Category: English

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

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

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

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

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My arrogant, domineering childhood nemesis suddenly went blind. He lost his job, his girlfriend ran off, and with nowhere else to go, he came to me for refuge. I took care of him for half a month, until I accidentally saw a text message on his phone. “You little faker, you’re putting on quite the show.” “How long are you planning to crash there?” That night, I silently swapped my cotton teddy bear pajamas for a hot, silk slip dress. 01 Mason Sterling had been crashing at my place for half a month when I accidentally saw his phone screen light up. “Has your little childhood sweetheart realized you’re faking it yet?” “Half a month of playing the blind guy is enough, right?” “If you don’t come back soon, the company is actually going to collapse!” The sound of running water stopped. Mason was done with his shower. A moment later, his pitiful voice echoed from inside. “Chloe, I can’t get out by myself~” I marked the messages as unread, placed the phone exactly where I found it, and slowly walked over. Inside the bathroom. Mason sat on the edge of the toilet, a white towel wrapped around his waist. His head was bowed, and he was twiddling his thumbs like a wronged child. “Hearing” me walk in, his face contorted into a pout. “What took you so long? “You know I feel insecure after going blind, yet you’re taking your sweet time. “I was so scared sitting alone in this dark, damp place.” I let out a soft scoff. “Got it. This humble servant is here to escort the young master to bed.” Only then did Mason reluctantly stand up. It wasn’t until he was safely tucked into the guest bedroom that I changed out of my conservative cotton bear pajamas. I reached into my closet and pulled out a hot, sexy, silk slip dress. I put on a full face of bold makeup and knocked on Mason’s door again. “I’m heading out for a bit.” “Where are you going this late?” “Grocery shopping.” Mason raised an eyebrow. The sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue was forcefully swallowed back down. “Grocery shopping at this hour? I’m blind, Chloe, not stupid.” “Oh, so you aren’t stupid…” I dragged out the syllables playfully, then went up on my tiptoes. My lips grazed the man’s ear. “You’re right, I’m not going grocery shopping.” “But where I’m going isn’t suitable for a little blind boy. “Be a good boy and wait for me at home.” 02 Mason Sterling was the quintessential spoiled rich kid. My mom was the Sterling family’s live-in housekeeper. Growing up, I practically lived at the Sterling estate. Since childhood, this young master had a terrible temper—volatile, arrogant, and incredibly childish. His absolute favorite pastime was bullying me. But I was no pushover. When he ordered me to massage his arms and legs, I charged him by the minute and scammed him out of his allowance. When he tried to scare me with caterpillars, I immediately snitched to his parents and claimed he was bullying his classmates. We fought our way from kindergarten all the way to high school. Our dynamic finally shifted during the summer before our junior year. We were walking home together after late-night SAT prep. Out of nowhere, he asked, “Want to kiss?” I said, “Sure.” And just like that, we started dating. The year we graduated, he completely rejected his family’s plans to send him to Europe for college. Instead, he applied to Boston University—the exact same school as me. I thought it was because of me, until I accidentally overheard him talking to his friends. “Chloe? I’d have to be literally blind to actually fall for her! “Please, I’m only going to Boston for Lexi!” Lexi Harper. The absolute beauty of our graduating class. Whenever our school hosted events, she and Mason were the designated co-hosts. They were everyone’s golden couple. I didn’t cause a scene. I just quietly changed my college application at the last minute. I blocked Mason on everything. I moved to Seattle and didn’t speak a single word to him for seven entire years. Until a few days ago, when my mom suddenly called me. She told me Mason had been in a terrible car accident and completely lost his sight. “He wants to go to Seattle to relax and get away from everything. You two grew up together, Chloe. Please, help take care of him.” The Sterling family had always been kind to us. Morally and logically, I couldn’t say no. When I rushed to the airport, the once-arrogant heir looked like an abandoned puppy standing on the curb, gripping a white cane. “Long time no see.” He froze, then replied, “Long time no see.” He paused, letting out a bitter laugh. “Though I guess I don’t really have a chance to ‘see’ you anymore.” A wave of indescribable emotion hit my chest. I patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’m taking you home!” 03 Facts have proven that feeling sorry for a man only leads to misfortune. As the cold night wind hit me, I pulled my coat tighter and instantly snapped back to reality. The apartment was mine. The heating was mine. Why was I the one getting pushed out the door?! He should be the one to get out! Just as I turned around, preparing to storm back inside, someone called my name. “Chloe?” “Mr. Vance?” Ethan Vance had traded his usual crisp business suit for a beige athletic set. His hair was slightly damp, indicating he had just finished a night run. “Are you heading out?” Given my current outfit, claiming I was just taking out the trash would be an insult to his intelligence. I nodded. “I’m going to get a drink.” “By yourself?” “Yeah.” Ethan chuckled softly. “What a coincidence. I was just heading out for a drink too. Want company?” I almost laughed out loud. Going for a drink immediately after a sweaty cardio session? What a terrible excuse. But I didn’t expose his lie. I just ran my fingers through my long hair. “Sure.” Ethan was the newly appointed director of my department. A Stanford grad, returning from overseas. He was gentle, gentlemanly, came from serious money—the textbook definition of a high-value bachelor. The day he took the job, half the girls in the office swooned. I had observed him for a while. He arrived at exactly 8:00 AM and left at exactly 7:00 PM. He bought a black coffee every morning and hit the gym every night. His life was incredibly disciplined. Naturally, he became my “target.” At the time, I perfectly timed my commutes to fake “accidental” encounters. I “coincidentally” ordered the same coffee at his favorite cafe. I even went out of my way to buy a ridiculously expensive membership at his gym. But I had only gone twice before Mason suddenly crashed into my life and ruined my plans. I had been so busy serving the blind young master lately that I had completely forgotten about Ethan. But clearly, sometimes when pursuing a man, the “cold shoulder” treatment works best. Ethan had actually taken the bait. We didn’t take Ethan’s car to go drinking. While we were waiting for an Uber, he glanced at me and asked, “Cold?” I gave a very calculated, delicate shiver and rubbed my arms. “A little.” He smiled faintly, took off his jacket, and handed it to me. “Do you mind?” “Of course not.” Our eyes met. Between adults, some signals don’t require words. I draped Ethan’s jacket over my shoulders and was about to speak when my phone started buzzing relentlessly. Mason: “When are you coming back?” Mason: “You aren’t here and I just fell over.” Mason: “I’m craving a late-night chili dog, can you grab me one on your way back?” Seeing that last text, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He couldn’t even fake being blind properly. What kind of blind person furiously speed-texts on an iPhone?! “What are you looking at? You’re smiling so happily.” “Just looking at a dog.” Ethan stepped back into a polite, respectful stance. “A pet?” “You could say that. I just adopted him recently.” A dog who fakes being blind. Worse than an actual dog. I shoved my phone into my pocket and dropped the subject. That night, Ethan escorted me all the way back to my apartment building. “I haven’t seen you at the gym lately.” “I’ve had some family stuff to deal with.” “Night run tomorrow?” I hadn’t expected Ethan to be this proactive, but I was thrilled. “Sure. I’m a beginner though, so I’ll be relying on you to guide me.” Ethan’s lips curled into a smile. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” When I walked into my apartment, Mason was sitting alone on the living room sofa. I jumped in surprise. “Why are you sitting here in the pitch black?” Mason’s tone was airy and tragic. “Day or night, what difference does it make to me? “It’s all just endless darkness anyway.” He was getting way too into this role. Suddenly, he leaned closer to me and wrinkled his nose. “You drank?” “Mhm.” “And you smell like a man.” I looked down, realizing I was still wearing Ethan’s jacket. I didn’t expose Mason’s terrible acting. I just patted his head. “So smart.” “Who is it?” “Is that any of your business?” Mason froze. He looked at me, his eyes perfectly “vacant.” “Do you… not want me anymore?” The question caught me completely off guard. Before I could respond, Mason kept going. “Seven years ago, you left without saying goodbye. “But I don’t recall ever agreeing to break up. “Chloe, are you still my girlfriend?” 04 Girlfriend? The word felt burning hot. It rolled around on my tongue before I finally swallowed it down. I let out a soft laugh. “Are you saying you want to pursue me?” “Can I? Can we keep being together?” “Of course.” I leaned in, my warm breath brushing against Mason’s ear. “But… it depends on your performance.” Mason’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “What kind of performance?” “I happen to like good boys.” In truth, I really did love Mason back then. During the confusing rush of puberty, he was the only boy occupying my thoughts. We held hands secretly in crowds and kissed in the quiet shadows. During the year we dated, I gave him endless patience and affection. Childhood sweethearts. I truly believed we were going to make it to the end. Until that summer, when he told his friends: “I’d have to be crazy to actually fall in love with the maid’s daughter. “Besides her pretty face, what part of her even acts like a girl? “Look at Lexi—she’s so sweet and obedient. If I wasn’t worried about distracting Lexi from her SATs, do you think I would have picked Chloe?” The irony was, after Mason’s car crash, the “sweet and obedient” girl dumped him immediately. That night, I slept terribly. I had disjointed, fragmented dreams. I dreamt of our elementary school sports day. I fainted from low blood sugar, and Mason sprinted over and put me on his back. He was a scrawny kid, but he stubbornly refused to put me down. Eventually, his legs gave out, and he collapsed holding me right at the clinic doors. Under the blazing sun, we looked at each other and laughed like two complete idiots. I dreamt of being bullied by older boys. He tried to fight them off and ended up getting beaten black and blue. Wincing through the pain, he still tilted his chin up and bragged to me, “You should see the other guys!” During my senior year, I stayed at the Sterling mansion, and the young master personally tutored me in math. When I couldn’t grasp a concept, he’d mock me, saying my brain was full of concrete. I’d give him the silent treatment, and he would shower me with feather-light kisses from my forehead down to my nose. Every kiss was a soft, silent I’m sorry. I cried in my sleep. Eventually, I woke up with wet cheeks. Maybe even now, I still didn’t understand. How did two people who cared about each other so much end up like this? I woke up with a pounding headache. The inexplicable melancholy carried all the way to work. In the elevator, Ethan stood impeccably dressed in his tailored suit. With his gold-rimmed glasses, he looked like the epitome of refined restraint. But I wasn’t in the mood to chat, so I just gave a polite nod. The moment I stepped into my office, Ethan texted me. Ethan: “Didn’t sleep well last night?” I yawned and typed a careless reply. Me: “Yeah, ran into my crush last night. Was too excited to sleep.” Ethan: “Is that so? That crush is a very lucky man.” Ethan: “I accidentally bought an extra coffee. Want it?” Me: “Accidentally?” Ethan: “Alright, I bought it specifically for you. Will you do me the honor of drinking it?” Before I could text back, my office desk phone rang. Ethan’s professional, authoritative voice came through the line. “Chloe, come to my office for a moment.” I hung up, and a coworker leaned over. “The boss wants to see you first thing in the morning?” I faked a heavy sigh. She patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Good luck.” I smiled, grabbed a random file to look busy, and walked over. I gave a very professional knock on his door. Seeing me walk in, Ethan smiled and handed me a paper bag. It was from the cafe he frequented. I didn’t take it immediately. I smiled and asked, “Does this count as an abuse of power?” “The coffee doesn’t. Using work as an excuse to get you into my office does.” “Is this a classic Ethan Vance tactic?” “It’s my first time trying it, so I’m a bit rusty.” Only then did I take the cup. I looked down and took a sip. Iced Americano. The bitterness made me frown slightly. Back when I was trying to catch his attention, I had bought a few of these. But compared to black coffee, I heavily preferred lattes. Not planning to force myself to drink something bitter, I pressed my lips firmly against the rim, leaving a perfect lipstick mark. I set the cup back down on his desk. “I’ll leave a little marker and store it here. It’ll give you a few more excuses to abuse your power.” Ethan clearly hadn’t expected such a bold move. He raised an eyebrow, then let out a low chuckle. The way he looked at me held ten times more interest than before. Right before I clocked out, Ethan texted me again. Ethan: “See you tonight?” I tapped my fingers on the desk, waited a few minutes, and replied: “OK.” 05 “You’re going out again?” I had just changed into my running gear when Mason blocked the door, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Where are you going tonight? Don’t tell me you’re buying groceries again.” “I’m going running with a friend.” “Friend? Guy or girl?” Hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh. “As far as I’m aware, you haven’t won me back yet.” Mason froze. I reached out and tapped a single finger against his chest. “So, don’t act like a jealous, neglected husband demanding a status report.” Mason looked annoyed. “But you said you’d give me a chance.” “I did. That’s why you need to be a good, obedient boy. Understand?” As I was about to leave, Mason suddenly spoke up. “Chloe, did I mention this? “My blindness was caused by a blood clot pressing on my optic nerve. “It might fully heal, or it might be permanent. It depends on luck.” Hearing that, I nearly laughed right in his face. The young master was actually using his brain. A blood clot pressing on the nerve. Depends on luck. What a perfect excuse to give himself a way out whenever he needed one. I feigned immense joy. “It can be cured?! That’s amazing!” Before Mason could respond, I kept pushing. “So are you planning to stay here until you’re fully healed, or are you heading home in a few days?” Mason’s face went rigid. “Chloe?” “I’m really running late! We’ll talk when I get back!” I ignored him and walked straight out the door. Downstairs, Ethan was already waiting for me. “Sorry, I’m late.” “I just got here too.” Ethan smoothly handed me a bottle of water. As I took it, our fingers brushed against each other before slowly sliding apart. The air was thick with tension. Ethan cleared his throat softly. “You didn’t finish your coffee earlier today.” “I know. What did you do with it?” “I poured the coffee out.” “What a waste.” “I kept the cup.” I looked up at him. He smiled faintly. “I couldn’t bear to throw it away.” “A man like you, getting attached to a paper cup?” “I have plenty of cups. But there’s only one with a certain someone’s lipstick mark.” I tilted my head, looking straight into his eyes. He held my gaze, completely unapologetic. I knew it. Ethan was hooked. After that day, I ran with Ethan every single night. Sometimes we talked about work, but mostly we talked about our lives. On weekends, we started grabbing dinner together. Spending so much time with Ethan meant I inevitably started ignoring Mason. One day when I got home, he suddenly asked me. “Did you get a boyfriend?” I didn’t hide it. “I’m currently seeing someone, yes.” “But you promised me.” “I promised I would let you pursue me. I never said no one else could.” “That’s cheating.” “Young master, you literally live in my apartment. You have the ultimate home-court advantage.” Mason stormed back to his room. He slammed the door so hard the walls shook. That night, I went for my usual run with Ethan. My argument with Mason had clearly messed with my head. Several times when Ethan spoke to me, I was completely zoned out. “Tired?” I forced myself to focus. “Yeah, I just haven’t been sleeping well.” “Stress from work? You’re making me feel like I’m failing as your boss. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let’s see if I can fix it.” “A subordinate can’t sleep at night. How does the boss plan to fix that?” “Does the subordinate have any suggestions?” I pretended to think hard. “The boss personally coming over to tuck me in sounds like a pretty good start.” Ethan laughed and stopped jogging. “How did I not realize earlier that you were such a little fox?” “So… do you like foxes?” Ethan’s smile faded as he slowly leaned in closer. I didn’t back away. Our noses brushed. “I want to kiss you. Can I?” “Are you always this much of a gentleman?” He let out a low laugh, and finally closed the distance. As I tilted my head up, I suddenly caught a glimpse of a shadow hiding on my apartment balcony. I narrowed my eyes, but I didn’t stop the kiss. When we finally pulled away, Ethan’s eyes were hazy as he stepped back into a respectful distance. “What are you looking at?” He followed my gaze up to my apartment. There was no one there anymore. Just the curtains swaying slightly in the dark night. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

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1 After the breakup, my feelings became tradable commodities. A single dose of heartbreak could sell for ten thousand dollars. A flare of anger was worth five grand. I fast-tracked my way to financial freedom entirely on the back of getting dumped. Just as I was about to bundle up ten pounds of sorrow to sell to the system, my ex-boyfriend suddenly showed up. He cornered me against a brick wall, his eyes bloodshot, his voice trembling. “Why aren’t you sad anymore? Did you ever even love me?” I looked right past his face. Hovering above his head was a massive, glittering orb of affection, easily worth a cool million. Without a second thought, I reached out and grabbed it. Sold! … On the first day after Carter and I broke up, I locked myself in my room and cried until I was severely dehydrated. Three years together. From cramped college dorms to the ruthless corporate world, I really thought we were going to make it to the altar. Reality handed me a brutal slap in the face. Carter’s family company hit a massive financial crisis. To save it, he chose another girl, someone who could offer him the perfect corporate marriage of convenience. That girl was Valerie. His childhood neighbor and our mutual friend. On the day we split, Carter couldn’t even look me in the eye. Guilt dripped from his every word. “Stella, I’m so sorry. I don’t have a choice. This company is my dad’s entire life’s work. I can’t just stand by and watch it go under.” I stared at him, finding the whole thing incredibly absurd. “So your solution is to throw away everything we built just to buy a bailout with a wedding ring?” He stayed silent. When I dragged my suitcase out of the cozy little apartment we had shared, all those sweet memories we made suddenly morphed into jagged shards of glass, slicing my heart to ribbons with every step I took. I barely made it back to my cheap, rundown rental before I completely broke down. Just as I thought the suffocating grief was literally going to kill me, a mechanical, synthesized voice echoed inside my skull. [Severe emotional fluctuation detected. Emotion Trading System officially activated.] [Host, would you like to sell your ‘Heartbreak’?] I froze. I honestly thought the crying had finally short-circuited my brain. “Who is that? Who’s talking?” [I am Emotion Trading System 007. My primary function is helping the Host convert useless emotions into immense wealth. I have detected a premium-grade ‘Heartbreak’ currently in your possession. Estimated market value: $10,000. Would you like to sell?] Ten thousand dollars? The number hit me like a freight train. Since when did a broken heart pay out in cash? I tested the waters, asking in my mind: “How do I do it?” [Please confirm by selecting ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.] Well, I was already at rock bottom. Could things get any worse? “Yes!” I screamed in my head, clenching my jaw. In the very next second, the tearing, agonizing pain in my chest receded like a pulling tide. My heart still felt hollow, but the suffocating torture was completely gone. Right on cue, my phone buzzed. A banking notification popped up on the screen. [City Bank: A deposit of $10,000.00 was made to your account ending in 4592 on October 25. Current balance: $10,521.34.] Before I could even celebrate, another line of tiny text flashed across my vision. [System Warning: High-energy emotional trade detected. Market regulation protocols have been triggered. Please regulate your trading behavior.] Regulation protocols? I didn’t care at all. I brushed it off as some standard terms of service nobody reads. I just kept staring at those digits on my phone screen, counting the zeros over and over to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It was real. This was actual money! A tidal wave of absolute ecstasy drowned out whatever lingering doubts I had. Who cares about the pain of a breakup? If it could be swapped for cold hard cash, that was the ultimate comfort! 2 To test the system’s limits, I started digging up every little memory Carter and I shared. From the first time he smiled at me on the college basketball court, to the nights he stayed up late just to queue for that limited-edition vinyl record I wanted, all the way to our early startup days when we practically lived on cheap ramen… The more I thought about it, the more a bitter, burning sensation bubbled up in my chest. Why should I be sitting here mourning our past while he gets to comfortably prep for a flashy engagement with another woman? Why did three years of loyalty mean absolutely nothing against a single corporate bankruptcy threat? [Medium-grade ‘Anger’ detected. Estimated market value: $5,000. Would you like to sell?] “Sell! Absolutely sell!” [City Bank: A deposit of $5,000.00 was made to your account…] That suffocating fury vanished into thin air. I actually wanted to laugh out loud. This felt incredibly surreal. All I had to do was flick a mental switch, dwell on some ancient history, and money literally deposited itself into my bank account. For the next few days, I became obsessed with my new career as an emotion trafficker. I scrolled through our old text threads, staring at his “Goodnight, my sweet girl” messages. Then I sold the ‘Sweet Nostalgia’ for two grand. I pulled up the photo gallery of him lifting me over his shoulders at a music festival. I sold the ‘Melancholic Longing’ for three grand. Eventually, I actively started looking for triggers. I clicked onto Valerie’s Instagram. She and Carter had officially announced their engagement. The photo showed Carter looking sharp in a tailored tuxedo, with Valerie draped in a custom white gown. The blinding sparkle of their diamond rings felt like a physical jab to my eyes. The comment section was flooded with congratulations, mostly from people in our shared friend circle. [Complex emotion ‘Jealousy and Resentment’ detected. Premium quality. Estimated market value: $15,000. Would you like to sell?] “Take it!” Watching my bank balance skyrocket, I realized for the very first time that getting dumped was the absolute best thing the universe could have done for me. In just one week, my pathetic savings skyrocketed into the six-figure range. The very first thing I did was pack my bags, ditch that depressing little rental, and sign a lease on a gorgeous luxury loft right in the heart of downtown. I went on a massive shopping spree, swiping my card for designer bags and clothes I used to only admire through storefront windows. I booked the most expensive spa treatments and soaked up top-tier luxury. But there was a catch. My emotions were drying up. When I opened up Valerie’s page to look at their couple selfies again, I felt absolutely nothing. A flatline. The system stayed dead silent. My emotional gold mine was completely tapped out. No, I had to manufacture some new feelings. I tried binging tragic romance movies and listening to indie sad-girl playlists, but the results were pathetic. Best case scenario, I squeezed out a few bucks worth of ‘Mild Melancholy’. Better than nothing, but hardly a living. Just as I started stressing over my future cash flow, the system dropped a new objective. [Milestone Task: Bulk Sale. Accumulate 10 pounds of ‘Sorrow’ for a packaged transaction. Price payout will be doubled.] Ten pounds of sorrow? Since when did feelings come with a weight limit? Still, double the payout sounded way too good to pass up. I went on the offensive. I called up my best friend Brooke, met her for coffee, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance. I tearfully unloaded all of Carter’s sins onto her, successfully harvesting a solid wave of ‘Grievance’ and ‘Self-Pity’. [Accumulating Sorrow. Current progress: 0.5 / 10 pounds.] It worked like a charm. I figured out that venting to an audience was the ultimate sorrow-production factory. For the next couple of days, I went on a systematic pity tour, visiting every sympathetic friend I knew and repeating my tragic sob story on a loop. My acting skills leveled up. I could summon tears on command and build a heartbreaking atmosphere out of thin air. Soon enough, my sorrow inventory hit nine and a half pounds. I was inches away from the finish line. I needed a grand finale. I picked the city park where Carter and I had our very first date to brew that final batch of misery and close the big deal. Sitting on a familiar green bench, I forced myself to visualize that exact afternoon. The sun had been perfect. Carter was wearing a crisp white button-down, blushing furiously as he nervously handed me a bouquet of roses. Just picturing his clumsy teenage smile actually brought a genuine, long-forgotten ache to my chest. [Accumulating Sorrow. Current progress: 9.8 / 10 pounds.] So close! I took a deep breath, ready to push out the last few tears. But right at that moment, a shadow fell over me. A familiar yet strangely foreign figure stood blocking my light. It was Carter. He looked like absolute garbage. Dark circles bruised his eyes, a rough shadow of stubble coated his jaw, and his insanely expensive suit looked like he had slept in it. He was staring at me, his eyes rimmed red. 3 My first reaction wasn’t shock. It was pure annoyance. What the hell was he doing here? He was interrupting my cash flow. I stood up, planning to just walk around him. Instead, his hand shot out and gripped my wrist. “Stella, please. We need to talk.” “What is there left to talk about?” I yanked my hand back with icy precision. “Mr. Sinclair, you are an engaged man. Messing around with your ex-girlfriend in a public park is a bad look. Aren’t you worried Valerie might get the wrong idea?” My words hit him like a physical blow. All the color drained from his face, and his voice visibly shook. “Why? Why aren’t you hurting at all?” He pointed a shaking finger at my brand-new designer coat. “You’re doing great, aren’t you? You upgraded your apartment, you bought a new car… Did you ever even care about me?” Looking at his dramatic breakdown, I found the whole thing incredibly hilarious. “I’m devastated, obviously.” I brushed a piece of lint off my sleeve. “I’m so devastated I managed to commodify my grief and achieve financial independence.” He clearly thought I was just throwing out sarcastic insults. “Stella, please don’t do this to me.” He took a heavy step forward, trapping me against the brick wall of the park’s pavilion. His tall frame completely boxed me in. “I’ve been losing my mind these past few days. I close my eyes and all I see is you. I know I’m a bastard. I know I picked the company over us. But I physically cannot stop thinking about you.” He sounded so raw, so agonizingly sincere. A tear actually slipped from his red eyes. If this were the old me, I probably would have caved instantly. But right now, he was just loud and annoying. And that was when I saw it. Hovering right above his head was a massive, blindingly bright, golden orb of pure energy. [Alert. Ultra-pure unowned emotion detected nearby: ‘Love’. Quality: Legendary. Estimated market value: $1,000,000.] [Severe Warning. Any unauthorized extraction of external emotions is a major violation and will trigger high-level regulatory intervention.] [Notice: This emotional energy is exceedingly massive. Direct absorption may cause system shock. Attempt capture anyway?] One million dollars? My eyes practically turned into dollar signs. Violation? Regulation? Those threatening words briefly flashed through my mind, only to be instantly vaporized by the blinding glow of that seven-figure payout. I had already triggered a warning once anyway. What was one more? Fortune favors the bold! Without a single drop of hesitation, I reached my hand up and grabbed that giant orb of ‘Love’ right off the top of his head. The second my fingertips breached the golden light, a surging, scalding wave of power rushed down my arm and flooded my veins. Carter’s entire body went rigid. The look in his eyes morphed instantly. All that agonizing, desperate affection evaporated, replaced entirely by a hollow, vacant void. It was as if I had violently ripped out his soul. Meanwhile, inside my head, the system alerts were screaming like air raid sirens. [WARNING! Ultra-high energy contraband emotion breach! System overload! Initiating forced upgrade sequence!] [Ding! ‘Legendary Love’ captured successfully. $1,000,000 deposited into system escrow. Funds will be available for withdrawal upon upgrade completion!] [System Upgrading: 1%… 10%… 50%…] Before I could even process the absolute chaos happening in my brain, Carter’s knees buckled. He collapsed forward, dead weight against my shoulder. I shoved him off me, scrambling to check his pulse. He was breathing. But the way he looked at me… it was like looking at a blank wall. Empty. Devoid of any recognizable human feeling. My stomach plummeted. I think I just went way too far. I didn’t just sell all my own sorrow. I literally ripped his love right out of his chest and pawned it.

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My unemployed best friend recently moved into my place. She claimed she did not want to be a freeloader and insisted on doing the chores. I never expected that after just one day, she would treat my Tiffany necklace as literal trash and toss it out. For the sake of our years of friendship, I bit my tongue. But a few days later, my insanely expensive designer clothes vanished without a trace. Her excuse was totally unapologetic. She said the clothes looked out of season, assumed I did not want them, and dropped them in a charity donation bin. Since she was supposedly doing a good deed, I let it slide. I simply warned her to never touch my things again. That was until I walked out carrying my limited edition Hermes Birkin, and a friend gently pointed out that the stitching looked a bit off. I rushed home, tore through my closet, and realized every single authentic bag I owned had been swapped for a cheap replica. Suddenly, I remembered her mentioning a luxury resale app. I immediately typed in her phone number to search. Her bio hit me right in the face. It read: “Turning trash into treasure. Hustling my way to the top.” What a hustle indeed. Without missing a beat, I reported her seller account, getting all her transactions permanently frozen by the platform. Blissfully unaware of her impending doom, she booked a VIP table that very night. She popped champagne with ten gorgeous male promoters to celebrate. But when the bill arrived, her card declined. She was backed into a corner and forced to borrow cash from some very dangerous street lenders right on the spot. 1 Sitting on the floor by my display cabinet that afternoon, I tapped into Stella’s Instagram page. My jaw practically unhinged at the sight of her casually holding a seventy thousand dollar Gucci bag. Her makeup was flawless. Her cocktail dress screamed old money. She was lounging in a Michelin star restaurant, serving up effortless poses for the camera. I zoomed in on that Gucci bag sitting perfectly in the frame, examining the hardware over and over again. My fingers actually trembled as I scrolled down. Every single photo dump was flooded with the same ridiculous tags. #OldMoneyAesthetic #RichWifeEnergy #DayInTheLife Stella paired every single outfit with a different bag. We were talking pieces ranging from ten to a hundred grand. No exceptions. Strictly top tier luxury. Compared to those wannabe influencers who split the bill for a staged photoshoot, her daily high end splurges and endless rotation of designer pieces made her wealth look incredibly authentic. The reality was that half a month ago, Stella could barely afford a decent meal. After college, she took a safe corporate desk job while I refused to settle for mediocrity. I chose the startup route. The early days were brutal. I worked from dawn until midnight and barely scraped by. The last two years finally brought my big break in the import business. Every time I closed a massive overseas deal, I rewarded myself by taking a small fraction of the profits to buy a luxury bag. My collection grew from a couple of pieces to dozens. I was overflowing with a sense of achievement, watching my life finally fall into place. Stella, on the other hand, lost her job and got dumped. She could not make rent, got evicted, and spent over two hours sobbing on the phone to me. I drove over, packed up her life, brought her to my place, and treated her to a Wagyu steak dinner. After stuffing herself, she looked down in embarrassment, admitting she did not even have twenty bucks to her name. Seeing her hit rock bottom, I told her she could stay in my guest room rent free. I covered all her meals. I told her to just get settled first. She could take her time finding a job, and if she was willing to grind and polish up her Spanish, I could even bring her into my import business. But Stella just sighed. She told me she was so beaten down by her recent failures that she was borderline depressed. All she wanted to do was rot in bed all day. I had no choice but to tell her to rest up and figure the rest out later. A few days ago, she bounced into the kitchen looking ecstatic. She claimed she found a gold mine of a career path. She was going to be an influencer. I just smiled and nodded. I did not take it seriously because making it on social media is a brutal game. Who would have thought that in just two weeks, her follower count would skyrocket past eighty thousand. Her entire brand was built on flexing insane wealth. Her comment section was a sea of absolute worship. “Oh my god, she is so filthy rich!” “I can practically smell the expensive perfume through the screen. Please adopt me, sugar mommy!” “Living my literal dream.” “Wait, is that the crocodile leather Birkin? That is worth like over a hundred grand!” Seeing that specific Hermes mention, my ears started ringing. A suffocating wave of panic crashed over me. Stella had not suddenly struck it rich. Every single bag she was using to flex for the internet belonged to me. Earlier today, a friend warned me that the Hermes I was carrying looked like a replica. I almost lost my mind on the spot. That bag was my holy grail. I had taken fifty percent of the profit from a grueling, massive deal just to bite the bullet and buy it. I dropped everything at work and sped home to authenticate my entire collection. Every single designer bag in my custom cabinet had been swapped out for a high tier fake. It took me a long time to stop shaking and force myself to breathe. At first, I tried to rationalize it. Maybe she was just blinded by vanity. Maybe she swapped them with fakes just so she could borrow the real ones for her photoshoots without me noticing. But my brain immediately caught the flaw in that logic. You cannot stage those photos with just a bag. Where did she get the money for the diamond jewelry, the couture gowns, and the tabs at five star restaurants? I backed out of her Instagram and remembered she mentioned a luxury resale app a while back. I typed in her cell number and hit enter. Her seller profile made my blood run cold. Every single bag featured in her aesthetic photos, along with several of my other personal luxury items, was listed for sale. 2 The completed transaction history left me completely speechless. The Tiffany necklace she claimed was accidentally thrown out in the trash? Sold for three thousand dollars. The designer clothes she supposedly donated to a charity drive? Sold for thirty thousand dollars. She even sold the empty Chanel perfume bottles off my vanity and the branded Louis Vuitton paper shopping bags I kept in the closet corner for a few bucks each. If it had a brand name, she liquidated it. She did not waste a single opportunity. I grabbed a calculator and furiously punched in the numbers. She had already pocketed around fifty thousand dollars of my money. Her seller bio mocked me from the top of the screen. “Turning trash into treasure. Hustling my way to the top.” Staring at those words, I zoned out for a few seconds before letting out a dry, bitter laugh. Her newest listing description read: “Fresh drop of dozens of authentic luxury bags. Can be verified at any boutique. Everything must go at fifty percent off retail. First come, first served!” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Most of those bags were practically untouched. I barely even took them out of their dust bags. Especially that crocodile leather Hermes. I painstakingly conditioned it on a strict schedule, terrified of a single scratch ruining its value. Just to get fast cash, Stella was slashing the prices in half. A bag worth over a hundred grand, a rare custom piece with incredibly low global production, was sitting on a secondhand app for fifty grand. And the buyers were going feral. Just in the few minutes I spent scrolling, several listings updated to “Payment Pending.” I could not stomach another second of it. I slammed the report button. I submitted a mountain of evidence to the platform’s fraud department to prove she was fencing stolen goods. My paper trail was bulletproof. I uploaded original boutique receipts, bank statements, and close up photos matching the exact wear and tear I had left on specific bags. The verdict was swift. The platform slapped her account with a permanent ban and froze every single penny in her seller wallet. Seeing that notification finally brought me a sliver of peace. I did some quick mental math. If she sold that entire batch at half price, she would be sitting on around three hundred thousand dollars. Add the fifty thousand she had already stolen and spent, and we were way past the threshold for felony grand theft. If I called the cops right now, with this dollar amount, Stella was looking at serious prison time. But thinking about our shared history, my hand hovered over the phone. I could not bring myself to nuke her life just yet. I still vividly remembered our first year out of college, renting a cramped, drafty apartment in the bad part of town. I caught a terrible fever in the middle of the night, and she walked me to the ER in the pouring rain. When I was unemployed for three months, she split her meager savings with me, laughing and saying I could just pay her back when I was a CEO. Back then, we used to share a single iced latte to save money. She always let me have the last sip. I do not know exactly when she morphed into this monster. Maybe it started when she maxed out her first credit card on a bag that cost three months of her salary. Maybe it was when she figured out how to fake location tags at exclusive resorts with stolen Pinterest quotes. She became obsessed with the fictional version of herself in the eyes of strangers, and completely detached from the real people right in front of her. I had tried to warn her. I told her the economy was tough and she needed to build a safety net. She just rolled her eyes, claiming her designer pieces were investments that she could always flip for cash, so she was never actually losing money. I just never imagined I would become her primary inventory. Thinking about all those memories, I let out a heavy sigh. She used to be my sister, my closest confidant. If she walked through the door right now, gave me a genuine apology, handed over whatever cash she had left, and returned the unsold bags, I would consider the matter closed. My phone buzzed. The platform’s customer service rep confirmed that the three hundred thousand dollars in pending funds had been locked and would automatically refund to the buyers in three days. That took a massive weight off my chest. I decided to wait on the sofa for Stella to come home so we could have a brutal but necessary heart to heart. But dinnertime came and went. The front door remained shut. Thinking back on her recent schedule, she had been out every single night at high end VIP lounges, burning cash on bottle service and club promoters. Once, I even saw some bleached blonde frat boy drop her off, making out with her right on my driveway. And to think, just two weeks ago she was screaming and crying over her ex, claiming she could not survive a single day without him. I was debating whether to call her and demand she come home right now. Then my phone lit up with a text from a mutual friend. “Blair, check Stella’s live stream right now. She is dropping bags on bottle boys at the club!” 3 The screen loaded, revealing Stella sitting in the dead center of a plush velvet booth, completely surrounded by a crew of styled, attractive male promoters. Her viewer count was surging, and the chat was moving at warp speed. “Three hundred bucks for a single bottle? And she is on her fifth in ten minutes? Okay, sugar mommy is loaded!” “She literally carries bags worth a house. A few grand on drinks is pocket change.” “Look at those guys practically begging for her attention. They know who pays the bills!” Watching Stella hold court, casually dropping luxury brand names and acting like royalty, I felt completely entirely disconnected from her. I had a sinking feeling in my gut. The Stella I knew was dead and gone. A younger looking promoter slid right up against her side, pouting his lips and putting on the charm. “Gorgeous, think you could treat your favorite boy to a nice watch? Nothing crazy, maybe just ten grand or so.” “The nightlife hustle is rough. I just need something flashy to show these other guys I’m doing well.” “You have so much money, your jewelry changes every day. You probably have a whole vault of watches collecting dust at home, right?” The chat went wild. “Typical club boy behavior. They flirt a little and immediately beg for handouts. Do not give him a dime!” “Well, he just said he would take something cheaper too. If it’s just a few hundred bucks, why not throw him a bone?” “A rich goddess giving out cheap gifts? That ruins the aesthetic. If she gives something, it has to be a Rolex.” “Wait, did you guys see her eyes light up when he said ‘cheaper’? Is she actually broke?” Stella caught that last comment. The arrogant smirk on her face froze for a split second. She quickly recovered, raising her voice loud enough for the microphone to catch. “Of course, babe. I will bring you a stunning piece next time. Give me a second, I need to use the powder room.” The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, my phone started ringing. It was Stella. Taking time out of her massive VIP flex to call me? I narrowed my eyes. I answered the call anyway. “Blair, babe, you up?” Hearing her fake sweet tone made my skin crawl. I was about to answer. But she immediately launched into her web of lies. “Hey, remember those luxury vintage watches you bought for your dad? He is always traveling and never wears them. How about you let me take them off your hands?” “I met these poor, struggling boys downtown. They cannot even afford a clock for their apartment. It is honestly heartbreaking. Giving them your dad’s watches to tell time would be such a good deed.” The remaining warmth in my chest instantly turned to ice. Poor, struggling boys? She meant the bottle service guys charging hundreds for a pour of vodka. She was trying to steal my dad’s watches to flex on club boys? “Blair, I will be home a bit later to grab them. Could you do me a huge favor and pack them up? Preferably in the original velvet boxes? You are the best, babe.” I was so furiously angry I actually let out a quiet laugh. I wanted to rip her to shreds right then and there. But knowing she was coming back soon, I decided this needed to be handled face to face. I swallowed the venom in my throat and kept my voice perfectly flat. “Fine. Come home. We have a lot to talk about anyway.” She totally misinterpreted my tone, squealing with absolute delight. “Oh my god, you are an angel! Love you, bye!” She hung up instantly, rushing back to her booth to brag about the imaginary luxury watches she was about to rain down on her admirers. The chat and the guys showered her in another wave of aggressive flattery. “By the way, gorgeous, what kind of ride do you usually take to the club?” one of them asked. “I swear I saw someone who looked exactly like you stepping off the city bus today. Same dress and everything. Must have been a glitch in the matrix.” Stella almost choked on her champagne. “Excuse me? I ride in a Lamborghini. Your eyes are definitely broken, babe.” The promoter leaned in. “Then how come we never see you pull up in it?” Stella’s eyes darted around the room. She stammered for a second. “I… I do not really like driving. My personal female chauffeur usually takes the wheel.” “I will just have her pick me up later. You will see.” Right on cue, a text notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was from Stella. “Babe, it is super late and I cannot get an Uber. Be a lifesaver and come pick me up? And please take the Lamborghini, you know normal cars give me motion sickness.”

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I thought my ex-husband talked too much. So, after the divorce, I found myself a mute boyfriend. My “little mute” was young, sweet, and practically perfect in my eyes. One day, I went to his college dorm to pick him up. Instead, I overheard a conversation with his roommate. “Cam, how long are you going to keep pretending?” “Until I get bored.” 01 Just as I stepped into the men’s dorm hallway, I heard someone laughing. “Cam, what’s it like playing the mute card to hook up with your own aunt?” I subconsciously stopped and stood by the door. After a long pause, a deeper voice replied. “It’s whatever.” Through the crack in the door, I saw a tall college boy sitting on a chair, legs crossed. His eyelids drooped, giving him an incredibly aloof, “over-it” look. “So when are you going to dump her? Isn’t it annoying not being able to talk every day?” “Is it annoying for you to talk every day?” He spun his phone in his hand, looking utterly impatient. “I’ll do it when I get bored.” I didn’t make a sound. Pretending I hadn’t heard anything, I turned and walked back downstairs. I sent him a text: “I’m here, where are you?” The reply came quickly. “Got it, coming right down!” Seconds later, a figure dashed out of the dorm building. Cameron Reed was still wearing the same black hoodie. But the annoyed expression was gone, replaced by a sunny, enthusiastic face. He walked up to me with a wide grin, looked down, and tapped on his phone. [Hey, did you wait long?] “Not too long.” He looked at me for two seconds, blinked, and typed again. [You look upset. Are you annoyed from waiting?] I turned to look at the boy holding up his phone, carefully trying to please me. I let out a breath. “No, just work stuff.” [Oh.] The boy lowered his eyes, looking disappointed. This demeanor was too different from what I had just seen in his dorm. It almost made me doubt if the previous scene was just my imagination. He sat obediently in the passenger seat, then suddenly thought of something. [Can you wait a few more minutes?] I nodded, and he immediately opened the car door and ran out. While waiting for him, I hesitated for a moment before clicking on Richard Sterling’s profile. “You mentioned before that you have a nephew. What’s his name?” Soon, the man I hadn’t contacted in ages replied. Richard: “Cameron Reed.” Richard: “Why?” I was about to reply when the car door suddenly opened. I hurriedly shoved my phone into my pocket as Cameron got in. With one hand in his pocket, he buckled his seatbelt and then suddenly pulled out a lollipop. Strawberry flavored. He pushed it toward me. “For me?” The boy nodded, [Don’t be mad anymore, okay?] 02 I was a low-income student sponsored by Richard Sterling. Marrying him was purely because he needed it. He needed an obedient, compliant wife to deal with his grandfather pushing him to get married. And I was the perfect, easily manipulated candidate. While we were together, I rarely had the chance to learn about his family. But I did have a vague impression of this nephew who was always shipped off to boarding schools. A reckless, spoiled rich kid. A young master whose wild antics gave even Richard headaches. And this very terror was now sitting next to me, looking like a total angel. Putting on such a good act—I found it quite amusing. The car stopped at a red light, and I looked at him. “Kiss me.” The boy froze, then his eyes gradually deepened. I didn’t need to ask twice; he leaned over and grabbed my chin. And gave me a solid, passionate kiss. No matter how well Cameron pretended in daily life, he could never hide that primal, predatory instinct when things got physical. Suddenly, a car next to us honked twice. Before I could react, it honked again. I turned and saw the window of the adjacent car rolling down. Revealing a very familiar face. Richard Sterling? I tensed up instinctively, but then realized he couldn’t control me anymore. The man’s expression was far from pleasant, his tone sarcastic. “So desperate you can’t even wait?” I flashed a smile. “Young people have a lot of energy. Forgive the show, Mr. Sterling.” Richard’s face darkened, his gaze bypassing me to look at the passenger seat. I subconsciously tensed and blocked his view. “The light’s green, I shouldn’t hold up traffic.” With that, I rolled up my window first. Looking at Cameron again, he was staring out the window, lost in thought. I suddenly wondered what Richard’s expression would have been if he had discovered that the person passionately kissing me today was his own nephew. But this situation was too interesting. I really didn’t want it to end just yet. 03 As soon as we got inside my apartment, Cameron couldn’t wait and threw himself at me. He held me urgently, kissing my lips. [I don’t like him.] “Don’t like who?” [Your ex-husband.] “Oh.” I leaned in, brushing against his earlobe. “What a coincidence, I don’t like him either.” He scooped me up with one arm and tossed me onto the bed. I let out a gasp and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He silently smirked, a flash of triumph in his eyes. I suddenly remembered what his roommate asked him today. “What’s it like hooking up with your aunt?” He said, “It’s whatever.” But I felt differently. Hooking up with my ex-husband’s nephew. That feeling… was fucking fantastic. Richard used to be wild too. But it was the wildness of someone in power. It was all taking; I didn’t enjoy it at all. But Cameron was different. I knew he was trying to please me. This pleasure reached its peak after discovering his true identity. Just as he was impatiently trying to get started. My doorbell suddenly rang. [Ignore it.] Soon, the doorbell turned into my phone ringing. “Must be something important.” I patted Cameron’s head soothingly. And grabbed the phone with one hand. “Open the door.” It was Richard. “I’m not home.” “I saw your car, open the door.” I paused. “It’s not a good time right now.” The person outside seemed to be lighting a cigarette. “Are you with that guy?” “We’re divorced, it’s none of your business.” “Then let’s get remarried.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed shocked by them himself. Neither of us said anything else. A faint static hummed through the phone line. I spoke first. “You’re drunk. Have your assistant take you home.” “Open the door first.” “It’s really not a good time.” “Heh, Audrey, you’re getting bolder and bolder.” He let out a scoff, as if remembering something. “Wait, I almost forgot. Taking advantage of me being drunk to steal a kiss, playing dumb to propose to me—you’ve always been pretty bold.” The call ended. I was still caught up in Richard’s words. I really did love him back then. The first time I saw Richard was right after I started college. Full of reckless courage, I marched into his company just to see the benefactor who sponsored me. Falling for him seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I never thought I’d actually marry him one day. After getting married, I lived in my own pink bubble. Thinking my love alone could sustain a relationship for two. Until Chloe’s appearance shattered my dream. [Audrey?] A hand reached from behind me. I turned around. Cameron was standing right behind me. I was suddenly very curious. If this guy knew that the real reason Richard and I divorced was because of another woman… What would he do? Would he go play the mute to seduce Chloe? The mute act is getting old, maybe he could pretend to have a limp… Thinking this, I couldn’t help but laugh. I patted Cameron’s cheek. “I’m not really in the mood right now. Let’s take a rain check.” With that, I stood up and put on my robe. Completely missing the increasingly complex expression on Cameron’s face. 04 That night, I was sleeping groggily when a vibration woke me up. S: [Cam, we’re just waiting on you at The Enigma.] S: [Got some really hot girls here, you sure you don’t want a drink?] That’s when I realized. I was holding Cameron’s phone. Hearing the shower running in the bathroom, I placed the phone back on the nightstand. A few minutes later, Cameron came out. Afraid of waking me, he tiptoed to his side of the bed. He picked up his phone, swiped a few times, tossed it aside, and grabbed his jacket. I pretended to just wake up and opened my eyes. “Going out?” [My advisor needs to see me about something. I have to go back to campus.] “Now? It’s almost midnight.” Cameron spread his hands in a helpless gesture. I scoffed inwardly. It was a waste of talent that this rich kid hadn’t gone into acting. Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I patted his head comfortingly. “A senior’s life is a tough one, no human rights. I get it.” I waited a few minutes after Cameron left before slowly getting out of bed. I grabbed my car keys and followed him out. Honestly, it wasn’t for anything specific, just curiosity. I wanted to see what the real Cameron, who played the sweet, pitiful boy for me, was actually like. After all, the first time I met Cameron. Was at the hospital. I had just had surgery. I couldn’t move easily and needed to hire an aide. Cameron was the one who applied for the job. Initially, I was hesitant about him. Not because he was “deaf-mute,” but because I wanted a female aide. But the boy was incredibly persistent. [I’ve taken care of my mom since I was little, I’m very experienced.] [I promise I can do whatever they can do, and do it well.] I had to admit, in that moment, my heart softened. I didn’t have a father. My mother was paralyzed, and I had taken care of her since I was little, just like he claimed to have done. Later, if it hadn’t been for Richard’s sponsorship. I probably wouldn’t have even finished high school. So, I let him stay. It was exactly as Cameron had promised. He was sweet, hardworking, and incredibly thoughtful. Other aides would sneak out to rest whenever they had a chance. Only he stayed by my side all day long. Emptying my bedpans and urinals. When I was feeling down, he tried every possible way to cheer me up. My appetite was terrible then, so this guy cooked for me himself. He’d arrange the bento boxes into cute cartoon characters just to coax me into taking a bite. The old lady in the next bed laughed watching him. She told me, “This kid is treating you like you’re his girlfriend.” So later, it was only natural that we started dating. During all this time, I never doubted Cameron’s identity. He would often uncontrollably use sign language with me. Sometimes, when he was in the mood, I’d even have him teach me a few signs. Even in our most passionate moments, he never made a sound. He just looked at me with those wet, puppy-dog eyes, like a satisfied dog. Of course, the biggest reason I never doubted him was. What kind of spoiled rich kid could endure this much! He was so patient I almost wondered if he thought he was some historical figure enduring hardship to build character! 05 I used to be a regular at bars, too. Most of the time, I was brought there by Richard. He drank, I drove. And on the way back, we did all sorts of crazy things in his obnoxiously aggressive Hummer. Shaking off the memories, I was about to look for Cameron’s private booth. Suddenly, a hand grabbed me. “Came specifically to find me?” I looked up. Richard had actually appeared in front of me. “You refused to see me earlier, and now you can’t wait to run over here. Playing hard to get?” “I’m here to find my boyfriend.” I avoided his intense gaze, turned, and tried to leave. But he tightened his grip on my wrist and pulled me straight into a men’s bathroom stall. “Richard!” “Yell louder, let’s get everyone in here.” I glared at him. He rubbed his thumb across my lips. “Did he kiss you here today?” “None of your business, let me go!” “The little kitten is showing her claws. You’ve changed quite a bit since the divorce.” Richard scoffed. “Break up with him.” “Why should I?” “Audrey, you should know I hate it when people touch my things.” His finger traced my cheek. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums. Don’t dance on my landmines.” I was about to argue back, but he continued. “Agreeing to the divorce was granting your wish. It doesn’t mean you can escape my control. I blame myself for giving you too much freedom this past year. It made you forget who you belong to.” Richard was domineering and arrogant. If he wanted to, he could make all my efforts in work and life vanish into thin air. But what gave him the right? What gave a man who betrayed our marriage the right to say such things so brazenly? “You already have Chloe, isn’t that enough?” At the mention of that name, Richard furrowed his brow in disgust. “I told you, there’s nothing going on between me and her.” “Nothing? Photos of you two kissing were all over the tabloids!” “Yeah, it was just a kiss. Is that worth throwing a fit over?” You couldn’t reason with him. What a piece of trash! I didn’t want to listen to him anymore and forcefully tried to break free from his grip. Suddenly, a man’s voice came from outside. “Uncle Richard, are you done in there?” My whole body froze. Cameron? Richard was about to push the door open and walk out, but I yanked him back. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I avoided his sharp gaze. Richard stopped moving and asked, “What is it?” Separated only by a thin wall, Cameron’s slightly impatient voice drifted over. “I’m heading out. Let me borrow your driver.” “So early?” “Yeah.” Richard called his driver, and only then did Cameron leave. Before he left, he whistled. “Still going strong for an old guy. Have fun.” Looking up, I met Richard’s thoughtful gaze. “You know Cam?” “No.” “Then why did you avoid him?” “A man and a woman alone in a men’s bathroom stall… Mr. Sterling might not care about his reputation, but I care about mine.” With that, I kicked the door open. This time, Richard didn’t stop me.

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During an experiment in the quantum computing lab, the graduate student I was mentoring suddenly asked me, “Professor, do you know the saying, ‘From chaos, duality’?” I set down the equipment I was holding, but before I could answer, she let her lab coat slip from her shoulders, followed by everything else. She guided my hand to the warmth between her legs. Her captivating eyes locked onto mine. “From chaos, duality,” she whispered. “From duality, unity.” “The highest form of purity is also the highest form of debauchery.” That night, my restraint finally broke. 1 My wife’s beauty had long since faded, and my life was consumed by my work. It had been a long time since I’d felt such a release. Afterward, I rested my hand on Isabelle’s waist. “What do you want?” I asked. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, strangely vacant. “Someone once said that for kids from towns like mine, the most powerful person we’ll ever meet is our university advisor.” “I refused to believe that was my limit. I sent my resume to company after company. They’d grant me an interview out of respect for you, but the questions were always about you. Once they realized our relationship was purely professional, the offers would vanish into thin air. I haven’t received a single one.” “Professor,” she said, her voice hardening, “I want a position at Elysian Dynamics. I’ve given you the most valuable thing I have to trade for it.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “It was my first time.” In the dim, hazy light, I studied her. She was undeniably beautiful; otherwise, she never could have tempted me to cross this line. Her face was a portrait of conflict: one half pained innocence, the other half ruthless ambition. I dressed and, before leaving, told her, “You’ll get what you want. The offer from Elysian will be in your inbox tomorrow.” My reputation in the field is formidable. A word from me was all it took. After I made the call, I found my wife staring at me. Her expression was placid, but her words were like needles. “You’ve never involved yourself in student placements before.” “What’s different today?” “Is there something special about this student? I think I saw her once, at that university gala.” “She’s very beautiful. It makes sense you’d take such an interest. I just…” “That’s enough.” I cut her off before she could finish. “She’s from a poor background. Life is harder for kids like her. Besides, her academic record is exceptional. I’m just giving her a hand up. Is there a problem with that?” My wife, Connie, looked at me, stunned. I rarely used such a sharp tone with her. But tonight, for some reason, the sight of her sagging cheeks and her shocked expression filled me with an intense irritation. My mind involuntarily flashed back to Isabelle’s smooth, pale skin, and the flicker of panic in her eyes as I entered her. I couldn’t stop myself. I went to see Isabelle again. She smoothed her hair, her voice unnervingly calm. “Professor, a one-time transaction can be born of desperation. But to continue… that would make me no better than a prostitute.” She bowed deeply. “Professor, despite what happened, I still believe you are a man of principle. You wouldn’t force me if I wasn’t willing, would you?” After she left, I sat there, rubbing the rim of a paper cup. She was right. I wouldn’t force her. But there were other ways to make her willing. Isabelle was gambling on my character. I was gambling on her breaking point. Isabelle’s new job at Elysian quickly became a nightmare. She was hitting roadblocks at every turn. It was my doing, of course. I hadn’t needed to say much. Just a single, casual comment to a senior executive: “That student of mine, Isabelle… I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s become rather difficult lately. I suppose a big offer from a company like yours has gone to her head.” We were all seasoned players. The executives at Elysian understood immediately. They began applying pressure from all sides. I expected her to last a week, maybe less. To my surprise, two weeks passed, and she still hadn’t contacted me. A flicker of annoyance sparked within me. I had been a master puppeteer for years; this was the first time a string had gone slack in my hands. I called the executive and arranged a dinner meeting for that evening. Isabelle, naturally, was required to attend. Throughout the dinner, she played her part perfectly, smiling and making conversation as the wine flowed. But afterward, her face was etched with fatigue. “Professor,” she said, her voice low. “I didn’t think a man like you would resort to such petty, dirty tricks.” I cornered her by the restrooms, my hand moving to her blouse, undoing the buttons one by one. “Isabelle, there’s a beast I’ve kept caged inside me for a long time. You’re the one who unlocked the cage. Are you just going to walk away and leave it hungry now?” Just as the pale curve of her breast was about to be exposed, she clamped her hand over mine. Her eyes, when they met mine, were shockingly resolute. “Don’t push me, Professor. I told you, our transaction is over. Don’t try to use my job to threaten me. I may be an ant trying to shake a tree, but if I make our story public… even if no one believes me, even if I have no evidence… it would still damage your reputation, wouldn’t it?” Her voice was cold and steady. “You value your reputation above all else. You wouldn’t want to tarnish it, would you?” She then proceeded to button her blouse, her gaze never wavering from mine. I let out a soft, sharp laugh. To kill a snake, you strike it where it’s most vulnerable. I had been too hasty. I had someone look into her background. I needed to understand this sudden, fierce resistance. Once you take the easy road, it’s hard to go back to walking the hard path. The report arrived on my phone that afternoon. It turned out Isabelle’s fiancé had come to the city to be with her. Interesting. According to the file, he had paid for her entire education, from her undergraduate degree through her master’s, with his own labor. They had planned to get married in a month. I sighed, zooming in on a photo of the two of them on my phone. Her fiancé—a man named Rocco—looked like he’d just finished a shift on a construction site, covered in grime. But Isabelle was kneeling beside him, holding a lunchbox, looking at him with a smile of pure adoration. True love… If it was true love, then why did she climb into my bed? Another hypocrite, tainted like the rest. After some thought, I made a call to a friend in real estate. The very next day, Isabelle was in my office. “Professor… was it you?” I feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?” She took a deep breath. “My fiancé… he doesn’t have the connections. No one would just hand him a major construction contract out of the blue. I don’t believe in miracles. So, what is your price?” I gestured behind her. She turned her head. Through the one-way glass of my office wall, she could see Rocco in the hallway, his face alight with a joyous, triumphant smile. I felt her entire body begin to tremble. I stepped closer, putting my arms around her. “Don’t be afraid. He can’t see in. But look at him… look how happy he is. Do you have the heart to shatter that beautiful dream of his?” As she watched him, I pressed her against the cold glass and slipped my hand beneath her blouse. Once you’ve tasted something, you develop a craving. I was beginning to realize I was becoming obsessed with her. The first person to notice my change was my wife. She confronted me, holding up one of my shirts, a smear of lipstick on the collar. “Alistair,” she pleaded, “this was a mistake, wasn’t it?” I could see the desperation in her eyes. She was begging me to lie. How pointless. To come looking for an answer you already know, hoping I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I took the shirt from her calmly. “No, Connie. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’m having an affair.” She began to shake. “But… why?” Why? My mind drifted back to a suffocating summer afternoon decades ago. I was just a junior lecturer back then, a boy from a small town who had clawed his way to the big city. I was called a genius back home, but here, I was just one among many. I had neither top-tier talent nor powerful connections. Advancement seemed impossible. The day before my tenure review, when I had finally understood the unwritten rules of the world and was on the verge of despair, Connie told me she had to work late. The Dean, however, had told me to wait for him in the office next to his. He had something to discuss with me. I assumed he wanted a bribe for the promotion, a bribe I couldn’t afford. But I didn’t wait long.

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I used to be the ex-boyfriend of the survivor base’s ultimate leader. Because of my terrible attitude and spoiled nature, I was despised by everyone and eventually thrown right into a horde of zombies. After miraculously surviving and escaping, I discovered a terrifying truth. My world was actually a post-apocalyptic novel, and I was nothing more than a pathetic, tragic villain meant to die early. To keep myself alive, I decided to completely abandon the main plotline and live a quiet, peaceful life on my own. That was my plan, at least. But one day, the leader of the base suddenly tracked me down. His eyes were completely bloodshot, and the first words out of his mouth were breathless and broken. “I thought I would never see you again.” 1 “Felix, you are being completely unreasonable again.” Kieran’s cold, detached voice rang out right behind me. I jolted, stiffly turning around to meet his gaze. His eyes held nothing but impatience and anger. That familiar, indulgent love he used to reserve only for me was entirely gone. Normally, I was at least a little intimidated by him. I do not know what got into me this time, but my temper snapped, and I screamed right back at his face. “Yes! I am being unreasonable! What exactly are you going to do about it?” Kieran clearly did not expect such a fiery outburst from me. A second later, his rage spiked. His intimidating aura crashed down over me like a tidal wave, completely crushing my brief moment of bravery. His face darkened so much it looked like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Felix, have I been too lenient with you?” My anger was still there, but my courage had officially checked out. I am not an idiot. I can tell the difference between Kieran being annoyed and Kieran being genuinely furious. When he truly loses his temper, he becomes terrifying. “Dinner is ready, so I am leaving.” I dropped that single sentence and bolted. Nothing matters more than eating in the apocalypse. As long as I mentioned food, Kieran would not keep picking a fight. Sure enough, I had not walked far before that chilling pressure behind me vanished, replaced only by his muffled, frustrated sigh. We only had a little argument. Did he really need to be that fiercely intimidating? My nose stung slightly, and I cursed him in my head. What a petty jerk. 2 On the way back to our quarters, people on the street shot me dirty, hostile glares. I glared right back, fierce and unyielding. The people in the base absolutely hated me. Ordinary folks worked the fields to earn their keep. Those with combat abilities risked their lives outside the walls killing zombies. I was the only one living like a delicate parasite, clinging tightly to Kieran for survival. I never thought there was anything wrong with that. It was a mutual agreement between two consenting adults. What right did anyone else have to judge us? But people still constantly harassed me, claiming they were acting on behalf of the base and trying to “save” Kieran from my toxic influence. My first major fallout with Kieran happened because I got into a physical fight. Someone was talking trash about me behind my back, and I happened to overhear it. I had zero combat power, so it was a completely one-sided beatdown. I looked incredibly pathetic by the end of it. But the part that infuriated me the most was Kieran. He did not check on my injuries first. Instead, he walked over and apologized to the guy who beat me up. I gave him the silent treatment for three days after that. He eventually went on a scavenging run and brought back a box of rare chocolate to beg for my forgiveness. Lately, our arguments had become far more frequent. At first, Kieran would at least pretend to coax me out of my bad moods. As time went on, the bastard stopped trying entirely. He refused to say a single comforting word, always using meal times as a cheap excuse to break the ice. Eat, eat, eat! I hoped he would choke on his food. Kieran had just brutally scolded me in front of the entire base again, stripping away every ounce of my dignity. I was supposed to be his boyfriend, yet he never once defended me. He just stood there and allowed them to humiliate me. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I marched right up to Kieran and demanded a breakup. He stayed completely silent, staring down at me with those pitch-black, bottomless eyes. After a long agonizing moment, he let out a dark sneer. “Felix, what exactly gives you the delusion that you can survive out there without me?” All my righteous anger instantly deflated. He was right. I did not know how to kill zombies, and I was terrified of scavenging for supplies. My food, water, and shelter all depended entirely on him. Kieran and I actually met before the apocalypse ruined the world. Back then, he was just a nameless, poor kid. I still have no idea where he got the audacity to think he was worthy of courting someone from my social class. But he was incredibly handsome. In a crowd of utterly average faces, his sharp, striking looks were a breath of fresh air. Having him around was good for my eyes. Relying entirely on his pretty face, I decided to give him a chance. After we got together, Kieran was completely obedient. If I told him to walk east, he would never dare look west. I can confidently say that my current terrible temper is at least fifty percent his fault! I just did not understand how things had devolved into this nightmare. The base residents held a deep, venomous grudge against me, acting as if I had dragged their majestic, awe-inspiring leader into the gutter. The pure contempt in their eyes made my blood boil. If it were not for this godforsaken apocalypse, people with their low status would not even be qualified to tie my shoes! And Kieran was no longer my shield. He stopped prioritizing my feelings, and whenever I got into a shouting match, he blamed me without even asking what happened! It is true what they say. The moment a man gains power and status, his heart completely changes. 3 To vent my bitter frustration, I waited until Kieran was sound asleep in the middle of the night. Then, I planted my foot firmly against his sculpted abs and kicked him right off the bed. While he was still inhaling sharply on the floor, trying to process the pain, I moved like lightning. I grabbed the heavy quilt, threw it entirely over his head, and delivered several blind punches to his skull. Finally, I bolted out of the bedroom like a frightened rabbit, locked the door from the outside, and casually made myself comfortable on the living room sofa. Kieran violently twisted the doorknob a few times. He started pounding on the wood. His hoarse, deeply agitated voice seeped through the door. “Felix, what the hell are you throwing a tantrum over now?” I completely ignored him. A few minutes later, his voice dropped into a terrifying, bone-chilling octave. “Fine, Felix. If you have any guts at all, do not ever come back into this room.” I curled up tighter on the sofa and sniffled. Why should I listen to you? I will go wherever I please! When daylight finally broke, the harsh sunlight pierced my eyes, making me scowl. After the apocalypse, the flora, fauna, and even the sun’s rays had mutated to become incredibly harsh and burning. If Kieran did not specifically hunt down high-grade sunscreen for me during his supply runs, my skin would have peeled off a long time ago. I pulled the soft blanket up to my chin, happily dozing off again before my brain caught up with reality. Wait, a blanket? I snapped my eyes open, a smug grin spreading across my face. Oh, Kieran. Even when we are in a bitter cold war, you still obediently sneak out to tuck me in. Feeling like I had finally scored a victory, my mood skyrocketed. I decided I might actually give him a decent smile when he came back. Kieran had specifically warned me to never leave our housing sector. I did not have any friends in the base anyway, so I usually spent my entire day locked safely indoors. But I never expected trouble to come knocking directly on my front door. Looking at the fierce, vicious men blocking my entryway, my stomach dropped. Usually, when Kieran was around, I would confidently hurl insults right back at them. But when he was gone, I absolutely never dared to provoke them. These men chopped off zombie heads without blinking. My neck was significantly softer than a rotting corpse’s. The burly man in the front crossed his arms. “Felix, we are not trying to make things difficult for you. But lounging around being utterly useless every single day is getting a bit ridiculous, do you not think?” I swallowed hard, desperately trying to maintain my usual arrogant, superior facade. “Did Kieran not make it clear to you? I belong to him. He contributes more than enough for the both of us. Do you really dare go against his orders?” The men erupted into cruel, mocking laughter. “You really still think you are some precious treasure? Commander Kieran already has a new lover. A smart person would take the hint, pack up quietly, and leave with some shred of dignity. You better start thinking about your own survival.” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I stood completely frozen. A new lover? Kieran found someone else? Why did I not know about this? A tidal wave of absolute terror consumed me. In that moment of panic, I did not even stop to question if their words were true. The thugs kept talking. “Honestly, you are the most pathetic waste of space in this entire base. Even the street walkers know how to use their bodies to please a man and earn their keep. But you? You hide behind the Commander’s protection, parading around like you own the place. A whore should at least have the self-awareness of a whore. Since you clearly do not know how to serve a man, you are coming outside the walls to scavenge with us.” My eyes widened in sheer horror. I had spent all this time perfectly sheltered under Kieran’s wings, completely oblivious to the real, lethal dangers of the apocalypse. I was still acting like the spoiled rich kid I used to be. I fought tooth and nail, refusing to go with them. But my scrawny arms were no match for grown, battle-hardened men. I was brutally dragged and tossed into the back of their armored truck. The vehicle violently rumbled out of my familiar, safe haven. Separated by a single concrete wall, one side was humanity, and the other was absolute hell. I finally witnessed the true, unfiltered apocalypse. The putrid, rotting stench in the air was so thick I could barely breathe. In that moment of nausea, I finally understood why Kieran always scrubbed himself raw in the shower before he even tried to touch me. The last time I had faced a zombie up close was at the very beginning of the outbreak. Back then, the infection rate was low, and society was still desperately holding onto a shred of order. Kieran had grabbed my hand and fought his way out of our university campus, dragging me through unspeakable horrors until we reached this city and built the survivor base. Sitting in the truck, I desperately missed his warmth. He loved me so deeply back then. Could he really betray me for someone else? Or perhaps he truly did love me once, but my terrible behavior finally pushed him past his breaking point, and he simply decided I was not worth loving anymore? 4 The truck screeched to a halt in a desolate, ruined city. The streets looked completely dead and abandoned. Was there actually anything left to scavenge here? I eyed the men suspiciously as they prepared to disembark. I desperately wanted to stay in the vehicle, but I was too terrified to remain alone. If a horde swarmed the truck, these men would absolutely never come back to save me. After weighing my terrible options, I shakily followed them out. We entered a massive, crumbling department store. The shelves were completely barren and coated in a thick layer of grey dust. It looked like the place had been picked clean years ago. Suddenly, a violent tremor shook the concrete floor beneath my feet. By the time I realized what was happening, the men were already sprinting toward the exit at top speed. My brain short-circuited. Pure instinct took over, and my legs carried me after them. The men piled into the truck, slammed the doors, and the engine roared to life. They were not waiting for me! They intentionally brought me out here to dispose of me! The realization hit me like a physical blow. Uncontrollable, suffocating terror gripped my throat. “Do not leave! Wait! Please do not leave me behind!” I sprinted after the tires with everything I had, but the truck left me entirely in the dust. They were gone. And I was completely surrounded by the undead. As the rotting, foul-smelling corpses dragged their feet closer and closer, I accepted my fate and squeezed my eyes shut. The ruined city was blanketed by a thick, oppressive layer of grey clouds. Amidst the gloom, a gust of wind carrying the stench of blood and decay swept through the street. A large, reinforced cargo truck slowly pulled to a stop nearby. The noise attracted a few straggling zombies on the road. Before the monsters could even lunge, a group of people hopped out of the truck, wielding heavy blades. With terrifying efficiency, they severed the rotting heads from their bodies. Startled by the commotion, I peeked through the narrow crack of the rusted dumpster I was currently hiding inside. Their combat movements were brutally efficient. The three men in the group barely even blinked, decapitating zombies with single, fluid strikes. After clearing the immediate area, the group began packing up, preparing to leave. Panic surged through my chest. I did not care if they were saints or murderers. This city had been dead for years, and who knows when I would ever see living humans again. I scrambled out of the filthy dumpster and sprinted awkwardly toward them. Hearing footsteps, they instantly assumed I was a running mutant. One of the men whipped out a machete and swung it directly at my skull. I shrieked, dropping to my knees and covering my head. “Please do not kill me! I am human! I am a good person!” The sharp blade halted a millimeter above my scalp. A few strands of my severed hair fluttered to the asphalt. I sat completely paralyzed on the ground, a cold sweat drenching my back. The man stared down at me, his face an absolute mask of ice, and slowly lowered his weapon. 5 Another man strolled over, crouching down to inspect me with wide, amused eyes. “Well, look at that! A living, breathing human in this hellhole!” A second later, his cheerful expression twisted in absolute horror. He violently stumbled backward. “Holy crap! What is that smell?! You are going to suffocate me!” My face burned bright red. I lowered my head in deep shame. “I am so, so sorry.” A young woman with short, practical hair stepped up to me. “Can you tell me why you are completely alone out here?” She scratched her head, looking puzzled. “Or rather, how are you even alive right now?” The dam finally broke. The memory of those bastards tossing me into a zombie horde flooded my mind, and I started sobbing uncontrollably. By all logic, I should have been ripped to shreds within two seconds. But for some inexplicable reason, the surrounding zombie horde suddenly scattered into the alleys. Clutching my painfully racing heart, I had frantically crawled into this dumpster and stayed paralyzed in the filth for two entire days. I fully believed I would either be eaten alive or starve to death in the dark. I never expected to be saved. Through choked sobs, I briefly explained how my squad had maliciously abandoned me to die. The short-haired girl’s eyes softened with instant sympathy and outrage. My eyes were red and swollen, tears pooling pitifully in my lashes. I looked exactly like a tragic, helpless victim who had been cruelly betrayed. I had absolutely zero leverage or survival skills. Playing the pathetic, harmless victim was my only strategy to win their sympathy. Thankfully, my fragile appearance and tragic story successfully lowered their guards. “Can you please take me with you? I promise I will not be a burden. I can do anything you ask, just please do not leave me in this place.” The girl turned her head, looking at the three men for permission. The guy who had complained about my smell gave a lazy, indifferent shrug. “Might as well bring him. Look at how scrawny he is. It is not like he is going to eat much of our rations.” I immediately nodded frantically. “Yes! Exactly! I barely eat anything at all!” The other two men remained silent, which in the apocalypse essentially meant yes. Just like that, I climbed into the back of their cargo truck and finally left that city of nightmares behind. I had narrowly escaped death, and I should have been overjoyed. But a heavy, suffocating dread settled in my chest instead. During those two terrifying days huddled in the dumpster, a flood of bizarre, cinematic visions had violently forced their way into my brain. Every single vision was about Kieran. The Kieran in my mind felt terrifyingly unfamiliar. He did not look like the man who sighed helplessly at my tantrums, nor the man who scolded me with a stern face. He radiated a bone-chilling, absolute frost. He barely looked like a man with a beating heart. In those visions, I was completely absent. He stood entirely alone, ruling with an iron fist, slaughtering his enemies, expanding his territory, and ultimately ascending to become the absolute sovereign of the wasteland. At the very end of those flashing memories, a line of glowing text appeared in my mind. Commander Kieran was no longer the underdog a piece of trash like Felix could humiliate. He was the sole hope of humanity, destined to lead the survivors and ensure the fire of civilization never extinguished. Reading that sentence and piecing all the memories together, the horrific truth became crystal clear. This world was a published novel. Kieran was the unstoppable protagonist. And I was just a petty, malicious early-game villain who bullied him when he was weak. A worthless cannon fodder destined to be torn apart by zombies at the very beginning of the story.

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