with a worshipful adoration I had never seen directed at me. In that instant, I could almost hear my own heart shattering. Not with a sharp, agonizing pain, but with a final, numb silence. I picked up the gift box from the table, walked to the door, opened the trash chute, and let go. A dull thud. Our past, buried with my own hands. I returned to my computer and opened the source code for Project Zenith. In the ocean of millions of lines of code, I found a core encryption module. And there, I left a mark only I could understand. The number “0”. The “0” from my zero-dollar bonus. The “0” that meant resetting everything to zero. It was a back door. A one-way door to hell. 3 A week later, the company was decked out in celebratory banners, the atmosphere electric. The award ceremony for the first phase of Project Zenith was being held in the headquarters’ largest auditorium. Chairman King himself was expected to attend. I sat in the back row, a ghost in the corner. The big screen displayed a polished PowerPoint presentation. Ninety percent of its content was what I had typed out, character by character, during countless sleepless nights over the past year. But now, on the “Core Project Members” slide, my name was listed last. And the presentation was credited to a single person. Evan. He walked onto the stage in a brand-new designer suit, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the triumphant “Project Lead.” The spotlight followed him, making him the undeniable star of the show. “Chairman King, esteemed leaders, dear colleagues, good afternoon.” His voice boomed through the microphone. “The success of Project Zenith is a testament to the company’s visionary strategy, the trust and support of Mr. King and our leadership, and of course, the tireless efforts of our entire team…” He launched into a grandiloquent speech, casually attributing my core algorithms to a “breakthrough” he had achieved after “repeated verification and overcoming significant challenges,” with the “able assistance of Luke and other colleagues.” Leo, sitting beside him, added helpfully, “Evan is truly outstanding and has a great sense of the big picture. From the very beginning, I knew he was the man for the job. It turns out my judgment was correct.” He painted himself as a discerning mentor, a master strategist. The two of them were a perfectly rehearsed act. In the front row, Chairman King beamed, nodding frequently. When Evan finished, Mr. King personally went on stage and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done! This is the future of our company! Capable, responsible, and most importantly, has perspective!” his voice was strong and clear. “To recognize Evan’s outstanding contributions to Project Zenith, I am pleased to announce that the company will award him the down payment for a 1,000-square-foot apartment at The Waterfront!” The announcement was met with thunderous applause. Everyone looked at Evan with envy. The Waterfront was the most exclusive riverfront property in the city. The down payment alone was at least half a million dollars. I saw Jenna, in the front row, jump to her feet, clapping enthusiastically. She gazed up at the brilliant man on stage, her eyes shining with undisguised admiration. A look I once thought was reserved only for me. All eyes were on the stage. No one noticed me in the corner, also clapping. A placid smile was on my face, but my eyes were a frozen, bottomless lake. My phone was discreetly raised, aimed at the stage. The camera was recording everything. Evan’s lies, Leo’s hypocrisy, Mr. King’s foolishness, and Jenna’s adoration. It would all become evidence. After the ceremony, Evan was swarmed by a crowd, a conquering hero. He saw me and made a point to come over, putting on his “best buddy” act. “Luke, don’t be discouraged. This was mainly to boost morale, to concentrate our resources. I haven’t forgotten your contribution, brother. Next time, it’ll be you.” He “comforted” me with condescension, as if I were a junior who needed his guidance. I looked at his disingenuous face and nodded with a smile. “Congratulations, Evan.” My voice was quiet, but every word was crystal clear. “You deserve it.” He clearly missed the meaning behind my words, grinning smugly before being swept away by his admirers. I watched him go, the smile on my lips turning colder. Yes. You deserve it. All of you will get exactly what you deserve.

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Discovering my husband’s infidelity was a very small matter. At a dinner with friends, he, who was always aloof, suddenly and actively served food to everyone present. Later. I heard him reciting a line from Roman Holiday in his study. “I have to leave you now. I’m going to that corner there and turn. You must stay in the car and drive away.” Wait, that’s not right. He was reciting, “I have shaken hands with everyone in the receiving line, just to shake yours.” Tsk! 1 Ethan and I both come from small towns in the middle of nowhere. Small-town test-takers. Relying on hellish studying to win in the college entrance exams (SATs/ACTs equivalent), we completed our degrees at top-tier universities. After graduation, we both passed the civil service exams and entered the system. Starting from the grassroots, one step at a time, slowly taking root and extending in the provincial capital where we had no foundation. Now. We have each been promoted to department leaders, have decent social status, bought a car and a house, and our housing provident fund is enough to cover the loan. In short, we achieved success in the secular sense and completed the class jump in mainstream values in the most traditional, fair, and shortcut-free way for Chinese people (or Americans who value hard work). This year, Ethan and I had two more happy events. The first was at the beginning of the year when he was transferred to a leadership position in a state-owned enterprise, and his salary and benefits increased several times. The other thing is that I’m pregnant. Yes, it took 6 years after marriage for me to get pregnant. Ethan is the only son for three generations and has hereditary weak sperm. Basically, after 30, there is no possibility of fertility. Our journey to conceive in the past few years was no easier than settling down and establishing a career. Fortunately, 2 months ago, in the first spring after Ethan turned 30, I finally got pregnant. When we got the report, Ethan, who rarely showed emotion, hugged me. Weeping with joy like a child. 2 Having struggled in this city for many years, we have a few friends who gather regularly. Today was one such occasion. When the dinner started, everyone surrounded Ethan, praising him for being young and promising, saying a vice-director position was just around the corner. Ethan smiled indifferently. In the government office, he was famous for his “pen,” always highly regarded, and had an aloof air about him. “Tiger and his wife are coming today too.” Someone said. Everyone’s faces suddenly looked a bit strange. Tiger is Ethan’s fellow townsman. Two years ago, he made some money as a contractor, but ended up getting addicted to gambling. He not only lost his family property but also became a discredited person (blacklisted for debt). Every time we gather, he drinks himself into a stupor, cursing heaven and earth and social injustice. Last time, he even fought with an old friend and beat him so badly he was hospitalized for half a month. “I asked him to come.” Ethan put down his teacup and said lightly. “After all, we’ve been friends for many years. We can’t stop being friends just because he’s down on his luck.” Seeing his stance, everyone couldn’t say anything more and nodded with embarrassed smiles. I frowned slightly. Not for anything else, but because I’m pregnant. Tiger smokes heavily, one after another without stopping. If I mention it to him, he puts on a sarcastic expression as if I’m “looking down on people.” I wanted to talk to Ethan, but saw his gaze towards the door, seemingly expecting something. Bang! The door was pushed open forcefully. I shuddered. I saw Tiger walking in, cursing. “Charging me twenty bucks for parking, why the hell don’t they just rob me!” He pointed behind him and cursed again, “Ungrateful thing! Every woman helps her own man, only you, bitch, help outsiders!” Behind him, a woman walked in with her head down, faint finger marks on her face. This is Tiger’s wife, Sarah. She looks gentle and virtuous, but unfortunately, she has a bad fate and got stuck with a violent husband like Tiger. “What are you shouting about! Watch it!” Ethan suddenly spoke in a deep voice, sounding very displeased. Upon seeing him, Tiger immediately changed his face, smiling broadly. “Bro, sorry sorry, my bad temper acting up again, not paying attention to the occasion. I’ll punish myself with three drinks later!” Saying this, he sat down carelessly, picking up chopsticks to eat peanuts, ignoring the person behind him. Sarah stood awkwardly by the door. Her hand quietly brushed a lock of hair down, obviously trying to hide her face. Everyone showed sympathy and deliberately looked away to avoid embarrassing her. I sighed and said loudly. “Sarah, come sit down, food will be served soon.” She smiled gratefully at me and walked in to sit next to Tiger. “Thank you, sister-in-law.” After speaking, she looked past me at Ethan next to me and whispered: “Thank you, brother.” Ethan’s face was slightly tense, and he didn’t say anything. During the meal, Tiger started cursing again, smoking and drinking, quickly turning red like a cooked shrimp. Sarah peeled shrimp for him one moment and poured wine for him the next, barely eating anything herself. Just as I was about to tell her to eat more. Ethan suddenly extended his chopsticks and put a piece of fish for Tom, who was hosting the dinner next to him. Tom laughed, “I’m the host today, I should be the one serving you.” “It’s all the same.” Ethan said lightly, then stood up and put a shrimp for the person sitting next. Just like that, following the seating order, he put a chopstick of food or served a bowl of soup for everyone. Everyone present was flattered. “What’s wrong with Brother Ethan today? The sun rose from the west.” “Yeah, we’re really not used to this.” “It must be because sister-in-law is pregnant, Brother Ethan is happy!” “Right right right! That explains it!” I was also a bit surprised, but hearing everyone say this, I felt it was indeed so. Ethan is introverted and not good at expressing himself. My pregnancy is great news for him and his entire family. His parents back in his hometown were even more excited than when they learned he passed the civil service exam. At this moment, I smiled and wanted to tease him a bit. But I saw him raise his eyes slightly, his gaze seemingly inadvertently landing on the front right. I followed his gaze. Sarah lowered her head, drinking soup sip by sip with a spoon. Between the hanging hair, a pair of almond eyes were slightly red. … Ethan just served her a bowl of chicken soup. 3 I work in HR at my unit. When it comes to observing people and interpersonal relationships, I am relatively more experienced and thorough than others. For example, I saw at a glance. Ethan’s abnormal behavior today stemmed from wanting to serve Sarah that bowl of soup. Why would Ethan suddenly care so much about Sarah? I couldn’t help but think back to two months ago. Tiger’s father passed away. As a fellow townsman, Ethan went back to offer condolences and visit his parents by the way. He was gone for 5 days, going and returning with Tiger and his wife. Could something have happened during this period? Professional sensitivity has taught me not to jump to conclusions easily. After all, objectively speaking, Ethan treats me quite well. We met by the artificial lake in college. He was the earliest person to go for morning reading every day. I was second. We are extremely similar. From small places, poor family backgrounds. Three generations of support produced a model of family glory. For all these years, pressure and honor have focused on us, running all the way without daring to slack off even a bit. I felt like I finally found a companion. Like walking alone on the dark ocean floor and discovering I wasn’t alone. I think my significance to him is the same… Regarding the incident at the dinner table during the day. I didn’t say a word. At night, he held me, desire hard to suppress. “Grace, not yet?” “Yeah, not three months yet, wait a bit longer.” He panted heavily, got out of bed, and said helplessly: “I’ll go take a cold shower.” When I was sleeping groggily, he woke me up. He frowned. “Tiger is drunk and smashing things again, I’ll go check.” “Who called you?” I asked. “…His wife. She and the kid were crying on the phone, seems serious.” I checked my phone, past eleven. “Too late, don’t go. If there’s really a problem, she can call the police. Besides, this is their family affair, you aren’t related to them—” “Grace!” Ethan suddenly shouted at me harshly. I was stunned by his shout. His face was full of impatience, a trace of strange irony in his eyes. “When did you become so selfish? Now that your life is good, you just watch your own kind suffer? You know Sarah’s character, would she ask me for help if she had a choice? Grace, aren’t you ashamed of saying such cold words to a friend?” I looked at him in astonishment. As if I didn’t know him. I haven’t quarreled with anyone for a long time. Whether colleagues, family, or Ethan. Long ago, I realized that quarreling doesn’t solve problems; it only turns dialogue into a collision of emotions while gradually losing reason. Even if we quarrel, it is a means, not an end. Anger hurts the body. Hurts one’s own body. At this moment, I closed my eyes and asked him calmly: “My current life is what I struggled for step by step. Why should I feel ashamed because of others’ misfortunes?” Ethan stood by the bed, looking at me coldly. “I’m definitely going today.” I don’t know when Ethan came back at night. When I went to work, his shoes were by the door. The door to the small bedroom was closed tight. I had an organizational review meeting that day. Very important. Couldn’t be dragged down by his emotions. 4 This small dispute was resolved by the evening. When I came home from work, hot food and cut fruit were on the table. And a birthday cake. He came out with a bowl of soup, smiling as if nothing had happened, “Just in time, wash your hands and eat, I made your favorite braised fish in soy sauce.” I lowered my eyes, slowly put my bag on the cabinet by the door, looked up, and smiled too. “Happy birthday.” He laughed. “31, an old man now.” During the meal, he said casually: “Last night I went to scold Tiger and came back. Afraid of waking you up, I slept in the next room.” I nodded and didn’t speak. Getting up after eating, I remembered something, turned and said to him: “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. How about you sleep in the small bedroom for now?” He froze for a moment. “Okay.” For the next period, Ethan and I’s life returned to calm. I was busy with interviews and onboarding processes for new staff at the unit, and he was busy launching a new project at the company. As if nothing had happened. We are both people who prioritize reason over emotion. We weigh the pros and cons in everything we do. I think this is probably the benefit of marrying a rational person. But soon, I found out I was wrong.

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Caleb fought for me, even broke his arm for me. Everyone said he was crazy in love with me. Until. I heard a friend ask him if he was going to marry me. The man chuckled lightly, “She’s just a stray cat. Fun to play with, but you don’t actually bring one home.” Later. When my daughter asked, “Mommy, why doesn’t Daddy want me? Does he not like me?” I lowered my eyes and shook my head, “He just doesn’t like Mommy.” 1 My breakup with Caleb was messy. I called him a shameless bastard. He called me an ungrateful wolf he couldn’t tame. We were people who should have never crossed paths again. Five years later, we reunited. The manager beside me introduced enthusiastically: “Mr. Thorne, this is Wendy. She’s the main reception manager responsible for your team.” Silence fell. Caleb’s gaze finally landed on me. I pursed my lips and extended my hand, “Mr. Thorne, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Caleb didn’t respond. The air was still. He scoffed. “Really? How much have you heard?” “…” 2 This man was always like this. Wearing a cold, handsome facade. A rhetorical question, giving the illusion he was deliberately engaging you. Casually teasing, enjoying your shyness and awkwardness. In reality, he watched from the shore, his heart never moved. I didn’t speak. The manager sensed something and asked tentatively, “Wendy, do you know Mr. Thorne?” I lowered my eyes, “We’re strangers.” I said this deliberately, devoid of any social grace. The manager awkwardly smoothed things over, “Nonsense, Mr. Thorne is young and promising. It’s not too late to get to know each other now.” There was no emotion in Caleb’s eyes as he looked away. When we brushed past each other. His arm pushed aside my hand still hanging in mid-air. He said indifferently, “Strangers don’t have time to get acquainted.” 3 That day, it rained heavily. Making the bottom of one’s heart increasingly damp. Delayed by work, I stood alone at the entrance. A black luxury car stopped in front of me. Caleb rolled down the window with a cold face, “Get in.” “I called a car.” As I spoke, the taxi arrived. Caleb glanced sideways, “You call one, I crash one. Believe me?” His profile was sharp. As wicked and arrogant as ever. I sighed inwardly. But as soon as I got in, my arm was pulled forcefully. I landed on his lap. The strength disparity was huge; I struggled but was pressed back onto his lap. Warmth spread, breaths almost colliding. “It’s not like you haven’t sat here before. What are you afraid of?” I gritted my teeth in anger, “Bastard.” Caleb curled his lips, “Tired of hearing that. Call me something else.” Countless times in the past, skin against skin. I cried and begged for mercy, calling him a bastard. He was indeed tired of hearing it. Caleb’s fingertips landed on my waist. He scrutinized my face, “You’ve grown bold, Wendy. Strangers?” “Let me down.” Caleb turned a deaf ear, “Then let me remind you.” I subconsciously turned my face away. But he grabbed my chin. Forcing me to look at him. “My name is Caleb Thorne. A fool who was used by you and then thrown away.” His eyes were deep, carrying a faint smile. Word by word. Forcing me back into that rusty memory. 4 In college. Caleb was a good-for-nothing, with a bad temper and a fierce fighting style. No one in school dared to mess with him. In his opulent life as a rich second generation. The only accident was me. I was the pet Caleb was most interested in. I also obediently played the role of his follower. Or rather, I ‘liked’ him. So I used Caleb’s pathological possessiveness towards me. To beat the man who had bullied me since high school half to death and send him to prison. Caleb also broke an arm blocking a bat for me. Looking back now. I never thought that in this game of chess, I would lose myself too. Caleb was discharged after reimplantation surgery, his arm still in a cast. I specially went to the temple to pray for a safety charm for him. Just outside the private room door. I heard a friend teasing, “Caleb, you’re not madly in love with Wendy, are you? When are we drinking at your wedding?” There was no music, no emotion. Caleb spoke casually, “She’s just a stray cat. Fun to play with, but you don’t actually bring one home.” In that instant, I felt the world go quiet. Something densely gnawed at my heart. I knew my initial purpose for approaching him wasn’t pure. I wanted to apologize properly. I thought Caleb at least liked me. Unexpectedly, it was all a game. But this was fine too. Five years later. I gave birth to a child alone. Resentment had long dissolved in the daily necessities of life. Now, Caleb broke in again like a home invader. 5 Another light rain fell outside the car. Caleb finally let me go. Silence all the way. Probably too tired from work. I accidentally fell asleep. When I opened my eyes, I was downstairs at my apartment. No one beside me. Caleb was leaning against the car door smoking. I used to not let him smoke. Caleb would always hug me and tease, “Controlling me so strictly?” Seeing me now, he also reacted conditionally, his hand subconsciously hiding behind his back. Then realizing something, he generously held the cigarette in his mouth again. Looking roguish and intense. “Awake?” I composed myself, muffling my voice, “Caleb, about the past, I owe you an apology.” “So?” This was an old neighborhood, low floors, my daughter always waited for me by the window. Afraid of being seen, I said. “We are all adults, with our own lives. I don’t have the energy to argue right or wrong with you anymore.” Caleb laughed, “Then adults should also understand the principle of reciprocity.” I reacted for a few seconds and laughed too, “I don’t have time to play these games with you.” After speaking, I wanted to leave. Caleb calmly put out the cigarette, raised his hand and easily pinned me against the car. “Did I say I wanted to pester you?” His tone was lazy. He was good-looking, plus the packaging of his family background, he never lacked girlfriends. Those years by his side, I knew deeply that playing with feelings, I couldn’t beat him. Now I just wanted to stay far away from him. Unfortunately, Caleb was ruthless. If he suffered a loss, he would claim it back with interest. I could almost guess what he wanted to do. Nothing more than ruining my job, watching me beg him humbly. I stopped enduring. “Isn’t this what you’re doing now? What, Mr. Thorne wants revenge? Does having money mean you can bully people like this?” Hearing this, Caleb frowned slowly, “I f*cking say two sentences to you, and that’s bullying you?” My words were on the tip of my tongue. He looked at me leisurely, suddenly leaned over and kissed me, childish and paranoid. Tongue sweeping, burning all senses. I struggled and hit his chest. Taking advantage of a gap, I pushed him away hard and slapped him. “Shameless!” Caleb licked the corner of his lips, looking like he enjoyed being scolded, his eyes even more wickedly gloomy. He grabbed my wrist and pressed it hard against the car door, sealing my lips again. Until I was suffocating and weak in the knees, he let go, laughing wantonly, “Wendy, this is bullying.” This lunatic. Next second. “Mommy, who is he?” Not far away, a little munchkin holding a popsicle looked at us innocently. 6 The first to react was Mark, who had taken my daughter to buy ice cream. The man awkwardly led the little girl upstairs first, “You guys talk, explain to me later.” One sentence, the misunderstanding deepened. Silence returned. “Who.” “My daughter.” Caleb looked down and smiled, “Married?” I didn’t explain, “If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.” “I thought you were smart.” “What.” The man looked around the neighborhood environment, “Living in this dump, the man you chose is pretty useless.” He looked at me, as if saying your taste is just so-so. Listening to the sarcasm, I finally lost patience, not minding tearing apart the remaining dignity. “No matter what kind of man I find, does it have anything to do with you? Caleb, you really haven’t changed a bit, arrogant and unreasonable.” I took a deep breath, “Yes, I lied to you, but you were just playing with me too. Let’s just say I was blind before, and you were blind too. Isn’t it good to write it off?” Caleb laughed in anger, “I’m unreasonable? What about you, selfish?” He opened the car door expressionlessly. Before leaving, he glanced sideways, his voice hoarse, “Wendy, tell the truth, do you hope your daughter meets someone like you in the future?”

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