Category: English

1 The year I turned seven, my father died in a car crash. My mother remarried her first love and I moved in with them. At our very first dinner as a new family, my stepfather, Richard, announced the new house rules. “From now on, this family operates on a pay-your-own-way basis.” I took a piece of the pot roast. For that one piece of meat, my stepfather demanded three hundred dollars from a seven-year-old. I looked at my stepsister, Ashley, who was happily devouring her own portion. “Ashley had pot roast, too. Why don’t you ask her to pay?” “Because Ashley is my own flesh and blood,” Richard answered. “I love Ashley. She has bloodline privilege.” I glanced at my mother. Richard continued, “Your mother is my wife. I love your mother, so she has privilege, too.” “As for you,” he said, his eyes cold, “we have no blood ties and no emotional foundation. I have no obligation to support you.” To enforce Richard’s pay-as-you-go system, everything in the house was given a price tag. A list was taped to the refrigerator door: Apple: $2.00/each Milk: $1.50/carton Leftovers: $0.75/portion … My mother and Ashley had privilege. They could open the fridge whenever they wanted. I wanted to, but I had no money to pay. “You have no money, yet you expect to eat?” Richard’s voice was a flat line. I mumbled, unsure of what to do. He feigned generosity. “Fine. We’ll put it on your tab for now. You can sign a personal loan agreement with your mother and me.” “Interest will be calculated at a high-risk rate, 0.1% daily, compounded until you turn eighteen. Once you’re an adult and earning money, you can pay us back.” And so it began. I had to pay for every watt of electricity I used. Every grain of rice I ate. I even had to chip in for the vacations my parents took Ashley on… Because of the family’s pay-as-you-go system, I was over eighty thousand dollars in debt before I was even an adult. To minimize my debt, I lived as frugally as possible. I’d even dig through the trash for Ashley’s old, discarded clothes and shoes. Sometimes, I’d beg for food on the streets. But no matter how thrifty I was, I couldn’t avoid everything. That winter, the flu was raging. I got sick. A fever. The thermometer read 103.6 degrees. My body felt like a hot coal. As expected, the first thing my parents did was pull out their ledger and a calculator. After a flurry of calculations, they printed out a new loan contract. “Chloe, we can take you to the hospital. But you need to understand, medical costs are a bottomless pit these days. Registration, blood tests, an IV drip… that’s a thousand bucks, easy.” “And as we’ve agreed, Chloe, household expenses are shared. But personal, unexpected costs, like you getting sick, are your own responsibility.” But I couldn’t pay. So, I signed another loan agreement. … In the end, they didn’t take me to the hospital. Richard said it was too expensive. A waste of resources. Instead, he went to the drugstore downstairs and bought a box of fever reducers and a box of antibiotics. Total cost: five dollars. He walked into my room holding the medicine, my mother trailing behind him. “Chloe, you may not be my flesh and blood, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I paid for this medicine out of my own pocket. With a five-dollar delivery fee, that comes to ten dollars total.” He placed the medicine on my nightstand, then handed me a pen and a piece of paper. “Sign the loan contract first. Once you sign, you can have the medicine.” I was so feverish I could barely open my eyes. “Mom…” I croaked. She turned her face away, muttering, “Just sign it, Chloe. Sign it, take the medicine, and you’ll be fine.” Fighting the waves of sickness, my hand trembled as I scrawled my name on the contract. The second my signature was complete, Ashley’s voice cried out from the kitchen. “Daddy! Mommy! I cut my finger! It hurts so much!” My mother shot up like a spring and sprinted to Ashley in the kitchen. Her voice was laced with panic and pain. “What’s wrong, my sweet baby?” “Oh my god, let Mommy see! Is it bleeding? Honey, let’s go! We have to get her to the hospital for stitches and a tetanus shot! A cut like this can get infected, we can’t take any chances!” Listening to the sound of the car engine starting outside, I lay in bed, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t understand. Why did my 103-degree fever only warrant a ten-dollar box of pills, and only after signing a loan agreement? But a tiny cut on Ashley’s finger got her a free ride to the hospital for a tetanus shot? Ashley, the princess of the household, saw my confusion. She grinned at me. “Because I’m his flesh and blood. Daddy loves me.” “And your mom loves my dad. So by extension, she loves me most of all!” 2 Because Ashley was his flesh and blood, she received the love of both my stepfather and the mother who adored him. I was only my mother’s flesh and blood. So, as I grew older, all I received was a snowballing mountain of debt. I had no time for a social life at school. Even with college entrance exams approaching, I spent my lunch breaks collecting cans, running errands for classmates, and even copying out homework for struggling students in a corner of the playground. Five bucks for a thousand words. But I never expected Ashley to corner me while I was collecting plastic bottles, her friends flanking her. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. It was the loan agreement I had just signed with my stepfather two days ago. It detailed my request for an advance to buy next month’s supply of pads. “See? I wasn’t lying! It’s all true. Chloe here has to borrow money and sign an IOU just to buy pads.” “My stepsister is barely a teenager and she’s already eighty-five thousand dollars in debt to my family.” “She’s a total leech. Already drowning in debt before she’s even earned a dime. Who knows how she’s wasting money behind our backs.” “It’s all true! If any of you hang out with her, watch your wallets. She’ll probably steal from you!” So, I was just gossip for her and her friends. The other students started whispering. My face burned with shame. Pads. Having something so private broadcasted to a crowd of people… I wished the ground would swallow me whole. My eyes welled with tears as I tried to snatch the paper back. Ashley held it high above her head. Later, she didn’t just show it to the boys, she posted it on the school’s public notice board. “Everyone, come and see the real face of our top-ranked student! What’s the point of getting good grades? She’s a teenager with $85,730 in debt! Rotten to the core!” That afternoon, I became the school’s laughingstock. “The girl who buys pads on credit” became my nickname. My teacher called both me and Ashley into her office. My homeroom teacher was a responsible woman. She furiously reprimanded Ashley for her disrespectful behavior, then called our parents. Richard and my mother both came. Richard was dressed in a sharp suit, looking every bit the cultured gentleman. He apologized to the teacher the moment he walked in. But when the teacher tactfully mentioned the importance of “protecting a young girl’s privacy” and “providing basic necessities,” Richard pushed up his glasses and smiled. “Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood. This is our family’s approach to financial literacy. Chloe has always lacked a sense of money. The pay-as-you-go system, the personal loan contracts… these are all tools I’m using to cultivate her survival skills and independence.” The teacher was left speechless. After we left the office and rounded an empty corner of the hallway, the smiles vanished from my parents’ faces. Richard checked the time on his phone, and my mother immediately understood. She began to scold me. “Chloe, because you caused trouble at school, your father and I had to take an hour off work to deal with it. Your father’s hourly rate is two hundred dollars, mine is one hundred. Add twenty-five for gas, and that’s a total of three hundred and twenty-five dollars.” My mother scribbled down the numbers. “This goes on your tab. You are responsible for the additional cost of our time.” And so, my debt grew larger. On the way home, Ashley happily held my parents’ hands. I trailed behind, alone. Suddenly, Ashley turned around and stuck her tongue out at me with a triumphant grin. 3 At the dinner table that evening, my mother suddenly covered her mouth, let out a retching sound, and ran to the bathroom. Richard froze for a second. Then his eyes lit up, and he dropped his chopsticks. “Sophia!” he rushed to the bathroom door, knocking. “What’s wrong? Are you…?” The suspicion was confirmed at the hospital. My mother, at forty-two, was pregnant. She was pregnant with Richard’s own flesh and blood. She caressed her stomach, a blissful, rosy glow on her face. The arrival of their love child put both of them in a fantastic mood. Richard turned to me. “To ensure the best possible environment for the new family member, we need to reallocate some household resources.” “So, Chloe, your room can be turned into a nursery for your future baby brother.” My heart sank. “Then… where will I live?” Richard tapped the table and pointed towards the balcony. “Your mother and I discussed it. We can enclose that corner of the balcony and put a folding bed there for you.” The balcony? It was drafty in the winter and baked in the summer, with no proper shelter. When I started to cry and protest, my parents’ stance remained firm. Their words, laced with demands for me to be more considerate, were non-negotiable. “With a new baby, we have to tighten our belts. Besides, you’re about to finish your college exams, Chloe. You’re perfectly capable of getting a job like an adult.” “Starting next year, after your exams, you will give up your spot in college and get a job to pay back your debt to us.” No! I had to go to college! My teacher said it was my only way out. I argued, pleading my case. But my mother, her face contorted with anger, slapped me across the face. My parents pulled out the black ledger and a thick stack of loan agreements bearing my name, throwing them on the table in front of me. “Let’s get one thing straight. You are not his flesh and blood. We have no obligation to raise you, especially since you’ve been racking up debt under our system for years! You are a serious loss-making project!” I held my stinging cheek, my gaze fixed on my mother, who was lost in the bliss of her pregnancy. Mom. Don’t you remember? I’m not his flesh and blood. But I am yours. She just looked down, stroking her belly, basking in the happiness of carrying Richard’s child. After a long moment, my resentful stare made her flinch. Finally, as if she’d made a decision, she looked up at me. “Chloe, don’t blame us. Raising a child is expensive. We have to start saving for your brother’s formula and education fund before he’s even born. You’re old enough now. You should be sensible and help the family out. Besides, you already owe us a huge amount of money…” My eyes burned. I stared at my mother in disbelief. I finally understood. In this family, I was nothing more than an outsider in debt. I turned and began to pack my things in silence. 4 My mother’s child, the one that was both hers and Richard’s, wasn’t even born yet. But to show how important this child was, they decided to prepare the nursery in advance. And so, they moved me to the balcony ahead of schedule. On my first night there, my fever returned. It was June, the rainy season. The balcony had windows, but they were leaky, letting in drafts and rain. It felt like a damp, cold cellar. I had to sleep wrapped in two thick blankets. One night, I woke up thirsty and went to the living room for a glass of hot water. On the coffee table sat a half-eaten box of cherries. They were huge, deep crimson, and smelled intoxicatingly sweet. Next to them was a note from Richard. [For my dear wife. These are imported cherries, good for your health. You’re carrying our child, and this is for our baby’s vitamins. Twenty-five dollars a pound. Remember not to let any outsiders eat them.] The outsider, of course, was me. I stared at the cherries, a cold laugh building inside me. Just then, a moan came from the master bedroom. “Water… get me some water…” Richard was on a business trip. Ashley, with exams around the corner, was still out partying at a friend’s house and had decided to stay the night. They were both gone. I pushed open the bedroom door. My pregnant mother was lying in bed, her face pale, her forehead slick with sweat. Because of her age, her pregnancy symptoms were severe. She was having a leg cramp in the middle of the night. She was thirsty and in pain. When she saw it was me, she ordered me around as if it were her right. “Chloe, are you deaf? I’ve been calling for ages. Can’t you see how much pain I’m in? Come here and rub my leg, it’s cramping. It hurts like hell.” I stood by the bed in silence. “Mom, it’s three in the morning.” I looked at her, my voice devoid of warmth. “That’s outside of normal working hours. According to labor laws, night-shift nursing services are charged at double the rate.”

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I am a doctor from the new era of 3028. I know astronomy, geography, and everything in between, earning me the reputation of a “Living Encyclopedia.” Recently, I began researching a time machine capable of traveling to the past. But who knows which wire short-circuited? With a loud BANG, the machine exploded. Just like that, the “Living Encyclopedia” was offline. Permanently. Perhaps my dedication moved the universe, because in that split second, the time machine actually worked. My soul was sucked into the vortex. After a dizzying spin, I opened my eyes. I found myself sitting at a very plain wooden desk, a test paper staring back at me. 1 Did I… travel back in time? I looked around in amazement, marveling at the primitive surroundings. Is this the legendary “examination method” of 21st-century historical figures written in our history books? The name on the test paper read: Liam. Tsk, what a plain, unpretentious name. I roughly scanned the questions on the paper. These questions? In the 31st century, kindergarteners solve harder puzzles than this. But I couldn’t exactly display future-level genius right away. I had to blend in. So, I breezed through the answers but deliberately got a few wrong. After all, I had to live in this body now; it was better to be cautious and not too flashy. This should be foolproof, I thought, nodding with satisfaction. However, when I walked out of the exam hall, I found my classmates’ faces were darker than charcoal. “As expected of the State Math Olympiad. These questions were brutal.” “Hey, did you hear? Even Sarah, the school genius, was crying.” “Yeah, I couldn’t even solve half of them. They say this year’s Olympiad is the hardest in history.” ? This was not what I expected. Students were gathered in groups of twos and threes discussing the trauma. When they saw me approaching, a boy rolled his eyes at me with disdain. Searching the original owner’s memories, I learned his name was Brad. He was a rich kid who loved causing trouble and bullying the weak. The original “Liam” had been his punching bag for years. He looked at me and shouted mockingly, “Yo, isn’t this the class anchor? Since when are you qualified to take the Olympiad?” “Exactly. He probably couldn’t even read the questions. He’s just dragging down our school’s average.” “Honestly, why bother coming to school? You can’t learn anything anyway.” They laughed together. I shrugged indifferently and walked into the classroom. A few days passed, and I successfully adapted to life at school. Today was the day the Math Olympiad results were released. The scores and rankings would be scrolled on the giant screen outside the school, and the top 10 would get a special spot on the Honor Board. 2 As soon as the bell rang, the students shot out like arrows. I followed leisurely behind. Brad’s mocking voice sounded again. “Yo, the anchor is going to check his score?” “Brad, you don’t know? It’s easy for him to check. He just has to look at the very bottom of the list.” The crowd erupted in laughter again. “Tell you what, I’ll help you look.” Brad walked arrogantly to the screen and started searching from the bottom, ready to continue his ridicule. But after searching for a long time, he couldn’t find my name. “Heh, didn’t expect you to guess so many right this time,” he sneered, twitching his mouth in disdain. At this moment, whispers started among the students nearby. “Who is this Liam?” “Yeah, how come I’ve never heard of him?” More and more people were mentioning my name. Brad heard it too. He laughed sarcastically and pointed at me. “Liam? That’s him right there! The dead weight of Class 5. The waste who comes in last every single time.” “You really are a stain on our class. Your embarrassment has reached other classes now.” But the scene Brad expected—everyone laughing at me—didn’t happen. Instead, the surroundings went quiet. Confused, he followed the gazes toward the top of the list. With just one look, he froze. His face turned so dark it looked like it could drip ink. On the Honor Board, in the number one spot, gold letters flashed brilliantly. Liam. Rank: 1. Score: 98. I looked him in the eye and smiled. “Haha, sorry about that. Accidentally got first place.” Brad’s face fluctuated between colors. He gritted his teeth and glared at me. “How could you get first place? You definitely cheated.” Just then, a student ran up to me. “Liam, the teachers are looking for you.” Brad looked like he had just caught me red-handed. “Hmph, I told you! He definitely cheated. Why else would the teachers want him?” “You’re done for. Cheating in our school means immediate expulsion.” I shrugged indifferently and headed to the faculty office. Almost all the school administrators were there. They held my test paper, looking at me in silence. The Principal spoke up. “Liam, tell us the truth. How did you answer this?” 3 I looked at them and said with absolute honesty, “Teachers, I didn’t copy.” “How is it possible you didn’t copy? With your usual level, how could you get first place?” Mr. Henderson, the math teacher, spoke with a sharp, mean tone. His eyes were full of contempt. He often mocked me for my grades and even enabled Brad’s bullying. I looked him calmly in the eye and retorted, “The Olympiad papers were transported under armed guard. There was no possibility of cheating at any stage.” “Unless a teacher leaked the questions to boost their own reputation. I am your student, Mr. Henderson. Are you trying to dirty your own name?” Mr. Henderson didn’t expect the usually submissive Liam to talk back. His face turned liver-red. “Who knows if you copied off another student?” “Mr. Henderson, in my exam hall, was there anyone worth copying from?” I stood there, calm and open, looking at all the teachers and administrators present. “If you don’t believe me, check the surveillance footage.” But these teachers clearly didn’t believe my story. In their eyes, how could a student who usually ranked last suddenly soar to the top? So, they handled it as a disciplinary violation. I was banned from taking exams. Despite the ban, my score made me famous instantly. Because my score wasn’t just first in our school. It crushed the prestigious private academy next door, St. Jude’s, making me number one in the entire city. I broke records and made history. You have to understand, the students at St. Jude’s usually wouldn’t even look at us public school kids. 4 In their words, we were just the people who would end up working for them. To be surpassed by people they looked down on? The students of St. Jude’s couldn’t handle the loss of face. Being young and arrogant, they started clamoring online. They claimed we just got lucky and demanded a face-off to make us “recognize our reality.” At first, our school accepted the challenge confidently. But in the subsequent series of mock exams, St. Jude’s crushed us in every subject. Under the repeated blows, our students became dispirited, like defeated roosters. None of this had anything to do with me, though. Because I was banned from taking exams. This rivalry with St. Jude’s soon reached a climax. In the mid-term exams, our school suffered a total defeat. The scores were humiliating. After school, I saw a group of people gathering at the school gate. They held megaphones, loudly provoking us. The entrance was blocked tight. Their arrogant faces wore expressions of disdain. “Got one first place in a contest and thought your school was something special?” “Let us teach you how to behave. See the gap between us clearly.” Repeated failures had disheartened my classmates. For a moment, no one dared to speak up. Everyone shrank back like quails. Seeing our fear, they became even more unbridled, shouting arrogantly: “Yo, doesn’t your school have a genius named Liam?” “What, is he scared? Why hasn’t he taken the last few exams?” “Thought he was some peerless genius, turns out he’s just a coward.”

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My “white lotus” aunt played the victim, forcing my mother out, thinking she could marry into wealth. But I, with wide, innocent eyes, asked my grandmother: “Aunt Chloe said I’m a ‘money-loser’ and she’ll give me a little brother to be my ‘backer.’ Grandma, what does ‘money-loser’ mean?” Grandma’s face darkened instantly: “It means a fool like her who destroys other people’s families.” “You are not a money-loser; you are Grandma’s precious treasure.” I leaned into Grandma’s arms, a slow smile curving my lips. In my past life, she exploited my softness and youth. After marrying my father, she conspired with her lover to boil me alive in a cauldron. This time, let’s see what she has to fight me with. 1 From the moment I was born, Grandma designated me as the sole heir to the Feng family fortune. Even my father was instructed to return the company to me when I turned eighteen. This was because my maternal grandmother and Grandma were childhood best friends. My maternal grandmother even sacrificed her life to save Grandma. To repay this debt, Grandma demanded my father marry my mother. But my father, wild and free-spirited, broke my mother’s heart. Disappointed in her son, Grandma decided to leave everything to me. After my mother left, my father finally came to his senses, but he could never find her again. To make up for the maternal love I lost, my father invited my mother’s “good sister,” Aunt Chloe, into our home. Aunt Chloe treated me extremely well, always caring for me. When kids bullied me for having no mother, she scolded them fiercely, demanding they apologize. Young and starved for motherly love, I was deeply moved. I even begged my father to let Aunt Chloe be my mother. For my sake, my father agreed. Privately, he demanded Aunt Chloe undergo sterilization, ensuring I would be his only child. She agreed on the surface but faked a medical report claiming she was naturally infertile. She then tried everything to seduce my father. Until I caught her taking folic acid. Aunt Chloe cried to me: “Auntie has a stomachache and needs medicine to get better. Can you keep this secret from Daddy and Grandma?” I nodded, but later overheard her phone call with a man: “That brat saw me taking folic acid. We need to get rid of her immediately.” “A money-loser dares to compete with the son in my belly for the inheritance? Delusional!” Shocked, I tried to run but was pushed off the third-floor balcony. I survived but suffered brain damage, becoming intellectually disabled. To avoid blame, she pretended to fall while trying to save me, bleeding profusely. She cried, claiming she didn’t know she was pregnant and that losing the baby hurt less than failing to save me. My father, blind to her schemes, believed her. Only Grandma suspected something was wrong and wanted to take me abroad for treatment. But Chloe whispered to me that Grandma was an old witch who wanted to eat me to extend her own life. 2 Young and brain-damaged, I couldn’t distinguish truth from lies. I screamed in terror whenever I saw Grandma. Seeing this, Chloe knelt before my father: “I am willing to care for Jane for the rest of my life. I will even have another child to be Jane’s crutch, to care for her forever.” Tearfully, she offered to sign a prenup renouncing all claims to the property. Chloe was a master of disguise, treating me well for years. But two years after giving birth to a son, she tricked me into going abroad under the guise of visiting a spa. There, she and her lover boiled me alive. I was cooked until my flesh separated from my bones, unrecognizable. Grandma died of a heart attack upon hearing the news. My father investigated, but Chloe had covered her tracks. It wasn’t until my father declared he would donate all his assets to charity upon his death that she revealed her true colors, attempting to kill him. But my father was prepared. He tortured her to death, avenging me. Watching my father surrender to the police, I cried uncontrollably. I thought that was the end, but I opened my eyes to find myself back before it all happened. Grandma’s voice was icy: “You claimed to love Jane and would care for her forever, yet now she lies in the hospital, life uncertain! You must give me an explanation!” The familiar voice made me tremble. I opened my eyes to see Chloe kneeling before Grandma, weeping: “Madam, it’s all my fault. I was negligent. I didn’t know I was pregnant. I felt dizzy and missed the chance to grab Jane.” “I don’t dare ask for forgiveness, but please let me see Jane again.” Grandma looked at her impatiently: “Jane survived a great disaster. Why should a jinx like you see her?” “Didn’t you claim you couldn’t get pregnant? How did you conceive now? Is it some wild seed?” The scene awakened my memories. This was the day Chloe pushed me off the balcony. Originally, Grandma wanted to banish Chloe abroad. But when I woke up, remembering only her kindness, I cried and screamed for Aunt Chloe. Remembering what followed, I looked at Grandma with innocent, confused eyes: “Who are you?” Chloe tensed upon hearing me speak, fearing I’d reveal the truth. But realizing my vacant stare and stutter, a bold idea formed in her mind. She squeezed out tears and rushed to my bed: “Jane! It’s me! I’m your Aunt Chloe, don’t you remember?” I looked at her puzzled, silent. 3 Just as Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, I spoke clearly: “Of course I remember you—” Chloe froze, trembling, forcing a bitter smile. Grandma glared at her, then turned to me gently: “Jane, the window is so high. Do you remember how you fell?” Sweat beaded on Chloe’s forehead; she shook like a leaf. I pretended to think, and just as Chloe was about to bolt, I said: “I don’t remember. I only know Aunt Chloe tried hard to catch me. I saw her fall and bleed. Boohoo, will Aunt Chloe die?” Chloe relaxed instantly, crying fake tears: “Even if I die for Jane, it doesn’t matter. I only wish for Jane’s health and happiness.” In my past life, I only cared about Chloe and screamed at Grandma to go away. Grandma was hurt but hid in the shadows for my sake. This time, I didn’t hurt Grandma. Instead, I hugged her tightly. Watching Chloe’s performance, I scoffed internally. Exposing her directly was too boring. Lifting her high only to let her fall hard was the cruelest punishment. I wanted to see who was the better player. My father, negotiating a billion-dollar deal abroad, finally arrived by private jet. Seeing me lying weak in bed, he turned furiously to Chloe: “I just left this morning. How did Jane get hurt like this in less than five hours?” Chloe clutched her stomach, feigning weakness: “It was my negligence. I felt dizzy when I reached out to save Jane.” She looked at my father expectantly, hoping he’d ask about her dizziness. 4 But my father frowned deeply: “You said you were capable of caring for Jane, so I let you live in the villa. Now you can’t even hold a five-year-old? Should Jane take care of you instead?” Chloe looked hurt: “Listen to me, the doctor said I’m pre—” My father raised his hand, glaring at her: “You swore if Jane was hurt a little, you’d be hurt ten times more.” Chloe turned pale: “Listen to m—Ah!” Before she could finish, my father’s female secretary slapped her to the ground. Chloe was shocked: “Why did you hit me?!” She looked pitifully at my father, but he ignored her. His eyes were only on me, red with heartache. The secretary, who had secretly loved my father for ten years, had long wanted to deal with Chloe. This was clearly my father’s order. Slap after slap rained down on Chloe until her beautiful face was swollen. Sharp nails left cat-like scratches. My father glanced coldly at Chloe: “This is a lesson. Next time, you won’t need to stay in this world.” Chloe trembled, remembering my father was a dominant figure in the gray zone. She seemed to be the only woman close to him, but she was just a high-class nanny for me. Hurting me was her biggest failure. My father checked my bruises and sighed in relief, unaware I had become a “fool.” Chloe thought the slaps were punishment for my injury, unaware it was just an appetizer.

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The imposter who stole my life tried to kill herself again, bringing my engagement party to a screeching halt. I was done. Utterly exhausted. I set a metaphorical fire to that grand ballroom and vanished without a trace. Five years passed before the Hawthorne family saw my face again, in an interview printed in a national magazine. My former brother, Julian, made an international call. “Vivian. So you’re not dead after all.” I said nothing. A cold snort came through the line. “The Matriarch’s funeral is in a week. Whether you show up is your business.” After he hung up, my husband, Marcus, must have noticed the look on my face. He walked over, our daughter in his arms. “I can take Coco to the summer camp. You should go back. After all… that woman did help you once.” The truth was, I had no expectations for that family anymore. But she was the only one in that house who had ever shown me a shred of kindness. I nodded, not arguing. The next day, I boarded a flight back to the country I’d left behind. Five years. It was time to go back and settle the old scores, one by one. 1 The Hawthorne estate loomed before me. It was the same as it was five years ago. Grand, imposing, cold. I suppressed the turmoil in my chest and raised a hand to the doorbell. But the door swung open from the inside. Our housekeeper, Maria, saw me and froze. The garbage bag in her hand dropped to the ground with a thud. “Miss Vivian! You… you’re really alive!” Her eyes instantly reddened. When I first returned to the Hawthorne family, I was an outcast, ostracized by everyone. Maria was the only one who looked after me, taking care of my meals and daily needs. “It’s good that you’re back, but Mrs. Hawthorne, she…” Maria wiped a tear from her eye, trailing off. She stepped aside. “Miss, please, come in.” “I heard you were working abroad to support yourself… it must have been so hard. Now that you’re back, you should talk to the young master. You can live a comfortable life, just like Miss Claire. Don’t let things get as bad as they did five years ago…” “You’re still brother and sister, after all. Mr. Hawthorne… he does care about you…” Her eyes were filled with pity. As if I were still the same pathetic creature who used to cry and beg for a scrap of affection from the Hawthorne family. But she didn’t know. I wasn’t that Vivian anymore. I stood my ground, not moving a muscle. “I won’t come in, Maria. Where are her ashes? The old house, or the cemetery?” Maria was stunned. “But Mr. Hawthorne is inside, waiting for you…” Then I wanted to go in even less. Back then, when things were at their worst, my dear brother had thrown me out of the house into a raging storm. “Vivian, you are not worthy of stepping through this door, and you are certainly not worthy of being a Hawthorne! My sister is not some raving lunatic!” “I would rather my sister had been Claire from the very beginning!” I understood then. In Julian Hawthorne’s eyes, I was a nuisance, a stain he was ashamed to acknowledge. I shook my head, unwilling to argue. I was about to ask Maria to just tell me where the ashes were when a low, familiar male voice cut through the air. “Maria doesn’t know where she was laid to rest. If you want to know, Vivian, you’ll have to ask me.” 2 I turned. Julian stood at the end of the corridor, dressed in a sharp suit, his gaze heavy as he watched me. I was taken aback, unable to decipher the emotion in his eyes before he turned and walked toward the living room. Maria nudged me forward, her face alight with pleasure. “Go on, Miss Vivian!” “The young master cleared his entire schedule today, just to wait for you.” I frowned but didn’t want to make things difficult for Maria. Besides, it seemed the answer I needed was one only he could provide. I lowered my gaze and followed him inside. Julian was sitting on the sofa. Seeing me finally enter, a faint smirk played on his lips. He pushed a cup of lukewarm ginger tea toward me. “Flew in overnight? You must have motion sickness again. Drink this, it’ll help.” The sharp, sweet scent hit my nose. For a moment, I was transported back in time. I hadn’t had this in years. The year I was brought back to the Hawthornes, it was Julian who personally came to get me. From a small village to the sprawling capital. A flight of several hours. For a girl who had never been on a plane, it was torture. But I’d heard the villagers say a single plane ticket to the city cost more than a family’s entire harvest for a year. I didn’t dare complain. I just clenched my teeth and endured. When we landed, I threw up until I was dizzy. I still remember Julian frowning, though he said nothing. But after that, whenever we traveled, this man who had been coddled his whole life always chose the train. If a flight was unavoidable, he would always have a cup of ginger tea ready for me. But then, because of Claire, our relationship deteriorated to an icy standoff. The tea, naturally, never appeared again. I snapped back to the present and gently pushed the cup back. “Thank you, but no.” My voice was calm. “I don’t get motion sickness anymore. And I don’t like the taste.” These past few years, I’d been busy building my career, flying all over the world. I’d long since overcome that minor discomfort. Julian’s pupils contracted sharply, the corners of his eyes turning red. After a long moment, he managed a quiet, “Oh.” Silence fell between us. I couldn’t understand why he’d insisted I come in, only to say nothing. My patience wore thin. “Mr. Hawthorne, if you can’t remember where you put Grandmother’s ashes, please don’t waste both our time.” As I stood to leave, Julian shot to his feet. “Vivi, you…” “Is that you, brother? Are you back?” Before he could finish, a sweet, lilting voice interrupted from the garden. A figure in a white dress darted past the floor-to-ceiling windows. My gaze locked onto her. It was her. The person who had occupied my identity for so many years, the darling of the family. Claire Hawthorne. 3 Claire ran to the edge of the garden, her back to the glass doors, seemingly unaware of us in the living room. The breeze lifted the hem of her dress, revealing a gently rounded belly. Was she… pregnant? As I stood there, stunned, an anxious male voice followed her. “Claire, my dear sister, would you please stop running? Do you even remember you’re pregnant?” A handsome young man rushed to her side, carefully shielding her stomach as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Claire pouted, her tone playful. “Oh, stop it. I’m not made of glass. You all forbid me from doing this and that every day. Are you trying to suffocate me? Leo, do you even respect me as your older sister anymore?” “Alright, alright, I can’t win with you.” Leo shook his head, a helpless smile on his face. He turned, and his gaze swept into the living room, crashing into mine. He froze, the smile wiped clean from his face. His eyes were wide, and for a long moment, he simply stared, completely ignoring Claire’s chatter beside him. He was the boy I had grown up with, the little brother who had followed me around for over a decade, crying “sister.” Seeing him so suddenly, even I was stunned for a second. Before Leo could react, Claire, who had also spotted me, offered a soft smile. “Sister, you’re really back! You have no idea how happy I was when Julian told me you were safe!” “You’ve been out of touch for years. He was worried sick! It’s good that you’re back. But please, don’t be so selfish next time, just disappearing without a word. Not only did you suffer abroad, but you broke everyone’s hearts here!” My gaze shifted to Claire. I studied her for a moment, then smiled. “You look so well. My absence these past five years must have been very good for you.” Claire’s eyes immediately reddened. She clutched Julian’s sleeve. “Brother, look at her! She’s just returned, and she’s already talking to me like this, refusing to be civil…” Julian frowned, but for the first time, he didn’t immediately leap to Claire’s defense and scold me. Claire opened her mouth, about to add more fuel to the fire. Just then, Leo, who had been frozen in place, suddenly snapped back to reality. He strode forward and grabbed my shoulders. “You’ve been living abroad all by yourself these years?” His throat bobbed. “Are you… okay? Was it hard?” 4 I sidestepped his touch. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Mr. Shen. I’ve been doing wonderfully.” Leo flinched as if my words had burned him. He retracted his hands, looking lost. A faint blush crept into his eyes. Five years ago, at my engagement party, he had flipped a table and pointed at me, his eyes, once filled with adoration and reliance, now blazing with hatred. “Vivian, if anything happens to Claire, I will never forgive you for the rest of my life! A cold-hearted, selfish woman like you deserves to rot! You don’t deserve happiness!” Those were his exact words. So why now was he asking if I was okay? Not that I cared. I turned my head, refusing to look at him. “Sis…” Leo’s eyes were red as he stepped forward, looking like he wanted to say more. But just then, Claire clutched her stomach, her face contorted in pain. “Leo, my stomach hurts…” “Claire!” Leo’s attention was instantly diverted. He spun around, shouting for Maria to call the family doctor. He half-carried Claire, and they quickly disappeared up the staircase. I found myself staring at the second floor. Julian walked over to me. “You’re not mistaken. Claire is pregnant. The baby… it’s Ashton’s.” My fingers twitched. He paused, then changed the subject. “When you ran out on the wedding, the Cunninghams didn’t pursue the matter, but it was a great loss of face for them. It was a marriage alliance, after all. Having Claire marry him in your place was a way to settle things.” “Besides, you were gone for so many years. The Cunninghams wouldn’t let Ashton wait that long, especially not for a woman who had made them a laughingstock.” Even after all this time, even though my heart was a placid lake, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly at his twisted version of the truth. “Really? A man marrying his fiancée’s sister right after she leaves? Wouldn’t that be an even bigger joke?” I met his gaze, my eyes like ice. “And are you getting forgetful in your old age, Mr. Hawthorne, or are you just playing dumb?” “Do I really need to remind you why Vivian Hawthorne ran away from her own wedding?” The color drained from the man’s face, leaving it as white as a sheet. 5 The cemetery. I followed the signs to the memorial hall. The staff told me that the Matriarch’s urn would be kept here until after the funeral service. The sandalwood box sat on a shelf, simple and solitary, much like the woman herself. Though I called her Grandmother, we weren’t related by blood. She was my grandfather’s second wife, more than twenty years his junior. In fact, she wasn’t much older than my own parents. Her humble origins and awkward age made her an outcast in a family like the Hawthornes, who valued lineage above all else. She never fought for acceptance. Frail and unable to bear children, she simply lived her quiet life as Mrs. Hawthorne. The Matriarch lived a life of quiet conformity, so much so that she almost left no trace. The only rebellious thing she ever did was help me escape the Hawthorne family five years ago. The smoke from the incense curled upwards, blurring my vision. My mind drifted back to that day. Claire had, once again, staged a suicide attempt at my engagement party with Ashton. But that time, I didn’t let her antics stop the ceremony. I called an ambulance and insisted the engagement continue. My own brother, Leo, the boy I had protected my whole life, stared at me as if I were his mortal enemy. “Why do you have to provoke her? You’ve already gotten the man Claire loves. What more could you possibly want?” My older brother, Julian, looked at me with profound disappointment. “Vivian, you’re being so unreasonable. Must you insist on holding the engagement now and making everyone look bad?” My fiancé, Ashton, said nothing. He simply scooped Claire into his arms and walked out of the party, never once looking back at me. The shocked stares of the guests bored into me. A tidal wave of humiliation and rage washed over me. My ears were ringing. When I came to my senses, I had snatched a cake knife from a waiter and was chasing after them like a madwoman. But a thin, frail figure blocked my path. It was the Matriarch. She was so fragile, she usually spoke in a whisper, but that day, she held me with an iron grip. I struggled, and she raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Pathetic!” Her voice was quiet, but it struck me like thunder. “Is a man who can’t make up his mind, who wavers between two women, really worth you debasing yourself like this?” “The women of the Hawthorne family are not weak. Your own grandmother was a trailblazer, a true heroine. Vivian, where is your pride! By demeaning yourself like this, are you not shaming the memory of your parents, who died trying to bring you home?” My cheek stung, my eyes burned. “Grandmother…” “Don’t call me that!” she snapped. She pressed a cold, hard card into my palm and gave me a forceful shove. “Go. And don’t come back.” I stumbled, catching my balance. When I looked up again, she had already turned away, her thin back ramrod straight. Later, I used that money—three hundred thousand dollars—to build a new life in a foreign country. And later still, I found a family of my own. The incense burned down to ash. I bowed deeply. “Grandmother, forgive me for not listening. I came back.” “I’m doing well now. I have a husband who loves me and a beautiful daughter. You can rest easy.” I had only returned to quietly close this chapter, to repay that kindness. But the ghosts of my past refused to grant me peace, appearing one after another. As I left the memorial hall, I ran into him. Ashton Cunningham. The boy who was once my childhood sweetheart, my former fiancé. And now, my sister’s husband. 6 “Vivian!” Ashton got out of a black Bentley, blocking my path. He was out of breath, his hair messy, as if he had rushed here the moment he heard the news. “Vivian, you’re really back! I’ve been looking for you all these years.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, lingering affection. I didn’t break my stride, merely glancing at him. “Mr. Cunningham,” I said, my tone a polite reminder, “according to social etiquette, now that you’ve married my sister, you should be calling me ‘sister-in-law’.” Ashton froze, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. “We survived the hardest times together, relying on each other for over a decade. Are you saying you’ve just… forgotten all of that?” I stopped and met his pained gaze. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ashton, weren’t you the one sleeping with Claire behind my back? Do you really think you have the right to talk to me about our past?” Ashton and I… we really were childhood sweethearts who had supported each other through thick and thin. I had taken a knife for him from a gang of thugs; he had beaten up the bullies who made fun of me. We shared a single scarf in the winter and split a popsicle in the summer. I still remember that summer night when I was seventeen. The stars were incredibly bright. So were Ashton’s eyes. “As soon as we get to college, I’ll get a job. I’m going to buy you a big house!” “Okay,” I’d giggled. “I want one with a balcony, so I can plant flowers.” To save up for our college tuition, I took an under-the-table job at a restaurant. My hands were always pale and wrinkled from the water, but as I counted the crumpled bills late at night, my eyes shone with hope. Then, just before our final exams, the Cunninghams came. Ashton was the long-lost heir to the wealthy Cunningham family of the capital. He was luckier than me. There was no replacement for him at the Cunningham estate. The day he left, he cried, holding my hands. “Vivian, wait for me.” But I waited and waited. My college acceptance letter arrived, but he never did. The next time we met was at the party celebrating my return to the Hawthorne family. I was the newly discovered eldest daughter of the Hawthornes. And he was the new boyfriend of the second daughter.

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Three years after our breakup, the court’s gavel fell. I owed my ex-boyfriend exactly one hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars. Those extra twenty-three dollars? That was for a candied apple I’d wanted on a street corner in LA, one that cost three bucks back when we had nothing. I’d hesitated, but he just smiled and bought it for me. Now, even that sweet memory had been sharpened into a blade aimed at my heart. He didn’t sue me for the money. He did it because his new wife was bored, and I was her new plaything. He knew my health was failing. He knew that after my parents died in a car crash, depression had swallowed me whole, and I depended on a cocktail of pills just to find the oblivion of sleep. He knew I’d already tried to end it all once, landing me in the hospital with a ‘critical’ tag on my chart. But he did it anyway. What he didn’t know was that the hundred thousand dollars was every last cent to my name. It was the money for my next round of chemotherapy. 1 After the verdict was read, I ran right into Alexander Armitage in the courthouse hallway. He’d changed so much in the few years we’d been apart. The broke student who had been scrambling to build a startup out of a cheap rental was now a titan in the green energy sector. He stood there, formidable in an immaculately tailored suit, his gaze landing on me with a cold, detached distance. My feet froze. My first instinct was to pretend I hadn’t seen him, to find another way around. But he spoke first, his voice slow and deliberate. “So… any regrets?” I blinked, confused. “What?” A cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. “You must regret it now, right? Dumping me for money.” The late autumn wind cut through my thin clothes. I instinctively curled my fingers into a fist, but a deep, unshakable chill had already settled into my bones. After a moment, I took a deep breath and offered him a perfectly practiced smile. “Mr. Armitage, the debt is settled. We broke up years ago. Aren’t you worried your wife might misunderstand a conversation like this?” As if on cue, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Anabelle standing there, her face a mask of fury. The anger vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a saccharine smile that didn’t quite hide the venom in her eyes. Tapping forward on her stilettos, Anabelle looped her arm possessively through Alexander’s. “Darling, what on earth should I do with this hundred thousand dollars? A new wardrobe? Shoes? Or that designer bag I saw last week?” She shot a pointed look at me, her voice dripping with faux pity. “Actually, that’s not nearly enough for any of those, is it? You’re so stingy, Alexander. Couldn’t you have been a little more generous with your ex? This pittance wouldn’t even cover a new hair clip for me.” Alexander and I had been together for five years. While he was studying in the States, I’d flown back and forth to LA every month. Most of the hundred thousand I now owed him was for the plane tickets he’d paid for, money he’d earned working grueling odd jobs day and night. Now, he and Anabelle had used those transaction records, weaponized by their lawyers, to demand every penny back. The hair clip Anabelle was wearing was from Chanel’s latest collection. It cost twenty thousand dollars. The money she’d just pried from my hands really wasn’t enough. The next moment, Alexander’s expression softened as he looked at her. He tenderately brushed a stray hair from her face. “Hush. Keep it as pocket money. I’ll add to it if it’s not enough.” Anabelle’s face lit up. She leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, darling, you’re the best!” Then, she turned back to me, her smile wide and triumphant. “Laura, I am so sorry. We obviously don’t need the money, but Alexander and I made a little bet. He did this just to make me happy, you know?” Her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. “Ever since we got married, Alexander has insisted I stop working. He says it’s too stressful. So all I do is skincare, spa days, and travel. A girl has to find some way to pass the time, right?” She reached out and grabbed my hand, her eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “Thank you for making this so entertaining. And for proving just how much my husband adores me.” A sharp pain, like a thousand tiny needles, pierced my heart. To the wealthy, I was just a game. A tool to prove how doting a husband Alexander Armitage could be. 2 I forced my trembling hands to still and summoned another one of those perfect, empty smiles. “A debt is a debt. It’s only right.” Anabelle’s grin widened. “I hope you always feel that way. My husband is a simple man, you see. He was tricked by someone greedy and superficial. I just wanted to help him get a little payback. No hard feelings, I hope.” Suddenly, her grip tightened, her nails digging viciously into my wrist. I gasped, stumbling backward from the unexpected pain. My heel caught the edge of the top step, and I tumbled down the marble staircase. My knee slammed against a sharp edge, and a hot, wet rush of blood immediately soaked through my jeans. Wincing, I fought back the tremor of pain and looked up at the two figures looming over me. Anabelle covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her eyes wide with fake shock. “Oh, Laura, are you alright? It was only a hundred thousand. Surely you’re not so devastated you can’t even stand up straight? You look badly hurt. Should we give you a ride home?” That proud smile returned. “Alexander just bought me a new sports car. The gas money to get you home should only cost about a hundred bucks or so.” Her sports car was Alexander’s anniversary gift to her, a monstrosity covered in pink diamonds that perfectly matched her taste. She loved parading it around the city, causing a stir with the paparazzi and collecting the envy of thousands. My gaze shifted to Alexander. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools of shadow. He looked down at me from his lofty height, his expression as cold as a winter storm. Like a stray dog that had lost a fight, I scrambled to my feet, brushing myself off. I managed one last smile. “No, thank you. I can get home on my own.” Anabelle burst into a peal of laughter. “Well, we’ll be on our way then.” She turned to Alexander, her voice bright. “Darling, I know what to buy now.” “Lulu’s dog bowl is broken. I want to get her one of those new smart-feeders.” Alexander’s cold eyes remained locked on me, a flicker of some unreadable emotion crossing his face before it was extinguished. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. “Whatever you want.” Anabelle took his arm, and they walked away, giddy with their victory. I watched as their dazzling sports car roared past me, disappearing down the street. It wasn’t until a taxi pulled up to the curb that I remembered. I didn’t have any money left for the fare. Alexander would never know. The money he was going to spend on a dog bowl was the money that was supposed to save my life. 3 I dragged my battered body home. My place was a tiny room under a corrugated tin roof, perched atop a tenement building in the city’s forgotten corner. Whenever the wind blew or the rain fell, the metal would groan and screech, a symphony of decay that kept me awake all night. In the summer, it was an oven. There was no air conditioning, and I couldn’t afford the electricity for a fan anyway. I’d suffered from heatstroke more than once. I thought I had hidden myself well enough that Alexander would never find me. I never imagined our reunion would be in a courtroom. My eyes fell on the wall, covered with articles I’d carefully clipped from magazines and newspapers. I walked over and began to tear them down, one by one. They all had pictures of Alexander. Alexander, the rising star of the green energy sector, giving his first major interview. Alexander, accepting an award as one of New York’s Top Ten Young Entrepreneurs. And… Alexander, down on one knee, proposing to Anabelle, followed by photos of their lavish wedding, a spectacle for the media and the public to devour. I took a deep, shaky breath and ripped the last page from the wall. I gathered the scraps and shoved them into a cardboard box I kept hidden under my bed. My gaze caught on a photograph at the bottom of the box. A wave of bitterness washed over me. In the photo, a younger Alexander had his arm wrapped around me, his smile so genuine, so full of shy, uncontainable joy. It was a world away from the icy stranger in the courthouse. He was the CEO of a publicly traded company now. A powerful figure in New York’s business world. A renowned philanthropist. The perfect husband who cherished Anabelle like a fragile treasure. He was everything… except my boyfriend. With a final, humorless laugh, I closed the lid on the box, sealing away the photos and the memories along with them. Then, I went to the mirror, began applying my makeup, and squeezed into a tight-fitting uniform. “Hey, boss,” I texted my manager. “Starting today, I want to work the night shift.” The bar at night was crawling with sleazy men with wandering hands, but the tips were much, much better. I had no choice. To stay alive, I had to earn the money to pay for my own life. But I never, ever expected to see Alexander there. There he was, holding court in the center of a VIP booth, surrounded by his entourage. My fingers clenched into fists, and the exposed skin of my arms and shoulders began to prickle with a hot flush of shame. Of course, he saw me too. A flicker of shock and disbelief crossed his face, quickly replaced by that familiar, sneering contempt. “So this is where you work now.” My palms were slick with sweat, but I forced myself to remain calm. “Your drinks, sir.” Alexander looked at me with the kind of morbid curiosity one might reserve for a rat struggling in a sewer drain. “Makes sense, I suppose. Latch onto any of the rich guys in here and you’ll be set for life. Right up your alley.” I took another deep breath. “Your drinks, sir.” He arched an eyebrow. “How long have you been working here? Don’t you know how to serve a customer?” He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled a number with a flourish, and tossed it onto the floor in front of me. “Take good care of my friends tonight. Do that, and this is yours.” The check landed at my feet. I slowly bent to pick it up, a searing pain shooting through my injured knee. When I saw the number written on the check, my breath hitched. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. One hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars. The exact amount I had just been forced to pay him. He was using it to humiliate me. I stood there, my eyes locked with his. After a long, heavy silence, my lips parted. “This is payment, Mr. Armitage? So… I don’t have to pay it back, right?” 4 My doctor had warned me about alcohol. But I needed the money. For the past few years, just to survive, I had swallowed my pride and done whatever it took. What were a few drinks compared to that? The men with Alexander tonight were his friends. They knew our story. They knew that three years ago, when Alexander was on the brink of bankruptcy, frantically seeking investors and being hounded by banks, I was the one who walked away. They knew he’d searched for me like a madman, gotten into a car accident because of it, and begged me from his hospital bed not to leave. And I still hadn’t looked back. They hated me. They wanted to defend Alexander’s honor, and they weren’t going to show me any mercy. They plied me with drink after drink until the world dissolved into a meaningless blur and I was nothing but a wreck, slumped over the table. I reached for another bottle, but Alexander’s hand shot out, his grip like iron on my wrist. “Is there truly nothing you won’t do for money?” he snarled. I blinked, trying to focus on his face. Like a beggar, I held out my other hand. “Alexander… the money. You promised…” My voice was a slurred mess. “You said if I drank… if I took care of your friends… you’d give me the money. And you wouldn’t take it back…” His gaze on me grew even more complicated, his thumb brushing over my wrist, over the jagged, faded scars that marred the skin. After my parents died, depression had claimed me. I’d tried to end it more than once. It was always Alexander who pulled me back from the edge. Back then, he would hold me and plead, “Laura, you still have me. Please, live for me. Okay?” But now, he shoved my hand away as if my touch was filth. An even more derisive sneer spread across his face. “I made a promise, yes. But look at my friends. Have you taken care of them?” The circle of men stared down at me, their eyes filled with cold amusement, watching the clown perform. The guests were still sober, but I was already gone. I had failed at my job. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I gave him a weak, foolish smile. “I’ll start over. I’ll keep going until you’re satisfied.” I reached for another bottle, but Alexander had finally had enough. With a roar of fury, he kicked the leg of the table. The whole thing flipped over. Bottles shattered on the floor. I was thrown sideways, my hand landing directly on a shard of broken glass. The pain was sharp, immediate, and blood began to well up from the gash. The door to the room burst open and my best friend, Mia, rushed in. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around me. “Laura! Are you okay?” She looked up, her eyes blazing with a righteous fury I hadn’t seen in years. “Alexander, are you even human?” she screamed. “After everything she did for you, you force-feed her alcohol like this?” “She has stomach cancer, you bastard! It’s killing her, don’t you get it?”

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During a game of Truth or Dare, Lucas drew the “kiss the person to your left” card. His friends, seeing us sitting still, started jeering: “What are you hesitating for? You two have been engaged for three years, don’t tell me you haven’t even kissed yet?” “Wait, is this engagement fake or something?” Lucas tossed the card aside and pressed his thumb against the corner of my lips. He leaned in, smiling. “Sorry, I’m going to have to offend you a little.” To everyone else, from their angle, it looked like a passionate kiss. But in reality, his lips only brushed against his own thumb. My younger sister, sitting in the corner, stared at us. She was so angry she cried until her eyes were red. After the party, Lucas glanced at my sister, who had run off in a huff. He said lazily: “Fiancée, can you go home by yourself tonight?” “I think I need to go comfort my girlfriend first.” 1 I never thought Lucas would actually agree to the kiss. So when he leaned in, I was startled. Instinctively, I shrank back a little. Lucas laughed silently. “Dislike me that much?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t…” “I have to kiss you, fiancée.” He whispered in a voice only the two of us could hear: “The guy in the corner booth is someone your mom sent to watch us.” “If your mom suspects anything.” “She definitely won’t let me see your sister anymore.” This is the third year of my forced engagement to Lucas. It’s also the third year of his secret relationship with my sister, Chloe. Recently, my mom might have sensed something was off. She started sending people to watch us. The urging around us continued. “Are you gonna kiss or not?” “Stop stalling, you two have been engaged for three years.” Without waiting for my reaction, Lucas’s face instantly magnified before my eyes. As if knowing I would push him away. He grabbed my wrist first and pressed it against his shoulder. A second before our lips touched. He pressed his thumb against the corner of my lips, and his kiss landed lightly on his thumb. Everyone’s view was blocked by the back of Lucas’s head, so they couldn’t see clearly. Thinking he really kissed me, they cheered one after another. Amidst the noise, Lucas pulled back, looking at my stunned expression with a half-smile. “Scared?” Only then did I realize he never intended to kiss me for real. 2 By the end of the party, my sister’s eyes were swollen from crying. She grabbed her bag and ran off angrily without looking back. Lucas rubbed his brows with a headache and said lazily: “Fiancée, can you go home by yourself tonight?” “I think I need to go comfort my girlfriend first.” He picked up his coat and stood up. I looked up and asked him: “Have you ever thought about ending this twisted relationship between you, me, and Chloe?” He didn’t even look up. “Impossible.” “The marriage alliance between our two families maximizes the benefits for both companies.” “We have to get married.” I asked: “Then what about Chloe? Is she willing to go on like this forever?” He didn’t answer. My voice softened. “I’m not willing either.” Lucas looked back, smiling half-heartedly at me. “I haven’t provoked you, have I?” “We’ve been engaged for three years, after all.” “Even if you don’t treat me as a friend, you don’t have to avoid me like the plague and look so disgusted, right, Sarah?” Lucas walked away, and I remained sitting silently in the booth. He didn’t know. I avoided him like the plague because I used to like him. 3 Three years ago, I was found as the real daughter of the family. Chloe instantly became the adopted daughter with no blood relation. I was told I had a fiancé named Lucas. No one told me that Chloe and he had been together. They didn’t talk much in front of others either. So when I learned the truth, it felt like a blow to the head. It stunned me for a long time. Lucas seemed born knowing how to make girls happy. Plus, he was good-looking. Within two months, I fell for him, unsurprisingly. That day, Lucas and I agreed to go to the aquarium. I came out of the house and saw his car waiting at the gate. I jogged over and hugged him. “Why didn’t you come inside to wait for me?” Lucas paused for two seconds before hugging me back with his right hand. Then he raised his left hand, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Wanted a smoke.” He was heavily addicted to smoking, lighting one up whenever he was annoyed. I was about to ask him what was wrong. My sister followed me out of the house. “Wow, you guys are so sweet.” “I won’t disturb you. I’m going to a concert today.” Lucas lowered his eyes, staring at the cigarette butt in his hand. As if he hadn’t heard her. All my attention was on my sister, waving at her. “Okay, bye.” “It’s going to rain this evening, remember to come home early, Chloe.” On the way to the aquarium, Lucas seemed absent-minded. I tugged at my seatbelt and asked him. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” “No.” He spoke slowly: “Sarah, let’s not go to the aquarium today. I’ll take you to meet someone.” I didn’t ask much, just said: “Okay.” “After the meeting, will you accompany me somewhere else?” “I saw a brochure last night, and I think there’s a place super suitable for us.” Last night, a wealthy heiress I just met sent an invitation. She organized a garden party with a couples theme. Inviting Lucas and me. I heard there were many games and competitions suitable for couples to experience together. Lucas is physically fit and good at games. We should be able to fight for first place. After a long while, he hummed a vague agreement. We arrived at a café I had never been to before. I was stunned. Chloe, who had left half an hour ago saying she was going to a concert. Was now waving at us through the window. “Sister, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” 4 Lucas and my sister sat opposite me. I sat stiffly, listening to them explain the truth. The original engagement was between Lucas and my sister. They got together as soon as they became adults. But more than two months ago, I came back. To ensure the stability of the marriage alliance, both families ordered them to break up. And transferred the engagement to me. Perhaps to help me and Lucas cultivate feelings better, everyone was asked to hide their affair from me. But in reality, the two secretly turned it into an underground relationship. “Sis, we observed you for two months and felt you are a good person. You probably wouldn’t do anything to break us up.” She smiled brightly. “Besides, it’s only been two months. You surely haven’t fallen for Lucas that fast.” “Even if you had some other thoughts, now that you know he’s your sister’s boyfriend, I believe you definitely won’t anymore.” “Basically, we just want to ask you to help cover for our secret relationship.” “That way, it’ll be a bit more convenient for Lucas and me to meet and date.” “Sis, please don’t refuse me.” They even considered the possibility of me exposing them. My sister acted coquettishly: “Telling others won’t do you any good. They’ll only force you to marry Lucas.” “Don’t you think it’s awkward to marry a man who loves your sister and become husband and wife?” I subconsciously looked at Lucas. He just looked out the window expressionlessly. He didn’t say a word from beginning to end. The coffee in front of me had been sitting for too long, the latte art becoming blurred. My phone notification sound rang abruptly. I unlocked it and opened it. It was the heiress who invited me last night. “Babe, have you discussed it with Lucas?” “Are you coming or not? I’m saving spots for you two.” I typed mechanically, feeling as if my limbs didn’t exist. “Not coming, sorry.” Leaving the café. My sister, afraid of being suspected, didn’t go back with us. On the way back, Lucas didn’t mention what just happened. He was calm, almost nonchalant. “Where did you say you wanted me to go with you earlier?” “Seeing you so happy, what, is there something fun?” My unfocused gaze stared out the car window. It felt like sandpaper was stuck in my throat. It took a long time to make a difficult sound. “Can’t go anymore.” “The event has been cancelled.” Red light, the car stopped slowly. Lucas lowered his eyes slightly, his low voice sounding. “Sarah.” I didn’t answer, and he didn’t speak again. He seemed to understand that saying anything was meaningless.

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Ethan cheated on me. A one-night stand. The girl got pregnant and came to me, demanding Ethan take responsibility. Ethan smoked a cigarette and gave me the power to choose. “It was just once.” “If you can forgive me, we can move on.” “If not, we divorce.” My face was pale as I asked with a trembling voice, “It’s your fault, right?” “If we divorce, you’ll admit it’s your fault, right?” 1 My marriage to Ethan was a hand-me-down from my younger sister. Chloe was lively, cheerful, and willful. She refused to be trapped in a so-called family alliance for a lifetime. So she took a card with twenty million dollars and ran away. My mother felt sorry for her youngest daughter but couldn’t bear to lose a good son-in-law like Ethan. So she pushed me out. As if just being a daughter of the Carter family meant Ethan would marry me. Who is Ethan? A scion of a powerful family where dropping a brick would hit a row of ancestors. He was the biggest of them all. Chloe running away from the wedding had already humiliated him. And now ask him to marry me? Daydreaming, right? But I still went to see him once, recommended myself, and he actually agreed. This year is our fourth year of marriage. To outsiders, we are a model couple. But in private, we treat each other with polite distance, maintaining basic etiquette even in bed. My mother kept urging me to have a child, nagging that I was useless, saying if this continued, I wouldn’t be able to tie Ethan down, and what if he ran away. I wanted to say, Ethan isn’t a dog. I want to tie him down, but would he let me? But I didn’t say anything. I just nodded submissively. My mother hated seeing me like this the most, rolled her eyes, and walked away swaying her hips. But what I didn’t expect was that I really got pregnant. 2 My period was late by one, two, three, maybe four weeks. Last night I bought a pregnancy test, and it showed two lines. Today I went to the hospital for a blood test. The doctor held the report. “9 weeks pregnant. Do you want this baby or not?” “I think so!” I hesitated a bit. Ethan didn’t know yet. This child was also outside our plan. I had to ask him. So holding the report, I went directly to his company. When I arrived, Ethan was in a meeting. The assistant led me to the office, poured coffee and served desserts, asking me to wait a while. I picked up the cup, about to drink. Can I drink coffee when pregnant? Don’t know. Checked it. Yes. Then no problem. I took a sip, sighing with satisfaction. Before I could finish my sigh, a noisy argument came from outside, accompanied by a woman’s scream. I opened the door and met the eyes of the woman being held back. She shouted with red eyes: “Let Ethan come out! He got someone pregnant, doesn’t he need to take responsibility?” Such a loud voice. Such a big scene. So many people. So embarrassing!!! I wished I could find a crack in the ground to hide. I just wanted to say, this has nothing to do with me! Fortunately, Ethan appeared in time. He walked through the crowd with a cold face and saw me peeking through the door crack. That large hand with distinct knuckles covered my eyes. I shrank back instinctively. His hand moved and closed the door. I blinked. Wait. My husband cheated, got someone else pregnant, and now the person involved is at the door. Do I not need to participate at all? 3 Ethan indicated that it wasn’t entirely unnecessary. He dismissed everyone, whispered a few words to that woman, opened the door, and brought her to me. Looking at his calm and composed appearance, I really wanted to applaud. Cheating so righteously like him is probably unprecedented. The woman was cool. Wearing simple sportswear, a high ponytail, and a baseball cap. Sitting there with crossed legs, her whole body screamed “I’m not to be messed with.” But she was undeniably beautiful. Exquisite features, cool and glamorous eyes. Just this look made it hard to hate her. Pity she had a mouth. “Is this your wife?” “Divorce her.” “I’m pregnant, you have to be responsible for me.” I curled my lips. I’m pregnant too, who’s responsible for me? Logically, as the legal wife, I should have more advantage than her, the mistress. But when marriage becomes a battlefield, the more immoral one often acts more righteous. “Sigh!” I sighed, grabbed a cookie and ate it. Milky aroma, not too sweet. Not bad. “Do you want some?” The woman looked disgusted, pointing at me. “Is she crazy?” Ethan finally frowned, a rare sight. He took my hand and pulled me into the lounge. He smoked a cigarette in silence. “Just once.” “I accidentally drank spiked alcohol and had relations with her unexpectedly.” “Sophia.” He looked up at me, his gaze exceptionally serious. Said: “The fault is mine, you make the decision.” “If you can forgive, we’ll live well.” “If not, divorce.” The word divorce suddenly appeared, making my heart skip a beat, then accelerate rapidly. I uncontrollably pinched the web of my hand. “It’s your fault, right?” “If we divorce, you’ll admit it’s your fault, right?” 4 Ethan looked at me seriously. He was handsome, better looking than anyone I had ever seen. I liked looking at him very much. Especially in bed, looking up from below, seeing his blurred eyes, listening to his sexy panting. All this could make me forget everything and experience ultimate pleasure. Divorce, quite a pity. But divorce isn’t impossible. “So, your choice is divorce?” I nodded, pointing outside. “It’s come to this, can’t not divorce!” “Just regarding my mom, you’ll admit it’s your fault, right?” I confirmed again. Ethan’s expression faded. Those strange and distant eyes were quite uncomfortable. But I was best at dealing with inner discomfort. Deep breath, exhale, and it’s fine. Ethan stood up, brushed off non-existent dirt from his clothes, and said calmly: “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” Phew! Then I’m relieved. “If we divorce, I don’t want anything else, I only want Aurora Pharmaceuticals.” “Okay.” “But if it’s convenient for you, a villa would be fine too.” “Okay.” “Can I ask for another three hundred million?” Ethan looked back, staring at me. “Want everything, still divorce?” “If not divorce, everything is yours.” I avoided his gaze, lowered my head, left foot stepping on right foot. What logic. Then don’t cheat! No cheating, no divorce. No divorce, wife and child are yours. ………… Wait. Cheated, divorced, he still has a wife and child. Damn! As expected of a businessman chasing profit, calculated so clearly.

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The day my husband, Julian, was declared brain-dead, his student, Lily, collapsed in a fit of sobs, begging me not to give up on him. In my first life, I did everything she asked. I sold our home, our cars, everything we owned, just to keep his body functioning. I only discovered later that it was all a charade—a meticulously planned fake death so he could escape a massive malpractice settlement and run away with her. I was the one who paid the price. The victim’s family, in their grief and rage, pushed me from a cliff. My body was never found. In this second life, I see everything clearly. If he wants to play dead to escape his responsibilities, then I will gladly help him achieve his “noble sacrifice.” The moment he was officially declared brain-dead, in front of the hospital’s board of directors and a scrum of reporters, I pulled out the document he had once used as a grandstanding PR stunt: his Anatomical Gift Donation Form. “Julian dedicated his entire life to medicine,” I announced, my voice trembling with staged emotion. “His greatest wish was to become a silent teacher for the next generation of doctors after his death. It’s because I love him that I must honor his last wish! I’m donating his body to the medical school!” 1 The silence in the ICU was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic, monotonous beep of the heart monitor. Dr. Julian Heard lay on the bed, his face a pale, waxy mask, his eyes sealed shut. The attending physician held up the EEG report and gave me a slow, sorrowful shake of his head. “May, I’m so sorry. We’ve confirmed it. There’s no brain activity.” Standing beside me, Lily let out a theatrical wail. Tears streamed down her face as she swayed, about to throw herself onto Julian’s body. “Dr. Heard… how could this happen… you’re so young…” The nurses and residents around us averted their gazes, their eyes red with emotion as they dabbed at their own tears. If I hadn’t lived through the horror of my past life, I might have almost believed her performance. I stood my ground, my own eyes dry, and simply watched Lily’s act unfold. She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears. “May… please don’t fall apart. I know he’s brain-dead, but as long as he’s on the ventilator, his heart is still beating. He’s still alive!” she pleaded. “We have to save him! We can’t give up! Even if it means bankrupting ourselves, we have to keep him on life support!” Bankrupting ourselves. Such a noble sentiment. Except she meant bankrupting me. Selling my assets. All to fund their escape, leaving me to deal with the fallout. In my last life, those very words had moved me to action. I sold our house, liquidated our savings, borrowed from every friend and family member I had, pouring tens of thousands of dollars into the hospital every single day. And what was my reward? Six months later, the money was gone. And Julian had “vanished” from his hospital bed. The next I heard from him was a phone call, asking me to meet him at a cliffside lookout. But when I arrived, it wasn’t him waiting for me. It was the family from his malpractice case. As I tumbled over the edge, his voice came through the phone one last time, twisted with venom. “You love me more than anything, right, darling? If you love me, you’ll die for me. Your life insurance policy will be just enough for Lily and me to start over somewhere nice and warm. She’ll never forget her dear mentor’s wife.” The wind had screamed in my ears as my body was torn apart on the rocks below. I took a deep, steadying breath and pulled my arm from Lily’s grasp. “May?” She stared at me, her face a mask of shock. I ignored her and turned to the attending physician, Dr. Evans. “Dr. Evans,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “Please call it.” He blinked, confused. “Call what?” “The time of death.” My voice didn’t waver. “Brain death is legal death. That’s medical fact. It’s better than letting him suffer, hooked up to a dozen machines like a living corpse. Let him go with dignity.” “No!” Lily shrieked. “May, are you insane? That’s your husband! Are you in such a hurry to see him die?” She scrambled in front of the bed, spreading her arms to shield Julian’s body. “As long as I’m here, nobody is touching his ventilator!” A murmur went through the staff gathered in the room. “Do you think the shock was too much for her?” “It seems so cruel… even if there’s just a sliver of a chance…” The tide of opinion was turning against me in an instant. On the bed, I saw Julian’s eyelashes flutter, an almost imperceptible movement. Slowly, deliberately, I reached into my purse and pulled out a file. “Everyone,” I said, my voice catching as I held up the document, tears welling in my eyes on command. “This isn’t my decision to make.” “Julian told me, more than once, that if anything ever happened to him, he never wanted to be kept alive by machines. He didn’t want a life without dignity. He dedicated his life to medicine. He said that if he couldn’t save lives on the operating table anymore, he wanted to become a silent teacher, to help students learn to save lives in his place!” The room fell silent. The color drained from Lily’s face. Her expression was frozen. “This is… an Anatomical Gift Donation Form,” I declared, slapping the document onto the bedside table. My voice rang with conviction. “It has Julian’s signature, notarized and legally binding. It’s because I love him that I have to honor his final wish! I’m donating his body to the medical school!” You want to play dead, Julian? Fine. I’ll make sure you become a real specimen. Preserved for eternity. 2 The donation form was real. Three years ago, Julian had orchestrated the whole thing as a publicity stunt to help him get his promotion to associate professor. He’d even had a local news crew interview him. He had laid it on thick, sounding so incredibly righteous. “I would rather my body be cut a thousand times if it meant paving the way for the future of medicine,” he had said, looking directly into the camera. He never imagined that the prop from his little performance would be the very thing that sealed his fate. Lily’s face was now the color of chalk. Of course, she knew about the form. She was the one who had run the paperwork to the notary’s office for him. She was trembling, her eyes darting in terror toward the man on the bed. Beneath the sheets, Julian’s fingers twitched violently. I saw it. But I pretended not to. Instead, I rushed forward and clasped his hand, my voice thick with emotion. “Darling, I know you can hear me,” I whispered. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your last wish is fulfilled.” Just then, the Dean of Medicine burst in, flanked by a nervous-looking group of hospital administrators. They had been in a panic over the malpractice settlement. But when he heard the news about the body donation, his eyes lit up. This was a godsend. A classic case of turning a disaster into a PR triumph. The negative press from the malpractice suit could be completely overshadowed by the moving story of a brilliant surgeon’s ultimate sacrifice for medicine. The Dean strode over, grabbing my hands with both of his, his mustache trembling with excitement. “Dr. Clarke! This is… a truly selfless act! Truly selfless!” he boomed. “Dr. Heard was the pride of this hospital, a pillar of the medical community! Rest assured, we will give him a send-off worthy of his immense contribution!” Lily panicked. If she didn’t do something, Julian was going to end up on a dissection table. “Mr. Dean, you can’t!” she cried, dropping to her knees in a heap. “His body is still warm! This is against protocol! We can’t just… just murder him!” She latched onto the Dean’s leg, smearing tears and snot all over his expensive trousers. I let out a cold, quiet laugh. “Dr. Shaw, did you sleep through your anatomy classes?” I looked down at her, my expression one of pitying disdain. “After brain death, the body’s thermoregulatory center fails. The warmth you’re feeling is just residual metabolic heat. It will dissipate soon enough.” I swept my gaze over the other doctors in the room. “We are all professionals here. Surely I don’t need to explain such a basic concept?” No one spoke. But the way they looked at Lily had changed. It was a mixture of confusion and contempt. For a surgical resident to argue against such a fundamental medical principle was deeply embarrassing. “Security,” the Dean ordered, his face darkening. “Please escort Dr. Shaw out. She’s overwrought with grief and is no longer behaving rationally.” Two guards moved in, lifting Lily by her arms. She struggled wildly, her eyes locked on the bed in desperation. “Dr. Heard! Say something! Wake up!” she screamed, her voice raw and cracking. Julian lay perfectly still. But I could feel his fear. He didn’t dare wake up. If he opened his eyes now, he would be exposed as a fraud. His career would be over, his reputation destroyed, and he’d be facing millions in debt and a prison sentence. He was gambling. He was betting that I was just bluffing. That in the end, I wouldn’t have the heart to actually pull the plug.

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Six years after being cast out of Shaw Manor, mistaken for the wrong daughter, I was selling blood to survive. Just as I pocketed a few bills, a bodyguard’s kick buckled my knees. I collapsed, and a shrill voice shrieked, “Ungrateful wretch! Are you trying to kill my Elara?” A slap cracked across my face—it was my mother, desperate to secure blood for her precious daughter. My brother Harry, standing beside her, ordered the guards to throw me out. He glanced at the money in my hand and sneered, “Still vain, selling blood for a few hundred bucks?” He lowered his voice. “Elara graduates in two weeks and studies abroad. She won’t be the focus anymore—you won’t bully her then. I’ll explain everything to our parents and bring you home. You’ll still be the family princess.” “Home? A princess?” A weak laugh escaped me. My ALS was progressing fast; I wouldn’t last a month. Besides, the moment he believed Elara and called me an impostor, I had already lost my home. … My fingers were too weak to hold on. A sudden gust of wind snatched the bills from my grasp. Instinct took over. I dragged my unresponsive legs, shuffling after the money. The stares of the people around me were like daggers, their eyes branding me a monster. But I didn’t care. All I knew was that if I lost that money, the specialty medication I’d been planning for so long to buy would be out of reach again. My entire focus was on that single, fluttering bill, so much so that I didn’t even hear the ugly insults being hurled at me by passersby. The chorus of disgust darkened Harry’s face. He couldn’t stand it any longer. “Lia!” he roared, his voice laced with fury. “Are you so desperate for my pity that you’ve thrown away all your damn pride?” “So what if we sent you away for a while? That family wasn’t poor. Who are you trying to fool with this disgusting act?” His familiar voice struck my heart like a hammer. His casual “so what” was a hell I never wanted to revisit. A bitter taste flooded my mouth, but in the end, I just paused, gathered what little strength I had, and took another shuffling step. The strangeness of my gait must have finally registered. Harry’s expression softened slightly, his eyes narrowing as he realized something was truly wrong. He strode towards me, his mouth opening to ask a question. Just then, Elara appeared, her hand flying to her mouth in feigned shock. “Oh, Lia, honey. It’s one thing to have the hospital forge a diagnosis for ALS, but now you’re faking the symptoms with your body, too?” With a flourish, she handed my actual diagnosis report to Harry, her voice trembling with manufactured sorrow. “Brother, I know Lia is just doing this to come home sooner. It’s my fault I’ve damaged your relationship. Maybe… maybe you should just send me abroad early!” Harry stared at the medical report. Fueled by Elara’s performance, his fists clenched, his teeth grinding together. “I almost fell for it,” he seethed. “Lia, after all these years, have you learned nothing but how to lie? Now you’re faking illnesses?” “Be careful you don’t ‘act’ yourself into an early grave before you even make it home!” He flung the report at my chest, then turned decisively, taking Elara’s arm and leading her away. I only snapped out of my daze when Elara glanced back over her shoulder, flashing me a triumphant peace sign. A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. So what if she was his true, blood-related sister? When it came to Elara, everything was my fault. I was always the liar. But none of that mattered anymore. I just wanted my medicine. I just wanted the pain to stop. I picked up my money and boarded a bus to the hospital. We were stuck in traffic for a while. A long line of trucks, all bearing banners with the Shaw family name, was holding everything up. A quick glance at my phone told me it was a convoy of medical supplies Harry was donating to a rural mountain region. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my doctor. He sighed, his voice full of regret. “Miss Shaw, don’t bother coming. Mr. Harry Shaw issued an order. He said you’re faking your illness, and no hospital is to waste medication on you.” But he knew. He knew about my condition. He had promised to save a dose for me. No matter how much I begged, he wouldn’t budge. He finally just hung up. I stared blankly out the window at the Shaw family charity banners. The irony was suffocating. Harry could throw away millions for Elara, could be the city’s top philanthropist year after year, but the pittance I wanted to spend on my own medicine was, in his eyes, a waste. My last sliver of hope was gone. I got off the bus at a random stop. I had no control over my legs. With a thud, I collapsed to my knees on the sidewalk. The helplessness was crushing. I felt like nothing, a worthless piece of trash. The dam of my emotions finally broke. I started sobbing, pounding my useless legs again and again. A moment later, a young woman with a camera gently took my arm and helped me to a nearby bench. She handed me a tissue, her voice soft. “Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help you?” My entire body went rigid. All these years, the care and concern I had craved had never come from my family. It came from a complete stranger. Six years ago, my brother’s heart went out to the impoverished scholarship student, Elara. He had a fake DNA test done and presented it to our parents. “Elara is your real daughter,” he’d declared. “My real sister.” The truth struck me like lightning. I cried hysterically, begging him to tell our parents the real story. His answer was a heavy slap across my face. “Can’t you be more considerate? Elara is an orphan! She’ll be eaten alive! People at school will only leave her alone if they know she has a family!” he had yelled. “You’ve had Mom, Dad, and me doting on you your whole life. What’s the big deal about letting her borrow your identity for a while?” The day Elara was welcomed home, she began to frame me for everything. She claimed I called her a country bumpkin, that I flaunted my money to humiliate her. My brother would punish me, while my parents simply turned a blind eye. The breaking point came when Elara returned from school one day, her clothes nearly torn off, shameful words branded onto her skin. She threw herself to her knees in front of me, banging her head on the floor. “I was wrong, Lia! I’m sorry! I’m a hillbilly who shouldn’t have stolen your parents! I deserve to die! I’ll go die right now!” She then ran and threw herself into the swimming pool. The whole family exploded in fury. My brother, especially. He paid a couple to pose as my birth parents and had me thrown out of the house. “Don’t think you’re so high and mighty,” he’d sneered. “Go get a taste of the real world. Maybe it’ll knock some of the cruelty out of you. When you learn how to stop torturing Elara, maybe we’ll let you come back.” And so began my life in hell. The couple ran a small restaurant, and they forced me to do the work of ten people. The skin on my hands was perpetually raw and broken. Whenever the man got drunk and violent, the woman would shove me in front of him as a human shield. The slaps, the punches, the beer bottles—they always landed on me. Several times, I was beaten nearly to death. Gradually, they noticed something was wrong with my movements. My speech became slurred, I couldn’t hold chopsticks steady, and I stumbled when I walked. When I was diagnosed with ALS, they threw me out like a piece of trash. Unable to work, I sold my blood to afford food. And now, the medicine I had yearned for, the medicine that was finally within reach, had been snatched away by Harry. By the time I finished my story, the young woman was covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes held nothing but pure, unadulterated sympathy. She wiped her eyes and spoke. “I’m a content creator, just starting out. I help strangers achieve their wishes. Do you have a wish?” A wish? I looked up at the stars and thought for a long, serious moment. “I want… a coffin.” Living was already so painful. I wanted a peaceful place to rest when it was over. The girl immediately agreed. Later, after asking for my permission, she posted my story online. Looking at the screen, at my sallow, gaunt face and ragged clothes, I barely recognized the girl who used to love dressing up. A thought popped into my head: I wanted to be beautiful when I died. I counted the money in my hand. I was still a few dozen dollars short of a proper burial dress. I could make that much by collecting empty bottles. My muscles had atrophied so much that walking was nearly impossible. I managed to drag myself to the entrance of a shopping mall, where I asked a kind passerby to write a few words on a piece of cardboard for me. 【CAN YOU SPARE YOUR EMPTY PLASTIC BOTTLES? THANK YOU!】 There were so many kind people. By the end of the day, my bag was overflowing. I made over ten dollars. I never expected the video the girl posted to go viral, drawing a wave of pity and attention. The next day, I had barely arrived at the mall before my bag was full. As I struggled to lift it, a foot shot out and kicked it violently, sending bottles scattering across the pavement. “Lia! What the hell was that video you posted online? A sob story to turn the public against Elara? To drive her to a mental breakdown?” It was Harry. “Take it down, now! And tell everyone the truth!” I let out a derisive snort. “The… truth? Isn’t… this… the truth?” I managed, each word a struggle. I couldn’t control my facial muscles. Harry’s brow furrowed in disgust, as if he were witnessing the most pathetic joke in the world. He scoffed. “Do you find this amusing? Making such a scene just to get me to bring you home early?” “Fine,” he said, nodding with a grim understanding, his eyes dark and unreadable. “If you can’t even wait two weeks and insist on fighting me, then let’s see what happens.” After Harry left, I paid him no mind and continued collecting my bottles. A few more bags, I calculated, and I’d have enough for my dress. But that afternoon, the blogger called me, her voice choked with sobs and apologies. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can grant your wish anymore. My social media accounts have been shut down, my house was vandalized, and the shock sent my grandmother to the ICU. I have to borrow money for her medical bills.” She sounded like she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know why… everything was going so well, and then in the space of an hour, it all fell apart…”

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For Christmas, I bought my parents two boxes of premium Rainier cherries, costing over a hundred dollars. My younger sister, Bella, ate an entire box. No one said a word. I ate one small bowl, and immediately, my mother started muttering passive-aggressively in the kitchen. “You said you bought these to honor us, but here you are, stuffing your face without end.” Usually, in moments like this, I would apologize and offer to go buy more. But today, I suddenly felt exhausted. I wanted to see what would happen if I didn’t buy more. If I stopped being the “good daughter.” 1 Before the sun was even up, my dad shook me awake. “Tara, get up. Go to the market and buy another box of cherries. It’s not that much money. It’s Christmas morning, don’t make your mother unhappy. She was crying last night because of you. You’re a filial child, you need to be more understanding.” I was groggy, but his accusations hit me like a bucket of ice water. To make it home for the holidays, I had worked overtime for a solid week. And now, because of a bowl of cherries, I was being kicked out of bed before dawn. Those cherries were fifty dollars a pound. I had bought four pounds. Yesterday, I ate one small bowl. Maybe ten cherries. Bella ate two pounds. Why was this my sin to bear? It had been this way since childhood. I was used to retreating, to compromising. Back when we were struggling, we’d only have steak on special occasions. Mom would always say, “Steak is so expensive, but Tara loves it. Who let me be your mother? Go ahead, eat.” I would guiltily cut a tiny piece. If I took too much, she would start talking to the air. “Some people only know how to eat and eat, never thinking about how hard it is to keep this house running.” She’d glare at me. I’d freeze, terrified to take another bite. But Bella? Bella could eat the whole steak, and Mom wouldn’t make a peep. All our relatives knew my mom “spoiled” me. She’d buy whatever I “wanted.” But in reality, she bought things in my name that were actually for Bella. Pink dresses I hated. Toys I was too old for. Once, I tried to defend myself at a family gathering. It was like poking a hornet’s nest. “Look at her!” Mom sobbed. “I buy her everything, and if she doesn’t like it, she gives it to her sister. Now she accuses us of favoring Bella!” The relatives looked at me like I was an ungrateful brat. I felt like a clown stripped of my dignity. I had no one to talk to. In the end, I apologized for three days until Mom forgave me. They knew exactly how to manipulate me. I never knew how to sweet-talk them like Bella did. I thought if I just did more, paid more, and endured more, they would finally see me. But peace in this family was always bought with my silence. I remembered a podcast I listened to on the flight home. Two mothers were talking: “You have to keep your status high. Make the kids feel like nothing they do is enough. That’s how you control them.” I had been the “good girl” for twenty-eight years. Today, I didn’t want to be good anymore. I got up, locked my bedroom door, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. I woke up later to voices in the living room. Guests. “So, is the agreement still on? After our son marries Bella, you’ll sign this condo over to her as a wedding gift?” “Of course,” my dad’s voice. “Bella is our treasure. When they get married, not only does she get the condo, but we’ll also give a cash gift.” “Bella even bought these expensive cherries for you specifically. We’ll take a box home to try.” Lying in the warm bed, my heart turned to ice. This three-bedroom condo? I paid the down payment. I pay the mortgage. They claimed they just wanted to “live there for a while” and that it would be mine when I got married. But what did I just hear? They were giving my house to Bella as a dowry? I threw on my clothes and stormed into the living room. “Mom, Dad. This house belongs to me. I do not agree to give it to Bella.” 2 The air in the living room solidified. Mom, Dad, and Bella looked at me in shock. Mom jumped up. “Tara! I thought you went to buy fruit? Why are you still here?” She winked aggressively, signaling me to leave. Experience told me that if I didn’t clarify things now, later she would say, “You didn’t object in front of them, so you agreed.” I stared at her. “Mom, the deed is in my name. How can you give it to Bella?” Dad pointed a shaking finger at me. “We’re still alive! We’re the parents! This house is ours to give! You have no right to interfere.” The guest, a woman in a flashy coat, stood up with a fake smile. “This must be Tara. I’m Mrs. Chen, Bella’s future mother-in-law.” “Your mother said Bella has been paying the mortgage on this place. It’s only fair she gets it for the wedding.” Mom lunged at me, her nails digging into my arm, dragging me toward the door. “Today is the day we set the wedding date,” she hissed in my ear. “If you ruin this, I will never forgive you. Go buy the cherries. I need them.” Bam. The door slammed behind me. I was in my slippers, no coat, no phone. Tears streamed down my face without my permission. Everything I ever had, Mom gave to Bella. My award-winning fountain pen? “Let Bella use it.” My scholarship money? “Let Bella hold it.” My new clothes? “Let Bella wear them first.” And now, my house. Why were they so biased? And why were they so righteous about it? I used to wonder if I was adopted. But every time I pulled away, they’d give me a crumb of affection, and I’d come running back like a dog. I stood in the hallway, watching the elevator numbers change. Suddenly, the door opened. Bella came out. She draped my down jacket over my shoulders, looking guilty. “Sis… you know how Mom is. She’s just like that. Just… go along with her.” A wave of rage rose in my chest. “Bella. Look at the groceries for the holiday. Which item didn’t I pay for? Why is it a crime for me to eat a bowl of cherries I bought?” Bella squeezed my hand. “Sis, keep your voice down. Mom just wants to save face. She needs you to buy more to show Mrs. Chen that we’re well-off. You know she hates being contradicted.” Round and round we went. It always came back to me sacrificing. I wanted to see what would happen if I refused. I opened the door, threw my jacket on the bench, walked to the kitchen, washed the remaining cherries, sat on the sofa, and started eating them. Mom’s finger trembled as she pointed at me. “You unfilial child! It’s Christmas! What are you doing?” I blinked innocently. “Mom, I’m just eating some fruit I paid for. Is that illegal?” Mrs. Chen and her family sensed the tension. “Well, we have other places to be. Let’s discuss the date later.” They left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Bella ran to her room crying. Dad kicked the coffee table over. He snatched the bowl from my hands and smashed it on the floor. Then, slap. A sting across my face. “I’ll teach you to eat!” Dad stomped on the cherries scattered on the floor, crushing them into red pulp. “If you ruined Bella’s marriage, get the hell out of my house!” 3 The crushed cherries looked like blood on the floor. They looked like my image in their hearts—something to be trampled. Mom was wailing. “You’re just jealous! You can’t stand to see your sister happy! Just because your marriage failed, you think Bella doesn’t deserve happiness?” I sat on the sofa, silent, tears flowing. What could I say? They never listened. They only saw Bella. The pressure in my chest was going to explode. “I’m jealous?” I laughed, a broken sound. “Jealous that she flunked out of college? Jealous that she makes $2,000 a month? Jealous that she found a husband who demands a free house from her sister?” Dad squatted on the floor, holding his head, his eyes red. “Your sister isn’t as smart as you! She’s not as calculating! We have to plan for her! Is that wrong?” “You went to a top university! You make six figures! Why do you have to count pennies with your sister?” I looked down, sneering. “Dad, I’m not smart. I’m desperate. You told me since I was five that you had no money, that if I wanted a life, I had to claw for it. I listened. I worked myself to death. Is my success a sin?” “I have chronic gastritis at 28 because I skipped meals to work. Do you think my salary comes easy?” Dad rubbed his face aggressively. “But how did you raise Bella? You told her, ‘Don’t worry, you have a hardworking sister. You just need to enjoy life.’” I wiped my face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “And my failed marriage? Who caused that? Was it me?” I hit my chest, screaming the question at them. The years of neglect, the pressure, the gaslighting—it was suffocating. I grabbed my coat and walked out. The streets were decorated with lights and wreaths. The holiday spirit was everywhere, but inside me, it was a wasteland. I walked aimlessly. The winter sun was bright but offered no warmth. Usually, I could self-soothe. I could make excuses for them. But this time, the resentment wouldn’t dissipate. Why? Was it because I wasn’t allowed to eat my own cherries? Was it the house? Or was it the final confirmation that they simply didn’t love me? My stomach burned. I hadn’t eaten all day. I bought a caramel apple from a street vendor. Sweet and tart. I started laughing as I ate it. Bella and I were like this apple. She was the sweet caramel coating everyone loved. I was the sour fruit underneath that held it all up. My phone buzzed incessantly. The family group chat. The tribunal had begun. Aunt Linda: “Tara, this is too much. You come home once a year and make your parents cry?” Uncle Bob: “It was just cherries. You make so much money, why are you so stingy?” Cousin Mike: “Bella takes care of them all year. You just throw money around and think you’re better than us.” I stared at the screen, fury rising. They didn’t know the truth. They just loved to stand on the moral high ground. 4 I started typing. “Uncle Bob, why do I only come home a few days a year? Because I pay the mortgage and the down payment on the condo my parents live in. It’s $2,500 a month. If I don’t work myself to death, are you going to pay it?” “Aunt Linda, those were premium cherries. Fifty bucks a pound. I bought them for the family. But my parents wanted to give my cherries to Bella’s future in-laws as a gift. Why am I not allowed to eat food I bought?” “And about the house. I paid for the renovation. I paid for the appliances. I pay for their medical bills. I send them $5,000 every holiday. Even when their phones run out of data, Bella calls me to refill it. So please, tell me, between the daughter who pays and the daughter who takes, where exactly did I go wrong?” Silence. The group chat went dead. I had finally vented. They knew. Of course they knew. They just preferred to bully the one who wouldn’t fight back. For the next two days, Dad ignored me. Mom slammed doors. Bella looked at me with puppy-dog eyes but said nothing. They were waiting for me to break. To apologize. To offer a peace offering. I wanted to see who could hold out longer. Christmas Day lunch. Uncle Bob was hosting at a restaurant. I went to the bathroom and saw Mom, Aunt Linda, and Aunt Susan huddled in the fire exit. “You guys have to help me,” Mom whispered. “I promised Bella’s in-laws the house. Now Tara refuses. What do I do?” Aunt Linda sighed. “You messed up. Who demands a sister’s house as a dowry?” Aunt Susan shook her head. “Tara is the smart one. If you break her heart, who is going to support you when you’re old? Bella?” “But Tara is calculating!” Mom whined. “Bella is kind and naive. We have to take from the rich to feed the poor!” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. So, having boundaries meant I was “calculating”? I went back to the table, appetite gone. Suddenly, Mom and Mrs. Chen (Bella’s future mother-in-law) walked in. Mrs. Chen bee-lined for me. “Tara! It’s fate! We booked a room here too. Come, I have some young friends you should meet.” Before I could react, Mom dragged me up. “Go, go! It’s good to network!” She dragged me to Mrs. Chen’s private room and shoved me into a seat next to a balding, middle-aged man. “This is Tara,” Mrs. Chen said, fawning over the man. “She works for a Fortune 500 company. Very successful.” “And this is Director Wang. He’s very successful too. You two will have so much in common.” Mom was looking at Director Wang like he was a pile of gold. I clenched my fists. They were trying to sell me off. To secure Bella’s marriage, Mrs. Chen was acting as a matchmaker for this creep, and my mother was offering me up as tribute.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388351”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel