Category: English

My husband had initiated a delayed mail service with the post office right before his plane crash. So, for eight years after his death, I continued to receive handwritten letters he had penned long ago. In the first letter, he bequeathed his entire estate to my stepsister, Savannah. I went completely insane and smashed everything in our house. In the second letter, he asked Savannah to look after our daughter, unaware that I was being forced to kneel outside the hospital entrance, begging Savannah for Maisie’s medical funds. In the third letter, he mentioned arranging medical care for my mother, completely ignorant that Savannah had her committed to a state psychiatric hospital. It wasn’t until the day I received the ninety-ninth letter. I walked in on him and Savannah passionately kissing at her birthday party. Seeing me, my husband, Liam Harrington, did the unprecedented and actually deigned to offer an explanation. “Skylar, I just lost a game of Truth or Dare. I’ve only been faking my death for eight years, I never meant to deceive you.” I nodded, my voice flat. “Hmm, I understand. Please, continue.” Liam’s eyes flickered, clearly stunned by my composure. After all, the old me would go ballistic in front of a camera every time one of his letters arrived. Everyone called me a basket case, a disgrace to my billionaire husband’s legacy. But he didn’t know that I only had three days left to live. 1 A brief silence followed before the two caught on to the deeper strangeness of the situation. Liam looked up sharply, meeting my eyes, the raw desire in his gaze vanishing in a blink. He spoke, his expression complex. “It was just a lost bet, a penalty.” I didn’t know if he meant the forbidden kiss or the eight years of fake death. Either way, I was dying soon, and nothing mattered anymore. I nodded again, devoid of emotion. “Yes, I know. Go on.” The calm, collected mask Liam wore began to crack. “Skylar, do you have some kind of cuckold fetish? You want to stay and watch me kiss your sister?” Recalling the end-of-life agreement I’d signed that morning, I offered a soft rebuttal. “Sister? The woman who shares my father’s mistress’s blood? She’s a sister by technicality only. Does she deserve the title?” “As for fetishes, Liam, I certainly wouldn’t presume to compete with you.” Liam’s face visibly darkened. Truthfully, before I even pushed open the door to the private room, I’d heard their conversation. “Darling, it’s been eight years. Why don’t we just make this fake affair real?” Liam had looked down at the wedding ring on his finger, his tone full of confident arrogance. “Silly girl, what nonsense are you talking about? Forget eight years—Skylar would wait eighteen years for me.” I stood outside the door and smiled faintly. Eight years, eighteen years—I wouldn’t even survive eight more days. Turning away in a numb daze, I heard Liam chasing after me. “Skylar, have you and Maisie been well all these years?” He had no idea our daughter was in a persistent vegetative state after a brutal car accident that happened right after his “death.” And he didn’t know that I had spent the last eight years draining my own life force to keep her medical bills paid. I didn’t turn around. I gritted my teeth. “It’s none of your business.” Liam sighed, his voice laced with annoyance. “All these years, and you’re still so petty. I only lost a bet. Do you really need to give me such attitude?” “I’m back now. What is there left to be dramatic about? The make-up wedding I promised you is set for three days from now.” “Skylar, don’t be late.” My steps froze. When we first married, we were poor and never had a real wedding. After he got rich, every time Liam brought up planning one for me, Savannah would inevitably interrupt. I had pleaded, I had cried, but nothing had worked. Liam had sworn to me then that he would one day give me a spectacular, once-in-a-lifetime wedding. Now that the promise was finally being fulfilled, I no longer wanted it. Because my final, scheduled euthanasia was also set for three days from now. 2 Just as I was about to leave, Savannah’s falsely sweet voice echoed behind me. “Skylar, you’re here for this month’s stipend, aren’t you? I already wired the funds. Make sure you check it.” I glanced at my phone. She had transferred two hundred and fifty dollars. Ever since Liam’s plane crash eight years ago, Savannah had controlled our family’s finances. When Maisie was critically injured, I was beside myself with grief and panic, and my first instinct was to beg Savannah for money. But after hearing my desperate plea, Savannah had slowly and deliberately wired me the two hundred and fifty dollars. She had looked at my tear-streaked face and laughed, her body shaking. “Skylar, if that’s not enough, should I send you another two-fifty?” “Oh, well, what can I do? Your husband’s will named me as the sole inheritor.” “How about this? You get down on your knees and admit your mother was the mistress, and I might consider giving you a couple more dollars.” I had snapped, grabbing a steak knife and holding it to her throat, demanding the money. But after she transferred the funds, she immediately called the police. Not only did I have to return the money I was “extorting,” I ended up spending several days in a cell. After I was released, I had no choice but to swallow my pride, beg for loans, and take on huge debt. It was still insufficient. So, I started streaming—performing painful acts and selling my grief to scrape money together. When I finally went to the doctor for a check-up, they handed me a cancer diagnosis. “Ms. Reid, luckily, we found it early. Otherwise, the consequences would have been unthinkable.” My throat tightened. Because the money I had could only go to one of us: myself or my daughter. I chose Maisie without a second thought. “Oh, darling, it’s all my fault. Skylar has been completely destroying the Harrington family’s reputation all these years.” Savannah’s voice yanked me from the painful memory. A crowd had gathered around us. Someone threw a rotten egg at me and laughed. “Basket case! Are you live-streaming yourself eating fermented shark today, or are you doing your possession act?” “Ugh, I’m sick of that. I think the first time, when she showed up at the airline office and snapped at everyone like a stray dog, was funnier!” “Oh, and the second time, kneeling outside the hospital for alms—that was truly captivating!” As the crowd roared with laughter, Savannah pretended to rush over and comfort me, whispering into my ear. “Skylar, I still have backup copies of your pole-dancing video from that questionable club.” “But I feel like I haven’t seen enough. Can you perform again for your stream? Do it in front of Liam. Let him see just how desperate you are.” Then, she took out her phone and showed me a security video. In the clip, my mother, suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s, was huddled in a corner, crying hysterically over a pillow. “Wake up, baby! Please wake up! It’s my fault! I failed to protect you!” After a few broken sobs, my mother suddenly grabbed her hair and screamed hysterically. “Where am I? Who am I?” Tears sprang to my eyes without warning. I gritted my teeth. “Savannah, don’t push me. I will kill you.” Liam heard me and instantly moved, shielding Savannah behind him. “Skylar, what new tantrum is this? I’m home now. You need to—” Before he could finish, I glimpsed Savannah behind him, waving her phone at me. She mouthed the words: Strip. If you don’t, I’ll make your mother do it. In the security footage, a few male orderlies grabbed my mother’s hair and violently shoved her head into a basin of water. My breathing hitched. Forcing down the white-hot rage, I mechanically unbuttoned my coat in front of everyone. Then I began a stiff, unnatural dance for the camera. Liam’s look shifted instantly from disgust to utter shock. Countless phone lenses focused on me. Curious, greedy, and even pitying eyes scanned my body. As I reached the last layer of clothing, Liam finally lunged forward and delivered a brutal slap, his voice a furious snarl. “Skylar, you really are a lost cause! You’ll never change!” He threw his jacket at me in a crumpled heap, then turned and strode away. Just then, the hospital called. “Ms. Reid, you need to come and settle the bill immediately, or your daughter…” 3 I threw on my coat, rushing to the hospital like a maniac, only to find out that Maisie’s life-saving funds had just been withdrawn by Savannah. I drove straight to Liam’s company. As I reached his office door, Savannah blocked me. “Skylar, you’re so sneaky. Who knew you could transfer so much company public funds right under my nose!” I remembered the hospital, seeing Maisie’s breathing grow faint and shallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I forced myself to explain, fighting my anger. “Give me the money back! It’s my daughter’s life support!” It was the money I had earned through eight years of humiliating, soul-crushing live streams. But then, the company’s CFO brought out a security video. The footage showed a woman who looked exactly like me secretly opening the company safe. She brazenly stuffed all the cash inside her bag. But that woman was not me! Savannah smiled a strange, cold smile. “Skylar, didn’t you always call my mother a mistress when we were kids?” “You were so vicious back then, forcing my mother and me to live on the streets for years!” “And now? For money, there’s nothing you won’t do!” I bit down hard, denying it. “This money is what I earned!” Savannah scoffed. “You? If you admit you sold your body for it, I’ll return it.” I glared at her, eventually giving up and hammering on the office door. “Liam! Get out here!” The door opened from the inside. Liam looked annoyed. “Why aren’t you with Maisie? Talk to Savannah. I’m in a meeting!” Ignoring the glaring red lipstick smear on his collar, I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave! Savannah took Maisie’s medical funds. Maisie is…” Before I could finish, Liam yanked his arm free. “Skylar, why are you so obsessed with money? All you ever do is use our daughter to manipulate me!” The office door slammed shut. At the same time, the nurse sent me a video. “Ms. Reid, please come quickly. The child isn’t going to last much longer.” In the video, Maisie was already struggling to breathe and convulsing from lack of oxygen. Savannah clicked her tongue, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Aww, poor thing. Skylar, are you going to get down on your knees and beg me now?” I didn’t hesitate. I cast aside all my dignity and fell to my knees with a thud, steeling myself to plead. “Savannah, I was wrong before. Please, I’m begging you, have mercy and save my daughter.” Savannah looked triumphant, humming softly. “Finally admitting your mistakes? Hmm, I don’t think you sound sincere enough.” She extended one foot, her expression suggestive. “Oh, my shoes are dirty. If only someone could clean them for me.” I bit down so hard on the inside of my cheek I tasted blood. I rolled up my sleeve, ready to wipe her shoe clean. But Savannah leaned down and whispered, “My shoes are very expensive. Don’t get your filthy clothes on them. Lick them clean.” I trembled violently, my fists clenched, but eventually, I lowered my head. After I was done, I looked up, speaking each word distinctly. “Savannah. Can you please transfer the money to the hospital account now?” Savannah kicked me away, a look of utter contempt on her face. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re so annoying.” Just as she reached for her phone, it rang again. The nurse was crying when she spoke four devastating words to me. “The child is gone…” My body seized up. I ran to the hospital like a lunatic. By the time I arrived, Maisie’s tiny body was already covered by a sterile white sheet. The small life I had carried for nine months and fought so hard for had utterly stopped breathing. A deafening ringing filled my ears. I collapsed to the floor, weeping until my tears ran dry, then violently vomited a mouthful of blood before finally losing consciousness. When I woke up, I dialed Liam’s number. “Liam. Maisie is gone.” The man on the other end was silent for two seconds, then sighed. “Can you stop with the dramatics? Savannah gives you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month for support. Isn’t that enough?” Two hundred and fifty thousand? It appeared Liam was completely oblivious to the eight years of abuse Savannah had inflicted. Before I could speak, Savannah’s sickly sweet voice cooed into the phone. “Darling, can you come rub my back? Being pregnant is such a chore. I even need your help to shower.” My heart felt like it was being violently squeezed, the pain so intense I couldn’t breathe. The call ended abruptly. I don’t know how I managed to grit my teeth and arrange my daughter’s funeral. When she was cremated, I couldn’t even cry anymore. The attendant handed me the soft pink and blue urn I had personally chosen for Maisie, sighing a sympathetic “Take care of yourself.” I clutched the urn tightly and went home to pack my bags. As I dragged my suitcase out, Liam walked in the door. I didn’t look up, my voice flat and emotionless. “Liam. Maisie is dead. Let’s get a divorce.”

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We moved into our new home when my daughter, Lily, was just a year old. The woman downstairs, Mrs. Gable, warned me on the very first day. She had a nervous condition, she said, and I’d better keep my child in line. For five years, I covered our floors in soundproofing mats and lived our lives in silent mode. But every day, she’d take to the building’s group chat to tear me down, claiming my daughter’s noise was giving her a heart attack. The week I took Lily to visit my mother, she escalated, tagging everyone in the chat: “Listen to that! It’s her apartment again!! The crying is endless. Any more of this, and I’m calling the police!” I ignored her. Instead, I took the five years of evidence I had painstakingly collected and filed a lawsuit. On the day of the hearing, the judge asked my five-year-old daughter, “Little girl, do you cry every day at home?” Lily looked at me, then slowly raised her small hands and answered in sign language: “Your Honor, I can’t speak.” 1 My name is Kate, and I’m a freelance translator working from home. When our daughter, Lily, turned one, my husband Mark and I bought this apartment on the twelfth floor. The day we moved in, Mrs. Gable from 1101 was at our door. She was in her fifties, dressed in a tasteful dark dress, her hair pinned up meticulously. But there was a persistent irritation etched into the lines around her eyes. “You’re the new ones?” She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on Lily for a moment. I smiled and offered her a small gift basket we’d picked up from a local market. “Yes, that’s us. It’s so nice to meet you, we’re looking forward to being neighbors.” “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, her tone sinking as she took the basket. “But there’s something you need to understand. I have a nervous condition and a bad heart. I can’t tolerate any noise.” She pointed a sharp finger at her ceiling—our floor. “I get that you have a child, but you can’t let her run around. No loud noises. If you trigger one of my episodes, you’ll be sorry.” Her tone was not a request; it was a command. Holding Lily, I felt a knot form in my stomach. All I could do was stammer out a reply. “We’ll… we’ll be careful.” Only then did Mrs. Gable nod, satisfied, and turn to leave. Watching her walk away, I felt a sense of dread. Mark came over, his brow furrowed. “What’s her problem? Who talks to people like that?” “Let it go,” I said, trying to soothe him as much as myself. “It’s better to keep the peace. We’ll just have to be extra quiet.” For the sake of being “careful,” I lined our floors with the thickest, most expensive soundproofing mats I could find. When Lily started walking, the first thing I taught her was to tiptoe. I told her a sick grandma lived downstairs, and we were her guardian angels, sworn to protect her with our quiet. Lily, bless her heart, was a quick learner. She moved with the silent grace of a kitten. She never ran in the living room. Her toys were soft plushies and wooden blocks. Anything that made a sound or could roll across the floor was packed away. The television was never on; Mark and I got used to wearing headphones. Our home was forced into silent mode. I thought that would be enough. I thought we could finally have peace. I was wrong. Mrs. Gable’s complaints never stopped. At first, it was, “Kate, dear, were you moving furniture last night? There was a loud thud that sent my heart leaping into my throat.” I racked my brain. The night before, around seven, Lily had accidentally dropped a picture book. “Did your daughter have a ball in the house yesterday? I’m telling you, my blood pressure shot through the roof.” We didn’t even own a ball. I was about to explain, but Mrs. Gable wouldn’t hear it. She clutched her chest, looking like she might collapse at any moment. “Don’t even bother. I can’t listen to it. My body just can’t take the stress.” She wasn’t here to talk; she was here to accuse. The words died in my throat. Soon, she moved her campaign from my doorstep to the building’s group chat. “@Apartment 1201, can you please control your child? She’s been running around since five this morning. Does anyone else want to get some sleep?” She followed it with a photo of herself lying on the sofa, a bottle of heart pills artfully placed on the end table. I checked my phone. It was seven o’clock. I immediately replied in the chat: “Mrs. Gable, Lily was asleep until six. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” She replied instantly: “Mistaken? My ears are the only proof I need! The noise from your apartment is like an earthquake! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re bullying a poor old woman!” Other residents, oblivious to the truth, started chiming in. “Having kids upstairs can be tough. Let’s all try to be understanding.” “Yeah, Kate, an old woman’s health is important. Maybe just try to keep it down a bit.” “It is a little early for that much noise.” The wave of well-meaning but misguided advice left me speechless and cornered. From that day on, I stopped explaining. Instead, I started documenting. I set my phone camera to timestamp every photo. I recorded everything Lily did. When she woke up, when we left the apartment, when she was sitting quietly playing with blocks, when she went to bed. Whenever Mrs. Gable launched an attack in the group chat, I would send a short video as proof. The only sound in the videos was the soft tapping of my keyboard. When Mark returned from a business trip and saw me organizing my files, he put his hand over mine. “Kate, what are you doing? We’re living like criminals in our own home. I’m going down there to talk to her.” I stopped him, shaking my head. “It won’t do any good. It will only make her worse. She doesn’t want quiet. She wants attention, she wants to be the victim.” I pointed to the thick binder on the table, filled with printed chat logs and my daily photo records. “You can’t reason with someone like her.” Mark fell silent. He sighed and pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” He was right. It was exhausting. But for my daughter, for the sake of a peaceful life, I thought it was a price worth paying. But some people are never satisfied. When Lily turned three, Mrs. Gable’s war escalated. She was no longer content with verbal assaults in the group chat. She began a physical one. Anytime she imagined a noise from upstairs—even if it was just me walking from the living room to the bedroom—she would grab a mop handle, or some other long pole, and violently jab it into her ceiling. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The sound was a dull, heavy blow that made Lily flinch every time. More than once, the pounding jolted her awake from her nap. She wouldn’t cry out, just stare at me with wide, terrified eyes, her small body trembling. Who could stand to see their child tormented like this? In that instant, my rationality shattered. Shaking with rage, I stormed downstairs and hammered on the door of 1101. Mrs. Gable opened it, a look of smug satisfaction on her face when she saw it was me. “Well, look who it is! Perfect timing! I was just about to come up and give you a piece of my mind! Is your apartment ever quiet?” “Mrs. Gable, you’re banging on the ceiling! You’re terrifying my daughter! Can’t we just talk about this like adults?” My voice trembled with a mixture of anger and tears. She scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Banging? I’m giving you a warning! Your place sounds like a construction zone, and I’m not allowed to react? Let me tell you something. You keep making noise, and I’ll keep banging. Every single day. Let’s see who breaks first!” With that, she slammed the door in my face. I stood there, a ringing in my ears. Through the door, I could faintly hear her complaining to her husband, her voice dripping with triumph. “Can you believe the nerve of that woman from 1201? Coming down here to confront me! Can’t control her own kid, and she has the audacity to blame me!” I went back to our apartment and scooped up the still-trembling Lily, stroking her back gently. The tears I had been holding back finally fell. Tears for my terrified daughter, and tears for my own years of spineless tolerance. I whispered to her, and to myself. Don’t be afraid, baby. Mama will protect you. And this time, I mean it. I bought a decibel meter. I started consulting with legal aid. I digitized all my records, organizing everything meticulously. Every statement she made in the group chat was screenshotted and saved. Every time she pounded on the ceiling, I recorded it on my phone. I logged the date, the time, and what was actually happening in our apartment at that moment. I knew that one day, all of it would matter. Before I knew it, Lily was five. Five years is long enough to get used to anything. I was used to tiptoeing, to the perpetual silence of our home, to Mrs. Gable’s daily one-woman drama in the group chat. Every day, she’d perform her “imminent heart attack” routine, accusing us of imaginary crimes. Sometimes it was “running,” other times “moving furniture,” and once, bizarrely, “the sound of chopping meat in the middle of the night.” I had long since given up trying to defend myself. I just silently took my screenshots, saved them, and filed them away. In five years, my evidence folder had grown to fill three external hard drives. Mark, watching me grow more and more withdrawn, pleaded with me more than once. “Why don’t we just sell? We can find another place. A top-floor apartment, or a ground-floor one.” “If this continues,” he said, his voice laced with worry, “I’m afraid you’re going to have a breakdown.” I shook my head. “Why should we be the ones to leave? We’ve done nothing wrong.” I looked over at Lily, reading quietly in a corner. She was growing up. Unable to speak, her eyes were more expressive, more perceptive than those of other children. She was too quiet. Heartbreakingly so. I couldn’t back down. I couldn’t let her grow up thinking that the only response to bullying was to run and hide. Kindness has its limits. Patience has an expiration date. One Friday, I packed our bags. I was taking Lily to my mom’s for a week. Mark was conveniently away on business. The apartment would be empty. Before leaving, I gave him instructions for the smart home system. “Honey, while we’re gone, can you set the lights to turn on and off on our usual schedule?” Mark paused, then a look of understanding dawned on his face. “You’re planning to…” “It’s time to set a trap,” I finished for him. He looked at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resolute support. “Okay. Whatever you need, I’m with you all the way.” With that, Lily and I slipped out of the building, unseen. The first day at my mom’s was quiet. The second day, Mrs. Gable fired her opening salvo in the group chat. “@Everyone, 1201 is at it again! Raising hell first thing in the morning! She’s going to be the death of me!” The time stamp was 7:30 AM. At that exact moment, Lily and I were taking a peaceful walk in the park near my mother’s house. I looked at my phone and said nothing. Someone in the group tried to placate her: “Take it easy, Mrs. Gable.” “Take it easy? How can I? You don’t live under her. You have no idea how loud it is! It’s unbearable!” The third day, the fourth. Mrs. Gable’s performance grew more and more elaborate. She started posting random audio clips of noise she’d found online. “Listen to this! This is what I recorded from my ceiling! A ball bouncing! Right over my head!” The audio was a mess of static and muffled thuds, its origin impossible to identify. On the fifth day, she reached her grand finale. At ten o’clock at night, she tagged everyone in the building. “Listen to that! It’s her apartment again!! That child… crying nonstop! Is this child abuse? If this keeps up, I’m calling the police!” My hand clenched around my phone, my knuckles turning white. My mother, seeing the look on my face, asked, “What is it?” I handed her the phone. Her face flushed with anger. “That wicked old hag! How dare she say that about Lily? Our Lily can’t even make a sound when she cries!” She was right. Mrs. Gable’s claim of “endless crying” was an impossibility. Due to a congenital condition with her vocal cords, Lily had never been able to make a vocal sound. I never wanted her to be treated differently or looked at with pity. So, outside of our immediate family, no one knew. I took a deep breath, forcing down the inferno of rage in my chest. I calmly screenshotted the message, saved it, and tagged it: “The Final Piece.” Then, I made a call. It was to the legal aid hotline I had consulted more times than I could count. “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m ready. I want to sue.”

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Upon graduation, Asher Sterling asked me for a final fling. Afterwards, he casually handed me a cigarette, joking: “In the future, when I look for a wife, I definitely won’t find a smoker.” My throat tightened as I asked him why. He said, “Chloe, I like them pure.” I was silent for a long time, then cut off all contact with him. When we met again, he had become my new boss. To avoid awkwardness, I voluntarily submitted my resignation, but he cornered me in his office. “It’s been five years. One more time?” I lowered my eyes. “No thanks. I have to pick up my kid from school.” 1 The air went still. Asher froze. I tried to stand up from his lap. But he pinned me down firmly, unable to move. The burning heat in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a crack in his usual calm demeanor. He gritted his teeth. “How old is the child?” I was silent, then answered softly after a moment. “Three.” Three, not four. We broke up five years ago. This child had nothing to do with him. Obviously, Asher knew this too. I tried to stand up again. This time, the large hand across my waist didn’t stop me. Pushing the door open, he spoke again, his voice tinged with suspicion. “I remember your HR file says ‘unmarried’.” My steps paused slightly. I steadied myself and looked back calmly: “Just got the certificate recently.” “Just got the certificate, and the kid is three?” I nodded, frankly. “Yeah. Premarital pregnancy.” Asher didn’t respond. His sharp gaze swept over the cheap ring on my hand, and he scoffed dismissively. I didn’t feel ashamed. I showed it to him openly. Almost poked his eye out. Sensing his impending anger, I fled quickly. Back home that evening, I let out a heavy sigh of relief. Sometimes, lies are the most useful tools for solving unknown troubles. I bought the ring yesterday at a dollar store. Cheap and effective. I thought it was enough to wipe out whatever lingering feelings Asher had for me. Sure enough, my resignation was approved the next day. HR specifically came down in the afternoon to notify me personally. I could leave within a week after handing over my work. Usually, resignations take a month. Mine took a week. It was self-evident whose idea this was. I nodded and started handing over my work to the intern. The new intern was very obedient and enthusiastic. At least while I was mentoring her, she never paid for her own breakfast or afternoon tea. Near the end of the day, Emily suddenly spoke shyly: “Chloe, can I leave a little early tonight? My boyfriend asked me out to dinner.” I was a bit troubled. Not that I couldn’t let her go, but I also needed to leave early tonight to pick up my daughter. Seeing my silence, she got anxious, clasping her hands together and pleading. I laughed and cried at the same time, having to agree: “Fine, go ahead.” She thanked me excitedly and started packing: “My boyfriend gets off work soon.” I was surprised: “He works here too?” Emily looked mysterious. “No, he’s…” Before she finished, a deep, magnetic voice interrupted. “Packed yet?” 2 My body stiffened for a second. If I had never heard this voice before, I probably would have looked up to gossip. But unfortunately, this voice had filled my nightmares for the past five years. In the dark nights where I needed pills to sleep, Asher’s words echoed repeatedly in my ears. “Chloe, you’re too good. I’ll corrupt you.” “Chloe, try smoking. Girls who smoke are cool. I want to see a different side of you.” Under his coaxing, I fell, and I learned. From sophomore year, I went from being Asher’s pursuer to his bedmate. Then, defeating numerous other girls, I successfully became his girlfriend for three years. The day he accepted my confession, the weather was terrible, the wind howling. At that time, he had just dropped off a senior girl after a date. His car was parked under the girls’ dorm. A pair of distinct, large hands lazily held a cigarette by the window, as if he were resting his eyes. The ash was blown away by the wind in mid-air. I went downstairs with a coat over my shoulders and knocked on his window, relying on the slight special treatment he gave me to confess. In that moment, the wind seemed to slow down deliberately, like a movie paused. I waited quietly for his answer. Asher turned to look at me, took out a cigarette, and handed it to my lips. His dark eyes were bottomless, carrying a fatal attraction. I took it in my mouth like I was possessed. My moist lips touched his fingers; he didn’t pull back. His playful expression turned into silent permission, only saying: “Good girl, not so good anymore.” Back then, I was drowning in his eyes, failing to understand the deep meaning behind those words. Until graduation day. That was the last time he asked me to a hotel, and the last time we met. After the pleasure, he skillfully handed me a cigarette. “In the future, when I look for a wife, I definitely won’t find a smoker.” Back then, suppressing the sob in my throat, I asked him why. Asher laughed, white smoke rising from his fingertips, his tone more serious than ever. “Chloe, I like them pure.” Tears swirled in my eyes, making me forget to breathe for a moment. Heh, pure. He said he liked them pure. But once, he also claimed I was too pure, too good, leaving him nowhere to start. Today, I finally understand what he meant back then. Because I wasn’t good anymore, all my actions fell into his category of “playable.” 3 I pulled myself out of the memories, my expression returning to calm. Emily turned back excitedly, grabbed her bag, and trotted over. Then she suddenly looked back at me. “Chloe, aren’t you rushing to pick up your daughter too? Let us give you a ride.” I was about to refuse when Asher walked straight over and picked up my bag from the desk. He turned and walked toward the parking lot, giving me no chance to say no. The atmosphere in the car was weirdly quiet, with only Emily talking intermittently. Asher tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, responding to her lightly, but his eyes kept drifting toward me. Maybe afraid I felt awkward, Emily started chatting with me. “Chloe, you usually work late. Does your husband pick up the kid?” Suddenly hearing the word “husband,” I didn’t react for a moment and froze. Then I shook my head, making an excuse. “He’s out of town, doesn’t come home often.” She looked enlightened, then looked at the ring I bought at the dollar store a few days ago. “Is that your wedding ring? It looks a bit faded.” “Like cheap stuff from Temu for ten bucks.” “Oops, I didn’t mean that. Please don’t misunderstand.” Emily realized she misspoke and turned to apologize. But I still caught the disdain and inexplicable superiority hidden in her eyes. Right, compared to her Hermes, my cheap bag was obviously hell. I was about to speak when a laugh interrupted me. Asher reached out and patted her head, smiling dotingly. “Alright, you didn’t say anything wrong. No need to apologize.” Then, looking at me through the rearview mirror, he spoke as if chatting but deliberately meant for me to hear. “Poor people care about face. You speak so directly; aren’t you afraid someone will make trouble for you at work tomorrow?” He spoke to Emily, but the words were for me. A seemingly careless sentence revealed naked defense and a hint of warning to me. I pretended not to hear and looked out the window. In the three years with Asher, I heard similar words countless times. Saying I wasn’t good enough for him. I admit, the difference between Asher and me was too great. My family wasn’t poor, but at most middle class. But the Sterling family wasn’t just wealthy; they stood at the center of power. When we first got together, Asher told me clearly. “Chloe, you can be my girlfriend, but you can’t be my wife.” I knew. I always knew. So I kept my heart safe, never crossing the line. When feelings were strong, I also swayed uncontrollably. Try once, fight for it. What if I succeed? So near graduation, I asked Asher out. That day, he came early to pick me up. The car stopped in a quiet spot on campus. The driver got out and waited nearby. I was forced to turn around. The mottled shadows of plane trees outside the window shot into the car with the sunlight, blinding me. For an hour, Asher leaned lazily against the seat back, his white shirt slightly damp, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. The window was half open, cold wind pouring in, dispersing the white mist he exhaled. I looked at him and slowly asked that question. “Asher, do you love me?” I thought, rather than asking if he would marry me, I cared more about whether he had ever loved me. He looked at me, the playfulness in his eyes missing a bit of seriousness. “Almost graduation.” In that moment, I understood what he meant. Almost graduation, so it’s time to break up. 4 The car stopped at the preschool gate. I pushed the door open. My daughter, standing at the gate holding the teacher’s hand, saw me and waved happily. I walked up quickly, thanked the teacher, and looked down at my daughter. “Sorry, Mommy is late today.” “Did you wait long?” My daughter looked up, pointing a small hand. “Was it because of that uncle that you’re late?” I was surprised and looked back in the direction she pointed. Asher was standing behind me at some point. His previously casual expression now held a seriousness. And a trace of imperceptible joy?! I froze, instinctively tightening my grip on my daughter’s hand. He walked forward, slowly squatting in front of my daughter, looking at her cute, obedient face. Asher’s usually cold tone softened a bit. “How old are you? What’s your name?” I didn’t speak, nor did I stop this scene. Having been together for three years, I knew the man in front of me well enough. Unless he saw it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t believe what I said. I looked at my daughter gently, squeezing her small hand lightly, signaling her. My daughter understood immediately. “I’m Lily, three years old this year.” Phew! I breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at the brows seven points similar to his own, the joy of being a father for the first time hadn’t even been expressed yet. It was doused by my daughter’s words. The words stuck in his throat, unable to make a sound for a long time. My daughter was premature, and due to my malnutrition, she was thinner than her peers. Moreover, for such a small child, it’s really hard to tell the exact age at a glance. After breaking up with Asher, I blocked him on all social platforms, and he tacitly didn’t follow me anymore. We were like two intertwined lines. Even if we had a brief entanglement, once pulled tight, we would return to our original positions. Staying in the same city for five years, it wasn’t that I hadn’t fantasized that at some moment, or intersection, that familiar car would pass me by again. But it didn’t. We ran on different tracks, with our own rhythms and destinations. So even under the same sky, we were worlds apart. Back home at night, my daughter tugged at my hem, looking confused. “Mommy, I’m clearly four. Why lie to people?” Yeah. Why teach a child to lie? Maybe because I didn’t want trouble. Not long after the last meeting, I found out I was pregnant. I thought about abortion. But lying on the operating table, I hesitated. The unwillingness lingered in my mind. I admit, I was unwilling. I thought, even if we weren’t together, having a child connected to his bloodline would be good. So I gave birth alone. But when I truly held that small pink ball in my arms. I suddenly rejoiced in my decision. This is my child. Half my blood flows in her. She belongs to no one. She should come and see this world. … After putting my daughter to sleep, I received a call from the HR director, notifying me not to come to work tomorrow. I frowned and asked, “Whose idea is this?” The other end hesitated for a moment, not intending to answer my question. I didn’t ask further. After all, a day early or a day late made no difference to me.

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My uncle and I started kindergarten together. On the first day, I cried loudly, screaming for my mom. My uncle, couldn’t take it anymore, fiercely shoved a lollipop into my mouth. “Stop crying. From now on, call me Mom.” I sniffled, licked the candy, and said, “Oh.” “Mom, I want more.” [The evil supporting character was so easily bribed with a lollipop as a kid?] [OMG, such a cute little dumpling! How did she grow up to be a heartbreaker?] Later, in my teenage years, my heart started fluttering, and I found myself a few handsome boyfriends. My uncle looked at them with disdain, finding fault with everything. “This one, dressed up like a peacock all day, looks like he’s afraid of hard work.” “That one looks spoiled rotten, can’t even open his eyes properly. Not marriage material.” “And that one looks fierce, like a domestic abuser!” I’ve always been a mama’s girl, so I asked my uncle, “Little Mom, who should I pick then?” My uncle stammered, suddenly blushing. 1 The evil supporting character lacks love. That’s why my parents left early. One went to India, the other to Congo. They said they were expanding into new markets. They came back less than twice a year, and each time they looked more like Godzilla. I am a righteous little flower fairy. I hate Godzilla. I don’t need parents. 2 Until I started kindergarten. The heroine’s beautiful mother carried her in. She gently adjusted the heroine’s collar, glowing like an angel. I was mesmerized. She bent down and patted the heroine’s head, “Be good, sweetie. Mommy will pick you up after school.” My parents must be this big flower fairy! I cried like a boiling kettle. What kind of life have I been living these past few years? I sincerely threw myself over, hugging the big flower fairy’s leg, “Mommy, I want a hug.” Other kids caught the contagion, “Mommy, wuuwuu, Mommy.” In the small classroom, a dozen kettles started boiling together. Toot-toot-toot, steam rising everywhere. It was spectacular. Miss Flower’s head was about to explode. She couldn’t help but urge the heroine’s mom to leave, “Mrs. Han, we understand your worry, but kindergarten is the first step in letting go.” Mrs. Han left. Bella cried her heart out. I chased after the big flower fairy relentlessly, screaming my lungs out, “Mommy, Mommy don’t go!” The whole class chased with me, “Mommy, Mommy.” Miss Flower scrambled to stop us. Bella couldn’t take it anymore. She rushed over and shoved me hard, “That’s my mom!” I cried even harder. The room was in chaos. Miss Flower had a headache and called the heroine’s dad to complain. [The evil supporting character definitely provoked the heroine on purpose. So scheming at such a young age.] [Crying so pitifully just to drive the heroine’s mom away.] [More than that, I think she wants to steal the heroine’s mom. Such a green tea bitch already.] I couldn’t read. I was illiterate. I cried even harder because the big flower fairy left. 3 My uncle couldn’t take it anymore. He was the child adopted by my grandparents. He always took care of me, but I never liked him. Ridiculous. How could the Queen of Fairyland be bossed around by a brat? I ignored him and kept crying. Lucas fiercely shoved a lollipop into my mouth, then gently wiped away my tears. “Stop crying. From now on, call me Mom.” Kindergarten was strict about snacks. One lollipop per person per day. Mmm, sweet. Wuuwuuwuu, sweet. In that moment, he radiated maternal glory in my eyes. I sniffled, licked the candy, “Oh.” “Mom, I want more.” My uncle clenched his own lollipop, peeled it carefully, cursing under his breath, “Just eat yours.” I stopped crying. [The evil supporting character was so easily bribed with a lollipop as a kid?] [OMG, such a cute little dumpling! How did she grow up to be a heartbreaker?] [So cute! Auntie wants to eat her up!] I took the lollipop and grinned at the heroine. “My mom gave it to me.” “Where’s your mom?” [As expected of the evil supporting character, terrifying at such a young age!] The heroine cried louder. 4 Two lollipops a day gave me cavities. I gaped in disbelief, “Foolish tooth decay, leave this king’s mouth at once!” [Didn’t expect the evil supporting character to have such innocent moments.] Since her defeat in kindergarten, Bella Han had it out for me. She mocked me, “Are you a three-year-old?” I wanted to scold back but accidentally touched my sore spot, howling in pain, “Mom!” Lucas charged over from the soccer field like the wind, “You’re bullying our Wanwan again.” Bella Han was dumbfounded, “Bad guy! Stop giving her lollipops! She has cavities!” Lucas froze, turned around, and examined my mouth carefully, heartbroken, “I didn’t take good care of you!” From that day on. No more lollipops for me! And “Mom” watched me brush my teeth. Bella Han deliberately waved a lollipop in front of me. “Do you want some?” “Lollipops are so yummy.” I stomped my foot, “Bella Han! You… hmph!” [Sure enough, the supporting character and heroine are born enemies.] [Cute, two little dumplings.] I hugged Lucas’s leg, “Mom, mom, mom, she’s tempting me, wuuwuuwuu.” “Don’t cry.” Lucas patted my head. And snatched three of Bella Han’s red flower stickers. I grinned, showing my teeth, and ran to show off in front of her. “Violet Qin, have some shame! You didn’t earn those.” “Hey, who told your mom not to come to kindergarten?” [Wait, was this the only time the heroine got hit as a kid?] [Yes, the heroine went back and insisted her mom attend kindergarten too.] 5 In elementary school, I taught myself the skill of dog training. With just a few chocolates, I got over half the class to volunteer as my dogs. But being my dog had requirements. No ugly ones, no bad tempers, no bad grades. For example, the one next to me with fair skin, a quiet voice, good looks, and little pear dimples when he smiles. He’s my Dog Number One! And that one, dark skin, runs fast, short hair. Dog Number Two. The blonde one with blue eyes, stutters a bit (supposedly a British accent, so tacky), but has a dazzling smile. Currently ranked third, often competing for second. Bella Han was unhappy, “Why do you have dogs and I don’t!” She tried everything. She looked down on others in class and couldn’t reach those outside. After trying, she gained three “bros.” Her: “Be my dog, I’ll give you chocolate.” Him: “You insult me!” [Heroine baby, stop struggling. You didn’t put points in this skill.] [The supporting character is naturally gifted. It’s the power of genes.] I could understand half the words on the bullet screen now. I lifted my chin, “That’s right, talent. I have talent.” “You are just ordinary humans without talent~” Oh no, the heroine cried again. After crying, she came to me, voice buzzing like a mosquito, “Share one with me.” “Share who?” I picked my ear. She shut her eyes tight, unwilling to admit defeat but desperate to play, “I mean share one with me.” “Share one what?” Bella Han gave up, “I mean, share one dog with me!” Dog~~~ Dog~~ Dog~ 5 Honestly, I was getting bored. But seeing Bella want it so bad, I gained a bit of interest, pretending to be reluctant. Until Bella offered me her limited edition Elsa doll. Who can refuse Elsa? I certainly can’t. But she had a demand: one of my top 3. News spread. Everyone was in danger—no, every dog was in danger. Today my deskmate brought milk, dimples showing, “Wanwan, for you.” I gave him a White Rabbit candy, “Good boy, little dog is sweet like candy.” Tomorrow Dark Skin helped me clean, sweeping the floor shiny, “Wanwan, I’m done.” I used my floral handkerchief to wipe his sweat, “So strong. Pat pat. Chocolate reward tomorrow.” Number Three got anxious, nuzzling into my arms, whining like a big golden retriever. My heart melted. “Don’t worry, I like you, like you, like you the most.” [The evil supporting character really knows how to play. Fishing for men like fishing for dogs.] [Easily turning them into simps.] [No wonder the original male lead liked the supporting character first. With her skills, who wouldn’t fall?] Unable to decide which one to abandon, I prepared to dump the pot on Lucas, who just returned from training camp. “Mom, which one should I pick?” The three puppies were well-behaved. They were gearing up for a fight, but behaved in front of Lucas. They shouted with me, “Mom.” Lucas got a shade darker. He just finished the training arranged by grandparents and skipped a grade, only to be hit by this news. “You mean, I was gone for two weeks, and you got three more dogs?” “Did you ask me before getting dogs!”

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On the fiercely competitive track of “Self-Preservation at All Costs,” I deserve an Olympic medal. Every time my husband, Rhys Harrington, prioritized his ‘untouchable first love,’ I found a new man. A diversion. A distraction. A silent, rebellious middle finger to a marriage that had withered down to a business contract. I sought out what felt like N different men, all to achieve one singular, necessary goal: making sure I came first. That I was taken care of. That I didn’t leave this awful situation empty-handed in the emotional bank. I made sure I wasn’t losing. The only problem? I have a profound case of face blindness. My friends would laugh whenever I showed up with a “new” date, their smiles dazzling and seemingly approving of my relentless pursuit of pleasure. I assumed they were commending my dating prowess. It took me three months to realize that the rotating cast of men—the flirtatious bartender, the brooding photographer, the sweet music student—was, in fact, the same person. And he was the one person in my life I should have never, ever gotten involved with. 1 I was just wrapping up a late afternoon at the office when a text from my college alumni chair popped up. A five-year reunion dinner. The venue was The Sinclair Club, a private society in the city where a single bottle of wine costs more than my monthly mortgage. The moment I pushed open the door to the dining room, the atmosphere curdled into a subtle, uncomfortable stillness. Rhys was seated at the head of the long table, and to his immediate right—the hostess’s seat, my usual seat—sat Serena Beaumont. Everyone had been laughing, teasing them, an undercurrent of warm, shared history swirling between them, but my appearance killed it instantly. “Oh, look who decided to join us! Ava Sullivan is here!” Someone called out loudly, attempting to shatter the awkward silence. Serena was wearing a pristine white sundress, making her look precisely as innocent and pure as the college sophomore who had originally captured Rhys’s heart. The One That Got Away, or so the legend went. Rhys didn’t bother to look up. I kept my expression neutral and settled at a place setting across the table, quietly serving myself a piece of the pan-seared Chilean sea bass. The fish was buttery, the glaze perfectly tangy. Rhys had brought me here once, years ago, telling me I would love it. He knew my tastes then, just as he knows precisely what it means for Serena to occupy that specific chair next to him tonight. The message was clear: Ava, the wife, was being shown the door. I excused myself to the restroom, battling the icy burn of humiliation in my chest. When I returned, the wine had been flowing, and the conversations were louder, looser. “Rhys, why are you letting Serena take Ava’s throne tonight? Aren’t you worried your wife will get jealous?” The laugh that followed the question was laced with curiosity and malice. Serena preempted Rhys’s response: “They’re getting divorced soon, aren’t they? There’s no point in keeping up appearances anymore, right?” The room fell into absolute silence. Rhys offered no objection, no protest. Serena’s voice, now thick with faux regret, picked up again. “I know everyone thought I broke them up back in college. But who can truly control matters of the heart?” She paused for effect. “Yes, Rhys and Ava were childhood sweethearts, but he never actually loved Ava. When Rhys confessed his feelings to me, and we started seeing each other, Ava refused to let go. She chased him to classes, showed up at his parents’ house, and eventually… threatened to hurt herself.” Her eyes welled up. “Rhys is a good man, he’s too kind-hearted. He was terrified she would actually do something drastic, so he felt he had to marry her.” “Enough,” Rhys finally cut in. It wasn’t a denial, or a defense. Just two quiet words. Enough. Yes. I agreed. It was more than enough. Twisted fragments of memory flashed through my mind: Didn’t I quietly step aside the moment Rhys told me he was in love with her? Didn’t she later take the payout from his parents and vanish? Didn’t Rhys come back to me, we started seeing each other again, and then he cheated with her? Didn’t I, genuinely battling depression, stand on the edge of my apartment balcony, only for him to rush out and hold me, his eyes red as he whispered, “I’ll marry you, just come down”? But the truth was irrelevant now. When a person chooses a narrative, every fact, every detail, is rearranged to fit the picture they want to see. And Rhys had clearly chosen his. I pulled up my phone, my fingers flying to the contact I had labeled “Sweet-Talking Golden Retriever.” My furious text: COME FIND ME TONIGHT. WEAR SOMETHING NICE!!! The reply was instantaneous: Yes, ma’am. All those exclamation points… not happy, are we? I’ll sing for you tonight. Don’t let them get to you, gorgeous. I stared at the screen, a genuine, albeit brittle, smile finally curving my lips. He always knew how to read the mood and shift the energy. The door to the restroom swung open. Rhys stood there. We made eye contact, his expression complex—a mix of guilt, discomfort, and perhaps a flicker of shame from overhearing Serena’s lie. I didn’t bother to speak. I simply brushed past him, my silence louder than any accusation. As the dinner approached its inevitable, awkward end, a server wheeled in a massive, three-tiered cake to celebrate the five-year anniversary of our graduation. I’d had too many glasses of Merlot. I stumbled slightly as I got to my feet. Clutching my wine glass, I weaved my way toward Rhys and Serena. Rhys watched my approach, his face a mask of weary caution. “What are you doing? Ava, sit down.” I lifted the glass with a shaky hand. “I came to toast you both.” “You’ve had too much to drink, Ava. Just sit this out,” he frowned. I ignored him, my voice slurring just enough to sound convincingly drunk. “A toast… to your happily ever after!” The air thickened with dread. Then, with a dramatic lurch, I threw myself forward, planting both hands squarely on the sides of the cake. The three-tiered structure collapsed with a muffled thud, cream and raspberry glaze splattering everywhere. I “conveniently” lost my balance and ensured Rhys’s face was pressed directly into the sugary wreckage. My other hand “accidentally” smeared a generous handful of pink icing through Serena’s meticulously styled blonde hair. Time stopped for two seconds. Then Serena’s shriek sliced through the silence. “Ah! My hair! My dress!” Before I could properly register Rhys’s expression—which I knew would be apoplectic—Zara, my best friend, was on me like a shot. “Oh, my God, she’s had way too much!” Zara’s voice boomed, drowning out the rising panic and gasps. “I am so sorry, everyone! She’s been having a rough week! I’m taking her home now!” She half-dragged, half-carried me out. I laughed, a real, full-throated laugh, as I licked the sticky, sweet cream from my finger. “That was quite the exit, you maniac,” Zara said, poking my forehead as we sped away. “Rhys must be absolutely furious.” “Let him be furious.” I shrugged. I pulled out my phone and sent a new message to the contact. Change of plans. Meet me at the usual place. I want you to sing to me tonight. At the discreet boutique hotel we frequented, my “Golden Retriever” showed up with bright green hair. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. The last time Rhys had truly infuriated me, I’d jokingly demanded that the man I was seeing dye his hair green to match the color of my rage. I didn’t mean it, but to my surprise, he’d taken me seriously. “Well,” I grinned, “at least that vibrant green makes you easy to spot.” He offered a mock grimace. “Anything to make sure my favorite client, who happens to be face-blind, can pick me out of a lineup.” We moved into the room, and he sat on the edge of the bed, playing soft acoustic songs on his guitar. Later, we showered, and finally, we slept, the sheer physical exhaustion and release momentarily erasing all the night’s unpleasantness. I woke in the pre-dawn haze, nestled against his chest. My eyes fell on a familiar, tiny object hanging from a thin silver chain around his neck. It was a ring, engraved with an intricate, almost hidden pattern—a coiled serpent and a small cross. This distinct, one-of-a-kind signet wasn’t just a ring; it was the Harrington family heirloom, traditionally passed down to the eldest son, the heir. And Rhys’s grandfather had given it to Rhys years ago. Why would Liam have it? Liam stirred, his arm tightening around me. “Go back to sleep, gorgeous. You were practically begging for a nap a minute ago.” I was, indeed, spent, and the warmth of his skin was instantly soothing. I drifted back to sleep. But the question lingered, a tiny, annoying insect buzzing in my mind. When I woke again in the morning, the first thing I did was reach for the chain. Strange. The ring was now a plain, unadorned silver band. Liam woke up. “What are you looking at?” Had the wine and my lack of sleep caused me to hallucinate the elaborate engraving? I sat up and studied his face. “You look so much like my husband.” He responded flatly, “You’ve said that before, Ava. Didn’t you pick me the first time because we look alike? So you could vent your anger on someone who looked like the source of your problems?” I wrapped my arms around him. “Oh, my poor thing. You are so much more comforting than that monster. I’m not mad at you anymore.” He ran a hand through his vivid green hair. “So, can I finally dye this back to a natural color?” “I think I’d prefer red now,” I mused. He sighed, but his lips curved into an indulgent smile. “Fine. Red is better than green, I suppose.” We washed up, had coffee, and went our separate ways. I was halfway through the drive home when Rhys called. “Where are you? Where were you last night? Why weren’t you home?” It hit me then—the similarity wasn’t just physical. Rhys and Liam’s voices were so much alike. The deeper register, the subtle cadence. I drove home, needing a fresh start and a change of clothes. The first person I saw when I walked in was Serena. She was wearing my expensive silk pajamas, the neckline plunging just enough to hint at her curves. The sight of her made my stomach clench with disgust. I immediately changed direction and headed straight for Rhys’s private study. “I told you not to come into my study!” Rhys’s voice was sharp. I wasn’t allowed in there because, on a previous occasion when he had coldly blown me off to be with Serena, I’d lost it and completely trashed the room, ruining several important documents. But I walked straight to his massive desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, found the pre-prepared divorce papers, and signed them with a sweeping, fluid motion. “You said I could only come in here to sign the divorce papers. I didn’t break the rules.” Rhys stared at the signed document, his eyes wide. He stood there for a long moment, then, with a sharp breath, he tore the papers to shreds. “Who said I want a divorce? What are you doing?” His reaction was so theatrical I couldn’t help but smile, a bitter, hollow expression. “Rhys, darling, you’ve been preparing for this divorce since the day we got married…” My words caught in my throat. Around his neck was a simple leather cord, exactly like the one Liam had been wearing. My gaze snapped up to his face. The resemblance to Liam, especially when he was slightly irritated, was unnerving. Identical. Serena slipped into the doorway. “Rhys, honey, breakfast is ready.” I watched him turn, his back and his gait identical to the man I’d just spent the night with. No. Stop it. I instantly dismissed the wild thought. It was impossible. Rhys had no reason, no motive, to pretend to be a “golden retriever” to sleep with his own wife. I printed a fresh set of divorce papers and placed them neatly on the desk. Rhys gave me one cold look and left without another word. The company’s annual gala was that evening, the ballroom bathed in warm, glittering light. I scanned the crowd, spotting a solitary Serena, but Rhys was nowhere to be found. Zara walked up to me, two champagne flutes in hand. “What are you looking for?” I shook my head, accepting a glass. “Zara, do you ever think Rhys and Liam look alike?” Zara’s eyes flickered, then she burst into an overly bright laugh. “How? Liam has that crazy green hair, doesn’t he?” “I told him this morning to dye it red,” I said, but then stopped myself. “Wait. How did you know he had green hair?” “I… just guessed,” Zara answered quickly, her smile suddenly too wide, too forced. Before I could press her, the ballroom lights dimmed slightly. The Master of Ceremonies took the stage to celebrate the successful completion of the first phase of “The Dawn Initiative.” The spotlight hit the large screen behind him, which promptly blinked, flickered, and went a blinding, horrible blue. A wave of confusion rippled through the audience. Technicians rushed up to fix the failure. A few minutes later, the screen cleared, not to the planned video, but to a dense, scrolling data report. The MC’s voice sounded tight with panic. “Apologies, technical error, we will switch back immediately…” “Hold on.” A director from the board stood up. “That data… that’s The Dawn Initiative’s core parameters, correct?” His voice rose. “Why is there such an obvious error? This compatibility test data is completely skewed! That mistake would compromise the entire system architecture. If we proceed to phase two, all our upfront investment could be worthless! Who is the final responsible party?” A thousand eyes, sharp as needles, turned and fixed on me. I stood up, feeling the blood drain from my face. That file could only be accessed by me, Rhys, and the core project team. And I distinctly remembered that the last person to physically handle the final printed copy, besides me, was Serena. I turned to her. “That file,” I stated clearly, “you picked it up from my office last Wednesday afternoon. You said you were taking it to Rhys for his final sign-off. Is that correct, Serena?” Serena’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Ava, I was just a courier! I took the envelope to the office, but Rhys was in a meeting, so I left it with his secretary! I never looked at the contents! Why are you saying this in front of everyone?” She started to sob, her shoulders shaking delicately. “I know you’re upset and arguing with Rhys, but you can’t push this responsibility onto me! You were the lead on the project! All the equipment, all the parameters, I was just following your directives…” “Are you deliberately trying to mislead people?” The whispering started—a low, venomous chorus. “Isn’t that the wife? Heard they’re getting a divorce…” “Makes sense. Trying to sabotage the project on her way out? Or just sheer incompetence?” “Treating a multi-million-dollar project like a childish game, that’s what happens when you marry into the top…” I saw several unfamiliar, sharply dressed people gathering near Serena, their expressions harsh. I didn’t recognize them as company high-fliers. Just as the suffocating tension reached its peak, Bang! The heavy double doors of the ballroom were thrown open. A man with a shock of vivid red hair strode in. He looked like Liam. The red hair was the exact color I had idly requested this morning. But the sharp lines of his jaw, the precise curve of his lips as he scanned the room, the cool, detached look in his eyes… He looked exactly like Rhys. Serena reacted first, rushing towards him. “Rhys! Thank God you’re here! Ava is trying to pin the project failure on me!” My face blindness could be playing tricks on me, but Serena called him Rhys. Who is he? Both a stranger and terribly familiar. I fumbled for my phone, found the contact “Sweet-Talking Golden Retriever,” and hit dial. My eyes never left the red-haired man. One second, two seconds… A subtle vibration started in the pocket of the red-haired man’s perfectly tailored suit. He reached into the pocket and answered the call without urgency.

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My mom loves watching my sister and me compete. She deliberately gave me old clothes that no one else wanted, causing me to catch a disease and almost die. Yet she said: “If your sister hadn’t told me this dress would look good on you, Mom wouldn’t have let you wear old clothes no one else wanted.” She deliberately changed my sister’s college application from a top university to a community college, ruining her future. Yet she said: “If your sister hadn’t said that school was a better fit for you, Mom wouldn’t have listened to her and changed your application.” My sister and I fought for a lifetime, finally dying tragically in a fire. Mom stood outside the inferno, watching us coldly: “You’re finally dead. Now there’s no one left to compete with me for your father’s love.” Opening my eyes again, my sister and I were both reborn. Chapter 1 “Chloe, look at this. It’s old, but it’s still in good shape. Go try it on, quickly!” My mom pointed at a plastic bag on the floor, urging me. In my past life, it was on this day that my mom brought back an old dress no one else wanted and made me try it on. I put it on without suspicion. She wouldn’t let me take it off; instead, she made me twirl left and right, and even sent me outside to show the neighbors… I wore that old dress for over half an hour before she let me take it off. That night, I developed a high fever that wouldn’t break. At the hospital, I learned I had contracted a disease, and the source was that dress my mom brought back. Yet she cried and said, “If your sister hadn’t told me this dress would look good on you, Mom wouldn’t have let you wear old clothes no one else wanted.” She didn’t speak a word of truth in front of my sister either. Even worse, she deliberately changed my sister’s college application from a top university to a community college, ruining her future. And she told my sister: “If your sister hadn’t said that school was a better fit for you, Mom wouldn’t have listened to her and changed your application.” My sister and I hated each other for a lifetime, fought for a lifetime, and finally died together in a fire. My mom stood outside the inferno, watching us coldly: “You’re finally dead. Now there’s no one left to compete with me for my husband’s love.” Three people loved her, but since she only wanted my dad’s love… I smiled coldly, looking at the clothes in the plastic bag: “Mom, we’re about the same size. I think this color suits you better.” Chapter 2 My mom was stunned for a moment, then smiled again: “This is for you. Hurry up and try it on; it’ll definitely look good.” I also smiled: “I think it suits you better. Mom, you try it.” My mom’s face went slightly cold: “Just put it on when I tell you to. It’s just a dress; do we need to push it back and forth? Hurry up and try it. If it doesn’t fit, I have to return it.” She rolled her eyes and continued to urge: “Hurry up, your sister said this dress suits you.” She said the same thing in my previous life, but after I got sick. This time, she said it ahead of time. I smiled coldly and was about to speak when my sister suddenly opened the door and rushed in. “Chloe, don’t!” After shouting, she seemed to just catch her breath, panting heavily. Seeing the clothes in the plastic bag on the floor, my sister obviously sighed in relief. I realized something, but now was not the time to ask questions, so I played along with my mom’s words. “Lily, do you really think this color suits me?” I pointed to the clothes on the floor, asking my sister but looking at my mom. A guilty look appeared on her face. Just as she wanted to change the subject, I said again: “Mom said you think this dress suits me.” “I didn’t say that!” My sister’s eyes filled with tears. She took a deep breath, forcing the tears back, and looked straight at my mom, “Mom, why are you lying to Chloe?” My mom’s voice stuttered, and her expression was extremely unnatural: “What lie? I just said it casually. Do you have to take it so seriously?” “Then you’re spreading rumors. I never said that!” My sister said hatefully. I walked over and held my sister’s hand. Her body trembled, and she held my hand back tightly. I confirmed my suspicions. I squeezed my sister’s hand and smiled: “I actually think this dress suits Mom very well. What do you think?” My sister caught onto my idea and played along quickly: “Yes, Mom, this color suits you perfectly. You’ll look absolutely beautiful in it. Hurry up and try it.” My mom said irritably: “What suits me? If you don’t want to wear it, forget it. I’ll take it back.” Chapter 3 My dad came back at this time. I had a brainstorm, pointing at my mom and asking: “You don’t want to wear old clothes, do you? Then why do you always make me and my sister wear old clothes? Or is there something wrong with this dress?” My sister gasped: “Is there really something wrong with this dress? Mom, you brought back problematic clothes for Chloe to wear. Are you trying to kill her?” “What’s going on?” My dad said seriously, “It’s just a dress. What could be wrong with it? How can you two talk to your mother like that?” My mom threw herself into my dad’s arms, weeping: “Honey, it’s good you’re back. Otherwise, I don’t know what they would have said about me, boo hoo…” I rolled my eyes; I really couldn’t stand to watch. Competing with her own daughters, she’s really something. I also cried: “I just think this dress suits Mom, but she refuses to wear it. I know she never liked me and my sister, so she always makes us wear old clothes while she buys new ones for herself…” My sister also cried along. Dad: “……” I sobbed: “We just want Mom to try on this dress.” My sister’s tears fell down, and she nodded in agreement: “Is there anything wrong with daughters wanting to dress up their mother beautifully?” Under the combined attack of me and my sister, my dad also said: “If the kids want you to try it, just try it. It’s just a dress; what’s the big deal?” “Put it on and show Dad.” I persisted, determined to make my mom wear that dress today. My dad picked up the plastic bag and handed it to my mom: “Put it on quickly and let me see.” Having no choice, my mom reluctantly changed into the dress, but she wanted to take it off after just one twirl in front of my dad. “Don’t be in such a hurry, Mom. Turn around again so I can see…” Before I finished speaking, I was irritably interrupted by my mom: “Turn what…” “Mom, you’re so fierce! Why is your voice so rough?” I asked deliberately. Mom: “……” In order to maintain the image of a gentle woman in front of my dad, my mom had no choice but to smile and turn left and right in front of us. I insisted on taking her outside for a walk, and she couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t until more than half an hour later that my mom was able to take off the dress. She immediately rushed into the bathroom to shower. Afterward, she disinfected the entire house and threw the dress into the trash. I was no longer anxious to expose her; anyway, she was already marinated in the virus. Chapter 4 “Chloe.” My sister pulled me back to the room. As soon as the door closed, she hugged me tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. We didn’t dare to make a sound, holding each other and crying silently. After a long time, I let go of my sister and asked tremblingly: “You were reborn too, right?” My sister nodded vigorously. “I’m sorry.” I held her hand, “In the past life, it was my fault.” “No, it was her fault!” My sister sniffled, “Let’s not talk about the past life anymore. Chloe, from now on, let’s both be well.” I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears: “You have to be more careful. She will definitely change your college application again in this life.” My sister looked thoughtful and nodded. Outside, my dad’s voice came: “Xiaoyun, what are you doing? If the clothes aren’t right, just return them. Why did you burn them?” My sister and I looked at each other and immediately opened the door to go out. We saw my mom looking paranoid, staring at the burning clothes in the basin and saying: “It’s fine if I burn it, definitely fine.” My heart turned cold. I walked forward and deliberately asked: “Mom, why are you burning the clothes…” My mom gave me a hateful glare, her eyes filled with venom. Fortunately, when the clothes burned clean, she was relieved. Pouting, she stood up and complained about my sister and me in front of my dad: “Honey, they really don’t like wearing old clothes. Chloe and Lily tried so hard to make me wear them.” “I didn’t buy them new clothes often before, but that was when they were little. Children look fresh and beautiful in anything.” “Look at me, I’m old and yellow. If I don’t wear new clothes, will I still be presentable?” I also complained: “But my sister and I are so grown up now, and we haven’t worn many new clothes. I’m nineteen, and my sister is sixteen. You can’t treat us like children anymore.” My sister pouted aggrievedly. My dad walked over: “From now on, I’ll buy new clothes for both of you. Don’t wear clothes others have worn before.” He turned his head to complain to my mom: “You too. What young girl doesn’t like wearing new clothes? They are young, they should wear new clothes even more. You are so old, what difference does it make if it’s new or old?” Mom: “……” My dad really is a straight-talking man. My mom didn’t speak, clenching her hands tightly. I looked over and caught the fleeting murderous intent in her eyes. That look made me cold all over. I couldn’t understand how that could be the look a mother gives her own daughter. Only when she saw me looking at her did my mom smile again: “Yes, I’m old. I don’t look good in anything. Let’s just buy new clothes for them. Don’t buy any for me.” My dad was speechless: “It’s not like our family can’t afford new clothes. Let’s just buy new ones for everyone, okay? It’s just old clothes; why make such a big deal out of it? I’ve been working all day; don’t make me judge this boring case for you.” “Dad, I’ll cook.” I said, entering the kitchen. My sister came in to help. As soon as the kitchen door closed, she whispered: “Will we get infected? Dad sleeps in the same bed with her; he will definitely get infected too.” I whispered something in my sister’s ear. My sister nodded and went out immediately: “Dad, accompany me to buy some workbooks. I don’t have enough test papers. The college entrance exam is coming up, and I want to practice more.” “Let’s go.” My dad agreed without hesitation. After buying the workbooks, my sister said she wanted to eat KFC and asked my dad to take her there. After dinner, she wanted to go to the supermarket, anyway, they didn’t come back until very late. I ate dinner with my mom. The disease only spreads through skin contact. She kept complaining that my sister was pestering my dad and wouldn’t let him come back to accompany her. She had missed my dad all day at home. I didn’t respond. At half past eight, my mom suddenly called me: “Chloe, quickly call your dad back. I feel sick.” I forced myself to be ruthless and pretended not to hear. In the previous life, the night I had a fever, my mom took my dad out so he wouldn’t come back to take care of me. In the end, it was my sister who called an ambulance and sent me to the hospital for emergency treatment.

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When I was discharged from the hospital after giving birth to my son, a trending post popped up on my phone while I was paying the bill. “A neighbor I’ve only met twice just had a baby and insists I help her take care of it. But my daughter also gave birth a couple of days ago. I really don’t know how to refuse. Asking for help from netizens.” The suggestions in the comments were varied, but the author only replied to the most useful one. “Simple. Just say you two are getting old and plan to travel after retirement, then move into your daughter’s house. The neighbor can’t reach you, so there’s nothing she can do. Move back when her child is older.” My eyes lit up, thinking this netizen had high emotional intelligence. At the same time, I despised this ungrateful neighbor. Only met twice and said hello, how could she have the nerve to make such an unreasonable request? Luckily, my mom agreed to help me take care of my son. But when I opened the door to my house, it was empty. No one answered when I called my parents. Two hours later, my mom sent a message. “Jane, while we’re still young and can move around, your dad and I decided to go traveling for a while. We haven’t set a return date. The thing we promised you might have to be postponed. You just hang in there by yourself for now.” My hand holding my son froze instantly. I subconsciously clicked on my cousin’s account, and sure enough, she had updated. In the video, my mother’s aged figure was busy in the kitchen, holding a newborn baby in her arms. Caption: “A child with a mother is a treasure. Thank you, Mom, for lightening my burden. Love you for ten thousand years!” 1 I widened my eyes, staring at this line of text in disbelief, reading it over and over again. It wasn’t until my son in my arms cried from hunger that I suddenly woke up from my thoughts. The water and electricity at home had long been cut off. I couldn’t even make formula for my son. When I called my mom, the phone rang for ten minutes before she picked up. She sounded very busy. “Hello? Jane? What’s wrong? Why are you calling me at this time? I’m busy.” I took a deep breath. “Mom, what did you mean by that message you sent me?” “Didn’t we agree three days ago? I would hand the baby over to you directly after being discharged, and I would go back to work. What am I supposed to do now that you suddenly changed your mind? The company is still waiting for me for a meeting!” My mom was silent for two seconds, her tone sinking. “Jane Lin, get this straight. I’m your mother, not a nanny you hired.” “Raising you for decades was hard enough. Now that I’m finally retired and can enjoy life, you want me to take care of your child. Fine, I didn’t say I wouldn’t, but at least let me take a breather, right?” At this moment, tears were swirling in my eyes. What else didn’t I understand about that help post? I, her biological daughter, became the neighbor she claimed to have only met twice. And my cousin, whom she went to help take care of, was the daughter she truly recognized. “Then when can you come back?” “I don’t know! I just arrived at the first scenic spot and you called. My good mood is ruined by you. Fine, no more sightseeing today, I’m going back to the hotel to rest.” My dad took the phone at the right time. “Jane, your mom is going through menopause, don’t take it to heart.” “But don’t blame Dad for scolding you. If you affect your mom’s mood for a day, our trip will be delayed by a day, and we’ll go back a day later.” I understood immediately. They even found my phone calls a hindrance. My cousin, Bella, asked softly: “What’s wrong? Is it because Sister knows you came to see me and is unhappy?” “Should I apologize to her personally?” My mom responded coldly: “No need. Do I need to report to her where I go?” “Old Lin, hang up quickly. Don’t say more. Hearing her voice is annoying. Like a debt collector, can’t give us a break for even two days.” Before Dad hung up, I asked him: “Aren’t you and Mom traveling? Why does it sound like Bella is there too?” There were two light coughs on the other end. Dad seemed to be rapidly thinking of an excuse. “Oh, it’s like this. Your sister isn’t feeling well, a bit of postpartum depression. Your mom thought of taking her out to relax.” “Bella’s child is being taken care of by a confinement nurse. Found through connections back home, cheap. You refused to let outsiders take care of the child before, so your mom didn’t tell you. Jane, you must not overthink this.” After hanging up, I felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me from head to toe. Afraid I would overthink, yet they did exactly what would make me overthink. Since Bella entered the family eight years ago, I knew this home was going to change. Little me didn’t know how to express my insecurity, so I could only cry and make a scene at home. Demanding a new backpack, demanding beautiful notebooks. It seemed that as long as my parents agreed to my requests, I still had a place in their hearts. I did get the backpack, and the notebook is still kept in my cabinet. But after that, my parents drifted further and further away from me. They thought I was insensible, couldn’t be a qualified older sister, and wouldn’t actively take care of my younger sister. When I cried in sadness, I always heard big principles. “You are the older sister, Bella is the younger sister. You have to set an example. Look at you crying like this, what would Bella think? She’d think our family abuses children.” “Bella’s parents died pitifully. Your dad and I can’t ignore her. In the future, she is your biological sister. You have to be sensible and take good care of her when Mom and Dad are not around.” When I cried uncontrollably, my mom exhausted her last bit of patience. “Jane Lin, look at you now! As an older sister, you can’t even compare to a hair of your younger sister. Bella lost her biological parents and didn’t cry like you! I’m so disappointed in you!” Later, my parents’ attention was all on Bella. Along with their love. I thought if I sent them more money after working, my parents’ eyes would fall on me again. Until I spent a million, and didn’t even get a smile back. I knew then that some things can’t be bought with money. Bella and I fell in love and got married at the same time, and were deceived by scumbags. I divorced, she broke up. My parents ran to comfort her without hesitation. And I could only get a sentence: “You only know how to bury your head in work every day. What did he marry you for? It’s normal for him to run away.” “Now it’s good, the family is broken up. You can continue working. Go ahead, no one is stopping you.” My son’s cry pulled me back to reality. Holding my son in one hand and the water card in the other. Using almost all my strength, I finally got the lights back on and water flowing from the tap. After making formula for my son, he fell asleep quickly. I frantically changed his diaper and washed the bottle. Exhausted. When I opened my phone to relax, I saw Bella had updated another video. In the frame, Mom was helping her put the baby to sleep. She sat on the balcony enjoying the sun, her cheeks still retaining the innocence of a young girl, collagen overflowing the screen. Dad handed over a plate of washed and cut fruits at the right time, half of which were imported cherries I couldn’t bear to buy. Caption: “Mom and Dad say I will always be eighteen in their eyes, forever the little princess of the family~” And under that help post, a reply was updated: “This method is very useful. Moved to my daughter’s place. The annoying neighbor really didn’t find out!” Turning my head, my gaze fell on my home, which looked like a battlefield due to taking care of the child, a mess on the floor. My heart suddenly soured. I remembered last time I snatched a box of cherries from a livestream to send to my parents, not willing to taste a single one myself. Result, before I could enter the door, they threw me and the box out. “What’s the use of buying such expensive things? Might as well give me cash. These are all capitalist tricks. Aren’t these just the cherries grown in our hometown?” That day I was eight months pregnant, squatting on the ground picking up cherries one by one, crying until my eyes were swollen for three days. But now with Bella, they changed their faces. I took a deep breath and messaged my parents. “Where are you traveling? I’m not in a good mood either, let me join you to relax.” The next second, Mom called. “Jane, what do you mean? We’ve been gone for days. There’s no direct bus for you to come now. It takes a long time on the road. Mom can’t bear for you to suffer. Don’t run around, just wait for Mom to come back.” I smiled bitterly. “Is that so? How many places have you visited? Why haven’t I seen you post on Moments? I thought you were still in the same place.” Mom’s tone instantly panicked. “That’s because I haven’t had time to photoshop the pictures. You know your dad’s photography skills are terrible!” “If you don’t believe me, Mom will send them to you.” Three photos were sent over quickly. I clicked open and my heart went colder. The watermarks of the AI software at the bottom weren’t even removed. They really put in effort to deceive me. “See, Jane? Mom has been so tired these days she hasn’t even looked at her phone. Traveling is most physically exhausting.” Before I could speak, Mom said urgently: “Can’t talk, the bus is here. Mom and Dad are getting on. The signal here is bad, hanging up.” Just hung up, Bella’s message popped up at the top of the screen. She sent me a screenshot of a transfer. Three times, totaling 1.3 million. The payment account was my parents’ pension card. I transferred money to it for three years, knowing it by heart. “Thank you Mom and Dad, I received it! Love you so much. When the baby grows up, I will tell her she is a child who grew up under the love of her grandparents!” My fingertips trembled, and my heart skipped a beat. Just as I was about to reply, the other party withdrew it. “Sorry Sister, I sent it to the wrong person.” “You didn’t see anything, right?” I didn’t reply. Those screenshots kept flashing before my eyes. One million was what I desperately saved for the family after working. Three hundred thousand was my parents’ pension. They didn’t keep a penny for themselves. Nor did they spend it on me and the child. But gave it all to Bella. In an instant, my heart felt like it was being pulled back and forth by a dull knife. The tearing pain made me lose all reason. Since they were unkind first. Then I don’t need to save face. I immediately picked up my sleeping son and went downstairs. Took a taxi straight to Bella’s apartment complex. The apartment she lived in was found by me begging and pleading, troubling a circle of people after the breakup. Just because my parents disliked the environment of cheap houses. And Bella didn’t want to pay for expensive places. Everything I paid for this family in the past was now like a slap in my face. Burning hot, and hurting to the heart. Just entered the gate of the complex, bumped into the three coming out holding the child. Bella pretended to refuse: “Mom, you really don’t need to come so far. It’s too hard. My place is small, not as comfortable as the house Sister gave you. Seeing you squeezing on the sofa every day, I feel really bad…” Mom, who always had extremely high requirements for quality of life, waved her hands repeatedly. “What silly talk? I’m your mom. You are raising a child alone now, who will care for you if not me?” “Family shouldn’t say these things, too distant.” Bella smiled gently. “Actually, I can hire a confinement nurse. There are many cheap ones now.” Mom pretended to be angry. “My granddaughter handed over to someone else? Do you not want me to sleep peacefully?” The next second, the laughter of the three stopped abruptly. Their eyes fell on my face simultaneously. “Sister? Why are you here?” “Jane? Why didn’t you say anything before coming?” “Listen to Dad explain, it’s not what you think, your mom she—” Panic flashed across my parents’ faces at the same time. Only Bella’s eyes hid calculation and triumph as if she had expected this. I interrupted them, smiling sarcastically. “Can’t I come to the house I found for Bella?” “You said the child was taken care of by a confinement nurse. I was worried. Thinking raising one child is raising, raising two is also raising, so I came specially to see.” “Didn’t expect, I seem to have come at a bad time?” Dad’s words of explanation suddenly stuck in his throat. Mom said anxiously: “No, it’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” “The confinement nurse asked for leave due to family matters. I was afraid you would worry so I didn’t say. Thought I’d come to take care for two days before leaving, lest Bella is out there worrying about the child…” “Then what about the photos you sent me?” Mom’s face turned liver-colored, unable to find an excuse for a long time this time. I looked her up and down. Everything she wore, except for the reading glasses, was bought by me at the mall. I don’t know where I wronged her, where I wronged this family. For them to repay me like this. I pinched my palm hard, my breath trembling. But holding the child with both hands, I couldn’t even vent my anger. In the stalemate, Bella smiled and took Mom’s arm. “Oh, it’s all fate. Sister came at the right time. We were just about to leave.” “Since you are here now, let’s go together. I’ll call a car, Dad go up to get the luggage, Mom buy a ticket for Sister.” As soon as the words fell, my parents’ eyes lit up simultaneously. “Bella is thoughtful. Okay, let’s do as you say.” “That’s what Mom meant! Pity I’m clumsy with words, didn’t know how to explain just now.” “Jane, send your ID number to Mom, Mom will buy you a ticket.” I lowered my eyes. “I sent it, the day I was hospitalized for delivery.” Mom smiled awkwardly. “Oh right, Mom forgot. Getting old, brain doesn’t work well. Don’t take offense.” With that, Dad went back to get luggage, Mom lowered her head to buy tickets. Bella walked towards me holding the child. “Sister, you really came.” I ignored her, just looking at Mom’s guilty profile. The payment interface was exited three times back and forth, still not paid successfully. Mom smiled sheepishly. “Jane, transfer some living expenses to Mom again. Not enough money for tickets.” “Enough for the three of you, but not enough when it comes to me?” Mom’s face turned cold instantly. “How do you talk, child? Originally for the three of us, the expenses were planned well. Isn’t it you who insisted on coming?” “Besides, I’m your mom. Isn’t it right for you to pay for my travel?” I took a deep breath, heart completely cold. “I’ve been working for years, sending money home every month without fail, adding up to a million. This month I’m on maternity leave, salary not high, no money for you, so you can’t take me traveling?” “Where did that million go? Of the money I gave, couldn’t twenty thousand be spent on me?” “Bella hasn’t worked a day since graduation. You paid her rent, gave her living expenses. Why is it when it comes to me, there’s nothing?” “Just because I have a salary, I deserve to be sucked dry by you?” My questioning grew louder and louder. In return, I got a solid slap from my mom. “What are you saying! I’m your mom! Is this the attitude you speak to elders with!” Other owners in the complex also stopped to watch. The more my mom thought about it, the angrier she got, even rushing up wanting to continue hitting me. While protecting the child, I confronted her. Bella came up pretending to apologize. “Sister, don’t be like this. Mom didn’t mean that.” “You are the daughter, can’t you bow your head to her? We are all grown up, don’t make Mom angry anymore.” I lifted my thigh to support my son, and backhanded her a slap. “I’m talking to my mom, none of your business!” The next second, Bella cried with red eyes, knelt down in front of me with a thud, kowtowing frantically. “I was wrong, I know I was wrong. I dare not talk to Mom and Dad anymore. I won’t let them help me. Don’t be angry, I’ll go right now…” Her forehead soon bled, and the child in her arms started crying loudly. Mom stepped forward to protect her. “You dare! What right do you have to talk to my daughter like this!” “I’m willing to take care of my daughter, what business is it of yours!” Someone recognized them and immediately took out their phone to start streaming. The comments exploded instantly. “Damn, isn’t this the family entangled by the shameless neighbor? What’s going on?” “Is this shrew that neighbor? She actually found them? How can a person be so thick-skinned? Can’t see people don’t welcome her?” “If I were entangled by such a lunatic, either I die or she dies! This auntie is still too kind!” When Dad came downstairs, he saw the scene before him. Instantly red-eyed with anger. Without asking the reason, he rushed up and slapped me. “What did you say to my wife and daughter!” “You leave, leave right now. Our family doesn’t welcome you! Nor the bastard you gave birth to!” In an instant, I remembered when I was little, Dad lifting me to sit on his shoulders. “Daddy, will you always be good to Jane? What if Jane grows up? Can’t ride the airplane anymore!” Dad smiled and spun around. “Then let our princess’s little princess play. Dad will try to age slower then.” The image crumbled, replaced by my parents’ hideous faces. I hugged my wailing son tightly in my arms. “Okay, I’ll go.” “But after I leave today, I won’t come back.” Dad picked up a stone and threw it at my back. “Who cares if you come back! Don’t let me see you in this life!” “Bella is my daughter. You are just an ungrateful white-eyed wolf!” The edge of the stone broke the fabric, skin bleeding instantly. I gritted my teeth hard and left their sight. Walking out of the complex, I took a taxi straight to the agency. Slapped the family property deed on the table. “Sell this house, price unlimited, use the fastest speed!” Since they don’t recognize me as a daughter, they probably don’t like the house I paid for either. After negotiating the terms, I contacted a lawyer. Bella has no relation to me. I can sue her to recover my one million. Three days passed in a blink. I learned from Bella’s account that she and my parents had returned from their trip. Having tasted being internet celebrities, they had their fill. But as soon as the three entered the house, they were all dumbfounded. Following that, thousands of miles away, my phone suddenly vibrated crazily.

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I knew the moment I pushed the door open: Rhys Kingston’s junior assistant was beneath his desk. The girl was deliberately provocative, and for a fleeting second, I saw the composure crack on his face. He nearly laughed. I placed the file on his mahogany surface without looking at him. “The Westside Expansion budget request. Sign here.” Suppressing his intense satisfaction, he didn’t check the details. He just picked up the pen and scribbled his name across several pages. Only then did he lift his gaze, his eyes still hazy with lingering pleasure. “I thought you were… flying out tomorrow? Why the sudden return?” I retrieved the file. “Emergency business.” Before I turned away, I glanced at the space beneath his desk. “She can come out now.” Rhys paused, momentarily stunned. He probably expected the usual theatrics—a furious wife asserting dominance, a public scene, maybe even a video to prove who was still in charge. But I simply added, “She’ll get a cramp if she stays down there too long.” Feeling caught out, he shifted the topic. “What ‘emergency’ did you have to handle?” I didn’t answer. I just closed the door and, very deliberately, flipped the small [REST AND DO NOT DISTURB] sign on the handle. He didn’t realize that my emergency business had just been completed. 1 From inside the office, I heard the assistant, Willow Scott, purr softly. “Rhys, you scared me to death just now.” Rhys let out a low chuckle, his voice thick with a seductive rasp. “Scared of what? She’s not going to eat you.” “But she’s your wife…” “The wife is the one who understands the rules! See? She walked right out, didn’t she?” I stood in the hallway, the afternoon light slanting diagonally onto the carpet at my feet. Willow’s voice turned syrupy. “So are you coming home tonight?” “Work is work,” Rhys said, the answer sounding disturbingly casual, “but I still have to go home.” Willow tittered. “Mr. Kingston, are you so used to being pampered that you can’t manage a single night alone?” “She can do it, but so can I! Was I not satisfying you just now?” “You and she are different,” his lazy voice followed. “She’s tenacious, like a tiger in the boardroom, but she’s got nowhere to land without me!” “You know how badly she broke with her family just to marry me back then.” “If I stop going home, where would that leave all you little darlings on the outside?” He spoke of our heavy past as if it were a playful line in a cheap romance. Willow’s voice was cloyingly sweet. “Do you… like that about her? That she acts all high and mighty but is secretly pathetic?” The air stilled for two seconds. Then I heard Rhys laugh quietly, a sound devoid of mirth, and he posed a counter-question: “You tell me.” “I’d say—” Willow didn’t finish her sentence. Because I opened the door again. Both people in the office froze instantly. Willow was half-sitting on Rhys’s large executive desk. Rhys was leaning back in his chair, his shirt collar open. Seeing me, he only paused for a moment before an eyebrow arched in challenge. “Did you forget something?” I didn’t speak. I walked straight toward the coffee table. My car keys were, in fact, still sitting there. I picked them up and turned to leave. “Anya.” Rhys stood up, rounded the desk, and smoothly slipped his arms around my waist. He always did this at the office. Affection, especially in public, was a tool he was never shy about using. I gently broke free. After his entanglement with the assistant, a faint, sweet lady’s perfume clung to him. It was the exact scent of the bottle on my vanity. Last month, when he gave it to me, he’d called it a “limited-edition blend, perfectly capturing my rare spirit.” Now I realized he must have bought it by the case. “I’ll be home for dinner,” his voice was the familiar, gentle tone he used when apologizing. “What do you want? I can cook, hmm?” Willow made a small, contemptuous huff beside us. “Don’t bother,” I said. “I have plans tonight.” His smile faded a fraction, though the corner of his mouth was still hooked up. “What’s this? Are you mad?” He leaned closer. “Is this about Willow? I told you, she’s just a—” “I know,” I cut him off softly. “She’s an intern. She needs your hands-on guidance.” What kind of guidance was entirely up to his current needs. He looked momentarily baffled. He hadn’t expected the lack of a fight, or even a good, sharp insult. He lifted a hand to touch my cheek, but I took a step forward. “Fine,” he shrugged, then grabbed my arm. “No matter how big the plans are, be home before nine.” Willow let out a small, satisfied giggle next to us. I looked at her, and she looked back. Compared to the women I’d dealt with before, she was too protected. Her eyes held undisguised triumph and provocation. Youth was a beautiful thing. Looking at that vibrant face, I was thrown back to the summer I was twenty, when I ran away from the clinic and Rhys held me in his arms. 2 It was the third day my father had sent me away for ‘treatment.’ Treatment for my ‘irrational obsession,’ my ‘illness’ of wanting to be with a poor boy. Rhys had spent the night waiting in a maintenance shaft. When the morning shift changed, he pried open the window of my room. “Jump!” he’d called up, holding out his arms. I closed my eyes and jumped. He caught me, falling hard onto the ground himself. His elbow cracked, but he never let go. We fled to a safe distance. He sat against a wall, his linen shirt soaked with sweat. He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his chest. His heart was hammering, fast and heavy. “Anya,” his eyes were frighteningly red. “Listen to me. If I can get you out of here today, nothing will ever be able to separate us again.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out. A thin, simple silver band, bought from a street vendor. Inside, he’d scratched the initial ‘A’ for Anya. His fingers were trembling as he slipped it onto my finger. “When I finally have money, I promise I’ll replace this with the biggest diamond ring you can imagine.” His voice was choked, convinced he’d wronged me. The sun that day was just as bright, illuminating his young face and the intense, burning light in his eyes. I thought that was forever. … Back in my own office, my assistant, Tasha, knocked and came in. “Ms. Wells, here is the expense summary for the week you were traveling.” She placed the tablet in front of me. “The breakdown… for Ms. Scott’s expenditures requires your review.” I scrolled the screen. Custom Italian lingerie, a royal-level Hamptons retreat spa package, a weekend at The St. Regis Penthouse… My finger paused on the last entry: Elite Women’s Health Clinic, Consultation Fee… Tasha carefully added, “Finance said… all these charges were filed under ‘Employee Wellness Benefits,’ with Mr. Kingston’s express authorization.” I set down my coffee cup. “Willow Scott. How long has she been with us?” “Three months.” I nodded, asking no further questions. “Mr. Kingston signed off, so the payment goes through.” Tasha remained standing, twisting the hem of her blazer. “Ms. Wells… I don’t know if I should say this.” “Go on.” “The first day you were gone, she… she took Mr. Kingston into your office and…” Tasha took a sharp breath, her expression grim. “I walked by and heard them. She was laughing and said she wanted to ‘take the thrill all the way.’” I instinctively looked at my executive chair. It was a custom piece Rhys had ordered from New York when we first started the company. He’d said, “You always have back pain. This one is engineered for spinal support.” I already knew about Tasha’s story. Willow was barely twenty. Unlike the women before her, she wasn’t afraid of angering Rhys or losing her job. She was loud, brazen, and couldn’t wait to turn every love bite into a close-up photo. Why wouldn’t she flaunt a victory like that? Last Wednesday, two in the morning. I was pulling an all-nighter on a proposal in my hotel room. My phone screen lit up. An unknown number sent a photo. For a moment, I didn’t recognize the scene. Until I realized—it was my office. The girl, whose face was blocked, was sitting in my chair while Rhys leaned over to kiss her. The accompanying text read: [The view from this chair is particularly comfortable!] I didn’t need to see her face to know who it was. I didn’t reply. But in that moment, the chest-high wall I’d been keeping up suddenly collapsed. That was when I decided I needed to return for my emergency business: the divorce. And he, utterly oblivious, had signed the divorce settlement hidden beneath the ‘Westside Expansion budget request.’ 3 “The Friday you left, she wore your high heels to work,” Tasha continued, her voice catching. “I asked her why she was wearing your shoes, and she said…” Tasha choked up. “She said Mr. Kingston told her they suited her, and that you wouldn’t care, Ms. Wells.” She looked up, her eyes red. “Ms. Wells, do you really not care?” I looked at the girl who was so clearly pained on my behalf. I smiled, completely detached. “The shoes didn’t fit me well. If she likes them, she can keep them.” Before I left, I had no idea the two of them were involved. The company was focused on new market development; my mind wasn’t on babysitting Rhys. Besides, he still had a separate, steady paramour living in a condo nearby. Given Willow’s audacity, I figured that one must have been retired. “Wipe your eyes,” I handed her a tissue. “I’ll be out of the office for the next week. Keep an eye on things.” She looked confused. “Where are you going?” I didn’t answer. I just looked out the window. The sun was bright, just like the afternoon seven years ago when we registered our marriage. Rhys went back to my family estate alone. He knelt on the slate floor of my father’s study for three hours, begging for his approval. “Sir, I know you despise me. But Anya believes in me, and I won’t let her down.” He was eventually kicked out. But my father stood by the window for a long time that day. Later, he revised Rhys’s laughably flawed business plan in his study and secretly mailed it to me. Bringing up these dusty details now felt like demanding payment, tainting the sincerity of the past with calculation. But if I never brought them up… He would truly believe he was a self-made genius who had conjured those connections, funds, and data through his own merit. Shortly after Tasha left, Rhys called me from his car. “The little one was shaken up by your surprise visit today,” his voice was low and playful. “Gotta spend some time soothing her. I’ll be back late. Make sure to leave the door unlocked for me.” I was silent for three seconds before speaking. “Didn’t we agree: no one plays outside and risks a baby?” There was a pause on his end. “What baby?” His voice was controlled, steady. “Willow Scott’s visit to the Elite Women’s Health Clinic wasn’t for an annual physical, was it?” After two seconds, he laughed, a sudden, sharp sound. “You’re tracking her?” “It was on the company ledger,” I replied calmly. “A fifty-thousand-dollar prenatal package, filed under Employee Wellness. You’re quite generous, Mr. Kingston.” He seemed genuinely unaware. He must have approved the expense without reading the line item. He immediately softened his tone, trying to placate me. “Anya, it was an accident! She’s young, naive, thought a baby could be leverage.” “And?” “I’ll handle it,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry, no one will ever threaten your position.” “Rhys,” I used his name. “Hm?” “Do you remember,” I said slowly, “how we lost our first child?” His breathing caught on the other end. “Enough, Anya. That was years ago. Bringing it up again and again is pointless.” “You’re right,” I smiled to myself, a bitter realization. “It’s all in the past.” Including the child who never had a chance to be born. Including the promises he made while kneeling. Including the dark incident he held over my head all these years… “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be home once I’m done with her.” He hung up. I raised my hand and, for the first time—and the last—I pulled up his contact and hit Block. Then, I replied to a text message that had been waiting for a week: [The matter is settled. I will be there for the wedding.] 4 By the time I left the office, all my personal belongings had been quietly packed and removed. The elevator descended, a gentle, familiar pressure around my body. There was a time, in this very elevator, when he had pressed me against the mirrored wall, kissing me passionately, whispering: “Anya, how much good fortune did I have to save up in this life and the last just to marry you?” His eyes were so bright then. Bright enough that he seemed to believe the lies he was telling himself. I had arranged to meet a friend to say goodbye. The restaurant was downtown, with a view of the waterfront. I’d barely sat down when Rhys walked in, his arm looped tightly around Willow’s waist. He leaned his head toward her, listening, a lazy, contented smile on his face. Rhys saw me first. He stopped for a beat, then his smile widened. Instead of avoiding me, he walked straight over. “Your ‘plans’ were to eat alone?” He pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down without asking. “The steak here is decent,” Rhys picked up the wine bottle on my table and examined it. “But this vintage you ordered is too weak. I’ll have the server bring a better one.” The server delivered his selection. Rhys poured two glasses himself, pushing one toward me and handing the other to Willow, who naturally didn’t drink it. He asked me, “How’s the taste?” “It’s fine.” “Just fine?” His smile deepened. “I remember this used to be your favorite. You always said it had… that beautiful almond bitterness.” “People’s tastes change,” I set my glass down. “Things you once thought were exquisite, you realize, are just mediocre now.” Rhys’s eyes darkened slightly. But he quickly recovered, smiling again as he wrapped his arm around Willow’s shoulder. “Hear that?” He chuckled, his tone openly indulgent toward Willow. “Your sister is teaching you a lesson: never make a man too important.” Willow sweetly punched his chest. “What about you? Can I make you important?” “Me?” Rhys looked up, his gaze meeting mine, but his words were for her. “Someone like me? Have your fun, but never, ever take it seriously.” 5 He said it flippantly, likely assuming I would stand up coldly, just as I had countless times before, leaving them their space. But I was not so accommodating. I simply picked up my wine glass and took another sip. I finally stood up when I received a text that my friend had to cancel. “My company had an emergency,” I announced. “Please excuse me.” I turned to walk away. Willow suddenly spoke up. “Anya, darling, it’s Rhys’s birthday next week. We’re throwing a yacht party. You should come.” I paused. “You have to come,” Willow insisted, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Rhys said the only birthday gift he really wants is…” She stopped deliberately and looked up at Rhys. He reached out and pinched her cheek, chiding her with a laugh. “You talk too much.” I nodded slowly. “If you’re not afraid of me crashing the party, I’d be delighted.” I didn’t look back at them as I walked out of the restaurant. Their laughter was muted by the glass window, fading away completely. I arrived at the villa at seven. Maria, our housekeeper, was in the kitchen, simmering stock. “Madam, you’re back?” “Mr. Kingston just called to say he’ll be late. Should I keep the broth warm for him?” “No,” I put down my bag. “He won’t be coming back.” Maria looked hesitant. “Are you… sleeping here tonight?” My hand paused on the buttons of my coat. “What do you mean?” “The past few nights you were away,” Maria’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Ms. Scott… she moved in.” Silence hung in the air for two seconds. I continued unbuttoning my coat. One button, two buttons. “Which room is she in?” “The master bedroom… She’s been in there for four consecutive nights. Mr. Kingston… was there too.” I nodded. “Madam,” Maria hesitated. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Mr. Kingston said you’d be upset, and he told me to…” “It’s alright. I don’t blame you.” I looked up, surveying the living room. I had chosen every piece of furniture, hung every painting. He had always been pleased. He always said, “Anya, this house isn’t a home without you in it.” Now, the house was no better than a hotel. Anyone could come in and stay a few nights. “Madam, please don’t bottle it up. You should yell, cry, anything is better than this… this quiet.” Cry? I saw my eyes in the reflection of a glass cabinet. They were empty. How could a well that had been dry for years suddenly find water? “Maria, you can go home now.” Then, I walked upstairs. I opened the door to the master suite, and a strange, cloying floral scent washed over me. The sheets had been changed. My skincare products on the vanity were pushed into a corner. I opened the window, letting the night wind rush in. It needed to cleanse the room of that unsettling odor. I pulled open the innermost drawer of the dressing room cabinet. Seven journals, organized by year. They were still there. The cover of the first one was a childish pink, the color I liked as a young woman. In the first year of our marriage, I recorded every meal I cooked for him. On the last page, there was a faint pencil line: [Seven-Year Plan, Completion: 1/7] The second journal’s focus had abruptly changed—it was filled with notes from courses I took to ‘improve my allure.’ From the third one onward, the pages were increasingly sparse. Not because there was nothing to record, but because I had no time. I thought recording seven years of beauty would be enough to withstand the seven-year itch. But I hadn’t updated it in four years. That time had been spent on far more practical things—checking his phone statements for hotel charges, tracking which apartment his assistant delivered flowers to… In those four years, when I was too smart and yet still so naive, I’d lost count of the number of Willows I’d had to eliminate. I quietly tossed the journals into the waste bin. Seven years. My plan had only achieved one-seventh of its goal. I was the only one in the marriage who believed in the work. He had long since opened his doors to the rest of the world. My phone chimed with a flight notification: [Ms. Wells, your emergency flight coordination is finalized. Departure at midnight.] I replied, “Thank you.” As I checked my suitcase one last time, my fingers brushed against a hard object in the bottom corner. It was the silver band Rhys had proposed with. I tossed it aside without a second thought, picked up my suitcase, and left.

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I was on a work trip, but my neighbors were blowing up the group chat, tagging me in ALL CAPS, cursing me out for knocking on their window in the middle of the night, and threatening to come upstairs and kill me. I stared at my phone screen, utterly confused. I was a thousand miles away in Nashville, munching on some Nashville hot chicken. There wasn’t even a roach in my apartment, let alone a person. Who the hell was knocking? Operating under the principle that there are no such things as ghosts, I told my neighbor to go take a look. The resulting video they sent showed a massive, homemade effigy hanging from my balcony, swinging back and forth with the draft from the HVAC unit, repeatedly striking the glass. The effigy was human-sized. It was headless and handless. 1 It was 2:30 a.m., and the condo group chat was detonating. A resident named “Inkwell” was furious: [Is the moron upstairs high? KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! It’s been an hour! What time do you think it is?!] RyanCole302: [Maybe it’s just the wind? Who’s a big enough idiot to knock on a window at 2 AM for fun?] Inkwell: [Bullshit! It’s not the wind! It’s got a rhythm, man, someone is deliberately knocking! Still going! I swear I’m coming up there to kick your ass!] A girl named “SweetSpot” chimed in: [An hour of knocking? That’s kind of creepy. Does that unit have someone with a mental health issue or something?] Seeing them argue, I felt compelled to step in as a good neighbor: [Hey, man, chill out. What building are you in? Don’t get worked up, just ask security to go check, right?] The next message was Inkwell changing his screen name to “FinnMiller402.” I froze. 402? That was the unit directly below mine. He was yelling at my apartment? But I was in Nashville on a consulting gig. Nobody was home. The place was locked up tighter than a drum. I cautiously typed: [You’re 402? Are you sure you’ve got the right unit?] FinnMiller402 (Inkwell): [QuestionMark.jpg. You think I don’t know where I live, genius? You must be an idiot.] My gut clenched. A burglar? But what kind of burglar breaks in, steals nothing, and spends an hour playing bongos on the window? It made no sense. Two minutes later, Finn sent another message: [I called security and the building manager. They’re on their way up. The son of a bitch upstairs is going to apologize on his knees tonight!] As a lifelong, meek consultant (the perpetual ‘B’ party), my first instinct was to de-escalate: [I am truly sorry. I’m the owner of 502. But I swear I’m not home right now, and there is absolutely no one else there!] FinnMiller402: [???] BrawnyBrock: [Holy crap, a horror story?] SweetSpot: [Maybe your parents or a relative took your key and didn’t tell you?] HarveyReno: [Even a relative wouldn’t be banging on a window in the middle of the night, would they?] Pierce602: [It’s a break-in, then.] BrawnyBrock: [What kind of thief is that cocky? Trying to get caught?] The bizarre turn of events drew out every night owl in the chat. Just as the speculation hit a fever pitch, Pierce602 posted a video: [@SeraKnight, is this your place?] BrawnyBrock: [Oh, Momma! What the hell is that thing?!] SweetSpot: [That looks familiar…] I clicked the video with a trembling hand. One look, and the blood drained from my face, a chill shooting straight up to my scalp. My living room curtain was partially open. Right in the center of the balcony, a huge, white object was hanging. It looked like a human-sized rag doll. The central air was blowing directly on it, and the thing was swinging back and forth with the draft, striking the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window with a rhythmic “Thud, thud, thud.” That was the sound Finn downstairs had been hearing. Pierce602: [Is that supposed to be one of those old-school weather dolls?] HarveyReno: [Who makes a doll that big? It looks like a person. @SeraKnight, did you hang that?] I quickly denied it: [Absolutely not! Why would I hang that creepy thing?!] BrawnyBrock: [Wait… could that actually be a person?] SweetSpot: [How long have you been gone?] Me: [Two days. I was scheduled to be back next week.] Just as we started arguing about what the thing was, Finn messaged again: [Security is here. I’m going in with them to check it out first.] 2 BrawnyBrock: [My dude is a madman!] The group chat went dead silent. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for Finn’s update. After about ten minutes, Finn sent a chain of voice messages. His voice was shaking, bordering on a sob. “Oh my GOD! Ahhhhh!” “No head! God, it has no head!” “Call the cops! Call the cops right now! It’s a person! It’s missing its head!” He was clearly terrified, incoherent save for the frantic calls to 911. HarveyReno: [So… a corpse?] BrawnyBrock: [I’ve already called the police! @SeraKnight, forget your job, get your butt back here! Something huge has happened!] Brock, despite his mouth, was quick on the draw. He sent several messages urging me to return. Me: [Dude, I can’t. The earliest red-eye flight I can catch won’t land until tomorrow morning.] BrawnyBrock: [Someone’s dead, and you’re flying? Can’t you take an Uber? You sound guilty! Maybe you’re the killer!] I snapped back: [I’m in Nashville! It would take two days of non-stop driving to get back! You’re awfully quick to throw accusations—are you looking for a scapegoat?] RyanCole302: [Alright, stop fighting, guys.] SweetSpot: [@RyanCole302, you’ve been quiet the whole time we were panicking. Where were you?] RyanCole302: [Seriously? I was asleep, woman! Look at the time! I’d have been out cold if the chat hadn’t kept vibrating. Now you’re going to suspect me?] SweetSpot: [Sorry, sorry. Been watching too many true-crime documentaries. A little jumpy…] Pierce602: [Shut up. Sirens. The police are here.] The group chat fell into a grave silence once more. About twenty minutes later, Pierce602 posted four words, like a boulder dropped into a deep well: [Someone is dead.] 3 I booked the next available red-eye flight. The sky was just beginning to lighten when I landed. The police were waiting for me at the gate. “Ms. Knight? You’ll come with us.” The interrogation room was lit by a sickly fluorescent glare. Detective Price, a sharp-featured officer, sat across from me. “The victim’s time of death was between midnight and 1:30 a.m.” Detective Price stared into my eyes. “Where were you during that time?” “I was on a work trip in Nashville,” I replied honestly. “Alibi? How do we know you didn’t secretly fly back, kill someone, and fly out again?” “What?” I was stunned. “Don’t the building and the airport have security cameras?” “Unfortunately, your building’s security system went half-offline three days ago,” Detective Price tapped the table. “And we note that you, Ms. Knight, are a security systems consultant. An expert in the field.” “As for the airport footage, that takes time to review.” “Now, answer my question.” It seemed I was the number one suspect. Which, given the body was found in my apartment, was fair. “The trip was my boss’s assignment. I was in Nashville to supervise a client camera installation.” “Yesterday, after I finished work, I went back to the hotel. I didn’t go anywhere else.” “No colleagues to vouch for you?” I shook my head. “It was a solo trip.” “However, around one in the morning, I was starving, so I ordered some takeout.” “It was delivered around 1:15.” “It was one of those hotel delivery robots that brings the food up. The robot should have a log, right? And the hotel lobby security would definitely show I never left.” “That’s convenient,” Detective Price leaned back in his chair. “Hungry in the middle of the night?” I sighed with frustration. “Of course I get hungry when I can’t sleep. Officer, a woman eating a midnight snack isn’t a crime, is it?” As the initial shock wore off, I slowly calmed down. I hadn’t killed anyone. I didn’t need to tremble like a criminal. “So, have you offended anyone recently?” Detective Price changed tack. “Or who do you think would want to hurt you the most?” “I don’t know,” I shook my head. “But I swear I’m not the killer, or I hope to be hit by a bus on my way out of here.” Detective Price watched me for a long moment, seemingly confirming I wasn’t lying before putting down his pen. “Save the dramatics. They don’t help. Don’t leave the city for the next few days. We may call you back in.” “‘Us’?” “Every resident in the building who doesn’t have a rock-solid alibi.” Detective Price rubbed his temples. “Even though the interior security system was compromised, the exterior ones are still working.” “Since 10 p.m last night, no one entered or left the complex except for one delivery driver.” “Then why are you grilling me—” Detective Price gave me a flat look. “The police don’t rule out any possibility.” I nodded quickly. “Our complex is a little out of the way. It’s usually only delivery people and mail carriers who frequent the place…” Wait, the delivery driver? A flash of memory crossed my mind. “Detective Price, I just remembered something. I don’t know if you’d call him an enemy, but he was definitely a delivery guy.” 4 It was a small incident, originally. If Detective Price hadn’t simultaneously brought up “enemy” and “delivery driver,” I would never have connected the dots. “About two weeks ago, I had a fight with a delivery guy, and I ended up calling the police.” It was 10:30 p.m. that night. I had ordered a spicy Thai curry. “You order takeout often that late?” “Yeah, I’m a consultant. Long hours.” I continued recalling the night. “The food arrived pretty fast, around 11:00 p.m.” “Knock, knock, knock.” “Just leave it by the door, thanks!” I was deep in a heated battle on my game console and just shouted out a response. The game was a nail-biter, so I kept playing for another half hour. When I finally remembered the food and went to the door, my instinct as a woman living alone told me to check the peephole first. The motion-sensor light in the hallway had gone out. It was pitch black. But in the darkness, a single red spark was flickering, glaringly bright. Someone was squatting by my door, smoking! My building has an apartment directly across the hall, but it was empty. No neighbor from upstairs or downstairs would purposely come all the way to my door to have a cigarette. I instantly remembered all the online news stories about delivery drivers staking out single women’s apartments. My heart hammered against my ribs. To confirm, I dug out the order on my phone and dialed the driver’s number. Immediately, a phone rang outside my door, and the motion-sensor light flared on. Squatting there, in the yellow vest, was the delivery driver. A few seconds later, the call connected. “Hello, can I help you?” I backed up a few steps, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sorry, I was busy. I see the app says it was delivered?” The driver turned and stared directly at my door, his eyes unblinking. “Oh, yes, about half an hour ago. It’s cold out, your food must be getting cold. You should grab it now.” “Got it. I’m in the bathroom, I’ll get it in a minute.” 5 Thinking back, my excuse was weak. I kept my eye glued to the peephole. His eyes never left my front door. He had to know I was lying, that I’d spotted him. But he still didn’t leave. I retreated to the bedroom, hands shaking, and called 911. The police arrived quickly, within five minutes. Only after I heard the commotion outside did I dare open the door. “Officers, it’s him! He’s been squatting by my door for over thirty minutes!” As the police pinned him down, the delivery driver stared intensely at me. It was a look of venomous resentment—the hatred of a plan exposed—and it made my blood run cold. But in an instant, he morphed back into a simple, harmless-looking man. “It’s a misunderstanding, Officer, truly,” he pleaded, his face crumpled. “It’s too cold out. I just wanted to get out of the wind and wait for my next order here.” He even played the victim, claiming he had a paralyzed mother to support at home. “I have to work constantly, I can’t quit.” My gut told me his version of “work constantly” was less about delivering food and more about attempted home invasion. But I had no proof. In the end, the police could only give him a warning. He hadn’t actually touched me or picked the lock. That was the end of it. Later, I posted about it online. The comments section was full of people warning me to be careful, saying people like that hold a grudge. [OP, watch your back. Always double-lock your door!] [The police won’t do anything about this potential danger? Do they have to wait for someone to get hurt?] [No new orders, but he’s squatting by your door smoking? Something’s definitely wrong with this guy!] Of course, there were also sanctimonious S.O.B.s defending him. [Maybe he was just tired and taking a break?] [They’re just low-income workers, trying to make a living. Don’t assume the worst.] [Maybe he was afraid the food would get stolen and you’d ask for a refund, so he was waiting for you to bring it inside?] Regardless of the truth, I was terrified for a week. Thankfully, nothing happened. I convinced myself it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, or perhaps I had just overreacted. Slowly, the incident faded from my memory.

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Before my dad took his last breath, he left me a huge surprise. He told me my mom wasn’t dead. She had remarried, taking my two older sisters with her. I left our small trailer park to find her, only to discover I didn’t just have two sisters anymore. I had… One, two, three, four new siblings. The eldest sister, the CFO of the family empire: “Pick a gem, Leo. Can’t decide? Just take them all.” The second sister, Hollywood’s new “It Girl”: “I got you VIP tickets to my concert, front row center! It’s all yours.” Even the stepsister who isn’t related by blood… “Little brother, drink your milk. You need to grow taller. Eat more, okay?” And the formerly arrogant, rebellious stepbrother… “Who bullied my little brother? Get out here, I’ll kick your ass!” Me… I guess I’m just going to lie down and enjoy the ride! 1 My dad died. Before he croaked, he told me to find my mom. With no idea where to start, I embarked on the journey to find her. Mrs. Miller from the trailer next door tearfully stuffed homemade biscuits into my tattered backpack. “Leo, honey, don’t go hungry.” I hugged her and took the water bottle from old Mr. Henderson. “Leo, stay hydrated.” Finally, Uncle Bob, the mechanic, rubbed my head and threw me onto the Amtrak heading to Boston. He said, “Your mom married rich. If she doesn’t want you, use your secret weapon.” I carried my small backpack, tears in my eyes, feeling like a lost puppy. I shouted into the wind, “Uncle Bob, what… is… my… secret… weapon?” No one answered. Only the echo from the canyon replied. Scared as I was, I eventually stood shakily at South Station in Boston. Clutching the address, I rang the doorbell of a massive villa in a wealthy suburb. The woman who opened the door was dressed impeccably. She looked me up and down. “Who are you looking for?” I fidgeted with my fingers. “I… I’m looking for my mom. Her name is Elizabeth.” “Come in.” Although suspicious, she let me in and made a call. “Mrs. Sterling, there’s a young boy downstairs. He says he’s looking for you.” Before long, a woman walked down the grand staircase. I marveled at the place. It was like a palace. They even used an intercom to talk. “Leo?” The woman was beautiful, with barely any wrinkles under her eyes. She wore a silk robe and pulled me into a tight hug. I froze, feeling the softness and the strange sensation. Is this… Mom? “It’s Mom, it’s Mom. Leo, I missed you so much.” The beauty wept, tears rolling down like crystal beads. “Mom?” I tentatively asked. “Yes!” She hugged me tighter and rubbed my hair. “Quick! Call Victoria and Chloe back!” My beautiful mom started giving orders. “Who are they?” I asked, confused. “Your sisters.” She held my hand and led me upstairs. “Your dad had a gambling problem back then, and you were too young. I could only take your sisters and run. I planned to come back for you later, but you found us first.” I whispered, “Dad died.” Maybe it was my imagination, but she paused for a second before bending down. “Mom will treat you better. I’ll be so good to you, Leo.” “Stay here, okay?” Her eyes were gentle. I widened my eyes and nodded obediently. Soon, she cleaned me up and led me downstairs. Just as we reached the steps, someone pushed the front door open. The woman seemed to carry a cold wind with her. Her gaze was sharp. She put her briefcase aside and started unbuttoning her coat. I instinctively stepped back. Mom led me down. “Leo, this is your eldest sister.” Mom explained gently. “Hi, big sis,” I lowered my head, sneaking glances at her. The woman squatted down, her eyes full of smiles. “Leo, you’ve grown so much.” She pinched my cheek, her smile deepening. “I’m back! I’m back! I’m back!” Someone shouted, rushing through the door. “My brother is here?” “Where is he?” The moment our eyes met, we both screamed. “Ahhhhh! Chloe Sterling!” She vaulted over the sofa with one hand. The next second, a beautiful face was magnified in front of mine. I almost stopped breathing. Even in my remote trailer park, I had seen her commercials on TV. America’s Sweetheart, Chloe Sterling! She’s my second sister! I started to suspect this was all a dream. “Leo, did you miss me?” Chloe pinched my cheek too. Not satisfied with one, she pinched both sides. “Leo was too small back then,” the eldest sister crossed her arms, stating a fact. I nodded unconsciously. “Yeah.” “It’s okay, you’ll remember later. Chloe loves you the most! I saved a ton of fun stuff for you!” Chloe grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the stairs. “Let’s eat first. Leo traveled a long way. He’ll see the stuff later,” Mom said gently. “Madam, Mr. Sterling says he’ll be back soon. Miss Harper and Master Ethan… said they aren’t coming home tonight.” A trace of helplessness flashed across Mom’s face. “I know.” “Harper and Ethan aren’t coming back again?” The eldest sister sat aside, flipping through a file, her voice cold. “They’ve been acting out lately. Maybe Uncle needs to talk to them,” Chloe said, twirling a lock of my hair. Mom sighed and called me over, showing me a photo. “Leo, this is your Uncle Richard, my current husband.” The man in the photo was handsome and sharp. “This is Harper, Uncle Richard’s daughter.” The girl in the photo looked a bit disgruntled. “Her eyes are blue!” I exclaimed. “Yes, her mother was French,” Mom explained. “Oh, okay,” I nodded obediently, earning a round of head rubs from my sisters. “This is Ethan, Uncle Richard’s son.” The boy had great hair, but the corners of his mouth turned down. He looked full of angst. “He’s handsome,” I praised sincerely. “Our Leo is the best looking!” Chloe puffed out her cheeks and muttered. I pursed my lips and shook my head. “Haha, let me see the handsome boy!” A hearty male voice came from the door, footsteps heavy. I looked up. The man was tall; I had to crane my neck to see him. He was strong, completely different from my sisters. He looked… safe. He half-squatted and reached out. “Come here, let Uncle see.” I moved from Mom’s arms, curiously observing him. “Hello, Uncle.” “Hello, Leo!” “How old are you?” He let me look at him, asking softly. “Eighth grade,” I answered obediently. He rubbed my face, grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly, he lifted me up and placed me on the dining chair. He rubbed my head. “Let’s eat!” Mom smiled and sat down. My sisters sat beside me. “Eat up. After dinner, I’ll show you something cool!” Chloe whispered. “Chloe, less talking, more eating!” Mom interrupted. “It’s fine. She can talk to Leo,” Uncle Richard said warmly. My sisters both looked up, surprised by his words. Mom paused for two seconds before saying, “Oh, okay.” “Which room does Leo want?” Uncle Richard asked while putting food in my bowl. “Victoria works late, don’t disturb him. Chloe is rarely home, but when she is, she’s loud. The room behind theirs is a storage room, you can’t stay there.” “Uncle Richard!” Chloe pouted, looking annoyed. I shook her hand under the table, signaling I’d see her toys later. “You are loud!” Victoria nodded in agreement and offered a suggestion. “Leo can stay in the room next to mine. Good lighting.” Uncle Richard thought for a moment. “Okay, that one. If Harper and Ethan have complaints, tell them to come to me.” I wondered why they would complain. I found out when I moved in. We were neighbors. 2 Chloe opened the door and introduced me. “My room is at the end of the hall. Victoria is opposite me.” She opened the room next to Victoria’s. “This is yours! Great sunlight during the day. The peach tree branches touch your window!” I rolled on the bed, overjoyed. “Next door is Ethan. Opposite him is Harper.” Chloe looked around unnaturally. “Don’t talk to them if you don’t have to.” “Huh?” I didn’t hear clearly. “What did you say?” Victoria walked in with milk and kicked Chloe as she passed. “Don’t talk nonsense.” She turned to me. “Leo, drink your milk.” “Okay.” I drank it all, amused by their loving gazes. “I finished!” “Okay, bedtime now.” Victoria tucked me in and dragged Chloe out. “Wait, wait! Leo, I have toys to show you!” Victoria grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. “Tomorrow. It’s rest time.” “Sleep? What time is it?!” Chloe protested. “Your schedule is unhealthy!” Victoria ignored her struggles, turning off the light for me at the door. “Goodnight, Leo. Toys tomorrow.” I laughed and shouted okay. I yawned. I was tired. But I didn’t sleep well. In the middle of the night, I met… Harper. I screamed when she kicked the door open, instinctively turning on the lamp. “You! What are you doing!” She was swinging a baseball bat, destroying my room. Bang! Crash! “Yo, this is the new brother?” “Harper, what are you doing!” Victoria arrived quickly, shielding the shivering me. “Just teaching the new kid a lesson. Letting him know who runs this house.” Harper shouldered the bat, chewing gum loudly. “Leo is young! You’re scaring him!” Victoria trembled with rage. “Why waste breath on her!” Chloe appeared and tackled Harper. Victoria joined the fray. I was left alone, circling them helplessly. Mom and Uncle Richard were on the third floor; they couldn’t hear the commotion. Luckily, this seemed routine. Soon, the three of them stopped, panting. I worriedly circled Chloe. “Don’t worry, Leo. I’m fine.” I waved my hand. “Chloe, take care of your face. I like your face.” Chloe froze. Harper stood up shakily behind her, sneering. “Brother, we’ll clash plenty in the future!” I saw her stumbling and reached out to steady her. “Oh, okay. Goodnight, Harper.” Harper’s look changed. She stared at me like I was an idiot. Her gaze was fierce, almost making me cry before she looked away. “Scared stupid.” “Watch your mouth!” Victoria and Chloe spoke in unison, ready to fight again. I stopped them and ushered everyone out one by one. After a quick tidy, I slept until noon. 3 I had met Victoria, Chloe, and Harper. Only Ethan was missing. I played with a small, exquisite action figure. “Like it?” Chloe sat beside me, eyes full of expectation. “Yeah!” I nodded, but hesitated. “Chloe, you saved… this many?” The entire storage room was filled with figures. Chloe twisted the hem of her shirt. “When you were little, you said you liked them.” I blinked. I had no memory of my sisters. Mom said she left when I was born. When did I say I liked figures? Seeing me stare, she said awkwardly, “I was holding you, walking around. A guy teased you with a figure. You wanted it, he wouldn’t give it! You cried.” I was surprised. “I don’t remember.” She said anxiously, “I remember! I knew then I wanted to give you everything good in the world. But…” I patted her shoulder. “Okay, okay! Don’t think about the sad stuff.” I stood next to a life-size figure. “Chloe, am I as tall as this one?” She rubbed my head. “Our Leo will grow tall!” We spent the afternoon organizing the room. It became my playroom. Besides figures, there were expensive toys. Uncle Richard even sent a slide when he saw us. If Mom hadn’t stopped him, he would have sent a ball pit. Well, he sent it anyway. After playing, I opened my door to find Victoria sitting at my desk. “Victoria,” I called obediently. “Hmm. Like the playroom?” She wore gold-rimmed glasses tonight, looking gentle. I sat on a small stool next to her. “Yes! Chloe played with me for a long time!” Victoria pinched my cheek. “Chloe is the fun one. Leo must like her more. You said you liked her face yesterday.” I sensed something wrong. I moved my stool closer. “I like you just as much, Victoria!” “Really!” “Victoria is great too!” Just a bit scary looking. I swallowed that thought. She looked like an abandoned puppy. “Victoria~” I tried to act cute. “Okay.” Victoria pulled me up to sit on the desk. She stood behind me and produced three boxes like magic. “Look at these. Like them?” The first box had loose diamonds, sparkling under the light. “Wow!” The second had a ruby watch. Exquisite. “Pretty!” I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The last box had a pearl necklace. Each pearl glowed. “This is too expensive, sister.” I pushed the boxes back. “I don’t need expensive jewelry!” Victoria rubbed my head lovingly. “I might not be able to play with you like Chloe, but I can afford these. If you want anything, I can get it for you.” I bit my lip. “I know. I’ll pick one.” I felt it was too flashy for a kid. “Can’t decide?” Before I could answer, Victoria decided. “Keep them all. By the way, the ruby is the cheapest.” Watching her leave, I suddenly understood why she stopped Chloe yesterday. The gems sparkled, pure as a sister’s desire to make up for lost time.

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