Category: English

In the forty years we were married, he never let me suffer a moment of hardship. Even now, with children and grandchildren filling our home, he still reached across the dinner table to place the tenderest cut of the fish fillet into my bowl. I thought this was the definition of growing old together. That illusion shattered the day I went down to the basement to look for old things. I accidentally knocked over a heavy, clay jar of aged Port—the one he had sealed and hidden away for her. He burst in, looking like a madman, and his hands closed around my throat. “That is not yours to touch.” “That was the last memory she left me!” Then, he stormed out in a fit of rage, locking me inside the cold, damp cellar. “Since your hands are so careless, you can stay down here and reflect!” The heavy iron door of the basement slammed shut, and the darkness swallowed everything. But he forgot. I had just had triple-bypass surgery. I had no strength, and the cold was the one thing I couldn’t endure. 1 I was completely sealed in the dark. The iron door banged shut with a deafening clang, the locking sound dull and absolute, like a hammer blow straight to my heart. I lunged forward, using every ounce of my post-surgery strength to pull at the frigid metal handle. It didn’t budge, feeling as fused to the frame as it was to my stiffening arm. “Open the door! Rob, open the door!” I pounded on the paneling, my voice echoing and ricocheting in the cramped space, yet barely traveling far enough to matter. I tried to find the light. My hand fumbled along the wall, finding the familiar, old-fashioned pull-chain. I pressed the switch repeatedly, hearing the hollow click-clack, click-clack, but the dim bulb overhead had no intention of lighting up. The wiring was ancient; he’d always promised to fix it, but always forgot. Before, even when the door was locked, I could usually slip a finger through the narrow gap and work the latch open bit by bit. But not now. My body was still betraying me after the surgery. Forget slipping my hand into the crack—the simple act of raising my arm drained the last of my energy. I slid down the door and collapsed onto the floor. The biting dampness from the concrete seeped into my bones. In the dark, hallucinations began to bloom. I saw him putting the fish fillet in my bowl, saw him getting up at midnight to tuck me back in, saw him pushing my wheelchair to the park for some sunshine. Forty years of tenderness flashed before me. But then, that distorted, contorted face from moments ago reappeared, his eyes filled with a hatred that threatened to consume me whole. “That is not yours to touch!” The violent contrast made me reel, and the familiar, tightening ache in my chest began. Upstairs, a loud crash shook the house, the sound of porcelain smashing violently. Then a muffled thud, as if a large piece of furniture had been overturned—the bookshelf? I had never seen him that angry. In our forty years, Rob had always been gentle and reserved; he rarely even raised his voice. He didn’t drink, which everyone, including his friends, knew. Yet now, he was upstairs, breaking things like a maniac, all for a jar of vintage Port that had materialized out of nowhere. I had seen that jar. It was tucked into the darkest corner of the basement in an old wooden crate, with a small, yellowed label bearing a delicate, script “S” on it. I had always assumed he’d made it himself in his youth, a silly hobby. I was wrong. This whole time, forty years of domestic tranquility, of children and grandchildren, meant less than that one jar of fortified wine left by another woman. My husband, for the sake of a memory of someone else, had locked me, his wife just recovered from major heart surgery, in this cold, pitch-black cellar. It was absurd, and utterly heartbreaking. … The survival instinct pushed the sorrow aside. I could not die here. I leaned against the wall, struggling to my feet, and used all my remaining strength to shout up at the ceiling. “Rob! Open the door! I… I don’t feel well…” My voice was hoarse, a barely audible whisper. I could barely hear myself. The crashing sounds upstairs ceased. A flicker of hope ignited in me. Did he hear me? I tried again, louder: “Open up! I can’t breathe!” A moment later, his voice drifted down from the ceiling, muffled and indistinct through the thick concrete floor. “What are you yelling about? Swearing at me? That is no way to behave!” He hadn’t heard a word I said. He’d only heard the frantic tone of my voice and immediately assumed I was yelling obscenities at him. “Unrepentant! You stay put and reflect on what you’ve done!” His voice was filled with annoyance and impatience. The flicker of hope was thoroughly extinguished by his dismissal. Reflect? What was I supposed to reflect on? Reflect on discovering a secret he’d kept hidden for forty years? Or reflect on accidentally breaking the last memento left by the woman he truly loved? He wasn’t like this before. He normally wouldn’t say a harsh word to me, but now he was like a different person, demanding an apology. It was useless to rely on him. I fumbled for the cell phone in my pocket—my only hope. The faint glow of the screen was the sole source of light in this oppressive darkness. My hand trembling, I tapped the contacts list. The signal in the basement was terrible, just a single, flickering bar. First, I called my daughter. No connection. Then my son-in-law. Still the cold, busy signal. My heart pounded with desperate urgency as my finger scrolled down the long list, finally stopping on my son, Owen’s, name. I pressed the dial button. “Doo… doo…” After an agonizing wait, the call actually connected! “Mom? What is it?” Owen’s voice came through the receiver, laced with concern. “Owen… help… help me…” I desperately tried to speak, but the sound that came out was too weak to carry. “Mom? What are you saying? I can’t hear you! Why is it so loud on your end? All that static.” The signal was failing. My voice was completely drowned out by the crackling. “Mom? Where are you? Talk to me!” My son was frantic on the other end. I screamed with all my strength, but he heard nothing. After a few seconds, the call disconnected. Immediately, the shrill ring of the landline upstairs in Rob’s study cut through the silence. It was Owen calling the house phone! I pressed my ear against the frigid iron door, straining to make out the conversation upstairs. “Dad, where’s Mom?” “Your mother? She’s sleeping, just laid down.” Rob’s voice sounded perfectly calm, even carrying a hint of an easy laugh. “What’s wrong?” “She just called me, didn’t say anything, and hung up. I was worried.” “Oh, she probably pressed the wrong button in her sleep. It’s nothing, don’t worry.” “Okay… alright, Dad, you should get some rest, too.” The phone clicked off. Upstairs, the silence returned, heavy and final. My heart sank completely into the ice. Even our son was so easily fooled by his casual lie. I couldn’t give up. I opened the text message screen. My fingers, numb from cold and exhaustion, shook uncontrollably. Writing each word felt like it consumed all my strength. “Owen, I’m in the basement, your father locked me in, please come.” I stared at the words, then pressed the send button. A red exclamation mark and the “Send Failed” notification pierced my eyes. Refusing to believe it, I tried to resend it again and again. But the red exclamation mark seemed to mock my futile efforts. I tried Owen’s number again. The number that had just connected now only returned a “Cannot connect to signal” message. The signal was completely gone. The light on my phone screen finally flickered, using up its last bit of power, and died. I was thrown back into the endless, suffocating darkness. This time, there was not a single trace of light. … Just then, a knock broke the study’s silence. “Knock, knock, knock.” Rob froze, looking cautiously at the door, not immediately answering. The knocking came again, accompanied by a familiar woman’s voice: “Ellie? Are you home? It’s Pat.” It was Patricia, my neighbor and my bridge partner. Rob let out a quiet breath of relief. He straightened his slightly rumpled collar, walked over, and opened the door. “Can I help you?” His voice had recovered its usual calm, sounding entirely normal. Pat poked her head into the house. Seeing only him, she paused, then raised the plastic container in her hand, smiling warmly. “I heard Ellie was home from the hospital. Figured she needs to build her strength up. So, I brought over some of my famous lasagna for her to try.” She peered further inside. “Where is Ellie? Is she asleep?” “Yes, just laid down.” Rob stood in the doorway, blocking Pat from entering. “Oh, well, she needs to rest, that surgery is no small thing.” Pat asked with genuine concern, “How is she doing? Recovering well?” “She’s fine. Doctor said lots of rest.” Rob’s replies were brief and dismissive, his eyes darting away, avoiding Pat’s gaze. Pat and Rob didn’t interact much, so she simply assumed this was his naturally reserved, quiet demeanor and didn’t think much of it. She pushed the lasagna container into his hands and instructed him, “Well, you take good care of her. This is easy on the stomach. Tell Ellie that when she’s feeling better, I’d love for her to come over for a game of bridge. We haven’t had a proper foursome in ages.” “Sure.” Rob muttered vaguely. Seeing his reluctance, Pat didn’t linger. She waved goodbye and walked away. Rob closed the door and stood in the foyer, holding the lasagna. Pat’s words were like a bucket of cold water, suddenly snapping him back to reality. He remembered then: I had just had surgery. The doctor had been crystal clear—absolute rest, no stress, and no exposure to the cold. The anger on his face drained away, replaced by a barely perceptible flicker of remorse. He walked to the basement door, his hand resting on the cold doorknob. He hesitated for a long moment, then tentatively called my name. “…Ellie?” He had already started to soften. Normally, he would be apologizing by now. No, normally, he would never, ever lock me in a cold, dark place. He wouldn’t even let me go down there myself to fetch something, always insisting it was too stuffy and he’d do it. But this time, he thought I had gone too far. He told himself that if I just swallowed my pride and said one small word of apology, he would open the door immediately. No matter what, a few hours of reflection was surely enough punishment. But the only reply that came from the basement was a sudden, sharp, smashing sound. That was me. The darkness and the cold had caused my limbs to grow stiff. I could no longer maintain my upright stance. My body went limp, and I fell straight down. As I went down, I instinctively tried to grab something to steady myself, but my hand missed, knocking over a stack of glass jars and bottles on a nearby shelf. The sound of the glass shattering reached his ears, but to him, it was proof of my unrepentant attitude, a deliberate act of destruction to vent my anger. The rage he had just managed to suppress instantly reignited. “Fine! You think you can play games with me!” he sneered. The faint hint of guilt in his eyes vanished completely. “I guess you do need a lesson!” With that, he turned and walked away, no longer hesitating. I lay on the icy concrete floor, desperately trying to open my mouth to call for help, to tell him it wasn’t on purpose, to tell him I was in terrible pain. But my throat felt completely blocked, and I couldn’t force out a single sound. My skull had struck the hard ground with a heavy impact, and a warm, slick fluid quickly spread around my head. My consciousness began to fade, and the world dissolved into a hazy, suffocating dimness. … I died. My soul floated up, weightless, passing straight through the heavy iron door, and followed him back to the study. He didn’t turn on the lights. He used the sliver of moonlight filtering through the window to pull a small, deep-set photo frame from his bottom drawer. He traced the glass again and again with his thumb. “Seraph… I’m so sorry… I couldn’t even hold onto the last thing you gave me…” His voice was broken and thick with suppressed tears. “They all said it was your blessing for me, to find my happiness, to drink on my wedding day… But how could I ever drink it…” He spoke in a low murmur, as if talking to the person in the frame, but also as if he were explaining himself to me. “No one knew that the man you married was an animal… He hurt you… When I finally went to find you, it was already too late… too late…” Floating beside him, I finally saw the picture. A delicate, beautiful girl with braids, her eyes crinkling into a soft smile. It was his childhood friend, Seraphina. That jar of Port was his life’s regret, the only memory of her he had secretly cherished for forty years. … A sudden thought hit me. Just last month, I had been helping him tidy the study and had accidentally come across this hidden photo frame. He had walked in just then, seen me holding it, and his expression had changed drastically. He’d snatched it away and locked it back in the drawer. I actually hadn’t clearly seen who was in the picture. I had simply found his overreaction odd. Later, I’d grown concerned because he was staying up late reading, neglecting his health, and we’d had a petty argument, cold-shouldering each other for days. Now, I realized: he must have thought I had seen his first love’s photo and was deliberately picking a fight, being difficult. In his eyes, my concern and my irritation over his health had all been twisted into evidence of my jealousy and irrational behavior. How ridiculous. I was worried sick about his health, and he thought I was jealous of a ghost. I was slowly losing my life in a cold, dark cellar because of his cruel indifference. And here he was, staring at his first love’s photo, quietly mourning his youthful, incomplete romance. What separated us was far more than a simple iron door. I thought back to when we were first married. He truly was good to me. He remembered my preferences—my dislike for onions and garlic. He’d quietly bring me herbal tea during my cycle. He’d subtly protect me when his mother was being difficult. Those moments of tenderness were the harbor I thought I could rely on for a lifetime. But now, those memories felt like a thousand sharp needles, piercing my soul with pain. The truth was, all his kindness had only existed because I was “well-behaved,” because I “knew my place,” and never dared to cross the boundary of that forbidden zone in his heart named “Seraphina.” As he sank deeper into his personal grief, his gaze unknowingly swept across another photo on his desk: our family portrait. In the photo, our son, Owen, newly an adult, was standing between us in a sharp suit. I was clutching his arm, smiling radiantly. Rob’s expression was serious, but the corners of his eyes and mouth held a faint, undeniable joy. I remembered the day we took that photo. I had teased him, saying, “Rob, look, our hair is all white. We have to make it all the way, together, to see Owen get married and have kids.” How had he answered? He had said, “I promise.” Now, Owen was married with a child, but we wouldn’t make it to the end. Looking at my smiling face in the picture, Rob’s eyes finally showed a flicker of real emotion. He reached out, trying to touch the photo, but his finger stopped inches from the frame. He was softening. Perhaps those forty years of coexistence, of mutual respect, were not completely devoid of feeling. He did love me. But that love, in the end, could not measure up to the fleeting, breathtaking image of his teenage “white moonlight.” He likely felt my punishment had gone on long enough. After sitting motionless in the study for hours, the light outside turning from dusk to night, he finally stood up and slowly walked to the basement door. His jaw was clenched tight, his face expressionless, but the worry in his eyes betrayed him. He had regretted it the moment he closed the door. He regretted it when Pat brought the lasagna. He regretted it when he confessed his heartache to the old photo. But he needed me to break first, to apologize. In his mind, I was the one who had broken his sacred object; I had committed the first offense. He cleared his throat. His hand rested on the cold doorknob, but he didn’t turn it. He was waiting. Waiting for me to cry, waiting for me to beg, waiting for me to utter the words, “I was wrong.” If I did, he would open the door, hold me in his arms, and say he forgave me. I only felt a terrible, biting irony. My soul hovered in the air. Jealousy? I hadn’t even known the woman existed. How could I have been jealous? I had only accidentally shattered a jar of wine—a jar I thought was one of his silly youthful attempts at brewing. But the body of the woman inside the basement could no longer make a sound. My physical form was already cold, curled up in the corner like a discarded rag. The utter silence from within the door, to him, was simply proof of my silent protest. He remembered our old arguments, how I would always start a cold war, refusing to speak, waiting for him to break first, to come and smooth things over, to apologize. He thought I was doing the same thing now. He believed I was deliberately silent, holding out until he came begging for my forgiveness. A fresh wave of irrational anger surged through him, burning away the small amount of guilt he’d managed to muster. This was his only memento. In his mind, he had already given me every opportunity, yet I was still refusing to be grateful. “Fine! Go on, play your silent game!” he gritted out, the words squeezed through his teeth. “I’m done with you. If you want to stay in there, stay there forever!” With that, he slammed his hand against the door and turned back toward his room. The bang was so loud it shook the walls. And I, the woman he had just condemned, had no strength left to push that door open. My body lay alone in the freezing basement, accompanied only by the shards of glass and the spilled wine. … The world outside fell completely dark. Closer to evening, the sound of a car engine grew louder, pulling up to the curb. Owen, our son, was finally home from work. He arrived with his wife and our grandson, carrying bags of things meant to help my recovery. Even though Rob had used the “butt dial” excuse on the phone earlier in the day, Owen remained unsettled. So, the moment he clocked out, he rushed over with his family to see me for himself. “Dad, open up!” Owen called out from the porch. Rob opened the door. Seeing his lively, adorable grandson, the tension that had gripped his face all day finally eased. “Grandpa!” The little boy rushed into his arms, shouting sweetly. Rob picked up the grandson, his mood lightening considerably. “Where’s Grandma? I brought her favorite apple turnovers!” The grandson held up a small box, looking around the room for me. Rob’s forced smile froze for a second. He mumbled, “Grandma… Grandma is tired. She’s sleeping.” The little boy wiggled free of his grandfather’s arms, his small nose twitching in the air. He pointed innocently toward the basement door, his brow furrowed. “Grandpa, what’s that smell? It smells funny.” An indescribable, strange, faintly sickly odor was beginning to seep out from under the door. Rob’s heart gave a violent lurch, but he quickly composed himself, dismissing it casually. “Oh, probably just the leftover fish smell from the lasagna Pat brought over earlier.” He paid no more attention to it. Owen and his wife exchanged a look. The atmosphere in the house was entirely wrong. Ever since they’d walked in, Rob had been distracted, shifty-eyed, and completely unwilling to talk about my condition. It was deeply unsettling. “Dad, where exactly is Mom?” Owen’s smile vanished, his voice turning serious. “How is her health, really? Don’t lie to me.” Under his son’s intense stare, Rob grew flustered. He tried to change the subject. “Your mother is fine. What could possibly be wrong…” “Fine?” Owen pressed harder. “If she’s fine, why won’t she come out to see us? If she’s fine, why did you turn off your cell phone? I called you dozens of times this afternoon!” Having his lies exposed and being cornered by his son in front of his daughter-in-law and grandson, Rob’s face turned a mottled purple. That fragile, pitiful pride, combined with the shame of being exposed, caused him to explode. Like a cornered animal, he sharply raised his voice and roared, “She’s reflecting! She’s down in the basement reflecting!” He pointed furiously at the basement door, his anger spilling out as he accused me: “Your mother is narrow-minded! She can’t stand to look at a simple jar of wine, can’t tolerate one single memory of my past!” Hearing this, Owen and his wife looked at each other, both stunned and bewildered. They knew me too well. I had always been the one to respect everyone’s privacy, especially Rob’s. I never touched his study; I never rummaged through his old things. “A jar of wine? What wine?” Owen demanded. Under his son’s piercing gaze, Rob finally crumbled, his voice weakening as he stammered out the truth: “…It was Seraphina’s Port… the only memento she left me… and your mother shattered it.” “Who is Seraphina?” “My… my childhood sweetheart.” Owen heard this and nearly laughed from the sheer rage and disbelief. He bit out a harsh rebuke. “The sweetheart’s wine? Dad, be reasonable! Did Mom know that was her wine? She didn’t even know you had a childhood sweetheart! How could she possibly shatter a jar out of jealousy?” “She nearly killed herself giving birth to me! She’s worried herself sick for this family her whole life! And for a single jar of wine, you locked a patient who just had heart surgery in a freezing basement?” “No matter what you think she did, you had no right to do this to her!” Owen’s words were a heavy blow, smashing Rob’s self-delusion. He finally woke up. He remembered me clumsily learning to cook his favorite meals when we were first married; remembered me nursing him through a bad sickness; remembered everything I had given to this family over the forty years. All the ordinary, consistent warmth he had deliberately ignored suddenly flooded his mind. He finally remembered my goodness. In the end, his love, however flawed, was a truth too late. With Owen’s urging, Rob reluctantly gave in, muttering an agreement, and followed him to the basement door. But he still held onto his pride, yelling toward the door: “If you just apologize, I’ll forgive you. Let’s forget this ever happened! We’ve been married for decades, don’t be so dramatic. The kids are watching!” Seeing his father’s stubbornness—his hard mouth and soft heart—Owen wasted no more time on him. He snatched the key from Rob’s pocket and jammed it into the lock. “Click.” The door unlocked. Even in the second before the door was fully pushed open, Rob was still grumbling. “See? She’s always like this, the stubborn streak. She could come out on her own, but she has to make a scene until the whole family comes to coax her. Every time…” The door was violently flung open. The dim overhead light spilled into the darkness. In the corner, a small figure was curled up. My body was already stiff and blue, tear tracks dried on my face, my eyes vacant, staring fixedly at the ceiling. At that moment, the noise outside the door ceased abruptly. Rob’s complaint died in his throat. His daughter-in-law covered her mouth, a low, strangled gasp escaping her. The little grandson hid behind his father, terrified to look. Everyone froze. Time seemed to stand still.

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I finally worked up the courage to confess to my crush before graduation. I wrote him a long, heartfelt essay. He rejected me politely, saying he liked someone else. Bitterly, I typed back: “I wish you happiness.” “Xander.” He replied with a question mark. “?” “I’m Liam.” Crap. Did I just confess to the Valedictorian by mistake? 1 There was a legend at our school. Handsome, top of the class, plays varsity basketball. His name is Liam Stone. With one year left until graduation, I was sitting comfortably at the top of the class rankings and feeling a bit bored. I decided I needed a crush to spice things up. But half the school was in love with Liam Stone. I knew I didn’t stand a chance in that queue. So, I set my sights on Liam’s desk-mate and best buddy. Xander Cruz. A tanned, athletic jock who was back in senior year to catch up on his academics. 2 Week one of observing Xander: I discovered he was actually pretty nice. When I dropped my pen, he, sitting in front of me, would eagerly pick it up. Unlike Liam, who was cold and silent. Liam sat there like an ice sculpture, never even turning his head. Week two of observing Xander: I discovered he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Compared to the genius Liam next to him, it was… noticeable. But I figured I needed some motivation to come to school, so I forced myself to have a crush on him. I couldn’t like Liam. He was too out of reach. 3 Soon, I found another pro for Xander. Stamina. During the track meet, he ran the 1000 meters without gasping, like an ox. Liam, on the other hand, turned red despite his pale skin. At the finish line, he was bent over, panting. I walked towards Xander with a water bottle, but saw a crowd of girls already surrounding him. Suddenly, I felt resistant. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam. He had straightened up and was standing properly near the finish line, quite close to me. I handed the water to him instead. Liam coughed lightly before speaking. “Thanks.” I shook my head, looking at Xander surrounded by the crowd, feeling a bit disappointed. Seems Xander is popular too. 4 Recently, the school forum started a poll for “School Hottie.” Xander snuck his phone into study hall to show me. Currently, the security guard at the gate was #1. Liam was #2. Xander was somewhere in the double digits. My desk-mate, Sarah, sighed. “The guard is just a meme. Everyone knows the real king is Liam.” Xander suddenly asked me. “Grace, what do you think?” In the front row, Liam, who was focused on his work, leaned back imperceptibly. I didn’t notice. “I think you’re good-looking too, Xander.” Xander raised an eyebrow, glanced at Liam, and laughed. “I think so too. Honestly, Liam is just average.” He leaned closer to talk to me. “Grace, you have great taste!” Obviously. I spent a month forcing myself to find this tanned jock attractive. Xander leaned even closer. He whispered, “Do you really think I’m better looking than Liam?” Glancing at Liam’s cold, pale profile, I hesitated for a second, then nodded immediately. “Absolutely.” Xander was so happy his eyebrows danced. He kept stealing glances at Liam. He wanted to say more. But Liam spoke coldly. “You’re loud.” Must have disturbed his studying. But we were whispering. So unfriendly… 5 I missed the last monthly exam, so this time I was in the same exam room as Xander. With thirty minutes left, I finished my paper and got bored, so I observed Xander. He wasn’t writing. He was looking around. He scanned half the room and found me. He jerked his chin at me, holding a paper ball. Is he asking for answers? “Grace, for you…” The proctor walked over right then and grabbed Xander’s hand. “Student, I’ve been watching you. Cheating? What is this?” The teacher opened the paper ball. I looked over curiously. If he was asking for answers, my crush was about to turn into trash. The paper was flattened. Inside… Was a piece of gum. Xander smiled shyly. “I saw she was bored. Giving her a snack.” The proctor and I were both silent. After the exam, Liam came over. Weird. Usually, he studied in his own exam room. Liam stood in front of Xander, his back to me, showing a handsome profile, standing straight. I didn’t know what they were saying. “Grace, how did you do?” Liam suddenly turned to ask me. “Pretty good.” Liam pursed his lips and nodded. Why ask? Trying to steal my rank? Schemer. During the second exam, I finished and watched Xander again. He took out his phone. I thought he was cheating, but he just scrolled TikTok for the whole period. Didn’t even read comments, just scrolling. Giggling while scrolling. After the exam, I asked him how he dared to bring a phone. He looked shocked. “How did you know?” Then he laughed dryly and whispered. “I was bored. Didn’t know any of the answers.” “Why didn’t you look them up?” Xander looked at me, righteous. “That would be cheating!” Me: …Respect. 6 Results came out. I was first again. Surprisingly, Liam was second. I have to admit, in senior year, Liam improved fast. Only a few dozen points behind me. But he still needs practice. Next time, I’ll control my score to give him false hope. Hehe, fun. 7 Xander got a 250. Not an insult. He ranked 250th in the grade. Sarah laughed at him, but he wasn’t mad. “So many people in the grade, and I got this specific rank. I’m the chosen one.” I chimed in. “The chosen idiot?” Xander rubbed the back of his head, eyes bright like a puppy. “I’ll do better next time.” I found another pro for Xander. Optimism. 8 Liam kept asking me questions lately, so I had no time to observe Xander. Between classes, he stood by my desk in his uniform, holding a pen with those pale, defined fingers, looking down at me. “Grace, do you know how to solve this?” I couldn’t refuse. I watched him walk to my side. His exquisite eyes stared at me, listening intently. Liam smelled like cold, clean air. It was nice. One question after another. During evening study hall, he even took Sarah’s seat. Sarah praised his thirst for knowledge. But why did he keep asking me simple questions? And chatting with me. Seriously, I suspect Liam wants to steal my first place. 9 No progress with Xander. I actively asked Xander if he had any questions. Xander thought for a moment and opened his chemistry book. “Why is this element here? Can’t it be over there?” Me: … “Ask Mendeleev.” Xander looked blank, staring at me with clear, stupid eyes. “Who’s Mendeleev? An exchange student?” I suddenly got the ick. Maybe I should like Liam. At least he knows Mendeleev. 10 My stomach was upset during study hall. Coming out of the bathroom, I bumped into Liam and Xander. Xander wasn’t in uniform, wearing a black tee. His back looked muscular. Liam was in uniform, slender and straight like a poplar tree. Different styles. I had to admit, my eyes were easily drawn to Liam. I decided to like Liam. Then I heard Xander teasing Liam: “Peacocking much? Did you hear? The girl you like said I’m better looking than you~” Liam pursed his lips, the air around him dropping in temperature. “None of your business.” They walked away. I stood there frozen. So Liam has someone he likes. Guess I have to force myself to like Xander after all. The next morning, I told Sarah that Liam had a crush, so she should stop liking him. Sarah pouted. “I was just joking. Liam looks unreachable. Who would actually like him?” I agreed deeply. Someone like Liam is for viewing, not touching. Especially since he’s taken. “But who on earth thinks Xander is better looking than Liam?” Sarah mused. “Liam is the universally acknowledged hottie.” I lifted my chin in agreement. “Seems Liam’s crush has bad taste.” Not tasteless, just… niche.

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Ever since my baby brother was born, I started getting “lost.” My stepfather, Mark, would leave me at amusement parks, beaches, outside grocery stores, on busy streets… Six times, I managed to find my way back or get help. Each time I returned home, my mother’s cold indifference chilled me to the bone. The seventh time I got lost, I met a kind woman. “Sweetie, would you like to be my daughter?” I nodded. “Yes, please.” My stepfather and mother happily gave me away to her. They didn’t know that I was the family’s lucky charm. Without me, their luck was about to run out. 1 My name is Chloe. I am seven years old. This is the seventh time I’ve been lost. I stood at a busy intersection, cars whizzing by, waiting alone for my stepfather, Mark, to come back for me. Half an hour ago, Mark took me to the supermarket to buy soy sauce. When we got to the crosswalk, he said he forgot his wallet and had to go back. He told me to wait at the corner. He said he’d be back in fifteen minutes tops. But now, thirty minutes had passed, and he wasn’t back. The sky had turned dark, neon lights reflecting the city’s bustle. I looked up toward the direction of my apartment building, trying to guess which lighted window was ours. My mom, Brenda, should be giving my little brother, Tyler, a bath right now. Mom made bone broth soup today. Before I left, I went to the kitchen just to smell it. Mark said, “Chloe, come down with Daddy to buy soy sauce, and you can have soup when we get back.” The six previous times I got “lost” made me scared to go out. I shook my head. “It’s getting dark. I don’t want to go.” Brenda came out of the bathroom and said, “Chloe, go with Daddy, or no soup for you.” Mark was often mean to me. I didn’t want to go alone with him. But I wanted the soup, and I didn’t want Mom to yell at me. If I didn’t go, not only would I get no soup, but Mom would pull a long face and call me disobedient. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll go with you.” I held Mark’s hand and left. 2 Forty minutes passed. Mark still hadn’t come back. I was panicking, remembering the last six times. Mark always left me in strange places. A few times, I almost didn’t make it. The last time I found my way home, a neighbor kid, Leo, told me: “Chloe, your parents like your brother. They don’t like you!” I argued, face red, “My parents love me! They say I’m the most obedient!” Leo mocked, “Then why do you always get lost? Are they trying to get rid of you? You’re treated worse than a stray dog. If someone loses a dog, they look for it. Your parents don’t.” Leo’s words reminded me of something from when I was three. Mom was pregnant with Tyler. Mark said pregnant women shouldn’t be around cats, so he had to get rid of my favorite kitten, Tangerine. I remember Mark carrying Tangerine to this exact intersection and throwing him into the bushes by the road. That day, Mark held my hand as we crossed the street. I cried so hard, looking back at the abandoned kitten. Mark and Mom didn’t want the cat. Did they not want me now, either? I didn’t believe it. Mom said giving birth to me hurt a lot. Even if Mark didn’t like me, Mom wouldn’t abandon her baby. I had to walk back myself. This time, I would ask Mom directly: Do you not want me anymore? 3 To get home, I had to cross the intersection. Teacher taught us: Red light stop, green light go. But whenever Mark or Mom took me across, they said, “Don’t look at the lights, just go if there are no cars.” So now, I was confused. Should I go on red or green? I decided to listen to the teacher. When the walk signal lit up, I stepped onto the zebra crossing. This was my first time crossing alone. I was terrified. Halfway across, someone took my hand. “Sweetie, why are you crossing alone? It’s dangerous. Where are your parents?” The speaker was a young, beautiful woman. She was holding a small orange cat in one arm and holding my hand with the other. Her hand was warm. But my attention was on the cat. It looked just like Tangerine, only much bigger and wearing a cute little vest. “Tangerine. Tangerine,” I called out. “Meow~” The cat responded excitedly. I recognized him. This was my cat. After crossing the street, the woman let go of my hand and squatted down. “Sweetie, where are your parents?” I burst into tears and reached out to pet the cat. “Auntie, my parents don’t want me anymore. Just like they threw away Tangerine, they threw me away too. Waaaaah…” 4 The woman’s name was Sarah. She put the cat down on its leash. She hugged me and comforted, “Don’t cry. Take your time. Tell Auntie, what’s your name? Why are you here alone?” I sobbed, gasping for air. “I’m Chloe. My daddy took me to buy soy sauce. He went back to get something and said he’d be back in fifteen minutes. I waited a long time. This is the seventh time I got lost. He doesn’t want me.” Sarah’s face grew serious. She wiped my tears with a tissue. “What about your mom? When you got lost before, what did she say?” I sniffled. “Mom says I ran off by myself. But every time, Daddy leaves me there, and I wait obediently for them to find me…” Hearing this, Sarah held my hand. “Chloe, I live in the apartment complex just ahead. Why don’t you come home with me first? I’ll handle the rest.” “Okay.” I nodded. On the way, Sarah told me she found this cat three years ago in the bushes by the intersection. She saw Mark throw Tangerine into the bushes and walk away without looking back. I liked Sarah. Anyone who could take such good care of Tangerine had to be patient and loving.

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It was my birthday. Spencer Reid had just posted on social media, teasing the “big surprise” he had planned for me that evening. A few hours later, I saw the photo. It was of him and his assistant, Hailey Miller, riding one of my horses together. His collar was open, exposing a patch of chest where an angry red cluster of fingerprints stood out against his skin. The caption read: [My first time, thanks to him.] The comments section was a chorus of suggestive jokes: [Jealous of anyone who gets to touch that chest.] [That’s a tricky position to master.] Spencer had specifically Liked that last one. My heart went utterly cold. I had always thought he just loved riding horses. I hadn’t realized he enjoyed riding that kind of horse. I personally bathed the horse, washing away every trace of the afternoon. Then, I signed the stables over to him, free and clear. “You can give the rest of the horses to whoever you want. Pick and choose.” Watching the look of pure, unadulterated delight on his face, I finally agreed to the family alliance marriage my father had been pushing. 1 I arrived at the Hudson Valley stables just after three. I parked my car and immediately saw a man and a woman on horseback in the distance. Spencer’s shirt buttons were all undone. Even the snap on his jeans was open. Even from this distance, I could see the fresh marks on his chest. Those raw, red trails that only a woman leaves in a moment of passion. Anyone who wasn’t blind knew exactly what had just happened. I snapped a picture and sent it to Spencer. He glanced at his phone and spun around. When he saw me, his brow furrowed in a sharp, irritated crease. As he swung down, Hailey, the assistant, lost her balance and tumbled straight into his embrace. She muttered something in his ear. Spencer’s tense expression softened, and he laughed, saying a few casual words to her. When he finally walked up to me, he still wore that faint, easy smile. I watched their casual, oblivious intimacy, the way they moved as if the rest of the world were just scenery. It was in that moment that I finally understood: everything had been my own self-deception. The surprise was never for me. I thought of how I had spent the morning preparing for my “surprise.” Pushing all my meetings, canceling all my engagements. I had even had the house professionally cleaned and bought the vintage sports car Spencer had been hinting at. Today wasn’t just my birthday; it was our eight-year anniversary. Spencer had forgotten all of it. Not only had he forgotten, but he had allowed another woman to ride my prize show horse—a horse I had personally nursed and cared for. Had he stopped belonging to me too? I clenched my fists, pressing down the violent surge of rage in my chest. Hailey stepped forward, planting herself between Spencer and me, and offered a practiced apology. “Ms. Bennett, the client we’re pursuing is a huge equestrian enthusiast. Spencer only brought me here to help me develop my skills for the company. You aren’t mad, are you?” The way she framed it—making it seem like all her actions were for the good of the company, and any anger from me would be an irrational outburst—almost made me laugh. It had been years since anyone dared to speak to me with such thinly veiled condescension. “Not at all. I’m not mad. Just know that if that deal falls through, you’ll be resigning for cause.” Hailey froze. “Ms. Bennett, securing the deal depends on the terms of the agreement, not on me personally.” I gave her a cold smile. “So, how exactly does riding the horse help the company?” “I—” My gaze iced over as I looked her up and down. “You seemed quite skilled just now. Had lessons before?” Hailey clearly didn’t know what game I was playing, but she had to answer. “A few times, when I was a kid.” She was skilled enough to know about horses. She would certainly recognize my Quarter Horse—the champion racer I’d acquired a few years ago for two million dollars. I was about to press her further when Spencer cut in. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward the parking lot. “Enough, Row. I brought her to give her an experience. Don’t make such a big deal out of this.” “Besides, you only own these horses; you hardly ever ride. We just took one out for the afternoon. You certainly don’t mind.” I stopped dead, pulling myself out of his grasp. “I do mind.” I looked him straight in the eye. “I bought that horse as a foal. I’ve cared for him meticulously. I wouldn’t even ride him myself. Hailey doesn’t have the right to touch him, much less ride him without my permission.” My voice was low and deadly. “You brought someone here to my property without asking. Did you show me any respect?” I gestured to the saddle. “What’s on the leather? Should I send a sample to a lab?” The air immediately thickened. Hailey quickly dropped her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bennett. It was my fault.” Then, she pivoted back to Spencer. “Spencer, please don’t fight because of me. It’s not worth it.” She knew I was angry due to jealousy, but she immediately spun it into a corporate drama, positioning me as the unreasonable boss fighting with the hardworking assistant. It was a clever maneuver. I saw the welling tears in her eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “Hailey, you love riding so much? I’ll buy you a horse. You can ride it whenever you want.” She looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. I kept my voice low and cutting. “But remember your place. You are an assistant. You are not to take anything that doesn’t belong to you.” Spencer finally realized I was truly enraged and rushed to appease me. “Rowan, I’m sorry. It’s our anniversary, and your birthday.” He leaned in, whispering in my ear. “I didn’t get you a gift this year, but I thought… I’d give you myself.” He subtly turned his neck, showing me the small silk bow tie he had tied around his collar. I’ve known Spencer for ten years, and we’ve been together for eight. Whenever he forgot my birthday, he always used this move to beg for forgiveness. Eight years, seven times I’d fallen for it. I thought this year would be different. This was the last year before our agreed-upon wedding. But I was wrong. The same pattern was the only consistent thing. From the very beginning, I was the one investing the most. I was silent throughout dinner. He tried to charm me, telling jokes and asking about my day. But after only two attempts, he grew impatient and withdrawn. It wasn’t until we got home that his easy demeanor returned. He kissed me lightly on the mouth. “I’m going to shower first. Wait for your gift.” I followed him into the bedroom and saw the spread of toys and props scattered across the bed. Clearly, for later. This was the other reason I had been so devoted to him. He always knew exactly how to manipulate my anger back into submission. My gaze darkened. I grabbed a pair of underwear and headed to the guest bathroom to wash up. The moment I stepped in, I knew something was wrong. In the trash can were a pair of discarded women’s lace lingerie and a thong. Used. The daring cut and floral lace were styles I had repeatedly refused to wear, despite his urging over the years. My heart plummeted. It hit the floor and shattered. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him. Spencer emerged wearing a sheer, silk shirt and picked up a pair of fuzzy cat ears, placing them on his head. “Rowan, help me with the tail, okay?” I held the faux tail, unmoving. “Why are there women’s underwear and lingerie in the guest bathroom trash?” Spencer froze, his eyes widening in obvious panic. “That… I don’t know. I’ll ask the cleaning service tomorrow if they accidentally left something behind.” “The cleaning crew is a team of professionals, Spencer. They don’t wear lace thongs. And you know what the lace looks like.” “I…” He quickly stood up, his panic palpable. He fumbled for an excuse but couldn’t find one. Then, his phone rang, sharp and intrusive. He picked it up, and after two sentences, his face went white. He tore off the cat ears, grabbed a jacket, and headed for the door. I grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?” “Hailey was in a car accident on the way home. She doesn’t have any family here. I have to go to the hospital.” I didn’t let go. “Call HR. Tell them to send a representative. You don’t need to go personally.” Spencer’s face contorted in anger. “Rowan, can you stop being so self-centered? She’s struggling in this city, she’s all alone, and I’m just trying to help her. Are you seriously going to be jealous over that? God, you’re so immature!” His fury made all my efforts feel pathetic. My last sliver of hope evaporated into disappointment. As he stormed out, I called my father. “Dad. I agree to the alliance.” After Spencer left, I looked around the house we had shared for five years. I bought it and gave it to him the year the company went public. I wanted it to be our home, not just a house. Ten years ago, I fell for Spencer at first sight. It took me two years of relentless pursuit to get him to agree to date me. After graduation, I cut ties with my family, refusing my father’s order to return and take over the empire. I left my childhood friends, my environment, and started over here with him. He just said Hailey was alone in this city. Was I not alone, too? What had I gotten in eight years? His lies, and a distance that grew wider every day. Because I had severed ties with my father, I couldn’t touch the family business. I had been forced to pivot to an industry I barely knew: entertainment and media. In the early days, we built the company side-by-side, scrambling daily just to keep the lights on. That was when our relationship was at its best. Then, the company went public. Everything changed. He met more people, his ambition swelled, and he started to resent my cautious strategy. He called me a drag on the company’s growth. Fine. I wouldn’t drag him down anymore. I spent the entire night packing my things. At dawn, I received a text from Spencer. [Hailey’s leg is hurt. I’ll be at the hospital taking care of her for the time being.] I replied with two words: Up to you. The next day, I went into the office and started an audit. I contacted our lawyers to initiate the equity division. When we founded the company, I had initially planned to give him all the shares. But he insisted he didn’t want to take advantage of me, so we signed an agreement stating that the equity could be split 50/50, with the final decision resting with me, no further consent needed. I signed my name right next to his signature from eight years ago. Time felt like an illusory arrow, flying across eight years to pierce my heart. I was busy until two in the afternoon before realizing I hadn’t eaten. Spencer walked in, followed by Hailey, who was leaning heavily on crutches. He set a takeout container on my desk and told me to eat. “Your secretary said you’ve been working non-stop and haven’t eaten. Why are you doing this again?” He looked at me with an air of exasperated disappointment. “Didn’t you promise me you’d take care of yourself?” I looked at Hailey. “I thought you were hospitalized?” Spencer gave a slight smirk. “She said the company is too busy, and she felt bad taking leave. She even closed a major deal this morning. Rowan, Hailey is genuinely talented. Can you please drop the attitude about yesterday?” I stood up, moving toward the food. “Fine.” Since I was leaving, there really was no point in arguing. As I walked past Hailey, she reached out and grabbed my sleeve. “Mr. Reid—I mean, Ms. Bennett. I know you’re still upset with me, but I promise I will remember my place from now on.” She lowered her voice. “Could you please rescind the disciplinary action? Everyone in the office is gossiping about me.” Spencer frowned. “What disciplinary action?” Hailey showed him her phone notification. “HR wrote me up for malicious absence yesterday.” Spencer instantly pulled out his own phone, ready to call the HR department. “She was absent. That’s a fact. Calling them now will only make the gossip worse.” My calm observation made Spencer’s face darken. “Why are you doing this?” “I’m following company policy. She was absent.” Spencer suddenly slammed his hand on the desk, rising to his full height. “Don’t use policy to control me! You’re the CEO! You make the rules! You know I’m the one who took her out. What you’re doing now is making me look like an idiot!” I took a slow bite of my food. “Collateral damage. My apologies.” “You!” Hailey looked between us, her expression shifting from panic to distress. She rushed to apologize. “I’m sorry, I’ll take the punishment, Ms. Bennett. Please don’t be angry at Spencer because of me… Ah!” Her body twisted, and she fell directly onto the glass coffee table. The food and soup scattered, soaking her clothes. “Ms. Bennett, why did you push me?” Spencer shoved me away, his face etched with horror and rage. He immediately crouched down beside Hailey. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” He looked up at me, his face twisted with accusation. “Rowan Bennett, take your anger out on me! Why involve an innocent third party?” I was caught completely off guard by his push and fell backward onto the shattered pieces of the ceramic cup. “I didn’t push her.” Spencer glared at me, his eyes shining with fury. “Did she just fall on her own, then?” I managed to sit up, carefully moving away from the broken glass. Blood welled up from my palm and dripped onto the white carpet, spreading quickly. Spencer registered the blood for a split second, but Hailey’s pained cry cut him off. “Spencer, my leg hurts so much.” He immediately panicked, pulling out his phone to dial 911. “I’m taking you to the ER right now.” He shot me one final, venomous look. “Rowan Bennett, I’ll deal with you when I get back.” When the paramedics and nurses came to lift Hailey onto the gurney, Spencer didn’t spare a single minute to ask them to look at my hand. “Spencer, Ms. Bennett is hurt, too…” Hailey murmured as they wheeled her away. Spencer scoffed. “It’s just a scratch. She won’t die. She brought it on herself. If she hadn’t pushed you, none of this would have happened.” I closed my eyes silently. When I opened them again, every trace of doubt was gone. Leaving was the only choice left. For the next week, Spencer didn’t come home, nor did he check in. The only message I received was the text he sent the day Hailey was hospitalized. [Because of your shove, her fractured leg is now fully broken. Rowan, I never knew you were such a cold-blooded person. You’ve been so cold that I’m starting to doubt if our relationship was the right choice.] I was already set on leaving, but the words still caused a sharp, painful ache in my chest. He had condemned me, based only on Hailey’s word. He didn’t even bother to check the security footage. I typed out my response, word by word: [If that’s the case, let’s break up.] But when I hit send, I received a red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. I tossed my phone aside and officially began the process of transferring my equity. My half of the company was worth at least a hundred million dollars now, and I wasn’t leaving it behind. I transferred all my shares to a trusted friend. Before signing, the friend asked me repeatedly, “Are you sure you want to give us these shares? This is the final step; you and Spencer will be done for good.” “You loved him for so many years. You were planning the wedding. Can you really let go?” I signed my name with a steady hand. “We’re done.” It wasn’t just that I wanted to end it. Spencer no longer wanted me. Over the next few days, I saw Hailey’s posts constantly on social media. [His homemade chicken soup is delicious, but he’s working too hard. I hope to be the one cooking for him soon.] [Caring for a patient is hard. I promise I won’t let myself get hurt again, because I hate seeing him suffer.] [He looks so cute when he sleeps.] The last post, from the night before, finally included a blurry photo. It was Spencer asleep next to her in the hospital bed. The picture was slightly obscured, but I recognized him instantly. More importantly, I recognized the necklace lying on the bedside table. I had made it for him myself on our one-year anniversary. He had never taken it off. Until now. He had taken it off for another woman. I thought for a moment, then posted my own update. [Who knew leaving the city I’ve called home for ten years could be this simple.] After hitting Post, I turned and walked into the airport.

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Preparing for assisted suicide abroad, the journalist suddenly asked me, “Ms. Thorne, what is the single greatest regret of your life?” I thought for a long time before slowly beginning to speak: “When my parents went to the group home to adopt a child, I chose a quiet boy who rarely spoke, and then I insisted on marrying him, against everyone’s advice.” My answer piqued the reporter’s curiosity, and she pressed on: “Did you marry him in the end?” I touched the scar on my wrist, a wound that had long since healed over. This was a rare moment of lucidity for me. “I did. But then I divorced him. He ended up with my lifelong best friend. I heard they recently had their second child. Good for them.” That same afternoon, after the interview aired, Derek Hayes rushed from the States and stopped the procedure. He looked at me, his eyes wide with unconcealed relief and surprise. “Jenna, thank God you’re alive! Your mother has been asking about you constantly, she misses you. We all miss you.” I pulled my hand out of his grip and said softly, “Sir, do we know each other?” 1 Derek looked like he’d been hit with a two-by-four, frozen solid for a good two seconds. “Jenna, even if you hate me, you don’t have to pretend not to know me, do you?” I looked at his face, feeling a vague sense of familiarity. The foreign nurse beside me leaned in and whispered a reminder. “Ms. Thorne, do you remember? You showed us photos—this is your ex-husband.” Ex-husband? A flicker of recognition. I fumbled in the pocket of my hospital gown for a yellowed little notebook. I carefully flipped through a few pages, my finger stopping at a certain line, and finally matched the face to the name. “Oh, it’s you. Well, you came at the right time. You can arrange for my body. When I die, please make sure I’m buried next to my father.” Derek snatched the notebook from my hand and slammed it to the floor. “Jenna, have you lost your mind! How much longer are you going to keep this act up! Five years ago you faked your death and left, letting everyone live in agony and guilt—wasn’t that enough?” I lowered my head, saying nothing. The tumor in my brain was pressing on my nerves; I had forgotten too many things, and now I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Because of Derek’s arrival, I didn’t die that day. Perhaps it was the desire to die closer to my dad, but I agreed to go back with him. On the flight home, Derek kept talking. “Everyone went crazy looking for you after you disappeared.” “When they hauled the car out of the ocean, the driver’s seat was empty. Everyone thought you were dead.” “Your mother cried for a solid month, almost losing her eyesight. She’s the one who asked me to bring you back. You two need to talk; how can a mother and daughter have such deep-seated resentment?” The chattering gave me a headache, and I cut him off. “Derek, my notes say that the reason our marriage failed was that you cheated on me with my best friend. Is that true?” Screech! The sound of tires grating on the tarmac was jarring. The car swerved violently. Derek pressed his lips together, silent. The topic was dropped, never to be resumed. 2 The car pulled into the driveway, where Willow Sterling was helping my mother, Eleanor, stand at the front door. When she saw me get out, Eleanor let out a cold scoff and turned her head away. My heart ached, but I didn’t speak. Though the memories in my brain were disjointed, my body remembered. I instinctively walked across the living room and pushed open the door to my old room. My old writing desk, the baby grand piano—all gone. In their place was a sprawl of Legos and action figures covering the floor. Derek stepped in front of me, trying to block the view inside the room. “Jenna, I’ll have this room cleared out for you right away.” Before he could finish, a five-year-old boy suddenly darted out of the corner. He spread his arms wide, blocking the doorway, and glared at me fiercely. “This is my toy room! Don’t touch anything! Get out, you bad lady!” The boy hurled the metal toy car in his hand directly at me. The hard projectile hit my kneecap, and a sharp, piercing pain shot through me. I gasped, my body swaying, almost stumbling backward. “Leo!” Willow rushed over, covering the boy’s mouth, her face a mask of panic. I didn’t get angry. I just felt the pain in my knee travel up my nerves and settle in my heart. The air felt too thick here; I could barely breathe. I turned and dragged my aching leg outside. Derek followed me. He forcefully put me into the car and drove me to a high-end hotel. The moment the room lights came on, the memories I had suppressed flooded back to me instantly. I was seven years old when my parents took me to the group home, saying they wanted to adopt an older brother for me. Among the children desperately trying to impress, only Derek huddled quietly in a corner. My parents didn’t like him; they thought he was too solitary, too hard to bond with. But when a few older kids pushed me to the ground, fighting over my candy, Derek had stepped in front of me. He was battered and bruised, his nose bleeding, but he wouldn’t move. That day, I cried and threw a tantrum in my parents’ arms, pointing at his bloodied face. “I want him! I want that brother!” And so, Derek came home with us. For over a decade, we went to school together, we grew up together. He sheltered me, protecting me from every slight and sorrow. Later, we got married. But on our first wedding anniversary, I had booked a restaurant and couldn’t reach him anywhere. Fearing something had happened, I tracked his phone. It led me to a high-end hotel, just like this one. Willow, wearing a silk slip, opened the door. Derek lay passed out on the bed inside. One was the man I had loved for over a decade, the other my confidante for just as long. In that instant, my world collapsed. 3 I didn’t even have the courage to rush in and confront them. I ran like a coward. Despair, humiliation, and nausea flooded my mind. I stood on the cross-town bridge, staring down at the pitch-black, churning river, and I jumped. The icy water rushed into my nasal cavity, and I was engulfed in a suffocating darkness. My dad, Robert, worried about me, had followed right behind. When he saw me jump, he didn’t hesitate; he jumped in after me. He used all his strength to push me back toward the bank, but he struggled in the swift current and eventually sank. When my dad’s body was recovered, my mother, Eleanor, cursed me hysterically, hitting and kicking me. “What was so terrible that you had to do that? I told you, men are like this! If you can live with it, stay! If not, divorce him! Why did you have to be so dramatic!” For a long time after that, whenever my mother saw me, she would say, “Why wasn’t it you who died?” Yes, I wanted to know too. Why could she forgive Derek, forgive Willow for destroying my family, but not forgive me? As the memories returned, the searing pain made my body convulse. I clutched my chest, squatting on the floor, gasping for air. “Jenna, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Derek looked at me, huddled on the floor, his voice tight with alarm. A knock sounded on the door, and he stood up to open it. The door opened, and Willow’s eyes quickly scanned Derek, taking him in. When she saw that he was fully dressed, her tense shoulders noticeably relaxed. She squeezed into the room, her gaze falling on me, assuming the stance of the woman of the house. “Jenna, since you’re back, it’s better you come home. I’ve had the room cleared out. Leo is young and doesn’t know any better. You’re the adult, don’t hold it against him.” Five years later, I was this close to my former best friend again. The question I couldn’t ask then finally found its voice. “Willow, why did you betray me?” This question was not just about Derek’s infidelity but Willow’s calculated move. They both knew what they meant to me. 4 Willow’s forced smile instantly crumbled. With her so-called dignity stripped away, she dropped the act. “Yes, it was all my fault. But Jenna, is a matter of the heart something I can control?” “I was just trying to secure my own happiness. Was that so wrong?” What a self-righteous justification. That to secure happiness, she could shamelessly climb into her best friend’s husband’s bed. “Stop it!” Derek suddenly roared, cutting off her tearful confession. “The past is the past! Why bring it up now!” “Jenna is back, and I will do everything I can to make it up to her. I will return the Thorne family company and all the assets to her.” At this, Willow’s sobs instantly ceased. “Derek, you’re going to give everything to her, aren’t you? What about me and Leo?” Derek’s silence ignited Willow’s fury. She looked at the man before her with crushing disappointment and slowly retreated toward the door. “Fine! If you’re so determined to make amends, then let’s get a divorce!” With that, she turned and stormed out of the room. Derek stood rooted, his eyes darting between the direction Willow had disappeared in and me. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. In the end, he made his choice. “Jenna, get some rest here. I’ll come back for you tomorrow.” After this brief instruction, he turned and chased after her. Looking at the empty doorway, I started laughing. Jenna Thorne, you came back just to humiliate yourself again. I bent over, coughing violently for a while, and then looked at the faint blood on my palm. I suddenly felt nostalgic for my childhood, safe in my parents’ arms. One last look before I die. 5 Under the cover of darkness, I quietly crept back to the house. The front door was slightly ajar, and I could hear a fierce argument inside. Peeking through the gap, I saw my mother pointing a finger at Derek, scolding him. “Derek, what are you saying? You want to divorce Willow and remarry Jenna? Have you lost your mind! Marriage isn’t a game! Who do you truly love in your heart, do you even know?” Derek’s head was bowed, his hands buried in his hair in obvious distress. “Mom, that whole thing was an accident. I was drunk that night, completely blacked out, I don’t remember a thing! Jenna has always been the one in my heart! Now I just want to make amends. I want to give back what I owe her.” Eleanor slapped the table, her voice cold as ice. “What about Willow? What about Leo? And the second baby she’s pregnant with! If Jenna hadn’t come back, the three of you would have welcomed your second child soon.” “You tell me you can’t let her go, but can you let go of your current wife, let go of your two children?” Derek opened his mouth but couldn’t make a sound. Eleanor looked at his silence, her voice taking on a hateful edge. “If I had known her coming back would cause such a mess, I never should have let you go get her! The fact that she could fake her own death five years ago means there’s nothing she won’t do!” “She might even lie and say she has cancer, just to break you two up!” Inside the room, Derek fell silent. After a long pause, he seemed to yield. “Give me some time to think, but I won’t back down on one thing: as long as I’m here, no one is allowed to hurt her. I will return the Thorne family company and all the assets to her intact!” I didn’t want to hear the rest and turned to leave, but I bumped into Leo. He looked at me with open hostility. “You’re the bad lady trying to take Daddy away! Daddy said he’s going to give you the house and the money! Why? Those things are mine!” Leo was holding a pair of small scissors and suddenly lunged at me. The metal points plunged into my thigh. A searing pain shot through me, and I instinctively reached out and pushed him away. Leo fell back, hitting the ground, and began to wail, clutching his hand where the skin was broken. “Daddy, Mommy, Grandma, the bad lady hit me!” Willow materialized out of nowhere, shoving me hard. She snatched up Leo and looked at me, her guard up. “Jenna, whatever you have against me, take it out on me! Don’t take it out on my son!” I clutched my bleeding thigh, trying to walk away, but Willow held onto me relentlessly. Her grip was strong, making my arm scream in pain. I yanked hard, but unexpectedly, she staggered and fell heavily to the ground. Blood began to flow down her thigh, shocking and unmistakable. 6 My mother and Derek rushed out one after the other. Seeing Willow on the ground, Eleanor instinctively slapped me across the face. “Jenna! I knew you coming back meant trouble. That assisted suicide, the sickness—it’s all a fabricated lie! You just can’t stand to see us happy, can you? Get out! Never show your face here again!” Seeing Derek, Willow’s face crumpled into a mask of tears. “Derek, the baby, our baby!” Derek frantically picked up Willow and ran out. My mother followed with Leo. The yard was suddenly empty, save for me. I looked down at my still-bleeding thigh and strangely felt no pain at all, light and disembodied. I hailed a cab and went to the cemetery. Leaning against my father’s tombstone, I suddenly felt overwhelmingly sleepy. In my haze, I thought I saw my dad reaching out to me, smiling. “Jenna, Dad’s here to take you home! Where’s your mom? Did you make her angry again?” I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother’s number. The moment she answered, I started to cry. “Mom, I’m dying. Please, help me…” My mother’s voice was venomous, spilling out words without thought. “Jenna, Willow miscarried! And you have the nerve to call? I’m telling you, I won’t believe you this time! If you’re going to die, do it far away from here!” The phone went dead, and my hand slid away. The next morning, Derek was leaving the hospital building to smoke a cigarette when he saw a hearse from the funeral home pulling away. A sudden gust of wind lifted a corner of the white sheet. Derek saw my deathly pale half-face, and my eyes, which were still wide open.

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On the day of the SATs, I suddenly ran away from home and went downtown to watch a concert. My parents were frantic, making a scene at school, begging the principal to find me. My homeroom teacher pulled out handfuls of hair because I was the only kid in the whole school with a shot at getting into an Ivy League. And the day before I skipped the exam, I had been studying seriously until late at night. My mom fainted from anger, and my dad called, furious and disappointed, “Maliciously skipping the exam means a three-year ban. Are you trying to ruin your life?” At the concert venue, I shouted back over the music. “Dad, if I don’t run, I’ll die!” …… When the bell for the SAT exam rang, I had just squeezed into the concert venue with the crowd. My mom called, “Honey, the teacher said you didn’t go to the exam. What’s going on!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, “It’s too late, Mom, the concert is starting. I’ll call you back after it’s over!” There was an uproar around me. “What? This kid is taking the SATs today?” “Shouldn’t SAT candidates be in the exam hall?” “She skipped the exam to come to a concert!” “She missed the SATs for a concert!” The audience passed it on one by one, and soon the whole venue knew there was an SAT candidate who skipped the exam to come to the concert. The latest iPhones were raised one by one, pointing at me. I showed my white teeth, wearing a tacky, old school uniform, and flashed a peace sign at the camera. “She’s crazy!” “Does anyone recognize this uniform? Call their principal quickly!” Soon, my old Nokia phone kept ringing. My parents, my homeroom teacher, the principal, and my deskmate. On the screen, my mom was crying and shouting, “Honey was studying until midnight yesterday, how can she just not take the exam!” My dad looked much older, gesturing wildly, “Our Honey has always been obedient and filial. She wouldn’t do such a thing! Someone must have incited her!” I looked at my parents with heartache, “Mom, Dad, the concert is starting, don’t worry! Wait until I finish watching the concert!” My homeroom teacher, Mr. Thompson, scratched his head anxiously, “Chloe Evans, you are the only one in our class with hope for Harvard or Yale. How can you just not take the exam!” I replied loudly, “Mr. Thompson, wait until I finish watching the concert!” The principal took the phone, “Student Chloe Evans, as long as you can come back for the exam, name your conditions. Whether you want money, concert tickets, or autographs, I’ll find a way to get them for you!” I replied loudly, “Principal, wait until I finish watching the concert!” When my deskmate, Emily, took the phone with red eyes, I frowned. “Emily, shouldn’t you be taking the exam in the hall?” Emily choked, “Chloe, come back quickly, we are all worried about you! A three-year ban is a big deal. I don’t want you to go astray!” I smiled and replied, “Emily, wait until I finish watching the concert!” People around pointed at me and discussed fiercely. “So unfilial! Her parents are crying like this, and she still has the nerve to spend their money on a concert!” “Is it possible this child was driven crazy by her parents’ pressure and deliberately rebelled by not taking the SATs?” “Or maybe she’s an anti-fan of our Tom. She’s obviously here to smear Tom’s name on purpose!” I shook my head. None of that was true, but I couldn’t say anything until the concert was over. The heat continued to ferment. The star holding the concert, Tom Sheng, walked onto the stage with a pale face, anxiously looking for me in the audience. I was wearing old clothes, face dirty, holding no support items, just bobbing my head and dancing to the rhythm. The star was terrified and quickly shouted across the air, “Little sister, is it your SATs today? Can you go back and take the exam?” After all, if news got out that he condoned fans skipping exams to watch his concert, his career would be over. He looked like he was about to cry and almost knelt down to me, “Little sister, we don’t welcome SAT candidates here! I don’t care where you got the ticket, we will refund you in full and charter a car to send you back for the exam!” Dozens of big screens were full of close-ups of me. I jumped up and down excitedly, raising my hand to signal him, “Sing! Whatever it is, wait until the concert is over!” Chapter 2 The star was angry and ordered several security guards to come and kick me out. “Who sent you? Why do you want to harm me on purpose! Someone, kick her out! My concert does not welcome candidates with bad morals who skip exams!” I explained to the security guards, “Let me watch the concert first. Everything will end after I finish watching!” But they didn’t listen. They grabbed my arms left and right and were about to throw me out. Seeing that I was about to be thrown out the door, I was anxious. If I couldn’t watch the concert, all my efforts would be in vain! I suddenly pulled the hairpin off my head, “Who dares to touch me! I’ll kill myself!” The surroundings became quiet. No one wanted to be responsible for a human life, especially an SAT candidate’s life. The security guards held their hands up in front of their faces, “Okay, okay, we won’t touch you. You go out yourself.” I shook my head with my bag on my back and rushed desperately towards the stage, “I’m not leaving! If I don’t watch the concert today, I’ll die!” The star sighed, “It seems this little friend is my loyal fan. I didn’t expect to bring so much strength to a child. She’ll die if she doesn’t listen to me sing!” “How about this, you go back and take the exam first. When you finish the SATs, I’ll personally go to your house and sing for you, okay?” “Come, let me sign your school uniform first. Let my signature accompany you to the exam! What do you usually like to call me? Tom Sheng? Or Tommy?” I looked at him confusedly, “What’s your name? I don’t know you!” Tom Sheng was angry, “You are here to crash the party on purpose! You know my performance today is for charity, just to cheer for the SAT candidates. If you mess this up, my reputation will be ruined!” I shook my head, “No, you will understand when the truth comes out! But you can’t drive me back now, I will die!” Tom Sheng ignored me and asked the security guards to watch me so I wouldn’t cause trouble, because the concert officially began. The big screen began to scroll videos of some outstanding students’ monologues. Tom Sheng stood seriously in front of the stage, “Let’s use our strength to cheer for the candidate brothers and sisters! They are the flowers of the motherland, our hope for the future!” Amidst the cheers of the whole audience, I saw videos of several top students in our city, telling their visions to the camera. The next video was me. In the lens, my eyes were red and wiping tears. “I really feel sorry for my mom and dad. They work from dawn to dusk to earn money, but insist on letting me study. I must get into an Ivy League to repay them so they don’t have to work so hard…” The audience hissed. “Isn’t this the girl just now? She kept saying she wanted to repay her parents, then turned around and bought scalped tickets to see the concert, tsk tsk…” Tom Sheng also looked at me in surprise, “You are the top student in the city’s mock exam? Obviously, you have a great hope of getting into Harvard or Yale. Why didn’t you go to take the SATs?” I shook my head, staring closely at the time on my phone screen. “It’s not time yet! I can’t say! Otherwise, everything will be useless! I will die!” I stared at Tom Sheng, “This concert of yours is a charity concert. All local media in the state will forward it, right?” Tom Sheng nodded blankly. I continued to ask, “You have over 100 million followers on all platforms and are the most popular singer in the entertainment industry now. Can you guarantee that the live broadcast of this concert will be seen by many, many people?” Tom Sheng blushed, “I dare not guarantee number one in popularity, but my fans are very powerful. This concert will definitely be watched by many people, at least eight million.” Hearing this number, I touched my chest. My heart, which had been beating fiercely, finally settled down a little. As long as I wait until the exam officially begins, everything will come to light. When the exam officially began, the bell rang inside the venue, and the whole audience thundered with applause. The cameramen pointed their lenses at the audience seats, randomly picking fans to offer blessings to the candidates. I was shaking all over with nervousness, suddenly pounced on a camera and hugged it tightly, my voice trembling, “I want to speak! Film me! All cameras film me!” Fans stood up and cursed me, throwing light sticks at me. I looked at the camera, word by word, “I want to report!” The whole venue fell silent. Tom Sheng frowned and invited me to the stage, “Student Chloe, you said you want to report, is it about the SATs?” I nodded solemnly, holding the microphone. “I want to report that in Exam Room 318 of Sunnydale High School, someone is—” Chapter 3 A harsh electric noise rang out, and my voice was drowned in the huge noise. At the entrance of the venue, Mr. Thompson slowly walked into the venue supporting my elderly parents. The principal held the wire he had unplugged, trying to wave at me from under the stage. “Chloe Evans, if you come back with us now, you can still catch the next subject! Don’t ruin your life chasing stars!” Tom Sheng interrupted the principal with a righteous face, “This student Chloe wants to report. No matter what happens, reporting any improper behavior in the SATs is what every citizen should do. Please don’t interrupt her!” But I stood on the stage holding the microphone, trembling all over. Mr. Thompson supported my parents. My parents leaned on Mr. Thompson’s shoulder with trust, but Mr. Thompson stared at me fixedly. “Chloe Evans, weigh the impact of what you are going to say on yourself before speaking!” Mr. Thompson actually threatened me with my parents! I laughed angrily, “I don’t believe you can do anything to my parents in full view of everyone!” Before I finished speaking, dozens of high school students in uniforms poured into the venue mightily. My deskmate Emily threw a schoolbag up, heartbroken, “Chloe, yesterday you told me your dream was to see Tommy’s concert. I didn’t expect you to be so confused as to skip the SATs to see it!” “Don’t be silly! The whole class is worried about you! Come back with us quickly!” The whole class spoke mightily, “Student Chloe Evans, go back with us! We are willing to repeat the year with you!” I was stunned. “How come… none of you entered the exam hall? Impossible, impossible! You all abandoned the exam?” Emily’s eyes were red, reaching out to me, “We voluntarily gave up the exam for you! You are the pride of our class. How can we take the exam with peace of mind without you?” I only felt creepy and collapsed on the ground. At the same time, Tom Sheng opened the schoolbag. Inside, the exercise book bore my name, but besides that, Tom Sheng found a whole bag of things related to him. Every album since his debut, every magazine cover, all endorsed items, all OST merchandise, even photos taken at the airport and hotel entrances. The audience exclaimed, “So she’s not an anti-fan, she’s a sasaeng fan (obsessive fan)!” “To fight for a chance to be on stage with her idol, she actually lied about reporting SAT cheating!” My microphone was muted. No matter how I explained, no one heard. Tom Sheng gritted his teeth, “I hate sasaeng fans like you the most. Now you even use the name of the SATs to trick me into supporting you to speak out! Get out! Get out of my concert!” Mr. Thompson pointed at the students behind him and knelt down helplessly to me, “Chloe, you have always been the most sensible student. Why did you drop the ball at the critical moment? Wake up quickly! Now it’s not just you skipping the exam alone, it’s our whole class risking for you!” “Repeating a year is a small matter, the teacher is willing to waste time with you, but maliciously skipping the exam, do you want to take your whole class to be banned from the exam for three years?” It was Mr. Thompson kneeling, but a deep sense of powerlessness rose in my heart. Looking at the people accusing me desperately under the stage, looking at the indifferent faces behind the cameras, I wanted to continue speaking, but the microphone couldn’t transmit a sound. Security had already rushed onto the stage to pull me away. I closed my eyes. Could I still not escape the ending of death? Wait, there is still hope. I remember there was a photo in that schoolbag, of Tom Sheng meeting a female boss privately. Chapter 4 The moment the security rushed up, I turned and pounced on Tom Sheng. He didn’t expect it and fell backward to the ground. The microphone was broken, emitting harsh electric noise, and was immediately muted. Tom Sheng tried to get up in embarrassment, and a ring fell out of his pocket. I grabbed the ring quickly, found the photo and threw it to him. “Tom Sheng, I have your secret. If you don’t help me, I will expose the fact that you secretly married the female boss.” Tom Sheng trembled with anger, “You really are my sasaeng fan! You threaten me! Say, how much money do you want to let me go?” My lips were pale, “I don’t want money, I just want a live broadcast! A live broadcast with at least eight million viewers!” When the security grabbed my arm, Tom Sheng gritted his teeth, pulled me off the stage, and personally sent me to the nanny van. Fans were furious, “Tommy, what’s wrong with you! Why help a sasaeng fan escape!” “For a sasaeng fan, do you ignore the fans in the entire stadium?” “Refund! Unfollow! Refund! Unfollow!” Tom Sheng punched the back of the front seat, smashing a hole in the seat. “Are you satisfied making such a scene?” I shook my head, “Not satisfied yet. Give me your phone. I want to start a live broadcast with your account!” “Otherwise, I’ll open the door and shout that you are married and kept by a rich woman!” Tom Sheng cried and handed the phone to me, “What good does ruining me do to you? Why are you doing all this?” I sighed, “Anyway, that schoolbag is not mine, and I am not your sasaeng fan. You will understand everything when the dust settles.” I looked at the constantly rising number of people in the live broadcast room, my eyes dark, “Sorry, I just want to live.” Ten million people poured into the live broadcast room at once, but this was not enough. These were just ordinary fans. I initiated connections with official media accounts across the state. Not a single media outlet dared to accept my connection. Finally, the director of the State Education Bureau took the initiative to initiate a connection. “Student Chloe, if you have any difficulties, you can tell me. I promise to handle it impartially!” My tears flowed down. Finally, finally. I opened my mouth, “Uncle Director, I want to report Sunnydale High School for mutual protection among officials. The whole school is condoning…” Bang. The vehicle was hit violently, rushed straight out of the guardrail, and hit the bridge pillar. After a spin, the equipment in the car was disconnected, the live broadcast image was lost, and the phone was stuck in the gap under the seat. “Damn, it’s sasaeng fans intercepting the car!” Tom Sheng jumped out of the car window in one stride, looked back at me, but still gritted his teeth and dragged me out of the car. A man and a woman in the car behind, wearing hats and black masks, walked straight towards me. I would recognize their faces even if they turned into ashes. It was the class monitor and my deskmate! Emily held my hand and cried bitterly, “Chloe, as your friend for many years, I really can’t bear to see you go astray! Don’t ignore your life just to chase stars! Do you know the consequences of holding a star hostage?” “No matter what, come back to town with us first. Everything is easy to talk about back in town. We will follow whatever you want!” I desperately broke free from Emily’s hand, “I won’t go back to town with you! I will die if I go back to town!” I looked at Tom Sheng beggingly, “I will die if I go back to town! Continue driving! Take me to the state capital!” While Tom Sheng hesitated, the class monitor, Jacob Miller, stepped forward with a cold face. His dark eyes wanted to see through me through my eyes, “Didn’t you chase me for many years? As long as you go back with us to take the exam, I will agree to you.” The surrounding atmosphere froze. Suddenly, the director’s voice came from under the seat, “Little Student Chloe, are you still there? Speak boldly if you have something to report!” Tom Sheng seemed to have made up his mind, “The fairness of the SATs is more important. No matter what, I’ll take you to the State Education Bureau first. Get in the car.” I clenched my fists. “No need, you go.” Tom Sheng widened his eyes in disbelief and cursed, “Chloe Evans, are you sick in the head? You want to kill me just to flirt with a man!” “Don’t expect me to help you again! No matter what you say, I won’t believe you anymore!” After that, Tom Sheng picked up the phone and left me without looking back. Emily laughed, “Chloe Evans, what’s the use of making such a scene? Still completely controlled!” Jacob Miller’s eyes were cold. His fingers touched my sweat-covered skin, making me shrink back subconsciously. “What, don’t want to go back with me? Then I can’t keep those things secret anymore.”

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23:59. I suppressed the anger of being woken up by my phone and pushed open the gold-plated door of the private room. “Sorry to disturb you, everyone. I’m here to pick up my significant other.” The next second, the countdown to the New Year in the room stopped abruptly. Dozens of eyes from the room full of social elites were all fixed on me. And the man sitting in the center, in a sharp suit and with cold features, was slowly rubbing his wine glass. “…Chloe Miller?” Someone broke the dead silence first. “Today is the New Year’s Eve gathering for Ivy League alumni, not a shelter for community college dropouts.” Laughter exploded. “Isn’t this the heroine of the ‘Only-Chloe-ism’ incident back then? Just to make her smile, the top student Ethan changed all ‘materialism’ to ‘Chloe-ism’ on his philosophy paper and almost gave the professor a heart attack.” “I heard you schemed your way into your stepbrother’s bed and forced him to marry you. Otherwise, why would he marry a failure like you? Now his sister-in-law is a Cambridge PhD, that’s what you call a perfect match. How dare you show up?” The gazes from the table pierced me like needles. They would never know. Ethan used to be the last in the school. He fought his way to the top just for me. But the past is no longer important. I met everyone’s gaze, without the wretchedness they expected, and said calmly with a slight smile: “I’m not here to spend New Year’s Eve with you elites. I’m here to pick up my husband.” Ethan finally looked up, his eyes dark: “Chloe, we divorced three years ago.” I curled my lips slightly, putting on a standard business smile. “I know.” “So, I didn’t say I came to pick you up, Mr. Sterling.” 1 “How shameless. Still trying to take advantage of Ethan even after the divorce.” A few suppressed snickers rang out in the private room. Jason lit a cigarette and looked at me lazily. “First time I’ve seen someone rush to be a mistress.” Jason was the best friend of Ethan and me in high school. And the person who treated me second best in this world. But when I was divorcing Ethan, he stood by Ethan without hesitation. Because the girl he liked was the third party in our marriage. And he had been helping Ethan hide their relationship. Only me, kept in the dark like a fool from beginning to end. “Jason, stop it.” Ethan pursed his lips and scolded coldly. Jason was unconvinced, extinguished his cigarette, and looked impatient. “What’s wrong with saying a few words? An idiot like Chloe can’t compare to an intellectual like Sophia at all.” “Only you would fall for a dummy like her and be dragged down for years for nothing.” Ethan looked at me and said deeply, “Chloe isn’t stupid.” Chloe isn’t stupid. Coming from the mouth of a genius like Ethan. It actually sounds a bit comical. But 16-year-old Chloe Miller believed it. The year I graduated from middle school, my mom and Ethan’s dad formed a new family. Ethan and I were the same age and went to the same ordinary high school. We were in the same class. He was last, and my grades were in the middle. Ethan hated me, so he never talked to me. I often saw Ethan fighting and getting punished. Then my mom would come to school to be scolded, bowing and scraping while being insulted. One night I went out for water and saw my mom sitting on the sofa wiping tears in the middle of the night. “Chloe, how can Ethan accept me?” I didn’t know. I only knew that after that day. The originally plain relationship between Ethan and me became tense. I put wasabi in his drink, poured dirty water into his backpack, and put laxatives in his lunch box. Ethan threatened, “What other tricks do you have? Chloe Miller, I’m telling you, if you don’t kill me, I’ll kill your mom!” We confronted each other like this for half a year. I thought I would hate Ethan for the rest of my life. But in the end, he became the only person in this world who still loved me. 2 The conflict between Ethan and me ended after an incident of domestic violence. Ethan’s dad beat my mom until she was hospitalized. When my mom was put on the ambulance, his dad was still shouting insults. “I chased you for a year or two, but besides being pretty, you’re useless, good for nothing.” My mom was nearly forty. She was spoiled by my dad in the first half of her life, so naturally she couldn’t do anything. When he heard this back then, Ethan’s indifferent expression collapsed instantly. He looked at me in shock, muttering. “It wasn’t your mom who seduced my dad…” Ethan hated my mom. He always thought my mom actively intervened in his parents’ marriage, causing his mom to leave. It didn’t matter anymore, because after that day. I didn’t have a mom anymore either. When I went to the hospital to see her holding her favorite white frangipani, I found out she ran away. She didn’t take anything. She didn’t take me either. Chloe Miller had no home. I didn’t know where to go. While wandering on the street in the middle of the night, Ethan found me. His eyes were red, and he looked angry. I was afraid he would hit me, so I shrank into a ball. In my fear, his warm embrace wrapped around me. For the first time, I heard him speak so gently. “Chloe, come home with me.” “From now on, I’ll be your whole world.” I took the hand he extended and held it tight. So, starting from the age of sixteen. In Chloe Miller’s world, there was only Ethan. 3 After my mom left, Ethan’s dad’s temper became even more violent. Afraid I would get hurt, Ethan moved out with me. Our life continued, just different from before. I was no longer mischievous, and Ethan’s brows softened. Ethan spent more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him. “You used to dislike reading and attending class.” He looked at me seriously, finally pinched my cheek helplessly, and said gently, “Chloe, I want to give you a better life.” I looked at the tips of his red ears and nodded heavily. Chloe Miller would never drag Ethan down either. So I studied even harder. But when Ethan went from last in the grade to first. I still hovered in the middle. Ethan tutored me at home until midnight. I shook my head looking at the calculus problems. He said: “Chloe, you’re so dumb.” “But, I just like you being dumb, it’s terribly cute.” Sleepiness hit, and the pen in my hand slipped. I was still muttering. “Ethan, can you walk slower? I can’t catch up with you.” Ethan said. I never have to chase him. He will wait for me forever. He didn’t do it. Later, he hated my dumb look the most. It annoyed him. 4 “Not dumb? You tried so hard to tutor her back then, but in the end she only got into a lousy state college, right?” Jason played with his lighter, continuing the conversation. I looked around and didn’t see my husband, Luke Walker. Luke was indeed alumni with Ethan, but in a different college. They shouldn’t be gathering together either. I thought he might have sent me the wrong address. I didn’t bother to dwell on the past anymore. “Excuse me.” I dropped this sentence and left. I sent a message to Luke, but he didn’t reply, and his phone was unanswered. I planned to go home first. Before I opened the car door, a hand grabbed my wrist first. “Sister, forgive me, okay?” Ethan lowered his eyes, an emotion I couldn’t understand in them. Sister, this title. Used to make me blush, and once became the perfect title to flirt with a straitlaced person like Ethan. But later, this “brother and sister” thing also doomed me. “Ethan, are you addicted to acting?” I shook off his hand and said expressionlessly, “I don’t have a brother.” When the atmosphere was stagnant, a scoff broke the embarrassment. “Chloe Miller, didn’t expect to see you here.” Sophia walked over in high heels, as arrogant and domineering as ever. In the past, I would have been scared by her aura. I would also envy, admire, and involuntarily feel a bit inferior. But now, after that unbearable past had been tormented in my heart repeatedly, what remained had returned to calm. “Chloe, why don’t you come home with me and Ethan? Your mom misses you too.” I myself didn’t expect that three years later, I could say it so calmly. “I don’t have a mom.” My brother, my mom. All chose her, Sophia. I, too, didn’t want them long ago. Sophia grabbed my wrist, inadvertently revealing the jade bracelet on her wrist. This was the heirloom Ethan’s mom left him. I wore this bracelet for ten years. And my relationship with Ethan only lasted ten years.

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The movie had been running for ten minutes, and there was still no reply from Dean Ryder. I was about to call him when my phone buzzed with an alert. It was from his old gaming group, and Talia Shaw, his childhood friend, was tagging him frantically, begging him to log in. The next second, the account that used my couple’s avatar popped up and instantly replied: Hop on. Big brother is here to carry you. A sudden, utter hollowness settled in my chest. I backed out of the group chat without a word, bought a bucket of popcorn, and watched the rest of the premiere alone. It wasn’t until the house lights came up that I saw the dozens of missed calls from Dean. There was also a panicked, grammatically disastrous voicemail: “Babe, Talia can vouch for me! I swear, I had a real emergency that just popped up!” “Tomorrow, I promise I’ll take you to see the movie. We’ll watch it together, okay?” I didn’t reply. I finally realized my future no longer required his participation. 1 Dean came home while I was sitting on the couch playing a mobile game. “Honey, can I trade these roses for a bowl of your famous chicken noodle soup?” He knelt on the floor, looking sheepish and overtly charming, tentatively holding out a bouquet of deep red roses. I didn’t stop my game, only giving him a brief look. “Thank you.” Seeing my mild reaction, he visibly relaxed, humming as he turned on the TV to catch the entertainment news. Just as the crystal exploded and my rank went up to the next star, I gathered up the takeout containers and walked toward the kitchen. Passing the trash can, I tossed the bouquet inside. His face froze. “What the hell was that?” I was washing my hands and, confused by his abrupt, accusatory tone, glanced at him. He was staring at the trash can, looking like I’d just stomped on his sincere, fragile heart. I offered a simple explanation: “I’m allergic to pollen.” The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Unless he’d developed early-onset amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten that two of my trips to the emergency room were due to severe pollen allergies. In previous fights, I’d accepted his roses with apology cards to give him an easy out. Now, I just felt stupid for ever letting him get away with it. Dean looked awkward. He tried to pivot. “Okay, I’ll get you a different gift next time, I promise. Anyway, I’m starving, Anya.” I yawned and headed for the bedroom. “There’s instant ramen in the pantry.” Dean looked stunned. He stared at me, incredulous. “You’re not going to make it for me?” He used to complain my homemade soup was “too simple” and “bland,” but whenever he specifically asked for my cooking, I’d feel a rush of quiet satisfaction, as if he’d finally admitted he needed me. His face darkened now. “I want your egg drop soup! Didn’t you say instant ramen was unhealthy?” I paused, speaking seriously. “Once or twice won’t hurt. Besides, you have that iron stomach, right?” My words stopped him cold. He was a former pro gamer and now an Esports coach. Because of his erratic training schedule, he often neglected healthy eating, and his stomach was a mess. I used to go out of my way to make sure he ate well. I wouldn’t have known he was feeding my carefully prepared, early-morning nutrition meals to someone else if I hadn’t decided to surprise him with soup at his training facility one day. I lost it that day. I cried, I yelled. Dean just watched my meltdown quietly. When I finally tired myself out, he pulled me into his arms. “If I really wanted Talia, you think you’d still be here?” “Anya, you’re two years older than me. Can you just be mature about this? It was just a lunchbox.” “She has a delicate stomach, so I gave her the meal to help her out. I have an iron stomach; I can eat anything.” Dean frowned, looking me up and down. He let out a short, cold laugh. “You’re still mad because I missed the movie, aren’t you?” “Fine, be mad at me. But this is between us. You just quietly leaving the group chat—how do you think that makes Talia look? She’s the admin.” It was just a group for boosting ranks; members came and went. Me leaving would embarrass Talia? “I’m not throwing a fit. I don’t know anyone in that chat. It makes no difference if I leave.” I was too tired for this and wanted to sleep. But he changed his expression and blocked the bedroom door. “You left right when Talia was asking me to play a match.” “Anyone who doesn’t know the situation will assume she intervened in our relationship and drove you out of the group.” That made me laugh for real. He was afraid his childhood friend would be labeled a homewrecker. “Fine. Fine. I’ll make a post clarifying it. Tomorrow.” “Is that what this is about…” Bang. I locked the door behind me. 2 Dean wasn’t the type to sleep on the sofa—that was below him. The last time he slept on the sofa was right before he retired from professional gaming. I had stayed up all night with him during a training session. I fell asleep on his single bed while watching a movie. He was afraid of waking me, so he tiptoed away and squeezed himself onto a small futon couch for the night. I told him to replace the tiny bed with a queen size. He just smiled and tapped my nose. “Don’t think for a second you’re going to be able to control me twenty-four-seven.” Now, the practice room had a new, huge bed. When I asked him why, he shrugged. “Talia hosts tournaments sometimes, and she stops by to rest. The old bed wasn’t comfortable for her.” His blunt honesty left me speechless. He didn’t even realize he was instinctively putting Talia before everything else. Dean didn’t show up at the apartment for three days. But his Instagram feed was overflowing with his life. He was back to racing and hitting the city’s hottest bars, completely in his element. He’d posted more in three days than he had in the last six months combined. Scrolling down, I saw Talia’s recent post. The photo showed Dean in his racing suit, his arm casually around Talia’s waist, raising a trophy and grinning. The caption: Boys will be boys. Guess he’s still a big kid. They looked exactly like a couple in the throes of new romance, sharing a moment of triumph. I tapped the like button. Then I called a car service and went to the office to submit my resignation. My manager was surprised. “So sudden?” She knew how hard I’d fought to get here. From an industry novice to someone well-respected with strong connections—it had cost me countless late nights, endless rounds of drinks, and swallowing my pride more times than I could count. I didn’t actually love the work. I persisted for two reasons: one, the job was strategically helpful for Dean’s career; and two, I was fiercely competitive and needed to prove I could succeed. As she signed the paperwork, my manager teased me. “I heard your family is overseas. Are you going back to get married?” I smiled and shook my head. “I guess I’m just homesick.” I had defied my family’s wishes to chase this love across the country. It turned out I bet on the wrong person. When my colleagues heard I was leaving, they insisted on a farewell dinner. I couldn’t refuse, so I agreed to host. I didn’t expect to run into Dean and Talia at the restaurant. Fortunately, they were on their way out just as we were being seated. As we brushed past, Dean gave me a cold, dismissive look, then smiled and wrapped his arm around Talia’s shoulders. “Let’s go. Big brother is taking you for some killer shots tonight.” A flicker of surprise crossed Talia’s face, quickly replaced by a challenging look directed at me. She leaned into Dean’s ear, giggling. “Aren’t you worried about Anya getting upset?” Dean scoffed. “She doesn’t get a say.” I heard their retreating footsteps and felt a wave of relief. This was best. No awkward small talk required. The dinner with my colleagues was fun and went on past midnight. I was trying to call a cab when a familiar Porsche Panamera pulled up beside me. The window lowered, revealing Dean’s grim face. “Get in.” I was annoyed and surprised—drunk driving was illegal. He instantly saw my thought and snapped impatiently. “Hanging out with a bunch of guys, drinking until midnight. You’re unbelievable, Anya.” “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. Now, move the car, or I’ll get a cab.” It was genuinely hard to find a ride at this hour. I swallowed my annoyance and climbed into the back seat. I closed my eyes for a moment to rest. When I opened the window for some fresh air, I realized the car hadn’t moved. I opened my eyes and met Dean’s intense, complicated gaze. “Anya Wells, am I your chauffeur?” I paused, then spoke without thinking. “Huh? Didn’t you say I don’t get carsick, so I should just sit in the back?” 3 I wasn’t a person who liked to dredge up old wounds—especially since I was already planning to break up with him. But his righteous accusation, as if I were the rude one, made me throw that jab. The passenger seat had briefly belonged to me. But after Talia moved, Dean started “conveniently” driving her to and from work. She got violently carsick, and Dean gave me a definitive look: “Anya, you’re fine in the car. Go sit in the back.” The words choked me. My nose stung. “Why should I? I won’t.” From then on, he left early every day just to avoid me, terrified I might try to ride in his car. I sighed and closed my eyes again. “If you’re not driving, open the door. I’ll call a Lyft.” I heard an exasperated sigh, and the engine finally turned over. When we got home, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, his face etched with weariness. “Honey, can we just stop fighting now?” All I wanted was a hot bath. I casually agreed. “Sure.” He suddenly became agitated. “Talia and I are only friends. She said she’d never been racing, so I took her. That’s all.” “I know.” I stood in front of the bathroom cabinet, debating between a bath bomb and Epsom salts. He seemed lost for a response. “Then why didn’t you even reply to my texts?” I pretended not to hear and stepped into the bathroom. It was only then that I saw how many messages he’d sent after I learned to block him out. I went to the bar because you locked the door. I couldn’t sleep on the floor, could I? I’ve decided I’m never giving up racing for you. I was kidding, Anya! Don’t take it seriously. Not replying to me? You’re really going through with this. I’m waiting for your shift to end so I can take you home. Anya, I give up… Thinking back to the movie night, the sheer emptiness of waiting for a single text from him, I suddenly understood. He could care. He could be anxious about missing a message. He could guard his chat window all day, just waiting for my reply—but only when I pulled away. Dean used to set my contact to Do Not Disturb because he found me annoying. But the constantly buzzing gaming group chat? He’d never muted that. No wonder Talia could tag him in the group and get a reply in seconds. I got out of the shower and felt a new kind of dilemma. The apartment only had one bedroom with a comfortable bed. If I broke up with him right now, I’d have nowhere to sleep. Dean seemed even more distressed. He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Then his phone rang. It was Talia. He quickly answered, the girl’s muffled, crying voice faintly audible. He hung up, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Talia had an accident, didn’t she? Don’t worry. Go.” His tension eased. “She got into a fender-bender. It’s her first time, and she doesn’t know what to do. I’m just going to go help her.” “Please, don’t read anything more into this. I’m begging you.” He naturally reached out and gave me a quick, thoughtless hug. I stood rigid, barely stopping myself from pushing him away with all my strength. Focused only on Talia, he missed my small, telling gesture. He turned and rushed out the door. Before falling asleep, I unpinned Dean’s contact from the top of my chat list. He sent several more scattered messages. The latest read: The hospital won’t let me leave. They said I have to stay as a guardian. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow… I didn’t read past that. I tossed my phone aside and fell asleep. 4 Dean’s “tomorrow” was never actually tomorrow. After my resignation handoff was finalized, I moved into my best friend Piper’s apartment. Late one night, we ordered a ton of fried chicken and huddled on the sofa to watch a horror movie. Just before the jump scare was about to pop up, I cleverly started scrolling through my phone. When I saw Talia’s Instagram post, it felt like I’d missed the jump scare entirely. The photo showed Dean, sleeves rolled up, offering a peeled apple to a frail, white-haired elderly woman. Little Grandma, I finally pulled it off and brought him to meet you. The comments below were what really hit me: If Dean’s “pretend boyfriend” stunt gets back to Anya, she’s gonna flip the entire planet, LOL. Anya shouldn’t be jealous, haha. Dean can’t live without her. These were his former teammates. They had always disliked me, thinking I was too controlling, too old, and unworthy of Dean. Dean had always passively allowed their snide remarks and insults. He’d just laugh and wave it off. “They’re just joking. You know I can’t live without you.” It turned out that simple, dismissive reassurance had become their private joke at my expense. “What are you looking at?” Piper clapped my shoulder. Startled, I dropped my phone, and she snatched it up. Her eyes immediately went red with fury. “That dog! I’m going to kill him!” She immediately called Dean. He didn’t answer. “It’s okay, Piper. I don’t love him anymore.” I wasn’t heartbroken; my eyes just felt a little raw. Piper sighed and helped me block Dean’s number and all his social media accounts. “I just feel like you wasted so much time.” It wasn’t a waste; seeing the truth of this relationship now was still a win. Piper’s anger faded as quickly as it came. When the delivery arrived, she insisted on playing rock-paper-scissors to see who had to answer the door. “You cheated!” I laughed. I pulled open the door, and my smile froze instantly. Dean stood on the mat, travel-worn and haggard. I was about to slam the door shut, but he braced his hand against the frame, his eyes red and his voice hoarse. “Anya, you quit your job behind my back, and you blocked me?”

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The entitled brat had ordered a massive clutch of German cockroach eggs online and deliberately had the package shipped to my local package annex, only to refuse pickup. Three days later, The Hub—my business, my livelihood—was swallowed by a black, scuttling army of insects, resulting in catastrophic damages. I spent a fortune on hazmat cleanup, negotiating compensation with every victim and neighboring business. But the parents, in a move of unbelievable malice, showed up with a fake appraisal, claiming the pests were rare, million-dollar medicinal insects, demanding I pay them for damages. I snapped. We were entangled in a screaming, public war. The next day, the parents united all the neighborhood victims—the people whose homes I was trying to save—and besieged The Hub, live-streaming the ordeal to publicly crucify me. Cornered, stripped of my reputation and my future, I jumped from the rooftop. I was reborn the instant the package was scanned into my inventory. My first action was dialing the father’s number. “Your package? I’ve already delivered it.” 1 On the other end of the line, Asher’s father, Garrett, was silent for a few seconds. “Delivered it? What package?” His tone was irritable, a sharp annoyance at having his Saturday morning sleep-in interrupted by my work. I let a soft, cold laugh escape, my voice perfectly placid. “A very special one. The recipient is your son, Asher.” “I left it on your doorstep.” I hung up, deleted the call record, and promptly blocked the number. In my last life, it was this boy, Asher, who had destroyed everything with one box of cockroach oothecae. He had placed a specific note with his order: “Live Cargo/Perishable. Do not contact. Hold for 72 hours upon arrival.” I was slammed that week. My new assistant, inexperienced and overworked, had done exactly as instructed, placing the unremarkable cardboard box in a back corner. Seventy-two hours later, my package annex became a kingdom of roaches. The sight of it was a living, breathing hellscape. But now, I was back. I was reborn ten minutes after the package containing the “surprise” was scanned. I looked at the plain brown box, and a faint, phantom ache throbbed in the corner of my heart. I pulled on gloves, picked up the box, and walked out of The Hub. I placed it squarely on the welcome mat of Garrett and Melody’s front door and snapped a photo. Then, I nudged the package with my toe—just a gentle half-meter slide—until it rested by the door of the neighbor: Doris Finch. Doris was the one who, in the last life, had been the most venomous during the online attacks, screaming the cruelest things alongside Asher’s parents. She was also notoriously greedy, known for snatching a package if she thought she could get away with it. I knew exactly what that cheap, nosy old woman would do. Having completed my task, I returned to The Hub as if nothing had happened. It was three in the afternoon, the height of the pickup rush. A small figure squeezed through the crowd, his face twisted in a look of malice that was unnerving for a child. It was Asher. He walked up to the counter, stood on his tiptoes, and knocked. “Hey, is my package here? Name’s Asher.” I didn’t look up, continuing to scan codes. “It’s been delivered.” The smug smile on Asher’s face froze. “What? I marked it for pick-up!” “The system flagged it for priority delivery, so I sent it out.” I finally raised my eyes, meeting his with a chilling stare. “Is there a problem?” My intensity unnerved him, but he still bristled. “Where did you send it? I didn’t see it when I got home!” “Your front door. I took a picture.” I showed him the photo I had prepared. In the image, the box sat innocently on his family’s mat. Asher’s face went instantly white. He knew what was in that box. He knew the consequences if that thing hatched on his property. He let out a small, strangled sound, like a cat with its tail stepped on, and bolted for the door. Watching his frantic retreat, the curve of my lips widened. The show had just begun. 2 Less than half an hour later, my phone was ringing off the hook. It was Garrett. He was screaming into the receiver, his voice choked with rage. “Vivian! Where in the hell did you put that package? It’s not on my doorstep! “Did you steal it?” I calmly pulled my phone from my ear and spoke in a monotone. “Mr. Price, you need to provide evidence for slander. I have photo documentation proving my duties were completed. “As for why the package is gone, you should inquire with your neighbors. Or perhaps call the police.” “A picture? A picture is worthless! That package is essential. If it’s lost, I swear to God, you and I are going to have a serious problem!” He was still bellowing when I disconnected the call. The silence was instant, and glorious. Moments later, a black sedan slammed its brakes outside The Hub. Garrett and his wife, Melody, stormed inside, their faces contorted with fury. Garrett, a man whose face was already too wide, pointed a thick finger at my nose. “You little thief! Hand over my son’s package now!” Melody chimed in with her usual passive-aggressive whine. “Tsk, tsk. Such a young girl. Why are your hands so sticky? “It’s just a package. Is it really worth ruining your reputation over a few dollars?” The neighbors and regulars picking up their mail stopped, watching the unfolding scene with curiosity. I ignored their histrionics, slowly wiping down the counter. “I’ll say this one last time: I delivered the package to the designated location, and I have photographic proof. “If you believe I stole it, you are welcome to call the police immediately.” My absolute calm completely enraged them. Garrett slammed his palm onto the counter, making the packages jump. “Call the police? You think I won’t? I’ll smash this whole sorry excuse for a business! “I’m not just calling the cops, I’m going to the corporate HQ! I’ll get your franchise revoked! You’ll never work in this town again!” Melody played her part, turning to the growing crowd to wail. “Everyone, please judge for yourselves! Is there any justice left? “We just lost a package, and instead of helping, she takes this attitude! “These young people today have no morals!” A few uninformed neighbors started to side with them. “Vivian, maybe you should just look again?” “Yeah, sweetie, peace is more profitable than pride.” I looked at the couple, masters of manipulation and false victimhood, a familiar, cold dread in my chest. This was the exact performance they had used last time to drive me to the rooftop. This time, I wouldn’t give them an inch. I put down the cleaning rag, pulled out my phone, and aimed it at them. “You want to cause a scene? Fine. I’ll open a live stream. We can let everyone on the internet watch how you, Mr. Price, are completely losing it over one ‘worthless’ package.” Garrett and Melody’s expressions twisted into shocked confusion. They hadn’t anticipated that move. Just then, Asher slid out of the car, sprinting to his mother’s side, on the verge of tears. “Mom! Stop fighting! We have to find it! We have to find it now!” Melody was too invested in her performance to listen, pushing him away. “Find what? We’re not leaving until she hands it over! “What did you buy that’s so important, Asher?” “I bought… some small toys…” Asher looked at his mother, then at me, unable to meet either of our eyes. His gaze was filled with a chilling blend of pure terror and despair. He knew the time bomb had been ticking for too long. 3 I finally managed to usher Garrett and Melody out. As they left, Garrett jabbed a finger in my direction, his eyes promising retribution. “You haven’t heard the last of this!” I watched them get in their car and peel away, my expression unmoved. I knew this was only the beginning. Sure enough, that evening, the HOA neighborhood chat exploded. Melody, using an anonymous account, spun a vivid tale about the “thieving, black-hearted owner of the package annex” who had stolen her child’s priceless heirloom. She painted me as a greedy, rude criminal, and she posted my photo and The Hub’s address. [The nerve! Stealing a kid’s toys. Some people are just trash.] [She looks so sweet and honest. You never know who you can trust.] *[@Vivian, care to explain yourself?] I was tagged relentlessly. My phone vibrated nonstop. Soon after, the regional manager from the national shipping carrier called, his voice tight with displeasure. “Vivian, what is going on? We have a massive complaint about theft, and they are threatening legal action. This is bad PR. “I don’t care how you do it, but you need to make this go away. Now.” Calmly, I sent the manager the full sequence of events and the photo proof. “Sir, my work was flawless. The customer is making an unreasonable demand. “Delivering a package to the home address is a service we offer. “As for the complaint, I trust the company will draw its own fair conclusions.” The manager went quiet. I knew he didn’t care about the truth; he only cared about stopping the noise. In my past life, this was how I was slowly, deliberately pushed to the edge. But this time, I wouldn’t be their scapegoat. I didn’t offer a single word of defense in the chat. Trying to reason with an angry, mobilized mob is the stupidest thing in the world. Instead, I quietly accessed the feed from the new, high-definition security camera I’d installed near the counter. The footage clearly captured Garrett and Melody’s aggressive screaming, their threats, and my composed response as I requested them to leave. I edited the video, isolating the worst moments, and saved it. Meanwhile, Asher was in a panic. He couldn’t tell his parents the box contained roach eggs. He could only hint that his “toy” was very sensitive and had to be found immediately. He searched the hallways like a frantic animal, ripping through every trash can. His strange behavior, naturally, attracted the attention of the neighbors—especially Doris Finch, the woman who lived directly across the hall. Doris was a known petty thief. She watched Asher’s increasingly deranged searching and grew suspicious. She remembered seeing a plain box outside the Price’s door that morning. It looked unremarkable, so she had scooped it up and taken it home. Could it be a hidden treasure? She hid the box deeper in her closet. She had no idea she was hoarding not a treasure, but a biological weapon about to detonate the entire building. Late that night, I lay awake, waiting. I knew that soon—maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after—the great roach feast that had once consumed my business would elegantly begin, somewhere else.

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It was the end of the year, and bonus season had just hit. I decided to splurge and sent a surprise gift to my boyfriend’s office. The tracking notification popped up on my phone: Delivered. Yet, hours passed, and he didn’t say a word. It wasn’t until the next day that he finally sent a hesitant voice note. “…Babe, did you buy me a gift?” He sounded incredibly unsure, almost nervous. A sudden instinct to test him bubbled up. I half-joked, “No. Why? Did someone else buy you a gift?” He laughed it off awkwardly. “Maybe it was sent by mistake, or from another friend… I’ll ask around.” My heart went cold. Ask around? Who else would be sending him a set of couple’s rings? 1 Realizing something was off, I pressed him intentionally. “What kind of gift was it?” Ethan stammered. “…Nothing expensive. Just a pair of sneakers.” He was lying again. My heart trembled. The line went dead before I could say anything else. I was restless all day. I knew this wasn’t simple. When he came home that night, he acted perfectly normal. It was as if the afternoon’s conversation never happened. I brought it up on purpose. “Where are the sneakers? Let me see them.” He froze for a second. “What sneakers?” Then he recovered. “Oh, those. It was a colleague’s order sent to my desk by mistake. I already gave them back.” He immediately changed the subject. “I’m going to take a shower. We can talk later.” He walked into the bathroom, gripping his phone tightly in his hand. Even when we went to bed, the phone never left his side. He had a privacy screen protector, so I couldn’t see a thing. I swallowed my anxiety and waited. Finally, I heard the soft rhythm of his snoring. Holding my breath like a thief in my own home, I slid his phone out from under his pillow. I used his thumb to unlock it. In eight years together, this was the first time I had ever checked his phone. His texts and WhatsApp were clean. Too clean. I trusted my gut. I swiped up to see his recently used apps. Aside from the usual social media, I saw an app he hadn’t used in years—Discord. driven by some invisible force, I opened it. The chat list was empty. He had cleared the history. But I knew Discord’s search function could sometimes pull up cached logs. I typed “Ring” into the search bar. A recent chat log appeared immediately. …Found it. My fingertips trembled as I clicked on it. My heart felt like it had been stabbed. Right after Ethan asked me about the gift this morning, he immediately messaged a user named “Chloe_XO”. Because I denied sending it, he assumed the gift was from her. Ethan: Babe, the gift arrived. Chloe_XO: …What gift? Ethan: The couple’s rings. Chloe_XO: What rings? What are you talking about? Ethan didn’t reply for a long time. He must have realized that if neither I nor Chloe sent them, he was in trouble. He started spinning a lie to cover his tracks. Ethan: My project bonus came in. I bought us a pair of couple’s rings. It’s my surprise for you. She replied instantly. Chloe_XO: Thank you, hubby! <3 She added a cute sticker of a bear hugging a heart. I felt dizzy, the room spinning around me. Ethan was cheating. He had a mistress. But a few seconds later, I clicked on Chloe's profile picture, and that theory crumbled. Her profile picture was a wedding photo. And the groom was Ethan. They... were already married? I wasn't the girlfriend being cheated on. I was the mistress. 2 I didn't sleep a wink. I didn't confront Ethan immediately. instead, I pretended I knew nothing. After he left for work, I called in sick. I drove straight to the address mentioned in their chat history history—a house in the suburbs. I stood at the door for a long time, building up the courage to ring the bell. A little boy, maybe five or six years old, opened the door. He looked at me curiously, then turned back and yelled, "Mom... someone's here." My heart was in my throat. Chloe finally appeared. She looked just like her wedding photo, though tired. She wore loose loungewear, no makeup. Her belly was visibly rounded. She was at least six months pregnant. In her hand, she held a bunch of unwashed vegetables. She looked like the quintessential wife waiting for her husband to return. My gaze drifted down to her hand. On her finger sat a diamond band. It was the female ring from the set I had sent Ethan. "Can I... help you?" she asked, looking confused as she pulled her son close. My throat felt like it was filled with sand. "Do you know Ethan Miller?" Before Chloe could speak, the little boy chirped up. "Ethan is my Daddy! Do you have work stuff for my Daddy?" Chloe smiled politely. "Ethan is my husband." The sky crashed down on me. I could barely stand. "...How long have you been married?" Chloe frowned slightly. "Who... are you?" "I..." Before I could answer, my phone rang. It was Ethan. I declined it. He called again. And again. When I finally answered, Ethan's voice was dark and terrifying. "Sarah, leave my house right now!" I gritted my teeth. "Why should I? I'm going to get to the bottom of this today!" "I'll tell you everything you want to know," he hissed, panic seeping in. "Just don't stress Chloe out. She's pregnant. If anything happens to the baby, you can't handle the consequences." His voice was full of threats. He sounded like a stranger. In front of me, Chloe still looked confused. "Do you need something from my husband? He's at work. He won't be back until seven." "Are you a friend of his? Why don't you stay for dinner? I made extra." She smiled warmly. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest. She was pregnant. Innocent. If I caused a scene now, and she miscarried... I don't remember how I left. As soon as I got downstairs to the parking lot, I saw Ethan sprinting toward me like a madman. He had been watching me through their doorbell camera. "You... you didn't say anything to Chloe, did you?" "She's carrying my child, Sarah. I'm begging you, don't hurt her, okay?" "If you have anger, take it out on me." His face was full of pleading. He looked like he was about to cry. To maintain a shred of dignity, I said, "Let's go back to my place." The moment we walked through my door, he dropped to his knees. Thud. "Sarah, I'm sorry. Hit me, curse at me, just please calm down!" "...So the child is yours? Chloe is really your wife?" He wept, nodding his head, his face buried in his hands. I swayed on my feet. "So, which one of us is the mistress?" 3 He was silent for a long time. Finally, the truth came out. We had been together for eight years. In our second year, he started sleeping with Chloe. "You were sent to London for that assignment... eighteen months. We were apart. I'm a man, Sarah, I have needs." "Chloe was an intern at my company. She confessed to me first..." "The first time, I was drunk. I pretended she was you. I didn't think one time would result in a pregnancy." "You know my parents were pressuring me to settle down. I knew you were focused on your career, and because of your parents' divorce, you were terrified of marriage. I didn't want to force you... and Chloe was pregnant, so..." I laughed. A dry, humorless sound. "So you married her?" He nodded silently. "Sarah, but I love you. Chloe is just a responsibility... you have to believe me!" He tried to grab my hand. Nausea rolled in my stomach. I shoved him away. This man was a stranger. While I was in London for a year and a half, we FaceTimed every day. He reported his location constantly. Whenever he had a holiday, he flew to see me. I remember one Valentine's Day. He had a 102-degree fever but flew across the ocean just to stand under my apartment building and surprise me. I stood there in the snow, moved to tears by his pale face and his declarations of love. But that same year... He not only cheated, but he also started a whole other family. He played me like a fool. For the next six years, every "business trip" or "overtime" was spent in that suburban house. Earlier this year, he and Chloe conceived their second child. The happiness I thought I had was more fragile than a soap bubble. It was all fake. "Sarah..." Ethan was hyperventilating from crying so hard. "Please forgive me. I really can't live without you!" I looked at him, feeling nothing but irony. "You still want to be with me?" He nodded frantically. "What about your wife and kids?" "I already discussed it with Chloe. We have an open marriage. She won't interfere with my life." "As long as you don't go to her, don't bother her, she won't trouble us." I smiled. Then I yanked my hand away. "Ethan, do you think this is the 1800s? You want a harem?" "Get out!" I grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table and smashed it on the floor. "Get the hell out of my house!" I used every ounce of strength to shove him out the door. He pounded on it for a while, begging. Then, silence. Followed by a dry, awkward voice through the wood. He dropped the act. "Sarah, my son has a fever. He needs his dad. I have to go..." And then, he was gone. My head spun. I broke out in a cold sweat. I checked my temperature. 104 degrees. I collapsed onto the sofa and passed out. When I woke up, it was the next morning. Ethan hadn't come back. I was fully awake now. The fever had burned away the delusions. I couldn't stay in this sick triangle. I needed to cut Ethan out like a tumor. I remembered seeing Chloe's user ID on Discord. I sent a friend request. I got straight to the point: [Do you know Ethan is living a double life? We need to meet.] A long time later, she replied: [Okay.] I went to her house again. This time, as soon as I walked in, I asked her to unplug the security cameras. I laid it all out. "He lied to both of us. We are both victims here. We need to team up and make him pay." Chloe listened quietly, her expression bland. "Are you done?" "Sarah, did you really think I didn't know you existed?"

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