Category: English

I was rummaging through Julian Thorne’s trash when I received an anonymous text: “I want to lick the mole on your collarbone, baby.” Even after blocking the number, the harassing messages kept coming. Whether I was late for work, out at the movies, or stalking Julian myself, he always managed to send a flirty text right on cue. He even offered me advice: “Once Julian drinks it, baby, you can do whatever you want with him.” Later, I accidentally stumbled into Julian’s darkroom. The walls were plastered with photos of me. Julian, who was supposedly passed out drunk on the sofa, had clear eyes as he slowly picked up his phone and sent a text. A familiar notification sound rang in my pocket. “Baby, didn’t I teach you? The drug works best mixed with an ice-cold drink.” 1 “I want to lick the mole on your collarbone, baby.” I pursed my lips, glanced around nervously, quickly pulled up my collar, and blocked the unknown number. Pulling my cap lower, I squatted in front of Julian’s door and started rummaging through his delivery boxes and takeout bags. “Reordered the same body wash again.” “Switched to a different variety of mangoes.” “Bought cold medicine yesterday. Did he catch a chill with the weather turning?” After sifting through everything, I took the pile of trash downstairs and threw it into the dumpster. Back home, I pulled a white shirt out of my closet. It was Julian’s. It looked barely worn, retrieved by me from a discarded delivery box outside his door a month ago. I pressed it against my face, greedily inhaling the lingering scent. Enveloped in the smell of cedarwood, my mind conjured images of Julian wearing this shirt. Cool, abstinent. I loved it. 2 “Recently, the delivery boxes and takeout bags outside my door keep disappearing.” Julian stood beside me in the elevator, his voice calm. A chill ran down my spine. In the reflection of the elevator doors, my right hand gripping my bag strap was painfully obvious. “Have you encountered anything like this?” He turned his head, his gaze slowly shifting to me. “Miss Hart?” “Maybe the cleaning lady took them. She often takes my delivery boxes too.” I smiled and gave the answer I had prepared long ago. Julian raised an eyebrow, looking enlightened. “So that’s it.” Seeing that he believed me, I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to ask about his recent health, the elevator arrived. The moment the doors opened, Julian frowned in displeasure. “Why did she follow me here?” I followed his gaze. A bouquet of bright red roses lay at his door. He picked up the flowers with one hand, glanced at them casually, and suddenly called out to me from behind. “Miss Hart, if you encountered something like this, what would you do?” He handed the card to me. I took a step back and waved my hand. “This is your private matter. I won’t get involved.” Julian’s eyes darkened for a moment but quickly returned to normal. “Sorry to disturb you.” It wasn’t until I entered my apartment and sat on the sofa that I noticed my smartwatch issuing a stress warning. In that brief glance earlier, I had actually seen the contents of the card clearly. It was filled with passionate confessions to Julian. There was even a bright red lipstick mark over the name “Chloe Quinn” at the bottom. Julian’s solution to the stalker was simple. He tossed the bouquet back where it was and went home as if nothing had happened, ignoring it completely. Although he didn’t do anything extreme, I clearly saw the look of utter disgust in his eyes when he saw the flowers. I couldn’t help but think of my own uncontrollable, perverted behavior towards Julian. Rummaging through his trash, spying on his privacy, following him to the movies to watch the same film, participating in events organized by his club to fake chance encounters… I dared not imagine what his reaction would be if he discovered these things. I curled my trembling pinky into my palm. I have to be more careful in the future. He must never find out. 3 More things started piling up at Julian’s door. Besides the usual discarded boxes, there were beautifully wrapped gifts. Sometimes gourmet desserts, sometimes designer sneakers. But Julian never even opened the packaging. He let the items pile up into a small mountain. Chloe was as persistent as her card suggested. I even saw her at Julian’s door. Chloe, who had been examining Julian’s delivery labels, turned her head immediately upon noticing me and asked with a grin: “Hi there, does Julian Thorne live here?” She was very beautiful, and her smile was exceptionally friendly. No one could dislike a girl like her. This wasn’t my first time seeing Chloe. Julian, Chloe, and I all went to the same university. Back in college, Chloe was famous as the “Business School Beauty.” I had heard her name many times but never interacted with her. The closest encounter was probably one summer night when I accidentally walked into a pole on the track field because I was zoning out. When I was helped up, dazed, surrounded by floating pink balloons and a surging crowd, I realized I had stumbled into someone’s public confession scene. And the heroine was Chloe. I covered my throbbing forehead, apologizing profusely as I fled in embarrassment. Now, Chloe stood there in a white dress similar to that summer night, tilting her head, waiting for my answer. I nodded at her. I couldn’t lie. Julian used his real name for deliveries; she could find out with a quick check. When I went into my apartment, Chloe was still fiddling with the new gift she brought for Julian. Ding— A message notification sounded. I relaxed my fingers; the print on my phone case was scratched and peeling from my nails. I picked up the phone. Another text from a strange number. “Baby, are you jealous?” Only after he pointed it out did I realize the heaviness in my heart was jealousy. This pervert always knew my information firsthand, understanding me even better than I understood myself. It felt like he was watching me from the shadows. When I first started receiving harassing texts, I panicked, searching for cameras in my home, suspecting every passerby, even moving immediately. But nothing stopped it. Every time I blocked a number, he would switch to a new one. Over time, I became numb to these messages. I no longer feared his ambiguous texts. Because I discovered he didn’t dare appear in front of me. Just like I didn’t dare reveal my true self to Julian. “Baby, there’s another woman looking for your neighbor. He must be a dirty man.” “Baby, do you want me to beat him up for you to vent your anger?” “Baby, stop liking him.” New messages appeared on my screen one after another. I picked up my phone and rarely replied to this pervert. “Who should I like then? You?” “Boohoo, baby finally noticed me. I’m a thousand, ten thousand times better than your neighbor. I want to hug baby, kiss baby right now.” “Get lost.” The phone went quiet. Just when I thought there wouldn’t be any more messages. Ding— “Baby is so fierce, I like it.” Damn it, pervert. I quickly blocked the number. 4 My company took on a big project. I was practically squeezed dry, working until eleven every night. Let alone stalking Julian, I could only glance at the pile of stuff at his door out of the corner of my eye while rushing to the elevator. The messages from strange numbers on my phone piled up to 99+. It wasn’t until the proposal finally passed review that I could catch my breath. Leaving work on time for the first time in half a month, I unfortunately encountered a rainstorm. Passing by the apartment next door, I saw Julian’s door ajar, dark inside. I checked the time. 6 PM. Julian usually came home at 8 PM. Did he forget to close the door? Possessed by some ghost, I pushed open Julian’s door. Quiet, no one there. I walked in a few steps, fumbled to turn on the light, scanned the room, and my gaze was instantly drawn to a plush toy on the entryway cabinet. It was a pink rabbit wearing a pink dress. Not new, with visible wear on its limbs, but clearly cherished by its owner. It looked so familiar. I seemed to have had a similar keychain in high school, but I accidentally lost it later. I picked up the rabbit keychain, wanting to examine the details. The elevator door behind me suddenly opened. I froze in place, at a loss. Only two people lived on this floor. Besides me, only Julian would come here. The rain was deafening, but the footsteps were crystal clear in my ears. Then, a tall shadow fell over my head. The rich scent of cedarwood enveloped me, a continuous chill, like standing in a pine forest after the first snow. He leaned in, placing a hand on my waist. Water droplets fell from his forehead and chin, landing on my collarbone, the cold making me shiver slightly. That icy voice rang in my ear. “What are you doing?” “Miss Hart?”

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The moment my brother-in-law died in my bed, everyone saw it. As atonement, my husband divorced me and married my adopted sister. My brother transferred all my shares and assets to her, turning Cora into a dazzling celebrity. They sent me to a psychiatric hospital to “protect” me from prison. When the statute of limitations passed, they came for me. My husband and brother draped a coat over my shoulders, their eyes tender. “Elara, it’s over now. I’m here.” But reporters swarmed. “Why did you seduce your brother-in-law and cause his death?” “Was forging psychiatric records to avoid jail fair to the victim?” I couldn’t hear them clearly — the electroshock treatments left a permanent ring in my ears. Only when a fan threw red paint on me did I snap back. “You ruined Cora’s life! Why don’t you just die!” I stood frozen. But they were the ones who dislocated my jaw to silence me, who fabricated evidence and tortured me for years — all to hide the truth: Cora was the real murderer. … Slowly, I raised a hand and wiped the filthy paint from my eyes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even look at them. I simply turned and started walking away from the crowd. “Elara?” My brother’s voice, laced with a faint, surprised edge, came from behind me. “Where are you going?” Adrian, my ex-husband, quickly moved to block my path, his brow furrowed. “Elara, we’re taking you home. Stop making a scene.” I stopped and finally met their eyes. “Home?” “What home? Marcus,” I said, looking at my brother, “didn’t you sign over all my assets and company shares to Cora? What home do I have left?” My brother’s face went rigid. I looked at Adrian, who was still gripping my arm, and a small, cold smile touched my lips. “Oh, I almost forgot. Congratulations to you and Cora. I hope you’ll be very happy together.” “And next time you get married, there’s no need to be so secretive. You two were sneaking around right under my nose for years. A little wedding shouldn’t be a cause for shame.” “Elara!” Adrian’s face darkened. “Do you have to talk like that?” My brother, Marcus, was furious. He reached for me. “What is that supposed to mean? After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?” In the chaos, the fan who’d thrown the paint lunged at me again, her face twisted with hate. “You bitch! How dare you talk to Cora’s brother and husband like that! I’ll kill you!” This time, Adrian and Marcus actually intervened, holding her back. Adrian looked at me, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Elara, look what you’ve done. Must you escalate everything? Can’t you just speak to us properly?” Speak properly? The absurdity of it was almost laughable. “I’m escalating things?” “What did I do wrong? She’s the murderer! You took her side, threw me into that asylum, and ruined my life without a second thought! And now you expect me to be grateful to my own executioners?” “Shut up!” Marcus snarled. “What murderer? Cora is the kindest person I know. Stop slandering her! You were jealous of her, jealous that Leo loved her, and you couldn’t stand it.” “We sent you for treatment, not to prison. That was our mercy. Don’t be so ungrateful!” Adrian sighed again. “Elara, calm down. I know you’re hurt. But marrying Cora… it was a temporary measure.” “She fell into a severe depression after Leo’s death. I’m staying by her side to take care of her, to atone for your sin on your behalf!” “Once she’s fully recovered, I’ll divorce her and we’ll get back together. We’ll never be apart again!” Smack. I summoned every last bit of my strength and slapped him across the face. His head snapped to the side, the red imprint of my hand already blooming on his cheek. He was stunned, clearly having never imagined I would strike him. Marcus was just as shocked. “Elara, are you insane?!” My voice trembled. “Start over?” “Adrian, you make me sick.” “Go live your life with your precious Cora. You two deserve each other. A scumbag and a snake, a match made in heaven. Count me out.” My brother’s face was purple with rage. He pointed a finger at me. “Elara, I’m giving you one last chance. Get on your knees right now and apologize to Adrian and Cora! If you don’t, you are no longer my sister! We’ll see how you survive in this city then!” Just then, a sleek, black town car pulled up. The door opened, and Cora, assisted by her publicist, stepped out gracefully. “Marcus, Adrian, don’t talk to my sister like that.” The moment they saw her, their anger melted away. They rushed to her side. “Cora, what are you doing out of the car? It’s chaos here, go back inside!” Marcus urged. “He’s right, Cora, you’re not well. You shouldn’t be here,” Adrian added, wrapping a protective arm around her. The way they coddled her, so gentle and careful, was a knife in my eye. There was a time they had treated me like that, like something precious. When a senior had cornered me in high school, Marcus had swung his backpack and taken on all three of them, getting his face bruised and bloodied but still managing a goofy grin. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ll protect you.” Adrian had quietly handled the fallout, using his family’s influence to ruin the boy’s father and force them to move away. He’d been whipped for it, the scars still on his back, but he never said a word to me. The clearer the memories, the more grotesque the present seemed. Seeing that no one was paying attention to me, the fans rushed forward again, grabbing my hair and slamming me to the ground. “Tear up that pretty face of hers!” “Murderer! I’m doing society a favor!” Five years had taught me how to take a beating. I curled into a ball, protecting my head and my heart. Through the blurry, shaking world, I saw Adrian whispering something to Cora, the line of his jaw softer than I had ever seen it. Marcus just glanced in my direction with a look of pure disgust. Cora, as if just noticing the assault, cried out, “Stop!” She pushed through the fans and reached down for me. “Sister, are you alright?” But as she tried to pull me up, her nails dug cruelly into a wound on my arm. I let out a muffled groan of pain. She snatched her hand back as if burned, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sister! I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to help you.” My brother strode over and kicked me hard in the ribs. I rolled across the pavement, my vision going black at the edges. “When are you going to stop hurting Cora?!” he roared. He knelt, yanking my head back by my hair. “Stop pretending! Cora barely touched you and you act like you’re dying. Are you trying to pull the same stunt you did when you took credit for her saving me? Using your pathetic tricks to frame her and ruin her career?” “I’m telling you, Elara, Cora has a good heart and she might worry about your lies, but I don’t! If you ever try to pull your disgusting tricks on her again, I’ll make sure you rot in that asylum for the rest of your life! Do you understand me?!” “That’s enough!” Adrian’s voice cut through the air. He grabbed Marcus’s wrist. “She’s still your sister.” “Sister? She doesn’t deserve the title!” Marcus ripped his arm away. “The moment she stole my supplies and left me for dead in that ravine to save herself, I only had one sister. And her name is Cora.” Adrian looked from my enraged brother to my crumpled form on the ground and let out a long sigh. He took off his own suit jacket and stiffly draped it over me. Then he turned and walked back to Cora. “I’m taking Cora to the hospital for a check-up. She got a scare, she’s been pale ever since.” Cora immediately leaned into him, her voice weak. “Adrian, my stomach hurts.” “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there right now.” He scooped her up into his arms. He didn’t look back at me once. Marcus shot me one last look of disgust and snapped at the remaining security guards, “Clean this up. And don’t let any of this trash near Cora’s car again.” Then he hurried after Adrian. “See? Nobody wants you,” the lead fan sneered, squatting down to pat my swollen cheek. “Weren’t you so tough a minute ago? Go on, kill me, murderer!” Another girl knelt and ripped the jacket off me. “You think you deserve to wear something this nice?” “Strip her! The bitch doesn’t deserve clothes!” someone shrieked, and the others cheered. My body screamed in protest as I tried to move, but I was helpless. I could only watch as their hands tore at my already tattered hospital gown. I tried to fight back, my voice a weak, hoarse whisper. A sharp slap across the face silenced me. “Cora is kind,” the fan hissed, grabbing my chin. “But we’re not.” They dragged me into a more secluded alleyway. One of them pulled a tube of super glue from her purse. “Since she likes to seduce men so much, let’s make sure that mouth of hers never opens again. And those pretty eyes, too.” I struggled, but it only earned me more blows. One of the bodyguards, watching from a distance, finally pulled out his phone. “Mr. Evans? Miss Elara is… being targeted by Miss Cora’s fans. What are your instructions?” “Do I have to be bothered with every little thing?” Marcus’s impatient voice came through the phone. “I told you to keep the trash away from the car. The rest is not my concern.” Then, Adrian’s tense voice cut in. “Stop wasting time with irrelevant people. Cora’s heart rate is elevated, go find a doctor.” There was a rustle, then Adrian’s voice, cold and clear. “Keep an eye on the scene. Don’t let it get out of hand, and make sure no one gets any footage that could hurt Cora. As for the rest… just make sure she doesn’t die.” The line went dead. The fans burst out laughing. “Did you hear that? ‘Just make sure she doesn’t die!’” “What are we waiting for, girls? We’ve got a green light from the big boss!” The crowd eventually dispersed. No one called an ambulance. No one helped me up. I was left there like a piece of trash. I pushed myself up from the pavement, gritting my teeth against the pain. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to a number I knew by heart. [I’m in. Name your price. I just want them dead.] I waited, my heart pounding. The owner of this number had first contacted me during my fourth year in the asylum. I had been too afraid to accept then, too afraid to gamble on a stranger. I had promised my parents I would survive. Then, a photo came through. It was a picture of me, unconscious, while Cora and the others arranged Leo’s body next to mine. [The evidence is ready. See you on the red carpet. 8 p.m. tonight.] A sense of calm settled over me. I wanted to tell my parents the good news. After all, I was the last thing they worried about before they died. I had just managed to stand when two iron grips clamped down on my arms. It was Marcus’s bodyguards. They dragged me back to his villa and forced me to my knees on the cold, rough stone patio. “Miss,” one of them said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Mr. Evans says Miss Cora’s pregnancy is unstable. He requires you to kneel here and pray for her. This is your punishment.” “Unstable pregnancy? What does that have to do with me?” The ropes they used to bind me only tightened as I struggled. The night grew colder. My knees went from screaming in pain to a dull, throbbing numbness. Just before dawn, Adrian and Marcus returned. “Adrian, what are you waiting for?” Marcus’s voice was a low growl. “We can use Elara as a stand-in for Cora tonight, make her kneel for Leo’s mother. But what about after that? The woman is a lunatic! We can just hand Elara over. They look so much alike, and the old hag is crazy enough not to notice the difference.” Adrian yanked at his tie, his voice tight with frustration. “Enough. I’ll handle it. If necessary…” He didn’t finish, but I had already taken a step back, a twig snapping under my foot. “Who’s there?” Marcus spun around. Our eyes met. The air was dead silent. I tried to run, but my bound hands and numb legs sent me stumbling. Adrian was on me in a second, his hand clamping down on my shoulder. “Since you heard, we have no choice. Cora’s red carpet event tonight is too important. There can be no mistakes. So, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take one for the team.” He dislocated my jaw with a practiced, casual movement. “You should be used to a little humiliation by now. I promise, after this is over, I’ll divorce Cora and be with you.” He waved a hand, and two bodyguards dragged me to a car. At the Croft mansion, Leo’s mother sat on the sofa, cradling a portrait of her son, humming a soft, broken lullaby. The television was playing a live feed of Cora, arm-in-arm with Adrian, dazzling on the red carpet. Mrs. Croft’s humming stopped. Her eyes fixed on the screen. A guttural scream ripped from her throat. “Why? Why does the person who killed you get to smile like that, while my son lies in the cold, hard ground?” One of the bodyguards shoved me forward. Mrs. Croft’s head snapped towards me. She lunged, her hands like talons at my throat. “You! You killed my son!” She snatched a fruit knife from the table and aimed it straight at my heart. “Die! All of you, just die!”

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It was New Year’s Day when I overheard the conversation. My now ex-wife, Seraphina Wells, was at the third wedding of her best friend, Bianca. “Seraphina, a woman is always meant to upgrade,” Bianca chirped, her voice too loud for the hushed venue. “Why waste another minute on an old, crooked tree like Leo Vance?” “Look at me,” she continued, oblivious to the fact that I was in the next room. “I went from a coffee-kiosk owner to a tech millionaire, and now I’ve landed myself a Manhattan Trust Fund Guy—who’s five years younger, no less!” Seraphina fell silent. She never offered a single word in my defense. That night, everything shattered. I caught a glimpse of her phone screen: a search history for a divorce lawyer and a text thread with Bianca about “scouting new candidates.” The air left my lungs. The temperature in the room dropped to zero. “Seraphina.” I closed the door softly behind me. “If you truly believe you’re destined to trade up, then I won’t stand in your way.” 1 I saw the divorce papers over dinner at her parents’ house. I’d brought the requisite holiday gift basket—high-end artisanal cheeses and a bottle of vintage Pinot Noir. “Leo, let’s get divorced.” Her voice was flat, devoid of any feeling. Her expression was perfectly calm. She had already made up her mind. Everyone else at the table—her mother, her father, a handful of aunts and cousins—gaped at her, then at me. For five years, Seraphina and I had been their model couple, their gold standard. We never raised our voices. We never threw a plate. No one could have predicted this quiet, devastating implosion. “Seraphina,” her mother, Eleanor, cried, gripping her hand. “What in the world? Did this good-for-nothing man abuse you?” She whirled on me, her eyes narrowed. “Well? What are you gawking at, Leo? Get down on your knees and apologize! Do I have to teach a grown man how to salvage his marriage?” Seraphina’s father, Richard, hammered the table. “A father knows his daughter. To drive Seraphina to divorce, you must have committed an unforgivable offense. You’re not leaving this house until you give us an answer!” The chorus of the extended family began. “Leo, you’re sick! My cousin is so kind and refined. What more could you possibly want?” “Everyone used to call you ‘Mr. Steady,’ the emotionally stable one. Stable? I think you’re a ticking time bomb!” “Hypocrite! What kind of man is he? He probably hits her!” Their eyes were filled with disgust. Their words were razor-sharp. But the facts were exactly the opposite. Seraphina was the one who seemed calm and gentle on the surface, but she was the walking powder keg. When her mood was good, I was her warm sunlight. When it wasn’t, the change was terrifying. There was the night she woke up and couldn’t sleep; she spent three hours poking, prodding, and whispering right next to my ear, determined to keep me awake. There was the time I couldn’t get her favorite organic cake, and she locked me out of the master bedroom for an entire weekend. Of course, she always followed up with a tearful, “I’m so sorry.” I loved her. I swallowed my truth, my frustration, and my exhaustion, transforming myself into the perfect, uncomplaining husband she needed to maintain her image. I had become the architect of her perfection. It was all undone by a single, mercenary remark from a shallow friend. I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs. I looked at the table of accusers, then at my wife. “We have no conflict,” I said, my voice low and even. “She simply believes I’m no longer good enough for her.” 2 The room went silent. Every head turned toward Seraphina, waiting for her denial. “He’s right,” she declared, her chin lifting with a familiar, self-satisfied arrogance. “My friend is right.” “A woman is always meant to upgrade.” “Bianca married a guy who started a chain of coffee kiosks, then moved to a tech millionaire who decked her out in diamond tennis necklaces. Now she’s with a genuine East Coast Trust Fund Guy who treats her like a queen—and is younger than she is!” “I am just as deserving,” she announced, her eyes blazing with conviction. Everyone in the room was stunned. I managed a bitter, internal laugh. Maybe she had never really seen me at all. Perhaps she only valued my stability, my kindness, and my provision—a temporary safety net until the real prize came along. She and her friend had always made comments about my “nice-guy” look—ordinary, dependable. I was the safe bet that, in their minds, she only landed because of some karmic stroke of luck. I had been devoted to her, and I had even agreed to a child-free marriage (DINK), simply because she wanted it. None of it mattered. After a shocked pause, Eleanor slammed her hand down. “What are you waiting for, Leo? Apologize! Buy her that designer handbag! Get her the diamond studs she wants!” “You must have done something, Leo! Seraphina wouldn’t do this otherwise! It’s your fault for making her say such absurd things!” I was speechless. She had just laid out her entire materialistic philosophy, yet they were still blaming me, demanding I beg. They weren’t leaving me a shred of dignity. When I didn’t move, Richard nudged my leg sharply under the table. “Leo, you’re the man! Swallow your pride. It’s a small price to pay to keep this marriage.” “You won’t find another woman as elegant and beautiful as my daughter. If you don’t fight for her now, you’ll regret it forever.” The others chimed in again. “Quickly, apologize! Don’t wait for my cousin to get serious about this!” “Marrying Seraphina was the biggest break your family ever had. Don’t ruin it!” “You clueless man! Just apologize, even if it’s not your fault!” They were a single, unified front against me. Every single person was telling me to bow my head. Why? Because she was pretty? Because she was ambitious? Because they were all collectively entitled? I slowly stood up, my gaze locking onto Seraphina’s. I spoke clearly, enunciating every word. “I agree to the divorce.” “The marriage is over. We are strangers from this moment on.” 3 My words were soft, but they ripped through the silence like a gunshot. Even Seraphina froze, momentarily shocked by how quickly I agreed. Before anyone could recover, I grabbed the divorce agreement, signed my name, and pressed my thumbprint into the designated spot. “Are you insane?!” Richard and Eleanor shot out of their seats. “Leo Vance!” Eleanor screeched. “Are you even a man? Is it so hard to apologize? She says divorce, and you just comply? Have some spine! Rip up that paper, get on your knees, and list every one of your faults! Start repenting!” Seraphina had initiated the split, yet they still saw me as the sole culprit. Like daughter, like parents. Their entire family DNA was woven with arrogance and narcissism. Seraphina snatched the papers from my hand, as if afraid I might change my mind. “Let’s go,” she said, already walking toward the door. “The City Hall office closes soon.” She couldn’t wait. I felt a sudden rush of bitter clarity. What had these five years been? A messy, expensive farce. I followed her, silent. Richard grabbed my arm, his face apoplectic. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Leo. You’re over thirty. You’ll be picking up stray dogs before you find another date!” “Be smart! Get down now! I’ll put in a good word. Failing that, put your parents’ retirement funds in Seraphina’s account. Just so she feels secure.” “Oh, and the house they live in? Change the deed into her name.” He had made these demands before. Now, in the midst of her self-created crisis, he was trying to leverage my parents’ security. If I agreed, would I even deserve to be called their son? I clenched my fist, pulling my arm away. “Maybe I won’t be the one who ends up alone.” I walked out without looking back. Behind me, the venom flowed. “You selfish bastard! It was just a house and a retirement fund! No wonder my daughter is leaving you!” “Seraphina with you was a rose next to a pile of dirt!” “Good riddance! She’s going to upgrade, and you’ll rot in the ground!” The relatives joined in, calling me worthless, cheap, and a failure for not being rich or handsome enough. Yet, over the years, I had lent them significant sums that were never repaid. I had treated Eleanor and Richard like my own parents—gifts, meals, new clothes for every holiday. When they were in a car accident, Seraphina was traveling for work, and I—with my own parents—had cared for them for a full month. I thought five years of diligent, selfless devotion would earn me a place in their hearts. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t just Seraphina. Deep down, the entire Wells family believed I had high-climbed to be with her. No matter how hard I worked, I would never be enough. On the drive to City Hall, Seraphina broke the silence. “What did you mean, ‘Maybe I won’t be the one who ends up alone’?” “Are you implying I won’t find anyone better?” “Or are you saying,” she continued, a sneer forming, “you can actually trade up from me?” 4 Before I could answer, she burst into a cruel, knowing laugh. “Leo Vance, stop dreaming. What can you offer besides emotional labor and a steady paycheck? Nothing.” “I’m not afraid to tell you,” she said, turning to face me with a cold lack of remorse. “I got bored of your ‘goodness’ a long, long time ago.” We were divorcing, and she still needed one last slash. I remembered our wedding day. She had whispered, “You’re the only person in the world who loves me without an agenda. I love you, and I’ll never get bored.” Now, before the mistress even showed up, the sentiment was already dead. We signed the papers. Back at our apartment, the first thing Seraphina did was take the framed wedding photo off the wall and smash it. Then she set the pictures inside on fire. “Leo.” Her tone was a command. “Delete everything. I don’t want any trace of this failure left behind.” I looked at her. She was a stranger. “Fine.” I nodded, opened my phone, and deleted her number, her email, her social media profile, and every single photograph I had ever saved. My phone’s memory usage indicator dropped sharply. I stared at the sudden emptiness, then let out a long, slow breath. It felt like I had just shrugged off a 100-pound weight. She thoroughly inspected my phone to ensure the digital cleansing was complete. Satisfied, she dragged her suitcase toward the door. She paused, her hand on the knob. “Leo.” She said my name, almost softly. I looked up, meeting her gaze. A brief stab of sadness hit me, then receded. “Leo Vance,” she repeated, her voice hardening. “People have to look out for themselves. Don’t blame me.” “Blame yourself for being stale. Blame yourself for not being good enough.” This time, Seraphina didn’t look back. I heard the rapid click of her heels down the hallway. Her steps were light. Her energy was electric. She was already mentally calling out to her young, new prize. Outside, Bianca was waiting, leaning against a six-figure luxury sedan. Next to her was a man with slicked-back hair, wearing a massive gold watch and an arrogant smirk. He definitely looked like “money.” “Seraphina! Congrats on the divorce! Congrats on escaping the mediocrity!” Bianca exclaimed, waving her over. “This is my husband’s friend, Silas Kincaid. He loves a beautiful, recently available woman like you!” Seraphina’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She looked Silas over—the car, the watch, the clothes—and her eyes lit up. Silas grinned, opening the back door for her. “Your chariot awaits, Princess.” “You are so charming,” Seraphina giggled, stepping in. From the window, I watched the sedan pull away. Silas Kincaid felt instantly, unnervingly familiar. I snapped a photo of him and the car, then texted it to my old college roommate, who now worked for a federal agency. [This guy. Is he on any of your lists?’]

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I wore a sexy little dress under my coat, daring and flirtatious, more provocative than anyone on the street corner. Because today is my anniversary with my husband, and I wanted to give him a little surprise! When we entered the KTV room, I playfully mentioned my little secret for meeting my boyfriend, then tore open my coat. His eyes went straight! Jealously, he asked if I had been wearing this all day. I hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Yes, I kept my coat buttoned at work. It was so nerve-wracking and thrilling. I just wanted to jump into your arms after work.” He happily hugged me and kept kissing me. Suddenly remembering the pharmacy was about to close, he rushed out hurriedly, telling me to wait for him. I sighed, thinking men over thirty really have to rely on medicine. My husband finishes fights in the ring in three minutes, and at home without medicine, it’s also three minutes. But it’s okay, I really love him. 1 I sat happily in the private room singing, thinking about how to dance for my husband later, when a waiter suddenly walked in. Startled, I quickly told him to leave first, wanting to put on my coat. Unexpectedly, the waiter walked up to me, suddenly grabbed my hair, and slapped me hard across the face, shouting: “Get the hell out!” The sudden slap stunned me. Clutching my burning face, his spit sprayed on my face as he cursed, disgusting me to the point of nausea. My whole head was buzzing, a fear I had never felt before rose in my heart. My husband usually jokes calling me a tigress, but at this moment, I couldn’t help trembling all over. That slap just now made me unable to stand steady. My legs went soft instantly. I didn’t understand why I was beaten. A warm flow rushed to my head, and my nose started bleeding. I touched my nose, my palm covered in blood. I wanted to ask why he hit me, but he was already dragging me out by my hair! I arched my back like a shrimp, trying hard to retreat. The pain in my head made me cry uncontrollably. I felt like my scalp was being torn off! But he found me too noisy and suddenly punched me hard in the stomach, roaring: “Shut up!” I was hit so hard my stomach contracted, breathless, almost vomiting! He opened the private room door, ensured no one was passing by, and quickly dragged me into the nearest stairwell in the hallway. There were many guests in the KTV, but every room had heavy doors and loud music. No one could hear my cries! After being dragged into the stairwell, he dragged me upstairs. In desperation, I remembered my husband telling me that the best way to fight an opponent with a significant strength difference is to push their chin with all your might. While the waiter wasn’t paying attention, I used all my strength and pushed hard on his chin! An unbelievable thing happened. This waiter, taller and stronger than me, was pushed backward by me and fell heavily to the ground! But the problem was, he was still holding onto me! I was dragged down the stairs with him, my knees hitting the ground hard. The pain made me hug my legs and scream in agony. The waiter also hit his head. Angrily, he punched towards my face. I subconsciously imitated my husband, covering my head with both hands and using my elbows to counter his fist. But after all, I’m not my husband. I knew what to do, but my speed was too slow! Let alone blocking the attack, his fist hit my ear before my hands could fully raise. My head buzzed, and everything around me began to spin. I couldn’t control it and vomited uncomfortably. The waiter climbed up. Not satisfied with one punch, he cursed and dragged me upstairs again. Unlike the luxurious decoration of the KTV, the top floor here was just ordinary whitewashed walls. This was the staff dormitory, and there was a small room. The waiter opened the small room door. I saw several strong men inside. I subconsciously wanted to cover my little dress, but the waiter kicked me hard in the waist, and I fell directly to the floor. A middle-aged woman sat on a chair, legs crossed, a cigarette in her mouth. She glanced at me lightly and asked coldly: “Coming to my turf to steal business?” At this moment, I understood everything. I had seen a real news story before. An open-minded girl went to a KTV, and just because she dressed too sexily, she was forcibly dragged away in the hallway by the pimp in the KTV, who thought she was a hostess stealing business on his turf. But I’m not! I didn’t dress sexy at all. I only unbuttoned my coat for my husband after entering the private room! And I knew the KTV had glass doors, so I specifically sat in the corner where the waiter couldn’t see! I am a woman who cares about her reputation. I have a husband. How could I let outsiders see me in a sexy little dress! Instantly, I understood everything. This KTV private room likely has illegal cameras installed! 2 I said in terror that I was a customer here to spend money. Hearing this, her face darkened instantly. Suddenly, she flicked the burning cigarette butt directly onto my face, roaring angrily: “Do you think I’m an idiot! What customer dresses as slutty as you!” I was so scared I cried and screamed, slapping my face hard, fearing the burning part of the cigarette was still on my face. I had never encountered such a thing in my life. Now, besides fear, my mind couldn’t calm down at all! I cried saying I was really a customer, the one downstairs was my husband, he would be back soon, please let me go. The waiter said impatiently: “If you don’t talk properly, every man here will be your husband in a moment!” I shivered all over. I knew what he meant. Every man here was looking at me with disgusting eyes. One of them even laughed: “Who knows if she’s clean. I don’t want to get syphilis or gonorrhea.” This was humiliation I had never suffered. I said angrily: “I’m not a prostitute, I’m calling the police right now!” I took out my phone. They didn’t intend to stop me. The middle-aged woman also laughed: “Who are you scaring? Come on, call the police right now. If you don’t, you’re a son of a bitch.” I immediately dialed 911. When the call connected, I quickly said: “I’ve been kidnapped, I’m at Noble KTV, I…” The faces of these laughing people suddenly turned very ugly. The waiter cursed, suddenly grabbed my phone, hung up, and immediately turned it off! He said in disbelief: “A prostitute really dares to call the police?” I said I wasn’t a prostitute, I was here to spend money! The waiter nervously asked the middle-aged woman: “Sister Red, did we catch the wrong person?” This middle-aged woman called Sister Red stared at me, suddenly took my phone, removed the SIM card, turned it on, ordered me to unlock the phone, and looked through it. Finally, her face became very ugly, gritting her teeth: “Caught the wrong person.” I breathed a sigh of relief, stood up, snatched back the phone, and said: “Can I go now?” I hurriedly tried to walk out, but Sister Red suddenly said wait. The waiter locked the door, telling me not to leave yet. The atmosphere became weird. People looked nervously at Sister Red. The waiter couldn’t help asking: “Sister Red, what if she tells?” I was really about to breakdown. I am a victim. I was inexplicably beaten and dragged. But at the moment the truth came out, these perpetrators only considered their own safety and didn’t care about my feelings at all. Sister Red was silent for a while, suddenly opened her bag, took out a few hundred dollars, put them in my hand, and said: “Take this money, consider it our apology.” I didn’t understand why she thought a few hundred dollars could solve the problem. But I knew better than to suffer immediate losses. I took the money, said I would keep it secret, and hurriedly tried to leave. However, they still didn’t open the door. Sister Red stared into my eyes and finally said: “You can’t leave yet.” She took my phone again and wanted me to unlock it. At this moment, I hesitated. She clearly found out I wasn’t a prostitute just now. Why does she want to look at my phone now? I instinctively had a bad premonition and asked what she wanted to do. She said: “Don’t worry about it, just unlock it. At most ten minutes, I’ll let you go. If the police come later, just say you were drunk and called the police randomly, and someone stopped you.” I shook my head repeatedly. I had guessed what she wanted to do. Opening Alipay (or banking apps), she could see my ID and registered address. Opening DoorDash (or food delivery apps), she could see my home delivery address. I shook my head repeatedly. I absolutely cannot let such people know my home address! These are social hooligans. I dare not imagine what they would do! Seeing I refused to cooperate, Sister Red said: “Just now when I opened WeChat, I saw a chat group called Spring Kindergarten Middle Class. You don’t want to bring trouble to yourself, do you?” This simple sentence almost suffocated me! She already knew which kindergarten my child attended! 3 Sister Red shook the phone, signaling me to unlock. I gritted my teeth and said: “No.” She frowned: “If you cooperate, there won’t be so much trouble.” I said angrily: “I won’t cooperate! People in your line of work will be caught by the police sooner or later! When someone anonymously reports you, and you suspect me, what if you come to trouble my family!” I’m not brain-dead. These people will be reported to the police sooner or later. Once she suspects it was me, what then? They don’t need reasons or evidence to suspect and retaliate against people. These are dregs of society. They retaliate based only on their own judgment! I can transfer my child to another kindergarten immediately. But if they know my home address, in this era of plummeting housing prices, do I have to sell my house at a loss of hundreds of thousands to hide from them?! If I sell the house now, my family will lose $80,000! How many times does my husband have to get beaten black and blue in the ring to make up $80,000! Seeing I refused to cooperate, Sister Red took a deep breath and said: “It was wrong of us to hit you just now. I can say sorry to you, and I paid you money. But remember, forgive when possible. You are looking for trouble for yourself.” She ordered me to unlock the phone again, but I still refused. Once unlocked, it would be like placing a time bomb over my family. My family would never have peace! Sister Red got anxious. She pointed at my nose and asked arrogantly: “Did I give you too much face? You unlock it today whether you want to or not!” As soon as she finished speaking, those men rushed up together. They grabbed my arm and pressed my finger down! I understood; they wanted to use fingerprint unlock! I tried hard to pull my hand back. I learned from those who couldn’t beat my husband in the ring, curling my body into a ball. When they came to pull my hand out, I held on tight and never let go, using all my strength to resist them. But this isn’t a ring after all! There are no rules here! Seeing I refused to submit, the waiter got anxious. He suddenly picked up the stool Sister Red was sitting on and smashed it hard on my arm! The stool shattered directly on my arm. The heart-tearing pain made me let out a miserable scream! The waiter said viciously: “Would it kill you to cooperate! At worst, I’ll break your hand and see how you exert force!” My hand lost sensation from the smash. I struggled to use force, but the pain from inside the muscles made me unable to exert any strength! Seeing the opportunity, they quickly grabbed my arm and tried to unlock the phone. My arm was already injured by the smash. How could I resist the strength of so many people now? Seeing my finger getting closer and closer to the unlock button, I could only make a fist and not extend my finger. The waiter immediately grabbed my finger and tried to pry it open with all his might, completely ignoring my twisted finger! I was in agony, but at this critical moment, the faces of my husband and child appeared in my mind. I have a happy family. I absolutely cannot bring such big trouble home! In desperation, I stopped resisting. I lunged forward with my head and bit my own finger! They didn’t realize what I was going to do, and I bit my thumb hard with all my strength! Sister Red understood immediately. She shouted anxiously: “Stop her biting! Make her stop!” They all got anxious, punching my head one after another, especially the waiter. Although he caught the wrong person initially, he seemed to have the greatest hatred towards me. He grabbed my hair, punching my head again and again, roaring at me: “Let go! Are you done yet! Do you insist on blowing things up!” So painful! Tears flowed from pain, but I just couldn’t give up. Until the taste of blood spread in my mouth, I bit a deep wound on my finger, blood gushing out constantly. I finally let go. Seeing the wound on my finger, Sister Red cursed a few times. She quickly brought tissues to wipe the blood off my finger, then tried to unlock. But it was useless! The large wound had destroyed the fingerprint. No matter how hard she pressed my finger, the phone prompted unlock failure, requiring a password! I gasped in pain. Fortunately, I only registered one fingerprint, and fortunately, I didn’t enable face unlock. Otherwise, the consequences would be unimaginable! Sister Red’s face turned livid with anger. Just then, the waiter’s walkie-talkie suddenly rang: “Police are coming! What did you guys do?” They all panicked. Sister Red hurriedly said: “Drag her inside, don’t let the police see!” I didn’t understand what “drag inside” meant. This room is already so small; what inside could there be? They suddenly ran to the wall of the small room. This wall was black wood. Seeing them push hard, I realized there was a cave within a cave. This wooden board was a heavy sliding door without a handle. Inside was a monitoring room showing surveillance footage of various private rooms. Seeing this scene, I wasn’t very surprised. From the beginning, I guessed they had illegal cameras; otherwise, how could they know my outfit in the private room? These people record the situation in the KTV. Whether it’s couples or hostesses, everything they do will be recorded by them! They dragged me into the small room. Sister Red gritted her teeth and said to me: “Listen, we don’t sell those videos. We installed these cameras because we are afraid the hostesses mess around in the private rooms. Don’t frame us falsely when you get out, do you understand?” I ignored Sister Red’s words. Because I saw my husband came back. He held his phone anxiously, knocking on doors one by one. I knew he was asking about me. Seeing my husband looking for me, I couldn’t help shedding tears. He spoils me and takes care of me, but just upstairs from him, I suffered such beating and abuse! He must have called me many times, but my SIM card was removed, so he couldn’t get through at all! At the same time, I saw something shocking. This surveillance also captured the KTV reception desk. Police were already questioning the receptionist, but they led the police elsewhere. While the police were away, the receptionist quickly opened the computer case and roughly pulled out the hard drive. The scene of me being dragged out of the private room just now must have been captured by the surveillance! So they absolutely cannot let the police see the surveillance! But this KTV has two surveillance systems. The outer system probably only sees public areas, not the situation in each private room! In this small room, I could see their actions! They all came in, closing the heavy door of this small room. Especially the waiter, who didn’t forget to wipe the blood off the floor before coming in. An anxious voice came from the walkie-talkie: “I removed the hard drive, what next?” The speaker should be that receptionist. The waiter picked up the walkie-talkie and said: “Don’t let the police see. Give the hard drive to us now, then go back to work. Otherwise, if the police see you suddenly missing, they will definitely be suspicious.” The receptionist asked again: “What if the police want to see the surveillance?” The waiter said impatiently: “Just say the surveillance is broken!” Now I understand why whenever there’s critical news in society, the surveillance is always broken. Whether the surveillance is broken or not depends entirely on the shop owner’s words! Just then, I heard the sound of leather shoes outside. I also vaguely heard someone saying: “We are just running a business. There are so many and mixed customers; we don’t know who called the police.” It’s the police outside! The door of this small room is very heavy; ordinary sounds can’t penetrate! Hearing it now, there’s only one possibility! The police are right next to me; they are checking the dormitory area! I hurriedly wanted to speak, but Sister Red and the others immediately gagged me, not letting me make any sound no matter what! I could only struggle to whimper. In desperation, the waiter strangled my neck hard, making me breathless, rolling my eyes hard! I tried hard to make some noise, even just kicking the floor with my shoes. As long as I attract the police’s attention, I have a chance to leave here! But they held down my hands and feet together, preventing any part of my body from making a sound. The sound of leather shoes rang out. The police probably didn’t find any useful clues here and went downstairs first. I couldn’t even breathe in despair. Everyone was staring at the secret door panel, while my gaze was on my husband in the surveillance screen. My vision began to blur gradually. I thought, I might really die here today. He is just downstairs, but I can’t touch him. This sorrowful despair suffocates me more than covering my mouth and nose. In the surveillance screen, my husband was still knocking on doors looking for my trace. Suddenly, the receptionist hurried past him, walked a few steps towards the stairwell, probably saw the police, and quickly retreated. My husband happened to look back. The receptionist probably realized the police were getting closer. In desperation, she actually lifted her skirt and hid the hard drive in her safety pants. This scene happened to be seen by my husband. Sure enough, in that surveillance screen, I saw the police passing by the receptionist. The police were talking to the receptionist. She should be lying to the police that she was going to the toilet, pointing to the toilet location. As the police left, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. But I saw my husband catch up with the receptionist in a few steps and grab her shoulder. In the video, the receptionist was scared and wanted to scream, but seemingly thinking the police were not far away, she quickly covered her mouth. At this time, people were secretly checking the situation outside. Except for me, no one noticed my husband looked up at the surveillance camera. We seemed to look at each other across the screen. He grabbed the receptionist and dragged her out of the surveillance range, disappearing. Just then, they came back from the outer room. Sister Red said to me coldly: “The police have left. I advise you not to play any tricks!” The waiter also looked relieved. He picked up the walkie-talkie and said: “The police went down. Give the hard drive to us, then find a lock to lock the stairwell door. This bitch refuses to cooperate, it will take some time. Don’t let anyone come upstairs during this time, hear me?” There was no sound from the walkie-talkie. The waiter frowned and asked: “Asking you, did you hear?” Still no sound from the walkie-talkie. Sister Red asked: “Could it be out of battery?” The waiter said: “Impossible, we were communicating fine just now.” Sister Red asked again: “Did she forget the walkie-talkie at the front desk? It’s over if the police hear it!” The waiter shook his head: “Impossible. I just saw her in the surveillance. The walkie-talkie was on her waist; she definitely heard us.” People looked at the surveillance screen doubtfully but just couldn’t find the receptionist. But just then, I saw my husband appear in the surveillance screen. He opened the stairwell door and walked in. Seeing my husband, these people were stunned. Sister Red said quickly: “That man came up, looks familiar.” The waiter quickly pointed at me: “Seems to be her man.” Sister Red panicked, quickly said to a man: “Probably looking for his wife. Go quickly, tell him upstairs is staff area, customers not allowed.” The man nodded and went out quickly. I looked at the door worriedly, while Sister Red was still forcing me to unlock the phone. She handed the phone to me, gritting her teeth: “My patience has run out. I advise you not to provoke me further.” Panting, I took the phone. I said: “Okay, I’ll unlock.” Seeing I was willing to unlock, she breathed a sigh of relief. And I held the phone, quickly inputting the password. First time, failed. Second and third time, also failed. Soon, the phone popped up a prompt: “You have entered the wrong password three times consecutively, please try again in ten minutes!” I handed the phone to Sister Red. She stared blankly at the screen, her expression becoming uglier and uglier. She murmured: “You really aren’t afraid of death.”

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My workaholic wife had finally agreed to spend the holidays with my family. The sheer elation of it had me booking the first flight that night. Seven years of “emergency meetings” and “non-negotiable deadlines” had given way to a sliver of hope, and I clung to it like a life raft. But by midnight at the airport gate, she was still a no-show. Minutes before boarding closed, the familiar text arrived. “Apologies, babe. Emergency exec meeting called last minute with the partners. Non-negotiable. Next year, I promise, we’ll spend the holidays with your folks.” I didn’t get angry. I just felt the familiar, dull thud of disappointment and typed a simple “Okay.” I decided to fly out anyway and pay my respects to her parents, the Martins, in her close-knit, upstate hometown of Pine Ridge. When I arrived that evening, lugging bags full of artisanal cheeses and imported wine, I stood on the Martins’ porch and heard my father-in-law’s booming laugh from inside. “Another round, Son? Come on, my Son-in-Law!” The bags of holiday gifts slammed onto the porch. Crash. The noise must have carried through the door, startling the neighbors who were already milling about. The front door swung open and a young man poked his head out. “What the hell?” His tone was immediately aggressive. He pointed a finger at me, already launching into a tirade. “The hell are you doing lurking around someone’s house on Christmas Eve? Trying to steal something?” I knew him. The face was too familiar. He was a college kid, Travis Stone, that Skylar and I had interviewed when MooreTech was just starting. Skylar wanted to pass on him; his resume was weak. I had argued for him, citing his high emotional intelligence. I’d convinced her to hire him. My father-in-law’s voice echoed again from inside. “Son, who is it? Finish up and get back in here. Dinner’s getting cold.” “Got it, Dad. Be right there.” Travis smiled, turning to answer. I opened my mouth, but the word—Son-in-Law—still rang in my ears. It wasn’t meant for me. It was clearly meant for him. Seeing my silence, Travis grew impatient, stepping forward. “I asked you a question. Do you know whose house this is? Do you know who you’re talking to?” He puffed out his chest, a sickening mix of smugness and arrogance replacing his initial irritation. “My wife is Skylar Moore, CEO of MooreTech! Get lost, or I’m calling the cops!” I had been bracing myself, but hearing her name on his lips still felt like a physical punch. The freezing air burned my throat. My voice was dry, a sandpaper rasp. “You said Skylar Moore is your wife?” “Damn right!” I lifted my head, forcing the boiling rage down into a cold, hard knot. I met his eyes. “What a coincidence. Because I am Skylar Moore’s legal, notarized, seven-years-and-counting husband.” Travis laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound, as if I’d just told a terrible joke. “Who doesn’t know that the Martins’ golden boy, the Son-in-Law, is me, Travis Stone? Where did a scrub like you crawl out of, trying to pull a stunt like this?” His voice was loud, ensuring the cluster of neighbors who’d gathered due to the commotion could hear. They started murmuring. “Who is that guy? Causing a scene on Christmas Eve?” “The Martins’ son-in-law is little Travis, right? He’s here every year, we all know him!” “Unbelievable. Some people will try to exploit the rich any way they can. Impersonating a husband now?” The neighbors’ comments were like needles dipped in ice. For seven years, every holiday, every family event, she’d claimed to be too busy—critical partners, emergency projects. I’d always believed her, felt sorry for her relentless schedule, even poured money into her company to ease the burden. I’d quietly invested at least $15 million, creating and patenting ninety percent of the core technology that built MooreTech. Yet, she was always too busy for me. And now I knew why. She hadn’t been working; she’d been here, playing house with her lover. Travis looked at me with open scorn. “You pathetic wannabe. You think you can swagger around here? I can make one call, and MooreTech will make sure your family loses everything.” My family. For Skylar’s dream, I had put my own life on hold, refusing to inherit the Graham Group, choosing to work anonymously from our home office, pouring my genius and my capital into lifting MooreTech into a major player. And now this little sneak, a mid-level manager’s kid, was using my company to threaten me. All reason snapped. I lunged forward. My fist slammed into the center of his arrogant face. A sickening thud and Travis cried out, stumbling back and hitting the doorframe. Blood instantly gushed from his nose. “He’s hitting him!” a neighbor shrieked. “He attacked our Martins’ son-in-law! Get him out of here!” Several men who had clearly been drinking their Christmas punch rushed forward, yelling. “Everyone on him! Get this troublemaker out! Protect Travis!” Four or five guys swarmed me. Fists flew, someone grabbed my arm. I was quickly overpowered and pinned to the cold ground. Travis, his eyes red and his face already swelling, grabbed a rusty snow shovel propped against the wall. “You’re going to regret that, asshole!” He raised the shovel high over his head, ready to bring it down. Just then, the commotion brought the rest of the occupants rushing out. The moment Skylar saw me, her face went utterly, terrifyingly pale. “Spencer Graham! What are you doing here?!” That gasp stopped Travis mid-swing. Skylar stood there, frozen. Mr. and Mrs. Martin—my in-laws—stumbled out behind her, faces flushed with wine. I didn’t answer. I just looked at her, then at the stunned faces of her parents. My mother-in-law frowned, studying me critically. “Who is this man, Skylar? Fighting on our doorstep? Do you know him?” My father-in-law, his face suddenly stern, glanced at me, pinned on the ground. His voice was laced with menace. “Some piece of trash causing trouble at the Martin home?” I managed a choked, hoarse laugh. “Seven years. Are you so forgetful, old man, that you don’t recognize your own son-in-law? Did the gourmet holiday baskets I sent you every year just get thrown out with the garbage?” My mother-in-law’s eyes widened, a flicker of memory passing through them, but she quickly masked it with outrage. “Stop your nonsense! We have never met you! Don’t you dare try to claim kin here!” My father-in-law instantly backed her up, pointing at me for the neighbors. “We only have one son-in-law, Travis! He comes every year; you all know him! This man? We’ve never seen him before in our lives!” “Hear that, trash?” one of the men holding me down sneered. “The Martins don’t even know you. You have no shame, man.” Skylar’s face was a mottled mix of red and white. She finally spoke, her voice strained. “Spencer, just leave. We can talk about this later.” “Later?” I wrenched against the men holding me, forcing them to tighten their grip. I stared up at her, my eyes blazing. “Right now. In front of everyone. Tell me the truth. Am I, Spencer Graham, your husband or not?” Skylar’s lips trembled. Her gaze darted everywhere but to mine. She couldn’t speak. The neighbors exchanged nervous glances, their murmuring growing louder. The deadlock was broken by a child’s high-pitched cry. “Bad man! Don’t you dare hurt my Mommy and Daddy!” A little boy, maybe five or six, rushed out of the house, scrambling into Travis’s arms. He turned and spread his tiny arms wide, trying to shield Travis and Skylar. He glared at me. “You’re a bad man! Go away! Don’t touch my Mommy and Daddy!” Mommy and Daddy? I stared blankly at the child, then slowly turned my stiff neck to Skylar. She instinctively pulled the boy tight into her embrace, burying her face in his small shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here…” Skylar had told me she was infertile. That she couldn’t carry a child. Looking at the boy’s face, so strikingly like hers, I let out a cold, hollow sound that might have been a laugh. She wasn’t infertile. She just couldn’t have children with me. The neighbors, emboldened by Skylar’s hesitation, grew bolder in their whispers. “No way. Is Skylar actually cheating? This man tracked her down?” “Must be. Little Travis is a good man, and they have a child! How could Skylar do this?” “The Martin girl always seemed so respectable. Tsk. You never know what people are like behind closed doors.” Hearing the gossip, the Martins’ faces turned the color of bruised plums. Mrs. Martin shrieked, pointing her finger right at my nose. “Silence! What are you all saying?! My Skylar is a respectable woman!” Her chest heaved, and she pointed at me again. “This man is a liar! He’s a nobody! He drives a faded, old Volvo, for God’s sake! My daughter is the CEO of MooreTech. Why would she ever look twice at a loser like him?” Mr. Martin stepped forward, his voice vicious. “Look at this little opportunist. Clearly trying to break up a family. Travis is our real son-in-law—the son of a major MooreTech partner! Young and rich! Nobody would choose this bum over him!” They piled on the insults, tearing me down while elevating Travis to the heavens. But one line snagged in my mind. The son of a major partner? Every major partner MooreTech had was a subsidiary of the Graham Group, my family’s empire. None of them were named Stone. Before I could process the thought, Skylar’s face had reached a fever pitch of panic. The gossip and her parents’ hysterical defense had pushed her to the wall. She suddenly lifted her head, making a clear decision. She thrust the little boy into her mother’s arms, pointed at me, and shouted: “Spencer Graham! Are you done yet?! How many times have I told you? We are finished!” “I have a family now—a husband, a son! Can you stop chasing me around like a crazy ex? Is this pathetic stalking really worth it? Have you no shame at all?” Travis, who had been listening, first looked confused, then a triumphant realization dawned on him. He rushed over, his arm swinging wide, and delivered a sharp, cracking slap across my face. CRACK! My cheek stung with fire, and my ears rang. Travis pointed at my nose, spittle flying. He looked righteous, furious. “So, you’re the pathetic loser Skylar mentioned! The obsessive ex who wouldn’t leave her alone! I heard she had some worthless guy constantly harassing her, but I didn’t know it was this bad! You have the audacity to show up here?! I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget!” He was truly enraged now. He lifted his foot and kicked me hard in the ribs. The force of the blow felt like my internal organs had shifted. I coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. I gathered all my remaining strength and struggled, finally breaking free from the men holding me. “Skylar! If Travis is your husband, then show everyone your marriage license! Let’s see the certificate!” To my surprise, Travis didn’t look panicked. He adjusted the collar I’d messed up with my punch, then reached into his car, pulled out a document, and threw it with a slap at my feet. “Open your pathetic eyes and look.” “This is our marriage license. Stamped by the State Registrar. What more do you need to see, huh?” My own marriage license with Skylar was a special issue I’d secured using my family’s influence. I knew it couldn’t be duplicated. That meant this one was fake. I looked up and sneered. “Skylar. You’re willing to forge a state document to keep this lie going?” I gestured to the red booklet. “How about we drive down to the Precinct right now? Let’s have it authenticated on the spot.” “Fine! I’m not scared of you!” Travis shouted, but I saw a faint, fleeting flicker of nervousness deep in his eyes. Just then, the wail of approaching sirens cut through the tense silence. Two police cruisers screeched to a halt outside the gate. A few officers stepped out. The one in charge, Chief Reynolds, frowned at the chaos and the mob of people. “What is going on here? Who called this in? A public brawl on Christmas?” Mr. Martin hurried over, already offering the Chief a cigarette with practiced ease. “Chief Reynolds! Ah, you shouldn’t have been bothered. Nothing to worry about. Just some lunatic causing trouble at our family gathering. A small misunderstanding! Nothing more!” The Chief took the cigarette and looked toward Skylar, his demeanor softening. “Mr. Martin, it’s the holiday season. The brass is making rounds. Keep it quiet.” My heart sank. That familiarity—the relationship was clearly compromised. While the attention was on the police, I gritted my teeth against the pain and fumbled in my pocket. With my non-dominant hand, I quickly tapped out a message with my location to Damon Lewis, my father’s Chief of Staff. A young officer walked over to me. “What’s the problem? Why were you fighting?” I took a shaky breath, trying to sound calm. I pointed to the fake license on the ground. “Officer, I am Spencer Graham, Skylar Moore’s legal husband. This man, Travis Stone, has been having a long-term affair with my wife, forged a marriage license, and just committed assault and battery against me. I demand that you authenticate that document and press charges.” Before I finished, Chief Reynolds ambled over, picked up the license, flipped through it casually, and glanced at Travis. Travis gave him a quick, meaningful nod. The Chief snapped the license shut, tossed it back to Travis, and turned to me, his voice oozing disdain. “Nonsense. I’ve seen enough of these things. It looks genuine. Son, I think you’re the one causing trouble. Trying to shake down the successful CEO for money, aren’t you?” My last shred of hope dissolved. They were bought. “You won’t even follow basic protocol! You determine its authenticity with a glance? That’s corruption!” I spat out. “Watch your tone!” Chief Reynolds thundered, pointing at me. “You’re asking for trouble! Cuff him! Take him back to the station. We’ll figure out what a disruptive individual like you is doing here, stirring up lies!” Two officers moved forward to grab my arms. “Chief, Chief, easy now.” Travis stepped forward, a phony look of concern on his face. “It’s just a domestic issue. No need to bring the full weight of the law on him. We’ll handle it in-house. I’ll stop by the station later to thank you personally.” Chief Reynolds waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. If it’s family business, handle it. We’ll wait down the road.” He gave me a pointed look and, with the other officers, got back into the cruisers. As soon as the police left, the atmosphere in the yard changed instantly. The neighbors, having seen the police confirm the license and side with the man who knew the Chief, looked at me with open contempt. Travis cracked his knuckles and walked toward me. Skylar followed. “Spencer, I warned you. You chose to humiliate yourself. Don’t blame us for what happens next.” Mr. Martin spat on the ground near my head. “Worthless pig. Almost shamed my daughter! Get out of here!” Mrs. Martin chimed in with cruel glee: “Skylar, Travis! What is there to say to him? Just teach him that he can’t cross the Martins!” “Hear that?” Travis seized my collar and dragged me roughly to the center of the yard. “The in-laws have spoken. Today, I teach you respect!” Before I could brace myself, a heavy fist landed squarely in my abdomen. I doubled over in pain, and he brought his knee up, smashing it into my face. Blood sprayed instantly. My vision turned red. “That one’s for Skylar! For harassing and stalking her like a parasite!” “This kick is for me! For daring to lay a hand on me, you bastard!” His blows rained down—brutal but calculated to hurt without killing. “And this one is for my son! For trying to destroy his happy home!” As Travis stepped back, winded, and I tried to push myself up, Skylar walked over. She ground the sharp toe of her stiletto heel down onto my outstretched fingers. A searing, gut-wrenching agony escaped my throat in a strangled cry. “Does that hurt, Spencer?” she asked softly, looking down at me. “For seven years, I watched you pretend to be a homebody doing ‘research,’ acting like you sacrificed everything for me. It made me sick. Love doesn’t pay the bills.” Mr. Martin walked over and spat a thick wad of phlegm next to my head. “Hmph. A man who drives an old Volvo? You didn’t deserve my daughter. You should have been gone years ago!” Travis, exhausted from the beating, signaled the two men who had held me earlier. “Get him on his feet.” They dragged me up, every part of me screaming in pain. Travis stood close, patting my bloodied, swollen cheek with his hand. “See the police? If I say the certificate is real, it’s real. If I say you’re a trespasser, you’re a trespasser. I could leave you broken in this yard, and I’d still walk away clean.” Watching his smug, delusional arrogance, I managed a slow, cold smile. The timing was right. Since the day I was born, no one had dared to be this brazen with me. I was curious to see how many legs he had left to stand on. “What the hell are you laughing at?” Seeing my smile, Travis grabbed my collar and violently slammed the back of my head against the wall. My vision flashed white, then a spreading crimson. “You will regret this…” My voice was weak, but I forced my eyes up to his. Travis looked down with scorn, chuckling. “Ha! I regret? How could I possibly—” He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes went wide as he stared over my head. The rest of his sentence caught in his throat. I smiled again. “Are you sure?”

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I think I’ve activated a system. Whenever I get close to Ted, a deposit magically appears in my bank account. I asked him carefully, “You haven’t signed the papers from last night, have you?” He sneered. “What? Having second thoughts?” I plastered on my most shameless smile. “I had a dream last night. My grandpa was yelling at me from the great beyond. He said he just got settled in his grave, and I’m already pulling this stunt.” “He said we should at least wait until he’s reincarnated before we get a divorce.” 1 This morning at 7:58 AM, I confirmed this earth-shattering discovery. We were in the kitchen. I was turning around with a piece of whole-wheat toast in my mouth when I walked straight into someone’s chest. Ted’s eyes were bloodshot, like he’d been up all night. And I wasn’t wearing a bra. “S-sorry!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s eight. I thought you’d already left for work.” He didn’t say anything. He just moved around me, opened the fridge, and poured a glass of ice water, gulping it down. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a stray drop of water slid from the corner of his mouth, tracing a path down his jawline and disappearing into his collar. I stared, mesmerized, as that tempting droplet vanished at his collarbone. The next second, my pajama pocket vibrated. [Bank Account +$50,000] The sender was anonymous, the memo blank. It was like a transfer from another dimension. I stood there for a full minute, clutching my phone in a daze. It wasn’t until Ted was fully dressed and we were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table, the atmosphere as chilly as two strangers sharing a table, that I moved. There was only one apple left on the plate. We both reached for it at the same time. His hand covered mine. His palm was searing hot, and I snatched my hand back as if burned, laughing nervously. “You have it! You have it!” Ted stared at me. Honestly, his gaze was so sharp you could have peeled the apple with it. He picked it up and took a loud, crisp bite. Over the crunch, my phone screen lit up again. [+$20,000] 2 At this point, my brilliant mind had pieced together the following: Bumping into his chest (large-scale physical contact) = $50,000. Back of my hand touching his (brief skin contact) = $20,000. The more intimate the contact, the bigger the payout (hypothesis pending verification). Conclusion: Ted = a human ATM. This realization made me stare at the man across from me, who was methodically eating his apple. My gaze grew hotter and hotter. He set down the core and wiped his hands. “I’ll sign the papers tonight.” “Wait!” I blurted out. Ted looked up at me. “What? Having second thoughts?” “Well…” My brain went into overdrive. “I had a dream last night. My grandpa was yelling at me. Said he just got settled in his grave, and I’m already pulling this stunt. He said we should at least wait until he’s reincarnated before we get a divorce.” I added a sheepish grin. “And, hey, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your grandpa either, right?” The air was silent for a few seconds. He tugged at the corner of his mouth. “My grandfather passed away three years ago. By your logic, he should be in kindergarten by now.” “Kindergarten curriculum is very demanding. We shouldn’t distract him.” Ted looked at me as if I were a new and fascinating species of alien. After a moment, he stood up and grabbed his suit jacket. “Whatever you want. The company is expanding anyway. I don’t have time to deal with the paperwork.” As he walked toward the door, my eyes lit up. I dashed over and knelt down in front of him. “Let me get your shoes!” He froze, his voice tight. “Anya, what are you doing?” “Helping you with your shoes, of course,” I said, grabbing his ankle. “These leather shoes look best with your suit, but the laces are such a pain. Oh, and your tie is a little crooked. Let me fix that for you.” My fingers crept up his chest, my fingertips “accidentally” brushing against his Adam’s apple. Ted’s breath hitched. “There!” I stood up straight, beaming like a top salesperson who’d just smashed their quota. “Drive safe!” The door clicked shut. I excitedly pulled out my phone. Unlock—open messages— [+$30,000] Thirty thousand! Combined with the seventy thousand from this morning, that was a hundred grand in half an hour! I clutched my phone, whispering, “System? Are you there, System? Come out and chat for a minute?” No response. I’ve read enough novels to know that some systems are chatty and demanding, while others are the strong, silent type. Mine was clearly the latter. But I didn’t care. Humming a tune, I danced back into the living room and picked up the landline to call my best friend. “Hello? Mia! You are not going to believe this. I’ve been blessed by the god of wealth.” “In English, please.” “Every time I touch Ted, I get money. It’s like killing monsters and getting gold drops in a video game. I made a hundred grand in half an hour this morning!” There was a second of silence on the other end, followed by a piercing scream. “I told you, Anya! Ted is hot and rich! He gives you a hundred grand for one night? Sleep with him for a lifetime and you’ll be a billionaire! Wait… but why was it so short? Only… half an hour?” I knew what she was thinking, but I couldn’t be bothered to explain. “The thing is, I just asked for a divorce. It feels kind of lame to go back on my word now.” “A divorce? What’s a divorce worth?” Mia sounded like she wanted to shake me. “Your little non-profit is hundreds of thousands in the red. It’s going to shut down next month. You have over a hundred kids counting on you. Do you have a backup plan?” She’d hit my weak spot. “And what’s not to like about him? Is the black card in his suit pocket too uncomfortable? Or does he unbutton your shirt too fast at night?” “Anya,” her tone suddenly turned serious. “Ask yourself this. Do you really not like him, even a little bit?” I held the receiver, unable to answer. The divorce papers were still on the coffee table. I remembered last night, when I handed them to him. He was on the phone by the French windows. He hung up, turned, and his eyes scanned the black and white pages, finally settling on my face. “So, the day has finally come?” “Our grandfathers are gone,” I said calmly. “There’s no need to force this anymore.” He walked toward me but didn’t take the papers. “Anya, these three years must have been so hard on you.” “The feeling’s mutual,” I replied. He suddenly reached out, his fingertips tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. I instinctively flinched back. “You’ve lost weight. Is the charity work that demanding?” “It’s fine. Can’t compare to you.” He turned away and headed for the study. “Don’t worry. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time, too.” 3 That night, Ted didn’t get home until ten. He reeked of alcohol. I was curled up on the sofa, looking at my charity’s financial statements. The red numbers were glaring. An eight-hundred-thousand-dollar deficit gaped at me like a monster waiting to devour children. “Still up?” He loosened his tie, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Waiting for you.” An idea sparked in my mind. I closed my laptop. “Want some soup to sober up? I’ll go make some!” He seemed taken aback. “You know how?” “I’ll learn!” I bounced into the kitchen and emerged less than ten minutes later with a bowl of soup that looked highly questionable. “…Wanna try?” Ted stared intently at the bowl of unidentifiable sludge. “It’s not poisoned,” I said defensively. “I looked it up online.” I pushed the bowl toward him. He had no choice but to pick it up and down it in one go, as if facing his doom. He immediately started coughing violently. I cupped his flushed, dazed face in my hands. “How do you feel? A little better?” “It’s… it’s disgusting.” My smile froze. “And now I feel even worse.” I cleared my throat, trying to salvage the situation. “How about I give you a head massage? My dad always gets headaches after drinking, and my mom does this for him.” But he pulled away from my touch. “No, thanks. I’m going to bed.” He looked at me. “Thanks for the soup.” “Don’t mention it!” I put on my best customer-service smile. “It was my pleasure!” “Anya,” he said suddenly. “Why are you suddenly…” “Hmm?” “Never mind.” He shook his head and went to his room. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight!” The moment he was out of sight, I whipped out my phone. The screen lit up. [+$80,000] I clapped a hand over my mouth and fell back onto the sofa, laughing, my legs kicking in the air. That night, I had a dream. I dreamed that Ted had turned into a giant money tree. I was perched on a branch, happily picking the jingling gold coins. He stood below, calling up helplessly, “Anya, you’re crushing my leaves!” I looked down at him. “A leaf for ten thousand dollars. Want one?” He sighed and opened his arms. “Jump. I’ll catch you.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I leaped— And then I woke up. 4 “There’s a business gala on Friday,” Ted announced suddenly at breakfast. “Partners are expected. Are you free?” In the past, I always made excuses to get out of these things. I hated the fake small talk, hated being scrutinized under the title of “Mrs. Astley.” But this time, I nodded. His eyes were searching. “The charity isn’t busy?” “A wife has her duties, no matter how busy she is, right?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “We’re not divorced yet, after all.” He smiled faintly but didn’t say anything. Suddenly, his expression shifted. He watched as I walked over to his side of the table, napkin in hand, and leaned down, smiling at him. “You…” “Don’t move.” It was the first time we’d been this close. Close enough to see the fine texture of his skin, to smell the crisp, clean scent of his aftershave. Through the napkin, the pad of my finger gently pressed against his cheek. I wiped away a tiny fleck of coffee foam. “There.” My smile was angelic. “Perfect.” My phone vibrated again. 5 On Friday evening, Ted handed me a gift box. “Change into this.” Inside was a long, velvet dress in a deep forest green, elegantly tailored. At first glance, it seemed fine. But when I put it on, I realized the neckline was… a bit more daring than I’d anticipated. When I came downstairs, he was waiting in the living room. Black suit, silver cufflinks, his long legs crossed in a way that should have been illegal. The moment he saw me, his pupils visibly dilated. I awkwardly clutched the two suggestive pieces of fabric over my chest. “Does it look okay?” He walked over and draped a white shawl over my shoulders. “It’s gotten colder today,” he said. “I’m not cold…” “Wear it.” His tone left no room for argument. His fingers brushed against my bare shoulder, lingering for a second too long. At the gala, I was the only one who got the “colder weather” memo. All the other women were dressed to the nines, their figures on full display. I was the only one wrapped in a long shawl that nearly reached my ankles, not even a collarbone in sight. Ted parked me at the dessert table. “Just stay here and eat. Don’t wander off.” I watched him navigate the crowd with ease, and I suddenly felt the distance between us. This was the real him. In just a few short years since graduation, he had gone from a campus star to a rising tycoon. Compared to someone like me, who was constantly scrambling in the world of charity work, covered in metaphorical dust, we were in two completely different worlds. “Ted!” A woman in a red gown holding a glass of champagne approached him, linking her arm through his naturally. I recognized her. The daughter of some real estate mogul. A few months ago, a business magazine had run a story about their rumored romance. Although the next day, the copy of that magazine I’d been reading mysteriously vanished from our house. The woman stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Ted didn’t pull away. My fork sank into a slice of cream cake. It’s fine, I told myself. Three years. I’m used to it. The unfamiliar perfumes, the lipstick stains on his white collars—they were all proof that we didn’t love each other. But why did my chest feel so tight? When the music started, I made a decision. I put down my plate, took off the shawl, and walked toward the dance floor. To the stunned surprise of everyone around us, I squeezed past the woman in red, took Ted’s hand, and placed it on his shoulder. “She seems to really like you. Want me to run some interference?” His smile was teasing. “Jealous?” “I just don’t want people to think Mr. Astley means nothing to his own wife.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest. “Let’s dance. Just one dance.” The melody was beautiful, the lights swirling overhead. His palm was hot against my waist, even through the fabric. I heard a strong, steady heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump. It was getting faster. For a moment, I forgot what I was doing. I forgot about the system, the bank account, the calculated touches and contrived closeness. 6 The day the money in my bank account passed five hundred thousand, I went to see Sean. The cemetery was on the north side of the city. The little girl he had saved comes every year. She’s ten now, with her hair in a ponytail. She showed me her honor roll certificate. “Anya,” she said quietly after laying down her flowers, “are you happy now?” I stroked her hair. “Yes.” “That’s good.” She smiled sweetly. “After Sean passed, my biggest wish was for you to be happy.” My eyes stung. It started pouring on the way back. When I got home, Ted was sitting in the living room. The TV was on, tuned to a financial news channel, but he didn’t seem to be watching, just fiddling with the remote. “Where were you?” he asked. “The cemetery,” I said, taking off my wet coat. “The one on the south side?” His voice was flat, cold. “Both our grandfathers are buried there.” “No, the one on the north side.” I was exhausted. “I was visiting an old friend.” He didn’t ask anything else. After a long silence, he turned off the TV, tossed the remote down with a clatter, and stood up to go to his study. “Since you’re so determined to get a divorce, Ms. Thorne, please keep your distance from me. Let’s not give anyone the wrong idea.” A fire ignited in my chest. “Don’t you worry, I’ve already found a new place. I can move out anytime! Besides, this house isn’t that big. How am I supposed to ‘keep my distance’ when we’re constantly running into each other?” He stopped and turned around. “Isn’t that big? I seem to recall someone, on her very first day here, remarking that this house was big enough to raise cattle. Now you’re saying it’s too cramped?” 7 That night, I dreamed of Sean. It was the same reservoir, the same struggling child in the water. I screamed frantically, “Don’t go! It’s too far, Sean, don’t go in!” But he jumped in anyway. Without a second thought. The moment the water swallowed him, the world went white. The man I had loved for four years, the man who had just been excitedly planning our future together, was now a cold, lifeless body. I woke up screaming. Covered in sweat, shaking uncontrollably. The door was suddenly thrown open. Ted rushed in, found me in the darkness, and pulled me into a fierce embrace. “It’s okay! It’s okay!”

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Right before finals week, my childhood sweetheart paid someone to smash the scholarship student’s hearing aid. I immediately custom-ordered a new one and gave it to him. When my childhood friend found out, he cornered me in the stairwell, his voice dripping with venom. “Why help that trash? Wouldn’t it be better to watch him rot in the mud?” He leaned in to kiss me, trying to manipulate me with the face I used to love. I looked him in the eye and lied. “Fine. Let’s ruin him.” From that day on, I dragged the poor scholar into my world, distracting him day and night. When college acceptance letters arrived, my childhood friend got into his dream Ivy League school. Everyone thought he would finally confess his love to me. Instead, he pointed at my mediocre state school acceptance and sneered, “Love can’t be forced, Blaire. Besides, we aren’t on the same level anymore.” I wasn’t sad. Because that same day, the scholar I had supposedly “corrupted” came to find me. He held an acceptance letter from MIT in one hand, and he pulled me close with the other, kissing me with a devotion that bordered on worship. “Stay with me, okay?” “My future, and my life… they all belong to you.” 1 When Carter walked into the classroom to find me, a group of students was gathered around Serena, the school’s golden girl. “Only the Valedictorian is good enough for our Serena. Carter crushed the mock exams; he’s definitely taking the top spot.” “I knew Carter would lock in for Serena. Too bad about Wes, though. Hearing his hearing aid ‘accidentally’ broke right before the English listening portion? Tragic.” “Serena, I’m so jealous. Both of them are obsessed with you. Who are you gonna pick?” “Obviously Carter. He’s rich, he’s connected… he and Serena are the power couple.” Serena looked up from her perfectly organized notes. She tried to hide her smile, feigning modesty. “Stop it, guys. We’re all just friends.” “Just friends? That Patek Philippe watch on your wrist says otherwise. Didn’t Carter buy that for you?” “This old thing? He told me it was just a trinket. If I knew it was expensive, I wouldn’t have taken it!” “See? Carter spoils you. Look at Blaire over there. She buys Carter everything, basically pays him to hang out with her, and now she’s buying hearing aids for the charity case, Wes. And for what? Carter still won’t look at her.” I sat at my desk, unbothered. Out in the hallway, Carter grabbed my arm. “Blaire, what the hell? You know how much I hate Wes. Why did you help him?” He was here to interrogate me. I knew exactly why he hated Wes. Since Wes transferred here on a full academic scholarship, Carter hadn’t touched the number one spot in the class rankings. And conveniently, Serena—the girl Carter was obsessed with—had publicly stated she’d only date the Valedictorian. Carter glanced back into the classroom, his eyes darkening as he landed on a justification. “Are you doing this because of Serena? Blaire, you know she’s just a fling. I’m just having fun.” We both came from old money. We had an unspoken engagement. In our circle, people like Serena—upper middle class but not elite—were temporary distractions. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Blaire, we’ve known each other forever. Don’t let an outsider ruin us.” I looked at him calmly. “The hearing aid was custom-made. I already gave it to him. I can’t ask for it back.” “Unless,” I stepped closer, “you want me to smash the Rolex I bought you, too?” 2 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. Wes was standing by the classroom door. He had been waiting. He was wearing the new hearing aid I gave him. It was silver, sleek, and glittered under the fluorescent lights. On him, it didn’t look like a disability. It looked like jewelry. “It looks good,” I said. I smiled and walked toward him. “Wes, were you looking for me?” “Yeah.” Wes reached up, took the device off, and held it out to me. His voice was cold, flat. “Take it back.” My fingertips brushed his palm. It was warm. Looking at his face—thin, handsome, but still boyish—my vision blurred. “Wes,” I whispered. “I’m so happy to see you again.” In my past life, if he hadn’t sought revenge for me, his life wouldn’t have ended at twenty-eight. Even in death, he had been calm. He had wiped the tears from my face in that cold, dark room. “Blaire, don’t feel guilty. I didn’t want to live anyway. I just couldn’t leave you behind. Promise me you’ll live well, okay?” He loved me simply because, years ago, I had held an umbrella over him in the rain. Even when our marriage was purely transactional, born of my desperation and his kindness, he treated me like his most precious treasure. Twenty-eight-year-old Wes had reached the end of his road. Eighteen-year-old Wes still had a chance to change everything. Husband, I thought. This time, let me protect you. 3 Wes was stubborn. He insisted on returning it. I quickly composed myself, acting as if nothing unusual had happened. I took the device and gently placed it back over his ear. “I gave it to you. It’s yours. Does it fit okay?” Subconsciously, my fingers lingered on his earlobe. In our past life, I couldn’t sleep unless I was touching his ear. It was soft. Grounding. Wes flinched, clearly shocked by the intimacy. A faint blush crept up his neck. He took a step back. “Thank you.” Carter’s posse, noticing their leader’s foul mood, immediately started jeering. “Wes, look in a mirror. You think you’re worthy of Blaire? You aren’t fit to tie her shoes.” “If Carter and Blaire weren’t fighting, do you think you’d get a scrap like that? Know your place, charity case.” “Ugh, he smells like hospital disinfectant. Bad luck.” Wes’s mother was chronically ill. He spent every moment outside of school at the hospital. At the mention of the hospital, Wes’s hands clenched into fists. His eyes turned icy. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for the device. I don’t want to be involved in anything else.” He turned and walked away fast. I wanted to chase him, but Carter grabbed my wrist. “Blaire, we need to talk.” He dragged me to the emergency stairwell. As soon as he let go, he leaned down to kiss me. He was good at this. Whenever he upset me, he used physical affection as a weapon. He knew I was weak for his face. When I was fifteen, I fell for that face. Back then, he ignored me. I was the chubby rich girl, invisible next to the slender, talented girls in our prep school. Until the day the Bentley picked me up, and the driver called me “Miss Blaire.” That’s when Carter sat next to me. “What’s your name?” From then on, we were inseparable. I thought it was love. In my past life, I engaged myself to him, ignoring the fact that he only loved my trust fund. But when my family went bankrupt—sabotaged by his family—he showed his true colors. “Every day with you was disgusting, Blaire. Look at yourself. Who could love you?” He set me up, forced me to break the engagement, and publicly dated Serena. I became the laughingstock of high society, eventually marrying Wes, who had also been ruined by Carter’s schemes. “Blaire, why are you looking at me like that?” Carter held my face, his voice trembling. “Do you hate me because of him?” His eyes filled with a familiar, terrifying rage. “I’ll have him expelled tomorrow. I’ll ruin him.” Slap. I hit him. Hard. It felt incredibly satisfying to bite the hand that starved me. “Carter, are you insane?” He didn’t seem to feel the pain. Instead, he grabbed my hand, rubbing it against his cheek. “Blaire, you know how important being Valedictorian is to me. If I don’t get into the Ivy of my choice, your dad won’t let us marry. Wes trusts you now. For our future… help me knock him into the mud, okay? He belongs in the dirt.” Carter was possessive. Over my money, over Serena, over his status. Looking at the malice in his eyes, I formulated a plan. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s do it.” 4 News of my gift to Wes spread through the school like wildfire. For a week, everyone speculated about our relationship. “Wes hit the jackpot. Being handsome really pays the bills.” “If the Princess took a liking to him, he doesn’t even need to take the SATs. He can just be a trophy husband.” “Hey Wes, have you kissed her yet? Is the bedding in a mansion softer? Bet it feels great.” “Blaire isn’t exactly a supermodel, but for that kind of money, I’d close my eyes and kiss her too.” There are no secrets in prep school. These nasty comments found their way to me. I thought Wes would come to me—to demand an explanation, to clear his name. He didn’t. After school, I waited by his classroom. It was empty, except for him sweeping the floor. It wasn’t his turn for duty. “They’re bullying you again?” Wes didn’t answer. He kept sweeping. I sat on a desk. “I heard what they’re saying. Why don’t you deny it? Or tell me. I can make them stop.” He set down the broom and looked at me. His uniform was old, washed too many times, but he smelled clean, like soap. “Would denying it help?” “If it doesn’t help, there’s no point in wasting breath.” He walked past me to grab a rag. As he reached up to erase the chalkboard, his shirt lifted, revealing a sliver of toned abs. I was surprised. He was so thin, I didn’t expect muscle. “Wes, you know Carter is targeting you. But if you stick with me, no one will touch you.” I walked up to him. “Let me help you. Please?” Suddenly, he turned. We were inches apart. I could feel his warm breath on my face. My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled backward off the dais. Wes caught my arm, steadying me. Once I was safe, he let go immediately. His voice was cold. “I told you. I’m not interested in whatever game you and Carter are playing.” Eighteen-year-old Wes. Still so stubborn. But if he were easy to sway, he wouldn’t be the man I loved. “It’s not for Carter,” I said, stepping closer so he couldn’t miss the sincerity in my eyes. “It’s for you.” He held my gaze for half a second, then looked away, flustered. “Walk carefully next time.” 5 A week later, we met again. This time, at the hospital. I skipped last period and found the ward where his mother was staying. I paid off her outstanding bills, moved her to a private VIP room, and hired the best caretakers. When Wes arrived, I was peeling an orange for his mom, listening to her stories about his childhood. “Your classmate is an angel, Wes,” she said, holding my hand. “She’s been keeping me company. She says the teachers love you.” I winked at Wes. “Wes, I just saved you about four hours of caretaking work today. Shouldn’t you repay me for that time?” Wes, who was slicing an apple, paused. “Okay.” His voice was so quiet I almost missed it. “Huh?” He looked at me, his gaze intense. “You’re right. That time belongs to you now.” I smirked, leaning toward his ear. “In that case, go pack a bag. Starting tomorrow, you’re moving into my house.” “My parents are in Europe. It’s just me and the housekeeper. It gets lonely. Come keep me company.”

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For three years, my sister Isabella’s boyfriend Aiden’s only gift was a $52 transfer. Then he invited her to a hotel. Furious, Isabella decided to dump him. I could’ve celebrated, but I took a cab and knocked on his door. “It’s me, baby, your girl!” In my past life, Isabella thought Aiden was poor and mistreated him. When she met a rich classmate, she two-timed him. I tried to warn her. I’d seen Aiden get out of a limited-edition Porsche. She ignored me, swore she wouldn’t break up. That night, she drugged me and left me for frat boys. The next day, my photos were everywhere. My parents threw me out; the university expelled me. Lost, I walked to a lake. Isabella pushed me in. As I fought in the water, she sneered, “You like charity cases? Let me make you one.” “I’m marrying rich. I don’t need a goody-two-shoes sister holding me back!” I died full of rage. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Aiden got drunk. 1 In our dorm room, Isabella was pampering herself with some ridiculously expensive two-hundred-dollar face mask Carter had bought her. “I’m telling you, this stuff is magic,” she cooed, admiring her reflection. “My skin is already a shade brighter. No wonder everyone wants to date a rich guy.” Our other roommates chimed in, sucking up to her. “It’s not just the mask, Bella. You’re just naturally gorgeous. You make everything look good.” “After Carter sees you tonight, he’ll be obsessed. Next, you’ll be asking for a Birkin bag, and he won’t even blink!” They all knew Isabella had been with Aiden for three years, but they actively pushed her toward Carter. A happy Isabella meant a shower of luxury gifts for them, too. I listened in cold silence, saying nothing. I just watched the clock. A second later, right on cue, Isabella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the message and slammed her phone down on the desk with a crack. A roommate clutched her chest in mock horror. “Whoa, what’s wrong? That’s the new iPhone! It’s over a grand!” Isabella scoffed. “It’s just a stupid phone. Carter can buy me a new one.” She shoved the screen in their faces. “Look at this! That broke loser Aiden actually had the nerve to text me, asking me to go to a hotel with him!” “He’s on student loans to pay his tuition! Where does he get the audacity?” “Three years we’ve been together, and the most I’ve ever gotten from him is fifty-two bucks! And I have to waste my time texting him back all day, giving him ‘emotional support.’ Even a hooker gets paid more than this!” The roommate snickered. “Seriously! When you add up the cost of your makeup, your outfits, and all the time you waste on him, you’re basically paying to be his girlfriend.” “Don’t compare yourself to a hooker. At least they don’t lose money on the deal.” “So, Bella, are you going?” In my past life, that question was my cue. I had rushed in, telling her that Aiden wasn’t who he seemed, that I’d seen him with a Porsche. Isabella had lost it. She accused me of wanting her to be miserable, of wanting her to be stuck with a charity case. Everyone at school knew Aiden was a broke pretty-boy with nothing to his name. If he had a Porsche, it was because some rich old cougar was keeping him. Before I could argue, she fired off the breakup text and left to meet Carter. Aiden, after being dumped, found out the truth and unleashed his fury on Carter’s family. In a matter of weeks, their company was in ruins. Isabella, oblivious, had even taken out millions in online loans in her own name to help Carter. And me? I died in a lake, my body never even recovered. This time, I wasn’t getting involved. But then, Isabella’s eyes landed on me. “Lily? Why are you so quiet?” “Usually, you’re the first one to complain about me getting close to Carter.” I quickly put my phone down and forced a smile. “What? No way.” “I was just worried Aiden would find out. Dating a broke guy is dangerous. He has nothing to lose.” “But I can’t believe Aiden, seriously. After all this time, he expects you to sleep with him for free? Even if you wanted to go, as your sister, I wouldn’t let you!” She snorted, turning back to the mirror to apply her makeup. “Glad you finally see it my way.” “Carter booked a room tonight, too. He said it’s a surprise for our hundred-day anniversary.” “Don’t worry. Once I marry into his family, I’ll introduce you to some rich guys.” I laughed silently to myself. Right, introduce me to be some rich man’s mistress, just like you. How thoughtful. A roommate picked up Isabella’s cracked phone and handed it to her. Without even looking, Isabella tapped the screen and sent a voice message. “Aiden, let’s break up. I’ve thought about it, and we’re just not right for each other.” After sending it, she tossed the phone aside, the screen still glowing. I memorized the hotel room number she’d shown us earlier and quietly booked a car on my phone. Isabella, if you’re going to throw away a golden ticket, don’t blame me for picking it up. I had just changed into a simple but clean outfit and was about to head out when a hand grabbed my wrist. Isabella leaned in, her face cold. “Lily, where do you think you’re going? You’re not acting like yourself today.” 2 A jolt of panic shot through me, but I kept my face neutral. “Where else? The cafeteria. I don’t have a boyfriend to buy me dinner, and it’s Friday night. The line is going to be insane…” She scanned me from head to toe, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’d better not be getting any funny ideas. If you dare run to Aiden and tattle, you’ll regret it.” With that, she turned away to pick out her outfit for the date, already cooing into her phone to Carter. “Really? The one that’s eighty-eight hundred a night? Baby, you’re too good to me! We’re not even officially together yet, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you…” “It’s just eight grand, not even what I spend on dinner. Anything for my future girlfriend.” “So, since I’m putting in all this effort, maybe we can… move things forward a little tonight…” Isabella’s face flushed. “Stop it! What are you saying? My roommates are here.” I didn’t wait to hear more. I slipped out the door. The car was already waiting. I gave the driver the hotel address. As I pressed the doorbell, my heart hammered against my ribs. I’d barely spoken to Aiden before. Our only interactions were me passing on Isabella’s excuses. It was always “My sister is busy with class” or “She has to study at the library.” In reality, she was out shopping or at a club with Carter, and I was her cover. What if Aiden got the breakup text and took his anger out on me? I wouldn’t know what to say. Thankfully, the door opened quickly. Aiden didn’t look angry, just drunk. His face was flushed, his eyes hazy. “Lily? Are you here to laugh at me?” I glanced past him into the room. On the way over, I’d looked up the hotel. It was eighty bucks a night, a world away from the eight-thousand-dollar suite Isabella was going to. I’d never understand why rich guys pretended to be poor, but I had to play my part. “No, you’ve got it all wrong.” “I came to apologize on my sister’s behalf.” Sensing I wasn’t a threat, Aiden stepped aside to let me in. The moment I sat down, he grabbed another bottle of beer. An empty takeout container sat on the table, clearly ordered after he got the text. “She already broke up with me. What’s the point of an apology?” “I know why she did it. She thinks I’m poor.” “I might not have money, but I’m not stupid. It’s been three years. You think I didn’t notice?” “I was trying my best to give her a good life. I even spent my entire semester’s living expenses on a diamond ring. I was going to give it to her tonight, but…” He let out a bitter laugh and chugged the rest of the beer. The alcohol was hitting him hard, and his words started to slur. “Isabella…” “You have no idea… what I’ve given up for you…” The dim light cast sharp shadows across his handsome face. Even without his family’s money, a man who looked like him would never be ordinary. It was a shame Isabella couldn’t see that. I put on a sympathetic face and handed him a glass of water. “Aiden, there’s actually another reason I came here tonight…” I closed my eyes, as if summoning all my courage. “I’m in love with you!” “I’ve loved you for a long, long time!” “I know my sister just broke up with you, and… this is my chance. I’ve waited three years for this. I don’t want to miss it.” The room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. After a long moment, I heard his cold, mocking laugh. “Love me for what?” “Don’t tell me you’re into charity cases. Do you really expect me to believe that?” I moved closer, about to explain, but he shoved me away, his expression turning to ice. “Did Isabella put you up to this? Is this another one of her games?” “She breaks up with me after playing me for three years, and now she sends her sister to confess her love? What’s the plan? You play me for three years, then dump me too? Just so she can be sure I’ll never forget her? She’d love that, wouldn’t she?” “Get out. Before I really lose my temper.” 3 He practically roared the last words. I didn’t leave. I just stood up and gently wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m not like Isabella.” “You chased her for three years. I’ll chase you for three years—” Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist and threw me onto the bed. “Is that so? You love me? Fine. I’m going to sleep with you, right now. And then I’m not going to be with you. Are you okay with that?” I could see the cruel challenge in his eyes. Without a second thought, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him. “I’m okay with it.” “As long as I can be with you, I’ll do anything.” Aiden’s body went rigid for a moment. Then, maybe it was the alcohol, he finally relaxed into me. When I opened my eyes again, it was morning. Aiden was asleep beside me, completely naked. I slipped out of bed, got dressed, and left, playing the part of the silent benefactor to the very end. I was in such a hurry that I didn’t notice his eyes flutter open just as I closed the door. I had just gotten to the lobby when I ran straight into Isabella and Carter, who were leaving the hotel across the street. The moment she saw me, Isabella pointed a finger and shrieked, “Lily! What are you doing with Aiden?” Her eyes darted to the cheap hotel behind me, and her face turned crimson with rage. “No wonder you didn’t try to stop me from breaking up with him! You wanted him for yourself all along! Have you no shame? Aiden was my boyfriend!” “Are you that desperate? You’d even steal from your own sister? What kind of monster are you?” I turned and was surprised to see Aiden standing right behind me. “It seems you really are different from Isabella,” he said quietly. “I misjudged you last night.” I didn’t have time to respond. All I could feel was white-hot anger at Isabella’s hypocrisy. Before I could speak, she beat me to the punch, clinging to Carter’s arm and bursting into tears. “See? I told you he cheated on me! You didn’t believe me, but now you see it with your own eyes!” “Lily Murphy, you’ll get what’s coming to you for wrecking people’s relationships! Just you wait!” With that, she ran off, sobbing. Carter shot us a venomous look. “Aiden, your taste in women is pathetic. But thanks for dumping Isabella. It gave me my chance.” He quickly ran after her. Aiden was looking down at his phone, texting someone. I did my best to look like a fragile, innocent victim. “Don’t worry about it,” I said softly. “She wasn’t mad at you, she was mad at me.” “I don’t regret what happened last night. But if you don’t want to see me again, I’ll just head back to school.” I didn’t give him a chance to stop me. I hailed a cab and left. In the rearview mirror, I saw him watching my car drive away, a thoughtful expression on his face. People always want what they can’t have. That seed of guilt was all I needed to shift his affection from Isabella to me. I had just stepped onto campus when my phone rang. It was my mother. Before I could even say hello, she started screaming. “Lily, where the hell have you been? You get your ass home right now!” “Your sister told me you stole her boyfriend! That you two spent the night in a hotel?” “We raised you for twenty years, and this is how you repay us? Have you no shame? What kind of cheap tramp did I raise? Do you have any idea how much your sister was crying on the phone?” “You just turned eighteen! You’ve never even been in a real relationship, and you’re already jumping into bed with men! If people find out, how are your father and I supposed to show our faces in public?” In the background, I heard my father smash something. The sound of shattering glass was sharp and ugly. “Stop wasting your breath on her! Tell her to get her ass home now! If she doesn’t know how to act like a decent human being, she can drop out of school! All she’s good for is being some man’s mistress anyway!” My father snatched the phone. “Lily, I don’t care where you are. You have ten minutes to get here. You’re grounded for a month. You’re not leaving this house without my permission!” My eyes burned. I dug my nails into my palm so hard I couldn’t feel the pain. Just because Isabella was prettier, because she was better at sweet-talking them. My whole life, they had always favored her. At school, when we had parent-teacher conferences, they could have each gone to one of our classrooms. But all it took was a little pouting from Isabella, and they both ended up at her desk, leaving mine empty. The kids in my class used to taunt me, calling me an orphan, a bastard with no parents. I fought them. When the teacher called my parents, they came, listened to the story, and then slapped me across the face. “Ugly people just love making trouble. You’re in the same class as your sister. How come nobody bothers her? Did you start it?” “What are you standing there for? Apologize to your classmate!” There were so many stories like that, so many that they swarmed my mind whenever I closed my eyes. In my last life, I lived in Isabella’s shadow. After I died, my parents scraped together every penny they had to pay off her million-dollar loans. Not one of them ever thought of me. All it took was one sentence from Isabella: “Lily probably ran away because she found out about my debt and was afraid I’d drag her down.” And my parents’ grief turned to endless resentment. “If we had known she’d turn out like this, we should have just given her away at birth! It would have been better than raising an ungrateful snake!” Tears streamed down my face. For the first time, I found the courage to scream back into the phone. “You think I have no shame? At least I’m not a two-timing cheater!” “You believe every word Isabella says! If you trust her so much, then why do you even need me as a daughter?” My father lost control. “How dare you! How dare you talk back to your parents! Is this how I raised you?” “You can forget about your allowance for the rest of the year! Go beg for money from your men! If you love selling your body so much, go ahead! Just don’t come crying to us when you get some disease!” He hung up. I stood at the school gate. The wind felt like it was cutting straight to my bones, and I shivered. I never knew a parent could say such venomous things to their own child. I never knew that not all parents in the world love their children. I managed to drag myself to my dorm. As I stepped onto the front stairs, a voice snarled from above.

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I saw a girl from the arts class being assaulted by a guy in a weird costume. I stepped in, saved her, and called the cops. The next day, she claimed I was the assaulter. She even said I forced her to give a false statement the day before. Later, I was taken away by the police, losing my guaranteed admission to Yale. My father, who had a disabled leg, wrote a blood letter to prove my innocence and committed suicide in front of the girl’s house. Because of insufficient evidence, I was eventually released, but I lost my Yale admission and missed the college entrance exams. My life was effectively over. I lived in a daze for six months until I saw that same girl walking hand-in-hand with the real assaulter. Filled with rage, I rushed over to confront her, asking why she repaid kindness with enmity. The assaulter shoved me, and I was hit by a speeding car. When I woke up again, I was back on the night of the incident. 1 “Don’t touch me, or I’ll scream!” “Help! Help me!” “Someone, please save me?!” I should be dead. Why could I still hear those cries for help from six months ago? In the flowerbed not far away, a man in a bizarre costume was assaulting a pitiful woman. The scene wasn’t just familiar; it was identical. I stood dazed by the roadside. A sedan flashed its hazard lights and honked, snapping me out of my trance. I quickly moved to the other side. In my past life, I saw Layla Jones from the arts class being assaulted. My sense of justice exploded, and I rushed over, throwing my backpack at the guy’s head. Clutching his head with one hand and pulling up his pants with the other, the man cursed as he left, not forgetting to threaten me: “Lucas Reed from Class 1, right? I’ll remember you. Just you wait!” It turned out to be the school bully, Brody Carter. I didn’t take his threat seriously. I took off my shirt to cover Layla, comforted her traumatized soul, and encouraged her to call the police. When I got home, I told my dad about my heroic deed. Dad had his leg broken years ago for being a Good Samaritan, but he never regretted it. He patted my shoulder with pride and said, “That’s my son. Good job.” But the next day during class, Layla brought the police to arrest me. True to her acting major, she cried her heart out, looking utterly pitiful. “Yesterday, it was Lucas Reed who assaulted me. He threatened to kill my whole family if I dared to tell anyone.” She wiped her tears, looking at me with hatred. “The worst part is he played the hero, forcing me to lie and say he saved me. He even wanted my family to present him with a banner in front of the whole school.” I felt like I’d been hit with a club, completely stunned. It wasn’t until I was taken away in the police car that I reacted. “It wasn’t me! I chased that guy away and comforted you. How can you betray me like this?” Her eyes were red as she started crying again. “A girl’s purity is the most important thing. I wouldn’t joke about this.” Everyone thought she made sense. 2 I became the rapist everyone wanted to beat. Rumors spread like wildfire, especially since almost everyone sided with her, the “vulnerable victim.” Netizens cyberbullied me and my dad. They even claimed my dad’s past act of heroism was only because he knew the kid was from a rich family and wanted a reward. I lost my guaranteed admission to Yale and was expelled from school. Dad wrote a letter in his own blood and committed suicide in front of Layla’s house. Public opinion exploded, and the heat rose. The police reopened the investigation, and I was acquitted due to lack of evidence. But no university wanted me, and more importantly, I had lost the father I depended on. I lived in a daze for six months. At the entrance of an apartment complex, I saw Layla walking hand-in-hand with Brody, the real assaulter. Filled with rage, I rushed over to confront her. “I’m just a nobody. Can I fight against the heir of the Carter Corporation?” “If I didn’t do as he said, my whole family would die. I couldn’t resist, so I had to frame you.” I screamed, “Do you know you destroyed my entire life?” “Aren’t you alive and well? So what if you went to Yale? You’d just end up working for rich people anyway.” “But my dad is dead!” She showed no remorse. “Everyone dies eventually. Earlier death just means earlier reincarnation.” Enraged, I strangled her. Brody, who hadn’t spoken, grabbed my collar. “Pauper, don’t touch my girlfriend!” He shoved me hard. I stumbled into the path of a speeding car, hit the curb, and died instantly. Hearing the cries for help nearby now, I smiled. I wouldn’t be stupid this time. 3 I arrived at the night market. Dad was serving customers at his grilled cold noodle stand. I hurried over to help. Mom died giving birth to me, and Dad never remarried. After his leg was broken, no company wanted him, and he refused help from the person he saved. He set up this stall every night to support my education. Seeing Dad’s thin, busy figure, my heart ached. In my last life, I caused your death. Not this time. I will turn things around, go to the best university, get the best job, and let you enjoy a peaceful old age. But things didn’t go exactly as I hoped. The next day at the school gate, Layla grabbed me and slapped me hard. “Why didn’t you save me last night?” I took a deep breath and slapped her back. I’m a guy, and I hit hard. She was stunned, covering her face. “You… you dare hit me back?” “I’m not a doormat. Just because you hit me doesn’t mean I have to take it.” “Why didn’t you help me yesterday?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Class is starting soon. Please stop bothering me.” I looked cold and distant, hugging my books and walking inside. She rushed from behind, grabbed my books, threw them on the ground, and stomped on them. “Are you in cahoots with him? Were you keeping watch for him?” “Disgusting people like you who don’t help deserve to die just like him!” I pushed her away and bent down to pick up my books. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Because you didn’t help, my purity is ruined forever! Don’t you know you were wrong?” She vented all her frustration on me, charging like a mad bull to push me down and scratch my face. Naturally, I didn’t give her the chance. I used my hands and feet to push her away. Furious, she charged again. Passing students rushed over to separate us and called the Dean. 4 The Dean was tall, dark, and imposing. Students were terrified of him. Just standing there was enough to silence everyone. In my past life, everyone doubted me, but he was the only one who comforted my bewildered father. His sharp eyes swept over us. “What is this? The SATs are in a month. Are you trying to stop everyone from studying?” “Lucas has been guaranteed admission. What about you? You didn’t get a guarantee, and you only got an art qualification for a third-rate college. What are you making a fuss about?” Layla immediately got angry and acted aggrieved. “Dean, even though I’m an art student, I want to study hard too. You can’t cover for Lucas just because he’s going to Yale!” “Cover? I won’t cover for anyone. Come to my office and explain yourselves!” In the office, Layla embellished the story of last night. “So you mean, Lucas realized you were being assaulted but ignored it. You were resentful, so you blocked him at the school gate this morning, leading to an argument?” Layla nodded. I said, “First, I didn’t hear any cries for help. Second, even if I did and knew it was you, saving you is a kindness, not saving you is my right. Now you’re trying to morally kidnap me? Is there no justice?” Thinking of what she did in my past life, I added, “You didn’t catch the culprit, so now you’re turning around to say I’m the assaulter, right?” I wanted to block her path before she could take it. Layla’s face turned red, and she shouted, “You scumbag! How can you think of me like that? And you call yourself a top student going to Yale? You’re worse than a pig!” “No matter how angry you get, I don’t know about things I didn’t see, and I won’t admit to things I didn’t do.” Furious, she rushed over to scratch me… The Dean shouted coldly, “Enough! If you can’t clear this up, call the police! Idle hands do the devil’s work. Look at the time, act your age.” Perhaps the Dean just said it casually, but Layla’s face turned pale, her hands trembling. “If I call the police, my life is over.”

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I was born unique, with two hearts beating inside my chest. It was the only thing that ever made my parents smile at me. Because my older brother, Caleb, was born with a congenital heart defect. My parents brought me into this world for one reason only: to be a spare part, to ensure Caleb’s survival. Later, I met Sarah. We fell in love and got married. She pulled me out of the abyss, away from my desperate yearning for familial love. I thought she would be different from my parents. But when my brother’s condition worsened, she became obsessed with the idea that I should donate one of my hearts to him. What she didn’t know was that I only had one heart left. My other heart was already beating inside her chest. 1. “It’s just one heart, Lucas. How can you be so selfish?” “You were born for this, weren’t you? To let your brother live?” Sarah gripped my hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. “But I want to live too, Sarah. Without a heart, I’ll die.” Sarah’s face stiffened, then her expression hardened. “You have two hearts. Give one up, you’ll still have one left. You’ll live.” “But Caleb is different. Without your heart, he has no chance. He’ll die.” Ignoring my struggles, Sarah pushed me toward the prep room. Desperate, I tried to explain. “I only have one heart left, Sarah.” “Didn’t you look at the test results?” Sarah wouldn’t listen. “Who knows what you did to avoid donating? You probably bribed the technicians to fake the report.” She thought I had paid someone off to alter my medical records. “No, Sarah, listen to me. I had surgery when I was a kid. I already donated one heart.” “Enough, Lucas! Just save your brother! Why are you being so stubborn?” Sarah cut me off sharply. “I’m not lying! My heart is inside you!” She didn’t hear a word I said, marching straight toward Caleb’s prep room. 2. The other doctors in the prep room froze, staring at us. Then someone scoffed. “Trying to pull the romance card now? That’s disgusting.” “Your brother is fighting for his life, and you’re here whispering sweet nothings to your sister-in-law?” Only our families knew Sarah and I were married. Her colleagues didn’t know me. Since Sarah handled everything for Caleb’s hospitalization personally, everyone in the department assumed Caleb was her husband. And Sarah never corrected them. “Exactly. Instead of saving his own brother, he’s hitting on his sister-in-law.” “Whatever heart you have, it’s wasted on you.” Hearing their words, I wanted to scream the truth. “Actually, I’m the one who…” Sarah stormed out of the prep room and grabbed my wrist. “Today, you are donating that heart.” “Your brother is already in the operating room. You’re next.” She slapped a stack of papers onto the counter. “I’ve already signed the consent forms. Get on the table.” Inside the OR, I saw Caleb. He looked so frail, eliciting sympathy from everyone around him. “Don’t worry, Caleb. Your wife, Dr. Sarah, will make sure you live a long life.” Caleb didn’t correct the title. He just gave a weak smile. “It’s all my fault. Making my little brother sacrifice so much for me.” His voice was filled with self-blame, but the look he gave me was pure provocation. The other doctors murmured about how kind my brother was, and how heartless I must be. After comforting Caleb, Sarah ignored my violent struggles and forced me onto the operating table. She ordered the anesthesiologist to sedate me immediately. Moments later, my struggles ceased as the drugs took hold. Sarah brushed her hand across my cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you survive.” Her mentor had performed heart transplants before, so she was confident she could keep me alive. “Once your brother recovers, the whole family will accept you. And I’ll be right by your side.” 3. Sarah and her colleagues began the surgery with tense efficiency. After what felt like an eternity, Sarah removed a heart from my chest. Without even looking at me, she took my heart and rushed into Caleb’s operating room. My chest lay open, my body alone on the cold table. The shrill alarm of the monitoring equipment startled the attending doctor awake. “Why did he flatline? I thought he had two hearts?” One of Sarah’s colleagues looked confused. “Dr. Sarah was just joking, and you believed her?” “Good riddance. He was a bad seed anyway. Wouldn’t save Dr. Sarah’s husband and tried to hit on her.” Another colleague chimed in. “So what do we do now?” “He’s dead. Just wait for someone to claim the body. If no one comes, send him to the morgue.” With that, the doctors left the room. Sarah focused entirely on Caleb’s surgery. Despite her confidence, this was her first transplant. Fortunately, hours later, the surgery was a success. Sarah followed Caleb to the recovery room. Only after Caleb was settled did she remember me. She was about to head back to my OR when she bumped into a colleague in the hallway. “Where is my husband?” The colleague paused, then answered. “Isn’t he back already?” “Don’t worry. The nurses will keep an eye on your husband.” Sarah didn’t catch the oddness in the reply. She figured her colleague was right. With her around, the nurses would look after me. So, Sarah went back to her office to work. A day later, Caleb woke up. Sarah was by his side. “Caleb, you’re finally awake.” Seeing Sarah, Caleb burst into tears of relief. 4. Sarah hugged him tight. “Don’t worry. The surgery went perfectly.” “Your heart won’t give you any more trouble.” Caleb touched his chest. Thinking about how his lifelong illness was finally gone, he held onto Sarah and wept. Sarah reminded him to stay calm while rubbing his back. A nurse passing by teased them. “Dr. Sarah is so good to her husband.” Sarah froze. She remembered I was still in another room on the ward. She started to explain. “You misunderstand, he’s not…” Caleb clutched his chest, cutting her off. Sarah had to pat his back again. “I told you not to cry. You need to rest to recover.” Seeing Caleb like this reminded her of me. She hadn’t seen me since the surgery. “Caleb, rest now. I’m going to check on Lucas.” She started to stand up. But Caleb grabbed her hand. “I kept the surgery a secret from Mom and Dad. This is the critical recovery period. If I’m alone, I’m scared something will go wrong.” Seeing Caleb’s pale face, Sarah’s heart softened. She figured her colleagues and the nurses would look out for me because of her. She relaxed. “Alright. I’ll stay with you a few more days.” Caleb watched Sarah sit back down before slowly closing his eyes. In the morgue, an attendant stared at my body, troubled. “It’s been two days and no one’s claimed him. What do we do?” Another attendant was cleaning up. “What are you looking at? Let’s just bag him and go home.” Together, they tossed my body into a bag. “Look at him. Died so miserably. Probably wasn’t a good person.” “Good, bad, they all burn the same.” “True. Shame though, he was so young.”

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