Category: English

I flash-married the brilliant, aloof professor I’ve known since we were kids. She practically lives in her lab, never coming home. So when the end-of-term faculty reviews came around, I decided to get some petty revenge. Anonymously, of course. 【Don’t be fooled by that slim waist and killer body. She’s totally frigid.】 【Seriously. The girl at the flower shop downstairs has more warmth.】 Except my cover got blown. That very night, she cornered me in the bathroom. “Frigid, am I?” “Louise, baby, I was wrong…” 1 As the semester drew to a close, Blackwood University launched its new faculty review platform. It was open to everyone, and you could post anonymously. 【OMG, Professor Reed, I LOVE YOU!】 【So gorgeous, and that body… when she wore glasses last week, I died! A total goddess!】 【I’m single, she’s single. Aren’t we a match made in heaven?】 Within an hour of going live, the platform was flooded with over a thousand comments for her. Dr. Louise Reed’s popularity shot straight to number one. I was huddled under my covers, scrolling through my phone, the screen casting a sickly green glow over my face. I could feel the jealousy churning in my gut. A soft sound came from outside my room. Louise must be home. This late again! Is quantum mechanics really that much more interesting than her own husband? Fuming, I tapped out two comments of my own: 【Don’t be fooled by that slim waist and killer body. She’s totally frigid.】 【Seriously. The girl at the flower shop downstairs has more warmth.】 Just then, the door to my room opened with a faint click. I slammed my phone shut, squeezed my eyes closed, and pretended to be asleep. The intruder seemed to stand by my bed for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken words. Then, just as quietly, the door clicked shut again. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Strange. Does she check on me like this every night after I’ve fallen asleep? 2 My name is Leo Wallace, an associate professor at Blackwood University. A month ago, I got flash-married. My bride was Louise Reed, a woman I’ve known for over twenty years. She’s been the brilliant, intimidating shadow hanging over my entire life. A child prodigy who skipped grades, won national science competitions, and got a full scholarship to MIT before I was even out of middle school. By the time I was slogging through high school, she was already in a combined PhD program. She was the first person I’d ever met who’d done their undergrad, master’s, and PhD all at the same elite institution. Our marriage was sealed over a single dinner between our two families. My parents were over the moon about getting such an exceptional daughter-in-law. By all accounts, I was the one who’d lucked out. The strangest part? Louise actually agreed. But she had conditions. As our parents hammered out the details, Louise lifted her cool, indifferent eyes and gave me a clinical once-over. I’d been sneaking glances at her, and our eyes met for a split second. My heart leaped into my throat, and I straightened my back instinctively. “Fine,” she said, her voice even. “But no wedding for now. And… we keep it private.” A flicker of joy ignited in me when she said yes, only to be immediately extinguished by her terms. It sank to the pit of my stomach. If you despise me so much, why even agree to this? I shot her a confused look, but our eyes collided again. I quickly looked away, a fresh wave of panic washing over me. What if she mistook my confusion for displeasure and called the whole thing off? I felt like a thief, stealing the title of ‘husband’ first. I’d figure out the rest later. Because the pathetic truth was, I was hopelessly in love with her. 3 Everyone at Blackwood University knew that Louise Reed and I did not get along. To put it mildly, we were academic rivals of the highest order. Her domain was theoretical physics; mine was experimental. She was a full professor; I was still an associate. With her razor-sharp tongue, she could eviscerate my field of research, making it sound like I did nothing but trudge along behind her, mindlessly verifying her brilliant theories. “You’ll always just be following in my footsteps.” That was her assessment of my academic career. It felt more like a verdict on my entire life. And yet, after every bitter argument, a few days would pass, I’d see her face, and completely forget what we were even fighting about. I’d trail after her like a whipped puppy, only to get drawn into another debate I couldn’t win, leaving me seething with impotent rage. The department head, fearing we’d eventually come to blows, had strategically placed our offices at opposite ends of the hallway, separated by an entire staircase. If it weren’t for the occasional faculty meeting, we’d never have to see each other. I just never imagined that after moving into our new home, we’d see each other even less. The house, conveniently located near campus, was a wedding gift from our families, fully furnished and ready. We moved in together. In the master bedroom, the bed was made up with a ridiculously ornate red satin bedding set, the kind embroidered with swans or something equally cliché. It was so gaudy it made my ears burn. I stared at the matching slippers on the floor, avoiding her gaze. Then, Louise’s calm voice cut through the silence. “I’ll take the master. You can have any of the other rooms.” My heart plummeted. “We’re married,” I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with disappointment. “What are you so afraid of? That I’m going to do something to you?” “What was that?” Louise asked, not having caught my words. “Nothing,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just said it’s a good thing this house has so many rooms, or we’d be in real trouble.” She was silent for a half-second before her voice came out, low and tight. “Leo, back at that dinner, when our parents were deciding everything… you never said a word. So, what was your stance? Were you for it, or against it?” My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat I was sure she could hear. I shot a panicked glance at her, terrified she’d sense my turmoil. After a long pause, I managed to say, “In that situation… did it look like I had any say in the matter?” I couldn’t meet her eyes, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. I heard her jaw tighten. “Fine.” With that, she pushed open the master bedroom door, and it slammed shut with a deafening bang. Leaving me standing alone on the other side. Was she… angry? 4 I chose the bedroom right next to the master suite. In the month since we’d gotten our marriage license, the only time I’d seen Louise was the day we moved in. We saw each other less now than we did before we were married. My mornings started after she’d already left for the university. During the day, we were like two warring kings in the same castle, never crossing paths. And at night, she’d be holed up in her lab, wrestling with the mysteries of quantum mechanics. By the time she came home, I’d long since been asleep. She was a ghost in our own home, and I was too stubborn to reach out. It was a silent, childish standoff—no contact, no communication. Honestly, the cute, bubbly girl who worked at the flower shop downstairs gave me more emotional fulfillment than my own wife. At least her flowers were genuinely beautiful. 5 My internal clock woke me at seven a.m. sharp. As expected, Louise’s room was empty. On my way to campus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were staring at me. I’d catch them out of the corner of my eye, their gazes lingering a moment too long. It was unnerving. I turned to look, and a group of students—they looked like physics majors—quickly ducked their heads, whispering and snickering as they scurried away. The strange looks continued all the way to my lab. My colleagues were grinning at me, a mischievous glint in their eyes. Professor Miller from the lab next door came over, clutching his thermos. “Leo, my boy, you’ve really done it this time!” he said, a wide smile splitting his face. “Well, you know,” I said, puffing out my chest. I’d just had a paper published in a major journal, and the impact factor was something to be proud of. Miller chuckled. “You should have seen the look on Professor Reed’s face when she came in this morning. It was black as thunder.” “What? She was jealous?” I was floored. Louise was the queen of publications; you could probably wallpaper the physics building with her papers. Why would she be jealous of me? Miller adjusted his glasses. “She’s a competitive woman, you know that. Especially when it comes to you!” I started to wonder if my paper contained some groundbreaking discovery I’d overlooked, something that had truly rattled her. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. If she tries to hurt you, I’ll call the cops for you.” “Huh? It won’t come to that, will it?” I was dumbfounded. Even at the height of our worst arguments, Louise had never laid a hand on me. He nodded gravely. “Of course! You called her frigid and said she’s worse than the girl from the flower shop. How could she not take that as a declaration of war?” “Ah.” A cold, dawning horror washed over me. I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. I fumbled for my phone and pulled up the review platform. There, on the crisp white screen, in bold black letters where the anonymous username should have been, it said: 【Leo Wallace】. 6 I grabbed my bag. I shot a quick text to my TA, telling him to cover my undergraduate lecture. Clutching my belongings, I made a break for the stairwell at my end of the hall. I couldn’t believe it. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? Forgetting to post anonymously when I was trash-talking Louise? I deserved whatever was coming to me. The stairwell was dim, the motion-sensor lights notoriously unreliable, plunging me into near-total darkness. I was staring down at my phone, not watching where I was going, when my foot missed a step. I pitched forward, hurtling into the blackness. I collided with someone who was coming up around the landing. The impact was surprisingly soft. They smelled incredible. Even in that brief, chaotic moment, I could tell they were in amazing shape. There was a hint of familiarity to them, too. We have someone this hot in our department? “Sorry about that! Thanks!” I said, steadying myself. But instead of letting go, the person grabbed my arm and pressed me against the wall. The force wasn’t rough, but it was so unexpected that I stumbled back, my body flush against the cool concrete. As their face drew closer, my eyes adjusted to the gloom. My brain short-circuited. Every alarm bell in my head started screaming. It was Louise. Her eyes were blazing with fury, her voice a low, dangerous purr. “Leo. Have I been too lenient with you?” “Lenient? No, not at all!” I said, playing dumb. “What’s this about you and the flower shop girl?” she asked, her voice tight with anger. Wait, that’s what she’s focused on? A tiny, hopeful spark ignited in the darkness of my panic. I looked up at her, my heart starting to race with a different kind of emotion. “Louise? Where are you?” A smooth, deep male voice echoed up from the bottom of the stairwell. My heart gave a painful lurch. I followed the sound and saw a tall, slender man with a refined, artistic air making his way slowly up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. It was Nathan Vance. The moment he saw us, Louise shoved me away. It was a frantic, reflexive movement, as if she were flinging away something dirty she’d accidentally touched. She pushed me. My back only brushed lightly against the wall, but a sharp pain shot through my entire body. What was she so afraid of? 7 As Nathan reached our landing, the faint light caught our faces. He was using a single crutch. His eyes flickered over my face for a second before a charming smile spread across his lips. “Louise, darling, don’t be angry. Leo was just teasing you. You know how easily he gets flustered.” Louise’s gaze never left Nathan’s face. Nathan Vance was a dance instructor in the arts department, a rising star in the dance world. He had to have heard about my disastrous comment on the review platform. This was a private matter between my wife and me, yet here he was, swooping in to defend me as if he were her closest confidant. Were we even that close? I stared at Louise, waiting for her reaction. “Hmph. I can’t be bothered,” she said, her voice low. She went along with Nathan’s excuse, and with her words, my heart sank a little deeper. Louise shot me a sideways glance, her voice laced with a faint, dismissive smile. “So childish.” My throat felt raw. I changed the subject. “Nathan, what happened to your leg?” “Sprained my ankle during rehearsal,” he said, his handsome brow furrowed in a mask of stoic pain. “Still hurts a bit.” Louise’s own brow furrowed in concern. “I told you to wait for me downstairs. Why did you come up?” “Oh, Louise,” Nathan said with a gentle smile. “I was hoping I could rest in your office for a bit.” I rolled my eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t get stuck. He managed to climb three flights of stairs on that “sprained” ankle? Give it five more minutes and he’d be miraculously healed. “Alright, come on then,” Louise sighed, her voice softening with resignation. “Do you want some coffee?” She didn’t spare me another glance. She just turned and helped Nathan the rest of the way up the stairs, heading toward her office. The sight of them, him leaning on her, her supporting him, was like a perfectly composed photograph. Nathan, the sophisticated, mature artist. And me? The childish fool. Clearly, I was no match for her composure. 8 Nathan, Louise, and I had all known each other since we were kids. His father was a minor shareholder on the board of her family’s corporation. But Louise’s grandfather had always been fond of Nathan, viewing him as a potential grandson-in-law. So, Nathan’s parents raised him with the specific goal of one day marrying into Louise’s family. The two of them had always been closer. While my parents were using Louise as the golden standard to push me through a grueling gauntlet of cram schools, competitions, and exams that left me breathless, Nathan was learning piano, ballet, and calligraphy. He cultivated an air of refined elegance, an artist to his core. And he was genuinely talented, winning international awards for his solo dance choreographies and amassing a legion of online fans. He’d always positioned himself as Louise’s closest male friend, her platonic soulmate. He probably had no idea that I had intercepted his grand prize. I used to envy his life. Louise was always gentle and kind to Nathan. But the moment she saw me, her brow would furrow, and she’d find a million things to criticize. Marrying me must have been a huge sacrifice for her. 9 Right before my last class of the day, a message from Louise lit up my phone: 【We’re talking tonight. You’re going to explain to me exactly what you mean by ‘frigid’.】 My hand trembled, and the phone nearly flew out of my grasp. What do I do? How can I possibly go home now? I’d be walking into a death trap. I spent the last few minutes of my lecture in a daze, barely aware of the words coming out of my mouth. Terrified, I accepted an invitation to a small get-together with a few colleagues from the physics department. My plan was to use it as an excuse to get home late. Maybe with a little liquid courage, I’d be brave enough to face her. I never, ever expected to see Louise at the same gathering. Professor Miller had invited me. Someone else had invited her. Clearly, they hadn’t coordinated. The moment we locked eyes across the private room of the Japanese restaurant, the air crackled with a palpable, suffocating awkwardness. Our colleagues looked like they wanted to bolt. I grabbed Professor Miller’s arm, hissing, “You didn’t tell me she was coming!” “It’s all Professor Thorne’s fault!” he whimpered, his face a mask of despair. When we sat down, I made sure to take the seat furthest from Louise. One of our colleagues, trying to break the tension, asked with a laugh, “Professor Reed, you never come to these things. What brings you out tonight?” Louise flashed a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just felt like joining the fun.” Her gaze, sharp and meaningful, landed directly on me. “After all,” she continued, drawing out each word, “it’s not like there’s anyone waiting at home.” I coughed, pretending I hadn’t seen her pointed stare. Everyone tacitly avoided the topic of our rivalry. But after a few rounds of drinks, things inevitably got messy. Dinner wound down, and the group decided to move on to a karaoke bar for round two. I raised my hand, announcing I was ready to head home. To my horror, Louise spoke up at the same time. “I’m a bit tired, too.” I panicked. Her next words would be “I’m going home too,” and that would be it. Here, surrounded by people, a direct confrontation was unlikely. But at home, just the two of us? I didn’t stand a chance. “On second thought,” I said quickly, “I think I’ll hang out with you guys a little longer.” Our colleagues howled their off-key songs while Louise and I occupied opposite ends of the long sofa, a silent buffer of people between us. After an hour of terrible singing, the novelty wore off, and someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. A group of middle-aged professors roared with excitement around an empty beer bottle. The bottle spun, slowing to a stop, its neck pointing directly at Louise. Before anyone could even ask, she said, “Truth.” Professor Thorne thought for a moment. “Professor Reed, do you have a boyfriend?” A wave of knowing smiles passed through our colleagues. They all knew that Louise, the untouchable ice queen of the department, kept everyone at arm’s length—except for Nathan Vance from the arts department. The entire campus assumed they were in a “will-they-won’t-they” romance. Louise looked up, her eyes shining in the dim, colorful lights of the karaoke room. A small, genuine smile touched her lips, as if sparked by a happy memory. She parted her lips and said, “No. But there is a guy I have a crush on.” A chorus of whoops and hollers erupted. Someone was on the verge of shouting Nathan’s name. Beside me, Professor Miller whispered excitedly, “I knew it! My ship is sailing!” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. So that’s what it looked like when she smiled for real. It was because she was thinking of Nathan. And what did that make me? 10 Even though the bottle never landed on me, I drank anyway, matching every “dare” and “truth” with another glass of beer. One by one, the beers went down, until the world blurred and I could no longer make out Louise’s face across the room. Good. If I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t be tormented by her. But why, even in my drunken haze, did her face still haunt my dreams? By the end of the night, I was completely gone, my soul having ascended to another plane. I have no memory of how I got home. Through a thick fog, I heard Louise’s voice, flat and detached. “I live near him. I’ll take him home.” Someone else said something I couldn’t catch. A cold laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not that petty. He’ll live.” … Later, I felt a warm, damp cloth wiping my face. The sensation brought me back to a sliver of consciousness. I cracked my eyes open. In the soft, golden glow of the lamp, Louise’s beautiful, delicate features were softened, making her look breathtakingly gentle. She looked exactly like the Louise from my dreams. See? I thought. She’s so much nicer in dreams. My hand moved on its own, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Who’s better looking,” I slurred, “me or Nathan?” Louise arched an eyebrow. “What a ridiculous question.” “You like him that much, huh?” She fell silent for a moment, then asked in a low voice, “Who told you that?” She was afraid. Afraid I knew about them and would tell her parents. Bolstered by alcohol, a surge of recklessness washed over me. “Give me a kiss,” I demanded, “and I won’t tell your mom and dad.” Under the soft lamplight, her expression was so unnervingly calm it made me want to run. The booze had ignited a fire in me. I pushed myself up, grabbed the back of her head with both hands, and pulled her down, tilting my own head up to meet her lips. The instant my lips brushed against hers, a powerful force shoved me backward. I landed hard on the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me. The ceiling fan spun wildly above me, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. Louise’s voice, flat and laced with disgust, cut through the haze. “Leo, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” A volatile mix of ice and fire churned in my chest. My brain stalled for a half-second before I scrambled off the bed and lurched toward the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet and retching violently. The bitter, acidic bile burned my throat. My stomach cramped painfully. My eyes were red, my face streaked with tears. Perfect. Now she wouldn’t know that the tears weren’t just from being sick. I heard footsteps approach. A warm hand gently rubbed my back. It was Louise. I wanted to ask her if this was how she took care of Nathan when he was drunk. But I had no strength left to speak. I slumped to the floor and passed out. In that final moment before darkness took me, a single, lucid thought fought its way through the fog. In that split second, I finally understood why I was in so much pain. It wasn’t just the hangover. It was because I was completely, hopelessly in love with Louise.

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At the Quantum Solutions’ annual showcase, I planned to finally go public with the CEO—my girlfriend, Annalise. But just as I was about to make my move, a man stood up from the audience. Her long-lost first love. His voice, dripping with arrogance, cut through the expectant silence. “Anna, I can finally stand by your side, out in the open.” Annalise offered me no explanation. Instead, a smile bloomed on her face as she wrapped him in an embrace. She turned to the crowd, her voice bright. “This is Hawthorne Croft. He will be joining us as the Chief Scientist for our new quantum computer project.” The hall erupted in thunderous applause, a sea of faces celebrating the reunion of two perfect souls. Annalise caught my stony expression and shot me a warning glare. “Ethan, wipe that look off your face. You have a problem with this?” I gave a slow, deliberate nod. Then, in front of everyone, I walked to the edge of the stage and dropped the brand-new Chief Scientist ID badge into the trash can. 1 “Of course I have a problem,” I said, my voice ringing with a calm I didn’t feel. “Since Professor Croft is so brilliant, why don’t you just get married right here, today? Give everyone a real reason to celebrate.” A collective gasp rippled through my colleagues. They were stunned. After all, I had poured every ounce of my being into the quantum computer project, a crucible that had nearly broken my health. But the shock quickly melted into understanding. Thumbs-up were discreetly aimed my way, whispers of “Good for you” and “So much class” reaching my ears. They understood my magnanimity. Only Annalise, on stage, seemed to see the truth. Her gaze could have frozen hell over. I couldn’t be bothered to dignify it with a response. She despised office romances, a convenient excuse to keep our five-year marriage a complete secret. Every time I begged to go public, she’d preach about setting an example as CEO. She promised we’d tell the world once the quantum computer was a success. And now, she had handed my success, my life’s work, to him. As the crowd showered Hawthorne with admiration—admiration that should have been mine—Annalise’s patience finally snapped. “Ethan, what is this childish tantrum about?” A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’d rather miss a thousand chances than betray a single person.” My loyalty had been my creed. And it had been repaid with this. I said nothing more, turning my back on the stage and walking away. That project was my blood and sweat. I had leveraged every contact, every friendship, to crack the core quantum problem in a record three years. I had collapsed from exhaustion in the lab more times than I could count, all to build the pedestal she now stood upon. But the love I had for her had turned to ash. I would not be the architect of another man’s triumph. The project was nearly complete, but a “paper-pusher” academic like Hawthorne? He could have another five years and he’d still be lost in my code. Down in the parking garage, I swung my leg over the cheap electric scooter Annalise had so “graciously” bought me. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. For five years, she held the purse strings. Every time I asked about buying a car, she shot me down. “The company has cars, Ethan. Why waste the money? Must you always be so concerned with keeping up appearances?” Yet in five years of marriage, citing “professionalism,” she never once let me ride in her car. I had accepted it, believing she was just being frugal for the company’s sake. It wasn’t until Hawthorne arrived back in the country and she immediately assigned him a Porsche that the truth hit me. It was never about appearances. It was about me. My heart was a dead weight in my chest. As I was about to leave, a brand-new, gleaming Porsche blocked my path. Hawthorne rolled down the window, his face a mask of contempt. “Ethan, look at you. Pathetic. Did you really think Anna would ever acknowledge a loser like you? Hilarious.” He sneered. “Thank God she announced it was me today. Imagine the entire tech world laughing if it had been you.” It was his classic move: provoke me, then play the victim to drive a wedge between Annalise and me. So many of our fights had started this way. But today, I was done playing his game. Just then, Annalise came running out of the elevator. In a flash, Hawthorne deliberately jerked the steering wheel, slamming the Porsche into a concrete pillar with a sickening crunch. “Ethan, oh my God, I’m so sorry!” he cried out, his voice a pitch-perfect imitation of panic. “I didn’t see you there. I know you’re upset that I got the position, but you shouldn’t have just blocked my way! If something had happened, I would have felt guilty for the rest of my life.” He scrambled out of the car, rushing towards me with a look of feigned concern. I ignored his performance and tried to maneuver my scooter around the mess, but Annalise’s fury reached me first. A vicious kick sent me and my scooter sprawling across the concrete. “If you want to die, go do it somewhere else! Don’t you dare harass Hawthorne!” A single glance at the security camera would have shown her who was lying. But she didn’t look. In that moment, the last embers of my love for her died. Hawthorne pretended to help me up. I shoved his hand away in disgust, and he immediately stumbled backward, collapsing to the ground with a pained whimper. It was pathetic acting, but for his audience of one, it was a masterpiece. Without hesitation, Annalise slapped me hard across the face, the sound echoing in the silent garage. Then she was at Hawthorne’s side, cradling him in her arms, her voice laced with panic and tenderness. She ran three red lights getting him to the hospital. Watching them speed away, I remembered last year, when I’d worked myself into a stomach hemorrhage to land a crucial investor. Her response had been to send an assistant with a bottle of antacids. A bitter laugh escaped me. I picked up my scooter and went home. Later that night, Hawthorne posted on his social media. Sometimes a little accident is a blessing in disguise. It’s so nice to be taken care of. The picture was of Annalise, smiling softly as she spoon-fed him in his hospital bed. I stared at it, my face a blank mask, and typed a single comment: Congratulations. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Annalise. I expected a storm of accusations. Instead, her voice was a soft whisper. “Ethan… Hawthorne is just like that. Once he settles in at work, I’ll tell everyone about us. I promise.” “The Chief Scientist title is just for show,” she continued, “You’ll still be leading the project behind the scenes. Everyone will answer to you.” “Mm-hmm,” I said, my voice flat. A slap, then a sweet promise. I’d been eating that particular brand of poison for five years. I was full. Sensing my coldness, she fell silent for a moment. “I left a gift for you in the drawer,” she finally said. “A little something to make up for today. Please, let’s not fight anymore, okay?” I hung up, went to the drawer, and pulled out a beautifully wrapped box. A small, elegant card was attached. It read: For Hawthorne. So it was his gift. No wonder she sounded so guilty. Without another thought, I dropped the unopened box into the trash can. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed the number for Orion Dynamics, the rival tech giant that had been trying to recruit me for years. “I’ve thought about your offer,” I said into the phone. “I can start next month.” 2 Orion Dynamics was a global leader in quantum computing, and they had been relentlessly pursuing me for years, each offer more generous than the last. But I had never wavered, choosing to stay by Annalise’s side. On the other end of the line, the recruiter, fearing I might change my mind, didn’t hesitate. “The VP of R&D position is yours. Stock options, a villa, a luxury car—the works. It’s all in the contract.” A chill washed over me. In five years of marriage, I had received less consideration from my own wife than from a company that was practically a stranger. I thought back to the beginning, when she had casually mentioned her dream of becoming a queen of the tech world. For her, I gave up a tenured professorship at a top international university and started from scratch with her. Countless nights fueled by black coffee and sheer will, debugging code until the lines blurred. Countless trips across the country, chasing funding and partnerships. I had wrecked my body for her dream. In the end, I single-handedly lifted Annalise, who knew next to nothing about quantum theory, to the CEO’s throne, while I remained the anonymous tech guy in the shadows. I had given her everything. And for what? To have it all handed to another man. From now on, I was living for me. That night, I booked a flight and drafted my resignation letter. As a final courtesy, I sent Annalise the complete technical parameters and final testing protocols for the quantum computer. Now, we were even. As I packed my bags, I unearthed a box of memories, buried and forgotten. Matching watches, custom coffee mugs from our first anniversary, a photo of us in the lab, a video of our celebration when we published our first paper together… Annalise had collected these things, piece by piece. I couldn’t pinpoint when the dust had started to settle on them. Probably the day Hawthorne came back. It used to be us against the world, spending all night writing code, celebrating every breakthrough together. When I was sick, she would nurse me back to health, whispering about the future we would build, the world we would change. Then, “us” became her staying out all night for “academic discussions” with Hawthorne. It became me collapsing from exhaustion and being admitted to the hospital, and her not even bothering to visit. I guess even true love has an expiration date. I’d asked her why, once. Why the change? Her answer was a cocktail of impatience and contempt. “We’ve been together for so long, Ethan. Why are you still so immature? Hawthorne is a top expert in the field. Shouldn’t we give him the resources he needs? Can’t you just grow up?” Staring at the photo of us in my hand, I felt a surge of bitter amusement. I tossed it into the trash. My phone buzzed. A message from Annalise. Have to accompany Hawthorne to a symposium tonight. We’ll celebrate our anniversary another day. I didn’t reply. I just silently cancelled the reservation at the Michelin-starred restaurant and the custom-made projection show I had planned as a surprise proposal to renew our vows. In the past, she would have just stood me up without a word. At least this time she gave me a heads-up. Progress, I suppose. Bored, I scrolled through my phone. The top trending story stopped me cold. “Tech CEO and Top Scientist on Moonlit Campus Stroll.” The accompanying photo was of Annalise, arm in arm with Hawthorne, walking through a beautiful university campus. The comments were a waterfall of blessings and heart emojis. I casually liked the post. After a long, hot shower, I went to a bar to unwind and called my lawyer to draft the divorce papers. When I got home in the early hours of the morning, I found Annalise standing by the door, her face a thundercloud. “So now you’ve learned to stay out all night?” 3 I stifled a yawn, genuinely surprised. She hadn’t stayed out. Usually, any event involving Hawthorne was a 24/7 commitment for her. Ignoring her, I headed for the bedroom. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. “Married for years, and now you decide to start hitting the bars? I specifically cancelled my plans at the symposium to come home and be with you, and this is how you treat me?” Her voice rose. “Ethan, do you even remember that you’re a husband?” A husband? The irony was so thick I could choke on it. The woman could lie without blinking, and now she wanted to lecture me on responsibility? She spends our anniversary on a romantic walk with another man, then comes home to grill me about my duties as a husband. I remembered all the nights I’d waited up for her, only to be told I was being “too clingy,” “not independent enough,” that I should “focus my energy on the project.” Now that I’d stopped waiting, she was the one who couldn’t let go. I gave a noncommittal grunt, wanting nothing more than to sleep. But she pulled me back, her eyes cold and hard. “I haven’t showered yet. You can keep me company.” There was a time when a request like that would have sent my heart soaring. I would have meticulously drawn her a bath, setting the water to the perfect temperature, adding a few drops of her favorite essential oil. Now, it just felt like another one of her pointless power plays. My eyes caught the faint, tell-tale red marks on her neck. A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed her hand away, my patience gone. “I’ve already showered. You go ahead.” She stared at me, her expression a mask of disbelief. “So I came home a little late on our anniversary, and this is how you act? I told you, the symposium ran long! Why do you have to be so childish?” she snapped. “You went out drinking, did I say a word? Why are you giving me this attitude?” With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. In the past, I would have chased after her, ready to apologize and soothe her manufactured outrage. Tonight, I just got into bed and slept like a log. The next morning, I woke up well-rested and made myself a proper breakfast. Just as I was about to eat, I realized Annalise was still home. Usually, she wouldn’t set foot in the house until I had groveled sufficiently. With a sigh, I pushed my plate of food toward her. Her expression softened, just a fraction. Then I noticed a keycard on the table. A lab access card. My heart gave a painful thud. It was a master keycard, the one with the highest level of clearance, granting access to every experimental zone. I had requested one for years, and had always been denied. She saw where I was looking and had the grace to look embarrassed. “That’s a birthday present for Hawthorne,” she said quickly. “I’ll get you one next time.” It felt like plunging into ice water. A self-deprecating smile twisted my lips. Of course. Why would she ever think of me? I just nodded and pushed two documents across the table toward her. “Sign these.” She took them with an annoyed sigh. “Give you an inch and you take a mile.” She signed the first document—my resignation letter—without even looking up. I had expected it, but the casual indifference still felt like a punch to the gut. She signed the second one, too—the divorce agreement. It was only after her pen had left the paper that she realized what it was. Her face went pale, then red with fury. She snatched the agreement and threw it at my chest. “Ethan, is this your new game? Threatening me with divorce? You think I won’t sign it?” she shrieked. “Fine! I’ll sign it! Are you happy now?”

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It was our third year crammed together in a shoebox apartment in the city when the storm hit and flooded the place. I buried my face in Jasper’s shoulder, the misery a cold weight in my chest. He murmured that his heart ached for me, then turned around and, without blinking, donated twenty million dollars to the city’s disaster relief fund. I heard the story later, secondhand. A pack of his blue-blood friends were joking about it at a private club. “All those heiresses are throwing themselves at you, Croft. Why bother with some broke girl from the outer boroughs?” Jasper just smiled, those beautiful, treacherous eyes of his crinkling at the corners. “My girl works three jobs a day just to save up for a ring for me. Could any of them do that?” Then, another voice cut in. “But what if she actually proposes? Aren’t you and Delia Duncan supposed to be getting engaged?” “It’s just a game,” Jasper said with a dismissive laugh. “You don’t actually think I’d marry her, do you?” After a pause, his voice took on a chilling certainty. “Besides, Wren will never find out.” He didn’t know I was standing right outside the door. 1 I’d fought my way through a monsoon to find him. My lab coat was plastered to my skin, a cold, second skin of ice, but it was nothing compared to the glacial chill of his words. They were icicles plunging straight into my heart, a pain so sharp it made my whole body recoil. Inside the private room, the conversation flowed on. “You’re right. She’d probably lose her mind if she knew.” “Can you imagine? The pretty boy she’s been ‘keeping’ for three years casually drops twenty million on a donation. You couldn’t write this stuff, hahaha.” “So what’s the plan, Jasper? Just turn her down flat when she proposes?” Jasper lazily motioned for the waiter to open another bottle of wine. “Turn her down? Why would I do that?” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. “I’m not done playing yet.” He stroked his chin, a thoughtful, predatory look on his face. Then, a roguish smile spread across his lips, making the tiny beauty mark by his eye seem to burn even brighter. “What do you guys think? Maybe I should break up with her first, just to scare her a little. You know, tell her my ‘three-thousand-a-month’ salary can’t possibly hold her back.” “You’re playing with fire, man. What if she actually leaves?” “You don’t know Wren,” another voice chimed in, filled with smug confidence. “He’s tried breaking up with her how many times? And every single time, she’s the one who comes back crying, begging him to take her back.” Jasper clearly savored that, raising his glass in a silent toast to the speaker, who puffed up with pride. Then, someone else clicked their tongue. “Damn, that’s pathetic. Like some stray no one wants, just begging for scraps…” I couldn’t listen anymore. My legs felt like they were filled with lead as I dragged myself away, my soul adrift. My hand brushed against the small, velvet box in my pocket, and I snatched it away as if it were on fire. Behind me, the boisterous room fell strangely silent. Jasper, who had been lounging in his chair, now sat up. One hand draped over the backrest, the other swirling the wine in his glass, he shot a sideways glare at the man who had just spoken. The air turned frigid. Everyone in that room was part of New York’s elite, but there were levels to that world. The Croft family was old money, with influence stretching from Wall Street to Washington. Jasper, groomed since birth to be the heir, was not someone you crossed. “Jasper, man, I’m sorry,” the guy, Leo, stammered, his face pale. He started slapping his own cheek, hard. “I was drunk, I shouldn’t have said that about your girl!” The others quickly jumped in to smooth things over. “You idiot, don’t you know his girlfriend is a researcher at Columbia? She’s a damn genius. Who are you to talk?” Only when Leo’s face began to swell did Jasper speak, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “That’s enough.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Vance, isn’t it? Your family is in pharmaceuticals?” Leo Vance nodded frantically. Jasper leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. He lifted his glass slightly. “Columbia’s latest research project…” “I get it! I get it, Jasper!” Leo interrupted, tripping over his words in his haste. “Thank you for the opportunity! I’ll make sure she gets all the support she needs!” 2 I stumbled home in a daze, their words echoing in my head. “The girl’s a total fool. She kind of deserves to be played.” “Remember three years ago? Jasper lost a dare and had to go to that karaoke bar and pretend to be an escort for an hour.” “The first few women who came in knew it was a joke. But not her. She actually believed him.” I was a fool. An absolute fool. I didn’t recognize that the artfully distressed sweater he wore was the latest from Balenciaga. I didn’t know the simple silver watch on his wrist was a Richard Mille, worth a small fortune. I just heard his sob story—a gambling-addicted father, a sick mother—and in his tragedy, I saw a reflection of my own past. I looked at his face, as devastatingly beautiful as a Japanese drama star, and my heart melted with a tenderness I hadn’t known I possessed. I had no idea that behind those soulful eyes, he was thinking, Tsk, what an idiot. How could anyone fall for such a ridiculous lie? I spent ages convincing him to leave that life, helping him find “respectable” work. I was just a research assistant myself, barely making a few thousand a month, yet I scraped together two grand to buy him a decent suit so he could make a good impression. All the while, I wore the same trench coat for three years straight. And him? He would just flash that devastating smile, his eyes curving into crescents. “You’re so good to me, my beautiful angel,” he’d purr. “I’ll have to find a way to repay you properly.” Then he’d pull me into his arms, and we’d be lost in each other. He was a twenty-year-old discovering passion for the first time… or so I thought. Once he started, he was insatiable. The walls of our old apartment were paper-thin, and the more I bit my lip to stay quiet, the more determined he became to draw out every sound from me, forcing soft pleas and breathless cries from my lips until he was finally satisfied. He was beautiful. He loved to cuddle. He loved to cook for me. I truly believed we would be tangled up like this forever. I even took on two extra freelance jobs, working myself to the bone, just to save up enough money to buy him a ring. I was going to be the one to propose. 3 On the way home, I passed the subway station Jasper usually took. It was chaos. Firefighters, paramedics, dazed survivors wrapped in emergency blankets… a sea of flashing lights and desperate faces. I stopped, my heart pounding in my throat. My phone buzzed with a new message. Jasper: Angel, my phone fell in the water, just got it fixed. Jasper: I bought you a little cupcake. Almost home~ The message was followed by a sticker of a cartoon puppy holding up a heart. The caption read: Puppy loves you most! For a moment, the world tilted. It took a long time for my fingers to move, to type out a reply. Me: I’m at the subway station. The north entrance on Huang Lane. A few minutes later, he appeared around the corner. He was a striking figure—tall and slender, with skin so pale it seemed to glow, lips a natural cherry-red. Even in a simple white t-shirt, a gray hoodie, and dark jeans, he had the undeniable aura of a star. Heads turned as he walked past. “I told you to stay home and rest,” he scolded gently, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over my shoulders. “You know you get sick so easily. Why would you run out in the rain?” His familiar scent, a clean, crisp fragrance like pine needles, enveloped me. It was so achingly familiar that it stung my nose and made my eyes burn. “I thought you were dead,” I said, my voice a broken thing. I pointed a trembling finger toward the dark mouth of the subway entrance. I thought I would be screaming, hysterical, but my throat felt like a rusted pipe—only a raw, hoarse, exhausted sound came out. “You texted that you were just getting on the train, and then… nothing. The news said the tunnel was flooded. I was so scared. I ran for miles in the storm to get here. They wouldn’t let me go down. I told them, no, my boyfriend is in there. If he’s going to die, we’ll die together.” I lifted my head, my bloodshot eyes locking onto his. “Jasper,” I whispered, the name a shard of glass on my tongue. “When I was so worried about you that I was ready to throw my own life away, where were you?” His long, dark lashes swept down, hiding those ever-smiling eyes, concealing the storm I knew must be raging within them. Maybe this game had finally grown heavier than he’d anticipated. Or maybe, just maybe, he was laughing silently at the sheer, pathetic devotion of the woman in front of him. He just turned his face away, a light, dismissive smile playing on his lips. “On my way to buy you a cupcake, of course.” No, you weren’t. You were at a club with your rich friends, drinking and laughing. You were taking my heart and grinding it into the dirt under your heel. Before I could press him further, he turned his back to me and crouched down. “Get on. Let’s go home before you really get sick.” And just like that, he was carrying me on his back, wading through the murky, waist-deep water that had consumed our street. My voice was a detached, airy whisper by his ear. “What home? Jasper, our home is gone.” Our first-floor apartment in the old building was a disaster. The nineties-era complex had drainage systems that were a joke. When we pushed open the door, we were greeted by a scene of utter devastation. A meter of filthy water filled the room. Floating in the brown murk were the matching mugs Jasper had bought, our slippers, and the pieces of the photo wall he’d so carefully curated… In those photos, we were laughing, smearing birthday cake on each other’s faces; we were holding sparklers on New Year’s Eve, our hands forming a heart against the night sky… all those perfect, romantic moments, now warped and blurred by the floodwater. “Damn it. They’re all ruined,” Jasper muttered, his brow furrowed as he fished the soggy pictures from the water. I opened my mouth, a question burning on my tongue. Was it all just a game? And if so, why did you look so genuinely heartbroken over these shattered memories? But all I said was, “It’s fine. They’re not that important.” “Not important?” He stared at me, a wounded look in his eyes. “If this isn’t important, then what is?” Are they important because they’re trophies from the three years you spent conning a woman out of her heart? I clenched my fists, my lips pressed into a thin line, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. 4 The apartment was unlivable. Every hotel nearby was either fully booked or charging astronomical prices. One clerk quoted us four thousand dollars for a single night. Defeated, we ended up huddled with the crowds in a hotel lobby, leaning against a corner, trying to figure out our next move. I overheard two young women chatting nearby. “God, I wish some billionaire would just randomly fall in love with me and drop a million bucks in my account.” “Forget that, did you see the news? I’m so jealous of Delia Duncan. She’s a huge star, basically New York royalty, and now her fiancé just casually donates twenty million dollars to charity. In both their names! Talk about relationship goals.” Behind me, I felt Jasper’s muscles tense. He leaned in close, his voice a low, wheedling murmur against my ear. “Angel, let’s just pay the four thousand. Please? Let’s just get a room.” His body, warm against my back, was trembling slightly. It was late autumn, and he’d given me his hoodie, leaving him in just a t-shirt. Before, I would have melted. I would have spent a third of my monthly salary without a second thought, just to keep him comfortable. But now, I pinched his thigh, hard. My voice was flat. “You brought this on yourself. You deserve it.” I paused, then added in a light, mocking tone, “If you were like that guy on the news, donating twenty million like it was pocket change, do you think I’d be living this miserable life?” As soon as the words were out, a violent coughing fit seized me. Jasper’s hand was instantly on my back, rubbing gentle circles. When I finally caught my breath, he lowered his head, his lips brushing my ear. He pitched his voice into that familiar, playfully pathetic tone. “I get it. My angel thinks I’m poor now. It’s my fault. I’m not good enough to give you a big house… making you suffer out here in the cold, sick and with nowhere to go. It’s all my fault…” I thought I was all out of tears. But hearing him spin that web of sweet, false sincerity, lamenting how he couldn’t give me a better life—the same life he’d watched me sacrifice for him day after day for three years—I felt that familiar, bitter sting behind my eyes. He was doing it again. Watching me get worn down by life, watching me suffer for him, and then smoothing it all over with a few pretty, empty words. He probably got a sick thrill out of it. “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “It is all your fault.” He stopped, his face a mask of shock. Right. Usually, this was my cue to soothe him, to whisper, “Don’t you dare blame yourself. It hurts me when you do that, you know?” But now, I turned to face him, my gaze level and cold. “Who else would it be? You make three grand a month, Jasper. You can’t even afford a bathroom in this city. You think I want you holding me back for the rest of my life? Did you really, honestly think I wanted to live in that dump with you forever?” He just stared, completely stunned. For a long moment, he was silent, then a stiff, unnatural smile stretched his lips. “I… I can work overtime—” “I’m just kidding,” I said, pushing him away, unable to listen to another lie. In my peripheral vision, I saw the tension drain from his shoulders, saw them slump in relief.

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The day before my wedding, I got a call from the hotel. “Mr. Winston, hello. Someone has… well, they’ve wrecked your wedding venue.” I rushed over, completely bewildered, only to find some pretty boy holding a wedding photo of himself with my fiancée, screaming, “You shameless gold digger! Seducing my wife! Spending her money on a lavish wedding like this!” The scene was a powder keg of outrage. Even the hotel manager was pointing a finger at me. “I knew something was off,” he sneered. “The bride-to-be never showed up for a single planning meeting. Turns out he’s not even the real husband.” The crowd of onlookers grew, their whispers turning into a mob. They beat me, shoved me, and in the chaos, my leg was broken. A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my secretary. “Cancel the wedding. And tell Ella Lee to get the hell out of my company.” Spending my money to keep a boy toy, and one this arrogant? Let’s see how I tear you both apart. … I was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the fit of my tuxedo for the next day, when the hotel manager’s call came through. His voice was dripping with a sick sort of pleasure. “Mr. Winston, ah, yes. About that ‘Starlight Dream’ luxury wedding you’ve booked? Someone’s smashed it all to pieces. I think you’d better get down here.” Smashed? My mind went blank for a second. I had spent half a year and millions of dollars planning this wedding. Who would dare? Tomorrow was the day. The day I was supposed to marry Ella Lee, my girlfriend of seven years. This was the last moment for something to go wrong. Fury ignited in my chest. I didn’t have time to think. I shot a quick text to Ella and sped toward the hotel. I could hear the manager’s oily voice from the entrance. “Oh, I had no idea Ms. Lee’s husband was so young and handsome! A perfect match for a CEO like her!” “See? I told you something was up,” another voice chimed in. “Never saw the bride once during the setup. He’s the other man!” “Let’s exchange contact info. If the hotel has any new projects, I hope you’ll put in a good word with Ms. Lee for us!” Ms. Lee? My heart dropped. I followed the sound and saw him: a skinny, pale pretty boy, pocketing the manager’s business card with a look of venomous satisfaction. “Of course,” he said. “Just as soon as I’m done with this shameless leech.” “I’ll be sure to remember your help.” I strode forward into the ballroom. The magnificent floral arch, which had been painstakingly assembled that afternoon, was toppled like a fallen giant. The towering champagne fountain lay in glittering shards across the floor. And strewn among the wreckage were the vulgar remains of rotten vegetables and broken eggs. My dream wedding venue, a palace of opulence just hours ago, was now a scene of utter chaos. I swallowed my rage, the words grinding between my teeth. “Who. Did. This.” “I did!” The pretty boy saw me and, without a second thought, swung his leg and kicked me hard in the ribs. “I, Leo, am going to teach you a lesson today, you pathetic leech!” I staggered back, nearly losing my footing. “Leo?” The name was vaguely familiar. Right. Ella had mentioned him before—a junior from her university who’d asked for help finding a job. His name was Leo… Ella and I had been together since college. A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. So, this was her game. My father, taking pity on her because she was pregnant, had magnanimously made her the acting president of a subsidiary company to “play with.” And she’d actually started to believe her own hype, brazenly keeping a lover on the side. My glare fixed on Leo. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I snarled. “You dare touch me?” Leo whipped out his phone, the screen displaying a wedding photo of him and Ella. He then pointed a trembling finger at the large welcome portrait of Ella and me at the ballroom entrance. “Who am I?” he shrieked. “I should be asking, who the hell are you?!” “My wife and I had our wedding photos taken six months ago! And you still have the nerve to seduce her?” Seduce her? What a joke. I reached for my own phone to call Ella and have her face this mess, but Leo snatched it from my hand and smashed it on the marble floor. “Calling for backup, are you, gold digger?!” His voice was shrill, attracting a circle of gawkers who began pointing and whispering. “I just Googled her. The woman is Ella Lee, the CEO of Apex Industries.” “Kids these days… they’ll do anything for money.” “I know, right? He’s a good-looking guy, too. Why throw it all away to be a kept man?” Sensing the drama escalating, the hotel manager scurried over to placate Leo. “Don’t be angry, sir, it’s not worth your health. How about this? I’ll arrange our finest presidential suite for you, and a year of complimentary stays for you and Ms. Lee. Please, just calm down?” He then turned to me, his face a mask of contempt. “Mr. Winston, I’m sorry, but our hotel will no longer be hosting your wedding.” I laughed, a sound raw with disbelief. “You’re canceling? Are you prepared to pay the breach of contract penalty?” I swept my gaze over the trashed venue. “And this… this million-dollar setup. Are you sure you can afford to replace it?” Leo scoffed and, catching me off guard, grabbed the collar of my shirt. “Pay?! You used my wife’s money to pay for this, you leech! And you have the audacity to ask me for compensation? Have you no shame?” It was then that he noticed the key fob for my limited-edition supercar in my hand. His face flushed with rage. “So that’s why Ella couldn’t buy me this car! Because you, the mistress, already took it!” He lunged for the keys. My first instinct was to hold on tight, but then I thought better of it. It wasn’t worth getting hurt over this parasite. I let go. Leo, clutching the key fob, then dramatically stumbled backward and fell to the floor. Instantly, the onlookers rushed to help him up, their accusations turning on me. “What has this hotel come to, letting a degenerate like him in?” “Exactly! Mr. Leo, don’t worry, we all saw it! He assaulted you!” “That’s right, Mr. Leo! Um… my husband works at your company, in the marketing department. I hope you’ll mention him to Ms. Lee, perhaps for a promotion?” … Ella was a president in name only, of a company that wasn’t even publicly traded. Yet they were all fawning over “Mr. Leo,” the “CEO’s husband.” I remembered my father telling me just a few days ago that after Ella and I were married, he would slowly hand over the rest of the group’s companies to us. And now? All I felt was a profound sense of relief. Leo, propped up by the crowd, smugly straightened his clothes. He pointed at me and shouted at the manager, “You let anyone into this hotel? Are you trying to ruin your own reputation?” The manager bowed and scraped. “Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right, Mr. Leo. It won’t happen again!” Leo snorted and, dangling my keys, swaggered toward the entrance. With a chirp, the lights of a multi-million-dollar supercar flashed. He pointed at the car, his voice a screech. “You bastard! How dare you waste my wife’s money like this!” He walked back to me, rubbing the key fob menacingly against my cheek. “Someone like you deserves to drive a car like this? I’ll have it smashed to pieces!” He threw the keys to the ground and stomped on them again and again, grinding his heel until the fob was a mangled wreck of plastic and metal. Still not satisfied, he grabbed a hammer from a nearby toolbox. “A ten-million-dollar car is too good for a leech!” He stormed towards my car, raised the hammer high, and as I watched in stunned silence, brought it down with all his might. I didn’t stop him. I just mentally tallied up the damages he’d owe me. Just then, the hotel owner came rushing in. The manager whispered a few words in his ear, and the owner’s head snapped up. He looked at me, his face grim. “Mr. Winston, from this day forward, you are blacklisted from our establishment.” I couldn’t believe my ears. How could this entire group of people be so thoroughly manipulated by one pathetic pretty boy? “Are you sure?” I asked, looking the owner dead in the eye. He gave me a disdainful once-over. “We pride ourselves on our reputation. We do not welcome people like you here.” I nodded slowly. “Fine.” This hotel, of which my father was a major shareholder. Let’s see how much he regrets this. I bent down to retrieve my mangled phone, but Leo’s foot slammed onto my back, pinning me down. “I’ve already called my wife. She’ll be here any minute. Let’s see how cocky you are then!” Wincing in pain, I grabbed his ankle, twisted hard, and sent him sprawling to the ground. The manager gasped and rushed to help him up. “Mr. Leo! Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?” “Forget the ambulance! Arrest him! This man is a shameless homewrecker!” Leo screamed, his eyes red. “You seduce my wife and then you assault me? I’ll ruin you!” The hotel owner’s face was livid. “How dare you attack Mr. Leo! This hotel has security cameras everywhere! I’ve already called the police!” The crowd of spectators now transformed into a posse of righteous vigilantes. They swarmed me, pulling my hair, tearing at my clothes. “You dare hit Ms. Lee’s husband? I’ll record this as evidence! You’re not just a homewrecker, you’re a violent criminal!” “Yes! Post it online! Make him famous!” They shoved me, dragging me toward the welcome portrait of Ella and me. Someone ripped it from its stand and, with a vicious RRRRIP, tore our photo in two. I watched the image of us shatter, and I felt nothing. Nothing but a cold, bottomless well of disgust and rage. Good. Rip it to shreds. “Did you get that on camera? Post it! I want everyone to see this leech’s true face!” Leo directed the mob, puffed up with the thrill of victory. I clutched my broken phone, the screen flashing with dozens of unread messages from Ella. Hah. She still had the nerve to message me? While they were distracted, I managed to open the notifications. Unsurprisingly, they were a stream of pathetic apologies, excuses, and pleas for forgiveness. I scanned them quickly, then deleted and blocked her number without a second thought. Then, I sent one last message to my secretary. “Cancel the wedding. And have my father pull all his investments from the Starlight Grand Hotel. Also, tell Ella Lee to get the hell out of my company.” The reply was instantaneous. A single sentence. “Understood, Mr. Winston.” Leo saw me using my phone. He raised the hammer and swung it at me without hesitation. I couldn’t dodge in time. A muffled grunt escaped my lips as a sickening crack echoed through the room. White-hot agony exploded in my lower leg, and I collapsed, curling into a ball on the floor. A wave of gasps went through the crowd, but they quickly fell silent. The hotel owner looked down at me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Mr. Winston, stop faking it. The damage to the venue was a result of your personal dispute. The hotel will not be compensating you.” “Furthermore, I suggest you apologize to Ms. Lee’s husband, Mr. Leo.” Pain was making my vision swim. I couldn’t speak. I could only glare at the faces looming over me, my eyes burning. Suddenly, the manager pointed at my leg, his voice trembling. “Blood…!” I looked down. My calf was bent at an unnatural angle. Was it… broken? A flicker of panic crossed Leo’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a vicious smirk. He crossed his arms. “Hah! You thought you could seduce my wife with your pretty face and live off her money? Let’s see you seduce anyone with a broken leg!” “You deserved it!” I pressed my hands to the floor, fighting to stay conscious.

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1 To protect me, my sister defied the rules of our novel’s world. Instead of showering her affection on the story’s protagonist, the fake young master, she cared for me, the real one. Every time she was kind to me, the System shocked her with an electric current. She told me she would rather be electrocuted to death than stop loving her real brother. And yet, the night before I was due to give the valedictorian speech at graduation, I was abducted. Dragged to an abandoned construction site, I was defiled by a gang of thugs, my limbs were broken, and my tongue was cut from my mouth. In that abyss of despair, I somehow connected to my sister’s System. 【Host, you sent a live location to the gang, ordering them to torture your brother until he was crippled. Do you not intend to call them off?】 My sister’s voice, cold as jade, echoed in my mind. “I can’t. This part of the plot has to happen. We can’t let Julian go through it, can we?” “Besides, Noah is the protagonist of a ‘doted-on-hero’ story. He’s destined to survive. No matter how much he suffers, he’ll recover completely. This is just making use of his plot armor.” “When it’s all over, I’ll be twice as good to him to make up for it.” My heart died. I stopped fighting death. — “As expected of the top scholar. You’re tougher than most.” “We’ve had more than twenty guys go at him, and he’s still hanging on…” In the dim, filthy cell, the instruments of my torture lay scattered around me, slick with my blood and flesh, piled into a small mountain. A hulking man grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. He saw my lips, bitten raw from the pain, and burst into laughter. “Well, well. After being so thoroughly ‘cared for’ by the boys, our little Master Noah is now tender enough to bruise at a touch.” His thumb smeared across my lips before he ripped the filthy rag from my mouth. “Speaking of which, we’ve tasted everything else, but I haven’t had a go at this mouth yet.” “I wonder if it’s any different from the ones you pay for downtown?” Before I could curse him, another man chimed in with a suggestion. “Half a tongue tastes even better. More… exotic.” I saw their eyes fix on me, and I tried to shrink back in terror. The next second, a hand tangled in my hair, slamming my head against the ground. A flash of cold steel. I screamed, clamping a hand over my mouth as blood gushed between my fingers. The pain was a blinding, stabbing agony that made me want to smash my head against the wall just to make it stop. Through a hazy fog, someone yanked my hair again… And in that moment, on the brink of death, I heard a conversation. A sterile, electronic voice: 【Celeste, your brother Noah is at his breaking point. Any more torment and he will suffer a fatal mental collapse! You must stop this!】 I thought I was hallucinating, that death was playing tricks on my mind. “No.” The voice that answered was unmistakably my sister’s. She was the only person in our family who had ever been kind to me, but now her tone was glacial. “Noah is the protagonist of fate. He can’t die this easily.” “Continue. Tell them not to hold back. Only when his suffering mirrors what Julian endured in the original timeline can we successfully cheat fate… Only then can Julian live a good life.” The System seemed to hesitate. My sister, sensing its doubt, added confidently, “He’s been abused since he was a child. This is nothing he can’t handle… It’s just making use of a resource.” 【When you insisted on binding Noah as the target for this mission, you set this course. Now, we can only see it through.】 The mechanical voice sighed with resignation. My sister laughed. “What’s the rush? He won’t die anyway. Better to get it all over with at once than to drag it out…” Her voice softened, but her words were daggers in my heart. “He’s the only one in this world who can blind the eyes of fate. It’s not what I want. But only by having him endure Julian’s fated death can our family stay whole and live happily ever after.” “After all, Julian is my brother too. I can’t just stand by and watch him be humiliated and killed, can I?” “…He deserves a life of peace and security. This is the only way.” I coughed, a spray of dark blood leaving my lips. The pain was so intense my heart felt like it had been burned to ash. So that’s all I was. A tool for my sister to use, a substitute to suffer in place of someone else. “Tch, what a buzzkill. His face is all covered in blood…” More brutes entered the room. They laid me flat on an iron table, their hands roaming freely. Two needles pierced my chest, sharp and brutal. “Man, if the valedictorian shows up to his speech tomorrow with these, haha! If anyone sees them, they’ll all know what a little slut he is.” “Take more pictures. We could sell them as a collection.” One of the men set up a high-definition camera, pointing it directly at my face. Amidst waves of agonizing pain, I was torn open. Again. And again. It was a nightmare, a torment beyond human endurance. And the architect of it all was the one person who had been my reason for living, my pillar in this cruel world—my own sister, Celeste. “Hey, scholar,” one of the men whispered, his lips against my ear. “Ever wonder how we found you at the school, no matter where you hid?” He bit down. Hard. Through the searing pain, I remembered the endless nightmares of footsteps and shadows that had haunted me. I remembered the conversation I had just overheard. The truth settled in my heart like a stone. And with it, a deeper, more profound despair. “Since you’ve been such a good boy for us, I’ll be merciful and tell you—” “It was that little ‘family tracking beacon’ your parents bonded you with at the welcome-home dinner.” I began to tremble uncontrollably. A cold, desolate sorrow washed over me. I had never imagined that my cries for help to my family would be the very thing that led to my betrayal. They were my blood, my kin, yet they treated me like an enemy. Even the one exception, my sister… 【Warning! Protagonist Noah’s life signs are critically low! The world is at risk of collapse!】 The System’s alarm blared in my mind. A tiny spark of hope flickered within me. Surely, she wouldn’t drag the entire world down with her just to save Julian? My sister’s voice came, firm and cold. “Shut up, System. There’s only one part left, the castration. Then it will all be over.” “How can we stop at such a critical moment?” “If we stop now, Julian will have to endure it, and it will kill him! Our family won’t be whole anymore… All my efforts will have been for nothing. I absolutely will not allow that!” The mechanical voice sounded shocked. 【Enough! What does Julian’s fate have to do with him?】 【How long has he even been back in this family? And you’ve already flayed him alive!】 【If anyone owes a debt here, it is all of you who owe it to him! Why are you torturing the victim?】 My sister’s voice cracked with anguish, her words becoming a hysterical, distorted scream. “You think I don’t know that?!” “But he’s the only one who can survive a certain-death scenario!” “We’ve come this far! Better for him to be broken than for Julian to die! And Noah is the protagonist! He won’t die!” “I am preserving the integrity of my family, don’t you understand?!” She finished her tirade and wiped her face, her voice returning to a chilling calm. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him die.” “After he has taken Julian’s place, I’ll have someone call an ambulance. Even if he needs a catheter for the rest of his life, even if he’s a broken man, I will take care of him.” But would a life like that even be living? My heart was a frozen wasteland. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world, shutting out the pain they were inflicting on my body. It’s no use. No one cares about me. It wouldn’t be a loss if I died. I relinquished my will to live, letting my soul plummet into the abyss.

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1 Five years after they trapped my soul in these walls, some streamer shows up, looking to “cleanse” me with a bit of theatrical flair. Then he found my diary, and his bravado shattered into tears. Back then, their voices were a chorus of condemnation. “We gave her everything, and she was just an ungrateful viper.” “She made it all up! Every word is a lie!” “Lila Crawford is the worst kind of bitch. I hope she rots.” Even my own brother, my Tim, didn’t hold back. “She’s no sister of mine. It’s better that she’s dead.” Everyone wanted me dead. So now that I am, why are you all crying? … “What’s up, everyone! It’s your favorite ghost hunter, Ryker Blackwood, coming at you live!” “Tonight, you voted for it, and I’m delivering. We’re at the number one spot on your list: the infamous ‘Wall Murder’ house, the scene of a five-year-old cold case.” In the dead of night, Ryker’s high-powered flashlight beam cut through the darkness, dancing across a dilapidated front door. The air was thick with the smell of rot and damp earth, the yard a forgotten tangle of weeds. A lonely sliver of moon hung overhead, making the desolation feel absolute. Instantly, the live chat flooded with my name, intertwined with venom. Lila the Psycho. Lila the Liar. The comments poured in, a torrent of fury. “Ugh, why are we at her house? Total creep.” “Seriously, bad vibes, man.” “Didn’t Lila Crawford have guys rotating through here like a brothel? She had family money and set up her own little den of sin in this dump.” “Nah, I don’t buy it. What rich girl would live in a shithole like this?” “Ryker, you’ve changed. You’ll do anything for clicks now, won’t you?” “Let’s bounce, guys. This psycho doesn’t deserve the airtime.” The stream of hate was relentless. Ryker’s brow furrowed. The sheer vitriol from his audience was a headache, but the viewer count was skyrocketing. The show had to go on. “Easy, everyone. You know me,” he said, his voice a smooth, confident balm. “I’m a paranormal investigator. I’m here to show you what’s really going on, not to whitewash the reputation of a girl who’d screw over her own brother.” He brandished a sleek, dark blade for the camera, a glint in his eye. “And don’t you worry. If this malevolent spirit decides to show her face, I’ll personally send her screaming back to hell.” A wave of approval surged through the chat. Cheers and digital thumbs-ups praised Ryker for his tough stance. He took a deep breath, the stench of decay filling his lungs, and approached the door. A gentle push was all it took. The door groaned and collapsed inward with a deafening crash, revealing the scene within. Ryker froze, his bravado vanishing. “Damn it!” Across town, Tim Crawford slammed his fist on a mahogany desk, the crystal wine glass in his other hand shattering. Red wine and blood dripped onto the polished surface. “Lila!” he hissed, the name a curse. “Why won’t that bitch just stay dead and buried?” “Five years, and she still finds a way to haunt us.” He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling. He stabbed at his phone, dialing a number. “This can’t get to Talia. I don’t want Lila’s name causing her any more pain.” Just as he spoke, Talia herself appeared in the doorway, a vision of fragile beauty. She stopped, her eyes wide with a practiced sorrow. “Tim, darling,” she said, her voice a soft, mournful whisper. “Let the dead rest. I’ve… I’ve made my peace with it.” She drifted closer, her touch a light caress on his arm. “What Lila did to me was unforgivable… but she paid the price. We have to look forward. I don’t want to dwell on the past anymore.” At that moment, my father emerged from his study, his face a mask of cold fury. “Good riddance to that girl!” he snarled. He ordered Tim to cast the livestream onto the massive television screen on the wall. Still seething, he poured himself a glass of red wine and downed it in one go. “A disgrace to the family name. Five years dead and still causing trouble. Let’s see what kind of circus she’s orchestrated this time.” On the screen, Ryker’s voice, now laced with shock, crackled through the speakers. “What in the world is this?” 2 The interior walls were a canvas of horror, choked with moss and skeletal ivy. Peeking through the grime and decay were faint, dark stains that looked sickeningly like dried blood. After a moment of stunned silence, the live chat erupted. Ryker, moving as if in a trance, stepped forward, zooming the camera in for a close-up. The chat window became a blur of frantic text. “What the hell? Is Lila Crawford for real? This is disgusting!” “She was always an attention whore. Probably faked this whole scene before she offed herself.” “I heard she used to kill chickens for weird rituals. She probably just splashed animal blood everywhere.” “Remember when she went on live crying with a bogus depression diagnosis? Then she was dead a week later.” “Maybe some hero got tired of her ‘I wanna die’ drama and just did her a favor. LOL.” “LMAO! Good riddance!” Funny, isn’t it? My death became a party for strangers. They dance on my grave without even knowing my name, fueled by whispers and lies. They believe their judgment is righteous, but their self-proclaimed justice is built upon my bones. Ryker frowned, his showman’s mask gone. He scanned the room, his eyes sharp, before pulling out a strange-looking device—a spirit compass. Whoosh! A sudden gust of wind slammed through the house, wrenching a loose window from its frame. The filthy curtains billowed like specters, carrying a tattered, dust-covered book with them. It landed on the floor with a soft thud. A diary. Ryker picked it up and opened it to the first page. His voice, trained for broadcasting, was clear and resonant as he began to read. “July 12, 2016. The man who says he’s my brother, Tim, came for me today. He said he was sorry, that it was all his fault I was taken from our family as a baby. I’m so happy. I have a brother. A real brother.” He read on about how our parents’ welcome was lukewarm, but Tim assured me they just had a hard time showing their love. I clung to him. For the first time in eighteen years of foster homes and loneliness, I had someone who cared. He’d call me his “shadow,” but he always let me tag along. When kids at my new school called me a backwoods hick, he’d get into fights for me. When Mom and Dad punished me for it by sending me to bed without dinner, Tim would sneak me a sandwich. “You didn’t have to take the blame, he’d said, ruffling my hair. They wouldn’t have really done anything to me. From now on, you’ve got me. You don’t have to face everything alone anymore.” His smile was my sun. I nodded, my heart swelling. Having a brother is the best thing in the world. I wasn’t alone anymore. He was the best person on earth. As Ryker’s voice filled the dead air, even I felt a pang of sorrow for the girl I used to be. The girl who was Tim Crawford’s treasured little sister, not the monster they all spat on. I remembered believing my life had finally turned a corner, that I’d never have to fight for scraps of affection again. In his mansion, Tim fell silent. The words from the diary seemed to transport him back to that first day, to those early months filled with a fragile, hopeful bond. For a fleeting moment, a wave of sickness washed over him. How had the sister he’d sworn to protect become… this? But then, Talia’s face, a mask of perfect anguish, broke through his reverie. She tightened her grip on his arm, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “Oh, Tim,” she choked out. “It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, Lila… she wouldn’t have… she wouldn’t be dead.” “Your bond was so special. I ruined everything…” “I’m the one who killed your sister, Tim. It’s all my fault.” 3 Talia’s sobs sliced through Tim’s nostalgia, and his expression turned to ice. The warmth of memory evaporated, replaced by a familiar, cold resentment. He pulled her into his arms, his embrace protective. “Talia, don’t say that. This was never your fault.” His voice was a low growl. “If it weren’t for Lila, you wouldn’t have been hurt. You wouldn’t have lost… our baby.” “It was all her greed, her jealousy.” As he spoke, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The pain grounded him. He pressed a kiss to Talia’s forehead. “She destroyed our child. She doesn’t deserve the title of sister.” My parents, who had never shown me an ounce of genuine affection, were now fussing over Talia, cooing at her. “Talia, darling,” my mother said, her voice dripping with sympathy. “I told them it was a mistake to bring that creature back. She was toxic from the start. To think she’s the reason you still haven’t been able to carry a child to term… it’s just monstrous.” “Don’t you dwell on it, sweetheart,” my father added. “You and Tim should start planning the wedding.” He glanced at the television with pure venom. “You were always the daughter we raised. Our true daughter. As for that little beast…” he trailed off with a sneer. “Let her antics attract some real spiritualist, some charlatan who thinks he can perform an exorcism. She’s so desperate for attention she’s practically begging to have her soul obliterated. Fine. Let her have her wish.” Their perfect family unit, cozy and complete. I was always the intruder, the flaw in their masterpiece. On the screen, Ryker turned to the second page of the diary. In the corner of the dilapidated room, a faint, shimmering figure began to form. My figure. It hovered near the shattered vanity mirror, its lips moving, whispering a single, desperate plea that no one could hear: “Save me!” “September 15, 2016. It was Thanksgiving. I came home and found Talia curled up in Tim’s arms, whispering and laughing. It was the first time I’d ever seen Mom and Dad look at someone with such open, doting affection. Tim saw me and called me over. He explained that Talia was the girl they’d adopted and raised, thinking she was me. He said she’d been away on a trip to give me space to settle in. They told me not to be petty about it. Tim promised he would treat both of his sisters equally. I just nodded, numb, as Talia took my hand in hers. A second later, she screamed. A thin line of blood was welling up on her palm. The world exploded. A slap stung my cheek. They were all screaming at me, calling me vicious, a bully. But I didn’t do anything. I swear I didn’t do anything.” “December 25, 2016. Talia wanted a big Christmas. She got a mountain of presents. I’d been working a part-time job, and I used my own money to buy gifts for Mom, Dad, Tim… and even for her. I never got the chance to give them. I found them in the trash can later that night. I heard Tim comforting Talia. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. A maid probably just brought in some junk from outside. This cheap trash isn’t worthy of my beautiful, precious sister.’ When I tried to pull them out of the garbage, Talia gasped dramatically. ‘Oh my God, Lila! Didn’t Mom and Dad give you any money? Why are you digging through the trash?’ Tim came over and told me to stop making a scene.” “January 27, 2017. New Year’s Eve. Tim asked me what my dreams were. I told him I wanted to go to a good university. He promised he’d have a special gift for me on the day I got my acceptance letter. I got the letter. That night, I celebrated with a glass of champagne they gave me. Then everything went black. I woke up, and there were so many people… I was terrified. They told me I’d wanted it. They said if I told Tim, they would send the pictures to everyone. I was so scared. I went home in a daze, and they beat me. They screamed at me for being a tramp, for disgracing the family name. And Tim… the one who had sworn to protect me… he just looked at me with such disgust. I wanted to scream the truth, but I was too afraid…” 4 “February 14, 2017. I saw Talia kissing a photograph of Tim. She told me she loved my brother. She told me to stop clinging to him.” Ryker paused, the silence in the house heavy and profound. The diary painted a portrait not of a monster, but of a desperate, lonely girl starved for affection, systematically isolated and abused. The brother who was her only anchor had become just another one of her tormentors. He couldn’t reconcile this broken girl with the venomous reputation that had preceded her. The live chat, however, saw it differently. “OMG, she was in love with her brother! That’s why she drugged him!” “So f*cking twisted. He was nice to her and she tried to rape him.” “No wonder she went after Talia. She was jealous that her brother was with his actual love.” “What a psycho bitch!” “Being lonely is no excuse for being a disgusting creep.” The screen filled with insults, a digital mob baying for blood. Suddenly, the spirit compass in Ryker’s hand, which had been spinning erratically, shattered with a loud crack. The chat went silent. The sudden, violent event shocked them out of their frenzy. Ryker’s face was pale. The others might not understand, but he knew what a shattered compass signified: a spirit in immense, unbearable pain. “Alright, everyone, calm down,” he said, his voice a little shaky. “Let’s see what else is in here.” He turned the page and continued reading. The tone of the diary shifted. Amidst the fear and threats, a fragile hope began to bloom. She wrote about trying to build a new life for herself, about deciding to open her heart again. She even wrote about meeting a kind boy. Ryker found himself smiling. It felt like a small victory. She was finding her own love, no longer begging for the scraps her family threw her way. The pages that followed were filled with the sweet, simple joys of a first love, a stable and happy relationship. But the sweetness was short-lived. The diary’s tone soured once more. “June 18, 2018. I saw my boyfriend kissing Talia. When I confronted her, she just laughed at me. She called me pathetic. ‘Your brother, your parents, your boyfriend… it doesn’t matter,’ she sneered. ‘All I have to do is crook my little finger, and they’ll always, always choose me.’ A few days later, he broke up with me. He said I was just damaged goods.” Across town, Tim shifted uncomfortably, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He glanced at Talia, wondering for the first time if there was any truth to the words in the diary. He’d always believed he was fair, that he only sided with Talia because Lila was the one causing trouble. But now… the narrative felt tangled, chaotic. Was it possible Lila had been writing the truth? No. Talia loved him. She would never do something so cruel. It had to be another one of Lila’s lies. “July 20, 2018. Tim and Talia announced their engagement. She was so kind to me at the party, pulling me aside to offer a strange, veiled apology. Later, when I went to the bathroom, the five men from that night were waiting for me. They told me I had to pay them one million dollars, or they’d release everything.” “August 3, 2018. I was held captive for ten days. In that time, they posted the high-resolution photos all over the internet. My brother called me, screaming that I was a whore who had brought shame on their name. My parents told me to get out of their house and never come back. I walked the streets feeling like the whole world was laughing at me. I went to the police, but they said the men claimed it was consensual. There was no evidence. No one believed me.” “September 20, 2018. The doctor says I have severe depression. The university expelled me. And then, the ultimate nightmare: Talia told me she orchestrated everything.

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“Hey, ghost crew, what is up? It’s your girl, Linda, coming at you live.” “Tonight, we’re exploring the infamous haunted house from the ‘Body in the Wall’ murder case that shocked the nation three years ago.” In the dead of night, Linda aimed her camera at the dilapidated old house. Under the pale, anemic moonlight, the yard was a sea of dead leaves, rustling and whispering with every breath of wind, lending the crumbling brick structure an air of profound menace. Instantly, the live chat lit up with two names, spammed over and over again: “Selene” and “The Sinner.” The comments section became a torrent of outrage. “No fucking way. Is this about that psycho, Selene?” “Ugh, if I’d known, I would’ve burned some sage to cleanse this bad juju.” “For real.” “Everyone in Riverbend City knows Selene was the daughter of the richest man in town. Why would she ever live in a shithole like this? Who are you trying to fool?” “Linda, don’t be like those other clout-chasers, blinded by the views.” “Listen to us, sweetie. Let’s not do this.” “The last thing we need is for your stream to make that bitch famous again. She’d probably love that.” Watching the scroll of angry text, Linda felt a flicker of doubt. Had her source been wrong? But then she saw the viewer count tick past one hundred thousand and climbing. Taking a deep breath, she addressed her audience with renewed professionalism. “Don’t worry, everyone. As a paranormal investigator, my job is to be objective. I don’t take sides.” “And I would never, ever let a monster who would frame her own sister just for a taste of fame get a second chance in the spotlight.” She held up a small, intricate sword woven from antique coins, a faint smile on her face. “And if her spirit is truly here,” she said, her voice dropping, “I will be the one to pass judgment. I’ll send that evil soul straight to hell myself.” Her declaration flipped the mood of the chat instantly. Cheers and praise flooded the screen. With that, she stepped onto the carpet of dried petals and pushed open the groaning, time-worn wooden door. The next second, her eyes went wide. She froze on the threshold. “What the—!” In a brightly lit villa miles away, Adrian Thorne leaned over a balcony railing, his face a mask of irritation as he chain-smoked. “Selene,” he muttered. “It’s always Selene.” “She’s been dead for three years, how is she still causing so much trouble?!” He ground out the cigarette with his heel and spoke coldly into his phone. “Celeste cannot find out about this. Do you understand? I don’t want the name ‘Selene’ to even touch Celeste’s ears.” But it was too late. Behind him, Celeste, who had been walking toward him, stopped dead. A sad, wan smile touched her pale lips. “It’s okay, Adrian. I heard.” “I’m sure… I’m sure my sister didn’t mean to do all those things back then.” Her voice was a fragile whisper. “Besides… I forgave her a long time ago.” At that moment, my father, watching from the living room, slammed his glass down. The sound of his knuckles cracking echoed in the tense silence. “Restless even in death.” He ordered a servant to cast the livestream onto the massive television screen. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, bored into the image. “Let’s see what kind of trouble a dead bitch can stir up after three years!” Just as he spoke, Linda’s shocked voice filled the room. “What… what is this…?” The camera panned across a wall crawling with green moss. Hidden within the grime were countless dark, reddish-brown stains—streaks of old blood. The entire live chat, which had been a waterfall of text, fell silent. Then, as Linda moved closer, it exploded. “HOLY SHIT…” “That’s fucking disgusting.” “I always heard Celeste was ruthless in her climb to fame, but I never imagined she had zero bottom line.” “Is that all pig’s blood?” “Didn’t she lie about having depression back in the day?” “Probably planned this whole stunt to make a comeback. Too bad she died before she could pull it off.” “LOL, I wonder which unsung hero took out the trash for us.” “Serves her right! Good riddance!” The irony was laughable. Hiding behind these vicious words was a mob of strangers who had never met me. They waved their banners of justice while pelting my memory with the most toxic filth imaginable, feasting on my demise like vultures. The sight made even Linda frown. Deciding to ignore the chat, she pulled a spirit compass from her bag and began her investigation. But in the next instant, a sudden gust of wind burst through a broken window, making the tattered curtains dance violently. It whipped the stained sheet off the bed, a final, mournful cry from the depths of the macabre carnival. And there, lying exposed, was a yellowed diary. The wind flipped its pages, revealing lines of elegant, handwritten script. It caught Linda’s eye. “June 23, 2018. Today, I saw him again. The boy who occupied my entire youth. Adrian Thorne…” He was just as I remembered, so beautiful that even the moonlight seemed to favor him, pouring over his shoulders like a silver halo. One look, and my world stopped. My eyes were glued to him. But this time, something was different. This time, he looked back at me. It was the graduation gala. My roommate, Jessica, had gotten food poisoning the night before. As her best friend, I had to take her place on stage, next to him. When the stage lights flared to life, my nerves were a wreck. My hands trembled uncontrollably. But then Adrian’s hand gently covered mine, stilling the tremor. He smiled and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.” “As long as I’m here, you won’t mess this up.” As his clear, strong voice filled the auditorium, my own breathing evened out, and I sang my part, my voice weaving a melody around his. That night, bathed in his glow, even I became a star on that stage. And he… he finally noticed me.” Listening to Linda read my words aloud, Adrian’s expression flickered. It was a look of nostalgia, mingled with a deep, unspoken regret. He was right. Back then, I hadn’t done those terrible things. I hadn’t been branded a sinner. And it was the first time that he, the popular musician, had felt his heart stir for me, the quiet girl he barely knew. In my eyes, filled with such pure, unadulterated passion, he had seen a reflection of himself—someone who loved the stage with their entire soul. In that moment, a complex, unspoken emotion had bloomed in his heart. Watching him, Celeste’s face changed. She lowered her head, a bitter twist to her pale lips. Her voice was a carefully controlled murmur of pain and forbearance. “Adrian… I’m so sorry…” “If it wasn’t for me… you and my sister would have never…” “It’s all my fault.” “I’m the one who killed her.” The glint of tears in Celeste’s eyes pulled Adrian back from his reverie. The word “sister” was a splash of cold water. His face hardened, but his voice was gentle as he comforted her. “Celeste, don’t think like that.” “If it weren’t for Selene, would you have lost your dream? She brought this on herself.” As he spoke, the anger in his eyes became almost impossible to hide. He turned away from Celeste quickly. “She doesn’t deserve your tears. And she doesn’t deserve to be called your sister.” My parents chose this moment to speak, their voices dripping with sympathy for Celeste. “Celeste, darling, we know that monster’s death was a huge blow to you. But you have to move on.” “It’s time you and Adrian started a family.” Then, their eyes fixed on the live stream, their jaws clenched. “As for that ungrateful viper we raised,” my father seethed, “restless even in death.” “Good,” my mother added. “I hear this streamer has some real power. If she can make Selene’s soul shatter into a million pieces, it’ll be our family’s public service.” As the three of them sat together, a perfect picture of a loving family, Linda turned the diary to the second page. But in the corner of the dilapidated room, a blood-red figure flickered into view in the reflection of a cracked, dirty mirror. From a mouth that had no tongue, a muffled, desperate whimper escaped: “Help… me.”

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The day after someone “doxed” me online, an AI-generated deepfake video starring me went viral in the company group chat. In the video, I was naked, crawling for a middle-aged, balding man. A few minutes later, the company group chat, filled with hundreds of people, was shut down after being reported. With trembling hands, I opened an anonymous email on my phone. “Hey there, old lady! Did you think you could just be a jerk with no consequences? Keep running your mouth, and I’ll send the video to your parents so they can see what kind of bitch they raised.” 1 The office’s heating system was making everyone sleepy. It was lunchtime, and I was dozing off, using a pillow as a support on my desk, until my coworker Lisa frantically shook my arm to wake me up. “Sarah, you gotta see the company group chat!” Rubbing my eyes, I clicked on the chat, not sure what was happening. Usually, the work group chat was just filled with “Received” replies, but there were hundreds of new messages. I scrolled down, but it was mostly just meaningless emojis. “Click on the video at the very beginning!” The source of the messages was a short video with the words “Performance Review” written in ugly letters on the cover. I clicked it, and the first thing I heard was a moan that made my cheeks burn. “S-slower, please…” The woman’s moans grew louder, and my heart started racing. I felt a sense of panic for no reason. Then, the screen showed a naked body. The fair skin was arranged in a pose, open to anyone who wanted it, crawling for a man whose face was hidden. The camera slowly moved up, focusing on the woman’s dazed face. My mind went blank for a moment. The woman had a face that was exactly like mine. Or, rather, it was my face. At the end of the video, there were two lines of text in big, bold red letters. “Wet and Wild, $100 a Pop” “Interested? Contact 555-123-4567” All the blood in my body rushed to my face. I don’t know how I got through those few seconds. When I came to my senses, I realized that my hands were shaking uncontrollably. There were several retracted messages below the video, except for one. “Isn’t that Sarah Miller from the marketing department?” The messages that followed were all from Lisa. “Keep your damn mouth shut, you idiot! Can’t you see it’s a deepfake? Is your brain full of shit? “Spreading rumors is against the law, you know? If you think jail food is better than company food, keep talking!” After sending those messages, Lisa flooded the chat with emojis. Some other friends in the group chat joined in, covering up the video-related messages. But that had been ten minutes ago. I always muted my phone during lunch breaks, so I didn’t see the series of missed calls. Screech- I jumped up, and the chair made a horrible noise as it scraped against the floor. “Where are you going?” The coworker next to me looked worried. “To find my manager.” I forced myself to calm down, saved the video, screenshotted the information of the person who forwarded it, found my department manager, and explained the situation in a few words. “That person quit last month. I don’t know why they’re still in the company group chat, but I can’t just give you their information.” The manager narrowed his eyes, slowly leaned closer to the computer screen for a while, and then turned to me. “Sarah, have you pissed someone off recently?” I took a deep breath, trying to swallow the curse words stuck in my throat. “I’m going to the police station. I need to take the afternoon off.” As I turned to leave the office, I felt like everyone was staring at me. Even though I was fully dressed, I felt like I was being stripped naked in public, enduring their judgment. Just as I was swiping my card to leave the office, an email popup caught my eye. “Hehe, did you get a surprise, old lady? Keep being a jerk, and I’ll send the video to your parents so they can see what kind of bitch they raised.” 2 An anonymous email. Raw, undisguised malice. At the police station, the officer’s uniform across the long table calmed my racing heart. “Think carefully, have you had a conflict with anyone recently?” “No.” I shook my head. I wouldn’t say that I was always friendly, but I hadn’t really pissed anyone off. After graduating college, I’d moved to this city alone. My apartment was in a community, and I barely saw my neighbors. Most of my coworkers were just acquaintances, but things were generally okay on the surface. “Go sit in the waiting area. I’ll have someone look up this phone number and email address.” I agreed and walked over to a chair. My phone had been buzzing with messages since everything happened. Most of them were from coworkers offering comfort, mixed with curiosity and probing, but Lisa had sent the most messages. “What did the cops say? If I find out which son of a bitch did this, I’m gonna beat them until they don’t recognize their own mother, and then sue them until they’re broke!” “Sarah, this isn’t your fault, okay? Don’t overthink it, and don’t do anything stupid. I’m on my way back now!” I felt a warmth in my heart. I could almost imagine Lisa rolling up her sleeves, ready to kick some ass. She was my college roommate. After graduating, we both joined the same company, but Lisa was more attractive and outgoing, so the public relations department quickly recruited her. I stayed in the marketing department, doing my job. Our company focused on short videos. It was high-pressure and fast-paced, and there was a lot of turnover. “It’s okay, I’m fine. This is America, if there’s trouble, I know to call the cops. Pat on the head.jpg” “Are the cops hot?” Lisa joined in with the jokes, and I couldn’t help but smile. “But who would do something so awful? You’re just a keyboard warrior online. You don’t even bother arguing with people in real life!” Online. My eyes widened, and my heart skipped a beat. At that moment, the cop called me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Sarah, can you come here for a second?” I put away my phone and hurried over. “The tech guys tracked the IP address of the email. It’s an abandoned account. As for the user who forwarded the video, we contacted them. They’re about to leave the country, and their phone number was changed last week. They just haven’t had time to cancel it yet.” “Do you know this person?” I carefully looked at the person in the photo, but I didn’t recognize them. “That’s going to be a problem.” The cop frowned. This wasn’t a big deal, but it wasn’t a small one either. With the recent efforts to combat online crimes, this person’s actions were serious enough to warrant criminal charges. “I haven’t had any conflicts with anyone in real life, but I’ve argued with people online. I don’t know if that would help solve the case?” I bit my lip, hesitant to bring it up. That was the reason for my hesitation. Bringing an online fight into the real world and using such a low tactic seemed unbelievable. But after opening those “rant accounts,” the cop’s expression became serious. 3 Rant accounts are used for people to express themselves and their opinions anonymously, others with similar interests would gather together to discuss things. But in recent years, some accounts have become digital trash cans for people to vent their emotions, like toilets filled with filth and poison. Two days ago, I had argued with someone under a post on X (formerly Twitter). It started when an artist I had followed for years was being called out. The person posting claimed that the artist had copied their ideas and that some of her popular paintings were directly using AI painting templates. This post was like a torpedo, setting off all the trolls who had been lurking. “Aww, poor baby. Hugs. Copycat artists are like formaldehyde-soaked silicone cockroaches. Kill them all.” “Oh my god, I’ve been following Chloe for so long. I can’t believe she’s like this?” “A friend of mine asked her for permission to repost something, but she refused. She’s a bad person!” When I saw the post, I checked the artist’s name several times. Chloe, it was the artist I had been following for years. When she was just starting out, I was drawn to her imaginative paintings. Her skills improved over time, and she gained more and more fans. Then, last year, her art book was published, and I met her at a signing. She was an incredibly sweet girl, young, with dimples on both sides of her lips when she smiled. When she heard my username, her eyes lit up. “I know you. Thank you for your support over the years.” Because I liked Chloe, I carefully looked at the pictures posted by the person who claimed she had copied them. I quickly noticed something was wrong. “Since when has the art community started judging people without proof? First of all, the person posting released their painting on December 20th, while Chloe posted hers on December 22nd. Anyone who knows anything about painting knows that it would be impossible to finish a painting as detailed as Chloe’s in two days. At best, this is just a coincidence.” “Secondly, there is no real evidence that she used AI templates. Both Chloe’s painting and the AI picture are just common poses.” “Thirdly, she refused to give permission because the person reposting didn’t credit her. Don’t try to confuse things.” I typed a long comment and clicked send. A few moments later, a new message popped up. “Here comes the white knight. How much did your queen pay you to lick her boots?” “I’m an artist, and I’m on Chloe’s side. It really would be impossible to finish that painting in two days. And, to be honest, the poster’s art skills are nowhere near as good as Chloe’s. Don’t try to punch above your weight class.” At first, there were a few insults, but after my comment was liked and moved to the top, the poster quickly deleted the post. I thought it was over, but then I started getting hate comments on X. “Hey there, Karen! Are you going through menopause? Why do you have to stick your nose into everything?” “Just you wait. I’m gonna make your life hell.” The person commenting had an ID made up of random letters and numbers. I reported them and blocked them after replying, “Oh, I’m so scared.” Arguing with trolls online didn’t make a splash in my life, but the pornographic video and Lisa’s words made me think about that fight. The cop frowned. After reading everything, his face was grim. “Are these people young? Why are they so nasty at such a young age?” I was speechless. I’d only learned about these anonymous rant accounts in the past few days. Cursing, insulting people’s parents, and talking about killing themselves were all common. “You can go home now. We’ll call you if we have any news.” After leaving the police station, I took a cab home. My mind was a mess, but I fell asleep anyway. Until the phone woke me up. “Hello, is this Sarah Miller? This is the Y city police station. We’ve made progress on your case.” In the dark room, a few lights from the building across the street flickered on the windows. I sat up, breathing heavily. “Yes?” “It’s not good. The suspect is under 16.”

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It was already past 1 AM when Mark finally got home. Not long ago, I saw him post on social media: “That year, kissing her cheek felt like forever.” He even added a photo. In the picture, his “one that got away” was sitting in a car, waving goodbye to the person taking the photo. The smile on her face looked almost mocking. Maybe she knew I’d see the picture. Maybe that was the whole point! “Still up?” Mark seemed surprised to find me sitting alone on the couch, watching TV so late. But that was it. As if he didn’t even need an answer, he turned and headed for the bathroom. Last time his high school sweetheart called saying she couldn’t sleep, he went into overdrive, so concerned he didn’t need sleep, chatting and videoing with her all night until 3 AM. And now, his wife of seven years gets a measly “Still up?” – nothing more. He casually tossed his clothes on the floor and went into the bathroom. The shower started running. I habitually picked up his clothes, threw them in the washing machine, went to the walk-in closet, grabbed his pajamas, and put them outside the bathroom door. Over the years, I hadn’t been able to give him a child. I felt so guilty about it, trying to make it up to him by being considerate and kind in every way, paying attention to all the little things. But somehow, the more attentive I was, the further he seemed to drift away. Like that night not long ago, when it was pouring rain, and I braved the storm to bring him an umbrella. He turned around and handed it to his “one that got away.” 2 A while later. Mark opened the bathroom door. He saw the pajamas I’d picked out for him, frowned slightly, and picked them up. “Why these?” “Which ones did you want?” I asked, getting up. “Today’s your ovulation day. Usually, you’re super aware of that.” Mark glanced at me. Before I could answer, he put on the pajamas and went into the bedroom. Seven years of marriage, and I haven’t gotten pregnant. It’s become a shared heartache for us. We’ve been to the doctor multiple times. They said there’s nothing seriously wrong, just relax and try to stay positive. But for seven years, he’s outwardly claimed not to care, but deep down, he desperately wants a kid. So much so that he knows my cycle better than I do sometimes. Every time I’m ovulating, we wear the matching pajamas. It’s a kind of understanding between us, a signal. But this time, I hadn’t gotten those pajamas out. He wouldn’t bother to wonder why. Maybe my thoughts just don’t matter to him anymore. He wouldn’t care. His “one that got away,” though – just a little hint, and he’d drop everything to shower her with attention and concern. I was quiet for a long time, then went back to the bedroom. As soon as I wrapped my arms around him, he impatiently pushed my hand away. “I’m tired. Can you just leave me alone?” In the past, I would have tried to win him over. But this time, I didn’t say anything. I got up silently and went to the guest room. He glanced back at me, and just as I reached the door, he said, “I’m really tired tonight. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” He rarely says things like that on his own. But I was already tired, emotionally exhausted. “Don’t bother.” I closed the bedroom door, went to the guest room, and couldn’t fall asleep. 3 Mark and I met in high school. We weren’t that close back then. I was the top student in the class, but my classmate, the slacker, was always jealous and bullying me. One time, she and a couple of her loser friends cornered me in an alley, trying to shake me down for money. Mark saw it, walked by without helping, but he did mutter one word: “Weak.” Maybe that word got to me, because I fought back. The result was predictable: I got ganged up on by three lowlifes, but I went straight for my classmate, scratching her face, knocking out one of her teeth, and breaking her nose. It blew up big. Her parents angrily stormed into the school, threatening to call the cops. I was terrified. Mark stepped up and stood in front of me, facing her parents. “Go ahead and call the cops. I dare you! You don’t want to do that.” “Your daughter’s been bullying classmates, extorting money. You really want the police to get involved in that, you know, find out all the details?” “I don’t know if she’ll do jail time, but she’ll definitely get expelled!” Her parents got scared. Mark grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “Like mother, like daughter. Don’t deal with them. Don’t pay them a cent. If they want to play, let’s play dirty!” I just stared at Mark. He was such a badass. He dragged me back to class. I was on edge all day. In the end, she got a demerit. I just got called to the principal’s office and asked what happened. Her parents didn’t ask for compensation. To thank Mark, I took him out to eat. He didn’t hold back, spending half a month’s worth of my allowance. From then on, I really liked being around him. The year we graduated, I even lowered my test scores so I could go to the same school, the same major. When he found out, he asked me if I had a crush on him. I got nervous and nodded. He smiled. “Good taste!” After we started dating, he started caring about his appearance, buying expensive clothes, spending money like crazy. He often ran out of money. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer, so I saved my money to take him out to eat. Later, I got pregnant. We were clueless. We went to the doctor, who discovered it was an ectopic pregnancy. We were both terrified. When I met Mark’s father, I learned that Mark came from a wealthy family. At the hospital, his father was cold, thinking about how to deal with the situation. Mark grabbed my hand without hesitation. “Dad, I’m going to marry her. If you don’t approve, I’ll be single forever. I’ll never marry anyone else!” His father was shocked. “Are you sure about this?” Mark held my hand tight. “Absolutely, without a doubt!” At that moment, he was my everything, my one and only. Three years into our marriage, I held him tight, crying, and asked, “What if I can’t have kids? Will you hate me?” He said without hesitation, “I’ll love you forever.” We were happy back then. Until Mark’s father got sick, and he was forced to take over as CEO of the company. He started to get distant. I thought that maybe his coldness was just part of the domineering CEO gene buried deep inside him. But then he met his “one that got away.” The way he treated her made me realize that he hadn’t just become cold. It was that we’d been married for seven years, and things had changed. He didn’t need me as much anymore. He didn’t care about my feelings or thoughts. And I didn’t seem to need him as much anymore either. It seemed like we could both let go of each other. Like now, sleeping apart. It seemed fine without the other person. 4 I woke up late the next day, in a daze, already past 9 AM. I was late for work! I jumped out of bed and went outside the guest room, only to find that Mark hadn’t gone to work either. He was in the kitchen, cooking. He hadn’t been in the kitchen in at least three years. Him cooking was unheard of! “Up?” Mark saw me and brought a bowl of chicken congee to the table. “Perfect timing for breakfast.” “I can’t. I’m late for work.” I quickly brushed my teeth, ready to leave. “No need to rush. I already called in sick for you.” Mark’s words made me pause in front of the mirror. He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and rested his chin on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was too busy yesterday, and I forgot it was your thirtieth birthday. I promised I’d make it up to you today.” In my mind, I imagined coldly removing his arms from my waist. Like pushing his hand away last night. I thought it would be easy. But I froze, unable to do it. After breakfast, Mark told me to get in his car. I got in the passenger seat, flipped down the sun visor, and a few photos fell out. I picked them up. They were photos of Mark with his “one that got away,” Sarah. In one photo, Sarah had her lips pursed, about to kiss Mark on the cheek. Her lips were almost touching his face, and Mark was smiling. Last year, when his company had their team-building event, I came along. I tried to take a similar photo, but he pushed me away, looking annoyed. “This is a public place. Can you be a little more aware of how you look? Can you keep a little distance?” Mark saw me staring at the photos. His expression changed slightly. “There’s nothing to see. It was just some coworkers messing around, taking silly pictures.” “You keep silly pictures in your car?” I asked Mark, “The year before last, on your birthday, we took a photo together. I thought it was great, but you didn’t like it. You threw it straight in the trash.” “Really?” Mark looked at me. “I don’t remember.” He drove to a trash can and stopped. Mark looked at the photos in my hand, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. But he said, “Throw them away. I don’t care about these.” “These pictures are cute. Why throw them away?” I put the photos back behind the sun visor. Mark gave me a strange look, as if I wasn’t who I used to be. Maybe I wasn’t. In the past, I would have been jealous. Mark would have accused me of being petty. I would have argued with him. But now, I didn’t seem to care. “Fine,” Mark said after a moment, driving away quickly. 5 We went to a lakeside resort area, with beautiful scenery, perfect for a getaway. There was a winery there. The food and wine were excellent. I’d told Mark more than once that I wanted to go there with him, but he always made excuses, saying he was too busy. This time, he brought me there on his own. He stopped the car, looked at me, and said, “I made sure to clear my schedule. I’ll spend these two days with you!” Before I could answer, his phone rang. I saw the caller ID. It was Sarah. He hesitated. I said, “Answer it. Maybe it’s something about work.” Mark answered the phone. It wasn’t Sarah’s voice on the other end. It was a man: “Mr. Evans, something happened. Sarah fell at the office. They’re taking her to the hospital. You need to come see her.” Mark hung up, looking flustered. “I…” “It’s fine!” Before he could speak, I said, “Go ahead. Someone’s hurt. That’s important. You’re the CEO. You should go check on things. You…” “Thank you for understanding!” Mark looked relieved, rushing to say, “I’ll be back as soon as I know she’s okay. We have two days. You won’t mind waiting for a little while, right?” I didn’t say anything. I got out of the car. I watched him leave me, driving away. I wanted to say, “You don’t have to go. There are plenty of people at the company who can help. They don’t need you.” But he was already gone. Gone so fast. I couldn’t see his taillights anymore. At the hotel check-in, the receptionist looked at me, puzzled. “Just one?” My voice was a little hoarse. “Yeah, just one. But give me a room with a king-size bed for two.” 6 I sat on the hotel balcony, looking at the beautiful lake. Watching the couples strolling along the shore. Watching families with kids. It got dark. He didn’t show up. He didn’t send a message. In the past, I would have been impatient, anxious, calling and texting him. But now, I quietly sipped my coffee, not feeling that urge. It got late. I was almost asleep. I vaguely felt someone wrapping their arms around me from behind, whispering in my ear, “I’m sorry. Today was an accident. Tomorrow, we can be together in peace, walking around the lake.” I removed his hand. Mark looked confused. “What’s wrong? You’re not still mad about this, are you?” I turned to look at him. “No. You won’t be here tomorrow.” He stared at me for a long time. “No one can make me leave tomorrow!” He pulled me up, looking deeply into my eyes. “Let’s take a shower together. Today’s your ovulation day, too.” The next morning. We were eating breakfast at the hotel. Sarah called again: “Mark, I’m having surgery today. Can you be here with me? I won’t feel safe without you.” “I’m on vacation with Vivian. I can’t.” Mark answered, glancing at me. I was eating, staring coldly at Mark. My look made Mark, usually so cold and confident, falter and panic. A moment later, another voice came on the phone. “Are you my daughter’s boss?” “I’m Sarah’s mother.” “My daughter’s having surgery, but she says she’d rather be disabled than go into the operating room without you there.” “My daughter broke her leg because she works at your company, working for you. As her boss, you can’t be so heartless and irresponsible!” “You can go on vacation anytime, but my daughter can’t wait! If you have any decency, come over here right now and let my daughter feel safe enough to go into surgery. I’m begging you!” Mark hung up, looking at me, struggling to say something. “Go. She can’t have surgery without you. You’re her doctor.” I stared at Mark, saying it calmly. I thought my words would wake him up. He was just a normal person, not a doctor. He couldn’t fix Sarah’s leg. But he got up without hesitation. “I’ll be back as soon as Sarah’s in surgery!” I stared at him coldly, not saying anything else. Mark opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he said, “I know what you’re thinking. Two hours. I’ll be right back!” He left. 7 “Goodbye.” “I won’t wait for you anymore!” I threw the gift I had prepared for Mark in the trash. I left the resort and went back to the office. Last year, the company opened a branch office in another state. The CEO wanted me to manage it. I told Mark about it, and he said, “There’s no need.” “I can take care of you. We don’t need the money. You don’t need to build a career.” “You don’t need to go so far away.” “If you need money, just ask.” But when Sarah mentioned her career, he immediately listened, making her the marketing manager. Back at the office. I told the CEO that I was ready to go to the branch office. The CEO was happy. “Vivian, I’ve always thought highly of you. I’m glad you’re willing to go. I’ll have HR take care of it right away.” “Thank you, sir.” I replied respectfully. I went home to pack, getting ready to leave, and posted on social media: “Moving on.” Lots of friends asked where I was going. I answered them one by one. All day, I didn’t see any reply from Mark. He didn’t come home all day. The next day, I packed my things, ready to leave. Knowing I was moving out of state, friends came to say goodbye: “Vivian, don’t forget us when you make it big.” “Good luck.” “If you have any problems in the new state, give us a call.” One friend looked around, puzzled. “Hey, Vivian, where’s your husband? Why isn’t he here to see you off?” I smiled, saying, “We’re probably getting a divorce soon.” My friends all looked shocked. Following their gaze, I looked back. Mark was standing silently behind me…

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Back in high school, flush with my family’s cash, I kind of “sponsored” this poor genius kid. Ethan Hayes. I remember him back then, fists clenched white, defiant but helpless against the situation. Then my family went bankrupt. To salvage the last shred of my pride, I dumped him flat. Fast forward a few years. I was juggling part-time gigs trying to pay off mountains of debt. He became a tech mogul, worth millions. Someone asked him once if there was anyone he couldn’t forget. He just leaned back, all lazy confidence, and said, “Not really.” But then, when I was about to marry someone else just to clear my debts, he suddenly seemed to have second thoughts. 01 I never expected to see Ethan Hayes again like this. There he was, sharp suit and all, standing right in front of my little food cart. Three years. It felt like a lifetime. Jessica Bell stood beside him, looking perfect in a white sundress. They shared a black umbrella against the sun, looking annoyingly picture-perfect. My hands trembled as I tried to make a breakfast burrito. I pulled the brim of my cap down lower, praying he wouldn’t recognize my face. “Easy on the hot sauce,” Ethan’s voice came from above me. My hand froze mid-scoop. The tongs loosened, and the jalapeños tumbled back into the container. I love spicy food. He doesn’t. Back when we were together, I always used to push him to try it. He never fought me on it, just grimaced and swallowed. Back then, I thought I was melting his defenses, that he was willing to change for me, accommodate me. Later events proved I’d just been fooling myself. Jessica clung to his side, her perfectly made-up face wrinkled in disgust. “Ethan, honey, if you’re craving a burrito, I can have our chef whip one up. You don’t need to buy this… street food.” Ethan didn’t say anything, just watched my hands work. Those few minutes felt like an eternity under a spotlight. Only when I finally slid the wrapped burrito into a paper bag and handed it to him did I dare to look up. “That’ll be twelve bucks for the Supreme Deluxe.” I tried to keep my voice low and gravelly, thanking God for the face mask I was wearing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t place my voice. But Jessica peered at me, then hooked her arm through Ethan’s possessively. “You know, Ethan,” she said sweetly, “the more I look at her, the more she reminds me of Ava Miller. You haven’t forgotten her, have you?” My heart leaped into my throat. Even bundled up like this, she could tell? Ethan didn’t respond to her directly. He took the burrito and tapped his phone to pay. Jessica wouldn’t let it go, her voice dripping with faux concern. “I just worry about you, sweetie. After how she humiliated you, then dumped you… and now you’re so successful. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if she ended up selling food on some street corner?” Her words stung. I was about to tell them I was closing up, tell them to just leave. But then Jessica reached out, aiming for my hat. For a split second, I froze. Her hand came closer, inch by inch. Right in front of my face. Her fingers brushed the brim. One sharp tug, and my face would be exposed. “Hey! Can I get like, five breakfast burritos, loaded?” Saved by a customer. Thank God. The interruption stopped Jessica cold. Ethan gently pressed the back of her hand down. His voice was cool, detached. “Hardly unforgettable.” They left. Jessica slid into the passenger seat of Ethan’s sleek car. It pulled away, heading towards the gleaming office towers across the street. The old me would have thrown a fit. I never let anyone else sit in his passenger seat. But I didn’t have that right anymore. Besides, back then, I was the one calling all the shots, forcing him into things. 02 I first met Ethan Hayes in senior year of high school. My parents, obsessed with my grades, pulled me out of my cushy private prep school and threw me into Northwood High, known for its killer college acceptance rate. Ethan and I ended up in the same class. Most kids prepping for the SATs looked drained and gray, but at least they were fed and clothed. Ethan, though… hot or cold, he always wore the same faded, almost translucent school sweatshirt and jeans. He stuck out. It was a level of hardship I couldn’t comprehend. Me? If a t-shirt collar looked weird after washing, I tossed it. My winter coats barely saw a second season. But when he stood up, tall and lean, his eyes fixed on the blackboard with this intense hope… it got to me. When he recited poetry for English class, his voice was low and captivating. And after helping me finally crack a killer calculus problem, he’d flash this smile, dimples and all. Yeah, I was crushing hard. I heard from other kids that Ethan’s situation was rough. Parents gone, just an elderly grandmother he lived with. I didn’t grasp the reality of poverty back then. Not until Ethan missed a whole week of school. When I finally went to his house, I understood what an incredible feat it was for him to even be in high school. His grandmother, nearly blind, had fallen and broken her leg. The apartment had crumbling plaster walls and a leaky roof. It just screamed hardship, highlighting the kid’s quiet resilience. So, one morning, I cornered him outside his place. In my most commanding, rich-girl voice, I said: “Ethan Hayes, I think you’re a responsible guy, and I kind of like you. Tutor me for the rest of senior year, I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars. The day we graduate, we start dating. Deal?” He just stared at me like I was insane. “I’d help you study even if you didn’t offer money, Ava.” Then he just walked away. But my ‘charitable spirit’ wouldn’t let me quit. I pursued him relentlessly. He only caved when his grandmother’s eyesight completely failed, diagnosed with severe glaucoma. The medical bills were piling up. “Five thousand,” he said, his voice tight. “I just need to borrow five thousand.” I immediately transferred $20,000 into an account I set up for him. “What’s mine is yours,” I told him breezily. Besides the medical costs, there were caregiver fees, and college tuition was looming. I thought this would genuinely help him. His fists were clenched again, like he was steeling himself for something. I knew he dreamed of a bigger world, but he couldn’t abandon his grandmother. So I insisted he apply to the same university as me. No long-distance relationships allowed. I moved his grandmother into a better apartment, hired a full-time caregiver. I genuinely thought I was doing him a favor. Only later did I realize I was just crushing his pride again and again with my money. In college, he worked himself to the bone – tutoring, odd jobs, anything to make cash. Until my birthday that year. He nervously pulled out a debit card. “There’s five thousand in here,” he mumbled. “To start paying you back.” I was furious. I thought we were a team, beyond keeping score. And here he was, drawing lines between ‘mine’ and ‘yours.’ I threw the card back at him and stormed off. After that, the whispers started. People called him a “kept man,” giving him knowing smirks. But it didn’t faze him. He just kept working, kept studying. I chewed out the jerks spreading rumors. Then I confronted him, frustrated. “Why don’t you defend yourself? Tell them you’re my boyfriend!” He just gave me a faint, sad smile. It wasn’t until my own family went bankrupt, until I was drowning in debt myself, that I finally understood. When life beats you down that hard, you don’t have the energy to get worked up over petty gossip. My life had been carefree. I never worried about money. People always flattered me. I couldn’t possibly have understood Ethan’s reality back then. Senior year of college, my world collapsed. All the people who’d fawned over me suddenly turned cold. The whispers and laughter came from every direction. It was my first real taste of how cruel people could be. I had always held my head high in front of Ethan. I couldn’t let him see me like this. It was the last shred of pride I had left. I called him, interrupting his internship, acting deliberately difficult. Then I coldly broke up with him. Ethan just stared at me, his eyes locked on mine. His voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper on the wind. A soft “Okay.” And just like that, four years ended. No fights, no ‘why.’ Just two flat words severing our entire youth. Watching him walk away, silhouetted against the light, I convinced myself he was happy. Relieved, even. Finally free. No debts owed, no ties binding him. We could go our separate ways. I cut off all contact, left town, bounced around the country, never staying anywhere long. It wasn’t until a final piece of family business required me to come back that I returned, reluctantly, to this city. Ethan’s resilience and drive were incredible. Achieving what he had in just three years… he deserved it. And Jessica Bell – she’d left for a prestigious music conservatory overseas sophomore year to chase her dream. Now she was a renowned pianist. Seeing them together… yeah, they looked good. A sour knot formed in my stomach. Too many thoughts, too many regrets. After selling the last burrito to that customer, I started packing up my cart. And just when you think things can’t get worse, the battery on my beat-up electric delivery scooter died. There’s this steep hill on the way back to my place. No juice, no way up. I put my shoulder into it, straining with all my might, pushing the damn thing inch by painful inch. Suddenly, a hand appeared on the other side, pushing alongside me. “No one helping you out?” My heart seized. It was Ethan’s voice. 03 My throat closed up. I just froze, stuck in my pushing stance. Ethan’s lips were pressed into a thin line. He didn’t say anything else, just helped me push. “Why the food cart?” he asked casually, like we were just chatting about the weather. “Just picking up extra work. Make ends meet.” “Seems tough, though. Out in the sun and all that.” “You get used to it,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse. By the time we reached the top of the hill, I was drenched in sweat, face dripping. But I didn’t dare take off my hat or mask. I had no idea if, after three years, he could still recognize me. They were my shields, my pathetic cover. “Right,” he said lightly. “Me, I could never let my girlfriend work this hard. She just has to pout a little, and I’d give her anything.” So, they were that close, huh? My throat felt dry. I just nodded slowly. “So, where’s your boyfriend?” he pressed. “Why isn’t he here helping?” “I can manage on my own.” “Thanks for the help.” I swung onto the scooter seat, ready to make a break for it. Ethan actually let out a short, frustrated laugh. His long arm reached over, plucked the key right out of the ignition. “Where do you think you’re going this time?” “My runaway princess, Ava Miller.” His voice had an edge now, his face darkening. He pulled me back towards him. Like a storm cloud gathering, barely holding back the fury. “Graduated college and vanished. Cut off everyone, even moved out of your family home.” “You really know how to play games, Ava.” He bit off each word, making my scalp tingle. I dropped my gaze, feeling the warmth drain from my body. My voice trembled. “You… you must know. My family went bankrupt. House, cars, everything gone to pay debts. Still owe a fortune.” I forced myself to meet his eyes, trying not to look completely pathetic. “So you just ran? Disappeared for three whole years.” “Ava, did you think I wasn’t good enough to face this with you?” “Or was it your pride? Couldn’t stand showing weakness in front of me?” I shook my head mechanically. “I just…” Before I could finish, a sleek Maybach whispered past us. The window rolled down, revealing Jessica’s perfect face. “Ethan! What are you doing way out here?” “Oh! You found Ava! See, I told you I recognized her.” I stood there awkwardly, feeling completely out of place. The three of us – a stark contrast. Me, sweaty and grubby; them, effortlessly glamorous. “So, where have you been keeping yourself?” Jessica asked, dripping fake sweetness. “Lost touch with all your old classmates.” “Traveling around the country,” I mumbled. “I see,” Jessica said, her eyes sweeping over me, taking in my oil-stained apron. “But what’s going on now? Selling… street food? We all graduated from State U, Ava. Ending up like this… it’s a bit embarrassing, don’t you think?” She giggled, covering her mouth. I looked down at myself. Yeah, the apron was gross. Her question was designed to strip away my last bit of dignity. But three years of scraping by had numbed me. “There’s no shame in earning an honest living,” I said flatly. Jessica nodded, feigning sympathy. “Are you in some kind of trouble? We’re old friends, let me help you out.” She held out a business card. “That’s my number. Text me your bank details, I’ll send you ten thousand dollars.” I didn’t take it. Just stared at her. She added, looking at Ethan with adoration, “Ethan and I are getting married soon. You should come cater our engagement party with your… burritos. For old times’ sake.” I followed her gaze to Ethan. His composed expression cracked, just for a second. “Well, congratulations,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Funny, I have some good news coming up myself.” 04 The burrito cart was just my side hustle. During normal work hours, I had an actual office job. My team lead rushed in, flustered, handing out assignments. “Okay people, listen up! This is a huge potential client. We cannot screw this up.” “The game company they founded? Every release is a blockbuster. This partnership has to happen.” After the lead left, my coworkers started buzzing. “I heard the CEO personally developed their flagship game three years ago. Something about unlocking territories all over the world to finally rescue the person he loves.” “Yeah, the rumor is the whole concept was inspired by his ex-girlfriend. The final level is supposed to be a message he wants to tell her.” “Aww, still hung up on his ex? That’s kind of sweet, actually. I stan a loyal rich guy.” A horrible feeling started creeping up my spine. No way. It couldn’t be that much of a coincidence. “Has anyone actually beaten it? Gotten to the last level?” “Nope. Highest score on the leaderboard is stuck on the second-to-last stage. Nobody’s ever finished it.” “Man, who’s the girl who has this billionaire boss so whipped?” “…” I tried to shake off the unease and went downstairs with my colleagues to greet the ‘big client.’ My boss was practically bowing, walking beside Ethan Hayes, showering him with compliments about our company. Ethan frowned slightly. “Your company’s scale might be a bit… small for our needs. I’ll need to think about it.” My boss’s forehead broke out in sweat. Then Ethan’s eyes scanned the crowd and landed squarely on me. His tone shifted immediately. “Ava Miller?” Every head snapped in my direction. “Ava? You know Mr. Hayes?” my boss asked, surprised. I hesitated, then said cautiously, “We went to the same university.” Ethan let out a cold little laugh. “Oh? Just university mates?” I recognized that expression. He was annoyed. Why? What did I say wrong? Suddenly, he turned back to my boss. “Mr. Davison, perhaps we can discuss this partnership further. But I want her to be the project lead.” My boss, seeing a lifeline, practically tripped over himself agreeing. Didn’t even ask me. Ethan seemed pleased with that reaction. The two of them disappeared into an office for ages. I watched the clock. Almost quitting time. I clocked out and turned to leave. And walked straight into a solid chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” Ethan again. “It’s quitting time.” “Our project discussion isn’t finished.” “Well, I still have to leave on time. I’ve got things to do.” “What’s more important than work?” “The grocery store down the street has a big sale starting at 7 PM. There’s a lot I need to get, and if I’m late, all the good stuff will be gone.” Ethan just stared at me, genuine surprise in his eyes. 05 I used to buy things without ever looking at the price tag. It was all about mood. When Ethan and I went shopping back then, I’d grab anything I liked, swipe my card without a second thought. We’d often stagger home loaded with bags. A single shirt I bought casually probably cost more than his entire wardrobe for the year. And I never thought my ‘generosity’ could be a burden. Until one time I went to find him at his off-campus place. It was this tiny basement room, not even a proper bed. Taped to the wall were flyers listing discount days at nearby grocery stores. On his little table, the bottled water, the fruit – all bought during sales. A bag of rice, a jug of oil – marked with the purchase date and how long they should last. He looked so mortified when I showed up. I couldn’t believe it. “Ethan, stuff on sale like that… it can’t be good quality! You shouldn’t be using this.” He looked incredibly awkward, mumbling defensively, “It’s edible. It works. It’s fine.” Exasperated, I dragged him to the biggest department store. Bought him a small bed frame, mattress, tons of groceries, toiletries. When we were picking out bedding, I told him to lie down, test it out. He just stood there rigidly, clutching the hem of his shirt, brushing off imaginary dust before daring to approach the display bed. I didn’t understand his discomfort then. Now, I got it. That feeling of helpless inadequacy. Today, by the time I got to the grocery store sale, I was already late. I tried to elbow my way through the crowd, but I was no match for the speed and determination of the seasoned bargain hunters – mostly senior citizens. I started to panic. The roof in my rented room leaked when it rained. My mattress was soaked. All I wanted, desperately, was to buy a cheap comforter so I could sleep on the floor tonight. The harder I pushed forward, the more the crowd shoved me back. Someone jostled me hard, and I stumbled, falling to the floor. A heavy foot landed squarely on the back of my hand. Suddenly, Ethan was there, appearing out of nowhere, pulling me up. I quickly hid my swelling hand inside my sleeve, trying to rejoin the fray. He muttered something under his breath, then grabbed my arm firmly. His eyes looked a little red at the corners, his voice rough. “Come on.” “Do you have to buy it here?” I just nodded mutely. … Later, at the checkout, Ethan pulled out a sleek black credit card. The cashier looked utterly baffled. Rich people fighting over discount bedding?

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