Category: English

Sienna had told me to dump him about eight hundred times. Each time, I’d hesitate, weeping into my hands. “But he treats me so well.” Sienna would just roll her eyes and tell me to go jump off a bridge. It wasn’t until I found another package of lingerie—meant for Liam, but definitely not from me—that I finally listened to her. Even when he was on his knees begging, I didn’t look back. I was driving over to Sienna’s place to give her the good news when her Instagram post popped up on my feed. A hard launch. The caption read: How could the pavement ever understand the moonlight? She never knew you. I do. The photo was intimate. Liam, eyes red from crying, and Sienna leaning in to kiss his cheek, a consoling angel. Someone commented, accusing her of being the other woman. She replied without a shred of shame: If she could be fooled by a few cheap pieces of lingerie I mailed to her house, how can she claim she really loves him? Besides, she’s so plain. She doesn’t deserve Liam the way I do. I slammed on the brakes and whipped the car around. I was in such a rush to confront her that I didn’t see the oncoming traffic. I died on impact. Then, I opened my eyes. Reborn. Or reset. I was back in the parking lot. I immediately blocked Sienna on everything, got into my car, and prepared to drive away forever. That’s when a woman, her face masked in blood, started pounding on my window. “Mara! Save me! That’s not me!” 1 I froze, hand hovering over the ignition. Outside, the woman was slapping the glass frantically. Her features were a ruin of blood and gore, but I’d known Sienna for thirteen years. I knew the shape of her eyes, the set of her jaw. That was her. But I had just left her upstairs. We had just argued. She was sitting in her living room fuming. How could she be here, battered and bloody? “Mara! Unlock the door!” She yanked at the handle, looking over her shoulder in terror. Like something was hunting her. Thinking of what Sienna—the Sienna upstairs—had done in my past life, a chill crawled up my spine. What if… what if Sienna had been replaced? The Sienna I grew up with wasn’t the type to steal a boyfriend. She wasn’t competitive like that. I looked at the desperate, terrified woman outside my window. I decided to trust my gut. “Quick! Get in!” I blinked hard. And suddenly, I was just sitting in the driver’s seat. Alone. I turned my head. The window was rolled down. The wind was hitting my face, cold and sharp. There was no one banging on the glass. Did I… did I just nod off? “Mara, get back here!” Sienna came storming out of the apartment building entrance. Her face was clean. No blood. Just anger. “What do you mean ‘he treats you well’? You don’t want to break up with him?” She looked exactly as she had in my previous life. Furious, protective. “How many times has he ‘accidentally’ received lingerie from some mystery woman? And this time it was used! The mistress is practically dancing on your grave, and you’re still nostalgic?” The exact same words. In my past life, whenever a package arrived, I’d run to her crying. And she would say, without hesitation: “Dump him.” But I always felt I should let Liam explain. And every time he did, I’d send Sienna a text: It was all a misunderstanding. We’re good now. It used to drive her crazy. But now, looking at her indignation, I remembered the post she made after she took Liam from me. It wasn’t in vain, telling her to break up for so long. Every time I mailed those packages, I was terrified she’d figure out it was me. I tried so hard to confuse her. Finally, she’s not thinking with her heart anymore. I won. I opened the car door and stepped out. I looked down at her from the curb. “Sienna. We’re done.” Her pupils contracted. “You’re ending our friendship over a guy?” “Did I stutter?” “Mara, we’ve known each other for thirteen years. You’ve only known him for three!” Exactly. So why did you stab me in the back? I stared her down. “Yes. We’re done.” “Fine.” She pointed a manicured finger at me. “When he ruins your life, don’t come crying back to me!” She spun around and stomped back upstairs. For a second, I felt a wave of dizziness. She sounded so much like the Sienna I knew. The real one. If I had said those words to the Sienna I thought I knew, she wouldn’t have reacted any differently. I shook my head. The truth of the last life had been revealed. I couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much I wanted to believe in her. Even though the bloody Sienna was just a nightmare, the Sienna upstairs who plotted against me wasn’t any different from a stranger. This friendship was ending in the ugliest way possible. I got back in the car and rolled up the window. As I reached for the gear shift, my eyes locked onto the glass. There, printed clearly against the sunlight. A chaotic mess of bloody handprints. Right where the woman in my dream had been pressing. I looked up toward the apartment complex. Behind the curtains of Sienna’s bedroom window, a pair of eyes seemed to be watching me dead on. 2 I wiped the window clean. People from dreams don’t leave physical evidence. Sienna’s complex was full of unruly kids. I decided it had to be a prank. When I got home, there was another package on my doorstep. I opened it. Purple lace stockings and a matching corset. Reeking of cheap, heavy perfume. In my last life, my first reaction was to scream at Liam. Then I’d go cry to Sienna. But now, I knew exactly who had sent it. The image of the bloody face from my dream flashed in my mind. My hand clenched around the stockings. If the Sienna upstairs isn’t the real Sienna, then the real one must be… I thought about it. I needed to go back to her apartment. To avoid suspicion, I baked a “peace offering” cake. When I showed up at her door with a fruit cake, her first instinct was to slam the door in my face. I jammed my foot in the gap, putting on my best pathetic face. “Sienna, please! That woman sent more underwear to provoke me! I know I was wrong. He’s trash! Absolute trash!” Sienna eyed me with suspicion. I pouted. “Please, Sienna. Without you, who’s going to help me destroy him?” She let out a cold laugh. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this once.” The door opened. I walked in, my eyes scanning everything. I was looking for any sign of a struggle, any trace of a second person. “What’s with you?” She turned around, holding a knife to cut the cake. “You keep looking around. What, you think I’m hiding a man?” She was technically right. But it was strange. Other than her things and mine, there was no trace of a third person. If the bloody Sienna from my dream was here, she would have left a trail. I watched her slice the cake. Maybe… maybe I was wrong? “Did that loser boyfriend of yours finally make you lose your mind?” Sienna forked a piece of cake and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed enthusiastically. “Hey, the frosting isn’t bad this time.” I stared at her mouth. My heart stopped. Sienna was deathly allergic to mangoes. I had deliberately filled the middle layer with mango puree to test her. And this person, who was eating it without a care in the world… Who is she? 3 “What’s wrong?” She looked at me, chewing on a piece of mango pulp. My face went pale. My legs felt heavy, like lead. “Nothing…” “If it’s nothing, then eat!” She smiled and handed me a fork. I hesitated, taking it. Under the sleeve of my sweater, my other hand had already dialed 911 on my phone. My hand trembled as I reached for the cake. Slap! Her expression darkened instantly. She smacked my hand away. “What are you doing?” “Sienna?” I looked at her, shocked by the sudden shift in her demeanor. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Why are you trying to eat the mango?” She stared at me with intense, terrifying focus. My breathing hitched. Did she know? Did she know I was testing her? “You’re allergic to mangoes. Did you forget?” “What?” I pointed at myself. Me? Allergic to mangoes? Since I was a kid, mango had been my favorite fruit. Sienna was the one with the allergy. “Did that guy drive you crazy? You forgot your own fatal allergy?” Sienna glared at me. I looked at her. I put the piece of mango from the fork into my mouth. I stared right back. “Sienna, watch closely. The person allergic to mangoes has never been me. It’s you.” Her face went white. “Mara…” “So, tell me. Who the hell are you?” She looked at me in shock. “Speak!” I stood up to grab her collar. Suddenly, my throat seized up. Tighter than a vise. I fell to my knees, clawing at my neck. I looked down at my arm and saw angry red hives erupting across my skin. “I told you! I told you that you were allergic, why won’t you listen!” Sienna was on her phone, screaming. “Hello? 911? My friend is having a severe allergic reaction! Mangoes! Please hurry!” Mango allergy… Me? That’s impossible. Sienna was the one allergic to mangoes. Always. Thud. I collapsed onto the floor. The last thing I heard was Sienna’s frantic, terrified voice calling my name. 4 When I woke up in the hospital, I still refused to believe I was the one with the allergy. Until the diagnosis report was thrown in my lap. The doctor frowned. “You were admitted to this very ward as a child for acute anaphylaxis. Did I not tell you explicitly that you could never touch a mango again? Not even the juice?” I looked at the words Mango Allergy typed clearly on the paper. I turned a look of disbelief toward Liam. He sighed, sitting by the bed. “Mara, when we first started dating, you told me you were allergic. I’ve been keeping mangoes away from you for three years. Did you really forget?” My mind wasn’t on the cheating anymore. I crushed the medical report in my fist. A terrifying thought took root in my brain. What if… what if I’m the one who’s sick? Not just the allergy. But everything else. That afternoon, I found myself sitting in the psychiatric ward. 5 “I am absolutely certain the lingerie I received wasn’t fake.” I dumped the pile of lace and silk onto the doctor’s desk. The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow. “So, I don’t believe that what’s happening to me is illogical. Take the underwear. Take the bloody handprints on my car. The mango allergy… maybe that was an accident.” I had just been reborn, after all. Maybe I got some wires crossed during the reset. But Sienna’s betrayal in my past life—that wasn’t a mistake. The doctor adjusted her glasses and sighed. “You’re right. These objects are real. But the lingerie…” She turned my phone around and slid it across the desk. “I found a different story on your device.” The Amazon app was open. It was logged into a secondary account. I clicked on the order history. Page after page. It was all lingerie. The most recent purchase? Purple lace stockings and a corset. And a bottle of heavy perfume. I slumped back into the chair. For the past year… all those packages I received… I bought them? I looked over at Sienna. Does that mean… she actually thought Liam was cheating on me? That she was trying to protect me? And Liam. He sat beside me, holding my hand, and sighed. “So you were buying them for me? I thought someone was trying to break us up, pretending to be a mistress. I spent months trying to track down the sender.” The doctor pushed her glasses up her nose again. “As for the bloody handprints, I asked a friend in law enforcement to pull the street surveillance.” She played the video on her tablet. It showed me stumbling down the stairs. My hands were covered in red paint or dye from somewhere. I looked drunk, unable to figure out the door handle. I smeared red handprints all over the window and the handle. I accidentally triggered the window to roll down. Finally, I managed to open the door, got in, and passed out in the driver’s seat. When I woke up in the video, I looked at the open window with total confusion. “So, Ms. Mara. The bloody handprints? You left them.” I stared in disbelief as she placed a diagnosis on the table. Delusional Disorder. She spoke calmly. “Or perhaps a form of dissociative identity disorder. You do things that are out of character, and then you forget them. Based on the timeline, you’ve been suffering from this for a while.” So… In my past life, when I thought Liam was cheating and Sienna was stabbing me in the back… It was all me? I was directing the whole play? Liam gripped my trembling shoulders and pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay. I actually noticed something was off. I’m ready to face this with you.” Sienna grabbed my hand too. “Don’t be scared, bestie. We’ve known each other for thirteen years. We can get through anything. I’ll help you get better.” Tears welled up in my eyes. No one betrayed me. From start to finish, it was just my broken mind. “Doctor? Is it curable?” Liam asked, his voice full of worry. The doctor looked down, writing a prescription. “It can be controlled with medication. At the very least, she won’t see things that aren’t there, and she won’t act out anymore.” Liam squeezed me tighter. “See? There’s a solution. Don’t be afraid.” I nodded vigorously. I looked at Sienna. No, I should say… the Sienna I was hallucinating. Because standing right behind the Sienna holding my hand… was the bloody woman again. “Mara…” She took a step forward, leaving a wet, red footprint on the tile. “I told you… that’s not me.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “What is it?” the doctor asked. “Nothing. Just another hallucination,” I said, pointing behind Sienna. “I see the bloody version of Sienna again.” The doctor smiled gently. “Don’t worry, once you take the meds…” She followed my finger. Her words died in her throat. “AAAAHHH!” She fell out of her chair, scrambling backward. “Run! Run!” Sienna turned around. Her face went pale at the exact same moment Liam’s did. “RUN!” 6 The doctor shoved me aside and bolted out the door. The last thing I remember was the back of my head cracking against a metal filing cabinet. Then, darkness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Liam let out a breath and stroked my hair. “Does it hurt? Do you know who I am? You didn’t knock yourself stupid, did you?” “Liam!” I grabbed his wrist. “Where is Sienna?” “You rang?” Sienna walked in the door carrying three takeout containers. “I go out to get us food and you miss me already?” I froze. “How are you guys so calm?” Sienna blinked. “What do you mean? The doctor said it’s just a mild concussion. You just bumped your head.” “No!” I tried to sit up. “You saw it! Both of you! Why are you acting like nothing happened?” Sienna blinked again. “Saw what?” “You!” “I’m right here.” “No… the other one! The bloody one!” I gestured wildly, frustration boiling over. “You definitely saw her! You guys screamed!” Their expressions shifted. A micro-second of a glance passed between them. Sienna stepped forward and hugged me. “Okay, Mara, relax. You fell. You hit your head. You’re hallucinating again.” “It wasn’t a hallucination!” I pushed her away. “You saw it. I know you saw it! You were terrified!” “Okay, okay.” A hand clamped over my mouth. Liam cleared his throat. “Honey, you’re remembering it wrong.” “I am not!” “Really, Mara. We…” Sienna looked at Liam again. “We didn’t see anything.” I nodded slowly. “Fine. You didn’t see it. But someone else definitely did.” I swung my legs out of bed. I marched down the hall and kicked open the door to the psychiatrist’s office. I pointed a finger at the doctor from before. “She saw it!”

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I was about to give birth, my body wracked with contractions, yet my husband stood there, his face a mask of cold indifference, barring my entry to the delivery suite. “You don’t deserve this VIP suite,” Harrison said, his voice flat. I collapsed to the floor, clutching my stomach as pain tore through me. A gaggle of relatives approached, wrapping their snickers in faux whispers. “Harrison, you truly have the patience of a saint. You spent three years coaxing this counterfeit heiress to carry your child, but from now on, you’ll only acknowledge the real one.” Moments later, Veronica, the “real” daughter who had been switched at birth twenty years ago, walked past me. She was wearing the same maternity gown I was. Supported gently by Harrison’s arm, she glided into the VIP suite. Nurses swarmed them, ushering them away. I tried to struggle to my feet, but my own biological parents held me down. My father, Dr. Whitman, the hospital director, spoke with a heavy, final tone. “Veronica’s constitution is weak. She can’t handle stress. The VIP resources must go to her.” My mother, a former head nurse, wiped a tear from her eye. “Sarah, Veronica suffered so much living on that farm. She’s finally home. Don’t fight her for this.” My grandmother, Nana Rose, who had always doted on me, let out a sigh. “You stole twenty years of a luxurious life from her. Giving up a delivery room is the least you can do. Consider it a bargain.” They ignored the plummeting heart rate of my unborn child. They ignored the medical indicators screaming for a C-section. They wheeled me toward a general ward for a natural birth. I gripped the hem of my gown until my knuckles turned white. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. But the corner of my mouth twitched upward. I couldn’t hide the smile. 1 After failing to find any family members willing to sign for me, the nurse handed me a thick stack of surgical consent forms. I signed without hesitation. As the pen lifted from the paper, a mechanical prompt echoed in my mind. “Host life threat detected. Trigger ‘Cost Liquidation’ mode to exit?” Trigger, I recited silently in my heart, my fingertips pale from the pressure. “Please confirm liquidation targets: Husband Harrison King, Father Dr. Whitman, Mother Linda Whitman?” Add one more. I watched Nana Rose through the open door, standing on her tiptoes, haggling with the nurse for the “most economical” natural birth package. My voice was ice. And Veronica. “Liquidation targets locked. Host vital signs currently meet the criteria for ‘Desperate Counterattack.’ Initiate immediate protection mechanism?” Initiate immediately. I had arranged everything long ago. Even the midwives were my own hires; I hadn’t let my parents’ staff near me. The nurse came back, looking uncomfortable. She told me the family’s consensus was to use the cheapest package just to get the baby out. Even the consent form regarding “save the mother or the child” had been left to me to decide. My heart turned to ash. I grabbed the nurse’s hand, pleading. “Give me the best natural birth package available. I have my own money.” This was my twenty-fifth year in this world, and the first year since Veronica had been found and brought home. Before her return, I was the princess, held in the palm of this family’s hand. In my original world, I had a miserable marriage and parents who favored my brother. So when the System first approached me, I refused to leave. I wanted to accompany my parents and Nana Rose into their old age. Now, it seemed, it was all smoke and mirrors. All they cared about was the blood that bound them. Ten minutes passed. The delivery team the nurse summoned saw that my vitals clearly indicated a need for a C-section. They called the family in again. Nana Rose walked in, clutching the consent forms, her face a storm of displeasure. “Your belly looks heavy, but the baby isn’t that big. What do we need all these people for? Stop thinking about a C-section. You think our money grows on trees?” The doctor couldn’t stand it and interjected. “The fetal heart rate is dropping rapidly. We need to operate immediately.” I was sweating profusely from the pain, but Nana Rose dismissed everyone else, claiming she needed to speak with me alone. She walked up to the bed and held up her phone, her voice dropping to a threat. “Everyone is busy with Veronica. You be a good girl. There’s twenty percent of the company shares waiting to be transferred to your name after the birth. If you don’t cooperate, you won’t see a dime.” I looked at my grandmother, usually so gentle, now glaring at me with undisguised disgust. It was as if the love she had shown me for decades never existed. I reached out to press the nurse call button. She slapped my hand away. She picked up the phone and barked an order. “Send two men in. This girl isn’t cooperating. She still wants a C-section. She’s obviously trying to compete with Veronica!” Moments later, two bodyguards carrying stun batons walked into the delivery room. 2 I screamed for help, but Nana Rose clamped her hand over my mouth and nose. “This is our hospital,” she hissed. “You could scream until your throat bleeds, and no one would come.” Harrison pushed the door open then, carrying a gift bag from a high-end jeweler. He frowned when he saw me, drenched in sweat, my lips ghostly pale. “We’re doing this for your own good, Sarah. Natural birth has a faster recovery time. I’ve already spoken to the doctor.” “Spoken to them? You mean you told them to suppress my C-section indicators?” I slowly lifted my head, my gaze sweeping over their evasive faces. “Harrison, last week you told me the company had cash flow issues. You made me mortgage the house I bought two years ago. Was that just to get cash for Veronica?” Harrison’s face flushed red. “What are you talking about? That was strictly company business.” “Is that so? And maxing out my supplementary card to buy a twenty-thousand-dollar bag for a ‘client’—was that real too?” I let out a bitter laugh. Suddenly, a sharp, tearing pain radiated from my abdomen. The fetal heart monitor began to scream an alarm. Harrison looked panicked for a second, then composed himself. “Stop screaming! You’re making it worse by getting agitated. Dr. Lee is coming. She’ll handle it.” “Handle it? You’re forcing me to forego surgery because you want me and the baby dead. That way, you and Veronica can be together legitimately, right?” My body shook with agony. The System prompt chimed in my head. “Immediate protection mechanism active. Automatically contacting the emergency team from the rival Tier-1 Trauma Center. Estimated arrival: ten minutes. Evidence of Dr. Lee’s malpractice detected. Synchronizing with the State Medical Board reporting channel.” Dr. Lee rushed in. Her face paled when she saw the numbers on the monitor. She opened her mouth to speak, but after catching a glimpse of Nana Rose’s dark expression, she steeled herself. “Don’t be nervous. It’s just Braxton Hicks. I’ll give you something to suppress the contractions…” “No need.” Dr. Lee’s hand trembled in confusion, dropping the syringe to the floor. Harrison grabbed my wrist, his brow furrowed tight. “What the hell are you trying to do?” I waved my phone, a weak smile curling my lips. “Nothing much. Just letting you know that I’ve been livestreaming everything in this room.” “I met the criteria for a C-section thirty minutes ago. You disregarded my life and the life of my child. The internet will call the police for me.” Harrison signaled the bodyguards. They swarmed forward, smashing my phone to pieces. The men pinned me down, rendering me immobile. Harrison walked up to me, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and grabbed my chin. “You still think you’re the Princess of the King family? You’re nothing but a switched-at-birth mistake! A mutt!” “Even if you meet the surgical standards, so what? Until Veronica delivers safely, there is no place for you.” I suddenly laughed. “So, in a hospital this big, other mothers’ lives are worthless?” I struggled furiously. Harrison, in a fit of rage, slapped me twice across the face. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. No one raised a hand to wipe it away. Nana Rose stood by, listening to the frantic beep-beep-beep of the alarms, acting as if she heard nothing. Seeing my gaze fixed on her, she sighed lightly. “Veronica is different from you. She can’t handle pain.” I looked down at the amniotic fluid flooding the bed, my eyes reddening. So, I can? The bodyguards didn’t let go. Until, three minutes later, a group of people burst into the delivery room. The police were with them. “We received a report. This hospital is engaging in malpractice. We need to transfer this patient immediately!” 3 The police quickly secured the scene. The chaotic delivery room fell into a stunned silence. When Harrison saw the doctors from the rival hospital checking my vitals, he stepped angrily in front of me. “Sarah! Do you want our family on the front page of every tabloid?!” “Stop this nonsense! Give me your phone and record a clarification video right now!” Just then, my mother, the head nurse, walked in upon hearing the commotion. There were still bloodstains on her white coat. Seeing my body convulsing and my face devoid of color, she asked with concern, “Did the hospital make a mistake in the scheduling? Why are there outside experts here?” My father charged in right after her, furious. He threw my broken phone onto my chest. “The hospital is undergoing its accreditation review! You know that! Are you trying to cause a medical scandal?!” “How cruel can you be? Veronica needs her parents’ warmth right now, yet you force us to come here to deal with you!” My mother saw the blood on my forehead and reached out to wipe it, but Harrison pushed her hand away. “This is all a show she directed herself. She wants sympathy to gain leverage.” Mom muttered a few more words to me, but after receiving an urgent page from the operating room, she dragged Dad away and rushed out. I struggled to sit up, pointing a trembling finger at Harrison. “He blocked my treatment the entire time! Arrest him!” The doctor from the rival hospital saw I was bleeding profusely. He shoved Harrison aside and opened his medical kit to bandage me. With the police watching, Harrison couldn’t get physical. Instead, he pulled out his phone and recorded the rival doctor treating me. He sneered. “Entering an operating room without scrubbing in? You’re a hack. Wait for the lawsuit!” Harrison forwarded the video directly to the hospital board right in front of us, demanding they file a report immediately. Terrified, I called out to the System in my mind. “Host, rest assured. The team filed all necessary paperwork before arrival. The outcome will not be affected.” Relieved, I murmured, “When does the liquidation begin?” The System didn’t reply, but Harrison caught the tail end of my whisper. He pointed at me, enraged. “What liquidation?! Who are you liquidating?!” The doctor finished bandaging me and stared at the latest test results, stunned. “The fetal heart rate dropped three times in the last hour! Preeclampsia is setting in. She’s in critical condition. We need to move her to surgery now!” Harrison didn’t care. He blocked the gurney. “Taking her away won’t help. If I don’t sign, no one dares to operate on her!” The doctor grabbed the diagnostic report and showed it to the police. Finally, with my consent, they pushed me out of the delivery room. I felt fluid leaking continuously from my lower body. I grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. My mother, who had been signing papers nearby, saw the blood soaking my pants. She covered her mouth, her eyes tearing up. “You… it’s this serious? You need a C-section immediately!” Harrison, who had been blocking my exit, recoiled in shock when he saw the blood-soaked bed. Mom held my hand, whispering comfort. “I’ll arrange an operating room for you right now!” My eyes were red as I gripped her wrist. “I have something to tell you.” Just then, the doors to the other operating room opened. Veronica was wheeled out. Harrison immediately grabbed a bouquet of flowers and rushed over, shouting, “You did great, honey!” 4 Dad rushed forward too, carrying two bags of luxury goods. Listening to the family’s joyous celebration, I couldn’t help but speak up. “Can I go in for surgery now?” Harrison walked closer, holding a baby boy, his face twisted in disgust. “Your sister just came out of surgery. The family is gathering around to say a few words. Do you have to be such a killjoy?” The nurse pushed Veronica’s gurney in front of me. She looked at me twice, then handed me a red woven bracelet. “Harrison prayed for this specifically before the birth. I’m passing my good luck to you.” I let out a cold laugh and refused it. Veronica’s eyes instantly reddened. She reached out and tugged at my sleeve. “Is my little sister blaming me? In that situation just now, I really had no choice. The doctor said I needed surgery immediately.” Before I could speak, the relatives Harrison had kept waiting nearby rushed over with gifts. Seeing my dark expression toward Veronica, they voiced their dissatisfaction. “Sarah, you’re both mothers now. Your sister just finished surgery. Isn’t your attitude a bit excessive?” Seeing this, Veronica started to cry. “Don’t blame Sarah. It’s my fault for taking the operating room without asking her. Please don’t be mad at her; it’s bad for the baby.” In the three months since she returned, she had outwardly defended me at every turn. She even insisted on taking the nanny’s room opposite mine, claiming sisters should be close. But behind the scenes, anything I looked at, she would buy at double the price. Then she would fake a smile and say, “Dad told the sales clerk to save the good stuff for me. If you like it, I’ll give it to you.” I snorted and shook off her hand, my tone icy. “Move! I need to give birth!” Unexpectedly, Harrison grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stop. “Apologize to Veronica. Now!” “Harrison!” Veronica’s voice trembled. “Let her go have the baby!” Harrison patted her hand gently to comfort her, but when he turned back to me, his eyes were cold. He enunciated every word. “Sarah, you must apologize to Veronica today. Otherwise, you aren’t going anywhere.” I was shaking from the pain. The contractions in my lower abdomen were coming in rapid waves. But Harrison stood before me like a mountain, with no intention of moving. The surrounding relatives accused me of being immature and willful. I finally snapped. “Harrison King, so you would rather see me and the baby die than forgo this apology, is that it?” Harrison stepped forward, grabbing my hair and forcing my head up. “I don’t want to say it a second time!” The police finally stepped in to control the situation. The monitors beside the bed began to scream their alarms. My consciousness started to blur. I looked at the time. Soon. Five more minutes and I could leave this world completely. Now, all I needed was a push. Fighting through the agony, I ripped the sensors off my body and threw them aside, screaming. “I’m not giving birth! You want me dead? Fine! I’ll die for you right now!” The doctor from the rival hospital saw me giving up and rushed to persuade me. “Don’t be foolish! Your life matters. If the hospital cooperates, we can start surgery in ten minutes.” Harrison exploded in rage. He picked up the monitor and smashed it onto the floor, pointing at me and cursing. “You shrew! What? You want to take revenge on us and extort money?!” The faces of the relatives instantly changed. Mom, having arranged the operating room, stopped in her tracks upon hearing this, looking at me in disbelief. “Sarah, why must you always compete with Veronica? She is different from you.” I laughed out loud, my vision blurring into vague shapes. “Yes, I’m just the fake heiress! I’ll give my life back to you!” Harrison sneered. “Mom, Dad, let’s take Veronica back to the ward first. If she wants to throw a tantrum, let her.” The System’s voice echoed in my mind again. “Host blood loss indicators have reached the agreed value. Detach immediately?” I murmured a response. “Immediately.” The next second, I let out a pained scream and completely passed out. The doctor looked at the heart monitor and panicked. “The patient has lost vital signs!”

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After five years of living apart for work, my husband suddenly bought our son a pair of size 8 toddler shoes. But our son is ten years old. He wears a size 4. I treated it as a joke and posted a picture of the tiny shoes next to my son’s feet on Instagram. The comments section exploded immediately. “He obviously got the address mixed up. That’s for his secret family’s kid.” “Getting the size wrong by a little is excusable, but this? Following for updates!” “Your husband has a new son, honey.” “The internet detectives are never wrong. Waiting for the update where you slap him in the face!” 01 Reading the comments, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I quickly typed a reply: “My husband said the seller shipped the wrong item!” The comments poured in: “Make him post the screenshot!” “Screenshots can be faked. You need to see his order history in person.” The voices of suspicion grew louder. It was just a photo. Simple enough. Besides, it would give me something to talk about with my husband, Mark, since we lived in different cities and ran out of topics often. I sent a text: “Honey, send me a screenshot of the order for those shoes.” Status: Read. A long time passed. No reply. My stomach dropped. Could the internet strangers be right? I immediately shook my head. No. Impossible. Even though we were long-distance, we FaceTimed every day. Our relationship was solid. He would never betray me. But then, things got weird. From the moment I asked for the screenshot, he went MIA. Calls were rejected or rang endlessly. My anxiety spiked. When I got home, my mother-in-law had already picked up our son, Lucas, and dinner was on the table. At the dinner table, I brought up the shoe mix-up as a funny story. “Mom, look at this. Mark bought Lucas these tiny shoes.” Unexpectedly, my mother-in-law looked at the two pairs of shoes. Instead of laughing, her face grew heavy, like she was holding back words. After a silence, she laughed awkwardly. “Oh, you young people and your online shopping. I don’t understand any of it.” She finished her food quickly and started mopping the floor. But while she mopped, she kept glancing at the door. Something was wrong. Usually, when I got home from work, she would leave immediately, saying my father-in-law was waiting for her to cook. So, what was she waiting for today? Just then, a knock came at the door. “Courier pickup for a return?” My mother-in-law dropped the mop, grabbed the box of toddler shoes, and rushed to the door. “Yes, yes. Returning the shoes.” 02 The woman who just claimed she didn’t understand online shopping handled the return code perfectly. Then, she put on her shoes. “Alright, I have to go make dinner for your dad. Tomorrow is Saturday, I’ll pick Lucas up from school Monday afternoon.” I was about to grab her arm and ask what was going on when the security camera on the wall rotated. That meant Mark was watching us right now. “Mom, drive safe.” She left without looking back. I smiled and told Lucas to keep eating. A moment later, my phone rang. I thought it was Mark. Instead, my father-in-law’s booming voice filled the speaker. “Why are you so difficult? What other daughter-in-law has it as easy as you?” “Mark leaves his parents and child behind to work out of state and make money, giving you his paycheck.” “Your mother goes over every day, picks up the kid, cooks, cleans. She’s basically a servant.” “And you? All you do is stir up trouble every day. Is there no end to it?” Before he could finish, I heard a door open on his end, followed by my mother-in-law’s cheerful voice. “Hey, old man! Call your son, tell him the problem is perfectly solved—” My father-in-law cut her off instantly. “What took you so long? I thought you were suffering over there because of those damn shoes… Don’t talk yet, I’m on the phone with Lucas’s mom.” The voice was faint. He probably thought covering the receiver would block the sound, but I heard it clearly. He continued, “I’m telling you, be more understanding of Mark and your mom’s hardships. Don’t embarrass Mark. Save some money! Bye!” I froze. The coordination of this entire family left me stunned and speechless. Everything that happened today seemed to confirm the internet’s dark theories. I made up my mind. Tonight, Mark had to explain this clearly, or this marriage was over. Finally, just before bed, Mark initiated a video call. He looked normal. “Babe, is Dad throwing a tantrum again?” “Don’t take it to heart. He gets like that. Old people talk too much. Don’t lower yourself to his level.” I laughed coldly. “And?” Mark rushed to explain. “Oh, I was in meetings all day. Just finished.” “Parents get old, they act like kids. Don’t listen to whatever Dad said.” I wasn’t stupid. Mark was intentionally deflecting the conflict onto his parents. He was muddying the waters, hoping I wouldn’t bring up the shoes again. I had enough. “Mark, what is the deal with those toddler shoes?” 03 Mark paused, then feigned a sudden realization. “Oh, the shoes! I returned them. I was afraid you wouldn’t be home during the day, so I asked Mom to return them.” I asked for the screenshot; he ignored it and kept dodging. “Send me the screenshot of the order history. Now.” “Fine, hang on.” He hung up. Three minutes later, a screenshot arrived. The time was correct: 10:20 PM tonight. The style was correct. But the size… it wasn’t Lucas’s size 4 (36). It was size 5 (37). Ordering one size up is normal for growing kids. The screenshot looked flawless. Was I being too sensitive about everything today? But… did he really know Lucas’s shoe size? I felt like something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Frustrated, I remembered the thousands of netizens. I posted the screenshot in the comments and pinned it. Within minutes, replies flooded in. “That size is obviously Photoshopped.” “Confirmed. You guys are good!” I asked how they knew. Two comments had thousands of likes. “Kids’ shoes are divided into Toddler/Little Kid and Big Kid sizes. Very few styles are made in the full range of sizes.” It hit me. Right. Toddler sizes usually go up to size 10 or 11. Big Kid sizes start at 1 or 13 and go up to 7. That was why the screenshot looked weird. “That screenshot is from Temu/AliExpress. I found the shop. That shoe doesn’t even exist in size 5.” I opened the app to verify. I found the shop. I scrolled through everything. That shoe wasn’t there in that size. Impossible! I DM’d the user. They quickly sent me a screenshot. The toddler shoe in the photo only went up to size 10 Toddler. “Good thing I screenshot it earlier. It’s gone now. They probably delisted it.” “Your husband has some power, getting a seller to take down a listing.” The evidence was right in front of my face. Who did Mark buy those shoes for? Just then, Lucas walked into the bedroom after finishing his homework. “Mom, this afternoon, Grandma picked me up and asked what size shoes I wear.” I choked back my nausea. “What did you say?” Lucas looked helpless. “I’ve been wearing size 4, but they’re getting tight, so I told her size 5.” He leaned in close, whispering. “While I was doing homework, I heard Grandma call Dad. She told him I wear size 5.” The world spun. I fought the urge to faint. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. 04 Dawn broke with a violent banging on the door. My father-in-law was here. “Pay your mom her salary for the month!” My mother-in-law charged us $1,000 a month to help with pickup, cooking, and cleaning. Because I hadn’t slept, I looked terrible. My father-in-law saw my face and exploded. “You got a problem? Looking for a fight?” “Don’t you dare keep dragging this shoe thing out!” “Mark works hard! Your mom works hard! Hurry up and pay!” Usually, I let it slide. I figured they were old, they wouldn’t change. As long as they were healthy. I never expected them to be this guilty. I blocked the door. “Who’s the guilty one here? Who’s looking for a fight?” “Come back another day. I don’t have cash. Neither Mark nor I have been paid yet.” My father-in-law kicked the security door open, barged in like a thug, and sat on the sofa. “If you don’t pay today, I’m not leaving!” Lucas woke up from the noise and walked out, greeting him politely. “Grandpa, you’re here!” My father-in-law acted like he didn’t see him. His face was full of disgust. He even snorted. “Big and small, no manners!” I didn’t want a fight this early. I dressed Lucas to leave. My father-in-law slapped the coffee table. “If you walk out that door today, don’t come back!” “The Miller family doesn’t keep trash!” He was unreasonable and calling me trash. Heaven wouldn’t tolerate this. I took Lucas out. Before closing the door, I said, “This house was bought after Mark and I married. Even if we divorce, half of it is mine.” Bang. I slammed the door. My father-in-law screamed obscenities from inside. I was taking Lucas to Mark. On the way, Lucas looked heartbroken. “Mom, why do Grandpa and Grandma dislike me?” I was shocked. “How could they dislike you? You’re their biological grandson.” Lucas started crying. “Grandma looks disgusted every time she picks me up.” “She mumbles that I’m a debt collector. She says why didn’t you get hit by a car. She says we are dragging Dad down.” “Grandpa hates me more. He pretends he can’t hear me. Sometimes, he looks at me like I’m scary.” Because of a pair of shoes, I realized that some things had changed a long time ago. What was the truth?

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When we got married, all the Senators and Generals in the district were fighting to be the godfathers of our future children. My husband, a Major, wasn’t in a rush. Every year, he filed a request to delay starting a family. I thought he was just busy with work and not ready to welcome a child. Until I stumbled upon a post by a “Mommy Blogger.” In the post, she shared in detail how she met, fell in love with, and had a child with her current lover. The comments section, however, sensed something was off. “Is the blogger a mistress? Whose legitimate husband doesn’t get a marriage license, doesn’t go public, and isn’t home by 11 PM every night?” “Does the blogger know about this? Does the guy’s wife know?” The mommy blogger admitted her status as a mistress without hesitation, and even bragged, “So what if I’m the other woman? The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel. I just missed the timing to marry him.” “As for his wife, whether she’s a Senator’s daughter or a General’s daughter, no matter how powerful she is, she’s still the loser to me.” The comments section was in an uproar, but I felt like I had fallen into an ice cave. Because from those scattered words, I pieced together a terrifying truth. That clueless, pitiful wife was me. 1 These past few days, Ethan Sterling had been leaving early and returning late, so busy he couldn’t even eat properly. I knew the military exercise in his district was coming to an end, a critical time. As usual, I helped Ethan tidy up his study, but I saw the final draft of the operation plan on the desk. Without hesitation, I drove to his base, thinking I wouldn’t miss the afternoon briefing. Bored on the road, I scrolled through my phone and saw that mommy blogger’s post. The safety charm bracelet on the man’s wrist in the picture caught my attention. I recognized it at a glance. It was the bracelet I hand-made for Ethan’s birthday last year, from polishing the raw materials to braiding it. My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to calm down. But a few minutes after the woman admitted to being a mistress, the post was deleted. My guess verified, I suppressed my trembling hands and clicked on the account’s homepage. The updates weren’t frequent, each one a little woman’s ramblings and some PDA pictures: “Daughter is born! Mr. S calls her Little Dumpling. Looks like another daughter slave!” “Little Dumpling always cries at night, I can’t rest well. Mr. S feels sorry for me and gave me a limited edition necklace.” I knew the owner of this account. It was Bella White, Ethan’s junior from the military academy. The man’s face in the photos was covered, but I was already sure that Mr. S was Ethan, who had been with me for seven years. Until today, the account updated this: “Three years with Mr. S, may we be happy forever!” My hands couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t until I arrived at the base gate that I realized tears had completely blurred my vision. Confront him? Or pretend to know nothing and continue living in confusion? When my consciousness returned, I was already in the family reception room of the base. At the same time I saw Ethan, I also saw the young woman and the stroller beside him. Everything in that account was confirmed. The impact of the pictures turning into reality still almost made me faint. The child in the stroller looked two or three years old, with chubby cheeks, wearing a mini military uniform. Bella wore elegant and playful makeup, exquisite down to her manicured nails. Bella blew on the soup and brought it to Ethan’s mouth. Ethan looked doting, his eyes never leaving her. The child in the stroller didn’t understand, giggling and babbling: “Dada, Mama! Happy!” Ethan clearly hadn’t realized he left the operation plan at home, looking unhurried: “Bella, why did you come to the base today instead of resting at home?” Bella looked嗔怪: “Little Dumpling was sick a few days ago, and you were working non-stop. I felt sorry for you!” So the busy period wasn’t due to the mission, but because the child was sick. Yet I felt sorry for Ethan, sitting in the living room until late at night waiting for him to return. Bella sighed after speaking: “When can I be by your side openly? Little Dumpling is getting bigger, how do I explain to her in the future?” Ethan held Bella’s hand as if making a promise: “I let you call me hubby, and all my comrades only recognize you as their sister-in-law. You’re still not satisfied.” “There are still many chores to deal with at home now. I can’t bear for you to work hard. Chloe does it very handily.” Bella didn’t seem to buy it, frowning: “What about Little Dumpling? How can she do without a father by her side like last time? I don’t mind, but you can’t let Little Dumpling be shameful for her whole life.” Raising my hand, I saw the dazzling matching rings on their ring fingers. That set was the one I had liked for a long time. When ordering, Ethan said the female version wasn’t my size, but to not disappoint me, he specially found a replacement. I thought he loved me, but I didn’t expect the original ring to be on someone else’s hand long ago. 2 I wiped away my tears again and again until my eyes were dry. Bella’s words were harsh, and Ethan became irritable. He pulled at his collar, but still coaxed her with restraint: “Don’t worry, I will give you and Little Dumpling an explanation.” “But think about it, Chloe has been with me for so long. Her dad promoted me a lot before he passed away. I can’t just go back and divorce her suddenly.” Bella threw a tantrum completely, her exquisite eyelashes trembling as she spoke. “What do you mean by that? If you feel so sorry for Chloe, why did you provoke me? Boohoo, poor Little Dumpling, your daddy doesn’t have us in his heart!” The child was too young to understand these words, but seeing Bella cry while holding her, she also started sobbing. The two of them became tearful figures. After all, this was the military base. Even in the family reception room, they couldn’t make a scene. Ethan had to soften his tone even more and hugged the mother and daughter: “Wifey, wifey, I was wrong, okay? Soon, okay? Very very soon, I’ll make you Mrs. Sterling, okay?” I smiled, suddenly feeling relieved. I took out my phone and recorded the scene in front of me, then wiped my tears. I tore the operation plan in my hand into pieces, threw them into the trash can, turned around, and left. On the way back, my phone notification rang. Bella had updated again. This time the picture was two large hands of a man and a woman wrapping a child’s fist, with the caption: “Dear Mr. S, thank you for your promise. I will wear the most beautiful wedding dress to become your wife.” The comments section of this post exploded. I clicked in one by one and found Ethan’s comrades inside. “Ooh ooh, are Officer S and Miss Y finally going to get married?” “I’m crying to death. A family of three must be neat and tidy. Sister-in-law, I will always support you!” “Is the shy junior finally going to marry her dream officer?” Looking at those comments, it would be a lie to say my heart didn’t ache. So everyone knew Ethan had a new “wife,” and only I was kept in the dark. After being busy for so many years, in the end, it seemed like I became the one breaking up someone else’s family. I finished reading all the comments and scrolled to the bottom. In a corner no one noticed, someone mentioned me: “What about S&C?” That comment was the only one not replied to or deleted. As if mocking me, being forgotten, ignored, betrayed. I used to believe Ethan loved me very much. We grew up in the military compound, and we had been married for seven years alone. Ethan and I never had children. He said we were both young and wanted to contribute more to the military, and I didn’t want to be tied down by children. I didn’t know if I should say Ethan was considerate of me or if we coincided. No matter how the family urged, Ethan blocked it for me. Friends and family thought we loved each other and just wanted to live as a couple. Besides busy with my own work, I managed Ethan’s daily life in an orderly manner. He couldn’t do without me for big or small matters. The seven-year itch, I knew it would be cold, but I didn’t expect such a big surprise. I took screenshots of everything for evidence, exited Bella’s homepage, Opened the official website of the Research Institute to register, and unhesitatingly participated in this international scientific research exchange program. It’s time for me to consider myself. 3 My mentor had invited me countless times to participate in exchange programs abroad, but I refused. The reason was funny and simple. Because the exchange was at least four years, I couldn’t bear to leave Ethan in the country. Now it’s fine, everything is in time. I just received the success message after registration when Ethan called. I guess he finally realized he didn’t bring his operation plan. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and watched Ethan call eighteen times in one breath. Seeing that I didn’t answer for a long time, his text bombardment also came: “Chloe, check my desk to see if there is a file bag with the operation plan inside.” “Chloe, why aren’t you answering the phone? Did you see my message?” “Call me back immediately when you see this.” “Chloe, where did you go? Reply to me immediately.” Watching him jumping and breaking down on the other end of the phone, I sneered and turned it off. Back home, I cleaned up the messy things in the house. I packed up the love souvenirs I once cherished and sold them to the scrap collector. The love letters he wrote to me, the military models he made for me, and other miscellaneous things were sold for a total of seventeen dollars and fifty cents, buying out all our emotions. Sure enough, it’s worthless. After packing, I made up for a good sleep. I was woken up by Ethan at night. He questioned me as soon as he got home: “Chloe, where did you go today! I sent you so many messages and called you so many times, why did you ignore me?” I found it a bit ridiculous. Does he really treat me as his orderly, having to be on call at any time? “I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t look at my phone. What’s wrong?” I took my time. Ethan scratched his hair irritably: “I can’t find my operation plan. I might have left it at home and wanted you to send it to me, but it’s okay, I explained to my superiors, I’ll look again tomorrow.” I stretched and didn’t bother to look at him: “Oh, then come back and find it yourself.” Ethan seemed to finally realize my mood was wrong, his voice softened a bit: “What’s wrong, Chloe? Was my voice too fierce just now? I’m sorry, I was just anxious…” I spread my hands, looking indifferent. Anyway, he calls everyone wifey. Who knows how many wives he actually has? “No, I don’t see it at home. Maybe you left it at your other home.” Ethan’s face panicked for a moment, and I quickly added: “After all, you often go to your comrades’ homes for dinner or something, right?” 4 I took in all of Ethan’s wonderful expressions. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and wanted to come over and hug me. Just then his phone rang. Ethan glanced at the phone. It was an unsaved number, but his expression was subtle, then he looked up at me. “Why not answer?” I pretended to be reasonable. Ethan raised his hand and touched my head. I looked at him, suppressing my nausea. “Okay, I’ll listen to you. I’ll go answer it.” Ethan went down the steps, took the phone to the balcony, and started calling. In the past, when he avoided me to answer calls, I assumed they were military calls and gave him enough space. But today is different from the past. This time I quietly hid at the balcony door and heard his conversation. “Didn’t I say don’t contact me when I’m at home? I feel like she was a bit suspicious today.” Ethan’s voice was a bit impatient, trying hard to suppress his temper. Whatever was said on the other end, Ethan sighed and his voice softened: “Good Bella, I didn’t mean that. We want to divorce but we can’t let her find out, can’t let her have leverage, right?” “Mm-hmm, I know, good Bella. I’ll come over right now, okay? You and Little Dumpling just wait for me obediently.” I pretended nothing happened and went back to sit on the bed. Ethan walked out, sat by the bed and wanted to hug me. I dodged calmly: “What’s wrong?” “Chloe, I didn’t bring the operation plan today, and the mission report was postponed. The superiors weren’t very happy. I have to go socialize and apologize today, so I won’t keep you company.” I looked understanding. It wasn’t convenient for me to pack things while he was home anyway. It’s good that he leaves quickly. But I still wanted to see how important Bella was in his heart. “But it’s already late. You haven’t kept me company for days. I miss you.” I spoke against my conscience, suppressing nausea to see his reaction. Ethan looked at his phone, tangled in his heart: “Chloe, I promise you, I’ll keep you company tomorrow, okay? Understand me.” I looked into his eyes, somewhat forgetting his original appearance. The current Ethan made me feel so strange and disappointed. “Okay, go ahead.” Ethan quickly put on his uniform and went out as if liberated. I opened my phone and clicked on Bella’s homepage. Sure enough, there was a new update: “Little Dumpling went to sleep early. One word of loneliness and Mr. S flew back to my side immediately. Tonight I’ll take him down with this lingerie.” The picture was Bella in a sexy nightdress. I turned off my phone, not a shred of expectation left for Ethan. I packed my things and went to bed early. Early the next morning, I printed out the divorce agreement sent by the lawyer, signed it and placed it on the table, along with all the evidence I had collected, and left without looking back. By the time Ethan saw these, I was already on a plane abroad. All I left for Ethan was that divorce agreement and my message: “Ethan Sterling, let’s divorce.”

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The latest episode of The Docket, a legal true-crime series, featured an interview with a hospice worker specializing in psychological counseling for death row inmates. At the end of the segment, the reporter asked him if there was ever a prisoner he couldn’t reach. “I’ve met many who hold onto hope for an appeal, or who deeply regret their choices and wish for a different next life,” he said, his voice measured. “But there was only one inmate who chose immediate execution without hesitation.” “She was an eighteen-year-old girl, and she was once my student. She only said one thing to me.” “‘I never knew that turning love into hate could be so terrifying.’” He showed the reporter the girl’s belongings. “Every inmate leaves a video message for their family, but hers has remained with me. If her family sees this program, I urge them to contact me immediately.” The episode aired, and the online buzz immediately skyrocketed. Some questioned how an eighteen-year-old could so readily embrace death; others condemned the sympathy for a criminal, calling it a secondary injury to the victims’ families. My three older brothers, however, only offered a look of cold disdain before one of them casually muted the television. “Sienna Westlake. Couldn’t even learn to behave in prison. Now she’s colluding with a teacher to put on a show.” “She’s the reason Phoebe is in a wheelchair. I personally handled the defense to secure the death penalty. But I have the plea for leniency drafted. All she has to do is admit her mistake, and she’ll be fine.” “Since she still hasn’t learned her lesson, this month’s visitation is, as usual, denied.” 1 My eldest brother, Carter, was peeling grapes for Phoebe when the interview came on. A man like the CEO of the Westlake Group, who practically operates on a different plane of existence, was meticulously preparing a special, custom-made dish for her. I used to have one, too. Now, it’s sitting on the floor, serving as a dog bowl for Phoebe’s lapdog. My second brother, Rhys, and my third brother, Dean, walked in carrying a selection of gourmet pastries just as the teacher, Dr. Elias Stern, looked into the camera with profound regret. “Perhaps she truly lost the will to live. By the last time I saw her, she was skeletal.” “She was only eighteen, but every time I visited, her eyes were more hollow than the last.” “Initially, she was desperate, constantly applying for family visits. After the seventeenth denial, she simply went silent.” “I only found out later that she had always denied harming anyone since her incarceration. I don’t know why she suddenly chose immediate execution.” “I want to help her. I want to clear her name.” Since the interview was streamed live online, that last statement caused an instant uproar among viewers. Some argued that a death row inmate was just afraid of dying, and that this was more manipulation. The negative comments piled up. The counselor ignored the comments and instead showed the girl’s meager possessions. A solitary butterfly hair clip rested on top of a bloodstained prison uniform. His voice caught slightly. “She was placed in the cell at the end of the corridor, filled with the most hardened criminals.” “Every time I passed by, I heard them holding her head in the toilet, or breaking her shin.” “Her food was routinely laced with scraps of metal; her bedding was thrown into a bucket of slop. She was left to kneel on the floor, night after night.” “I tried to intervene through the glass, but the inmates just said she was being ‘specially taken care of’ and that I should mind my own business.” “I know I have little authority, even though she wasn’t my formal student.” “But I can’t let her last wish go unanswered. I need her family to contact me as soon as possible.” Hearing the details from the hospice worker, the tide of comments began to shift. Some still saw it as a criminal’s just desserts. But others began to dig into the case details: the eighteen-year-old adopted daughter of the Westlake family, in a fit of jealousy, pushed the recently-found true daughter down a flight of stairs, resulting in permanent disability. Then came the questions. Many found the death penalty for intentional injury to be excessively harsh. The amateur investigators dug deeper. They quickly uncovered that the defense attorney who had handled the case was the city’s top, undefeated lawyer—Rhys Westlake, the Westlake family’s second son. Rhys stared at the butterfly hair clip on the screen, his eyebrow twitching. He had bought that for me when he won his very first case. “Carter, what if Sienna really is in trouble?” Dean abruptly shut off the live stream. His voice was dismissive. “Have you forgotten about that whole situation between Sienna and that counselor? She really hasn’t learned her lesson. Maybe I should tell those inmates to be even stricter.” The mention of that incident darkened all three of their faces. Rhys’s brief surge of worry vanished. “You’re right. If she hadn’t been so jealous, I wouldn’t have stepped in to defend the case myself just to punish her. That death sentence is a lesson. I have the plea ready. The second she admits she was wrong, I’ll file it.” Carter wiped his hands and told his assistant to calm the public outrage. “We spoiled her too much over the years. If she wants to put on a show, let her. This month’s visit remains denied.” “She won’t set foot back in the Westlake house until she owns up to what she did.” I knew they believed I was deliberately colluding with Dr. Stern, hoping to gain sympathy and be brought home. But what they didn’t know was that I couldn’t go back. And I never wanted to again. 2 Phoebe heard the voices in the living room and wheeled herself out of the bedroom. “I saw the interview. Why is Sienna still involving herself with that teacher? She must think you all want to kill her, not understanding your good intentions.” Carter stood up and placed the peeled grapes in her palm. “If she hadn’t been targeting you all this time, we wouldn’t have sent her to prison.” “Don’t worry, she’ll learn her lesson in there soon enough. She won’t bother you again.” Rhys knelt down, gently wiping her fingers. “This time, she’ll get the message. She’ll know who the real Westlake daughter is.” Phoebe maintained her innocent, ethereal demeanor. “What if she still refuses to admit she was wrong when the execution date comes?” Dean, whose million-dollar hands usually held a scalpel, stroked Phoebe’s hair. “Sienna is terrified of pain. She won’t last through this punishment without admitting it.” His tone was absolute, but he had forgotten the severe kidney disease he developed the year he was accepted into medical school. I donated one of my kidneys to him. Back then, they clustered around me, just as they do Phoebe now, lavishing me with care. “Sienna, we will spend our whole lives making you happy.” I, too, thought my happiness would last forever. Until the day they brought Phoebe home. The Westlake parents had died in a car accident, and their only younger sister had been lost years earlier due to their negligence. That same year, they found me, begging on the street, and adopted me. I was grateful that the three Westlake brothers had given me a home, and I knew their affection was just a way to channel their guilt over losing their sister. So, the day Phoebe was returned, I gave up my bedroom and moved into the storage room. My brothers were consumed by the joy of finding their lost sister. At the dinner table, I sat quietly in the corner, eating the food in my bowl. I understood: all that love was stolen. Now, it was time to give it back. Carter, always the most reserved, looked over at me in the corner. “Phoebe has been gone for many years; we owe her a great deal. You are still our sister, but you must remember that she is the true Westlake daughter.” I nodded. Phoebe had been raised by a family in a rural area and suffered many hardships. I showed her around the house and filled her closet with my brand-new dresses. But the next afternoon, Phoebe burst into tears and threw my clothes out of her wardrobe. “She put a pin in the dress! I was bleeding!” Rhys heard the commotion and rushed in. Seeing the faint scratch on Phoebe’s neck, he immediately spun to face me. “What happened?” Phoebe’s tears fell harder. She threw herself into Rhys’s arms, sobbing. “I shouldn’t have come back. I’m just ruining your lives.” “I didn’t put one there. Maybe it was mixed in by accident…” Rhys cut me off sharply. “Is it just because Carter said Phoebe is the true daughter that you would do something like this?” Dean entered the room and immediately started disinfecting Phoebe’s scratch. “Sienna, don’t let jealousy take hold. Our love was always meant to be hers.” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. The truth felt irrelevant. What mattered was that they were all vying to prove Phoebe’s importance. That night, I was locked out on the balcony for the entire night. Phoebe seemed to sense her power and became more brazen with me. Her backpack was ripped? I did it. Her finger was cut? I caused it. My brothers’ gazes became increasingly colder. The same hands that had lifted me from the gutter were now pushing me into the abyss. My mental state deteriorated. I was often dazed, even in class. I started to notice cuts appearing on my own wrists. After school one day, I didn’t leave. I walked toward the school pond. Just as I hesitated at the edge, Dr. Stern pulled me back from behind. He saw right through me, but he simply handed me a cup of hot cocoa. We talked about many things that day—dreams, interests. The only thing we didn’t touch on was my pain. I confessed that I also loved psychology. He smiled, said I had a gift for it, and suggested that if I wanted, I could apply to his university and become his actual student. Before we parted, I couldn’t stop a single tear from falling. Dr. Stern didn’t ask anything. He just slipped a business card into my pocket. “If you have things you need to talk about, call me. I want to help.” The next day, I found a note on my desk. It was a message from him asking me to come to the counseling office after class. But as soon as I stepped inside the room, a sharp pain in my neck made me lose consciousness. 3 When I woke up, the room was a mess. I looked up and met Carter’s eyes, filled with disgust. I looked down at myself, barely clothed, lying on the couch in Dr. Stern’s lounge. Students swarmed the doorway, immediately pulling out their phones to film me. “How trashy is she? So many girls like Dr. Stern, but no one has ever stooped this low.” “This is disgusting! I heard she chased him yesterday and tried to give him a love letter!” “Right? He rejected her, so she stripped in his office! Is she trying to ruin his career?” They used their half-truths and manufactured lies as weapons, determined to tear me to shreds. Carter took off his expensive suit jacket and draped it over me. “Get out, all of you!” I was utterly distraught, my lips trembling. “It’s not what you think, Carter…” “Then what is it? Are you going to say you were framed? Your clothes are folded neatly on the chair! What possible excuse could you have?” Tears streamed down my face, and I could only shake my head. “I was knocked out right after I walked in! I don’t know what happened!” Carter pulled out a photo—a shot of me and Dr. Stern sitting by the pond last night—and threw it in my face. “Phoebe said you had a crush yesterday, and I thought, at least you’re sensible. I never imagined you’d do something so shameful! You’ve embarrassed the entire Westlake name!” It had to be Phoebe. She must have seen us after school and orchestrated this entire scene. I was about to speak when Dr. Stern, who had just returned from giving a campus lecture, walked in. The shock on his face made me want to vanish. Carter bundled me in his jacket and lifted me to carry me out. “There must be a misunderstanding! Sienna is not like that. I’ll check the hallway cameras.” Dr. Stern’s interjection turned Carter’s face several shades darker. “Check the cameras? So everyone can see exactly how my sister was taking off her clothes in your office? I already had someone delete the footage, Doctor. Mind your own business.” I was expelled. And I was once again locked out on the balcony. Dean, who had always been the kindest to me, looked at me with open revulsion. They wouldn’t even touch me, as if I were the most morally bankrupt woman on earth. 4 Phoebe stood by the balcony door, holding a bowl of food, and sneered at me. “Do you really think someone like Dr. Stern would talk to you? You go against me, and this is the only outcome you’ll get.” I truly couldn’t understand why she targeted me so relentlessly. “Their love was only supposed to be mine! You, a beggar from the streets, stole my love!” Phoebe suddenly lunged, grabbing my head and slamming it down into the food tray on the floor. “They’re still worried you haven’t eaten enough. Go on, eat your fill!” The broth choked me. I struggled violently and managed to push Phoebe away, sending her tumbling to the ground. The brothers, hearing her cry out in pain, rushed in instantly. “Sienna is still mad at me because I told Carter about her photos. I only wanted to help.” Tears streamed down her face like rain. The three brothers didn’t spare me a glance, shouting at me harshly. “Sienna Westlake, apologize.” “We gave you a good life only for you to abuse Phoebe like this?” “Have you forgotten who you were before us?” Water dripped from my face. The long accumulation of emotional abuse became unbearable. “The cameras are right there! Why won’t you check them? You gave me a good life, but did I not give back?” Carter, the workaholic, ate irregularly, so I cooked him fresh meals daily. Rhys, the top lawyer, was attacked by a vengeful client, and I took the knife wound for him. Dean was desperately ill before college, and I volunteered my kidney. I considered myself a part of this family. Yet, in the end, my decade of sacrifice was worth less than a single word from their real sister. Carter slapped me hard across the face. “We’re family! Are you going to tally up every single thing now? How could we have raised such a wretched ingrate?” I stared at each of their faces. I felt ridiculous. This kind of home… I was better off without it. “From this day forward, I want nothing to do with any of you.” I shoved past them and ran upstairs to pack my things. They looked at each other. Dean hesitated. “Maybe I should just check the cameras. Sienna has never been this upset before.” Phoebe picked at her fingernails, speaking up first. “It’s my fault. Let me try to talk to her.” She hurried up the stairs, just as I was about to leave. “Trying the old reverse psychology trick, are we? Hoping they’ll feel bad for you?” “Sienna Westlake, I underestimated you. I will make sure you vanish from the Westlake family for good.” Phoebe suddenly leaned backward and tumbled down the stairs. A scream interrupted Dean, who had been heading out to check the surveillance footage. Phoebe was paralyzed. When she fell, she shattered a large decorative vase, and a shard severed the tendons in her ankle. Carter stood outside the hospital room and kicked me down the steps. “Since you’re not a Westlake anymore, you can pay for her legs with your life.” I was in agony, the world a haze of crimson. Phoebe, seated in her wheelchair, looked down at me on the ground like a victor. She wiggled her foot slightly. “Phoebe! You’re faking it!” But they had long since stopped believing me. They had me locked away in a high-security facility. I applied for family visits repeatedly, only to be met with constant denials. Not only was there no way to appeal, but I was also routinely beaten and abused by several of the other inmates. Lying on the floor, coughing up blood again, I knew I was beyond saving. I didn’t want to hate them. I just wanted to completely forget everything. The Westlake Group managed to get the trending topics removed, but the discussion around the interview only intensified. The three brothers were preparing to wheel Phoebe back to her room when the house phone rang. “Sienna Westlake has been executed. Family members should claim the body as soon as possible.” Carter shot to his feet. “What did you say?” Before he could ask for details, all their cell phones buzzed simultaneously. A new trending topic immediately topped the charts. #SiennaWestlakeFinalVideoExposed

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The day after my father died in that fiery truck crash, Mr. Beaumont—Owen’s father—set his sights on my mother. He didn’t waste a minute. To get her, that old bastard actually had his own wife, Evelyn, committed to an institution. Owen and I wanted to tear each other apart. Yet there he was, forcing our hands together, spouting some garbage about how we were a family now, and we needed to take care of each other. He didn’t waste time proving what kind of family it was. He practically packaged me up and delivered me to an ancient, balding wreck of a man. “Women,” he’d sneered, “are just a means to an end. It doesn’t matter who holds the leash.” He was right. Which is why I chose to crawl into Owen Beaumont’s bed that night—and, more importantly, record every minute of it. Owen hated me, but he had no choice but to protect me. I hated him too, so every time he found a new sweetheart, I’d use that video to extort a fresh chunk of cash. This time was no exception. I could see him from across the velvet ropes, his arm wrapped around his new flame, kissing her like they were the last two people on earth. I lifted my phone, giving him an innocent, little wave. My friend, unaware of the nuclear bomb I carried in my pocket, leaned in. “Did you notice something?” she whispered, a little conspiratorially. “Your brother’s new girlfriend… doesn’t she look exactly like you when you were eighteen?” 1 I glanced over. The small, white flower nestled in his embrace did share a certain delicacy around the eyes with me. But she, unlike the eighteen-year-old me, was clearly happy. “Like me? I don’t think so,” I said, dismissing the thought with a small, brittle laugh. “His taste isn’t that good.” I picked up my glass and walked toward him, plastering a sweet, compliant smile on my face. “Hi, Owen. Your new girlfriend is gorgeous. Prettier than all the others.” Owen’s lips were pressed into a thin, cautious line. He was braced, waiting for the inevitable bomb drop. The girl—Sienna—didn’t catch the acid in my tone. She lowered her head, blushing with shyness. “Owen, you have a sister? You never told me.” I beamed, my smile wide and fake. “That’s right, Owen. Why don’t you introduce your lovely little sister?” I pulled out my phone, pretending to search for something. “Sienna, have you seen pictures of my brother when he was a little kid? You know, naked? They’re adorable!” Owen practically lunged, clapping his hand over my wrist. He forced a smile for Sienna. “Enough, Lily. Don’t scare Sienna.” His eyes, however, were sharp and dangerous. He leaned in, whispering so only I could hear: “The money’s transferred. Now behave.” Satisfied, I slipped the phone away and pouted dramatically at Sienna. “He gets shy when I talk about his past.” I finished my drink and turned to leave, but he stopped me. “Don’t go, Lily.” He draped his arm around Sienna, a look of faux pride on his face. “This is my sister, Lily. Our father sent her to special dance academies from a young age. She won all the prizes. She’s phenomenal.” The smile froze solid on my face. My fists clenched, my nails digging deep into my palms. He knew exactly what to say to draw blood. The ‘dance academies’ were where the old man sent me to learn how to entertain his business partners. A specialized, overtly sensual routine designed for consumption. Owen knew how much I hated it. If I hurt, he was happy. Seeing my silence, Owen pulled a thick wad of cash from his jacket. “What’s wrong, little sister? Not enough incentive to perform?” He put the cash in Sienna’s hand, patting her shoulder. “You ask her. Make her dance.” “I…” Sienna held the money, completely bewildered. Owen took her hand, grabbed the cash, and threw the stack at me. The bills scattered across the floor. “Not enough? Lily, you’re being greedy tonight.” He wore a triumphant smile. I slowly crouched down, gathering the bills one by one, calmly tucking them into my small clutch. When I was finished, I looked up and extended a hand toward him. “If your girl wants to see it, of course I’ll dance.” “But this particular dance… it needs a partner.” Owen’s brow furrowed. Before he could speak, I slid my hand past his face and offered it to the nearest stranger—a man I’d never seen before. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I thought I saw a flicker of loss in Owen’s eyes. The performance was intimate and overtly seductive. By the time it was over, Sienna was staring, wide-eyed. My dance partner was flushed and eager. I linked my arm through his, waving at Owen. “Gotta run, big brother. Have fun.” I’d barely settled into the man’s sedan when a huge fist slammed against the window. Before I could process it, Owen had yanked the door open and pulled me out. “Lily Shen,” he spat, shoving me into his own black SUV. “You were actually going to leave with him? Huh?” I hadn’t even finished a curse before the driver hit the gas. “Where are you taking me?! Pull over! I’m going home!” He just grinned, a lazy, awful smile. “Home? What home? You don’t have a home, you damn leech!” Smack! My palm connected with his cheek. It was loud. He touched the red mark, and didn’t even look angry. “That’s all you’ve got? You must have skipped dinner; that was weaker than last time.” I raised my hand again, but he caught my wrist, pinning it against the headrest. He leaned in, his body heat trapping me against the seat. “What do you want to eat? Cake? Steak?” His hand slipped to my lower back. “Or me?” Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine, urgent and demanding. It was a kiss that bordered on suffocation. I bit down, hard, drawing blood, but he only grew more frantic, trying to consume me whole. The car stopped abruptly outside my condo building. Owen peeled himself off me, wiped his mouth, and waved me out. “I need to go comfort Sienna now. Don’t want her getting scared if I’m gone too long.” He sped away. I spat at the retreating taillights and then heard it: a wounded, whimpering sound from the bushes. A stray cat. Without a second thought, I took it to the nearest animal ER. At the counter, stroking the cat’s head, I felt the familiar, achy pity. “Find a good, responsible owner for her. I’ll cover all the future medical bills and the neutering.” The vet looked at me, confused. “Aren’t you taking her home?” Home? I thought. What home? It was nearly midnight when I finally got back to the complex. This condo was the only thing I’d managed to rent without anyone knowing. Somehow, Owen found out. He didn’t just find out; he bought the place and handed me the deed. But he had one requirement: he needed his fingerprint on the door lock. I turned on the lights. The place was simple and cozy, but Owen was slowly colonizing it. A spare toothbrush, a pair of slippers—small, insidious tokens of his presence, eating away at my only private space. I had barely fallen asleep when he returned. He was cold when he slid under the covers. I pulled away instinctively. “Ugh… get out…” “Don’t move.” He burrowed his head into my neck, his breath heavy with liquor. “Lily… don’t move.” It must have been the alcohol, but I thought I heard him whisper Sienna instead of Lily. And because I wasn’t sure, I didn’t kick him out. He bolted awake the next morning, scrambling to get dressed like I was toxic waste. A childish, beaded shell bracelet dropped from his cuff. I picked it up, dangling it. “Homemade? Wow, the new girl is pure.” Owen snatched it back, pulling it onto his left wrist like it was a sacred relic. “Don’t touch her things,” he growled. “You’ll ruin them.” A sudden, hot flash of rage—unnamed, useless—coiled in my stomach. I leaned up, kissed his cheek hard, and snapped a photo. “Ten thousand,” I said, waving the phone, the practiced, shameless currency collector. “Your mouth is filthy, too. Ten thousand for my silence, a fair trade.” He stared at me, jaw clenched tight. “Lily Shen, is there anything you won’t do for money? Just like your mother!” I met his stare, completely calm. “Yes. At least we get paid. Unlike…” Unlike my father and your mother, one dead, one crazy. I swallowed the words, along with the acidic taste of my own bitterness. I hit his shoulder on the way past the door. “Get out. I’m sick of looking at your face.” Owen left, and I went back to sleep. I had a long, heavy dream. My father’s face was blurred in the memory. He was in the driver’s seat of his big rig, smiling bright. “My good girl, Lily. When I get back from this run, I’m taking you and your mother to the water park!” I never made it to the water park. I only heard the news of his truck rolling over, his body consumed by fire. That charred corpse was a nightmare that still haunted me. My phone woke me up. My eyes were still wet with tears. “Who is it?” “Is that Lily? This is Sienna… your brother’s… girlfriend.” Her voice trailed off. I was instantly awake. I met her at the coffee shop she suggested. She was frail and small in a white sundress, like a nervous field mouse. “What do you want to talk about?” I already knew: she wanted to call me a slut and tell me to stay away from Owen. It had happened countless times before; I was used to it. “I should probably call you ‘Sister Lily,’ shouldn’t I? I didn’t ask you to meet for any bad reason.” Her eyes were pure and unfocused. I was suddenly dizzy, like I was truly looking at the eighteen-year-old me. “The two of you… your relationship is complicated, isn’t it?” Sienna’s voice was shaking. “I don’t know how deep it goes, I just hope you don’t mind my being here. I won’t interfere with anything you have with him. I just want to finish my degree. Owen promised to put me through college…” I felt a brutal, cold shot to my heart. She thinks he’s her hero. I couldn’t speak until the coffee was cold and Sienna was getting ready to leave. “He’s garbage,” I said, calling her back. “He’s not worth it. You can finish school without him.” That night, Owen was furious. He burst into my condo, yanked his belt from his jeans, and tied my hands securely. “What did you say to her?” “She broke up with me! Lily Shen, have you completely lost your mind?!” I didn’t resist. In fact, hearing the news gave me a flash of exhilarating pride. I tilted my head and kissed his earlobe, smiling. “You’re trash, Owen. And trash belongs only with me.” Desire ignited instantly. Owen poured all the frustrated emotion he’d been holding back from Sienna into me. By the time he carried me to the shower, it was late. Through the white noise of the water, he muttered. “She reminds me of you when we first met.” “But she’s obedient. She’s not stubborn like you.” I pretended not to hear, tilting my head back to let the water wash over me. A few days later, Owen staged a huge, over-the-top public display to win Sienna back. With everyone cheering them on, they embraced. Her pure white sundress stood out in the crowd. I was watching the video on my date’s phone. Elias Cole put his phone away and poured me another cup of tea. “Your brother looks serious this time.” I didn’t answer the observation; I just looked at Elias. “And you?” Elias smiled, his eyes holding a calculated depth. “I can be serious too.” The man extended his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Shen.” The news of my impending engagement to Elias Cole quickly reached Owen. He came running to my place, only to find I’d changed the locks. “Lily Shen, what the hell are you doing now?!” “What’s up with Cole? How much did he pay you? Tell me!” Sick of the noise, I ripped the door open and hurled his spare belongings at him. “How much did he pay me? Go ask your old bastard father!” “Lily Shen!” He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes blazing. He shook me, and a wave of nausea abruptly hit me. I turned and ran into the bathroom. “What? Does the sight of me make you throw up now?!” Owen suddenly froze. His expression went slack, and then he scrambled to leave. “Wait right there! Don’t move, you hear me!” I stared at the counter. Three pregnancy tests lay side by side. Every single one had two lines.

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At eighteen, my family “gifted” me to Sebastian Vance. He indulged in me, silently allowing my presence in his life. I stayed with him for three whole years, yet remained his dirty little secret. Driven by pride, I told him: Publicly claim me, or I walk. Sebastian leaned back, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Suit yourself.” So, I cut all ties and vanished. Three years later, I met Liam Vance. He fell for me at first sight and insisted I meet his family. “My uncle runs the family business. His approval is all that matters.” I nodded and followed him quietly. But when the heavy mahogany doors swung open, I froze. 1 I never imagined that Liam’s uncle would be Sebastian Vance. Before I could react, Liam pulled me into the banquet hall. He walked towards Sebastian, introducing me with a bright smile. “Uncle Seb, this is my girlfriend, Chloe.” Sebastian’s gaze drifted from the clinking champagne glasses to me. I gripped the hem of my dress, heart pounding. He gave me a cursory glance, offering a noncommittal “Hmm.” His face was calm, his tone indifferent. Like he was looking at a stranger. “Uncle Seb is just reserved. Don’t mind him,” Liam whispered to me. He pulled out a chair for me, seating me directly to Sebastian’s right. The plates were already set. On each one lay a massive prawn. Word was, Sebastian caught them himself off the coast of Maine and cooked them personally. “Chloe, try it.” Liam expertly peeled the prawn for me, removing the vein. I stared at the pink flesh, frowning. Liam knew I was severely allergic to shellfish. One bite, and I’d be covered in hives. That’s how we met—I accidentally ate shrimp, and he rushed me to the ER. I pressed my lips together and shook my head slightly at Liam. “I can’t eat…” Before I could finish, Liam lowered his voice, interrupting me. “Chloe, everyone is eating. It’s rude if you don’t.” “This is your first time meeting my uncle. You need to make a good impression.” “If you get a reaction, I’ll take you to the hospital immediately. Don’t worry.” He poured me a glass of champagne. “Toast to Uncle Seb first, then eat the prawn. Compliment his cooking.” “Be good.” I pressed my lips together, silent. Although Liam and I were dating, our relationship wasn’t pure. When I met him, I was broke, working three jobs a day. So when a wealthy heir like him pursued me, I said yes quickly. Not out of love, but out of necessity. Liam was generous. Gifts were expensive, dinners were my choice, and holidays came with fat checks. In a way, he was more like my sugar daddy than my boyfriend. I looked at the bubbling champagne and finally nodded. Turning to Sebastian, I raised my glass, my voice steady. “Uncle Seb, a toast to you.” Sebastian’s eyes were dark pools. His expression was unreadable as he watched me down the drink. Liam’s chopsticks, holding the prawn, moved towards my lips. Just as it was about to touch my mouth, Sebastian, who had been sitting still, suddenly reached out and swatted the chopsticks away. The prawn fell to the floor. He leaned back, looking at Liam. “Didn’t I tell you? Seafood tastes fishy when it gets cold.” “Clear the table.” 2 After Sebastian spoke, Liam didn’t push me further. But a man sitting down the table stared at me, then let out a soft “Huh.” “Liam, your girlfriend looks exactly like Seb’s old flame.” The table went quiet. Curiosity ignited instantly. “Just an old story,” the man continued. “Years ago, there was this girl. Chased Seb like crazy. Shameless. Even stripped naked to climb into his bed.” “I forgot her name, but I remember her face. Looks just like Liam’s girl.” He chuckled, “Seb, take a look. It’s not the same person, is it?” Everyone turned to stare at me, whispering. Liam held my hand, frowning in displeasure but staying silent. It was Sebastian who spoke. His cold gaze fixed on the man. “Are you blind?” Then, he grabbed a wine glass and splashed the contents onto the man’s expensive suit. “Guests, I treat with respect.” “Troublemakers? Get out. Don’t dirty my floor.” Two security guards appeared instantly and dragged the man out. Only then did Liam pat my head soothingly. “Don’t worry. I know you’re not like that.” “Chloe, let’s dance. I’ll lead.” I didn’t want to stay under Sebastian’s watch, so I agreed. He led me to the dance floor, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. He had taught me the waltz, rehearsing twice before we came. But for some reason, my steps were messy today. I kept stepping on his toes. I felt a gaze, heavy with suppressed anger, burning into my back. Like it was trying to X-ray my soul. But when I turned, everything was normal. Sebastian was talking to a friend, not looking my way at all. In my daze, Liam pulled me closer, his hand tightening on my waist. “Chloe, you’re distracted.” “Did my uncle scare you?” He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Don’t be afraid. He looks fierce, but he’s actually quite nice.” “Especially to my future aunt. He listens to her. If she says go east, he won’t go west.” I froze slightly. “He’s married?” “No, engaged. But the wedding is soon.” Liam smiled, his fingers tracing the edge of my backless dress, slowly dipping lower. That gaze was back. Thick, sticky, displeased. I turned my head slowly and looked at Sebastian. This time, his eyes met mine. But the next second, Liam shifted, blocking him from my view completely. He smiled at me. “Chloe, focus on the dance I taught you.” I rested my hand on his shoulder, silent. Liam didn’t know that I already knew how to waltz. Sebastian taught me himself, step by step, years ago. 3 My family used to be well-off. Not “Vance wealthy,” but comfortable. Everything changed when I was eighteen. My stepfather’s business was on the brink of bankruptcy. He begged everyone, but no one helped. So, he turned to me. He showed me photos of four men and told me to pick one. I chose Sebastian Vance immediately. He had great bone structure, handsome features, and at twenty-something, he kept fit. Compared to the middle-aged men with beer bellies, he stood out. My stepfather nodded. Knowing Sebastian was going on a yacht trip, he pulled strings to get me into his cabin. That night, I was terrified. But I had no choice. If I failed, my stepfather would send me to someone else—maybe someone married, maybe someone cruel. So, I took off my clothes and, trembling, wrapped my arms around Sebastian’s neck. He resisted at first, trying to throw me out. I cried and begged him, kissing his lips, his neck, clumsy and scared. He had never been with a woman before. He froze. After a long pause, he cupped my face, wiping away my tears with his thumb. “Stop crying. I’ll try to be gentle.” I still remember that night vividly. He wanted me again and again, pushing aside my sweaty hair, placing soft kisses all over my skin. The next morning, I woke up in his arms. He had already investigated me. He knew I was the foster daughter of the Wei family, and he knew why I was there. He asked calmly, “Chloe, do you want to be with me?” “For three years. In return, I’ll invest in your stepfather’s company. Enough to save him.” I had no reason to refuse. I just sighed in relief, forgetting that his phrasing was “be with,” not “date.” Those three years with Sebastian were actually good. We were compatible, in bed and out. He liked to blindfold me with his tie, leaning down to bite my ear. Every time he returned from a business trip, he brought luxury gifts and kept me in bed until dawn. Once, he was invited to a gala. I begged him to take me. Reluctantly, he agreed, practicing dancing with me in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows late into the night. I went to the gala, wearing a gown that matched his suit perfectly, holding his arm. But when people asked, he introduced me as his “dance partner.” Just a partner. That night, I threw a tantrum for the first time. Sebastian didn’t get angry. He lounged on the sofa, looking at me calmly. “Chloe, what are you mad about?” “You know how you came to me. Did you really expect to be my girlfriend?” By then, I had been with him for three years. A lot had happened. My stepfather died in a car crash, the Wei family fell apart, and I lost contact with them. I was young and proud. I told Sebastian I wanted a title. If he wouldn’t acknowledge me publicly, I would leave. He looked surprised, then nodded indifferently. “Stay or leave. Suit yourself.” So, I cut all contact, moved to a new city, and started over. I grew up rich. Leaving the Wei family and Sebastian taught me the value of money. I lived in a damp basement. I faced rejection and bullying. My pride was ground down by poverty. That’s why I accepted Liam so easily. In many quiet nights, I thought of Sebastian. I asked myself, if I could do it over, would I leave him? Yes. Whatever the beginning, the result was that I fell in love with him. Because I loved him, I was strict with the relationship. I had delusions I shouldn’t have had. Liam’s voice broke my reverie. He looked at me with a smile, sighing softly. “Chloe, you look so beautiful tonight.” Ignoring the guests, he grabbed my chin and kissed me. The music swelled. The crowd noise vanished. Then, cheers erupted. Liam was usually polite. Tonight, he was aggressive, holding my head, prying open my lips, biting until I tasted blood. In the suffocating kiss, I opened my eyes. I locked eyes with Sebastian. He sat a few feet away, watching us coldly. His face was calm, but the veins on his hand gripping the glass bulged. He turned away, stood up, and left amidst the cheers. 4 I didn’t know how long Liam kissed me. He only let go when I was gasping for air. He had to socialize. He couldn’t stay with me all night. “I need to say hi to some people. I’ll find you later.” I nodded and sat in a corner. People nearby were discussing Sebastian’s fiancée. Victoria Vanderbilt, a blue-blooded heiress. Sebastian was very satisfied with her. They appeared together often. Elders said the wedding would be by the end of the year. I felt bored and suffocated. I got up to walk in the hallway. The air was fresher outside. As I passed a room, the door opened. A hand grabbed my wrist and dragged me in. The room was pitch black. He pinned me against the door, looking down at me. His bangs brushed my forehead. His voice was cool and familiar. “Chloe.”

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At the start of the new semester, my mother cut my monthly allowance from $1,200 down to $200. She didn’t even give it to me all at once. She doled it out in installments: $50 a week. Every time I requested my money, she demanded a detailed expense report, down to the last penny. She claimed it was to “cultivate the habit of thriftiness” and teach me “gratitude toward my parents.” I immediately turned around and posted a photo on Instagram. In the picture, my left arm was draped around a guy with tattoos and piercings, and my right hand held a Big Gulp from 7-Eleven. The caption read: The best men are the ones willing to spend money on me. Thirty seconds later, my mom’s FaceTime request lit up my screen. 1 “Ava, I sent your allowance. Accept it.” “Remember to eat more protein. You need to stay healthy.” I stared at the Venmo notification. $50. I froze. Fifty? For living expenses? Did she miss a zero? No, even with a zero, $500 a week would be generous, but $50 a month was impossible… wait. I texted her back immediately: “Mom, is this a mistake? Why is it only $50?” Two minutes passed. The “typing” bubble appeared and vanished several times before she finally replied: “That’s correct. Starting this month, your allowance is $200. I’ll send it once a week, $50 at a time.” “Oh, I forgot to mention. Every time you ask for the next payment, send me an Excel sheet of your spending.” “You’re alone in New York City. Your father and I can’t watch over you, so you need self-discipline. We can’t have you becoming spoiled and hedonistic.” Excuse me? Hedonistic? Me? What kind of power trip was she on now? Since freshman year, my allowance had dropped from $1,200 to $1,000, then to $800. I gritted my teeth and made it work. Oatmeal for breakfast, a salad for lunch, skipping dinner under the guise of “intermittent fasting,” and squeezing in gig work between classes. But this is NYC. The cost of living is suffocating. Even with $800, I barely bought necessities and avoided social events like the plague. Now, she slashed it to $200? $50 a week? That wasn’t budgeting. That was starvation. And she wanted me to “eat more protein”? With what money? Splitting it into four payments? She was treating me like a beggar. And the bookkeeping? It was like being a sharecropper on her plantation. I tried to reason with her. “Mom, $50 is impossible. It doesn’t even cover food.” “A sandwich at the bodega is $8. A decent meal with protein is at least $15. That’s nearly $20 a day just to exist.” “Besides food, I need necessities. Tampons, toothpaste, toilet paper, laundry detergent…” “I can’t buy new clothes every week, but I need something once a season.” “I’m not even asking for makeup, but basic skincare costs money. A moisturizer isn’t free.” “I need a social life. Sorority dues, dinners with classmates… and…” I was about to list more when her call cut me off. Her voice shrieked through the speaker: “Great, Ava. Just great. You go to the city and your heart turns wild.” “$200 a month isn’t enough? When I was in school, I had nothing! You don’t know how good you have it.” “Can’t you give us some peace? I’m trying to teach you financial responsibility. It’s a virtue!” “I am your mother. You should be grateful for whatever I give you. How dare you complain?” “And you’re there to study, not to party with trashy people. You are not allowed to go out.” Finally, she dropped the nuke: “If you talk back again, you won’t get a single cent.” Click. She hung up. I forced a smile. This was the seventh time she’d threatened to cut me off since I started college. 2 The first six times, I folded. I apologized, I groveled, I belittled myself to satisfy her need for control. I was like a dog, and the allowance was the leash she used to choke me. I was miserable, but I was too scared to break free. I had just left home. I was timid. I had this innate desire for family, believing that even if the world rejected me, my home would be my sanctuary. Now I realized: once I left home, there was no storm outside. The storm was my mother. The suffocation came from that house. I pulled out my notebook and stared at the numbers. $200 for a month in Manhattan. It was a death sentence. Just then, my roommate Chloe walked in. “Hey, wanna grab Thai food? There’s a new place on 3rd Ave.” I swallowed. A Pad Thai was $18. I couldn’t afford it. I smiled bitterly. “I’m good. I’m trying a new diet. No dinner for me.” I rubbed my stomach, ignoring its growl. Suddenly, I felt a familiar cramp. Oh no. Not now. I opened my drawer. One lone panty liner sat in the corner. The $50 I just received had already gone to the club treasurer for dues I owed. My bank account had $3.60. My tutoring money wouldn’t clear until tomorrow. I couldn’t even afford a box of tampons. I put my head on the desk, defeated. Chloe saw my face. “Ava? Did your mom cut you off again?” I sighed. “Not cut off. Just… throttled. $50 a week. I have to count every penny or I won’t make it to Friday. Begging her is so humiliating.” Last month, I spent an extra $100 on a textbook code. When I explained it to Mom, she berated me for an hour on speakerphone. She said back in her day, they copied notes by hand. She said I was too comfortable. My roommates heard everything. It was mortifying. Since then, they stopped inviting me to expensive dinners. Instead, they found “Buy One Get One” deals to include me. Especially Chloe. She was old money, beautiful, and kind. She fed me often. To save my pride, she’d ask me to organize her notes or run errands in exchange for “treating me.” When she heard the new policy—$50 a week—she slammed her hand on the desk. “What kind of mother is she? Even a stepmother in a Disney movie isn’t this cruel.” “$200 a month? In this city? You can’t even breathe for $200.” “Installments? Audits? She’s running a sweatshop, not a family.” “Ava, forget the money. Just stick with me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll pay you $3,000—no, $5,000 a month to be my assistant!” I waved my hands, grateful but refusing. She wasn’t my parent. She had no obligation to raise me. “I’ll find another gig. I’ll figure it out.” I opened my laptop to look for work. Chloe slammed it shut. Her eyes glittered. “Ava, I have a plan. Do you want to try it?” “A way to make your mom beg to give you money.” 3 “Your mom squeezes you because she knows you’re scared. You’re too obedient.” “Whatever she gives you is charity to her. A power play.” “She’s betting you can’t survive without her control.” “So, if you show her you’re out of control, she’ll panic.” I looked at Chloe, confused. “What do I do?” She winked. “Find a ‘bad boy.’ Take a picture. Post it. Caption it thanking him for his generosity.” “Not real generosity. Just… a Slurpee. Make it look like you’re falling for a deadbeat just because he bought you a $2 drink.” “Let her see that because she starves you, you’re easily bought by any guy on the street.” “I guarantee she’ll cry and beg you to break up, and the money will flow.” I was skeptical. “Will that work?” Chloe was a woman of action. She dragged me to the Art Department, found a guy with a nose ring and a spiked leather jacket, and asked him to pose. We snapped the photo. I typed the caption: The best men are the ones willing to spend money on me. I set the privacy to “Mom Only” and hit post. Five minutes later, the video call came in. I took a deep breath. “Hi, Mom.” She didn’t let me finish. She was screaming. “Ava Miller! How cheap are you? Dating behind our backs? Are you that desperate for a man?” “And look at him! He looks like a criminal! What is he wearing?” “Did we starve you? Did we deny you clothes? You’re throwing yourself at men for food? You are disgracing this family!” “I told your father you shouldn’t have gone to college. You’re just looking for trouble!” Her words were like hammer blows. I swayed, dizzy. Chloe held my hand tight, grounding me. I gathered every ounce of courage I had. “Mom, you won’t give me money to live. Naturally, someone else will. I don’t care if he has tattoos or if he’s a ‘bad guy.’ Anyone who feeds me when I’m hungry is a good person to me.” Then, I hung up. Chloe looked terrified. “Ava… I’m so sorry. That was a bad idea. I didn’t know she would say… those things.” “I thought parents would just be scared you’d get taken advantage of. My mom would have just wired me cash.” I comforted Chloe. “It’s not your fault.” Her mom wasn’t my mom. My mom didn’t care about my safety; she cared that I embarrassed her. She didn’t care why I found a “bad boy.” She just wanted to brand me as bad. I laughed bitterly. “Well, now I definitely won’t get that $50. I really might need you to keep me alive.” Just then, my cousin Sarah called. Her voice was panicked. “Ava! Check the family group chat! What is your mother doing?” 4 I opened iMessage. My blood ran cold. Mom had screenshotted my Instagram post and sent it to the extended family group. She added a paragraph of text: “Look at the wonderful daughter I raised. Worse than an animal.” “She’s boy-crazy. Goes to college just to hook up with trash.” “She’s selling herself for a Slurpee. That’s how cheap she is!” “Looking at her now, she probably started sleeping around in high school. Acting like a good girl in front of us.” “Disgusting. I don’t have a daughter anymore.” I never thought text on a screen could physically hurt. What mother curses her daughter like this? She could have asked me. Instead, she branded me a “slut” to the entire family. To punish my “disobedience,” she destroyed my reputation. The group chat exploded. Dad: “Stop talking nonsense.” Cousin Sarah: “Aunt Brenda, calm down. Ava isn’t like that. I believe her.” Aunt Karen: “Oh, girls these days. Once they leave the nest, they go wild. Just dating, right? Probably started years ago, hehe.” Uncle Mike: “Wow. Didn’t know Ava had it in her. Quiet ones are always the wildest.” Cousin Sarah: “Shut up! Do you know how damaging that is? Just because Aunt Brenda says something doesn’t make it true. You’re calling her loose based on one photo?” Aunt Karen: “Watch your mouth! This family is falling apart. Girls sleeping around, girls swearing at elders. Chaos!” Cousin Sarah: “Keep your mouth shut, Karen. Uncle Mike was buying a gold bracelet for a 20-year-old girl last weekend. Worry about your own house.” Uncle Mike: “That’s a lie! I swear!” Sarah dropped a photo into the chat. High definition. Uncle Mike, his yellow teeth grinning, arm around a young girl at a jewelry counter. Aunt Karen: “You animal! You won’t buy me a ring, but you buy that tramp gold?! I’m done!” Cousin Sarah: “Auntie, I have more pics of him with different women. $100 via Venmo and I’ll send the album. Friends and family discount.” She posted her QR code. … Sarah DM’d me a hug emoji. Don’t worry about her. Everyone knows your mom is a control freak. I got you. I felt a warm breeze in my frozen heart. Unconditional trust felt so good. To prove myself, I screenshotted my conversation with Mom about the allowance. “The photo is me, but I’m not dating him. I posted it to show Mom that her allowance is unlivable.” “$50 a week. Detailed receipts required. I work two jobs and still can’t make ends meet. I’m a student. I can’t work a third job.” “If you all think I’m greedy for wanting more than $200 a month in New York City, then I have nothing to say.” “I apologize for the joke. I shouldn’t have done it.” A second later, Dad replied. Dad: “What $200? Your mother said she sends you $2,000 a month!” Me: “?!”

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It was Serena Wells who came to me, begging me to take the fall for her childhood best friend after his drunk driving accident. “Dean’s father saved my life, Beck. Can’t you just endure this for me? When you get out, we’ll get married.” I nodded, tears blurring my vision. Two months, she’d promised. When I got inside, I learned the sentence was six years. I tried to recant my confession, but all I earned was a beating. “Someone outside is keeping a tight lid on you. Who do you think you are, a filthy criminal daring to dream about someone like Miss Wells!” My eyes were bloodshot from the blows. The last thing I saw before I passed out was the prison TV, where Serena was walking arm-in-arm with her childhood friend, announcing their engagement. My heart turned to ash. After six years of torture where every day felt like a lifetime, I was finally released. But as I quietly boarded a train with my worn suitcase, Serena’s assistant stood respectfully in front of me. “Mr. Miller, Ms. Wells wants to see you.” 1 I sat in the car, watching the city rush backward. Six years had changed Coronado Bay significantly. The car passed a towering skyscraper. A news story was playing on a massive billboard: “Coronado Bay Heiress Serena Wells Spends Nine Figures on a Watch for New Boyfriend; Couple Seen Entering Mansion.” Nine figures. I slowly counted the zeroes. I looked down at the simple woven bracelet she’d given me six years ago. It had cost maybe two dollars, and now the surface was dull and rough. I gently unclasped it and tossed it out the open window. In the blink of an eye, the car pulled up to a sprawling estate. Lost in thought, I took the phone the assistant handed me. Serena’s light, pleasant voice drifted through. “Beck, something came up. Wait for me at the house for a bit.” I listened silently, and only after three seconds of her pause did I manage a slow, muffled grunt of agreement. Serena went quiet for a moment, sounding slightly confused. I had grown silent over the past six years, no longer the person who used to chatter on endlessly to her. After the call ended, I sat in the villa, waiting. The cleaning staff behind me occasionally glanced my way, whispering. “Ms. Wells brought another one home. This one is too thin. Not very good-looking.” “I think he came straight from prison.” “Oh, God, how unlucky. Ms. Wells’s taste is getting so strange. At least before it was actors, models, or rich kids. This one is just…” They sighed, shaking their heads, feeling Serena was settling. I felt nothing, except for the urge to keep checking my wrist for a non-existent watch. Serena’s promised “a bit” had stretched into seven hours. I hadn’t eaten since leaving the facility. The air conditioning was set too cold, and I was simultaneously freezing and famished. I finally asked the butler for any news of Serena, but after asking twice, he glared at me with clear impatience. He treated me like just another one of Serena’s hangers-on. “Ms. Wells is entertaining Mr. Palmer. They’re watching fireworks from a yacht right now. She doesn’t have time for you.” Dean Palmer. His name flashed instantly through my mind. Six years ago, he’d drunk-driven and critically injured two pedestrians. I took his place. I went from being Beckett Miller, the beloved son of a respectable family, to a universally condemned inmate. He, meanwhile, had been elevated to Mr. Palmer, adored by Serena, living a life of utter privilege. But I didn’t care anymore. My family’s collapse, my parents’ suicide—nothing could stir a ripple inside me now. Except for the two things Serena had promised before I went in: marrying me, and buying back my family’s heirloom bracelet. Now, I no longer wanted the marriage. My only wish was to retrieve the heirloom. My thoughts snapped back. The wrenching pain in my stomach grew sharper. I clutched my abdomen and walked to the kitchen. As I reached to prepare something, a maid unceremoniously slapped my hand away. “Don’t touch anything. Ms. Wells and Mr. Palmer don’t like outsiders eating here.” “You’ll have to wait.” She finished with an eye-roll and walked away. After three more hours of waiting, Serena still hadn’t returned. I lay on the sofa. My vision turned black. I passed out completely. 2 When I woke up, I was in bed with an IV drip in my arm. Serena was facing away from me, angrily scolding the staff. “Are you all idiots? The man is starving and you couldn’t manage to make him some food?” “One more time, and you’re all gone!” Dean Palmer heard the commotion and walked in. “Serena, don’t be mad. Come out and have some tea.” He pulled her out of the room. The maids looked at each other, their faces pale. “That scared me. Ms. Wells hasn’t been that angry in a long time.” “It’s his fault! Putting on an act to make us look bad!” “Don’t get cocky. He’ll be kicked out in two months anyway.” The women hurried away. I pulled out the needle and slowly walked out. The first person to see me was one of Serena’s friends. She clearly didn’t know who I was, only saying with surprise: “Serena, is this the new housekeeper? Why is he coming out of your room?” Serena spun around, and when her eyes met mine, her pupils visibly flinched. Unseen for six years, she was still poised and elegant. I, however, looked like a traveler facing his final days, my expression weary and aged. Dean let out a small, smug chuckle and strode over, puffing out his chest. He addressed the woman in the silk dress like the master of the house: “Layla, this is… a distant cousin of Serena’s from out of state. Not a housekeeper.” I looked at Serena. She watched me silently, offering no denial. She must have decided that the current me was too much of an embarrassment to acknowledge openly. It made sense. I was now an ex-con. Our engagement had been six years ago—history. As the silence stretched, the chef announced that dinner was ready. We sat down. They chatted about recent events, which I didn’t understand at all. I just kept my head down, focusing on my food. But suddenly, Layla exclaimed: “Oh, right, Serena! That boyfriend of yours in prison must be out by now.” “You never seemed that into him anyway. Just give him some cash to go away. Make sure he doesn’t cling to you.” In an instant, the previously lively dinner table fell silent. Dean glanced at me, a flash of mockery in his eyes. Serena’s face remained composed, but she didn’t answer. Layla sensed the shift and started to apologize, but I interrupted her with a small, calm smile. “He won’t.” Layla turned to me, curious, and asked why. I slowly swallowed my rice, but before I could open my mouth, Serena cut in sharply. “Enough. Just eat.” She stared fixedly at me, her beautiful eyes churning with an unreadable depth. I remained still, lowering my gaze to my plate. After dinner, Layla noticed the grand piano in the living room on her way out. “That’s a gorgeous piano. Who is it for?” Dean swaggered over and began to play a clumsy, elementary piece. When he finished, he looked smugly at the appreciation in Layla’s eyes. “I just started lessons, but my teacher says I’m a natural. Better than some people who’ve been playing for ten years.” He glanced at me, clearly aiming the comment. I had studied piano, violin, and guitar since childhood, with the piano being my strongest. I even performed at a famous concert hall in my twenties. Dean had always been fiercely jealous, claiming he’d be even better if he’d had the money for lessons. Now that I’d been locked up for six years, he assumed my skills had withered. He grinned, facing me. “Beck, I hear you were quite the prodigy. Why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” 3 Serena’s brow furrowed, as if she wanted to stop me. But my fingers were already on the keys. The next second, a rich, rhythmic melody flowed out effortlessly. It was a level of mastery that made Dean’s beginner piece sound like mere noise. A look of surprise flashed in both Serena’s and Layla’s eyes. When I finished, they both applauded immediately. Dean’s face was green with rage, and he glared at me with hatred. Layla moved closer, her tone earnest. “Wow, you’re incredible. I have a concert-grade piano at my place. Want to come over and try it sometime?” I opened my mouth, but before I could reply, Serena’s voice came out, cold and sudden. “It’s getting late. You should go. Dean can take you.” Layla shot me a look of genuine disappointment. Dean looked annoyed but followed her out, glancing back at me repeatedly. The vast living room was left to just Serena and me. I pulled my shoulders tighter, shivering slightly. The air conditioning was high, but her face was colder than the air. Serena suddenly grabbed my wrist. Her tone was ugly, almost cruel. “Beckett Miller, you’re out for one day and you’re already trolling for dates? Were you dying in there?” I didn’t react. I just gave a weak, indifferent tug of my lips. I was barely a man anymore, having lost nearly thirty pounds. The confident spark of my youth was gone. Seeing my silence, she seemed startled. I used to love fighting with her. But now, looking at my face—a surface of dead water—a sharp, needle-like pang hit her heart. Her voice softened immediately. “I didn’t mean that.” “I will give you what you’re owed. Just not right now. Our marriage is still happening.” The word “marriage” made her pause. She lowered her voice slightly. “What did you mean at dinner when you said ‘he won’t’?” Serena fixed her eyes on my expression, clearly desperate to know what I’d meant. I countered with my own question: “Where is the bracelet? My family’s heirloom.” Serena froze, the light in her eyes flickering. My heart seized up. My voice cracked. “Tell me. Where is the bracelet?” She sighed in frustration. “Dean took it to wear. I forgot to get it back. I’ll call him now.” The ringing sound of her phone cut through the air. I closed my burning eyelids and waited. Suddenly, Serena looked at my wrist. “Where is the red string I gave you?” “It broke.” Serena flinched. Seeing my careless indifference, her heart tightened inexplicably. Thirty minutes later, Dean rushed back, sweat dotting his forehead. Serena’s eyes flashed with concern. She spoke with a hint of reproof. “Did you have to rush?” Dean bit his lip. He spoke in a low, meek voice: “I was worried Beck would be mad at you.” Serena stroked his head, a gesture that clearly meant thank you for your trouble. Dean stuck out his tongue playfully, then turned and walked toward me, smiling. “Beck, I was the one who pestered Serena for the cuff. You’re a bigger man, please don’t be mad at her.” Dean was a master of passive aggression, instantly placing me on the high ground of being an unforgiving villain, while he played the role of the pitiable, compassionate friend. But I was tired of his games. I simply held out my hand. “Give it to me.” Dean nodded and handed me a small, ornate box. My heart hammered. I quickly raised my hand to take it. But the moment my fingers touched the box, he let it go. It tumbled to the floor. I lunged to save it, but I was too late. The open box showed the cuff, now broken in two. 4 Dean looked genuinely horrified, but as he leaned in close to my ear, his voice slithered out like a viper. “If I can’t have it, you can’t either.” Seeing the triumph in his eyes, my head exploded. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Dean crashed to the ground, his voice shaking with feigned terror. “I’m sorry, Beck. You can hit me all you want.” He reached out to gather the broken pieces of the bracelet. Seeing his act, I felt a surge of pure fury. I reached to push him away, but in the next second, Serena’s hand clamped down hard on my wrist. She shrieked. “Enough!” A vein pulsed on her forehead. She looked enraged. But when she met my desperate, tearful gaze, her voice finally softened. “Don’t cry. I’ll buy you another one. Dean didn’t mean to.” She placed a gentle hand on my head to comfort me, but every word she spoke was an excuse for Dean. I clung tightly to the shattered jade pieces, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. Blood streamed from my palm, dripping onto the floor, blooming into stinging red stains. Serena’s eyes narrowed. She quickly pulled my hand away. She stared at my bloody, lacerated palm. Just as she was about to explode at me, I saw black spots fill my vision. I crumpled to the floor. I woke up feeling utterly exhausted, my head splitting. My throat felt like I had swallowed razor blades, so I dragged my heavy body out to get some water. As I reached the corner, I saw two figures standing in the dim hallway. Dean’s voice was fretful, as if he hadn’t recovered from the conflict. “Will Beck be upset if I sleep here?” “I run this house.” Serena’s voice was quiet but held an iron-fisted authority. The feeling of being protected flooded Dean with satisfaction. He remembered the past again. He sighed. “Serena, thank you. If you hadn’t come up with that ‘debt-of-honor’ excuse back then, I would have been the one rotting in prison for six years.” Serena’s face stiffened. She let out a small sigh. “I owe him for this, but making it up to him with the rest of my life is enough.” Her tone was casual, with a hint of distant sadness. Dean’s vanity was instantly satisfied. He wrapped his arms around Serena, leaning down for a passionate kiss. Serena froze momentarily but didn’t pull away. Watching their entwined forms, I felt as if I’d fallen into a frozen lake. My legs were so weak I could barely stand. Serena had always claimed Dean’s father saved her life. She said a person must repay kindness, which was why I had willingly become the scapegoat. In the end, it was all a convenient lie. My heart rate spiked suddenly. Through my shaky vision, Dean panted: “What if he finds out?” Serena’s expression slightly hardened, then she slowly shook her head. “He won’t find out. And even if he does, what can he do? Look at him now. I’m the best option he has left.” “Besides, I won’t let him go.” Dean’s fists clenched. Not hearing the answer he wanted, a flash of resentment crossed his eyes. “Serena, I worry about you. He is totally unworthy of you now. People will mock you—” “Stop.” Before he could finish, Serena cut him off, her voice showing clear impatience. She distanced herself from him. “Go to bed. I’m going to check if Beck is awake.”

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My roommate was a fragile, petty, and possessively toxic piece of work. If I saved a seat for another classmate in a lecture hall, she’d cry, accusing me of betraying her. If the cafeteria lady gave me one more meatball than her, she’d report the woman for “discrimination” and get her fired. Even when my boyfriend invited me home for Thanksgiving break, she threw a fit. She claimed she’d never experienced a “real family holiday” and guilt-tripped us into letting her tag along. Once at my house, she treated my parents like servants, ordering them around. She even hinted that my boyfriend should warm up her bed because “it was cold.” The final straw was my birthday dinner. Because I didn’t serve her food first, she flipped the hot pot table. Scalding soup ruined my face. In the chaos that followed, she pushed me down the stairs. I died. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in my freshman dorm room on the very first day we met. Chapter 1 “Why did you skip me?” My roommate, Tilly, suddenly threw her chopsticks on the floor and burst into tears. My boyfriend, Ethan, snapped, “What is wrong with you now?” Tilly pouted, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at me with pure venom masked as grievance. “Harper, you served everyone else but me. The tripe is all gone, and I didn’t get a single bite. Do you all look down on me that much?!” Tears the size of beans rolled down her cheeks. My grandparents, soft-hearted as always, immediately flagged down the waiter to order two more plates of tripe. “Child, don’t cry. It was our oversight.” My parents looked baffled. But after three days of her tantrums during the holiday break, they were getting used to it. They sighed, their patience wearing thin. This scene happened at my birthday dinner. My family was happily eating hot pot and singing songs. Ethan had just cut the cake, and everyone was about to sing “Happy Birthday.” But Tilly, the roommate who insisted on tagging along for Thanksgiving, ruined everything. She flipped the boiling pot of spicy broth right onto my face. I screamed in agony as the searing liquid burned my skin. Through the pain, I saw that everyone else was fine. She had aimed the pot specifically at me. My parents and grandparents frantically called 911. Ethan exploded: “Tilly, are you insane?! We treated you like family, gave you food and shelter, and this is how you repay us? You want to kill her?!” Tilly didn’t show an ounce of remorse. She sat there, arms crossed, staring me down. “I’ve been burned by oil before. Relax, she won’t die.” “She has a perfect family and a happy life. Why does she look down on me? Why didn’t she serve me food?” I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I screamed through the pain: “Get out! Get out of my house right now! We are done. I’m requesting a dorm transfer the second school starts!” Chapter 2 Hearing that I would no longer tolerate her because of her “pitiful background,” Tilly’s expression twisted into something evil. She lunged at me and slapped my burned face. My parents and Ethan had run downstairs to settle the bill and guide the ambulance. No one was there to help me. My grandparents tried to pull her away, their frail hands trembling. Tilly screamed like a banshee: “You said you’d be good to me!” “You lied! You’ll pay for this!” The slap stunned me. My face, already blistering, throbbed with excruciating pain. My grandparents, both over 80, couldn’t withstand the shoving of a young woman who grew up doing farm work. Grandma was pushed to the floor. Grandpa clutched his chest, gasping for breath. “Pills… pills…” I was shaking with rage, tears streaming down my face. “Tilly, you ate my food, wore my clothes, used my money, and now you hurt my family? You have no conscience! You deserve every beating your stepfather gave you. You deserve your miserable life!” Mentioning her abusive stepfather was the trigger. She lost all reason. She reached out and choked me. I wasn’t as strong as her. She backed me to the edge of the stairs. In the struggle, I fell. My neck snapped. I died on impact. When I opened my eyes again, the dorm door creaked open. Tilly dragged a massive woven sack into the room, looking timid and awkward. I was making my bed on the bottom bunk. She was small, her skin rough from sun exposure. She whispered cautiously, “Um, excuse me… I’m afraid of heights. Could I maybe have the bottom bunk?” When I didn’t respond immediately, she added, “If not, it’s okay. Sorry to bother you.” Her voice was as quiet as a mosquito. In that moment, I knew. I was reborn. Reborn to the first day of freshman year. Chapter 3 In my past life, my bleeding heart got the better of me. I treated her too well. That only made her greedy and entitled. This time? Absolutely not. Without even turning my head, I said: “Sorry, I’m afraid of heights too. Ask someone else.” She didn’t give up. The pity play started immediately. “Please… I’m from a rural village. I’ve never lived in a building before, never even taken an elevator. High places terrify me. Please, I’m begging you.” Before I could speak, a voice cut through the air. “If you’re that fragile, go rent an apartment. It has a living room and kitchen, no bunk beds.” It was Morgan, the girl with the short, edgy haircut on the top bunk opposite me. She jumped down from her bed. Morgan was straightforward and sharp-tongued. In my past life, her bluntness allegedly “drove” Tilly to almost jump out the window from depression. I was the one who pulled Tilly back, comforted her for hours, and used all my patience to “heal” her. Because of that, the other roommates isolated us. I stood by her side, and she repaid me with murder. This time, I was going to hug Morgan’s thigh tight. She was going to be my voice of reason. Tilly started sobbing. She squatted on the floor, looking like a drenched koala. Just then, our fourth roommate, Chloe, walked in. Chloe was a wealthy, straight-A beauty. In my past life, she kept her distance until Tilly stole her mother’s vintage Chanel dress, ruined it, and tried to sell it on Depop. That was when Chloe finally snapped and moved out. I looked at Chloe. This was the heavyweight ally I needed. I smiled at her. “Hey, you want this bottom bunk? The one near the door is drafty. You look delicate; I bet I can handle the cold better than you.” Chloe looked at me suspiciously, then at Tilly crying on the floor. Her brain was working fast. She wasn’t one to pick sides without info. And honestly, she probably thought this drama was beneath her. Chapter 4 Hearing that I’d rather give the bed to the “princess” than to her, Tilly snapped. She ran out crying, acting like she’d been assaulted. She came back with our Resident Assistant (RA), Sarah. “Guys, we don’t discriminate here. We’re all adults. Tilly is from a different background, yes, but she hasn’t done anything to you, right? Let’s try to get along.” Morgan scoffed. “Who bullied her? Show me the evidence.” “If she says we murdered someone, are we going to jail tomorrow just because she cried?” The RA wasn’t expecting a freshman to be this tough. She softened her tone. “Look, fate brought you all to Room 303. Let’s compromise. Take a step back, and the sky is wide, right?” Tilly felt empowered. She nodded vigorously behind the RA like a bobblehead. “Yes, Sarah is right!” She turned her hopeful eyes to Chloe. “Classmate, could you please give me the bottom bunk? I really have a phobia.” Chloe looked at Tilly, then at the RA staring at her expectantly. It was a classic moral kidnapping setup. But Chloe was rich enough not to care. She pulled out a wad of cash—two thousand dollars. She tossed it at Tilly’s feet. “Go see a therapist.” Tilly’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean?!” Morgan chimed in perfectly: “She means if you’re sick, go to the hospital. Don’t try to guilt-trip us. We don’t buy it.” I almost applauded. God, I love Morgan. I declared internally: Morgan is my best friend in this life. I will make up for my blindness in the last life.

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