Category: English

I was ten minutes late to the movie theater, stuck in the pouring rain and unable to get a ride. I quickly apologized to my boyfriend, Liam Walker. He impatiently said, “What’s the point of apologizing?” I froze. Every time I apologized, he never forgave me. I’d pulled three all-nighters working non-stop and forgot to snag concert tickets for him. He coldly pulled his hand away from mine. “What’s the point of apologizing? You can’t even handle a simple task.” I accidentally stained his favorite white shirt, and he flew into a rage. “What’s the point of apologizing? This is my favorite shirt!” But when his intern, Chloe Davis, spilled coffee and ruined his proposal, he didn’t get angry. Instead, he wiped her tears. “You don’t need to apologize. It hurts me to see you cry.” Watching him get angry now, I finally let go of our seven-year relationship. I was tired. From now on, I wouldn’t apologize anymore. I was drenched, rain trickling from my hair onto the carpet. Liam didn’t even glance at me. He walked straight to the VIP lounge. His intern, Chloe Davis, was sitting there. She held two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. Seeing Liam, she immediately broke into a sweet smile, then nervously peered past him. “Liam, isn’t Alice here yet? Should I not have come to drop off these files? Am I interrupting something…?” Her voice, not far away, reached my ears perfectly. Liam naturally took the coffee. “She’s late. Someone with no sense of time doesn’t deserve to be on a date.” “But the movie’s about to start…” “Since you’re here, take this ticket and watch it with me.” Liam’s tone was flat, as if he were talking about the most ordinary thing. I froze. That wasn’t just any movie ticket. To qualify for this exclusive limited-time premiere, I’d pulled three all-nighters, doing the entire marketing and publicity campaign for the organizers for free. All because Liam had casually mentioned, “I really wish I could see it on the big screen just once.” I used to think this movie would be a milestone in our seven-year relationship. But now, he had casually handed my hard work over to an intern he’d only had for three months. I took a deep breath, choking back the bitterness in my throat. Squelching in my rain-soaked heels, I walked step by step towards them. Hearing my footsteps, Liam turned sharply. When he saw it was me, his brows furrowed instantly. He instinctively shielded Chloe behind him. His eyes were filled with undisguised defensiveness and disgust. “Alice Linwood, if you dare make a scene here, we’re over.” “Alice, please don’t misunderstand, I just came to drop off some urgent files…” Chloe cowered behind him, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. I didn’t cry, nor did I question him. I simply took the two tickets from my bag and handed them over. Liam was stunned. He looked at my expressionless eyes, his frown deepening. “What game are you playing now?” “Nothing.” I slipped the tickets into his coat pocket, my voice as soft as the wind. “Liam Walker, enjoy the movie.” With that, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I turned and walked out of the cinema. Until the glass doors closed behind me. I could still feel his incredulous gaze. He probably couldn’t fathom it. The Alice Linwood who loved him so much she lost herself. Why today, there wasn’t even an apology after the fact.

Outside, the heavy rain continued. I didn’t carry an umbrella, letting the icy rain pour over me. My body, exhausted from three days of non-stop work, was wracked with painful stomach cramps. As I passed a flooded intersection, a delivery scooter ran a red light and skidded violently. The handlebars slammed hard into my side. I was thrown through the air, crashing hard onto the asphalt road. Excruciating pain swept through my entire body. The delivery guy was terrified and repeatedly apologized. I was in too much pain to speak, only able to tremble and wave my hand, signaling him to go. Rainwater mixed with mud seeped into my wounds, making me shiver uncontrollably. I lay in a puddle, my vision blurred. Instinctively, I fumbled for my phone and dialed the pinned number. Seven years. It was my reflex. When in danger, when wronged, Liam was the first person I’d call. The phone rang for a long time. Just as it was about to go to voicemail, it connected. “Liam, I was hit by a car…” “Alice Linwood, haven’t you caused enough trouble?” Liam’s voice was low, filled with barely suppressed anger. “Did you time this perfectly to ruin the mood?” “Do you have any idea the movie just got to the most touching part? Chloe was crying because it was so moving!” “Do you seriously have to use this pathetic stunt to guilt-trip me right now?” I opened my mouth. Rainwater poured into my mouth, bitter and acrid. The severe pain in my side made it almost impossible for me to make a sound. But I could still faintly hear the end credits rolling on the big screen from his end of the call. That was the Easter egg I’d shamelessly begged the organizers to add, just to get the tickets. At the very end of the acknowledgments, there would be a small line of text: [To Liam Walker: Our seventh year. May you always swim free like a fish in the deep blue sea. – Alice] I had imagined that when that line appeared, I’d be leaning on his shoulder, listening to him tell me he loved me. Instead, he was sitting in that very seat, with another girl by his side. He didn’t even have the patience to glance at the screen, only caring about wiping away someone else’s tears. “Speak up! Are you mute?” Liam’s patience completely ran out. “I’m warning you one last time, drop the spoiled princess act.” “When I get home, I expect you to apologize to Chloe. You really scared her today.” The call was mercilessly cut. I looked at the black screen and suddenly laughed. A raw, gut-wrenching sound, tears mixing with the rain as they streamed down my face. It pulled at my wounds, making me gasp from the pain, but I couldn’t stop. It felt like a ball of cotton was lodged in my throat. I painfully dragged myself out of the muddy water, limping back home. But the Alice Linwood who always carefully tried to please him. She had died in that downpour.

Pushing open the door, the house was silent. I groped my way into the bathroom in the dark. The person in the mirror was disheveled and pathetic. The bruise on my side was swollen and purple, and the slightest movement sent a sharp, stabbing pain through me. I found the first-aid kit, and trembling, I pressed an iodine swab to my knee. The keypad lock clicked open at the entrance. Followed by Liam’s deliberately lowered, gentle voice: “Watch your step. You can sleep here tonight. I’ll find someone to fix the leak in your dorm tomorrow once the rain stops.” “But, Alice will be angry if she sees me…” Chloe’s voice was timid. “What right does she have to be angry?” Liam sneered. “There’s no way I’d let you stay alone in an apartment with no power.” The overhead living room light flared on, filling the room with blinding white light. Liam walked in, one arm around Chloe, the other carrying her duffel bag. He turned his head and saw me, slumped on the bathroom floor. The curve of his lips instantly vanished. His gaze swept over the bloody swab, his eyes filled with disgust. “Alice Linwood, what kind of stunt is this now?” He walked over, towering above me. “I wondered why you hung up so fast. Turns out you were cooking up some grand scheme at home.” “You dabbed on some antiseptic, made a huge mess, and you think that’s going to make me feel sorry for you?” Antiseptic. The heavy rain outside had washed away the blood on my body. Seeing my silence, Liam grabbed my arm and forcefully pulled me up. His hand clamped down hard on my bruised side. A jolt of excruciating pain shot through my brain. My legs gave out, and I collapsed back onto the floor. “Ah!” Chloe flinched back in fear. Liam abruptly let go, as if touching me for another second would contaminate him. “Alice Linwood, haven’t you made enough of a scene?!” “Chloe’s been startled and got wet from the rain. Do you have to give her grief right now?” I was covered in cold sweat, trembling from the pain. He clearly saw that I was drenched. But he only felt pity for Chloe getting wet. “I’m not making a scene.” Clutching the doorframe, I shakily pulled myself up, my voice hoarse. “I just accidentally fell.” Liam paused for a moment. Perhaps my lifeless gaze made him uneasy. “Good. Go change the sheets in the master bedroom. Chloe has a fever; she’ll sleep in there tonight. You can sleep in the guest room.” That sentence, like a dull knife, severed our last remaining connection. The master bedroom contained the bed I’d chosen, the custom-embroidered pillows with my name, all my personal belongings. Now, he wanted me to give it to another woman. “That’s my room.” I looked at him. “This is my apartment!” Liam pointed to the front door. “If you feel so wronged, then get out now! Don’t stand there bothering me!” Chloe tugged at his sleeve, her eyes brimming with tears. “Liam, I can just sleep on the couch…” “Don’t mind her. She just doesn’t know her place!” Liam squeezed her hand reassuringly. A sweet, metallic taste filled my throat. I didn’t cry, nor did I argue. I turned, dragging my aching leg, and walked into the master bedroom. From behind me, Liam let out a cold snort: “See? If you’d just listened earlier, you wouldn’t have to make such a fuss.” I pulled out the black suitcase from under the bed. I didn’t change the sheets, didn’t tidy the room. I only took my documents, a change of clothes, and my work laptop. Seven years of my youth, it weighed so little. A small suitcase couldn’t even fill it. When I walked out dragging the suitcase, Liam was pouring Chloe a glass of water. Seeing the suitcase, his pupils contracted sharply, then he let out a sneering laugh. “What? Can’t sleep in the master, so you’re playing the runaway game?” He walked towards me, blocking my path. “Alice Linwood, you tried that three years ago. Do you think I’ll chase after you and beg you to come back?” He pointed to the stormy rain outside. “If you’ve got the guts, then get out today.” “If you step foot out that door, even if you beg on your knees, I won’t let you step foot in this apartment again!” My fingers gripping the handle were white, and my legs were so sore I could barely stand. “Okay.” Without a second’s hesitation, I walked past him and pulled open the front door.

I don’t know how long I walked before my phone vibrated in my pocket. The screen lit up. It was a text from Liam: [I canceled your joint credit card. If you don’t have money for a hotel, stop being dramatic and come back to apologize.] I looked at the words on the screen and gave a stiff, humorless smile. That card was for buying our future home. For seven years, I’d faithfully deposited my entire salary into it every month. In his eyes, it was all his money. He could cut off my livelihood at any time, just to force me to yield. I didn’t reply. I immediately blocked his number, pulled out the SIM card, and tossed it into the gutter by the road. Along with it went seven years of my youth, utterly wasted. It was two in the morning. Gritting my teeth, half-dead, I checked into the emergency room at City Hospital Two. The ER doctor held up my X-ray, his brows furrowed in a tight knot. “A comminuted fracture of the right scaphoid bone, and severe soft tissue contusion in your lower back.” “Why did you wait so long to come in for your hand?” The doctor glanced at my medical record. “You’re a concept artist, aren’t you? Your finger joints show long-term strain from holding a pen.” “You need surgery for steel pins immediately, or else this hand won’t even be able to lift heavy objects in the future, let alone hold a pen.” I was drenched, sitting on the cold plastic chair, my mind blank. I was a concept artist. My right hand was my life. “Doctor, please schedule the surgery.” My voice was horribly hoarse. “Go pay the fees. A twenty thousand dollar deposit.” I took the paper and walked with difficulty to the payment window. I searched all my pockets and found only an old payroll card, not linked to Liam. Balance: thirteen hundred dollars. This month, to get those two exclusive movie tickets for Liam, I’d used up all my savings, even overdrafting my food money for next month. I clutched that thin bank card tightly, suddenly feeling despair. I pulled out my phone, wanting to ask someone for money. Scrolling through my contact list, I realized how pathetically barren my life was. To accommodate Liam’s schedule, I had canceled all my social engagements and outings. My closest friend, Chloe Davis. She was currently lying in my master bedroom, sleeping in my bed. At twenty-seven years old, I was homeless, penniless, and nearly an invalid. “Are you going to pay or not? There are others waiting behind you.” The cashier impatiently tapped on the glass. I stiffly stepped aside. Leaning against the pale hospital wall, I slowly slid down, squatting on the floor. I buried my face in my knees, a broken laugh escaping my throat. I trembled with laughter, tears splashing onto the muddy floor. It was too ridiculous. Alice Linwood, you truly live like a joke. Just as I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. The harsh fluorescent light overhead was suddenly blocked by a shadow. “Alice.” The voice was familiar, yet filled with an undisguised tremble of panic and concern. I slowly lifted my head. Ethan Reed stood before me, breathless. He must have just come from a business function, but his hair was wet with rain. “I was just in the neighborhood for a project, and I saw someone who looked a lot like you walking in the rain…” He crouched down, his gaze falling on my right wrist and my blood-stained knees. His eyes immediately reddened. “What have you done to yourself?” I looked at him, opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The nerves that had been taut all night. Upon hearing that long-lost concern, they completely snapped. My vision went black, and I lost consciousness. In the last second before I passed out, I faintly heard Ethan’s furious roar: “Doctor! Help her!” Meanwhile. New York, our old apartment. Liam Walker stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. Looking at the overwhelming downpour outside, he impatiently tugged at his tie. Half an hour. Alice Linwood hadn’t cried and knocked on the door in the hallway as usual. Nor had she sent any begging texts. “Liam…” Chloe Davis, wearing Alice’s silk pajamas, walked over timidly. “Alice went out so late, will she be okay? Maybe you should call and check?” “What could happen? She has no money, and I canceled that joint credit card.” Liam snorted, his voice certain. “Don’t worry about her. The rain’s so heavy outside, she’ll come crawling back, crying and begging me to open the door, in less than half an hour.” He turned and walked towards the couch. His gaze suddenly caught something on the table, tucked under a glass. It was the velvet ring box he’d bought for his proposal next month. And next to the box, a set of keys lay quietly. Alice Linwood’s apartment keys. Liam’s heart suddenly, inexplicably, skipped a beat.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409058”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When the rogue attacked, my Fated Mate, Alpha Jackson, shielded Phoebe without even a glance my way. My son, Thomas, clung to Phoebe’s leg, screaming “bad woman” at me. In the chaos, a chilling numbness spread through me. The pregnancy test report clutched in my hand had long since fallen into a puddle. Just ten minutes ago, I thought it was just another accident. Until Alpha Jackson chose to protect Phoebe. Until my son, Thomas, shoved me, leaving me exposed to danger. It turned out Jackson’s love for me was a lie from the start. I was nothing more than a full-time nanny Jackson hired while Phoebe was away. And I had seven days left until I completely vanished from this world. Scarlett POV After the chaos subsided, the pack’s lead medic was already on site. They swarmed around Phoebe, who was hiding behind Jackson, checking on her and offering treatment. Jackson followed close behind, his brows furrowed in a tight knot. The hand wearing his wedding ring was now clasped tightly around Phoebe’s wrist. Thomas stood beside them, crying so hard his voice was hoarse, repeatedly sobbing, “Phoebe, please don’t die.” Phoebe, the Beta’s daughter who grew up with Jackson. She had only recently returned from the Werewolf Academy. Her mere presence was enough to command his full attention. I stood alone, unnoticed by anyone. The wind dried the blood on my clothes, making the fabric stiff and chafing my skin raw. My abdomen throbbed faintly where Thomas had kicked me hard. Before I could even move, Jackson suddenly turned back. His gaze, cutting through the throng of people, landed on me. It was cold, filled with impatience. “Scarlett, don’t just stand there.” He called my name, his tone like scolding an incompetent subordinate. “Phoebe’s shaken. Go back home, make her a soothing hot tea, and bring it to the hospital.” I wanted to say I was hurt too. I wanted to say my stomach ached. I wanted to say that the ruined paper showed I was six weeks pregnant. But a metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I swallowed it down. “Okay.” I heard my own voice, eerily calm. Jackson seemed satisfied with my obedience. He turned and followed the medics away. The crowd gradually dispersed. I returned alone to the Alpha’s residence in Frostveil Pack. As I walked in, Gamma Lena was pouring a pot of freshly brewed calming tea into a thermos. Seeing me enter, disheveled and covered in mud, she froze, her eyes darting away. “Luna Scarlett… Alpha Jackson called, he asked me to bring Ms. Phoebe a hot drink. He didn’t mention you were also…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. In the werewolf world, pack members must obey the Alpha’s orders. I ignored her awkwardness and went straight upstairs. Passing Thomas’s room, toys were still scattered everywhere. His favorite limited-edition wolf plushie lay alone on the rug, an arm torn off. I had queued all night six months ago to get that limited edition for him. This morning, before we left, Thomas had thrown a huge tantrum because I accidentally knocked over that toy. He pointed a finger at me and yelled, “I knew you weren’t my real mom! If it were Phoebe, she’d never ruin my stuff!” Back then, I just dismissed it as childish talk. Now, it seemed, children’s instincts were often the most accurate. He had known all along who the outsider in this house was. I went back to the master bedroom and locked the door. The bathroom mirror reflected a pale face. A scar marred my forehead, a wound from the chaos. It had healed, leaving only a small mark. I lifted a hand to touch it, feeling nothing. Stripping off my blood-stained clothes, I balled them up and tossed them directly into the trash. Along with the crumpled report, its words now illegible. The wounds on my body had already healed, but the hot water brought a fine sting as it hit my skin. I looked down at my flat lower abdomen. A tiny life had once grown there. Just hours ago, I had been overjoyed, wanting to tell Jackson the good news. Now, there was nothing. That kick had been hard. Compounded by the cold and the shock. Blood streamed down my thighs, forming winding rivulets on the white tiles, before spiraling into the black hole of the drain. I didn’t cry. I just felt tired. After my shower, my phone screen lit up. It was a message from Jackson. Just one short line: Is the soup here yet? Phoebe’s hungry. He didn’t ask if I was hurt. He didn’t ask how bad that kick had been. I stared at the screen for a long time until my eyes ached. Then, I replied: On its way. After sending that message, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Inside lay a one-way ticket to Europe and a bottle of mate-bond breaking potion I’d bought from Elara the Witch. I had thought I wouldn’t need them anymore. With a child on the way, I’d wanted to give this relationship another chance. But now, I was glad I hadn’t destroyed them. I took out the ticket, my thumb tracing the date. It departed in seven days. That was Jackson’s birthday, and the deadline I’d set for myself. I picked up a pen and drew a heavy circle around the date on the calendar. The countdown began.

Scarlett POV The next morning, I was woken by noise downstairs. Jackson was back. He’d brought Phoebe and Thomas with him. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the cozy scene in the living room. Phoebe wore Jackson’s shirt, its oversized hem covering her thighs, making her look small and delicate. She sat on the sofa, a mug of warm milk in her hands. Thomas nestled in her lap, mouth open, waiting for her to feed him. Jackson sat next to them, cutting fruit. His knife skills weren’t great; the peel broke several times. But he was patient. Before, if I wanted fruit, he’d just frown and say, “Cut it yourself. I’m not your servant.” “Scarlett’s awake?” Phoebe noticed me first. She started to stand, but Jackson pressed his hand to her shoulder. “Sit still. The doctor said you’re weak, don’t move around.” Jackson’s voice was deep. When he turned to me, it immediately turned cold. “Since you’re awake, come down and make breakfast. Lena’s off today, and Phoebe wants your seafood chowder.” My fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles white. Seafood chowder. Everyone in the Pack knew Phoebe was allergic to seafood. Was he testing me, or trying to humiliate me? Or perhaps, between me and Phoebe, he simply forgot who had the allergy. “She’s allergic to seafood,” I said blandly. Jackson’s hand, cutting fruit, paused. The knife blade nicked his thumb. A bead of blood welled up. Phoebe gasped, quickly taking his hand and putting it to her lips. Jackson didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked at her with tender eyes. “Phoebe, you’re so thoughtful.” Then, he looked up at me, his eyes filled with blame. “So you got it wrong. No need for excuses. You weren’t this forgetful before.” Before? How did I live before? Every meal, I had to cater to everyone’s tastes. Jackson didn’t eat garlic; Thomas wouldn’t touch carrots or bell peppers. If even a hint of something they disliked appeared in a dish, the entire spread would be dumped directly into the trash. I remembered everyone’s preferences, yet no one remembered I didn’t eat cilantro. “Maybe I got it wrong.” I didn’t argue, turning to enter the kitchen. If he wanted his darling to drink seafood soup, I’d make it. Cleaning the lobster, chopping onions, simmering the broth. I performed each step methodically. The kitchen’s glass door wasn’t fully closed. Fragments of conversation drifted in from the living room. “Jackson, is Scarlett angry?” It was Phoebe’s voice, laced with a hint of grievance. “Maybe I should move out. I’m not as clingy as Thomas, it’s fine.” “This is my home, and it’s your home. Stay as long as you like.” Jackson’s voice was firm. “As for her, don’t worry about it. Taking care of pack members is the Luna’s responsibility. Just ignore her.” “But…” “No buts. Thomas can’t be without you. Look at him this morning, has he asked for Scarlett even once?” Thomas’s childish voice followed immediately: “I don’t want that bad woman! I want Phoebe to be my mom!” Whoosh— I turned the faucet to full blast. The water rushed over the cold ceramic bowl, washing away those grating voices. I looked down at the sink. A blank face stared back from the reflection. Before, hearing these words would have made me sad. I would have cried all night, buried under my blankets. I would have wondered if I wasn’t good enough, not gentle or considerate enough. But now, my heart was surprisingly calm. It was like watching a clumsy performance. Only laughable. Half an hour later, I carried the steaming soup pot out of the kitchen. Jackson was leaning over, feeding Phoebe freshly cut apple slices. Seeing me, he didn’t even lift his gaze. “Just put it down. Let it cool before serving.” I placed the soup on the dining table, said nothing, and turned to go upstairs. “Stop.” Jackson called out. He put down the apple, pulled a napkin to wipe his hands, and said carelessly, “Clear out your fragrance lab. Phoebe wants to use it for yoga.” My steps froze. That fragrance lab was my only private space in this house. It held my unfinished perfumes. That was my red line. “There’s a gym downstairs,” I said. “The gym doesn’t get enough light.” Jackson frowned. “Just clear it out. Why so much fuss? Your blending stuff isn’t worth anything, it’s just taking up space.” “Blending stuff.” That was my passion. It was the only thing that proved I was once a werewolf warrior with exceptional herbal talent, not just a nanny. But in the eyes of this powerful Alpha, it was just space-wasting trash. “Got it.” I heard myself say. No argument, no hysteria. Jackson seemed somewhat surprised by my obedience, but he didn’t dwell on it. He just waved me away. I went back to my room and pulled out a large black trash bag. Entering the fragrance lab. The bottle of perfume I’d spent three months blending, named “Deep Sea,” stood silently on the workbench. I picked it up. I slammed the bottle to the floor. Glass shattered, a jarring sound. My carefully blended essential oils flowed across the floor, and the scent of herbs instantly permeated the air. I scooped the shards into the trash bag, along with the essential oils, measuring cups, and droppers. Everything was cleaned up. It took less than ten minutes. The once-full room became instantly empty. Only a faint, lingering mixed scent remained in the air. There was no trace of Scarlett left here. Just like in this house.

Scarlett POV I was woken by urgent knocking. I opened the door, and Thomas stood there, holding his wolf plushie with the broken arm, a fierce look on his face. “Bad woman, who told you to touch my toy?!” He threw the plushie hard at my leg. The sharp plastic edge hit my kneecap, a piercing pain. I looked down at my son at my feet. Five years old, and he was the spitting image of Jackson. His eyes, his nose, even that entitled, bossy demeanor were identical. I remembered when he was first born, a soft, cuddly bundle. Jackson disliked his noise, never wanting to hold him. It was me, pacing the room all night, humming lullabies to get him to sleep. His first “Mama,” his first steps, his first time eating with a spoon. Every single moment, I was there with him. But from the day Phoebe returned, everything changed. Phoebe only needed to give him a piece of candy to earn a sweet “thank you.” Yet a whole meal I painstakingly prepared would only earn me a “this tastes awful!” “I didn’t touch your toy.” I bent down, picked up the plushie, and offered it to him. “You broke it yourself yesterday.” “You’re lying!” Thomas slapped my hand away. “Phoebe said you were jealous her gift to me was better than yours, so you ruined it when I wasn’t looking! You’re a wicked witch!” Wicked witch. How could a five-year-old know such a term to describe someone? No need to guess who taught him. I looked at his flushed little face and suddenly felt exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to explain. “Think what you want.” I walked past him, heading downstairs for water. Thomas clearly hadn’t expected this reaction from me. Before, if he threw a tantrum, I’d frantically comfort him, agreeing to all his unreasonable demands. The anger of being ignored made him instantly lose control. He rushed forward and bit my calf hard. His sharp baby teeth pierced through the fabric, digging into my flesh. I gasped in pain, instinctively pushing him away. It wasn’t a strong push. But Thomas stumbled backward, sat heavily on the floor, and started to wail. “Wah—Daddy! The bad woman hit me!” The laughter downstairs ceased abruptly. Hurried footsteps approached. Jackson stormed up the stairs, saw his son crying on the floor, and me standing nearby, observing coldly. His face immediately darkened. “Scarlett, what are you doing?” He strode over, pushed me aside, and pulled Thomas into his arms. The force was strong. I staggered a few steps, my lower back hitting the stair railing, making me gasp in pain. “She pushed me! She tried to push me down the stairs!” Thomas huddled in Jackson’s embrace, pointing at me and complaining, crying crocodile tears. “I didn’t.” I straightened up, holding the railing, and looked at the father and son. “Didn’t?” Jackson scoffed, his gaze on me filled with disgust. “Thomas is only five. Does he lie? Scarlett, I never realized you were so vicious, you can’t even stand a child?” Vicious. Can’t stand. So that’s what he thought of me. Phoebe also rushed up then, her face anxious, peering at Thomas. “Did you get hurt? Let me see.” She wiped Thomas’s tears, then turned to me, her eyes full of reproach. “Scarlett, children can be difficult. You should just talk to him, why would you hit him? What if he really got hurt…” “Enough.” Jackson cut her off, standing up with Thomas in his arms. He looked down at me, as if I were a criminal. “Apologize to Thomas.” I froze. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” “Do I need to repeat myself?” Jackson’s voice was laced with suppressed fury. “Apologize.” I looked into his cold eyes. Five years of shared life, and in his eyes, it meant nothing compared to Phoebe’s manipulation, or Thomas’s lie. I suddenly smiled. A soft, bitter smile. “Fine.” I nodded, looking at Thomas’s little face, contorted with triumph. “I’m sorry.” As those words left my lips, I felt something inside me break completely. It was the last thread connecting me to this family. Thomas snorted, turning his head away from me. Jackson’s expression softened slightly, but still looked grim. “Don’t show your face to Thomas these next few days. You just upset him.” With that, he walked downstairs with his son and Phoebe. A family of three. Such a harmonious sight. I stood there, watching them disappear around the stairwell. The wound on my knee had healed, but the bloodstains remained, and the bite mark on my calf was already bruised. The only things that could harm a werewolf, besides silver, were other werewolves. I should treat myself with herbs quickly. But then I decided not to. Let it be a reminder of what had happened. I returned to my room and pulled a suitcase from under the bed. Opened the closet. Most of the clothes were black, white, and gray — Jackson’s preferred colors. He said bright colors made me look frivolous, and only muted tones suited the Luna’s status. I didn’t take any of them. Only a few outfits I’d bought before we were together, and the photo album hidden deep in the closet. I opened the album. The first photo was of Jackson and me. In the picture, his face was stern, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he was very unwilling. I, on the other hand, smiled like an idiot, my eyes full of light. That was me five years ago. Back then, I believed that if I tried hard enough, loved him enough, this stone would eventually warm up. Now I knew. A stone would never warm up. Especially when that stone’s heart was already occupied by someone else. I took out scissors. Snip— Along the center of the photo. The woman with the happy smile and the ice-cold man were completely separated. I threw Jackson’s half of the photo into the trash can. Only keeping the half with myself, eyes full of light. Though that light, now, was extinguished. But I would rekindle it. Somewhere without Jackson.

Scarlett POV It was late when I finished packing. The suitcase was light, barely half-full. I’d lived here for five years, yet I could take so little with me. I pushed the suitcase to the deepest part of the walk-in closet, covering it with old coats. As I straightened up, the door opened. Jackson walked in. He’d just showered, smelling of shower gel mixed with a faint hint of tobacco. It was the brand of cigarettes Phoebe had given him. He didn’t even look at me, walking straight to the bed and sitting down. As he dried his hair, he said, “There’s a Full Moon Gala tomorrow night. You’ll come with me.” If this were before, I would have been too excited to sleep. Because it meant he acknowledged my status. But now, I only felt sarcasm. “Phoebe’s back, isn’t she?” I walked to the vanity table, picked up my face cream, and applied it. “She’s probably more suitable for such an occasion than I am.” Jackson’s hair-drying paused. He looked at me through the mirror, his brows furrowed again. “Scarlett, are you done with this?” He threw the towel onto the bed impatiently. “Phoebe hasn’t fully recovered. She can’t handle the noise of such an event. You’re my mate, the pack’s Luna. This is your responsibility.” Responsibility. So that’s why I existed. A shield, a tool, a nanny. Anything but a lover. “I’m not going.” I capped the face cream and turned to face him. “I don’t feel well.” Jackson seemed surprised by my refusal. This was probably the first time I’d said “no” to him since becoming his Luna. He stood up, strode over to me, and gripped my jaw. His grip was tight, making me wince in pain. “Scarlett, don’t think I don’t know what games you’re playing.” His eyes were sharp as knives, as if trying to see through me. “Though I don’t know why you smell so weak… but as Luna, don’t be so dramatic. Intentionally not cleaning up your bloodstains and trying to gain sympathy in front of me, what, feeling threatened now that Phoebe’s back?” Threatened? I couldn’t help but let out a short, bitter laugh. Seven days ago, maybe I would have. But now, facing a dying relationship, where was the threat? “Jackson.” I looked him straight in the eyes, my voice so calm it surprised even myself. “I really don’t feel well. And I’m exhausted.” Jackson stared at me for a few seconds. As if trying to find traces of a lie on my face. But he failed. There was no emotion in my eyes—no jealousy, no anger, just a stagnant pool of calm. This serenity felt alien to him, even a hint of inexplicable irritation. He released my jaw and scoffed coldly. “Suit yourself.” With that, he turned to leave. At the doorway, he paused again. “Since you’re not going, don’t regret it. Tomorrow, I’ll take Phoebe. Don’t come crying to me if people start gossiping.” It was a threat. He knew I cared about my standing, about the respectability of this relationship. Unfortunately, he miscalculated this time. “I won’t.” I looked at his back and said softly, “As long as you’re happy.” Jackson’s body stiffened. But he didn’t look back, merely slamming the door shut. Bang! The wall clock trembled. I looked at the closed door and let out a long breath. I hadn’t lied. I really didn’t feel well. The dragging pain in my abdomen hadn’t disappeared; instead, it grew more intense. I found the medicine cabinet, pulled out some painkillers, and swallowed them. The bitter taste of herbs spread across my tongue. I lay in bed and turned off the light. In the darkness, my phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a notification of funds received. Fifty thousand dollars. Immediately followed by a message from Phoebe: Scarlett, thank you for clearing out the fragrance lab for me. This money is compensation for your perfume materials. Jackson asked me to send it, said he didn’t want you to work for nothing. I stared at the long string of numbers. In Jackson’s eyes, my dreams, my dignity, were worth this much. Or rather, it was a hush money of sorts, enabling Phoebe to comfortably usurp my things. I didn’t reply, nor did I refund it. I kept it. Why shouldn’t I? It was what I deserved. Consider it five years of nanny wages, and emotional damages. There would be many expenses in the human world after leaving the pack. I placed my phone face down on the nightstand and closed my eyes. Six more days. Just six more days to endure. Then I’d be completely free. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a commotion erupted downstairs. It sounded like something shattered, accompanied by Phoebe’s shriek. I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head. Even if the house collapsed, it had nothing to do with me. That night, I had a dream. I dreamt I was a bird. Trapped in a golden cage, I plucked out all my feathers to please my owner. Finally, the owner opened the cage. Not to release me. But to put in a more beautiful peacock. The featherless bird was carelessly tossed into the trash. Gasping its last breath. When I woke up, my pillow was soaked. Not with tears. With cold sweat.

Scarlett POV I don’t remember how I walked out of the mansion. Only that the sunlight outside was blinding, yet held no warmth against my skin. I went to the Pack’s medical center. It was more like a small clinic. Since werewolves rarely needed extensive treatment, it was quiet and empty. I registered, underwent some necessary exams, and finally found the doctor. “Scarlett?” The doctor, an older woman, pushed up her glasses, her gaze falling on my report. Her brows immediately drew together. “Your condition is very dangerous. You have an incomplete miscarriage, with retained tissue, and you’ve got a wolf venom infection. You need surgery immediately.” Surgery. I knew what that meant. Cold instruments probing my body, scraping away that unformed blood clot, along with all my hopes for the past. “I won’t have surgery.” I heard my own calm voice. “Just give me some strong painkillers.” The doctor looked up sharply, staring at me as if I were insane. “Are you trying to die? This kind of infection is very hard to heal on its own, and it will harm your wolf…” She paused, pointing to the alarmingly low number on the lab report. “Are your wounds healing slower recently? And has your wolf been responding less?” I instinctively pulled down my sleeve, covering the bruise on my wrist. It was from Jackson’s grip yesterday, still not healed. Normally, it would disappear quickly. “I know what I’m doing.” I stood up, didn’t wait for the doctor to say more, and walked out of the examination room. Only I knew that this body was broken. It couldn’t be fixed. Even if I fixed this, there would be something else waiting for me. Rather than let my wolf and I endure this torment, I’d rather finish these last few days with dignity. While picking up my medication, the wall-mounted TV in the lobby was broadcasting news from the werewolf world. “Frostveil Pack’s Alpha Jackson attends Full Moon Gala with a mystery lady, spending millions on a pink diamond necklace…” On screen, Jackson stood tall in a perfectly tailored formal suit. Phoebe clung to his arm, the shimmering pink diamond necklace adorning her neck, smiling blissfully. The reporter’s microphone was practically shoved into their faces. “Mr. Jackson, is this lady your mate?” Jackson didn’t deny it, only looking down at Phoebe, his eyes so tender they could drip honey. “She is the most important person to me.” Many in the lobby were watching, some envious, some gasping. No one remembered that I was the true Luna. I stood behind the crowd, clutching a bag of painkillers, a bitter taste of bile in my mouth. The most important person. Then what was I? Five years of shared life, I stood by him from Alpha heir to true Alpha. To garner support, I fought alongside him until I collapsed from exhaustion; to care for his ailing mother, I stayed by her bedside for three months, missing my own mother’s final moments. In the end, I was just an invisible person, not even worthy of a name. I lowered my head, popping a pill into my mouth. I swallowed it dry, without water. The rough tablet scraped my throat, leaving a burning pain. But this pain felt good. At least it reminded me that I was still alive.

Scarlett POV By the time I returned to the mansion, night had fallen completely. The living room was brightly lit. Thomas was sprawled on the rug, drawing, while Phoebe sat beside him, sharpening pencils. Jackson was reviewing documents. If not for the few large cardboard boxes piled in the corner, this would indeed be a picture of a warm family scene. Those were my things. My books, my tea set, even the few coats I often wore. All haphazardly stuffed into cardboard boxes, like a pile of garbage waiting for disposal. “What’s all this?” I changed my shoes and walked over to the boxes. Gamma Lena, who was sealing a box with tape, startled when she saw me, making the tape rip with a sharp, grating sound. “Luna Scarlett… Ms. Phoebe said the house was too cluttered, easy to collect dust, and not good for Thomas, so…” “I asked Gamma Lena to tidy up.” Phoebe put down her pencil, stood up, and looked at me with an innocent expression. “Scarlett, don’t overthink it. I saw you hardly ever use these things, they were just taking up space. Besides, the doctor said Thomas has a bit of allergic rhinitis, and the house needs to be kept clean.” Allergic rhinitis. Though children at that age often got sick, I didn’t recall him having that condition. I looked at the unsealed box. Inside was a bedtime storybook, its corners worn from use. That was the storybook I read to Thomas every night when he was three. Now it was an allergen. “Just throw them out.” Jackson didn’t even look up, turning a page of his document. “They’re useless anyway.” I looked at the man’s profile. Cold, entitled. As if he wasn’t throwing away my belongings, but me. “Okay.” I bent down and picked up the box. It was heavy. Lena started to help, but I dodged her. “I’ll do it myself.” I carried the box and walked out. As I passed Thomas, he suddenly looked up, holding out his drawing, and called out to Jackson, showing off, “Daddy, look! My family portrait!” Jackson put down his document, took the drawing, and a smile touched his lips. “That’s good.” I instinctively glanced over. There were three people in the drawing. A tall daddy, a pretty mommy, and Thomas in the middle, holding hands. The “mommy” wore a pink dress and a sparkling necklace. That was Phoebe’s outfit today. I wasn’t in the drawing. I felt the box in my arms suddenly weigh a thousand pounds, suffocating me. “Thomas is so talented.” Phoebe patted Thomas’s head, giving me a defiant look. “How about I take you to art classes later?” “Yes! I love Phoebe the most!” Thomas hugged her neck and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. I averted my gaze and quickened my pace. I walked out the front door, all the way to the open yard outside. I dropped the box heavily to the ground. Thud! A cloud of dust rose. Looking at the storybook, a corner peeking out. It suddenly felt ridiculous. Scarlett, look. The memories you cherished like treasure are, in others’ eyes, nothing but trash to be discarded at any moment. I pulled a lighter from my pocket. Click! A blue flame danced in the night wind. I lit a corner of the box. The fire spread quickly, the dry paper curling and blackening, turning to ash. The firelight reflected in my eyes, feeling hot. At some point, Jackson stood behind me. “What are you doing?” His voice was deep, tinged with surprise. He probably hadn’t expected me to burn my own things. After all, before, even a sticky note, if he’d given it to me, I would have carefully saved it. “As you said.” I watched the dancing flames, not turning around. “Cleaning up trash.” Jackson was silent for a few seconds. “Scarlett, you’ve been acting strangely lately.” He walked over to me, scrutinizing me. “If this is to get my attention, you’re overacting.” Overacting? I turned, looking at the man I had loved for seven years. In the firelight, his profile was still breathtakingly handsome. But my heart, like this pile of ashes, was utterly cold. “Jackson.” I called his name. “If I died one day, would you be sad?” Jackson froze. Then, he frowned, an obvious look of disgust appearing on his face. “Don’t say such morbid things.” He flicked his cigarette ash, his tone cold. “Someone like you, you’re tough as nails. How could you die so easily?” I smiled. Yes. Someone like me, like a wild weed. Stepped into the mud, burned by fire, as long as there’s a root left, I can cling to life. But Jackson. This time, I’m pulling up the roots too. “That’s good.” I said softly. “That’s good.” I won’t love you anymore, Jackson. You destroyed me with your own hands.

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At the Prom, my girlfriend Leah asked me in front of everyone, “Can I have the first dance with Leo Miller?” I agreed without hesitation. Leah immediately took Leo’s hand. The music started, and the two danced gracefully. I turned and walked away. Not long after leaving the school grounds, Leah called: “Leo is shy and too nervous to dance with other girls, that’s why I danced with him.” “If you get jealous again, we’re breaking up!” I just smiled. She didn’t know that just one day earlier, I had applied to a different university than her. I was already planning to break up with her anyway. Leah wore a long white dress, its skirt embroidered with delicate silver threads. Under the lights, she looked like a fairy stepping out of a fairytale. When she walked in, arm in arm with me, all eyes were on us, filled with envy. A few guys even gave me a thumbs-up, muttering things like, “Ethan, you lucky bastard.” But I couldn’t feel happy at all. From the moment we stepped into the hall, Leah’s attention wasn’t on me. She kept her head down, staring at her phone, tapping it open and closing it repeatedly. I offered her a glass of juice, which she took but didn’t drink. She casually placed it on a nearby table, her eyes still glued to the screen. I knew she was waiting for someone. Leo Miller, the guy who transferred to our class a year ago. He came from a tough background; his mother was constantly ill, and his father worked odd jobs to make ends meet. Leah, for some reason, had voluntarily signed up for the school’s mentorship program and became Leo’s contact person. At first, it was just helping him apply for scholarships and sending him study materials. Later, it turned into eating meals together, studying together, and walking around the track together. Some friends had warned me, saying Leah was being too nice to Leo. I remember saying it was fine, that she was just kind-hearted. But the line between kindness and genuine feelings can be incredibly thin sometimes. Ten minutes before the dance began, Leo finally arrived. He wore a dark blue suit, nothing fancy, but it was clean and neat. His hair was carefully styled, making him look quite different from his usual self. The moment Leah saw him, a smile instantly bloomed on her face. I knew that smile all too well. It wasn’t polite, it wasn’t courteous—it was the kind where her eyes truly lit up. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said, walking toward him, a hint of a playful whine in her voice. “Sorry, I got held up on the way,” Leo chuckled, pulling a small box from his pocket and handing it to her. “For you.” Leah opened it; inside was a bracelet. A simple knot woven from a light pink string, with a few white beads threaded through the middle. The material and craftsmanship looked like something you’d find at a flea market for ten bucks. But she loved it. “It’s so pretty!” She lowered her head and began to unfasten the Givenchy bracelet from her own wrist. That bracelet was a gift from me: a platinum chain with a small, dark green enamel pendant. I had arranged for someone to bring it back from Paris for her sixteenth birthday and personally clasped it around her wrist. That day, she said something I remember to this day. “Ethan, I’ll wear this forever, and never take it off.” Now she was taking it off, so naturally, so casually. She raised her hand, admiring the cheap, handmade beaded bracelet in the light, a gentle curve on her lips.

Leah beamed like a girl who’d just received her favorite candy. I looked at the bracelet she’d removed, and a dull thud echoed in my chest. No pain, just a heavy ache. I turned my face away, not wanting to see it anymore. “Ethan,” Leah said, her voice light, as if discussing something inconsequential, “I want to dance the first dance with Leo. Is that okay?” Before I could reply, Leo spoke up. “Leah, are you sure about this?” he said, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone perfectly pitched with hesitation. “Ethan’s your boyfriend. The first dance should be yours.” As he spoke, his eyes briefly flickered to me, then back to Leah. There was a thin layer of smugness hidden in that gaze, like an undercurrent beneath the surface of still water. He thought he was hiding it well, but everyone could see it. Leah didn’t look at Leo; she just watched me, waiting for my reaction. She probably expected me to frown, to ask “Are you serious?” She probably expected me to throw a tantrum, like the last time she went to the movies alone with Leo. “He just learned ballroom dancing, and he’s nervous about dancing with other girls,” Leah added, as if offering me an out. “You know his situation; we can’t just leave him standing there watching, can we?” I didn’t argue, I didn’t make a scene. I just looked at her for three seconds. In those three seconds, a lot of things flashed through my mind. I remembered the first time I saw her, when we were three years old. I remembered her shining eyes on her birthday, when I helped her put on the bracelet. I remembered the countless times she’d talked about her plans for Harvard University. We applied to the same school, the same major. She’d talked about riding bikes around campus together, grabbing snacks. She always smiled beautifully when she said those things, and I always believed they were real. Three seconds passed. I took a step back, silently giving up my place. Leah paused, surprised by my easy agreement. Her eyes held a hint of shock, even a touch of confusion, as if I’d thrown her off her script. But that surprise lasted less than two seconds before her attention returned to Leo. She took his hand and walked onto the dance floor. The music began—a slow waltz. The two danced gracefully. Leah’s white dress flowed like water in the lights, her steps light and airy. Leo’s movements were a bit stiff, occasionally missing a beat, clearly a beginner. But Leah didn’t care. She looked up at him, her eyes full of smiles. Everyone around them was watching. Some whispered, some took out their phones to snap pictures, and some searched for me. I could feel their gazes sweeping over me, filled with confusion and sympathy. I didn’t look back. I turned and walked towards the hall exit. The night air was chilly as it swept in. As I walked out of the school gates, I instinctively touched the watch Leah had given me on my wrist. The strap was old, the leather starting to crack. I looked down at it, smiled, but didn’t take it off. Not because I cherished it, but because it didn’t matter anymore. My phone screen lit up with a message from Leah. I tapped it open, but didn’t rush to read the content. First, I checked the time. A dance song usually lasts about three minutes. Adding in a minute for her and Leo to chat after their dance, it was exactly the right time for her to be free to contact me. “I told you Leo’s shy, and he just learned ballroom dancing, he’s nervous to dance with other girls.”

“Can you please get over your irrational jealousy?” “Otherwise, when we get to Harvard, I won’t dare tell anyone you’re my boyfriend!” Each message ended with an exclamation mark, each one delivered in that familiar, condescending, scolding tone. As if I had done something wrong again, overreacted again, and should apologize. I read them twice, then smiled. She didn’t know that just one day earlier, I had changed my Harvard application, switching to Stanford University instead. It was the most decisive choice I’d ever made in my life. Back home, I started clearing out everything related to her. A stack of ticket stubs, a jar filled with folded paper stars, and over a dozen birthday cards. Her messy handwriting, from elementary school to high school, always addressed to ‘Ethan.’ I piled all these things into a large cardboard box. Then, the wall. The photo of us at fifteen, standing outside the school in our school gear, her smile so sweet, me half a head taller than her. By my bed, a clumsy little ceramic cat she’d made herself. She’d said it looked like my face. I held that little cat in my hand for two seconds, then tossed it in too. The box was nearly full, but I didn’t seal it immediately. For every item inside, I could tell a story. One movie ticket stub was from the 3D re-release of *Titanic*; she cried so much during it. She leaned on my shoulder, wiping away tears, saying we couldn’t end up like Jack and Rose. One amusement park ticket was from a summer trip. She insisted on riding the roller coaster, then halfway through, she squeezed my arm so hard it left five bruises, making me wince. And a scarf she knitted in middle school. The stitches were uneven, with loose threads everywhere, but she insisted it was the prettiest scarf in the whole class. The box was overflowing, full of her traces. Fifteen years of traces, from three to seventeen, my entire youth. My phone suddenly vibrated; not a call, but a social media notification. I tapped it open and saw that Leo Miller had just posted on Instagram, with two pictures. The first was a hotel room: dim, yellowish lighting, white sheets. The second was a close-up of a pair of crystal high heels. The shoes lay tilted on the carpet, one upside down, sole facing up. I recognized those shoes instantly. Last year, for Leah’s birthday, I’d saved three months of allowance and borrowed money from my dad to buy them. The Swarovski crystal logo was visible on the sole. They were size 6, a perfect fit. She’d walked around the room in them several times when she first tried them on, saying they were the most beautiful high heels she’d ever worn. Leo’s caption read: “She said she drank too much and insisted I take her back to the hotel. Exhausting.” Below, a flurry of comments. “Dude, you’re so lucky!” “A goddess just throwing herself at you! Those shoes aren’t simple, and neither is the girl wearing them!” I stared at the shoes for a few seconds. I walked back to the cardboard box and wrapped sealing tape around it three times. I picked up the box, went downstairs, and threw it into the garbage bin outside our mansion. It landed with a muffled thud, then silence. In the following days, Leah didn’t send a single text or call. I was glad for the peace. A week later, our class rep, Chloe, sent a message in the group chat, suggesting a class dinner. She specifically DM’d me, insisting I had to come. She was Leah’s best friend, inseparable since freshman year. I could pretty much guess what she was trying to do. I told her I was busy, didn’t have time.

“Oh, come on, you’ve already applied to universities. What could you possibly be busy with? You have to come, or don’t call me your friend anymore.” At five in the afternoon, I arrived at the restaurant’s private room. I was about to knock, but my hand paused. Not because I was nervous, but because I heard my own name. “…That night, when you danced the first dance with Leo, weren’t you worried Ethan would get jealous?” Leah’s voice carried a laugh, and a careless indifference: “Worried about what? I fully expected it.” “He needs to be taught a lesson for that awful temper of his.” “He’s so bossy and controlling, he doesn’t give me any freedom.” “What’s the big deal if I dance with someone else? It’s not like I’ll lose a limb.” Someone else asked, “But what if Ethan actually got angry? He’s got so much going for him, and plenty of girls are after him, right?” Leah chuckled again. “Ethan and I have been childhood sweethearts for over fifteen years. I know exactly what kind of person he is better than anyone.” “Don’t worry, he’s just throwing a little tantrum. He’ll be fine in a few days.” “Just like last time, when I insisted on going to the movies with Leo.” She paused, then added, her tone even lighter: “Even if the sky fell, he would never break up with me.” “Of that, I am one hundred percent certain.” I stood outside the door, feeling no heartache, no anger, just exhaustion. It was the kind of exhaustion you feel after walking a very, very long road, finally reaching the finish line. She was right. I had argued, I had made scenes, but I had never brought up breaking up. Every time she crossed a line, every time she pushed my boundaries like they were elastic, every time she’d ask with a sly smile, “You won’t get mad, right?” I always gave in, not because I had no temper, but because I loved her. But now I knew that in her eyes, my patience wasn’t tolerance—it was proof that my boundaries could be endlessly retreated. She took my goodness towards her as proof that I couldn’t live without her. Just as I was about to turn and leave, someone patted my shoulder from behind. “Ethan, why aren’t you going in?” Leo Miller smiled at me. Before I could answer, he already pushed the door open. Everyone in the private room looked towards the entrance. Leah was sitting directly opposite the door, with an empty seat next to her. She saw me, paused for a moment, then quickly composed herself, even offering a small smile. Chloe was the first to react, standing up and waving me over: “Ethan’s here? Come in, come in, we were just waiting for you guys.” Leo half-pushed, half-coaxed me into the room. Chloe grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the empty seat next to Leah. I didn’t sit, saying I’d just stand for a bit. Chloe wouldn’t have it, telling me to listen to her and firmly pressing me down into the chair. Leah looked up at me and softly said, “You’re here?” Her tone was natural, as if nothing had happened. On her wrist, the Givenchy bracelet was back. The platinum chain shimmered slightly under the lights, the dark green enamel pendant resting against her slender wrist bone. But right next to the bracelet, there was a faint indentation, left by that cheap beaded string. Two marks pressed together, one new, one old. I said nothing, lowering my head to eat. I mechanically chewed my food, swallowed. The table was lively. Chloe bustled around pouring drinks, someone cut the cake, and others cheered, urging the birthday girl to make a wish. Leah was chatting with Leo, her laughter echoing intermittently. I didn’t look at them, didn’t speak.

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The spotlight at the concert’s song request segment danced between me and my boyfriend, Ethan, then settled right on me. I clutched the diamond ring in my pocket. It was the signal I’d pre-arranged with the organizers. During the request segment, I was going to propose to Ethan. I held the mic, looking at Ethan beside me. Just as I was about to speak, he snatched the mic right out of my hand. Then, he turned and handed it to Ashley, his assistant, who was sitting beside him. “This is Ashley’s first concert, Keira. Why don’t you let her have the song request?” Before I could agree, Ashley had already picked a love song. Ethan started applauding. I forced a bitter smile. Ethan didn’t know this was the last chance I was giving us. I’d planned it all out: if the proposal failed, I’d leave this city. The singer on stage paused for a few seconds, awkwardly cleared their throat, and started warming up the crowd again. My best friend, Louise, was already fuming. “What’s wrong with Ethan? Last time you guys went to see the New Year’s fireworks, he brought Ashley. Your birthday party? Ashley was there. And now the concert?” Louise stopped mid-sentence. “Keira, I didn’t mean it like that… don’t take it the wrong way.” I gave a weak laugh. She wasn’t wrong. Ethan really did bring that assistant, Ashley, everywhere, always claiming it was “to handle work stuff whenever needed.” Louise lowered her voice: “Everyone’s already at the restaurant, the balloons are all set up. And then Ethan pulls a stunt like this, it’s driving me crazy!” She paused, “So, are we still waiting for him?” I forced a smile. “Louise, no need to wait.” My fingertips touched the diamond ring box in my pocket, pressing painfully against my skin. One carat. I’d spent ages choosing the style. Back then, while Ethan was napping, I’d wrapped a string around his ring finger three times, then took it to the jeweler to get the size right. For today, I’d contacted the concert organizers two months in advance and recorded a three-minute video. Eight years of memories, all our friends recording heartfelt messages. The very last frame was me, looking into the camera, saying those words. I’d recorded it seventeen times, just to get one where my smile wasn’t shaky. Ashley’s chosen song ended, and applause erupted, mixed with enthusiastic whistles. It seemed everyone assumed she and Ethan were a couple. Ethan turned to glance at me, as if just noticing I wasn’t clapping. “What’s wrong?” I said it was nothing. When the concert ended, the crowd surged out. He walked beside me, naturally reaching out to cup my shoulder, shielding me from the crush of people. “Still sulking? Is it really that big a deal, just a song request?” He looked down at his phone, texting, his tone casual. “I’ll book a private venue for you sometime. You can pick as many songs as you want.” “Sometime,” “next time,” “later.” His three go-to excuses. “Ethan.” I stopped. He didn’t, walking a couple more steps before turning back. “We agreed. Eight years, you’d give me a commitment. It’s been eight years now.” He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, glanced at me, and smiled. That familiar “here we go again” smirk. “What’s the rush? I’m juggling a bunch of projects right now. Once the new year settles, I’ll properly plan our wedding.” New year, another postponement. He’d said the same thing three years ago. That was the first time I’d brought him home to meet my parents. The plane tickets were already booked. The day before we were supposed to leave, his secretary said there was an urgent bid they had to rush. He canceled the tickets. Back then, he’d said, “What’s the rush? Meeting your parents is bound to happen sooner or later.” I flew alone, carrying two thoughtful presents. My mom asked where he was, and I just smiled, saying he had an urgent business trip. The car pulled into the driveway and stopped. He turned, his thumb gently brushing my earlobe. The touch was light. “I’ll buy you that bracelet you liked tomorrow, as an apology. How about it?” I tilted my head, avoiding his hand. He froze. “Ethan, stop trying to smooth things over. I don’t need it anymore.” Ethan raised an eyebrow, hitting the steering wheel. “Alright, you’re upset again. Go get some sleep, you’ll feel better tomorrow.” He then glanced at his phone, muttering to himself, “Ashley says she left something at the concert, I’ll go back and help her find it.” I calmly nodded. “Okay.” I got out of the car. Closed the door. He stared at me from the driver’s seat for two seconds, seemingly sensing something was off. But then his taillights flashed, and he drove out of the neighborhood.

I went upstairs alone. Walking into the living room, his jacket was draped over the back of the sofa, the faint scent of cedarwood still clinging to the collar. The sliding door to the balcony was half open. A line of words was carved into the railing. He’d used his keys to carve it the day we moved in, crooked and messy, even scraping a small strip of paint off the railing. “Keira, one day I’m going to marry you.” Back then, he’d just secured his first round of funding, full of youthful vigor, and had spun me around in the empty living room. “Once I build my career, I’ll give you the most magnificent wedding.” I believed him. And waited eight years. The first year, he said the company was just starting, wait a little longer. The third year, he said they were in an expansion phase, he couldn’t get away. The fifth year, he said it would be soon, definitely next year. The eighth year. I stood on the balcony, my fingertips tracing the carved words. The peeled paint had already developed a thin layer of rust. The ring box in my pocket was hurting me so much. I took it out and opened it. The one-carat diamond shimmered in the faint light filtering in from the living room. I couldn’t wait for him to propose, I thought. So, I would. I’d spent three months preparing, mustering all my courage. Contacting the organizers, recording the video, ordering the ring, troubling Louise and our friends to decorate the celebration restaurant. And all I got to do was touch the mic. The lock clicked. I quickly put the ring back. Ethan walked in, tossing his car keys onto the shoe cabinet. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me staring at the carving on the balcony. “What’s so interesting? Come on, let’s go to bed.” I didn’t move, just asked him, “Did you find Ashley’s thing?” “Yeah.” He walked past me, starting to unfasten his watch. “Ethan,” I called him. “Let’s break up.” His movements stopped for a beat, then he let out a scoffing laugh. “You’re going to get like this over a song request at a concert?” “It was her first time seeing a live show, what’s wrong with letting her have it?” “Am I not allowed to have any other women around me besides you?” His tone was helpless. “Alright, I already said I’d book a private venue for you next time. Go to sleep, I have to meet investors tomorrow.” With that, he continued towards the master bedroom. I watched his retreating figure and spoke calmly: “There’s a party at the Walsh family home next week. Something will be announced publicly.” “After that announcement, we’re done.” Ethan stopped, turned around, and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Keira, let me be clear.” His tone switched from nonchalant to cold. “I won’t fall for your family trying to pressure me into marriage.” “Are you that desperate to get married?” “What do you mean ‘we’re done’? Are you threatening me? Or playing hard to get?” I didn’t reply. He didn’t know this party had nothing to do with him. The Walsh family was announcing that I was giving up my heir apparent status to join an eight-year national-level confidential project. From then on, I would live under an assumed name, never appearing in public. The party was the Walsh family’s official statement to the world. To let everyone know that Keira, as a person, was no longer to be watched or her whereabouts questioned. But he, of course, assumed I would always revolve around him. His temper flared, his voice dropping, which made it more intimidating than a shout. “What crazy ideas have your friends put in your head now? Does it have to be this year? Right now? Do you have any idea how busy I am?”

Busy, he certainly was. Too busy having 40-minute “work FaceTimes” with Ashley late at night. Too busy remembering Ashley’s coffee order, but he’d forgotten I was allergic to shrimp. Too busy having a balloon wall set up for Ashley’s birthday, and posting “Happy Birthday to our team’s youngest!” on Ins. His time, his thoughts, his attentiveness – they all had a destination. It just wasn’t me. “I’m in the final stretch of a project right now, I have three sets of investors to meet by the end of the year, and I can’t afford any missteps.” He rubbed his temples. “Why are you pulling all this now? What exactly do you want?” “Just calm down and think about what you’re doing.” He threw out his words and turned to leave. “Ethan.” He stopped. “Yes, I am playing hard to get.” I looked at his back. “So, will you marry me?” Ethan didn’t turn around. He was silent for a few seconds. “Get some good rest.” He walked into his study and closed the door. A layer of bitterness spread in my heart. Even though I knew the answer, I still asked the question. Perhaps, after eight years of my youth, I still couldn’t completely let go. But this was the last time. Late at night, I sat on the edge of the master bedroom bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer. A stack of papers lay quietly inside, their edges yellowed and curled. Two years ago, I’d printed them out, screenshot by screenshot, from online wedding inspiration boards: venues, floral arrangements, invitation fonts, vow templates. That day, I’d excitedly brought them to show him. He was on the phone, mouthed “I’ll look later,” and waved his hand at me. Two years had passed, and that “later” never came. My phone vibrated. Louise’s voice was still indignant: “They’ve taken down all the restaurant decorations. Keira, the concert thing, the more I think about it, the angrier I get. You prepared for three months, and he just… ” “Louise, it’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.” The other end was silent for a long time. “Are you sure? Eight years of feelings, and another eight years if you go. When you come back… everything will be different.” “Yes.” “You’re not even going to explain it to him?” “Louise, there’s nothing left for me to say to him.” Louise didn’t speak again. After a while, her voice grew thick with emotion. “I’ll keep the restaurant banner then, just in case… ” “Louise.” “Hmm.” “Throw it away.” Day four of the silent treatment. Ethan left early and came home late every day, heading straight for his study. Occasionally, we’d bump into each other in the living room; he’d look at his phone, I’d watch TV, neither of us saying a word. Under the same roof, we were like two estranged roommates. Louise, seeing I was in low spirits, dragged me out for dinner. “Don’t wallow. I booked a private room, you can cry or curse all you want.” We arrived and sat down. Before the food even came, laughter drifted from the next private room. It sounded very familiar. Louise’s face changed. “Maybe we should switch… ” I shook my head. Ashley’s soft voice came through. “Ethan, I still feel terrible about the concert. The mic was for Keira, and I was so thoughtless.” “Maybe I should apologize to Keira myself?” “What does it have to do with you?” Ethan’s voice was flat. “I gave it to you, you just took it.” He’d defended her in front of an entire table of people. Yet, when I used to visit his company, he would always deliberately keep his distance, saying there was “too much gossip.” One friend curiously pressed, “But Ethan, I heard Keira had something planned that night?” A brief silence. “I knew she was going to propose. Someone tipped me off over a month ago.” Ethan’s voice was still nonchalant. Louise looked up at me sharply. I clenched my fists.

“You knew, and you still gave the mic to Ashley?” The friend was clearly surprised. “What else was I supposed to do? The more she tries to corner me into making a statement like that, the more I refuse to let her get her way.” “Usually, when she throws a fit, I’ll humor her. But with something like marriage, I need her to learn that throwing a fit won’t always get her what she wants.” The friend sighed. “But seriously, Keira’s been with you for eight years, it’s understandable she’d be eager for a title.” Ethan was silent for a few seconds. “Of course I’ll marry her, but not because she’s forcing me.” “When I marry her is up to me.” Another friend lowered their voice. “Honestly, Ethan, Keira just loves to make a scene. She always has to go for a big spectacle, making things difficult for you.” “Exactly. Ashley is so much more sensible and hassle-free, she never gives you any trouble.” Ashley spoke up, her voice a little coy. “Oh, don’t say that about Keira… maybe she just loves Ethan too much.” “After all these years, she’s not getting any younger.” That last sentence, “after all these years,” carried just the right amount of pity in her tone. Ethan said nothing, and a shared laugh of understanding rippled through the room. Louise’s hand reached over and tightly gripped mine. Her fingertips were trembling. I patted her hand, picked up my bag, and stood up. “Louise, let’s go.” I pushed open our private room door and walked past theirs. The sound of clinking glasses and Ashley’s sweet laughter drifted out. It was drizzling outside. The streetlights flickered on, one after another, illuminating a long, wet road. I walked forward, not looking back. The invitation to the Walsh family banquet arrived in Ethan’s hands. The wording was formal: “The Walsh family cordially invites you to an important family announcement.” He flipped the invitation over, flicking it. “Important family announcement.” Ha. The Walsh family had some connections in the circle, hosting a respectable banquet to publicly announce their daughter’s engagement, forcing him to compromise in front of everyone. Keira wouldn’t do something like this, but her best friends and Keira’s parents might. Ethan carelessly set the invitation aside and opened his phone. Five days. Keira hadn’t sent him a single message. In past arguments, she’d usually find an excuse to contact him by the third day, asking if he’d eaten or if his jacket had been dry-cleaned. This time, nothing. An inexplicable irritation welled up in his chest, but he forcefully suppressed it. He wasn’t worried. She could throw her fit. She was always the one to back down in the end, wasn’t she? His friends discussed in their SnapChat group: “Ethan, are you, the groom-to-be, going to the Walsh family engagement party? Lots of people have received invitations, it’s quite the affair.” He scoffed, typing, “Yeah, I’ll go. Just a little late. Let her feel what it’s like to be waiting anxiously.” He imagined Keira waiting for him at the banquet, repeatedly looking at the door, trying to maintain her composure under the gaze of friends and family. He even felt a hidden sense of satisfaction. She needed to learn a lesson. After all this fuss, he’d still be the one to sort things out. On the day of the banquet, he didn’t rush out. First, he got a haircut and changed into a dark gray casual suit. Not formal attire, he wanted everyone to see that he was “just dropping by,” not part of their plan. Messages from his friends started coming in rapidly. “Ethan, the Walsh family’s setup is huge! Two rows of cars parked outside, flower arrangements everywhere.” “Keira is all made up today, absolutely beautiful.” Another added, “Keira’s looking… Ethan, if you don’t show up soon, I’m afraid someone might steal your wife!” The group chat exploded with laughter. He looked at the messages, a corner of his mouth twitching unconsciously. In his suit pocket was the invitation. He’d picked it up after reading it, not even realizing he’d carried it with him. A friend urged again, “Ethan, are you coming or not? Things are starting here, Keira’s parents are on stage!” He slowly started his car and replied with a voice message: “What’s the rush? What’s the point of starting if I’m not there?” His car had just pulled out of the parking lot. Another friend called, his voice clearly puzzled: “Ethan… the Walsh family party doesn’t seem to be an engagement. It’s a farewell party.”

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I made ninety-nine calls. My brother, Caleb Reed, lay in the emergency room. He had a rare blood type, and only my husband, Nathaniel Thorne’s, private medical facility’s blood bank had a matching supply. Every call went unanswered. Finally, his phone went straight to voicemail. At 3 AM, Caleb stopped breathing. I knelt in the hallway, my hands still stained with his blood, when my phone screen lit up—Nate Thorne’s assistant had sent me a photo. In the picture, Nate was embracing his assistant, kissing her hair, with a fervor in his eyes I’d never seen in our three years of marriage. Her name was Sophia Smith. She was his first love, the student he’d funded for ten years, “the only woman he ever wanted to marry” in his diary. And I? I was just a stand-in who resembled her, a free, top-tier private physician, used to prolong Sophia’s life. The next day, he rushed back, apologizing while holding me: “Evelyn, my phone fell in the water, I didn’t see your calls.” I didn’t make a scene. I just smiled and handed him two documents. He signed them without even looking. He didn’t know they were divorce papers.

Evelyn Reed POV I had just finished a surgery. I peeled off my gloves, wearily rubbing my temples. As the youngest Associate Director of Urology at a top New York hospital, I was long accustomed to high-intensity work. The moment I pushed open my office door, a jacket with a familiar perfume scent was draped over my shoulders. Nate Thorne stood behind me, holding a lunchbox, his eyes so tender they could drown you: “Evelyn, did the surgery go well? Did you skip lunch again?” For three years, Nate had doted on me, making me the envy of every socialite in New York. He would cancel transnational meetings to be with me when I worked night shifts. If I casually mentioned “wanting to see the ocean,” he’d charter a private jet that very night to take me to Los Angeles. He respected my profession, even donating an entire urology research center in my name. Aside from the fact that during intimacy he always preferred to hold me tightly from behind, insistently demanding I repeat his name and never close my eyes, he was almost a perfect husband. I once believed I was the luckiest woman in the world. Until three days ago, when my younger brother, Caleb, suffered acute renal failure complicated by cardiac arrest. That day, New York was hit by a rare torrential downpour. I knelt outside the emergency room, my hands covered in Caleb’s blood, trembling as I dialed Nate’s number. Caleb had a rare blood type, and only Nate’s private medical facility’s blood bank had a matching supply. I made ninety-nine calls. Every single one was cut off. Finally, his phone went straight to voicemail. Caleb stopped breathing at 3 AM. I didn’t even have the strength to cry, sitting stiffly outside the door like a shell drained of its soul. My phone screen lit up. It was a photo from Nate’s personal assistant. Perhaps an accident, perhaps intentional. In the picture, the streets of San Francisco were bathed in bright sunshine. Nate had shed his suit, wearing a casual white shirt, tightly embracing a woman in a white dress. Her face was buried in his chest, and Nate, head bowed, was kissing her hair. The fervor in his eyes, the relief of having something lost finally found, was something I’d never witnessed in our three years together. The woman’s name was Sophia Smith. She was Nate’s first love, and the student he had funded for ten years. The cold draft in the hallway chilled my thin dress to the bone. I repeatedly zoomed in on the photo, meticulously examining every detail, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea. I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving. So that was it. He wasn’t busy. He was simply with the woman he truly loved. Nate returned to New York the day after Caleb’s funeral. He pushed open the front door and saw me sitting on the sofa, noticeably thinner, with sunken eyes. I saw a flicker of panic in Nate’s eyes. He hurried over, pulling me into his embrace, his voice thick with self-reproach: “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. There was an emergency at the San Francisco branch; I flew over immediately. My phone fell in the water and broke. I couldn’t be with you for Caleb’s funeral, and it’s all my fault.” He kissed my forehead, his tone humble: “You can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want, any compensation, I’ll give it to you.” I didn’t struggle, letting him hold me. My face rested against his expensive shirt, and I caught a faint scent of rose perfume that wasn’t mine. It was Sophia’s favorite scent. It felt like a piece had been brutally gouged from my heart, a pain so profound it left me numb. I calmly pushed him away, took two documents from my bag, flipped to the last page, and handed him a pen. “Nate, I just need you to sign these two documents.” Nate exhaled in relief. Without even glancing at them, he signed his name on both papers. “Evelyn, what’s mine is yours. Forget signing; I’d give you my life.” He smiled, touching my stomach. “You’ve been throwing up a lot lately. Are you having stomach issues? I’ll take you to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow.” I looked at the signed documents, my eyes devoid of all emotion. “No need,” I stood up, my voice as light as a whisper, “I’ll go by myself.”

Evelyn Reed POV The next morning, I went to the hospital alone. Not to my urology department, but to obstetrics and gynecology. On the ultrasound report, a tiny gestational sac was securely implanted. Four weeks. This was Nate’s and my child. For three years of marriage, Nate had been meticulous about birth control. He said he couldn’t bear for me to suffer through childbirth, wanting a few more years of just the two of us. This unexpected pregnancy was because of his birthday a month ago; he’d gotten drunk and uncontrollably made love to me all night. I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, holding the report, my hand gently resting on my flat abdomen. If Caleb were still alive, if I hadn’t seen that photo, I would probably be excitedly throwing myself into Nate’s arms right now, telling him the good news. But now, I only felt a bitter irony. My phone vibrated. It was Nate calling. “Evelyn, are your tests done? I’ll come pick you up.” His voice was still gentle. Before I could speak, a delicate female voice suddenly came from the other end: “Nate, I can’t find my medicine…” Nate’s breathing hitched, and he immediately covered the mouthpiece, but I still caught his hushed cooing: “Don’t worry, it’s in the second drawer on the left. I’ll be right there.” When he spoke to me again, his tone held a hint of urgency: “Evelyn, there’s an emergency company meeting. Can you go home by yourself? Be careful.” “Okay.” I hung up abruptly. I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to Nate’s private apartment downtown. It was Nate’s forbidden territory, cleaned only by trusted hourly workers. I had never interfered with his privacy before, but today, I used a spare key Nate had casually left in his car to open that door. The apartment was spotless, arranged warmly and full of a lived-in feel. I pushed open the bedroom door, and my whole body froze. The walls were covered with photos of Nate and Sophia. From high school to college, from innocent to mature. In every photo, Nate’s smile was so unrestrained, a vivacity I had never seen in him. The dresser was laden with Sophia’s favorite rose perfumes; the closet held custom-made dresses in Sophia’s size. My hands trembling, I pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside lay a thick diary and a stack of medical records. The name on the medical records was Sophia Smith. Diagnosis: Congenital renal insufficiency. My breath caught in my throat. As a urologist, I was all too familiar with this condition. I opened the diary, Nate’s handwriting stinging my eyes. “Sophia got married and moved to San Francisco with that man. She said she didn’t want to burden me. How could I ever resent her?” “I met a woman named Evelyn Reed. She wore a white coat, and in some ways, she resembled Sophia. More importantly, she was the best urologist in New York.” “I married Evelyn Reed. I funded a research center for her, established a dedicated fund. As long as her team could achieve this medical breakthrough, Sophia would be saved.” “Every day, I hold Evelyn Reed, closing my eyes and imagining the person in my arms is Sophia. Only then can I endure the nights without Sophia.” The last page of the diary was dated three days ago. “Sophia got divorced, and her illness flared up. I flew to San Francisco to pick her up. I just need her to be alive.” *Smack!* The diary fell to the floor. I covered my mouth, gasping for air, tears scalding as they hit my hand. So that was it. No wonder he always held me from behind. No wonder he poured money into my research. No wonder he never let me into his private circle. I wasn’t a wife; I was just a free, top-tier private physician who resembled his first love. I wasn’t even a stand-in; I was just a tool he meticulously cultivated to save Sophia! I laughed, my body shaking, tears streaming down my face. I stood up, stumbling down the stairs, preparing to leave. Suddenly, my foot slipped, and I tumbled headfirst down the stairs, hitting each step with brutal force. The moment my body slammed against the steps, a tearing pain erupted in my abdomen. With my years of medical experience, I instantly realized my baby might be in danger. Panic flooded my heart. I clenched my teeth against the dull pain throughout my body, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. My consciousness began to fade amidst waves of agonizing pain.

Evelyn Reed POV After being rushed to the hospital, I was immediately pushed into the emergency room. Doctors quickly began resuscitation and hemorrhage control. Cold examination instruments probed my body, each touch pulling at the searing pain. I bit my lip, feeling the dull ache of life draining from within me. As a doctor, I’d seen countless deaths, but when the knife cut into my own flesh, that tearing sensation almost ripped me apart. After a long and grueling rescue, the devastating news finally came: the baby couldn’t be saved. Half an hour later, supported by a colleague, I walked out of the emergency treatment room, my face pale. I refused my colleague’s help and went home alone. The empty mansion was cold as an icebox. I swallowed two painkillers, forced myself to drag a suitcase from the storage room. I packed up all the jewelry and custom-made dresses Nate had bought me, contacted a luxury consignment shop, and sold them off that very night. Looking at the suddenly empty walk-in closet, I felt like I could breathe easier. At ten o’clock that night, Nate returned. He brought in the cold air with him, holding a cake from my favorite restaurant. “Evelyn, I’m home. The meeting ran late today; you must be starving, right?” He changed his shoes, intending to embrace me. I turned away, my gaze falling on the faint smudge of lipstick on his shirt collar. “I’m not hungry.” My voice was flat, without a hint of emotion. Nate paused, seemingly noticing my coolness. He put down the cake, walked over, and forcibly took my hand, his brows furrowed: “Why are your hands so cold? And you look so pale. Are you sick?” “No,” I pulled my hand away, “Just a little tired.” Nate sighed, his eyes full of helpless affection: “Are you still mad at me for not making it back for Caleb’s funeral? Evelyn, don’t be difficult. The dead can’t be brought back. You still have me. It’s the weekend tomorrow, I’ll take you out to clear your head, okay?” He was always like this, using the gentlest tone to say the cruelest things. Caleb was dead, and in his mouth, it was just “the dead can’t be brought back.” I looked at his handsome face, suddenly feeling utterly estranged. “Nate,” I called his name, “Tomorrow night, the department has a get-together. I won’t be home.” A flicker of guilt crossed Nate’s eyes, but he quickly concealed it: “Okay, don’t drink too much, and come home early.” He especially wanted me not to be home, so he could go be with Sophia. The next evening, I didn’t go to the department dinner. I put on elegant makeup to conceal my post-miscarriage pallor and went to a Michelin-starred restaurant. This was the address Nate’s assistant had inadvertently revealed over the phone. I pushed open the slightly ajar private room door and, through the gap, coldly watched the scene inside. Nate had taken off his suit jacket and was patiently peeling a shrimp. He dipped the peeled shrimp into a sauce and naturally fed it to the woman beside him. Sophia, in a white knit sweater, looked pale, exuding a sickly fragility. She took the shrimp from Nate’s hand, her eyes slightly red: “Nate, am I just a burden? I’m divorced, and now I’m sick. I can only come back to you…” “Don’t talk nonsense.” Nate’s voice was dripping with tenderness, laced with undisguised heartache. “Your return makes me happier than anyone. I’ll find a way to treat your illness. New York has the best urology specialists; I’ll make sure she cures you.” “But you’re married,” Sophia bit her lip, tears threatening to fall, “Won’t Evelyn be angry if she knows about me?” Nate scoffed, his tone chillingly indifferent: “She doesn’t need to know. She’s just a doctor. She took my money, so she should do her job well. Once your illness is cured, I’ll give her a sum of money and send her away.” Outside the door, I clutched the doorknob, my nails almost digging into my flesh. Though I had long guessed the truth, hearing him say those words shattered my heart like a sledgehammer, making every breath taste of blood. “Give her money and send her away?” I silently repeated the phrase to myself. Nate, you think you control everything, but you don’t know, I stopped wanting you a long time ago. I didn’t storm in to confront him. I took out my phone and snapped a photo of their intimate backs in the private room. Then, I turned and walked into the night. Soon. Just twenty more days, and I would leave him. Then, I would give him a big surprise.

Evelyn Reed POV My body was severely weakened after the miscarriage. After performing two surgeries back-to-back at the hospital, I almost fainted at the washbasin. The head nurse lovingly held me: “Dr. Reed, you’ve looked so pale lately. Mr. Thorne cares about you so much, why doesn’t he get you some tonics to help you recover?” I forced a smile, saying nothing. Nate had been “very busy” lately. Busy finding a kidney donor for Sophia, busy accompanying her to dialysis, busy holding and comforting her when she cried in pain. He hadn’t been home for three consecutive days. Each time I called, his assistant answered, always with the same excuse: “Mr. Thorne is in a transnational video conference.” I changed out of my white coat and walked out of the hospital entrance. A black Maybach was parked by the roadside. Nate leaned against the car door, a cigarette between his fingers, looking somewhat fatigued. Seeing me, he immediately stubbed out the cigarette and quickly walked over, pulling me into his embrace. “Evelyn, you’re off work. Things have been too hectic at the company these past few days; I’ve neglected you.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, the gesture as practiced as a ritual. I caught the strong scent of disinfectant on him. It wasn’t the smell of our hospital; it was the scent of Sophia’s private hospital. “It’s fine,” I said flatly, pushing him away. “Let’s go home.” The atmosphere in the car was heavy. Nate tried to strike up a conversation several times, but I deflected him each time. As we passed a newly opened restaurant, Nate suddenly slammed on the brakes. “This restaurant’s desserts are famous; I remember you used to love them. Shall we go down for a bite?” Nate looked at me, a hint of pleading in his eyes. I looked at the restaurant, feeling a wave of nausea. Sophia had posted its location on Ins. “I’m not hungry.” “Just a little bit. You’ve lost too much weight lately.” Nate unbuckled my seatbelt directly, half-forcing me out of the car. The restaurant’s lighting was dim, and the atmosphere intimate. Nate ordered a table full of dishes, all light and bland. He solicitously pushed the food towards me, as if returning to his role as the perfect husband. Just then, a waiter approached, carrying a fresh pot of hot soup. Perhaps the floor was slippery; the waiter tripped, and the entire pot of scalding soup splashed directly towards Nate and me. “Watch out!” In a split second, Nate sprang to his feet. I thought he would protect himself as he always had. But Nate’s body instinctively lunged to the left—where Sophia, who had just returned from the restroom, was standing. Nate shielded Sophia tightly in his arms, his back to me. “Splash!” Most of the scalding soup landed on my lower leg. “Ah!” I gasped in pain, collapsing back into my chair. Through the thin fabric of my pants, my skin instantly turned bright red, blistering in large patches. The piercing pain made me break out in a cold sweat. Meanwhile, Nate was anxiously cradling Sophia’s face, examining her up and down: “Sophia, did you get burned? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” Sophia had only a few drops of soup on her skirt, but she was visibly shaken, her face pale, clinging to Nate’s sleeve, trembling: “Nate, I’m scared…” “Don’t be scared, I’m here.” Nate cooed softly, his eyes filled with urgency. The waiter repeatedly apologized, bringing ice and towels. I gritted my teeth, rolling up my pant leg myself. The shocking redness and blisters alarmed the people around us. Only then did Nate suddenly snap back to reality. He turned, saw my lower leg, and his pupils constricted. “Evelyn!” He released Sophia, intending to check my injuries. “Don’t touch me!” I violently swatted his hand away, my eyes as cold as ice. Nate’s hand froze in mid-air, his face grim. He looked at the trembling Sophia, then at me, drenched in cold sweat, and gritted his teeth: “Evelyn, just put some ice on it for now. I need to take Sophia to the hospital first; she’s not well and can’t handle shocks. I’ll be right back to pick you up!” With that, he unhesitatingly scooped Sophia into his arms and strode out of the restaurant. I sat there, watching their retreating backs, and suddenly let out a low laugh. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I was a doctor; I knew perfectly well that Sophia hadn’t been hurt at all. I had suffered second-degree burns. But in Nate’s eyes, a single strand of Sophia’s hair was more important than my life. I didn’t wait for Nate to return. I took a cab to the hospital myself, saw to my own treatment, cleaned the wound myself, and endured the excruciating pain of having the blisters clipped. I didn’t take any anesthetic. I wanted to remember this pain. Remember the pain Nate had given me.

Evelyn Reed POV I was admitted to the hospital’s burn unit. The burn on my leg was extensive, and coupled with my weakened state after the miscarriage, I developed a high fever. In a daze, I felt someone wiping my forehead with a warm towel. The touch was light, carrying a cautious, almost pleading, gentleness. I opened my eyes and saw Nate’s bloodshot eyes. “Evelyn, you’re awake?” Nate’s voice was hoarse, his hand shaking slightly as he held mine. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know your burn was so severe. After I took Sophia to the hospital yesterday, I came back for you, but you were already gone…” I looked at him coldly, as if at a stranger. “Is Sophia okay?” I suddenly asked, my voice hoarse. Nate paused, seemingly unprepared for my question, and his eyes darted away: “She’s fine, just a little shaken.” “Is that so?” I forced a smile, a trace of mockery in my voice. “Being shaken requires you to stay with her all night? Nate, you truly disgust me.” Nate’s face instantly turned ashen. He abruptly stood up, trying to explain: “Evelyn, listen to me. Sophia has a severe kidney condition; she can’t handle any stress. It was just an instinctive reaction at the time…” “Instinctive reaction?” I cut him off, my gaze as sharp as a knife. “Your instinct was to abandon your wife, scalded by hot soup, to embrace a woman who was completely unharmed. Nate, don’t use her illness as an excuse; you simply don’t love me.” “No, that’s not it!” Nate desperately refuted, taking a step forward to embrace me. “I love you, Evelyn, I truly do. Sophia is just like my sister; my care for her is purely out of responsibility…” “Enough!” I violently swatted his hand away, pointing towards the door. “Get out. I don’t want to see you.” Nate stood frozen, his face ashen. “Okay, I’ll go out. You get some rest; I’ll come back later to see you.” Nate conceded, turning and walking out of the ward. The moment the door closed, I shut my eyes, a single cold tear tracing a path down my cheek. For the next few days, Nate stayed by my side in the hospital like a madman. He canceled all his work, personally feeding me, wiping me down, and changing my dressings. He humbled himself to dust, trying to atone for his mistakes in this way. But I remained silent, treating him as if he were invisible. On the fifth day, the ward door opened, and Sophia walked in. She wore a patient gown, her face pale, carrying a fruit basket, looking utterly pathetic. “Dr. Reed, I’m so sorry.” Sophia walked to the bedside, her eyes red. “It’s all because of me that you got such serious injuries. Nate has been taking care of you these past few days; he feels terrible. Please don’t be mad at him, okay?” I leaned against the headboard, coldly watching her performance. “Sophia, your acting is quite good,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s a shame you’re not an actress.” Sophia’s face stiffened, then she bit her lower lip, tears falling: “Dr. Reed, I know you hate me. But Nate and I really have nothing going on; we’re just like siblings who grew up together. Please don’t let me ruin your marriage.” “Siblings?” I scoffed. “Do siblings plaster each other’s photos all over their bedroom? Do siblings fill their diaries with declarations of love for each other?” Sophia’s face instantly turned deathly pale. She looked at me in disbelief, clearly not expecting me to know so much. “You snooped in Nate’s diary?” “That’s my husband’s home. Why shouldn’t I look?” I looked at her, my eyes disdainful. “Sophia, you’re truly pathetic. You think Nate loves you? If he truly loved you, why didn’t he marry you back then? He married me, using my professional expertise to save your life. In his eyes, you’re nothing more than a beggar in need of charity.” This remark struck Sophia’s sore spot with precision. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist, her voice sharp: “You’re lying! Nate loves me! You’re just a stand-in!” My leg injury hadn’t healed. Her sudden tug made me gasp in pain. I forcefully shook Sophia’s hand off: “Get away from me!” Sophia, seizing the opportunity, stumbled backward and fell heavily to the floor, letting out a cry of pain. “Sophia!” The ward door was violently flung open, and Nate rushed in. Seeing Sophia on the floor, he scooped her into his arms. “Nate, I’m in so much pain…” Sophia clutched her stomach, cold sweat beading on her forehead. Nate’s head snapped up, his gaze fixed on me, filled with anger and disgust: “Evelyn Reed, are you insane? She’s a patient! If anything happens to her kidney, I swear I won’t let you off!” I looked at his murderous expression, and my heart died completely. “Fine,” I said to him coldly. “Nate, I’ll be waiting.”

Evelyn Reed POV Sophia was rushed to the emergency room. The look Nate gave me before he left was as if he were looking at an enemy. Silence returned to the ward. I sat quietly on the hospital bed, watching the yellowed leaves outside the window being carried away by the autumn wind, feeling an unusual sense of peace. No anger, no grievance, only a kind of liberation. Two hours later, Nate’s assistant pushed open the ward door. He looked at me with a complicated expression and handed me a document. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne said… Miss Smith’s condition has worsened, and she urgently needs a kidney donor. Your blood type and various indicators are a high match with Miss Smith’s. Mr. Thorne hopes you can… donate a kidney to Miss Smith.” The assistant’s voice grew softer and softer, almost inaudible by the end. I looked at the “Organ Donation Consent Form” and suddenly laughed out loud. My laughter echoed in the empty ward, tinged with boundless desolation and mockery. “He wants me to donate a kidney?” I pointed to myself, tears streaming down my face from laughter. “Does he know I just had a miscarriage? Does he know my leg burns haven’t healed? He wants me to save his mistress?” The assistant lowered his head, not daring to meet my eyes: “Mr. Thorne said that if you agree, he is willing to transfer thirty percent of the company’s shares to you and guarantees that he will never have any inappropriate contact with Miss Smith again.” “No more contact?” I scoffed as if I’d heard the biggest joke. “He means he wants to trade my life for Sophia’s!” I grabbed the consent form and, in front of the assistant, tore it into shreds. “Go back and tell Nate that if he wants my kidney, it will be over my dead body.” The assistant sighed and silently backed out. That same night, Nate came. He looked utterly exhausted, with a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. He walked to the bedside, looking down at me, his tone carrying an unquestionable command. “Evelyn Reed, Sophia can’t wait. You can live with one less kidney, but she’ll die without it.” I looked into his eyes, as if at a monster. “Nate, do you think that because I loved you, I deserve to be trampled on?” My voice was soft, but full of disappointment in him. “When my brother died, you were with her. When I was pregnant and you drove me to a miscarriage, you were with her. When I was scalded by hot soup, you were still with her. Now, you even want to take my kidney to save her?” Nate’s eyes flickered with a hint of panic, but it was quickly masked by cold ruthlessness: “Miscarriage? When were you pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?” “What’s the use of telling you?” I sneered. “Evelyn Reed!” Nate roared, suddenly grabbing my shoulders. “Don’t be unreasonable! Sophia’s illness can’t be delayed! You’re a doctor, are you just going to let her die?” “I am a doctor, but I am not your tool!” I forcefully broke free from his grip, pointing to the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again in my life!” Nate stared at me, his eyes terrifyingly sinister. “Evelyn Reed, don’t be stubborn. In New York, I have ways to get you onto that operating table to donate a kidney.” He flung those words at me, then turned and strode away. I sat on the bed, trembling, my hands gripping the bedsheets tightly. I knew Nate’s words were real. He had money and power; if he truly went mad, I wouldn’t be able to resist. I had to leave. Immediately. I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand, gritting my teeth against the searing pain in my leg, and changed into my clothes. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number hidden at the very bottom of my contacts. “Ethan Miller, it’s me. Arrange for me to go to San Francisco. As soon as possible.” The other end was silent for two seconds, then a deep male voice replied: “Okay. See you at the hospital’s back entrance in half an hour.” After hanging up, I looked at the ward that had held me captive for seven days, turning to leave without a single trace of nostalgia. Nate Thorne, it’s completely over between us. I will never look back at you again.

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On the day Carter Hayes got engaged, reporters shoved microphones in my face, asking how I felt. Carter Hayes. He was the untouchable, blue-blooded prince of the Upper East Side. No one approved of the eight years I spent with him. His mother would refer to me simply as “the actress,” spitting the word out like a slur. His inner circle of friends would warn him behind his back, “She’s just a little starlet. Play with her for a bit and let it go.” And Carter? He’d just flip his expensive lighter open and shut, joking carelessly, “What are you scared of? It’s not like I’m actually going to marry her.” I looked right into the interview cameras and said slowly, “Although we aren’t close, it’s a good thing. I wish them a happy engagement.” The video went viral across the internet. Carter took his private jet, flying overnight from New York to L.A. The news of Carter’s engagement completely overshadowed the headlines of my Best Actress win. Looking at the news on my phone, you could only read his name, never see his face. Carter’s photos were strictly kept out of the press. But facts and rumors alike couldn’t stop the public’s insatiable appetite for gossip. Because for the past eight years, thanks to me, he had lingered in the public eye like a ghost. His moniker in the tabloids was simply: “Serena Vance’s Sugar Daddy.” Everyone found amusement in their disdain for me, waiting eagerly for the moment I would fall from grace. “Serena, we heard you met Mr. Hayes when you were eighteen, is that true?” “Serena, you’ve been with him for so many years, why didn’t you end up together? Did his family reject you?” “Mr. Hayes chose today of all days to announce his engagement. Was he intentionally trying to humiliate you?” “Were you ever really together? Did Mr. Hayes dump you?” “Did you split up with this billionaire because of the hand-holding scandal half a month ago?” My eyes slowly swept over their frantic faces. Their gazes felt like they were trying to skin me alive, desperate to dig out an even more explosive headline. Carter Hayes… Got engaged today? I plastered a flawless, graceful smile on my face and looked back at them. “I am not very close with the Mr. Hayes you are referring to. “However, an engagement is a joyous milestone in life… I wish him a happy engagement.” Looking directly into the lens, I said it slowly, one more time: “Happy engagement, Mr. Hayes.” They excitedly analyzed my words layer by layer, acting like detectives searching for hidden clues. I handed my phone back to my manager, Chloe, who looked at me with deep concern. “The internet is saying Mr. Hayes dumped you. Your endorsements and casting offers are probably going to plummet. You know I don’t fully understand his background, but I know he’s someone nobody messes with. “If a man like that puts out a word against you, even a fresh Best Actress award won’t save you.” I felt incredibly drained. “Chloe, don’t worry too much. I won’t let it drag you down…” She offered an awkward smile, her lips moving, but she didn’t say anything else. No one believed that for those eight years, we were just like any ordinary couple. We went from flirtation to deep affection, from a passionately inseparable romance to a heartbreaking, tear-you-apart ending. Carter had a pair of chilling, desolate eyes. When those eyes locked onto you, you instantly felt like you were nothing but dust. It wasn’t intentional on his part; he was simply born that way. He possessed an innate, apathetic indifference toward everything in the world. The first time I looked into those eyes, I subconsciously wondered: in a world this loud and crowded, how much love could a man who stood so far removed from it all truly give? It was 2012. The Mayan doomsday prophecies were everywhere, Taylor Swift was blasting on every radio station, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower was making waves on campus. I was eighteen. My eighteen was fiery, impulsive, and fearless—the age of ignorance where you truly believe love conquers all. That was the year I met Carter Hayes. At the time, I was juggling classes, working part-time jobs, and desperately running around trying to audition for various indie films. When a so-called “investor” placed his rough palm on my thigh during a casting call, I instinctively stood up and smashed my bag over his head. As I ripped the door open and bolted, I heard him scream from behind, “You little bitch! Someone stop her!” I was screaming and struggling, looking like an absolute wreck, when a slightly raspy voice echoed through the hall. “Hey. The girl said no. Didn’t you hear her?” It was a voice so light it barely carried weight, yet it worked instantly. He just threw me a casual glance, as if he happened to see a stray dog getting kicked and, being in a decent mood, decided to intervene. He was leaning against the hallway windowsill, propped up on his elbows. The breeze blew in from outside, ruffling his dark hair. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a luxury watch. The cigarette trapped between his fingers flickered faintly. The men chasing me out of the room saw him and practically scrambled away with their tails between their legs. Clutching my bag to my chest, I gave him a deep, ninety-degree bow and sincerely thanked him. Suddenly, I heard him let out a soft chuckle. He looked out the window, put out his cigarette, and asked lazily, “Acting major? Which school?” “NYU Tisch.” He nodded, as if it were just a passing question. “They’re gone. You can head back.” The first time I saw Carter Hayes, everything about him was so understated that I didn’t even bother to think about who he might actually be. It was only later I realized that when people reach a certain echelon of power, they no longer need outward extravagance to prove themselves. They are often more low-key than anyone else. When we were together, we actively avoided talking about our family backgrounds. To Carter, I was just someone to have fun with; there was no need for explanations. To me, I was just enjoying the fleeting moments of pleasure. It wasn’t until one night at his friend’s private club. The only guy in his circle who was somewhat friendly to me got drunk and accidentally let slip a family name. I didn’t catch it clearly, but I knew it was a name completely out of my reach. Only later did I realize that wasn’t friendliness at all. It was just a different kind of warning: I was completely out of his league. Unfortunately, I was young and arrogant. I refused to listen to anyone’s advice and wasted so many years entangled with him. After the awards ceremony, the afterparties were inevitable. I walked out of the underground parking garage of The Plaza with a slight buzz, waving off my team, choosing to head upstairs alone. As the elevator ascended, I looked at my reflection in the massive mirrored walls. Tonight was supposed to be the proudest moment of my life. I should be cheering and ecstatic. I vaguely remembered a time when I missed out on a tiny, insignificant award and cried uncontrollably. Carter had sighed, pulling me into his arms, murmuring softly: “It’s just some garbage award from nowhere, you don’t need it anyway. Someday you’ll win Best Actress, and we’ll slap it in the faces of everyone who was too blind to see your talent. Stop crying, okay?” I cried even harder, asking uncertainly, “Can I really win Best Actress? I can’t even get a supporting role. When will I ever win Best Actress? You’re just humoring me…” He laughed. “Our Serena is amazing. If you don’t believe in yourself, at least believe in me. When has Carter Hayes ever lied to you?” I wrapped my arms around his waist, wiping my tears all over his ridiculously expensive shirt, leaving him rubbing his temples, afraid to get mad but clearly exasperated. After taking a shower, I threw myself onto the soft sofa, picking up my phone to reply to the flood of congratulatory messages. My finger paused over one specific name. The last message was from half a month ago. Back then, we had a massive blowout. Exhausted to my core, I sat in the passenger seat and said calmly, “Let’s break up, Carter.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, the veins bulging on his forehead. Through gritted teeth, he spat, “Impossible. Don’t even think about it.” I smiled—warmly, but cruelly. “I’ve already humiliated you like this. Do you really want to keep going?” He whipped his head to look at me, breathing heavily. It took him a few seconds to calm down. “Serena, what exactly are you throwing a tantrum about now? I’ve been exhausted lately. Just give me some time…” The argument ended in a bitter stalemate. Neither of us was willing to be the one to back down. The doorbell and my ringtone went off at the exact same time. It was probably the same person. I sat there coldly, letting the phone and doorbell ring for ages, ignoring them completely. It wasn’t until I heard the doorknob turn that I remembered I hadn’t changed the keypad code yet. I sat on the sofa, looking toward the entryway. Covered in the dust of travel, Carter looked at me with dark, heavy eyes. The eyes are the organs of desire. His eyes used to hold nothing, caring for nothing. I was the one who dragged him down into the mortal realm, only to leave him to struggle bitterly in a sea of desire. I was much calmer than I expected. Some things just needed to be resolved properly. “It’s so late. You flew all the way from New York?” He stopped right in front of me, blocking most of the light. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, the sleeves still rolled up. After a moment, he sat down and rested his head heavily on my shoulder. He seemed exhausted as he sighed, “What are you throwing a tantrum for?” How much of this was real, how much of it was love? It was impossible to say. Carter, can you really not see that this game is finally reaching its end? I asked him calmly, “Are you thinking that after you get married, I’ll just be your mistress? “Carter, don’t degrade me like that. “Please.” He froze, eventually murmuring, “Just give me some time…” I cut him off. “We tried, didn’t we? Carter, I tried. But all it gave me was a broken, bleeding head. Do you really have to drag me down to crash into a brick wall one more time before you let it go?” I looked down at his ring finger and said sincerely, “Your new ring is beautiful.” Carter’s hand instantly went completely rigid. I tilted my head back, smiling at him exactly like I did when we first met. “So, can I have the ring I gave you back?” What a tragedy. A passionate, all-consuming teenage romance, ending in such mutual disappointment. When I saw Carter again at eighteen, it was at a college gala. I had been pulled in last minute as a backup dancer. I thought our first meeting was just a passing coincidence, but it was actually the beginning of a long, messy entanglement. I was wearing a pure white ballet dress, waiting off to the side. I didn’t know if he had been there all along or had just arrived. He held his cigarette out the window and called out lazily, “Little Swan?” I turned my head. The moment I saw it was him, a spark of light flared in my eyes. He let out a low chuckle. “Didn’t mistake you. It really is you.” I walked over, asking curiously, “What are you doing here?” He looked down, the wind carrying the clean, intoxicating scent of him. “I was bored. Took a walk, ended up here.” He spoke to me like he was humoring a child, but I didn’t care enough to argue. He continued to tease me, saying I owed him a meal as repayment for saving me. I came fully prepared, pulling out all my part-time job savings to take him out. He looked so incredibly expensive that I couldn’t even imagine him sitting in a greasy, rundown diner. The contrast was too jarring. But he just navigated his way through the campus and sat down at the college dining hall for a late-night snack. He barely ate. After a few bites, he put his chopsticks down, explaining to me that he had a bad stomach and couldn’t eat much. At first, I thought he was just being polite, but after we got together, I realized he had actually destroyed his own stomach. When we were together, I learned how to cook all sorts of comforting soups and porridges just to take care of his stomach issues. Whenever his pain flared up, I stayed by his side day and night, treating him like he might shatter. He would lie half-propped up in bed, his face pale, pinching my cheek with a faint smile. “Look at how tense you are. Anyone would think I had terminal cancer.” I slapped his hand away in anger, grabbing the empty bowl and storming downstairs without looking back. Carter owned several startups at the time. During the early days, like most founders, he was working himself to the bone. For a while, I genuinely believed he was just a self-made guy who started out with a little seed money from his family. I secretly rejoiced, thinking that if I just worked hard enough, the gap between us wouldn’t be that wide. After several back-and-forths, we always found an excuse to talk. By the time I realized what was happening, Carter had already embedded himself in my life. The first time I met his friends was at a notorious, exclusive club in New York. I had dressed up meticulously, wanting to leave a good impression. When Carter saw me, he looked surprised for a moment. Once we got there, I understood why. The room was divided: the men were his friends, and the women were just arm candy brought along by them. His friends treated my presence next to Carter as totally unremarkable. They threw me a single glance and went straight back to greeting him. A lot of times, making someone feel painfully insecure in a crowd doesn’t require active bullying or insults. Neglect and indifference are the sharpest weapons. A simple, dismissive glance from someone born in a different social stratosphere is enough to make your skin crawl. Clearly, Carter had no intention of introducing me. Both to his friends and to him, my role that night was probably just entertainment. When you’re young, you have too much pride. If he wasn’t going to take me seriously, I was going to make damn sure he noticed me. His friends were playing high-stakes games. I casually swirled my cocktail. “One drink, call. Show them.”

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A new “Little Miss Innocent” transferred into our elite private academy. She practically had the words “The ‘I Can Fix Him’ Heroine” glowing in neon letters above her head. Every single day, she hovered around my fiancé, showering him with excessive concern and handing him cheap lollipops. Whenever I got close to my fiancé, she would shield him behind her back and scream at me: “I—I know you’re rich and powerful, but I won’t allow you to bully him!” With tears welling in her eyes, she looked like she had suffered the ultimate injustice. Me, having literally done nothing: “Are you psycho?” 1 Mia Collins was delivering candy again, while I was spinning my pen in sheer boredom. The classroom was a chaotic mess of chattering voices. My desk mate, Zoey, who was busy checking her makeup in a compact mirror, suddenly nudged me with her elbow. She tilted her chin to the left, her eyes full of blatant disgust. “Chloe, that transfer student is giving Liam candy again.” Her again. Mia Collins, the scholarship student who always acted like she was the designated savior heroine of a tragic romance novel. I stopped spinning my pen and looked over at her. She was wearing a brand-new pristine uniform. In one hand, she clutched her usual cheap lollipop. In the other, she held a slightly warped plastic thermos filled with some kind of hot white liquid. Looking straight ahead, she marched past the first row, then the second, heading straight for the back of the class. Finally, under the increasingly gossipy gazes of everyone around us, she shyly took a seat at Liam’s desk. A few students in the back huddled together, whispering excitedly. Mia remained completely unfazed. She gently placed the lollipop in front of Liam’s pencil case, then decisively unscrewed the cap of a high-end insulated tumbler sitting on the corner of his desk. Zoey pointed at Mia in shock. “Chloe! Isn’t that the tumbler filled with the imported vitamins your family got for Liam?” “Looks like it,” I replied casually. Resting my chin on my hand, my eyes followed Mia as she marched over to the trash can, poured out every last drop of the expensive supplements, and scurried back to Liam’s desk to mess with her plastic thermos. A girl nearby caught my eye and leaned in toward Mia, pretending to be curious. “Hey, transfer student. Did you ask Liam for permission before messing with his stuff?” Mia put on an incredibly shy expression and whispered, “This is warm almond milk. I just wanted to prepare something for him myself…” As she spoke, she began pouring the almond milk into the expensive tumbler. Zoey let out a mocking scoff. “Do you honestly not know what Chloe Sterling and Liam Vance are to each other?” Mia’s hands froze. She cast a fleeting, pitiful glance in my direction before quickly lowering her head, her voice trembling with manufactured grievance. “I know. I just… I just wanted to be nice to him. I wanted to warm his stomach.” Honestly, whatever she wanted to do with Liam had very little to do with me. But watching this entire performance unfold, I was getting a serious whiff of manipulative “pick-me” energy. Her constant, victimized glances in my direction were starting to annoy me. I clicked my tongue and casually reminded her, “Transfer student, Liam has a sensitive stomach. He can’t drink almond milk.” Zoey chimed in, “And the supplements you just poured down the drain cost a small fortune, by the way.” Mia flinched. The hands holding the tumbler and the plastic bottle went completely stiff. The hot almond milk missed the rim and spilled over her fingers. Scalded, she let go. With a loud BANG, the heavy tumbler crashed onto the floor. The scalding hot almond milk splattered everywhere in a messy puddle. The classroom instantly went dead silent. Countless eyes zeroed in on the scene. A sudden, burning pain flared across my left calf and foot. Even the back of my hand, resting on my desk, hadn’t escaped the splash zone. I had been pampered my entire life. No one had ever treated me like this. I looked down at the reddening skin on my leg, and then at the custom $7,000 leather loafers that had just been delivered yesterday. I let out a dry, irritated laugh. “Talk about rotten luck today.” Mia’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t utter a single word of apology. I stood up, intending to head to the locker room to change my shoes. As I walked past Mia, I paused. “Mia.” My voice sounded sharp in the unnaturally quiet classroom. I wiped my hand with a tissue, looking down at her coldly. “That tumbler? I gave it to Liam. It’s worth about $1,500. I won’t even count the imported vitamins you poured out. But these shoes cost me seven grand. My lawyers will contact you after school.” The kids in our social circle never shied away from drama. They immediately started jeering: “The Sterling family’s legal team is known as the undefeated sharks of Wall Street.” “Transfer student, you’re screwed!” Hearing this, Mia cried even harder. She sat at Liam’s desk, sobbing and hiccuping. “You… you rich kids are all bullies. You’re so mean!” That was exactly when Liam walked in. He stopped just to the right of me and Mia. He was tall and lean, wearing a pair of silver half-rimmed glasses resting on his straight nose. His indifferent gaze swept past Mia, who was weeping a river at his desk, and locked onto me without a trace of emotion. “Chloe Sterling, what did you do this time?” 2 Liam and I locked eyes in the tense silence. Three seconds later, I suddenly stepped into his personal space. “Liam, my darling fiancé. How come you only saw the little innocent flower crying, but you completely missed the burn on my leg?” Only then did Liam lower his gaze to my legs. He looked down and saw the angry red patch on my pale calf, still dotted with droplets of almond milk. I casually took a seat at an empty desk nearby, crossing my left leg and swinging it slightly so he could get a good look. Before Liam could say a word, Mia suddenly lunged forward, throwing herself between us. She screamed at me: “I—I know you’re rich and powerful, but I won’t allow you to bully him!” With tears streaming down her face, she looked like a martyr suffering for love. I hadn’t even done anything yet, and here she was, screaming at me like a lunatic. My temper flared. “Are you psycho?” Mia didn’t answer. She just looked at Liam with big, pitiful, tear-filled eyes. Oh, two can play that game. I kept my mouth shut, crossed my arms over my chest, and stared at Liam. Liam let out a nearly inaudible sigh. He grabbed a tissue, crouched down, and wrapped one hand around my ankle. His grip was firm. The rest of the class, completely used to this dynamic, went back to whatever they were doing. With lowered eyes, his long lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, Liam meticulously and gently wiped the sticky residue off my leg. After several passes, a faint stinging sensation returned. My skin was incredibly sensitive. If he kept rubbing, he was going to peel a layer off. “Stop,” I frowned, annoyed. “Liam, that hurts.” I tugged my leg twice, but I couldn’t break free. Instead, his grip tightened. Liam looked up. His eyes were like a dark abyss, practically swallowing me whole. “Does it hurt?” he asked. His intense stare made me uncomfortable, and my first instinct was to escape. Without thinking, I kicked out lightly, leaving a distinct half-footprint right on his crisp, pristine white uniform shirt. Liam had severe OCD and was a massive neat freak. Looking at the glaring smudge on his shirt, I felt a twinge of guilt. “I just wanted you to let go.” Even though I felt bad, I kept my chin high, maintaining my arrogant facade. I glared at him fiercely. “Did you hear me?” “Yeah,” Liam’s voice was slightly hoarse. “I’ll let go.” He stood up, completely ignoring the dirt on his shirt, and looked down at the dented tumbler that had rolled next to my desk. Mia seized the opportunity. She scrambled to pick up the tumbler, cradling it in her hands. She looked up at Liam and stammered, “I brought you warm almond milk this morning. I wanted to put it in your cup, but—” She shot a rapid, meaningful glance at me, acting as if she had been forced into silence. “Anyway, it fell on the floor and got dented.” Liam looked at her blankly. “Got it.” His voice was flat and slow. But Mia was overjoyed just to get a response. She held the cup out to him with both hands. Liam took the tumbler. In the very next second, he brushed past her, walked straight to the trash can, and tossed the expensive tumbler inside. Leaving Mia staring in absolute shock, he walked out the back door of the classroom. A few minutes later, Liam returned carrying a pair of delicate, black designer flats—my backup shoes from my private locker. He crouched down, meeting my dazed eyes. “Change your shoes.” Mia’s face turned beet red with rage. She rudely pointed a finger at me, then screamed at the crouching Liam, “Liam! Are you her dog?!” Liam kept his head down, completely deaf to her words. Looking at Mia practically stomping her feet in frustration, I raised an eyebrow. “Liam, I think she feels sorry for you.” “Yeah. And?” Liam looked up, his gaze locking onto mine. “What do you think?” He was as cold and indifferent as ever. I blinked, flashing a wicked little smile. “I have no idea.” 3 Liam and I had been engaged since we were kids. Logically speaking, no one should have been able to tolerate my spoiled, princess-like temper. Some of our friends even had secret bets going on about when Liam would finally snap and break off the engagement. To their shock, the golden boy, Liam Vance, had always catered to my every whim, taking care of me down to the smallest detail. In our social circle, everyone called us the golden couple, a match made in heaven. After high school, the Sterling and Vance families used their wealth and connections to enroll us in the elite Crestwood Academy. Unlike normal universities, Crestwood assigned classes based on asset evaluations and offered incredibly flexible schedules. The tragedy happened during our freshman year. Liam’s mother died in a horrific car crash. His social-climbing father immediately moved his mistress and illegitimate son into the family estate, seizing the assets and inheritance that rightfully belonged to Liam. Overnight, the wealthy, untouchable young heir lost everything, plummeting from the clouds into the dirt. After that, Liam moved out of the mansion and into a modest, run-down apartment near the school with his grandmother. I don’t know exactly when, but he learned how to smoke. He became incredibly frugal. The boy who never had to worry about money began aggressively entering every single academic competition that offered a cash prize. He became quieter, harder, and almost unapproachable. But he still took care of me exactly like he used to. It was as if no one else in the world could trigger his emotions—except me. Until… Mia arrived. From her very first day as a transfer student, she locked her sights directly on Liam. And whenever she looked at me, underneath the blatant jealousy, there was always a strange trace of pity. At first, Liam ignored her completely. But then, out of nowhere, he started paying attention to her. He even initiated contact. I wasn’t some brain-dead, clueless villainess from a YA romance novel. I knew there was something weird about Mia. And I also knew that if you wanted to win the war, the worst thing you could do was act impulsively and lose the long game. 4 After the almond milk incident, Mia finally kept a low profile for a few days. It was raining today, the sky a gloomy, muted gray. Liam was off-campus representing the school in a physics decathlon, which meant Mia had no one to perform for. During the afternoon study hall, the girls in our class gathered around my desk, chatting about the latest designer drops. “Chloe, that dress you posted on Instagram last week—can I borrow it for my birthday party?” Zoey’s cheeks were round and pink, and she was incredibly cute when she begged. I laughed, unable to resist pinching her cheek. “You’ve got a good eye. Do you even know how much that vintage haute couture piece is worth?” “Like, sixteen hundred dollars, right?” Zoey grabbed my hand. “Please, Chloe? My favorite princess, just let me wear it once!” “Pfft—sixteen hundred dollars?” Mia, sitting across the aisle, laughed out loud. “You need to borrow a sixteen-hundred-dollar dress?” The girls exchanged looks and laughed even louder than Mia. “Hahahaha!” “Is she telling a bad joke?” Zoey rolled her eyes directly at Mia and scoffed, “It’s two point five million dollars, transfer student.” Mia froze, a flash of deep embarrassment crossing her face. But she quickly recovered, turning to me with a self-righteous glare. “Two and a half million dollars for a single dress? Don’t you think that’s a massive waste? Wouldn’t it be better if you donated that money to children in poverty?” Her expression was the picture of moral superiority, her eyes full of judgment. I stared at the invisible words floating above her head for a long moment, staying completely silent. I finally got it. This “Savior Heroine” wasn’t just delusional; her moral compass was completely twisted. Mia squirmed under my intense stare. “A-Am I wrong?” “No, I think you’re absolutely right,” I smiled, my eyes curving into crescents. Mia let out a breath of relief. “So—” I rested my chin on my hand. “How about I just give the money directly to you, transfer student?” Mia’s eyes widened in shock. Her heart clearly skipped a beat. “T-Two and a half million? You’d just give it to me?” “Yep.” I tilted my head, putting on a perfectly innocent expression. “I’ll wire it right to your account.” Mia, trapped by her own moral grandstanding moments ago, struggled to maintain her pride. She stammered, “Well, if… if you’re offering it to me—” “Ah,” I cut her off mercilessly. I inspected my fresh manicure, speaking slowly and deliberately. “But of course, our noble, selfless transfer student would never accept a handout like that, right?” Mia finally snapped, her face burning with humiliation. “I was just giving you a suggestion! You don’t have to humiliate me like this!” “Oh,” I replied lazily. “I was just stating facts. No need to overreact.” Zoey muttered loudly beside me, “She clearly doesn’t read the news. She has no idea how many millions the Sterling family donates to charity every year.” Though Zoey kept her voice low, she made sure Mia heard every word. Mia’s face turned an ugly shade of pale. She turned away and refused to speak to us. A little while later, she began checking the clock above the chalkboard obsessively. Just past five o’clock, Mia pulled a clean, dry towel and a pack of severe cold medicine out of her backpack. She slapped a sticky note with illegible handwriting onto the medicine, placed it gently on Liam’s desk, and sat there clutching the towel, staring expectantly at the front door. In the next second, the invisible “Savior Heroine” halo above her head glowed even brighter. “Transfer student, are you preparing for a rainy day, or are you just praying for Liam to catch a fever?” Zoey asked, clearly fed up with Mia’s existence. Preparing for a rainy day… I rested my left hand on the desk, tapping my index finger rhythmically against the wood. Was she preparing for a rainy day, or did she already know the future? My eyes suddenly lit up. I grabbed Zoey’s round face and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “The dress is yours!” I stood up, ready to walk out of the classroom. Zoey, dizzy from the sudden kiss, asked, “Chloe, where are you going?” “Me?” I flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m going to do something worth way more than two and a half million dollars!”

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“Alex, I’m buying you an apartment next year.” My mother, who always favored Chloe over me, suddenly announced this at dinner. The entire dining table fell silent. After all, we hadn’t spoken properly in twenty years, ever since I witnessed her affair. The next second, my sister’s angry voice cut through the quiet. “Mom, why?! Alex is a grown man, he has hands and feet, why would you buy *him* an apartment?” “I’m getting married soon! If all the money goes to him, what about me?!” With that, Chloe slammed her forks down and stormed off. My father, who always claimed to love me the most, panicked at my mother’s sudden show of kindness. “Chloe’s right. She’s getting married soon; she needs enough savings so her fiancé doesn’t look down on her.” “Alex, you’re a man; you should take on more responsibility. If you’re worried about not having money for a wedding, you can always find a rich girl to marry and move in with her family, become a house husband, whatever!” “What do you say, Alex?” I stared at him blankly, nodding stiffly. My father breathed a sigh of relief. But this time, I didn’t listen to him. Later, when he saw the three property deeds in my hand, my father’s composure finally shattered.

“No, I’m buying Alex an apartment, no matter what!” “If Chloe doesn’t have money for her wedding, then she just won’t get married!” My mother’s stance was firm, and my father’s anxiety deepened. “Why? What’s gotten into you? Why are you suddenly thinking about buying our son an apartment?” “You two weren’t… weren’t…” My father stammered, unable to finish his sentence. I knew what he wanted to say: *Weren’t we enemies?* After all, when my father found out about my mother’s affair, he directly dropped eight-year-old me at his mistress’s doorstep. He looked at me with teary eyes. “Alex, if your mom doesn’t come home, Dad will have to take you with him to die.” Then, he just left. Eight-year-old me cried hysterically outside the door, my heart-wrenching screams attracting a huge crowd, practically blocking the street around the mistress’s house. My mother had no choice but to appear. Amidst the stares and whispers, she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back. Once we were home, I got a brutal beating. From then on, my mother resented me for the public humiliation. And I hated her for betraying my father. Since that day, we hadn’t spoken properly in twenty years. I never called her “Mom” again. … Hearing this, my mother turned her gaze to me. There was a profound meaning in her eyes that I couldn’t decipher. After a long silence, she finally spoke. “No reason. He’s my son. As his mother, it’s only right for me to buy him an apartment. This matter is settled!” “Robert, you always said I favored Chloe. Now that I’m being good to my son, why are you suddenly unhappy?” My mother’s cold tone made my father’s face stiffen. Hearing her, I put down my forks, quietly waiting for my father’s reply. After all, my father always favored me, and that favoritism only grew stronger after Chloe was born. “Alex, girls eventually leave to start their own families, but I’ll always be able to count on you, Alex. It’s only right that I treat you better now.” So, I always got first pick of the good food; Dad always bought me designer clothes while Chloe got stuff from discount stores; Even my cash gifts during the holidays were thicker than Chloe’s. … My mother saw my father’s favoritism, which only made her resent me more and love Chloe more. This time, I didn’t understand why my mother was suddenly being kind to me. Nor did I understand why my father reacted so strongly. After all, Chloe’s wedding apartment and her entire wedding fund were already prepared. Even if my mother bought me an apartment now, it wouldn’t affect Chloe’s marriage. My father’s eyes darted around, and his voice unconsciously grew weaker. “That’s not what I meant. I… I… I just thought that once our daughter gets married, her new family will need a lot of money… shouldn’t we, as parents, help them out more?” “Besides, if our son-in-law finds out we bought Alex an apartment, it’s hard to say he won’t fight with Chloe. After all, you promised all the family assets would go to Chloe. What if… what if he refuses to marry Chloe because of this?” Every single word was filled with worry for Chloe. A heavy weight settled in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Turns out, in my father’s heart, a prospective son-in-law was more important to him than his own son. My mother let out a cold laugh. “If Chloe and her husband can’t support their own family, then they shouldn’t get married! Don’t drag us down!” “Besides, I’m spending my own money to buy my son an apartment. What’s it to anyone else?!” “If you object, then we’re getting a divorce!” With that, my mother simply stood up and walked away.

The word “divorce” struck my father hard. Even when confronted with my mother’s affair and his mistress’s provocations back then, my father hadn’t wanted to divorce her. This time, my mother proposed divorce to buy me an apartment, and my father clearly couldn’t accept it. His eyes teared up. “Alex, what am I going to do? You have to talk to Eleanor for me. I only have you.” I frowned, my heart a jumble of mixed emotions. I’d heard those same words for twenty years. Back then, when my mother beat me raw, my father stood by silently, with no intention of stopping her. Only after my mother had calmed down did he approach, gently applying medicine to my wounds. “Alex, Dad’s just doing this so you can have a complete family.” “You have to make me proud, kid. I only have you.” “For you, Alex, I’d go through anything! Any hardship, any pain, I’d bear it all!” Looking at my humiliated father, little me decided then and there to study hard, make something of myself, and take my father away from all this. Three months later, news came that my mother was pregnant again. I thought, even if my father loved my mother, he would surely divorce her this time. But to my surprise, my mother had an amniocentesis, confirming the baby was my father’s. My mother returned to the family, and they reconciled, both eagerly awaiting Chloe’s arrival. My resolve felt like a joke. … Now, my father’s plea was just another demand for me to compromise. My heart grew colder, bit by bit. “Dad, if you just agree to Eleanor buying me an apartment, she won’t divorce you.” “No!” Seeing I wouldn’t budge, my father angrily let go of my hand. “Alex, I’ve really spoiled you all these years! How can you be so thoughtless about your sister?!” “Chloe’s job and education aren’t as good as yours, do you know how hard it is for her?! If she goes into her marriage without enough funds, do you know how much flak she’ll get from her in-laws?” “I don’t care! Go tell Eleanor you don’t want her to buy you an apartment! Otherwise, I’ll kill myself, I swear!” My breath caught in my throat. If I didn’t agree to his demands, my father would threaten to die. Seeing a flicker of hesitation on my face, my father sighed. “Alex, please don’t make your Dad’s life harder, okay?” “You’re a boy, it’s fine if you don’t have an apartment. There are always girls willing to pay for everything.” “After Chloe gets married, they’ll need money for so many things! They’ll have to buy a car, pay off their mortgage, and when they have kids, raising them will cost a fortune…” My father kept rattling on, and my heart was filled with bitterness. “Dad, do you know how much stress I’m under right now? If I could have my own apartment, it would be a huge relief.” My father brushed it off. “If you’re stressed, just find a rich girl to marry! Being a house husband isn’t so bad! When her parents pass, won’t all their money be yours?” “Don’t worry, Dad will definitely find you a wealthy wife, so you can enjoy life once you’re married! Just forget about Eleanor’s assets, okay?” My heart was filled with disappointment. My father seemed to have forgotten how gravely he once warned me never to be a house husband. To never live such a pathetic, undignified life, like him! Seeing my prolonged silence, my father slammed the table. “Are you seriously going to stand there and watch me die?!” My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and I could only nod helplessly. … That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Faint arguments drifted from my parents’ bedroom next door. Driven by an unknown urge, I crept to their door. “Robert, you still have the nerve to bring up what happened back then?” “All these years, haven’t you done enough things to hurt Alex?” My heart was in my throat.

“You always claimed to love Alex the most, but didn’t all the good stuff always go to Chloe in the end?!” “What are you talking about?!” I clenched my fists tightly, not daring to make a sound. “Weren’t all the designer clothes he bought for you knock-offs?!” “And the snacks he bought you, weren’t they always the ones Chloe didn’t like?!” “And the cash gifts, didn’t you always slip Chloe an extra bill the very next day?!” “How dare *you* accuse *me* of favoring girls?!” My blood ran cold. The argument inside continued, and my mind went blank with a buzzing sound. I walked back to my room with stiff steps. I pulled the covers over my head, finally letting the tears flow freely. As I cried, I picked up my phone. I opened Eleanor’s SnapChat chat and slowly typed “Okay.” … The next day, I showed up with puffy, red eyes. Chloe, seeing me at the breakfast table, snorted. “Mom’s buying you an apartment, what are you crying for?! So dramatic!” My mother silently drank her coffee. My father, seeing my state, brought me an ice pack for my eyes, all while shooting me meaningful glances. I knew what he wanted, and slowly I spoke. “I don’t want the apartment. Let Chloe have the money.” Chloe looked at me in disbelief. “You… you’re crazy?” Hearing this, my father pretended to be angry with Chloe. “How can you talk to your brother like that!” “Your brother is successful; he can buy his own apartment. Not like you, who only knows how to mooch off her parents!” Though she was scolded, Chloe’s face was beaming. “That’s right! Older brothers should always take care of their younger sisters!” “Mom, since Alex doesn’t want it, buy it for me!” “Perfect, three apartments. You and Dad live in one, Ethan and I live in one, and the last one for Ethan’s parents.” My mother finally looked up at me, just about to speak, when a knock sounded at the door. Chloe’s fiancé arrived. “Ethan, what brings you here?” My father greeted him, his face eager to please. “I came to visit for the holidays.” Though he said this, Ethan’s face held no trace of a smile. My father quickly took out a cash gift and handed it to him. To my surprise, Ethan pushed it away, speaking in a cold voice. “Chloe, I’ve decided not to marry you!” Hearing this, Chloe’s face changed. “Why?” Ethan sneered, looking at me. “Why? Your parents said all the family assets would go to you, but now they want to buy your brother an apartment! Why would we even get married then?!” Hearing this, my father anxiously spoke. “Ethan, don’t worry, that won’t happen.” “Alex already said he doesn’t want the apartment Eleanor bought him.” Chloe quickly chimed in. “That’s right, Mom already promised to buy that apartment for us, and then we’ll bring your parents over too.” Ethan’s eyes flickered with a hint of struggle. “I don’t believe it! Unless…” “Unless all three apartments are transferred to our names!” Hearing this, I laughed, infuriated. “Ethan, aren’t you being too greedy?” Before he could answer, my mother, who had been silent, suddenly stared at me and spoke. “Fine. After the holidays, we’ll go handle the transfer!” Seeing my mother agree, the three of them immediately beamed with joy. “Eleanor, I knew you loved your daughter the most!” Ethan quickly changed his expression to a smiling one. Then, he looked at me with mockery. “Alex, if you want to buy an apartment, go work for it yourself! Don’t always depend on your parents’ stuff!” “From now on, this is Chloe’s and my home. As an outsider, you should come back less often!” With that, he and Chloe walked out hand-in-hand to go shopping. My father looked at me, his lips trembling, but in the end, he said nothing. My last shred of hope finally shattered. Just then, my mother sent me a message. “Parkside Estates, Building 10, 8th floor, Unit 5. Your new apartment. Go check it out.” “If you like it, I’ll pay the deposit immediately.” I looked up, surprised, at my mother. But she just calmly went back to her room. Parkside Estates, the most exclusive development in our city, selling for a ridiculously high price per square foot. Why was my mother acting so strange all of a sudden? My mind was filled with questions. “Alex, don’t blame Dad for not speaking up for you earlier.” “You have to understand, Chloe finally found someone she likes, and your mom and I have to make her happy.” “Don’t worry, from now on…” Before he could finish, I got up and left for Parkside Estates. The apartment my mother chose was south-facing, with amazing natural light. It even had three bedrooms and a living room. It was nothing like the small apartment I had imagined. My doubts grew stronger. My mother, who had always favored Chloe, why was she being so abnormally good to me now? I rushed home, wanting to ask her for a clear explanation. But my mother wasn’t home. For the next few days, my mother continued to leave early and return late, busy with who knows what. The only time we saw each other was during family meals. My mother’s expression became increasingly relaxed, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. I had a faint feeling that something was off and wanted to ask, But my mother inexplicably avoided me. As my holiday was about to end, my mother sent me another message. “Tomorrow morning, we’re going to handle the property transfer.” The next morning, my mother and I quietly left the house. She took me to the real estate agency and paid cash for an apartment for me. My name was the only one on the owner’s title. Before I could even fully grasp it, she took me directly to the property registration office. “Please transfer the two properties under my name to my son’s name.” My mother had already prepared all the documents, and the procedures were completed quickly. By the time we arrived home, I had three property deeds in my hand. As soon as we opened the door, the three people in the living room immediately rushed over. “Mom, where did you go so early? Do you know how long Ethan and I have been waiting?” “Hurry up and handle the transfer! The office will close soon!” My mother casually glanced at them and spoke unhurriedly. “No need. It’s already done.” Their faces changed color. Then, they finally noticed me behind my mother, and the property deeds in my hand.

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Everyone said I hit the jackpot. I was an orphan, yet the Vance family picked me out at a glance and took me in as their foster daughter. From then on, I was treated like royalty, just like Brittany Vance, the Vance family’s true eldest daughter. We had the same lavish lifestyle, the same upbringing, the same everything. After a big family dinner on a holiday evening, my adoptive mother, Eleanor Vance, smiled and presented a box, asking us to draw slips. “There are two slips here. One says ‘Study Abroad.’ If you draw it, you’ll go overseas for further education and eventually take over the family business.” “The other says ‘Stay Home.’ If you draw that, you’ll stay here with me.” Brittany was absolutely confident. As a Vance by blood, it was only natural for her to study abroad and inherit the family. And I, the foster daughter, was meant to be a convenient pawn, staying by her mother’s side, serving tea and water, keeping her amused. I thought so too. But to my surprise, I drew the “Study Abroad” slip. Brittany’s face instantly contorted, and she shrieked, insulting me. “Did you cheat?! Everything in the Vance family is mine! You illegitimate mongrel, who knows where you came from, how dare you even think of inheriting the family business?!” “Mom, are you really going to let an outsider steal my life?!” Normally, whenever Brittany threw a fit, Eleanor would compromise, giving her whatever she wanted, even my parents’ keepsakes. This time, however, Eleanor’s face was devoid of expression as she slapped the screaming Brittany hard across the face. “Rules are rules. Whoever draws it, gets it.” “From now on, the Vance family business will be inherited by Alice.”

Brittany clutched her face, staring at Eleanor in disbelief. “Mom! How could you hit me for *her*?! I’m your own daughter! What kind of spell has that little brat, who knows where she came from, cast on you?!” Eleanor seemed not to hear her cries, not even sparing her a glance. She simply turned to me, her voice calm as she instructed. “Alice, go get all your documents ready. I’ll take you to process the paperwork tomorrow.” Seeing that her crying and screaming had no effect, the hurt on Brittany’s face was replaced by venomous resentment. She spun around abruptly, glaring at me through gritted teeth. “Alice Vance, you just wait! You think you can steal what’s mine? No chance in hell!” She then shrieked at Eleanor again, attempting a final threat. “Mom! If you really give everything in the Vance family to this outsider today, I’ll… I’ll disown you! I’m leaving right now!” A flicker of heartache crossed Eleanor’s eyes, but she merely pressed her lips together, ultimately saying nothing to stop her. She didn’t even look at Brittany as she slammed the door and left. Eleanor just softened her voice when she spoke to me. “Alice, don’t take it too hard. I’ll talk to Brittany later.” I nodded obediently on the surface, but a sense of dread filled me. I knew Brittany’s personality better than anyone. In the past, without direct conflicts of interest, she enjoyed tormenting me. The bruises and scratches that appeared on me every other day were already commonplace. Now that I had snatched away the inheritance she considered her birthright, how could she possibly let it go? I took a deep breath, putting on a sensible facade, and walked towards Eleanor. “Mom, the Vance family has raised me for so many years. I’m already so grateful; I never dared to dream of inheriting anything.” “That study abroad spot, and the inheritance, rightfully belong to Brittany. Please, don’t let me ruin your mother-daughter relationship with Brittany.” Eleanor turned, her gaze lingering on my face for a moment, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes. She sighed, her tone, however, was firm. “Alice, you’re just too sensible. Brittany, she’s been spoiled by me. I know in my heart that you are the one truly suited to carry the Vance family’s legacy.” “Since destiny decreed that you draw the slip, this is your fate, and the Vance family’s fate. Accept it with peace of mind. I’ll handle everything else and won’t let Brittany mess things up.” Seeing her resolve, the words I was about to say died in my throat. I truly didn’t care about the Vance family’s vast wealth, but that study abroad spot was the only key to escaping my suffocating life. In the Vance household, I was ostensibly a glamorous foster daughter, but in reality, the hidden bullying and exclusion were harder to bear than in the orphanage. With this study abroad spot, I could leave the Vance family openly and legitimately. At most, I would just go along with Eleanor’s wishes for now, leave this place, and once the plane landed, I could find an opportunity to explain to her and give up the inheritance. It wouldn’t be too late. Thinking this, I lowered my eyes and meekly agreed. At Eleanor’s urging, I went back to my room to pack my essential documents. Just as I opened the drawer and took out my passport, my door was violently kicked open. Brittany stood in the doorway, her eyes bloodshot, but those eyes were fixated on the passport in my hand. “Alice Vance, are you actually planning to take my family’s money and go live it up overseas? Don’t you have any shame? Any decency? How can you feel so smug about stealing someone else’s things?!” As she spoke, she rushed over and snatched my passport.

I reached out to grab it back, but Brittany shoved me with even greater force. My back slammed against the wall, and I gasped in pain, sliding to the floor. She loomed over me, clutching the passport in her hand. “You want to steal my things to study abroad? Alice Vance, I’m telling you, dream on! You dirt-poor wretch, rotting in the mud, how dare you compete with me?!” To my horror, she tore the passport in half with both hands. I endured the pain and questioned her, my voice trembling. “Brittany Vance! Mom decided this herself! Aren’t you afraid Mom will be angry if you tear up the passport?!” Brittany casually tossed the torn passport pieces onto my face and sneered. “Angry? I’m her only biological daughter! No matter what I do, she’ll always side with me in the end! Didn’t she say nothing when I treated you like that before?!” Although I had suspected it for years, Eleanor probably wasn’t entirely unaware of Brittany’s bullying. Perhaps she simply thought an adopted child could serve as a useful punching bag for her biological daughter. But hearing her say it so bluntly still sent a chill down my spine. Tearing up the passport wasn’t enough for Brittany; she started rummaging through my room, determined to destroy all my documents. I didn’t want to lose this opportunity. Enduring the pain, I struggled to my feet and stood between her and the cabinet. “Get lost! You dare block me?!” Seeing my defiance, Brittany’s rage intensified. She raised her hand, ready to slap me across the face! “Stop that!” Eleanor’s sharp shout suddenly came from the doorway. My body instantly froze. Brittany’s action paused for only a moment, then she ignored Eleanor, not only failing to pull back but even escalating, slapping me hard to the ground. Eleanor stormed into the room, her eyes immediately falling on the pile of passport fragments on the floor. Her face darkened instantly. “Brittany, you’ve gone too far! I’ve made my decision on this, and I won’t change my mind, no matter how much you fuss!” She wasted no more words, directly calling the servants outside the door to take the still-raging Brittany back to her room. Quiet returned to the room, leaving only me, a displeased Eleanor, and the mess scattered across the floor. Eleanor’s gaze fell on me, her tone carrying a hint of dissatisfaction. “Alice, you’re going to lead the Vance family someday. How can you not even hold onto a passport?” “Forget it. I’ll have someone fast-track a replacement passport for you. Keep your other documents safe, and be ready to leave with me tomorrow, don’t mess this up.” I lowered my head, not offering any explanations, just quietly agreeing. Eleanor gave a few more instructions, telling me not to provoke Brittany further, and to be more yielding with her, before turning and leaving. I slowly knelt, tidying up the mess on the floor, silently counting down the days until my departure. Just a little longer, just a few more days, and I would be free. Before the appointed time, I locked myself in my room, doing my best to avoid any potential contact with Brittany. My door was locked, and even my meals were delivered directly to the entrance by the servants. However, the next day, at the agreed-upon time, as I tried to quietly leave the house, I found my door wouldn’t open. My heart sank. I twisted the doorknob harder, even tried to ram the door with my shoulder, but the lock didn’t budge. I pounded on the door, screaming for help. But the servants passing by outside seemed not to hear a thing.

I screamed until my voice was hoarse. Finally, a voice full of reluctance sounded from outside the door. “Miss Alice, please don’t shout, it’s no use…” It was Maria, the housekeeper who usually cleaned this floor. Her voice came through the door, tinged with fear. “It’s Miss Brittany’s strict order. She said anyone who dares to open your door will be fired immediately. We have no choice.” My last sliver of hope extinguished. I slid down the door to the floor, my body turning cold. The servants all knew perfectly well that Brittany was the rightful eldest daughter of this house, and I was merely a foster daughter who could lose favor at any moment. I watched the sky outside the window slowly dim. I stopped shouting, just sat with my knees hugged, my hope fading with time. Just then, Eleanor’s voice, full of suppressed anger, suddenly came from outside the door. “You’ve all gone mad! Who gave you the nerve to lock Alice in her room? I’m still alive and well in this house! Who are you to give orders?!” “Open that door immediately!” The door was quickly opened. Outside, several servants stood in a trembling line, heads bowed, not daring to breathe. Brittany, hearing the commotion, also burst out of her room, screaming at Eleanor. “Mom! What are you doing?! I just don’t want this mongrel to steal my things! Why are you helping her?!” Eleanor looked at her daughter’s hysterical state and said nothing more. She simply ordered James, the butler, standing nearby. “Take Miss Brittany back to her room and keep her there. She’s not allowed to step out until Alice and I return!” Brittany’s screams were cut off behind the door. Eleanor then turned to me, not saying much, and hurried me into the car. The atmosphere in the car was suffocatingly heavy during the drive. Eleanor kept staring out the window, her brow furrowed. I knew she was worried about Brittany; after all, this was the first time she had spoken such harsh words to her beloved daughter. Sure enough, not long after we arrived at the office, Eleanor’s phone rang. It was James, the butler. “Madam, it’s terrible! Please come back quickly! Miss Brittany, she’s… she’s threatening to jump! She’s sitting on the windowsill now, refusing to come down no matter who tries to persuade her!” Eleanor’s face instantly went pale. She abruptly stood up from her seat, grabbing her bag in a panic, not even sparing me a glance. She just hastily tossed out a single sentence. “Alice, you finish the rest of the paperwork yourself!” My heart sank heavily. Brittany had indeed resorted to the most extreme measure. I was afraid Eleanor would soften and compromise again under her daughter’s suicide threat, so I didn’t dare to delay for a moment. I rushed through all the procedures as quickly as possible. Even with the plane ticket and documents firmly in my hand, I felt a little dazed. Had it really gone through? Brittany hadn’t managed to sabotage everything at the last minute? It was almost too smooth, leaving me with a faint sense of unease. I took a deep breath and walked out of the office lobby. The next second, I froze in place. Right at the main entrance of the building, Brittany stood leisurely, a triumphant sneer replacing her earlier frantic expression. And behind her, five or six muscular men in black suits blocked all my escape routes. “Alice Vance, so eager to take what you stole and fly off? As expected, trash is trash. You steal things and act so righteous.” She lifted her chin and commanded the men behind her. “Go, teach her a good lesson. Teach her that other people’s things are not to be touched.”

At her words, the men’s faces twisted into grim smiles as they closed in on me. My heart pounded. I turned to run, but they quickly surrounded me, blocking every exit. Seeing no escape, I steeled myself, curled into a ball, and clutched the document bag containing my ticket and papers tightly to my chest. I was pressed to the ground. Someone yanked my hair, and slaps rained down on my cheeks. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I bit down hard, not making a sound, enduring the punches and kicks raining down on me, my vision blurring. Brittany stood a few steps away on the stairs, arms crossed. Seeing me curled up, protecting the document bag, her voice was petulant. “Alice Vance, aren’t you so capable? Daring to snatch things from me, daring to process paperwork behind Mom’s back. Why aren’t you so tough now?” “Keep hitting her until she lets go. I want to see just how hard this wretch’s bones are.” I don’t know how long it lasted, but the one-sided beating finally stopped. My whole body ached, and I could only lie on the ground, gasping for breath. Brittany squatted down, nudged my shoulder disdainfully with the tip of her shoe, then snatched away the document bag. She casually flipped through the ticket and papers inside, then pulled a lighter from her pocket. “No!” My eyes burned with fury. I found a burst of strength from somewhere and desperately grabbed her pant leg. Just as Brittany kicked me away and was about to ignite the folder, Eleanor finally arrived. She rushed over, panting. The bodyguards following her quickly subdued the thugs and Brittany. “Brittany Vance! You’ve even learned despicable tricks like faking suicide by jumping?! I’m telling you, from today on, none of your schemes will work on me!” Back at the Vance home, Eleanor dragged a crying and struggling Brittany into the study for a lecture. I, dragging my aching body, returned to my room. The next morning, I sat in the car, waiting. After a long time, Eleanor finally emerged with a red-eyed, swollen-faced Brittany. “Alice, Brittany knows she was wrong. I specifically asked her to see you off today and apologize properly. After all, you two are sisters, you’ll always need to support each other in the future.” Saying this, she nudged Brittany. “Go, help your sister with her luggage. Consider it an apology.” Under Eleanor’s unwavering gaze, Brittany grudgingly walked over, snatched my backpack, and deliberately slammed her elbow into yesterday’s wound. I gasped in pain, a cold sweat instantly breaking out on my forehead. But I bit down hard, swallowing my cry of pain. No more complications, I told myself. Just endure a little longer, everything would be over soon. At the airport, Brittany seemed to have adjusted her mood. She was laughing and chatting with Eleanor as if she hadn’t been the frantic person of yesterday. And I, seeing the boarding gate so close, couldn’t help but let out a faint smile. Finally, the announcement for my flight to begin boarding echoed through the speakers. I took a deep breath, stood up, and extended my hand to Brittany for my backpack. However, at that very moment, Eleanor suddenly stood up. She clamped one hand tightly on me, holding me in her embrace. With her other hand, she used all her strength to push Brittany forcefully towards the boarding ramp. Eleanor’s voice suddenly rose, her eyes filled with reluctance as she looked at Brittany. “Alice! Study well over there! Mom will wait for you to come back and inherit the family business!” Before I could react, a group of fully equipped police officers surrounded Eleanor and me.

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Five years after my divorce, I received an old diary from my ex-husband. It contained things he couldn’t let me know until he died. [An arranged marriage? Seriously? Over my dead body!] [Chloe Sterling just had a kidney removed, she’s not dying. She’s just being overly dramatic.] [Ridiculous. She actually thinks she’s special, that this will make me want her back?] [Where are you? Please, come back.] [Chloe Sterling, I was wrong.] [In the next life, I hope you never meet Liam Thorne again.] I was getting Leo ready for preschool when Liam Thorne’s package arrived. I tossed the delivery box onto the entryway table without a second thought. My heart, which I thought had long been calm, still rippled with emotion. Back home, I hesitated for a long time. Eventually, I opened that old diary. [July 25, 2015, Saturday, Sunny to Cloudy My old-fashioned father actually wants me to get into an arranged marriage with that naive Sterling girl. Doesn’t he know how much I can’t stand her? And an arranged marriage with her? You’ve got to be kidding me. (Unless it was her sister, Willow Sterling, then maybe I’d consider it.)] Only these few lines were on the first page of the diary. The handwriting was light and messy, reminding me of our younger days. Our families, the Sterlings and the Thornes, had been intertwined for generations. So Liam and I were practically childhood sweethearts. Too bad I was raised as a daughter of the prominent Sterling family but wasn’t their biological heir. Willow Sterling was the true Sterling daughter, found after being separated from the family for years. But after all, I was the daughter the Sterlings had raised for eighteen years, and I had a compliant personality. The Sterlings decided not to send me away, letting me stay as the younger Sterling daughter. The Thorne family also continued to treat me warmly. Except for Liam Thorne. He always picked on me, ever since we were kids. At three, he pulled my pigtails. At thirteen, he pulled my bra strap. Now he was mocking me for being a fraud. He was utterly annoying. At my eighteenth birthday party, a fallen candle ignited balloons, causing a fire. Unexpectedly, the annoying Liam Thorne was the first to rush over, shielding me from the flames and getting a large burn on his back. From that moment on, I fell hopelessly in love with my hero. For four years in college, I did everything to pursue him. Friends in our circle called me Liam Thorne’s biggest simp, but I didn’t care. I loved it. After college, I begged my father for half a year before securing an arranged marriage with Liam Thorne. I knew he wasn’t happy; he scowled throughout the entire engagement party. He only spoke to Willow. Back then, I was foolish enough to believe. Even if Liam was an iceberg, I could slowly melt him, making him fall in love with me. It wasn’t until after we were married that I found him and Willow kissing in our marital home. The heartbreak felt like a dagger twisting in my chest, making me refuse to admit it. He really didn’t love me. “Chloe Sterling, our marriage is purely to maintain family interests.” “As you can see, the one I love is your sister, Willow.” “How about, from today on, we live separate lives?” I sat dejectedly on the floor, watching the mockery in his eyes, my hands clutching the carpet, feeling utterly powerless. He left with Willow and didn’t come back for six months. I searched the city like crazy for him. I became the talk of the town as a deserted wife, scorned and ridiculed by everyone. Until that night, I saw a drunken Liam Thorne outside a private club room. He’d been dumped. Willow had broken up with him. I took him back home and nursed him back to health, treating him like he was the most precious thing. “Chloe Sterling, are you really that stupid?” “I think you’re just pathetic. Saving you back then was a mistake.” “You’re like a leech, impossible to shake off.” During that time, Liam drank all day long. Drunk or sober, he’d always say something to hurt me. I took it all in. What else could I do? I loved him, hopelessly so. I put down my car keys, walking to the living room while reading the diary. I opened the fridge and grabbed an ice-cold soda. Curling up on the couch, I turned to the next page.

[December 8, 2017, Friday, Light Rain Married Chloe Sterling for two years now, and she’s still so boring, always just circling around me. It’s really annoying. Besides, I’m the city’s most notorious playboy, so what if I go out with some girls? What’s the big deal? She’s just like my dad, always trying to control me, so old-fashioned. I, Liam Thorne, swear, I will never love Chloe Sterling even a little bit in this life. If I ever do, may I rot in hell.] A mouthful of soda nearly choked me. I tossed the remaining half bottle. Anyway, I didn’t even like the stuff. It was Liam’s favorite, though. Liam loved thrills, adventure, and everything challenging. That’s how he fell for Willow, too. Willow was brought back home from the countryside when she was eighteen. She was different from me. She was fiery, daring, and willing to try anything new and exciting. Liam loved her bravery and detested my timidness. Later, the brave Willow also found Liam timid and boring, so she dumped him. She called me that day. “Chloe Sterling, I never loved Liam. I just purely envied you for living my heiress life for eighteen years. So, I took Liam from you purely for the thrill of it. Now, I’m giving him back. We’re even from now on.” She was as impulsive as ever. Before I could say a word, she hung up. But how could Liam, who had once loved Willow, settle for ordinary? So he started his own challenges. Challenges like collecting twelve zodiac girlfriends, and twenty-four seasonal girlfriends. I remember December 8, 2017, was the hundredth time I caught him out cheating. His left arm was around a young model, and his right hand was getting cozy with a B-list actress. When I arrived, I smashed his table, drenching him in whiskey. “Chloe Sterling, you’ve gone too far!” He surged to his feet in a rage, clutching the liquor bottle tightly, but he didn’t throw it. I gave him a cold stare, grabbed the bottle from his hand, smashed it on the floor, and yelled. “Come home with me!” For the first time, he actually listened to me. It was drizzling outside the bar, and I just dragged him, stubbornly walking him all the way home. “Liam Thorne, how long are you going to keep playing these games?” “None of your business!” “We’re married.” “Pfft, you think I wanted that?” I stared at him. He stripped off his clothes right in front of me, not caring one bit, and walked into the bathroom. Two years married. He had never touched me, yet he had no qualms about letting me see his body. I knew he was trying to disgust me, to insult me. From that day on, I started trying to change. Liam loved soda, so I filled the fridge with it. He loved to see my pained expression when I drank soda, so he forced me to drink can after can. My throat burned like fire, and I looked at Liam through teary eyes. Over time, I actually started to like soda. Liam, then, found it boring. Later, on our fourth wedding anniversary, he unexpectedly gave me a motorcycle. “Here, Chloe Sterling. Since you love me so much, come ride with me!” “You’re not scared, are you?” My heart churned as I touched the motorcycle, but I kept a brave face. “What’s there to be scared of? I’ve already gone skydiving with you, this is nothing!” Liam’s lips curved into a smile, and he took me to the most dangerous cliffside road in the city. I followed him on my bike, the wind making my legs tremble. Liam was definitely doing this on purpose. He knew I had a fear of heights. “Chloe Sterling, if you can follow me around this track today, I’ll promise to be a proper husband. Do you dare?”

He looked at me provocatively, his contemptuous and disdainful gaze clearly visible through the helmet visor. “What, what’s there to be, to be scared of? Let’s go!” The roar of the engine drowned out his mockery, and the motorcycle exhaust stung my nostrils. I revved the engine and sped up, determined to fight for a new life. Cleaning up the soda spilled on the table, I picked up Leo’s leftover sandwich, eating it as I turned to the next page. [May 20, 2020, Sunday, Cloudy What right does Chloe Sterling have to demand I spend Valentine’s Day with her? That incident was just an accident, I don’t feel guilty at all. Besides, Chloe Sterling just had a kidney removed, she’s not dying. Why are both the Sterling and Thorne families fawning over her? I think she’s just being overly dramatic.] I closed the diary, shaking my head with a bitter smile. Thanks to Liam Thorne, I’d had one kidney removed, making my life much more inconvenient afterward. My memory drifted back to that cliffside road. The winding mountain road was narrow and winding; for a novice, completing the entire route was impossible. I could only cling to Liam’s trail, staring at the back I had chased for years, trying to boost my own spirits. But fate, however, had other plans. After a sharp turn, a large pothole appeared on the road. I slammed on the brakes in fright, and the inertia sent me flying off the bike. When I woke up again, I was already on the operating table. Under the glaring fluorescent lights, several doctors stood, their faces grim, operating on me. Eight hours of surgery. I passed out, woke up, passed out again. It wasn’t until I was moved to a regular ward that I fully understood. After I was thrown off the cliff, a tree branch had punctured my left kidney. Mom held my hand, crying uncontrollably. “Chloe, don’t blame me. If your left kidney isn’t removed, you won’t live!” I looked at her swollen, red eyes, my heart aching as I gently stroked her hand. Later, I stayed in the hospital for three months. During this time, Liam only came once, secretly peeking at me from the doorway before leaving. Actually, I knew it all. I was taken back to the Sterling family estate to recover, and Mom and Dad still doted on me like I was their precious gem. But my heart felt hollow. I understood then: it no longer beat for Liam Thorne. Two days before May 20, 2020, I sent Liam a SnapChat message. “Spend Valentine’s Day with me, and I’ll set you free.” On May 20, I waited for him at the restaurant where I had held my coming-of-age party. I thought he’d rush over, eager to get his freedom. But by the time the restaurant closed, he still hadn’t arrived. I called him, but the line was busy. I laughed at myself bitterly. I’d overestimated my importance. Stepping out of the restaurant, a blast of cold air hit me, making me sneeze. “Chloe Sterling, it’s so cold, why aren’t you dressed warmer?” A familiar scarf was slipped around my neck. I looked up. It was Liam. He still looked so impatient. But he had come, to claim his freedom. That night, we drank a lot. He spent the entire night telling me how much he detested me. He hated me so much he couldn’t even find a comfortable way to kiss me. He hated me so much he was afraid of hurting me when we got intimate. Yes, after that night, we finally started acting like a married couple. He would occasionally wake up early to make me breakfast. He would sometimes join me for walks by the river. I finally lived the life I had dreamed of for a while. But… why did I suddenly find it so boring? On August 20, 2020, our fifth wedding anniversary. That day, I kept my promise and divorced him. There was no cooling-off period; the day after we finalized the divorce. I vanished.

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