Category: English

In the middle of the night, my sugar daddy called me to deliver ultrathin condoms. Staring at my rain-soaked clothes, the man’s voice was husky. “Damn, who told you to be this obedient?” I handed the bag to Vincent, who was leaning against the door. “Here are the 0.01s you wanted.” He reached out, his calloused thumb deliberately grazing my knuckles, his eyes brimming with a seductive smile. “She’s not here yet. Why don’t we use one first?” While I froze, he chuckled. “Just teasing.” “I’ve arranged a blind date for you next Wednesday. You’ve been with me for so many years, I don’t want to shortchange you.” “Will you go?” 1 Vincent’s tone was negotiable, but his eyes carried a casual oppressiveness. He didn’t care about shortchanging me. He just wanted to dispose of me before his first love returned and discovered our relationship. My curled fingers tightened abruptly. I lifted my face, feigning calm. “Just send me the address.” Noticing the formal “you” in my tone, he frowned almost imperceptibly, but only for a second. Rainwater dripped from my hair onto my collarbone, making me shiver. I spoke tremblingly, “It’s late. I’ll be going now.” “Wait.” Vincent went into the living room and came out with a Burberry shawl. He wrapped me up tightly, leaving only my misty eyes exposed. In my panic, I looked up to thank him but crashed into his suddenly darkened gaze. His thumb lingered on the shawl’s collar, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Suddenly, he said, “Don’t leave tonight?” I froze, instinctively replying, “Isn’t someone else coming…” He interrupted me, his knuckles pressing against my head, his tone wrapped in impatient heat. “You actually believed that?” “In your heart, am I just a promiscuous scumbag?” “All these years, besides you, who else have I had?” Vincent carried me to the bed. In the heat of passion, he leaned over and whispered in my ear. “This is the last time.” “Evelyn is coming back.” “I don’t want her suspecting our relationship, so be a good girl and go on that blind date.” He finally told the truth. I bit down hard on his shoulder in resentment. 2 Vincent’s stamina was astonishing. The saying that men peak at twenty-five and decline by sixty didn’t apply to him at all. It wasn’t until the morning mist seeped through the curtains that he finally ended the battle and headed to the bathroom. As the sound of water started, I picked up my clothes and went to the guest room. This was our tacit understanding. Vincent was a light sleeper and disliked having anyone beside him. So, for five years, no matter how tired or sleepy I was, I would drag myself to the guest room. The next day, I woke up past nine. After washing up and rushing downstairs, I saw Vincent returning from his workout. He wore a white tank top, his shoulder and back muscles smooth and powerful. “I asked Mrs. Zhang to save breakfast for you.” I waved my hand quickly. “I’m going to be late for work. I need to catch the subway.” Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I just drive you?” Putting on my shoes at the entrance, I blurted out subconsciously. “No.” “The promotion results are coming out today. If my colleagues see me getting out of the boss’s car, I won’t be able to explain it even with ten mouths.” Vincent paused while unscrewing a water bottle. The air suddenly went silent. A moment later, he chuckled lightly. “Suit yourself.” Before I left, Vincent called me back and handed me a business card. “Your blind date for next week.” A buzz rang in my ears, dragging me back to reality. A night of intimacy almost made me forget. I agreed to deliver the condoms last night because I wanted to end this five-year illicit relationship. Afraid he thought I would still cling to him, I took the card, its sharp edges digging into my hand. My nose felt stuffy, and I gave a low hum. “I’ll go.” 3 Over the years, I stayed at Vincent’s every weekend. At first, I brought bags full of clothes and skincare products. He found it troublesome, so he had a vanity installed for me. Before leaving that day, I took everything. Including the pink slippers I usually wore and the pajamas in the closet. While I did all this, Vincent leaned against the door, watching me silently, his eyes unreadable. Until I finished packing and said goodbye. “From now on, we’re just boss and subordinate.” Seeing through my worries, Vincent scoffed. “Relax, I won’t make things hard for you at work.” 5 I ran all the way and finally reached my desk before ten. My colleague, Sarah, treated me to a coffee, which was rare. “Wendy, congrats in advance. Don’t forget our friendship when you become the department director.” I smiled shyly. “The results aren’t out yet.” She scoffed. “Why be modest? Among the candidates, you have the longest tenure and the most completed projects.” “Besides, everyone sees how hard you work.” “You becoming director is what everyone expects.” I stopped being modest and smiled at my colleagues. “If I succeed, I’ll treat everyone to the most expensive Japanese food in the city!” Cheers erupted in the office. Three minutes to ten. I checked my email countless times. I even ran to the bathroom three times out of nervousness. Until the email opened, and the bold text jumped out. “We regret to inform you that your promotion application was unsuccessful…” Boom. My mind went blank. My team members crowded around. Seeing the result on the screen, the lively office fell silent. Until the HR Director walked in with someone, breaking the silence. “Let me introduce everyone. This is Evelyn Lin, a master’s graduate from overseas, and the new Planning Director appointed by Mr. Sterling personally.” The moment I looked up, my breath hitched— The girl wore a sharp white suit, her hair loosely tied back, her neck slender and fair. She looked exactly like the person in the photo I once saw in Vincent’s wallet. 6 Like catching a severe cold, my nose was stuffy, and my mind was blank. I was pushed forward mechanically by a heavy force. The walk to Vincent’s office wasn’t long, but I couldn’t stop wiping my tears. Many people looked at me, but I didn’t care about embarrassment. I knocked on the door, and Vincent’s usual cold voice came from inside. “Come in.” I stood there with red eyes, tears falling as soon as I spoke. “Why?” He didn’t look up, his fingers still scrolling through documents. “Why what?” I raised my voice, unable to suppress my grievance. “There are so many positions. Why must Evelyn take my promotion spot?” Vincent finally looked up, his tone flat as if discussing something trivial. “She wanted to go to the planning department.” “Just because she wanted it, you can easily strip away my five years of hard work?” Did he not know? To ensure my promotion, I took an assignment in Africa that no one else wanted. I even contracted malaria and almost didn’t make it back. Vincent stood up, walked to me, and looked down with cold eyes. “Wendy, this is reality.” “Because I’m in this position, I decide everything.” My voice trembled uncontrollably. “I just want fairness. Is that hard?” As if I touched a nerve, Vincent chuckled low. “Fairness?” “You’re talking to me about fairness?” “Wendy, get this straight,” he leaned in, his cool breath almost touching my face. “If you hadn’t slept with me…” “With your mediocre degree from a state college, you wouldn’t have even passed the initial screening for Sterling Corp.” “Why don’t you ask those Ivy League graduates who interviewed with you if they want fairness?” “You enjoyed the convenience power gave you without a word, and now you want fairness?” Vincent’s words were like a slap in the face. My cheeks burned, and even breathing hurt. I suddenly understood. Despite working hard for five years to prove myself, never thinking of using my relationship with Vincent for convenience… I couldn’t change the fact that I got into Sterling Corp because of him. I truly had no right to talk about fairness. So, I decided to resign.

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My husband, Liam, was a top graduate from an Ivy League university. Upon graduation, he received olive branches from numerous Fortune 500 companies. But for me, he willingly stayed home and became a househusband. Everyone envied me for having such a good husband. In the middle of the night, after a moment of intimacy, he fell asleep. On a whim, I opened his phone. The lock screen wallpaper was me. But his pinned chat on messaging apps was a woman named “Zach’s Mom,” the mother of a classmate from our daughter’s preschool. Zach’s Mom sent a message: “Mia’s Dad, it’s going to be cold tomorrow, remember to wear more layers.” Liam replied with a cute nodding cat sticker and said, “You too.” Scrolling up hundreds of pages, I saw them caring for each other and reminding each other of things on countless nights when I was working overtime. I couldn’t remember the last time he sent me a sticker or asked if I was tired from work. 1 I didn’t sleep all night, reading their chat history from beginning to end. Thousands of pages of records. Liam never said he liked her, never said he loved her. But he would show off the new dishes he learned to cook in the evening, send her pitiful dragon stickers seeking comfort, and care about whether she changed to a thick duvet when the temperature dropped suddenly… “Heavy rain tonight, there might be thunder. Is Zach afraid of thunder?” “No! He’s very brave. It’s me, as a mom, I’m so scared I can’t sleep.” “It’s okay. If you’re scared, I’ll chat with you until you fall asleep.” Followed by a strong muscle cat sticker. “Okay!” Followed by a flower-scattering cat sticker. He hadn’t sent me a sticker for years. That night, the city experienced a once-in-a-century rainstorm. Thunder roared all night. After working overtime, I couldn’t get a taxi at all. I ended up curling up at my desk, terrified, and barely slept. He just sent me a message confirming I wasn’t coming home, and that was it. It turned out his care and comfort were given to another woman. Dawn broke. He moved his head, opened his eyes, and saw me lying at the head of the bed holding his phone. He paused for a moment, then casually reached out to pull me into his arms, taking the phone from my hand. “Up so early today? Isn’t it your day off? Sleep with me a little longer.” He nuzzled my neck, showing no sign of nervousness. I took his phone back, opened the pinned chat with Zach’s Mom, shoved the phone in front of his face, and asked him, pretending to be calm, “Don’t you have anything to explain to me?” “Oh. Mia has a good friend in preschool named Zach. This is that boy’s mom. I occasionally learn parenting tips from her.” “If you’re unhappy, I’ll delete her.” He clicked the red delete button decisively. He looked straight at me, his eyes open and candid. My pain of sleeplessness all night seemed ridiculous and inexplicable at this moment. It seemed like I was overthinking things. I remained silent. He hugged my waist and tickled me. “My dear wife, give your brain a rest on your day off. Why waste your thoughts on irrelevant people? I always love you the most!” I was tickled so much that I didn’t have time to think for a while. The matter passed just like that. After all, we had loved each other for eight years, and we had a daughter. 2 After deleting Zach’s Mom, I changed my habit of never checking his phone at night. I would check his phone from time to time. He never stopped me. But I never saw any chat records with the opposite sex that made me unhappy again. Our life returned to normal. He continued to be responsible for taking our daughter to preschool after I went to work. One day, the company organized a family dinner. I happened to pass by the preschool while sending off a client, so I went to pick up my daughter. “Liam, your wife found out, right? She made you delete me.” A gentle-looking woman with long hair sat with Liam on a bench in the small park next to the preschool. I stopped in my tracks. “Yeah, she wasn’t happy. But I bought a new phone. If you need anything, you can call this number.” He handed a brand-new phone to the woman. “Use this phone to call me from now on. Your old phone is very laggy. Consider this a thank-you gift for making breakfast for Mia.” The other phone he was holding was clearly a couple’s set with this one. I tightly gripped the old phone in my hand, the paint peeling off. The cold metal cut into my hand, causing pain. This was the family phone he bought when I was pregnant with Mia. The three of us each had one. At that time, he held me, his face pressed against my belly, and whispered softly, “Baby, Daddy and Mommy will use the same phone as you. By the time you’re five, it will definitely record a lot of happiness belonging to our family.” “If the phone doesn’t work well then, we’ll change to new ones together, new phones for the family of three.” Now Mia is four, not yet five, and he’s already impatient? A mixture of confusion and pain swept from my calves to my heart with the autumn wind. But I still have my daughter. We have been through so much together. My parents and older brother died in a car accident when I was in college. I lost all my family overnight. He accompanied me day and night. It was he who supported me through that darkest time. Without him, I might have followed my parents and brother in that house filled with their joys and sorrows. After I graduated and gave birth to the child, for my dream, he voluntarily gave up his high-paying job and returned to the family to take care of Mia. The evidence of his love for me in my memories is countless… He loved me so much. I looked at my husband speaking softly to another woman under the sun, feeling a bit dazed. They didn’t do anything actually crossing the line, did they? Maybe I saw the couple’s phone wrong. It’s just a phone, just a thank-you gift for making breakfast for Mia… I tried hard to ignore the pain in my chest. Liam stood up and saw me. I smiled at him, walked over, and took his arm. “Haven’t gone home yet? Who is this?” “When did you get here?” Liam didn’t answer me, his body obviously tense. “Just arrived, and you saw me,” I smiled and kissed him. He clearly breathed a sigh of relief and returned to his gentle and smiling appearance. “This is Zach’s Mom. I wasn’t very good at making breakfast before, so she has been bringing breakfast for Mia.” “Just met today, asked some questions about children being picky eaters.” Zach’s Mom exchanged a glance with Liam, covered her mouth, and laughed, “You couple have such a good relationship. No wonder Mia is so cute.” “I won’t disturb you anymore, I’m leaving first.” She waved the phone Liam gave her in front of my eyes and waved goodbye. The sunlight reflected off the screen directly into my eyes, stinging them. I grabbed Liam’s arm harder and harder until he whispered, “Eve, what’s wrong? You’re hurting me.” I came back to my senses and acted coquettishly to him, “Liam, blow on my eye for me, something seems to have gotten into it.” He bent over slightly, held my shoulders, and blew on my eye carefully. The wind from his lips was very cold, and tears slowly welled up in my eyes. More and more, the tears couldn’t be stopped. I opened my eyes and looked through the tears; his face became more and more blurry. What should I do? I still love you so much. 3 The weather was getting cooler, and Mia’s preschool was about to have winter break. Maybe because I cried too miserably that day, Liam realized something. The screen of his new phone never lit up again. But I just couldn’t rest assured. After dinner, Mia was playing in the living room. “Liam, I’m about to be promoted. After the New Year, I might be transferred to the headquarters in State B as a department director. Let’s go there together.” “My parents happen to be in State B. We won’t come back here in the future. Let’s find an agent to list the house here.” “The educational resources in State B are better, and the environment for Mia growing up will be better…” I chattered on. He was rarely silent for a long time, but finally agreed. That night, the phone that never lit up disappeared into the drawer. He took Mia out for a walk for an hour. Watching him return with the child downstairs, I thought that they had no excuse or opportunity to contact each other anymore. Liam was still the Liam of the past. Because of business needs, I took Mia to City B in advance. I temporarily left Mia at my parents’ house and handled her enrollment by the way. Liam handled the house in the original city and would come two days later. Two days later, Liam told me, “I found a buyer, but he’s not satisfied with some parts. I’ll talk to him again and come the day after tomorrow.” In the background noise, the buyer was picking on various faults of our house. I didn’t suspect anything, just told him to take care of himself there and wear more clothes as the weather was getting cold. The next day was Liam’s birthday. That afternoon, I took Mia to video call him to celebrate his birthday. But after working overtime and coming back at night, seeing the empty home without Liam, the longing suddenly hit me like a huge wave. We hadn’t been apart for so long for many years, and today was his birthday. I booked a flight for that night, took two or three days off, and planned to go find Liam immediately, accompany him to finish dealing with the house, and then come back together. I was burning with anxiety, and the longing for him in my heart couldn’t be suppressed. Got off the plane, got in a car, bought a cake, I ran all the way back to our home. Downstairs, I saw the warm yellow light in our home. At this time, he should usually be sleeping holding me. I pressed the elevator button several times downstairs. One elevator kept stopping at the 16th floor, our floor. Too late to think, I rushed to the stairwell and climbed 16 floors in one breath. The door to our home wasn’t closed tight. Maybe because of the move, the house was a bit messy. I tiptoed towards the bedroom with a smile, wanting to give Liam a surprise. But the next moment, my feet were suddenly nailed to the spot. 4 The bedroom door was wide open. On our big bed. Two bodies were tightly entangled. A woman’s long black hair was spread over a man’s taut, pale skin. The low panting that had sounded in my ears countless times was now blending in the air with another woman’s delicate moans. The details I ignored along the way suddenly flashed in my mind. The warm brown women’s low-heeled shoes blocking the elevator door, the scattered men’s and women’s clothes and pants at the door… They seemed to have opened their bloody mouths, laughing at me unscrupulously, “Hahaha! Hahaha!” The longing that took seven hours of non-stop travel felt like a huge joke at this moment. I threw away the cake, strode forward, grabbed the woman’s hair, and yanked her up. Her flushed face was covered in sweat, and there were even tears in the corners of her eyes from being unable to bear it. Sure enough, it was that Zach’s Mom! I slapped her hard. However, my hand was caught by Liam. “Eve, that’s enough!” His hair was messy, and he rubbed his temples impatiently. “This is all my fault, it has nothing to do with her…” With red eyes, I raised my hand and slapped his face to the side. Grabbing Zach’s Mom’s hair and pushing Liam, I drove them out the door. “Get out! Don’t let me see you again!” After slamming the door, I couldn’t hold back anymore and squatted on the ground, crying loudly. Outside the door, listening to my faint crying inside, Liam waved to Zach’s Mom, Fiona, and said weakly, “You go back first.” He sat down leaning against the door, watching the elevator light go out, thinking of the smashed cake he saw at the bedroom door, the light in his eyes began to dim. After a long time, long enough for me to cry myself to sleep again. The door moved slightly. Liam opened the door, walked in, and picked me up from the floor. I woke up and struggled to get down. Sitting on the sofa, I got straight to the point, “Let’s get a divorce, Liam.” My heart was dead. I could no longer deceive myself. I could no longer pretend that this man, whom I had loved for eight years, raised a child with, but cheated in the end, still loved me. He didn’t speak, sat next to me, took out a cigarette from under the drawer, and lit it. I didn’t know when he started smoking again. Since I was pregnant with Mia, he had never smoked in front of me. After a long time, I distanced myself from him and sat opposite him, expressionless. “We can’t continue. Let’s divorce. The daughter stays with me.” He looked at the smashed cake at the bedroom door, avoiding the topic, and asked me, “Why did you come back suddenly tonight? Was it to celebrate my birth…” I interrupted him, “Does it matter? Unfortunately, I interrupted your good time.” I looked at him mockingly.

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I was in Atlanta for a business trip, and to save a few hundred bucks on a hotel, I called my brother, thinking I could crash at his place for a few days. But on the other end of the line, he stammered, “That’s… not a great idea. Your sister-in-law… she doesn’t like having outsiders in the house.” Outsiders? The word stunned me. For three years, I’d been paying his mortgage. Five thousand five hundred dollars, every single month, without fail. And in his eyes, I was an outsider? After we hung up, a bitter laugh escaped me. I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying to my banking app, and canceled the automatic mortgage payment. 01 The only thing left in my ear was the cold, flat dial tone. I stood clutching my phone on a bustling Atlanta street corner, a river of people flowing under the city’s brilliant night lights. Everything was so alive, so vibrant. But my world had been silenced by that single word: outsider. A wave of absurdity washed over me, drowning me. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest, hot and searing like a fresh burn. I had paid his mortgage for three years. Three whole years. One thousand and ninety-five days. Every month, the moment my paycheck hit my account, the very first thing I did was transfer $5,500. Because of that money, five years after graduation, I was still living in a cramped, run-down apartment without an elevator on the outskirts of New York. Because of that money, I never shopped for myself, never bought new clothes, and never joined my colleagues for dinner, let alone took a vacation. I was a machine programmed for one purpose: work like crazy, earn every penny I could, and funnel all that blood, sweat, and tears to my brother, Leo. I thought it was my duty, the responsibility of a younger sister. I thought I was helping him build a home. Only now did I realize I was never family. I was just a convenient ATM. A tool. An… outsider. I looked down at Leo’s name in my call history and let out a laugh. It started as a tremor in my shoulders, then grew louder, drawing stares from passersby. A hot tear slipped from the corner of my eye, turning cold in the evening breeze. I opened my banking app, my fingers moving with muscle memory. The automatic payment I’d set up three years ago, the number that devoured the majority of my hard work each month, sat there quietly. $5,500. I stared at it, and an image of Leo and his wife, Lily, flashed in my mind—their brilliant smiles in the picture they posted when they moved into that sprawling, river-view apartment in Atlanta. In the background of that photo, I could see the expensive sofa I’d bought them, the smart appliances I’d paid for. And I didn’t even have the right to spend a single night in that home. My finger hovered over the “Cancel Automatic Payment” button for a heartbeat. Then, no more hesitation. I pressed it. Confirm Cancellation? Confirm. A notification popped up on the screen: “Action Successful.” In that instant, the mountain that had been crushing me for three years finally crumbled. A wave of relief so powerful washed over me that I almost screamed. But I didn’t. I calmly closed the app and opened a hotel booking site. Atlanta. Five-star hotel. Executive River-View Suite. Six hundred dollars a night. For less than a tenth of his monthly mortgage, I bought myself a single night of peace. After paying, I took a deep breath of the humid, subtropical air. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the name of the hotel. Half an hour later, I was standing before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of my suite, looking down at the glittering necklace of lights along the river. The city was a dragon of light, its veins flowing with traffic. It was beautiful. I kicked off my heels, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. I walked into the spacious bathroom and drew a hot bath. Then I took out my phone, snapped a picture of the view, no filter needed. I posted it to my feed. The caption read: “A new life, beginning with me.” Less than a minute later, two red hearts popped up. I tapped on the profile pictures. Leo and Lily. They hadn’t even bothered to call and ask why I wasn’t at their place. Just a hypocritical “like,” as if to show their gracious approval of my post. Just then, my phone lit up. It was my mother. I answered. Her voice came through, laced with accusation. “Eva, what’s this all about? Your brother said you called, why didn’t you go stay with them? And you hung up on him?” I said nothing, just listened. “You know how your sister-in-law is. You’re the younger sister, you need to be the bigger person.” “It’s not easy for your brother, stuck in the middle like that. Don’t cause trouble for him. Call him and apologize right now.” “Do you hear me? Be more considerate.” I listened to those familiar words, each one a dull knife twisting in my heart. For as long as I could remember, I was told to be “considerate.” Give the best food to my brother. Let my brother have the new clothes. His chance at college came before mine. And now, even my dignity had to be sacrificed for his so-called “hardship.” “Hello? Eva? Are you listening?” My mother’s voice grew impatient. I spoke softly, my voice as still as a frozen lake. “Mom, I’m tired. I need to rest.” Before she could say another word, I hung up. It was the first time in my twenty-eight years that I had ever hung up on my mother. I tossed the phone onto the bed and sank into the hot water of the tub. The warmth enveloped my body, but a chilling cold seeped from my very bones. I closed my eyes. It was over. It was all over. 02 I stayed in Atlanta for five days. During that time, I worked efficiently during the day and returned to the quiet solitude of my hotel at night. I didn’t contact Leo again, nor did I reply to any of the messages my mother sent. They were like a program that had been suddenly deleted from my life, and the world went blessedly quiet. On the afternoon of the fifth day, I finished my work and prepared to fly back to New York. As I sat in the airport lounge, my phone began to vibrate violently. The name “Leo” flashed on the screen. I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting it ring until it went to voicemail. A moment later, a second call came through. I ignored it. A third, a fourth… A relentless, desperate barrage. I calmly dragged his number to my block list. The world was finally, completely silent. But that silence lasted less than ten minutes. A WhatsApp notification chimed. A voice message from Leo. I pressed play, and his voice, ragged with fury, blasted through the speaker. “Eva, what the hell is your problem? How dare you not answer my calls?” “The mortgage payment is late! The bank is calling! Do you have any idea what this will do to my credit score?” “Are you crazy? Are you trying to ruin me?!” The accusations burned through the phone. I listened, my face a blank mask. It was like listening to the ravings of a stranger. He didn’t even ask why I’d stopped the payments. In his mind, it was my sacred duty to pay his mortgage. By stopping, I had committed a cardinal sin. I was trying to destroy him. I didn’t reply. I blocked him on WhatsApp, too. After I was done, the knot of anger in my chest finally began to loosen. The plane took off, and my phone went into airplane mode. I slept all the way to New York. When I landed and switched my phone back on, a flood of unread messages and missed calls poured in. As expected, they were from my parents. I opened the latest voicemail from my mom. Her voice was a hysterical, tear-soaked wail. “Eva! You ungrateful child! Are you trying to drive your brother and his family into the ground?” “We worked so hard to raise you, and this is how you repay us?” “You make so much money! What’s wrong with helping your brother? It’s what you’re supposed to do!” “If your brother loses his house and his wife leaves him, you will be the one who destroyed this family!” The one who destroyed the family. What a heavy crown to place on my head. I listened to her screeching sobs, my heart numb. To them, my only value was to be drained dry to fill my brother’s bottomless pit. My feelings, my pain, my future—none of it ever mattered. For the first time, I deleted my mother’s message without a second thought. Then, I saw a notification from the family group chat. It was from my sister-in-law, Lily. It was a large group, with nearly a hundred relatives in it. Lily didn’t use my name, but every word was a poisoned arrow aimed straight at me. “Sigh, some young women these days. They go to college, make a little money, and suddenly they’re too good for anyone.” “Forgetting their own brother. What a waste of an upbringing.” “They get a little taste of success and suddenly their family is just a burden. I guess that’s what they call ‘burning bridges.’” She sent several messages in a row, each punctuated with a passive-aggressive emoji. A few relatives who didn’t know the full story started chiming in. “That’s right, you can’t forget where you come from.” “Leo is such a good man, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” “You’re family, can’t you just talk things out?” I read their empty platitudes, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Treated him like that? Who was the one being used? Who was the one feasting on another’s flesh and blood, only to complain about the taste? A fire ignited in the soles of my feet and shot up to the crown of my head. The blood roared in my ears. Fine. You want everyone to weigh in? Then let’s give them something to really see. 03 My fingers flew across my phone’s photo gallery. The bank transfer records I had saved for three years. Every single one, with a clear date and amount. March 2021, $5,500. April 2021, $5,500. … February 2024, $5,500. Thirty-six months in total. Not a single one missed. I stitched the screenshots together into one long, damning image. Then, I opened the family group chat, which had been dormant on my phone for so long. Lily was still there, playing the victim, painting herself as a kind, long-suffering sister-in-law. “I’m not asking for much help, just for her to stop stabbing us in the back. It’s just heartbreaking…” I didn’t waste a single word on her. I dropped the long screenshot of the transfer records into the chat. The image loaded, taking up the entire screen. The endless, repeating lines of $5,500 were like a series of sharp slaps across everyone’s faces. Then, I typed a message and hit send. “Three years. Thirty-six months. A hundred and ninety-eight thousand dollars.” “And it couldn’t even buy me one night on their couch.” “He said I was an outsider.” “This blessing is too rich for my blood. It’s all yours. Anyone who wants it can have it.” The moment my message went through, the once-lively group chat fell into a dead silence. It was as if someone had hit the mute button on the world. No one said another word. The people who had been consoling, advising, and gossiping—all of them vanished. One minute. Two minutes. Ten minutes. The chat remained deathly still. I knew they were stunned by that number. $198,000. Perhaps they thought it was my duty to help my brother, but they could never have imagined “help” on this scale. This wasn’t help. This was servitude. I alone was supporting their entire family. My phone vibrated. A private message. A few of the relatives who had been siding with Lily sent apologies. “Eva, honey, your aunt had no idea. Please don’t take it to heart.” “Yeah, Eva, we all thought Lily was the one being wronged, we never imagined…” I looked at their belated apologies and felt only irony. I didn’t reply. Just then, my father tagged me in the group chat. His tone was a mixture of panic and fury I had never heard before. “@Eva Lin, delete that right now! What is wrong with you?” “Don’t air our dirty laundry in public! Do you want the whole family to laugh at us?” Dirty laundry. There it was again. When I was funding his son’s life, I was the family’s pride and joy. The moment I stopped, the moment I tore down the facade, it became dirty laundry to be hidden away. I let out a cold laugh and typed back. “Now you’re worried about dirty laundry? Where was that concern when he was calling me an outsider?” “It’s not dirty laundry when you’re all quietly sucking me dry behind closed doors?” After sending those two messages, I left the “Loving Family” group chat. And once again, the world went quiet. I tossed my phone aside and fell onto my bed, utterly exhausted. The confrontation had drained every last ounce of my strength. I knew this was just the beginning. A much bigger storm was coming. But I no longer cared. When your heart is already dead, even a hurricane feels like a gentle breeze. 04 Leo didn’t keep me waiting long. The next afternoon, I got a call from the front desk at my office. “Ms. Lin, there’s a gentleman downstairs, a Mr. Leo Lin, who says he’s your brother. He doesn’t have an appointment.” My grip on the phone tightened, my gaze turning to ice. He’d actually followed me to New York. He worked fast. “Let him wait,” I said coldly. I didn’t go down. I continued with my work. An hour passed. Then two. Finally, at the end of the workday, I packed my things and strolled into the elevator. In the lobby, Leo was pacing frantically. The moment he saw me, he rushed over. He looked terrible. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his face was covered in stubble, and his clothes were rumpled. He was a mess. “Eva!” He blocked my path, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. “I should be asking you that. What are you doing here, at my office?” “You!” My detached tone caught him off guard. He quickly shifted tactics, his expression morphing into one of deep hurt. “We’re brother and sister! Can’t we talk about this at home? Why do you have to make such an ugly scene?” “Home?” I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “Which home is that? The one where I’m not even welcome to stay for one night?” Leo’s face flushed, then paled. He took a deep breath and played the family card. “Eva, look, I know I was wrong that day. I’m sorry.” “You know how Lily is, she has a temper, and I… I was just trying to avoid a fight with her.” “But you can’t just cut off the mortgage! That house is our family’s future! If the bank forecloses, we’ll lose everything!” “Please, for Mom and Dad’s sake, just make this month’s payment. I’m begging you!”

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When my birth parents showed up to claim me, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. “From what I’ve seen, the long-lost daughter never wins against the perfect, adopted one,” I told them, my expression grim. “She usually ends up miserable, or worse. I think I’ll pass.” They rushed to reassure me. “Don’t be silly, dear. Vivian is so gentle and kind. We’re sure you two will get along wonderfully.” I nodded slowly and pulled out my phone. “To prepare for the possibility that she tries to ruin my life, you’ll need to familiarize yourselves with the classic ‘evil adopted sister’ playbook. Here are one hundred ‘Real vs. Fake Heiress’ web dramas. Watch them all, and then I’ll consider coming home with you.” After binge-watching the entire playlist, my parents were horrified. “This is all just trashy fiction,” my mother insisted, though her voice wavered. “Vivian would never do any of these things.” I gave a noncommittal shrug and produced a document. “Then you won’t mind signing this. It’s a compensation agreement. For every time I’m victimized, you pay me. Five thousand for a false accusation. Ten thousand for a minor injury. Major injuries will be negotiated separately.” 1 Convinced I was overthinking things, my parents signed without a second thought. It didn’t take long for them to regret it. I hadn’t been in the Lockwood mansion for more than thirty minutes before Vivian announced that her necklace was missing. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice trembling, as if I’d already subjected her to unspeakable cruelty. “Sophia,” she pleaded, “that platinum necklace was a birthday gift from Mom and Dad. Please, just give it back! I know you’re their real daughter now. You can have anything else, just not that…” My parents’ brows furrowed instantly, and they turned to me, ready to launch an interrogation. I wordlessly pulled out my phone, cued up one of the web dramas, and held it out to them. “See?” I said, my voice flat. “The classic ‘framing for theft’ plotline. It’s right here.” They froze, the accusations dying on their lips. They exchanged an awkward glance. “Vivian, dear, why don’t you look again?” my mother said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure your sister wouldn’t take your things.” Vivian stared, utterly stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected them to take my side. “So you all think I’m lying? I get it,” she wailed. “Now that your real daughter is back, you don’t want me anymore. Why am I even still here?” She shot up and bolted for the door. I scrubbed the progress bar on the video. “The ‘running away from home’ gambit. Also in the playbook.” Vivian’s footsteps faltered for a split second before she burst into louder sobs and vanished into the night. “Vivian! It’s dangerous outside! Come back!” my father yelled, chasing after her so frantically that one of his loafers flew off his foot. My mother’s eyes filled with tears as she turned on me. “Sophia, Vivian is your sister. You are both my precious daughters. Can’t you just be a little nicer to her?” I was genuinely confused. “She’s the one not being nice to me. She accused me of being a thief…” My mother cut me off. “Vivian is feeling insecure right now. As her older sister, you need to be more understanding.” “You mean I should have taken the blame for stealing?” She sighed. “Whatever happened, just apologize to her when she gets back. She’s never had to suffer a day in her life. I can’t imagine how upset she must be.” “Forcing the innocent party to apologize to the guilty one,” I said, tapping my phone screen. “A very common trope in these dramas.” My mother’s face went stiff. She didn’t dare say another word. I didn’t forget our agreement. I opened my Venmo app. “Five thousand for the false accusation. You can pay me now.” 2 I heard Dad found Vivian under a bridge, soaked to the bone by a sudden downpour, her face pale and shivering. When he carried her back inside, she threw herself onto her bed, thrashing and crying. “Leave me alone! You all love Sophia now, not me!” My mother’s heart broke. She wrapped Vivian in a thick towel, cooing and pleading with her to change into dry clothes. My father kept pressing his hand to her forehead, checking for a fever. “Hush now, Vivian, don’t cry,” he soothed. “It’s just a necklace. Daddy will buy you a whole new set of diamond jewelry, how about that?” “Whether Sophia is here or not, you will always be Mommy and Daddy’s little princess.” At that, Vivian’s tears flowed anew. “Promise you’re not lying?” My mother hugged her tightly, sobbing along with her. I got it then. The dramas were real. In the face of favoritism, blood ties were weightless. Thank God I had prepared myself, or the pain would have been unbearable. My father noticed me sitting quietly in the corner, making no move to help. His face hardened. “Sophia, we are a family! Are you just going to sit there and watch your sister suffer?” I shrugged. “What would you like me to do?” “Go to the kitchen and bring the hot soup Martha made.” A simple enough task. I considered it a good deed. I went to the kitchen and returned with a steaming bowl, holding it out for Vivian. She picked up the spoon, but just as she was about to take a sip, she shot me a defiant, triumphant glare from an angle my parents couldn’t see. Here we go. This was the prelude to another classic fake-heiress scheme. I remained perfectly still, curious to see what she had planned. Sure enough, she hooked her index finger over the rim of the bowl, and the scalding soup tipped directly onto her lap. “It’s hot! It’s burning me! Sophia, you…” Vivian’s face twisted in a mask of shock and pain, as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. My father rushed over and shoved me so hard I stumbled. “Sophia Lockwood! Are you insane? How could you do that to your own sister?” I crashed into the corner of a wall, a large lump immediately forming on my forehead. He looked ready to hit me, but my mother grabbed his arm. “Sophia, you were wrong,” she said sternly. “Apologize to your sister right now!” I said nothing. I just unlocked my phone and pulled up the scene where the fake heiress uses a self-harm ploy to drive a wedge between the real heiress and her parents. “Short-term memory loss?” I asked coolly. “You two forget quickly.” “Well…” My parents exchanged a look, and the demand for an apology died in their throats. They busied themselves finding burn cream and fresh pajamas for Vivian. No one noticed the angry, swelling bruise on my forehead. Once the chaos subsided, another ten thousand dollars landed in my Venmo account. Not bad. Fifteen thousand on my first day home. 3 Riddled with guilt, my parents spent the next three days doting on me. Vivian, too, did a complete one-eighty. It was “Sophia this” and “Sophia that,” acting as if I were her favorite person in the world. My parents were thrilled. “See? Vivian is so mature. That’s our good girl.” As a reward for her excellent behavior, they bought her a mountain of luxury goods. On the fourth day, my new little brother, Aiden, returned from a school trip, eagerly showing off the gifts he’d brought back. “A lighter for Dad, perfume for Mom, and a silk scarf for my sister! I remembered all your favorites!” Everyone received an exquisitely wrapped present. Except for me. Seeing the four of them looking like a perfect, happy family, I quietly started to head back to my room. My mother finally noticed my retreating figure. “Aiden!” she gasped. “Didn’t you get a gift for your sister Sophia?” Aiden pouted. “I only have one sister, and her name is Vivian.” Just then, my grandfather walked in and overheard him. His temper flared instantly. The old man placed a premium on bloodlines, and Aiden’s ear was about to pay the price. “You little brat!” my grandfather roared, twisting Aiden’s ear. “Who taught you to talk like that? Sophia is your real sister! Vivian is just a girl we happened to raise. An outsider! Don’t you know the difference between family and a guest? I ought to thrash you!” The word “outsider” struck Vivian like a dagger. She didn’t dare talk back to our grandfather, so she just glared at me, her eyes burning with resentment. Aiden howled in pain. “I don’t know what an outsider is! Vivian is my only sister!” Grandfather twisted harder. Hearing their son’s pig-like squeals, my parents’ hearts broke. They begged Grandfather to let go. “Dad, please, calm down! We’ll talk to Aiden, we’ll teach him…” “Hmph!” Grandfather couldn’t stand to see his grandson cry either. He let go and pulled me over to the sofa. Surveying the scene, he quickly understood. “My granddaughter is the only one without a gift? Unbelievable. The nerve of you people. Sophia, don’t you worry. Grandpa’s got your back! The Lockwood family heirlooms are for you and you alone. No one else gets a thing!” Vivian’s face crumpled, tears welling in her eyes. My mother spoke up cautiously. “Shouldn’t Vivian also get…” Grandfather cut her off. “My possessions are for Lockwoods only. Some people have impure hearts. The sooner they’re sent away, the better.” Even with her thick skin, Vivian couldn’t take it. She fled to her room, sobbing. My father grumbled at Grandfather. “You were too harsh. I watched Vivian grow up. I know what kind of person she is better than you do.” “You brainless fool,” Grandfather sneered. “How did I ever raise such an idiot?” 4 After that incident, my new little brother despised me even more. He put bugs in my water glass, squeezed superglue into my slippers, and hid my homework. I didn’t care in the slightest. In fact, I secretly hoped he’d keep it up. Every time he played a prank, my parents had to Venmo me. All told, I’d amassed a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Aiden was practically vibrating with rage. “What kind of sister are you? Did you just come to this family to make money?” Yes, I answered silently. With this money, I could pay for my mom’s surgery. My real mom. The one who raised me. She’d been suffering from debilitating arthritis for years and desperately needed bilateral knee replacements. I’d looked into it. The surgery would cost half a million dollars. But that wonderful, foolish woman refused to take a cent from the Lockwoods, afraid it would make me look bad in their eyes. “I’ll never accept you, you country bumpkin!” Aiden shouted, then ran off to find Vivian. From a distance, I saw them playing together in the garden. I watched from behind a tree for a few minutes before settling down to do my homework. Not long after, I heard Aiden’s faint cries for help. Without a second thought, I took off running. He was flailing in the swimming pool, gulping down water, on the verge of sinking. Vivian was standing on the edge, frozen in a state of shock, just crying. The pool wasn’t deep for me. I jumped in and hauled Aiden to the side without even getting my hair wet. My parents, hearing the commotion, rushed out, their faces white with terror. “Aiden! What happened?” Aiden sputtered, spitting out chlorinated water, and pointed a trembling finger at me. “It was her! She pushed me in! She wanted to get back at me!” “What?” They looked horrified. “Vivian, is that true?” Vivian neither confirmed nor denied it. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t see clearly…” My father lost control. He slapped me hard across the face. “Sophia Lockwood! The boy plays a few pranks on you, and you try to kill him?!” “Is your heart made of stone?!” My mother opened her mouth to speak, then closed it with a sigh. I pursed my lips, pulled a micro-camera from my hair, and turned on my phone’s screen. “You can judge me after you’ve seen this.” The footage clearly showed me running to Aiden’s rescue only after hearing his cries for help. I was nowhere near him when he fell in. My father was speechless, his hand that had struck me hanging uselessly by his side. “Oh, dear, why didn’t you show us this earlier?” my mother murmured. Why do you think? If I’d shown it earlier, I wouldn’t have gotten slapped. And if I hadn’t gotten slapped, I wouldn’t have gotten paid. Ten thousand dollars for a slap in the face. A bargain. “Sophia, why on earth did you have a camera in your hair?” my mother asked. I smiled. “Came in handy, didn’t it?” Her expression faltered. She turned her anger on Aiden. “You little liar! I’m going to spank you raw!” Vivian shot Aiden a look. He immediately grabbed our father’s leg and started wailing. “I was confused, I swallowed too much water! I’m sorry, Sophia, please forgive me!” My mother gave him a few half-hearted swats. “Of course your sister will forgive you! Just don’t you go making things up again!” I had no time for their little performance. I just held out my phone. My father paid up without protest. Because his slap had been so forceful, leaving a truly impressive mark on my face, he even added an extra ten thousand. Such a generous client. 5 After being wrongly accused time and time again, my parents’ guilt reached its zenith. They decided to hold a press conference to officially announce my identity as the true Lockwood heiress. Every media outlet in the city showed up. The event was a circus. My parents flanked me, placing me center stage. They were beaming. Only Aiden stood off to the side, scowling. Just as my father raised the microphone to speak, I silently counted down in my head: 3, 2, 1. Right on cue, his phone rang. I’m not a psychic. It’s just how it always happens in the dramas. His face went pale as he answered. “Vivian’s been in a car accident! Quick! We have to get to Lockwood General!” My mother nearly collapsed. She grabbed my hand and Aiden’s, stumbling after my father as he sprinted out. At the hospital, Vivian lay in bed, her eyes closed, looking like she was peacefully asleep. Her face was as white as the sheets, and her leg was encased in a thick cast. My parents were terrified. They rushed to her bedside. “Vivian! Oh, my baby, are you okay? Open your eyes, look at Mommy and Daddy!” Vivian didn’t move. A doctor in a white coat entered the room, his expression grave. “Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood, your daughter has lost a lot of blood. She needs an AB-type transfusion immediately. The hospital’s blood bank is running low. We need to find a donor, fast.” My mother whipped her head around to look at me. “Sophia, your blood type is AB, isn’t it?” Heh. I twisted my lips into a smirk. “Donating blood, giving up a kidney, faking a near-death experience… does none of this feel familiar to you?” This was obviously another plot aimed at me. I was about to pull out my phone to show them the relevant drama clip, but my father swiped it out of my hand. “Is this really the time for that? Are you so cold-hearted you’d just watch your sister die?” I picked my phone up off the floor and held up five fingers. “Fifty thousand dollars. Give me fifty thousand, and I’ll donate four hundred milliliters.” Aiden started punching and kicking me. “I knew it! You just came here for the money! You horrible woman!” My mother was crying, heartbroken. She couldn’t understand why I would demand such a thing. “Sophia,” she said, her voice strained. “Must we talk about money between family?” My father’s disappointment in me was absolute. “Forget it,” he roared, his voice thick with desperation. “Give me your payment info! Take the money! Just go give the blood!” I quietly accepted the transfer and obediently followed the doctor out of the room. The three of them huddled around Vivian, not one of them sparing a thought for whether it was safe for me to donate so much blood. After the four hundred milliliters were drawn, my head started to spin. I reached to pull out the needle. The doctor’s hand clamped down on mine. “Don’t move. We need another thousand milliliters.” My internal alarm bells went haywire. “Fourteen hundred milliliters at once? That’s a fatal amount…” Two nurses appeared silently at my side, clamping a hand over my mouth. In a flash of terrifying clarity, I understood. This was a setup. As more and more blood drained from my body, the world started to go dark. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the door bursting open and a figure knocking the doctor to the ground with a single punch.

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My mother has an addiction to suffering. When I took her to the mall to buy new clothes, she stood in the middle of the store and screamed at me. “You make five thousand a month, and instead of saving it, you just think about shopping!” Then, she turned around and complained to our relatives that her life was so hard she was practically wearing rags. When she got sick and was hospitalized, I told the doctors to use the best medication available to minimize her pain. She accidentally saw the bill. She ran to the attending physician, threw a tantrum on the floor, and accused them of having no ethics. “This is robbery! It’s just a minor illness, why are you giving me such expensive drugs? Refund it! Give me my money back!” The doctor looked at me, embarrassed and helpless. I decided not to enable her anymore. I looked the doctor in the eye. “Doctor, listen to my mother. If she likes suffering, let her suffer. You don’t need to use the expensive meds anymore.” 1 My mother is a woman who thrives on hardship. There are three kids in our family. My older brother makes $40k a month. My sister-in-law is a full-time author; her income fluctuates, but she usually nets over $10k after taxes. My younger sister works for my brother and pulls in a steady $20k. I’m the “poorest” one, but I have a stable government job with great benefits. Even my dad, after retiring, took a job as a security guard at a bank. He makes about $4,000 a month, and he transfers almost all of it to Mom. My brother and his wife cover the mortgage and all household expenses. On top of that, they give Mom a $6,000 allowance every month. My sister gives $3,000. I give $1,000. Add it all up, and she has over $10,000 in disposable income every single month. Logically, she should be living the high life. She isn’t. We live right above a high-end supermarket and a fresh organic grocer. The produce is fresh, quality guaranteed. We beg her to just shop downstairs. She refuses. Every day, she insists on riding a rusted-out bicycle she salvaged from a dump. She rides for an hour to a wholesale market in the next district just to buy vegetables that are literally a few cents cheaper. Then, she rides another hour back. The road to that market is crawling with semi-trucks. We worry about her constantly. We’ve stopped her a thousand times, begging her not to risk her life for a ten-cent discount on cabbage. She gets furious. She screams at us in the living room. “Who am I saving this money for?! You think just because you make a little money now, you’re big shots? If something happens later and we need cash, what are you going to do?” What are we going to do? We all have insurance. We all have savings. Besides, if a real catastrophe hits, the fifty cents she saved on bok choy isn’t going to save us. We talked until we were blue in the face. She wouldn’t listen. She did whatever she wanted. Until one day, on her way back from the market, she rode into a truck’s blind spot. She almost got sucked under the wheels. She spent half a month in the hospital and racked up thousands in medical bills. That finally quieted her down. For two months. As soon as she healed, she forgot the pain. Ignoring our pleas, she’d wait until we left for work, tell my sister-in-law (who works from home) that she was just going downstairs, and then sneak off on the bike to the distant market again. We held a family intervention. We asked her what it would take for her to stop. She cried. She said we all despised her. In the end, we just gave up. We let her do what she wanted. Because none of us could out-stubborn her. 2 We couldn’t control the grocery shopping. But we thought we could at least fix her wardrobe. She had a significant amount of savings, but she wouldn’t spend a dime on herself. The pants she wore were bought fifteen years ago. The fabric was piling so badly it looked like sandpaper. I took her to the mall with good intentions. I wanted her to look decent and feel comfortable. She stood at the entrance of a store, looking inside but refusing to enter. I tried to encourage her. “Mom, Sarah [my sister-in-law] transferred me $10,000 today. She said whatever you pick is on her. Just relax and choose.” Instead of being happy, she started lecturing me. “How could you take Sarah’s money? Do you know what people will say if I spend her money? Send it back immediately. I can’t use it.” It was always this performance. Deep down, she was happy Sarah wanted to spend money on her. But she had to decline, and she always did it in a way that made it sound like Sarah was reluctant to give it. Luckily, Sarah wasn’t there, or it would have been another fight. “Mom, it’s a gift of filial piety. Just take it,” I urged. She got angrier and shoved me. “I said no! The clothes I have are fine. Do you think I’m embarrassing you by dressing like this?” I rubbed my temples. “No, Mom. No one thinks that.” “Then it’s Sarah. Does she think I embarrass her when I pick up my granddaughter from school? Is that why she sent money?” She was getting louder and more ridiculous. The sales assistants were giving us weird looks. I cut her off. “Mom! Sarah doesn’t think that! We just see your clothes are old and torn. We want you to have new ones. We aren’t poor. We can afford a few shirts!” She huffed and went silent. I took the opportunity to push her inside. I asked the staff to recommend some outfits. Several assistants swarmed her, picking out tasteful, comfortable clothes. I handed them to her to try on. Right in front of the staff, she checked every single price tag. Her face turned black, and she shoved the clothes back at them. Before I could react, she dragged me out of the store. I apologized to the confused staff over my shoulder while asking her, “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you try them?” She didn’t say a word until we were outside. Then she exploded. “Your salary is only five thousand! You don’t know how to save! All you think about is buying clothes!” My salary isn’t high, true. But I told her the money was from Sarah. It had nothing to do with me. I tried to explain. She wouldn’t listen to a word. She just kept rambling. “Do I need you to buy me clothes? My clothes might be old, but they cover my body just fine!” I couldn’t move her. In the end, I transferred the money back to Sarah and explained the situation so she wouldn’t overthink it. Sarah sent a voice note back: “Mom is really addicted to suffering. She has a life of leisure waiting for her, but she insists on living like an abandoned stray. I don’t know if she’s afraid people will steal her money or if she wants people to think we’re unfilial children.” I chuckled bitterly and sent back a helpless emoji. 3 I thought that was the end of it. But as soon as we got home, Mom called our aunt to complain. From the balcony, I heard her wailing. “Sigh, who has a harder life than me? My clothes are practically rags, and I don’t have money to replace them.” I don’t know what my aunt said on the other end. Mom’s voice suddenly pitched up. “Enjoy life? What enjoyment? I can’t sit still at home. My daughter-in-law does nothing all day. She sits at a computer writing ‘novels.’ When she gets bored, she goes shopping. So idle… I think I need to find a job. It’ll be hard work, but at least I can help the family so my son doesn’t have to work so hard.” My aunt must have asked what job she found. “I saw some landscapers planting flowers by the road the other day. I asked if they were hiring. They said yes. Three thousand a month. Start at 6:30 AM, two-hour break at noon, off at 6:30 PM.” “I think it’s good. I can make money and not rot at home.” Standing in the living room, my blood began to boil. “Mom!” I shouted. She jumped, quickly hung up the phone, and came back inside. “Why are you yelling?” “Are you seriously going to get a job?” She knew she couldn’t hide it. “Yes. I can’t sit still. Unlike your sister-in-law, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon. I already booked a physical exam at the hospital. If I pass tomorrow, I start work.” I almost passed out from anger. “With your health? Planting flowers under the blazing sun? Are you insane? Do you know how hot it gets? If you get heatstroke, who pays for the hospital? The three thousand you earn won’t even cover the ambulance ride!” She pouted. “It’s not like I’m under the sun all day. Besides, if other people can do it, why can’t I?” “Those other people don’t have children sending them thousands of dollars a month! Do you know how much we give you? Do you need to do manual labor?” I was on the verge of a breakdown. Seeing my state, she stopped arguing. But she still wanted the job. Then she muttered, “A household shouldn’t have two idlers sitting around doing nothing.” Sarah, who had just walked in the door, heard every word. Her face dropped instantly. 4 “Mom, what does that mean?” Sarah threw her bag on the sofa. “You think me writing novels full-time is ‘idling’? Am I an eyesore to you?” Mom didn’t expect Sarah to be home. She rubbed her hands together awkwardly and looked at me. She wanted me to explain for her. It was always like this. She’d say something passive-aggressive, upset Sarah, and then beg me to smooth things over. For the sake of family harmony, I usually did. But today, she went too far. If my mother-in-law said that about me, I’d be furious too. “Don’t look at me, Mom,” I snapped. “Tell Sarah yourself what you meant.” Seeing I wasn’t backing her up, Mom stammered. “Sarah… I didn’t mean you’re lazy. I just think… since you’re home anyway, maybe I should go out and work.” “You can wake up early, make breakfast, take Zoe [my niece] to school, make dinner, and pick Zoe up.” “You’ll still have plenty of time to write. It won’t interfere.” Silence. She added nervously, “If you don’t want to buy groceries, I can get up earlier, buy them, drop them off, and then go to work.” I glanced at Sarah. Her expression was thunderous. “Why aren’t you speaking?” Mom got anxious. “I’m different from you. I can’t be idle. I just want to work.” “Mom, are you serious?” Sarah finally spoke. Mom thought Sarah was agreeing. She lit up. “Oh, yes! I’m doing this for the family. I’ve thought it through.” Sarah took a deep breath, picked up her bag, and looked Mom in the eye. “Fine. Go find a job. I have no objection. But I’m planning to divorce Jason [my brother]. So, whether you want to suffer or enjoy life has nothing to do with me anymore. And you won’t need to make snide comments about me ‘idling’ at home.” Mom froze. She panicked and grabbed my arm. “Talk to her! I didn’t mean that! I just feel insecure without an income! She can’t divorce your brother!” I didn’t know if Sarah was bluffing or serious. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “If you didn’t mean that, why can’t you speak plainly? Why do you have to insinuate that staying home is ‘enjoying life’? You say you’re idle? Just last week, I heard you complaining to Auntie that your life is so hard, that you have to take Zoe to school and cook and clean, and that your back hurts every night!” I truly didn’t understand. What goes on in her head? I thought being blunt would wake her up. Instead, she sneered. “Right. It’s all my fault. If I died, you’d all be happier! Your lives would be so much better without me!” She started wiping away tears. “I’ve sinned! I just didn’t want to be useless. I wanted to contribute. Why can’t any of you understand me? Why do you all blame me?” Great. Talking to a brick wall. “Fine,” I surrendered. “I won’t say anything. Do whatever you want.” Her eyes sparkled. “So the flower planting job…” Sarah was threatening divorce, and she was still thinking about planting flowers. I sighed, turned around, and went to my room.

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I suffered from severe bipolar disorder. In three years, I had attempted suicide countless times. It was Sebastian who held me tight, his voice choked with emotion: “Nina, can you hold on a little longer, just for me?” After enduring countless rounds of electroconvulsive therapy and swallowing bottle after bottle of pills, I was finally able to leave the hospital on my own. But then, I ran into Sebastian, his face dark, watching a girl being embraced by another man. “Chloe, come here.” “No, you’re just using me as a substitute. I hate you, I don’t want to be with you!” He dragged the girl over, biting her lips fiercely and urgently. “Then who do you want to be with? In this life, you can only belong to me!” The iris in my hand fell to the ground and was crushed underfoot. So dirty. Looks like I can’t give it to him. 1 I sat dazedly on the hospital bed. The image of Sebastian coaxing me kept replaying in my mind, refusing to fade. “Nina, I’m late. How are you feeling today? Anything uncomfortable?” Sebastian walked in with a smile, put down the things in his hand, and instinctively held my hand first. Seeming to feel my hand was too cold, he blew warm air onto it and thoughtfully tucked it under his coat. “Chocolate-covered strawberries are really popular lately, a lot of girls love them. I compared several places and found one with great reviews to buy for you.” He opened the box. Several skewers of fruit lay inside, wrapped in a crystal-clear sugar coating. “There are strawberries, blueberries, and hawthorn. Which one do you want to eat first?” He looked at me, his eyes bright. I opened my mouth, but that dull sadness surged from my chest again. In the past, he was busy with work and taking care of me; he would never have paid attention to such things. It must be that she liked them, so he went out of his way to buy them. “This one.” I pointed randomly at a skewer and took a deep breath to relieve the pressure, but it only made tears swirl in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” “Are you feeling emotional again?” He held my hand tightly, his eyes full of worry. “Don’t be afraid, I’ll go get the doctor.” I grabbed the corner of his shirt, making him squat down. Sebastian asked me helplessly. “Is it still very uncomfortable? If it’s hard, we won’t leave the hospital yet, okay?” Looking at his gentle and worried face, I shook my head. I just wondered how a person’s heart could be split in two, so gentle to me while simultaneously possessing such paranoid possessiveness for another woman. 2 Since I was hospitalized, Sebastian had taken meticulous care of me. Spring, summer, autumn, winter, there was always a fresh bouquet of flowers in my ward. No matter how many times I knocked them over during an episode, he would always cup my face and comfort me softly, “It’s okay, Nina. Do you not like chamomile? Shall I bring tulips next time?” To make me feel better, he racked his brains for various methods, bringing me my favorite yogurt, singing my favorite songs even if he was out of tune, and cooking my favorite dishes tirelessly… Afraid I would remember those terrible things from the past, he forbade anyone who visited me from mentioning them. He took care of me wholeheartedly for three years. Some people advised him not to waste his life, to find a good girl and start a family early. Sebastian would always darken his face and scold them coldly. He said, in this life, he only wanted me. The day I got better, we would get married. My condition improved a lot, and the doctor said I could be discharged independently. I could finally marry him. But, the person he wanted to marry probably wasn’t me anymore. I looked at his face and snapped out of my trance. “Leaving the hospital today. It’s your birthday. We agreed to celebrate at home.” He hesitated for a moment, then smiled and patted my head. “Okay, Nina, let’s go home. I’ll handle the paperwork.” 3 I sat in the ward, waiting for a long time, but he didn’t return. Instead, I got a call from the delivery guy. The birthday cake I ordered was delivered downstairs because I forgot to change the address. When I went downstairs, I saw Sebastian arguing with the girl from earlier. He stood in the wind with his hands in the pockets of his brown coat, shielding the angry girl from the wind. “You said you’d come with me, but you went back on your word again!” “Sebastian, you can’t be like this. This makes me feel like I still can’t compare to her, that she will always be more important to you.” Her tone was impulsive but carried a hint of spoiled willfulness. That look made Sebastian curve his lips, scraping the girl’s nose helplessly and fondly. “Who do I like the most? Don’t you know?” “Okay, okay, don’t frown. Frowning causes wrinkles, and if you get wrinkles, you’ll cry again.” The girl was teased until her cheeks were flushed, and she hid shyly in his arms. Sebastian held her, a relaxed and happy smile on his face. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in a long time. These three years, he was always tired, nervous, and uneasy. Even the smiles he squeezed out to reassure me were stiff. I tightened my grip, my fingernails scraping my skin repeatedly. It seemed that only such soreness could distract from the sourness in my heart, so I wouldn’t want to cry so much. 4 Just as I turned to leave, my eyes met Sebastian’s. Confusion, panic, and guilt intertwined on his face. Sebastian pushed Chloe away abruptly and ran towards me in a panic. “Nina, why did you come out alone? We agreed you’d wait for me to pick you up.” He forced a smile, his voice trembling. I didn’t answer, my gaze falling into his guilty eyes. I clenched my fists involuntarily. “Sebastian!” Chloe, with her hair in a bun, approached unhappily. “You’re abandoning me for her again. What exactly am I to you?” She glared with round eyes, her tone dissatisfied. “Today you must choose between this mental patient and me. If you choose to accompany her… then never come looking for me again.” “Chloe! Watch your mouth.” “You actually yelled at me.” Her voice was aggrieved, and she quickly turned her gaze to me. “You must be Nina.” “Your illness isn’t Sebastian’s fault at all. Why do you have to drag him down like this?” “He’s given enough for you. Why do you have to keep delaying him? He has his own life. What right do you have to be so selfish?” She accused me with dissatisfaction. I stood there, at a loss. “I… I didn’t.” My defense was cut off forcefully by Chloe as soon as it left my mouth. “You say you didn’t. Do you believe it yourself?” She sneered, looking like she felt Sebastian wasn’t worth it. “For you, Sebastian gave up almost everything! To get you better medicine, he sold the company he worked so hard to build. To cook for you, his hands were covered in blisters…” “To make you feel better, Sebastian wronged himself time and again. But he is a person too; he has emotions too.” “You can turn a blind eye, but my heart aches. He is my boyfriend, and I won’t allow you to torture him, to trample on him like this anymore!” Veins popped on Sebastian’s forehead, his fists clenched tight, but he refused to utter a word of rebuke. “Chloe, you go back first.” “No, I still have things to say.” I gritted my teeth, desperately picking at the uneven scar. Only when my fingertips felt the sticky wetness did the dull pain get suppressed. Speaking deeply, Chloe got emotional and grabbed me. “I beg you, let Sebastian go! Stay away from him in the future. I’m really afraid your illness will kill him.” Her fingertips pinched tightly, and her eyes turned red too. Veins popped on Sebastian’s forehead, his hands hanging by his sides clenched into fists, looking at Chloe with forbearance and heartache. His silence was like a sharp knife piercing my chest, bloody and raw. Bitterness spread from the corners of my mouth. Is that what he thinks too? The argument attracted quite a few people. The dark crowd and noisy voices made me just want to flee this place, not letting anyone see me. “Let go of me!” I looked at my hand, scratched bloody by Chloe, and couldn’t control my scream. Chloe pursed her lips, very dissatisfied with me. When her gaze touched my neck, a glint of cunning appeared. She suddenly yanked the jade pendant from my neck. A sting of pain, and the white jade pendant fell into her hand. “No.” “Unless you promise never to pester Sebastian again and apologize to us solemnly, I’ll let you go and return the jade pendant.” People around shouted in support, saying I indeed should apologize. She dangled the jade pendant, a hint of arrogance on her pretty face. I didn’t want to argue more, turning my gaze to Sebastian. That jade pendant was a gift from him the day we defined our relationship. At that time, he was very poor, but he spent all his money to buy this jade pendant at a temple, hoping for my smooth and healthy life. Sebastian’s thin lips were pressed into a tight line. He reached out to grab it back, but froze when he saw the girl’s stubborn, puffed-up cheeks. His slender fingers paused in mid-air, and he sighed helplessly. “Nina doesn’t want it anymore, okay? We’ll go buy another one, pick a white jade with higher purity than this.” My heart skipped a beat, stunned for a long moment. When we were nineteen, he knelt and bowed with a smile, praying to every god to bless me with happiness and joy for a lifetime. Those scenes seemed right before my eyes, yet also like passing clouds. Bitterness spread at the corners of my mouth. I looked at him, tears falling unknowingly. “You said I don’t want it anymore,” I said softly. “Then I don’t want it.” Sebastian froze on the spot. His gaze fell on my pale, tear-streaked face. He struggled, clenching his fists. He spoke, his tone turning cold: “Chloe, give the jade pendant back to Nina.” Chloe bit her lip in disbelief. “Sebastian?” “Give it back to her.” Sebastian lowered his head, daring not look her in the eye. Chloe suddenly laughed. She threw the jade pendant at me angrily. “Fine!” The jade pendant hit the ground, cracking in a few places. Lying on the ground, not shattered. My suspended heart landed. “Sebastian! I just don’t want you to go on like this. Since you side with her, then forget about us. I don’t want to be anyone’s backup forever!” She slammed into me viciously, stomped on the jade pendant, and ran away angrily. The jade pendant shattered along the original cracks. “Chloe!” Sebastian watched her back, his face livid. “You shouldn’t have argued with her.” His words were full of blame. “It’s just a piece of white jade. We can buy another one. Why make it difficult for her?” With that, he chased after her without hesitation. Picking up the fragments of the jade pendant one by one, I held them, letting the sharp pieces pierce my skin bit by bit. I tightened my grip as if I couldn’t feel the pain. Actually, it’s better broken. Unlike Sebastian and me, two people who seem intact but are already riddled with holes. The people watching the drama hadn’t dispersed, staring at me. “Does this girl really have mental problems?” “Doesn’t look like it.” “This kind of illness is all in the brain. It’s scary when they go crazy.” “Psycho.” A child threw a walnut at me. I had endured such malice countless times. The faint sourness in my heart couldn’t help bubbling up. I walked back to the hospital expressionlessly, my palm already red, blood dripping down my hand.

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My son’s fever was raging, and all he did was cry for Santa Claus. I tried to coax him, promising that if he just drank his medicine, I’d take him to see Santa. But he knocked the bowl from my hand, shattering it on the floor. “No! Daddy promised he’d take me,” he insisted. A shard of porcelain sliced across the back of my hand, and little beads of blood welled up. I started picking up the pieces, trying to explain. “Your father’s busy with work, sweetie. Besides, he thinks Christmas is silly.” The boy just yawned, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “He’ll be there,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “He promised Miss Nora. And Daddy never, ever breaks a promise to her.” My hand froze in mid-air. 1 I stayed that way for a long time. Long enough for my son, Ethan, to fall fast asleep on the bed. Only then did I slowly walk out to the balcony and stare into the night. It was Christmas Eve. The world outside hummed with festive energy, every house a constellation of twinkling lights. I turned back inside, and the silence was deafening. The apartment felt colder, emptier than ever. Rami hadn’t come home. Again. After a moment’s hesitation, I called him. The ringtone played on for what felt like an eternity, a full forty seconds, before a cold, impatient voice finally answered. “I’m in a meeting. I’ll be late.” He hung up before I could even say a word. But I’d heard it. Clear as day. The chaotic buzz of a crowd in the background, punctuated by a woman’s bright, carefree laughter. Something snapped inside me. On pure instinct, I went downstairs, got in the car, and drove straight to the kindergarten. The square across the street was alive with people. And I saw him almost immediately. Rami. He was dressed in a ridiculous Santa Claus costume, striking one goofy pose after another, making the woman sitting on the stone steps double over with laughter. He used the moment to slip a piece of candy into her hand, his smile soft and intimate. “Merry Christmas, Nora.” A sharp pang went through my heart. Last Christmas, I’d been bored out of my mind at home. I’d tugged on his arm, trying to be playful. “Come on, just spend a little time with me? Get off work early, please? An hour? Half an hour? Even ten minutes would be enough!” He had just shot me a cool glance, pulling his arm away without a second thought. “It’s just a commercial holiday, Vivian. Is it really that important?” he’d said, his tone flat. “Don’t be so childish.” My vision blurred. Across the square, the two of them were still joking around, looking for all the world like a couple lost in the first blush of love. I knew her. Nora. Ethan’s beloved Miss Nora. She was the woman a twenty-year-old Rami had fought tooth and nail to marry, defying his grandfather and the arranged marriage to me. He had knelt before the old man, ready to face any consequence, as long as he could have her. But the confrontation had sent his grandfather into a sudden cardiac arrest. His final will and testament was a single, unbending command: Rami had to honor the marriage contract with my family. And just like that, Rami fell silent. He locked his heart away, cut off all contact with her, and, as promised, married me and fathered my child. But now, a decade later, it was clear. The thirty-year-old Rami still couldn’t forget Nora. Not me, the wife who had stood by his side for ten years. In that moment, our ten-year marriage, my fifteen years of unrequited love… it all felt like a pathetic joke. I forced a bitter smile onto my lips. If this marriage was something I had stolen, then it was only right that I give it back. Taking a deep breath, I turned and drove home. The clock struck midnight by the time Rami finally opened the door. I hadn’t turned on the lights in the living room. I was just a shadow, curled up on the sofa. He glanced at me in silence, not noticing the deathly pale color of my face, and sat down beside me. “Can’t sleep without me here?” he murmured, a faint, condescending smile playing on his lips. He pulled out a small jewelry box. “The new piece from the Christmas collection. Want to try it on?” I pressed my lips together. “Rami,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, “Christmas is over.” And so is my love for you. His expression darkened instantly. The hint of a smile vanished from his eyes, and he tossed the box into the nearby trash can. “You’re crossing a line, Vivian.” As he turned to leave, the air swirled around him, carrying the cloying scent of fruit candy. The sweetness made my nose tingle, a bitter ache spreading through my sinuses. I stopped him as he headed for his study. My voice was barely a whisper. “Rami, let’s get a divorce.” That way, I’ll never cross the line again. 2 Rami’s whole body went rigid. He turned his head, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “All this because I was late for some meaningless holiday?” I was quiet for a moment, then shook my head. “It’s not just about that.” Honestly, the moment the word ‘divorce’ popped into my head, it shocked even me. From the time I was a little girl, my mother had drilled it into me: I would be Mrs. Hemlock. I’d chased after Rami for years. I’d been hurt, I’d gotten tired, I’d cried, but I had never, ever thought about giving up. And yet, those two words had tumbled out of my mouth so easily. Rami’s face was a mask of indifference, his gaze so cold it made me shiver. “Vivian, if you’re going to throw a tantrum, at least pick a better time. I’m busy. I don’t have time for these silly little games.” I wasn’t surprised he didn’t believe me. I didn’t argue. He would know I was serious soon enough, when my lawyer presented him with the divorce agreement and the asset settlement. I changed the subject, my tone casual. “Nora’s divorced, did you know? I heard she’s teaching at Ethan’s kindergarten now.” Rami’s gaze dropped. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice flat. “And I don’t care.” How could he not care? I clutched my phone, my eyes fixed on the latest headline from a gossip site: “Billionaire Rami Hemlock Rages for His First Love,” accompanied by another, “A Love That Crosses the Class Divide.” He was the one who helped her get the divorce. He was the one who personally carried her to his car. He was the one who carefully selected a job for her, placing her right under his nose where he could always see her. I shoved the phone in his face, my hand trembling slightly. “This is you ‘not caring’?” I demanded. “That man in the snow, playing Santa Claus just to make her smile… that wasn’t you, Mr. Hemlock?” He barely lifted his eyelids, not even bothering to give me a proper look. “That monster she was with was abusive. That’s why I brought Nora back. I’d do the same for anyone.” His voice was calm, measured. “And Christmas is her birthday. She’s been incredibly depressed lately, so I was just trying to cheer her up. Vivian, can’t you have a little compassion?” He paused, then added, “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d overthink everything.” It was all so reasonable. My hands and feet felt numb. A heavy pressure built in my chest, and I didn’t know what expression I was supposed to make. Rami hesitated, then let out a soft sigh and patted my shoulder. “Vivian,” he said, his voice softening, “we’re married now.” They were meant to be comforting words, but the way he said them was tinged with a deep, lingering regret for a love he couldn’t have in his youth. I understood what he wasn’t saying. We were married. What more could I possibly want? I shook his hand off, clinging to one last sliver of hope. “Ethan was burning up all night. Did you know that?” Rami was clearly taken aback. I knew it. He’d put my number on Do Not Disturb again. He probably never even saw my messages. A bitter sting pricked my nose. I was about to say more, but then, a horrifying thought struck me. Ethan. The name we’d chosen for our son. Was it for her? All this time, even the name of the child we made together was a monument to his memory of her. A wave of utter defeat washed over me. I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. Rami looked lost for a moment. He tentatively reached for me, but was interrupted by the sudden chime of the doorbell. A second later, the door swung open. A frail, slender figure stood on the threshold, peering in timidly. Her voice was a choked sob. “Rami… I have nowhere else to go.” 3 Nora’s quiet sobs filled the room. The little rabbit keychain clutched in her hand was a perfect match for the one on Rami’s car keys. It was obvious. Sometime when I wasn’t home, he had already brought her here, shown her our home. Seeing her tears, Rami’s expression faltered. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned to go to her. Bile rose in my throat. Fighting the urge to be sick, I grabbed the corner of his jacket. “Rami, do you think I’m just some kind of doormat?” my voice trembled with rage. “Do you even consider this our home anymore? Ethan is still sick… If you let her in that door, we are well and truly over.” His eyes, red-rimmed and angry, met mine. He paused, then his hand covered mine. And then, forcefully, he pried my fingers off, one by one. “This isn’t your business, Vivian,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Just be Mrs. Hemlock.” He shook me off and strode over to Nora, his voice instantly softening with concern as he bent down to her. “What happened? Who hurt you?” Nora buried her face in her hands and collapsed into his arms, her muffled cries telling a story I couldn’t hear. Rami’s brow furrowed in anger. He held her for a long time, murmuring reassurances until she quieted. Finally, he spared me a single glance. “Nora’s ex-husband followed her all the way here. She’s alone, and she’s terrified he’ll harass or attack her. That’s why she came to me for help.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so cruel, Vivian.” “Go clear out the master bedroom. You can sleep with Ethan tonight. Nora needs to rest.” My knuckles turned white as I clenched my fists. I stared at him, my teeth grinding together. “She needs to rest? What about Ethan? Isn’t he your son? You want him to sleep poorly while he’s sick?” Just as the words left my mouth, the door to the second bedroom creaked open. Ethan stood there, his face a thundercloud of irritation. He glared at me, his voice sharp with a familiar frustration. “Mom, you’re so loud! Are you trying to keep everyone awake?” I froze, stunned into silence. My first instinct was to soften, to coax him back to bed, to check on his fever. But in the next second, Ethan’s eyes landed on Nora, who was trembling behind Rami. I tried to move in front of her, but he dodged around me and ran straight to her, tugging on her arm playfully. “Miss Nora? What are you doing here? Did you miss me?” Then he noticed her face. “Why are your eyes all red? Was my mommy being mean to you? Did she scare you?” Nora knelt, gently stroking his hair, her lips curving into a soft, gentle smile. “No, sweetie. Your mom is a very kind person…” She sighed dramatically. “Your teacher was followed by a bad man, her ex-husband. For a little while… I might not have a home.” Hearing this, Ethan immediately took her hand, puffing out his chest with bravado. “Don’t be scared, Miss Nora! I’ll protect you! When I grow up, I’ll marry you, and then you’ll never have to worry about not having a home again!” Nora blinked, then burst into a genuine, delighted laugh. “You little charmer. I wonder who you get your taste in women from.” She cast a meaningful glance at Rami. Rami’s gaze softened considerably. He playfully tapped Ethan on the forehead. “Go to bed. Miss Nora doesn’t need you to worry about her.” “No way! I want to sleep with Miss Nora…” The warm, yellow light of the living room cast a soft glow on the three of them, bathing them in a halo of warmth. They looked like a perfect, happy family, playfully bickering. And I was the outsider. The intruder. A small, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I wasn’t sure if it was from humiliation or self-mockery. I went and silently packed a small bag with a few changes of clothes. Then I turned and looked at Rami, my voice dripping with helpfulness. “It’s fine if the house is a little crowded,” I said. “I’ll just stay somewhere else.” Rami stiffened. He took two instinctive steps toward me, but Nora grabbed his arm. “Rami, Ethan said he’s sleepy. Shouldn’t we get him to bed first?” He stopped, his eyes flickering from my back to her pleading face. He relented. He gently brushed her nose with his finger. “Alright. Let’s get these two little troublemakers to sleep.” He hesitated for a second, then tossed a black credit card onto the floor near my feet. “If you’re so determined to throw a fit, then get out and cool off for a few days. When you’re done with your drama, I’ll come get you.” I bit my lip, hard. I didn’t turn back. I just walked out and slammed the door behind me. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed a number that had been sitting in my blocked list for years. “Is it too late to change my mind?” On the other end of the line, a man’s voice, lazy and amused, chuckled softly. But beneath the laughter, there was a note of sincerity. “For you, Vivian? The offer’s always good.” 4 It took a week. I had my lawyer draft the divorce agreement, meticulously dividing our marital assets based on all the evidence I had. During that time, Rami never came to get me. He never called. But news about him was everywhere. He made a grand appearance at the school gates, joining Nora for a parent-child event with Ethan. After school, he was photographed wrapping both of them in his oversized coat, a human shield against the biting wind and falling snow. Even though I had prepared myself, my heart still ached with a bitter cold. I get cold so easily. I remembered one winter, laughing as I tried to slip my hand into his coat pocket. “Let me borrow some warmth, okay?” He had recoiled instantly, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand out. “I’ll have my assistant buy you a hand warmer.” At the time, I thought he was just shy, uncomfortable with public displays of affection. Now I knew the truth. It was never about shyness. It was about love. Or the lack of it. Rami’s high-profile appearances with Nora had successfully captured the media’s attention. Headlines like “Trouble in Paradise for the Hemlock Empire?” and “Billionaire Rekindles Flame with First Love” dominated the news cycle. The comments sections were a storm of speculation: [Isn’t that the girl he wanted to marry ten years ago, the one he fought his family for?] [They were meant to be together from the start.] [The one who isn’t loved is the other woman. If Vivian hadn’t forced her way in, none of this would have happened.] [He looks so happy with the woman he loves. They look perfect together, like a real family.] In the past, whenever rumors of our marriage being on the rocks had surfaced, Rami had crushed them before the stories even went to print. One overzealous reporter had been escorted out of Westwood that very night, never to be seen in journalism again. The Hemlock family name was everything. Which meant that every single one of these stories, every piece of gossip, was being published with Rami’s silent approval. He was choosing to aim the firestorm at me, all to protect the precious woman he held so dear from even the slightest hint of scandal. I took a deep, steadying breath. It didn’t matter. This fake, pathetic marriage was finally coming to an end. I walked straight into his company headquarters. His assistant intercepted me in front of his office, head bowed. “Mrs. Hemlock,” he mumbled, “Mr. Hemlock is in a meeting. And you don’t have an appointment…” I just stared at him, my silence more powerful than any shout. He stood his ground, sweating, but didn’t move. Just then, the office door opened and Nora walked out, carrying an empty lunchbox. She gave me an apologetic smile, but her eyes glittered with triumph. “Vivian,” she said sweetly. “Rami is a little busy right now.” I ignored her, pushed past her, and threw the office door open. I slapped the divorce agreement down on the desk in front of Rami. “The assets are divided. The kid is yours,” I said, my voice flat and cool. “If there are no problems, sign it.” Rami turned his head. The words “DIVORCE AGREEMENT” were practically screaming up at him from the page. His brow furrowed, and he looked up at me. “Are you still angry? I’m not signing this. Take it away.” Beside me, Nora’s hand tightened, her knuckles turning white. A strange, tense silence filled the room. Rami stared at me for a long time, his frown deepening. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the office was thrown into chaos. “Who the hell is that?” “Somebody stop that lunatic!” A burly, rough-looking man stormed into the room, lunged at Nora, and slapped her hard across the face, twice. “You filthy whore!” he roared. “You thought you could run off on me?”

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“Sophie, can you fix Tiffany’s proposal?” Mr. Davis didn’t even look up from his desk. “It’s not like you have anything important to do anyway.” My fingers froze over the keyboard. At the desk next to mine, Tiffany Lee shot me a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Soph, you’re a lifesaver. I have a nail appointment I just can’t miss.” She grabbed her purse and clicked away in her high heels. I watched her go, a slow smile spreading across my face. Five years. My salary was $4,000 a month. It hadn’t gone up once in five years. Tiffany had been here for three years. Her salary was $7,500 a month. And I had revised her proposals thirty-seven times. I glanced up at Mr. Davis. He was scrolling through his phone. “Okay,” I said. “This is the last time.” 1 It was 9:30 PM by the time I finally shut down my computer. The office was empty, save for me. Tiffany’s proposal was done. She’d said it was for a crucial client presentation. Crucial. But she had a nail appointment. I stood up, rubbing the ache in my neck, my eyes landing on the photo frame on my desk. It was from my first day, five years ago. I was standing by the company entrance, grinning like an idiot. I was twenty-three then, fresh out of college, thinking I’d won the lottery by landing a job here. Five years had passed. I was still here. Same desk. Same position. Same salary. $4,000 a month. It was $4,000 five years ago, and it was still $4,000 today. I had asked for a raise three times. The first time, Mr. Davis said, “Sophie, the company isn’t doing too well this year. Let’s wait until next year.” The second time, he said, “You’re still young. Focus on learning. The salary can wait.” The third time, he said, “Look at Tiffany. Her performance is outstanding. You should learn from her.” Tiffany’s performance. I opened my computer and pulled up this year’s project records. The department had completed twenty-three projects. Eighteen of them were led by me. The five with Tiffany’s name on them? I wrote the proposals. I made the slide decks. Her only job was to present them to the client. Because she was pretty and charming. “You see, Sophie,” Mr. Davis had explained, “you’re great with the technical stuff, but you’re not a people person. Tiffany is a better fit for presentations.” A better fit. I closed the file, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the office. In the elevator, I stared at my reflection. Twenty-eight years old. Faint dark circles under my eyes, hair thrown into a messy ponytail, no makeup. Tiffany was twenty-six, and she looked like she’d stepped off a magazine cover every single day. “You should really put in some effort, Soph,” she’d told me once. “A woman can’t let herself go.” I didn’t say anything. I worked until nine or ten every night. By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was sleep. Who had time for makeup? My phone buzzed. A text message. “Sophie, the client wants to adjust some of the data in the proposal. Have it revised by tomorrow morning.” It was from Mr. Davis. I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. Revise. Again. I saved a draft and didn’t reply. Outside the building, a bitter wind whipped through the streets. I pulled my coat tighter and headed for the subway. The mall next door was ablaze with light, bustling with people. I glanced at a coat in a window display. The price tag read $799. My monthly salary was $4,000. Rent was $1,200. Food was $800. Commuting was $250. I sent $500 home to my parents. That left me with $1,250. I couldn’t afford that coat. The subway was packed. I found a corner to stand in and scrolled through the news on my phone. An article popped up. “Career Advice: How to Know if You’re Valued at Your Company.” I clicked on it. The article said: “If the company can function perfectly without you, you’re not important. If the company would fall apart if you left, you are indispensable.” I stared at that sentence for a long time. If I left, what would happen to the company? I was responsible for three major systems. The order processing system, the client management system, and the data analytics platform. Those three systems were the operational core of the company. Over two thousand data points ran through them every single day. And I was the only one who knew how to maintain them. Tiffany didn’t. She could barely use Excel. Mr. Davis didn’t. All he knew how to do was hold meetings and scroll through his phone. The other colleagues didn’t. They only handled their own small parts. I was the only person who understood all three systems inside and out. Because every time something broke, I was the one who fixed it. Every time there was a new requirement, I was the one who implemented it. Every time a new feature was needed, I was the one who developed it. For five years, I had carried these three systems on my own. No one helped me. And no one thought it was a big deal. “It’s your job,” Mr. Davis would say. My job. I earned $4,000 a month doing the work of three people. Tiffany earned $7,500 a month doing the work of half a person. The train arrived at my stop. I got off and walked out of the station. The wind was even stronger here. I stood at the intersection, watching the endless stream of cars, and suddenly felt a weariness that went bone-deep. It wasn’t physical. It was a sickness of the soul. Five years. I was a sticky note. Anyone could grab me, use me, and toss me aside when they were done. No one ever asked if I was tired. No one ever asked if I wanted a break. No one ever asked if I wanted to leave. I stood there for a long, long time. Then I took out my phone and opened a chat. “Jessica, is your company still hiring?” Jessica was my college roommate. She was now an operations director at a major tech firm. She replied instantly. “Always! You finally see the light?” I typed, “Can you refer me?” “Done! I’ll submit your resume first thing tomorrow!” I put my phone away and continued walking home. The wind on my face was cold. But for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of warmth inside. 2 The next morning, I finished revising the proposal and sent it to Mr. Davis. Without even opening it, he forwarded it to Tiffany. “Tiffany, the proposal is ready. Take a look.” Tiffany replied with a thumbs-up emoji. I stared at the screen and said nothing. During lunch, Chloe, a new hire from last year, slid into the seat next to me. She was three years younger than me and the only person in the department who ever said “thank you.” “Sophie, you worked late again last night, didn’t you?” She handed me a yogurt. “Got this downstairs. It’s for you.” “Thanks,” I said, taking it. “Don’t mention it.” She lowered her voice. “You’re too nice to them, you know.” I paused. “What do you mean?” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “That proposal was clearly your work. How can Tiffany ask you to revise it? Can’t she do it herself?” “She…” “She can’t,” Chloe scoffed. “Hey, did you know? During last Friday’s presentation, the client asked a technical question, and Tiffany was completely clueless.” “And then what?” “And then she called you, and you walked her through the answer remotely. The client praised her for being so professional, and she just stood there smiling and taking all the credit.” I remembered now. I was at the hospital with my mom for a check-up when Tiffany called, saying a client had an urgent question. I stood in the hospital corridor and explained it to her for twenty minutes. When I hung up, my mom asked, “Work?” “Yeah.” “Why didn’t you take the day off?” “I did, but it was an emergency.” My mom just looked at me, her silence saying everything. Thinking back, the question was about one of the most basic functions of the system. Anyone who had bothered to read the user manual could have answered it. But Tiffany never read the manual. Because she knew she had me. After lunch, I returned to my desk and noticed a new file on the desktop: “Q3 2024 Departmental Employee of the Quarter.” I clicked it open. First place: Tiffany Lee. Bonus: $5,000. Reason: Led the successful completion of Project X, Project Y, and Project Z, generating significant revenue for the company. I stared at the names of those three projects, stunned. Those three projects were entirely my work. I wrote the proposals, I ran the data, I compiled the reports. Tiffany just did the presentation. Her name was on the list of top performers. Mine wasn’t. I scrolled down. Second place, third place… My name was nowhere. I hadn’t made the list. I opened the company’s email server and found the original files for those three projects. They were all sent from my account. The time, the content, the attachments—it was all there, clear as day. But on the final project summary reports, the “Project Lead” field read: Tiffany Lee. I stared, my eyes burning a hole in the screen. From the next desk, I heard Tiffany’s voice. She was bragging to a colleague. “I got a $5,000 bonus! I’m thinking of treating myself to a new bag.” “Wow! Which one?” “That new Louis Vuitton. I’ve had my eye on it for ages.” “So lucky! I only got $800…” $800. My bonus was also $800. I completed eighteen projects and got $800. She put her name on five and got $5,000. I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Jessica. “Did you submit my resume?” “I did! HR is reviewing it. They’re looking for someone with a technical background, so you’re a perfect fit.” “Great.” I put my phone away and opened a new document on my computer. Title: My Work Log. From this day forward, I would document everything. Every project, every proposal, every revision, every system maintenance task. Everything. At 3 PM, Mr. Davis called me into his office. “Sophie, I need to talk to you about something.” I stood before him. “What is it?” “We have a new project next month, a partnership with a major client. It’s very important.” He shuffled some papers. “Tiffany will be the client-facing lead. You’ll handle the back-end support.” Back-end support. Always back-end support. “What’s the budget for this project?” I asked. Mr. Davis looked up, surprised. “Why are you asking that?” “I’d like to know.” He frowned, displeased. “The budget is confidential company information. You don’t need to know.” “Okay,” I said. “Then what are my responsibilities?” “The usual. System integration, data processing, report generation, and daily maintenance.” “And what will Tiffany be responsible for?” “She’ll handle client communication and business development.” “Understood.” I turned to leave. “Sophie,” Mr. Davis called out. “Yes?” “This project is critical. I need you to give it your all.” He looked at me, his gaze pointed. “Do a good job, and I’ll give you a raise next year.” A raise. Always “next year.” I nodded. “Okay.” I returned to my desk, opened my work log, and typed a new entry: October 15, 2024, 3:00 PM. Mr. Davis assigned new project. My responsibilities: system integration, data processing, report generation, daily maintenance. Tiffany’s responsibilities: client communication and business development. Mr. Davis promised a raise next year upon successful completion. I saved the document. As I stared at the text, a strange calm settled over me. It wasn’t numbness. It was clarity. 3 That weekend, I met Jessica for dinner. She looked sharp and energetic in a tailored blazer. “You finally saw the light!” she said, pouring me a cup of tea. “I couldn’t stand watching you waste away in that dead-end company for five years.” I gave her a wry smile. “I was just being foolish.” “Not foolish. Too decent,” she sighed. “Sophie, don’t you know? In the corporate world, decent people get screwed over the most.” “I know.” “Then why didn’t you leave sooner?” “I used to think…” I hesitated. “I thought if I just worked hard enough, someone would eventually notice.” “Did they?” I fell silent. Jessica shook her head. “Listen to me. No one in the workplace cares how much work you do. They only care about your value.” “What do you mean?” “The work you do, can anyone else do it? If the answer is no, you have value. If the answer is yes, you are replaceable.” I thought for a moment. “The three systems I manage… no one else knows how.” Jessica’s eyes lit up. “Then you have value. So why are you letting them treat you like a sticky note?” “Because…” “Because they don’t know your value,” Jessica cut in. “Or rather, they pretend not to know.” I froze. Pretend not to know. She was right. Mr. Davis knew I was the only one who could handle those systems. But he never acknowledged it. In meetings, he’d just say, “Sophie is in charge of system maintenance.” System maintenance. It sounded like a janitorial task. He would never say, “Sophie is responsible for our three core systems. Without her, this entire department would grind to a halt.” Because if he said that, he would have to give me a raise. He would have to give me a promotion. He would have to admit that I was more important than Tiffany. And he would never do that. “Jessica,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “What’s the compensation for that position at your company?” “Starts at $9,000 a month, three-month annual bonus, full benefits.” $9,000 a month. More than double my current salary. “When’s the interview?” “Next week,” she grinned. “I told HR to expedite it. Get ready.” “I will.” When I got home, I opened my work log. A week had passed, and it was already a dozen pages long. Every day, every task, every detail was recorded. Looking at it, I felt a new sense of confidence. I finally knew what my five years of work were worth. Monday at the office. I had just sat down when Mr. Davis walked over. “Sophie, we have a meeting this afternoon. Prepare a performance report for all three systems.” “Okay.” “Also, Tiffany is meeting a client. There’s a data question she needs your help with.” “Okay.” I opened my laptop and started working on the report. At the next desk, Tiffany was applying makeup. “Hey, Soph, can you just walk me through that data question now? I’m afraid I’ll forget.” I turned to her. “What’s the question?” She glanced at her phone and read off a string of technical terms. “The client wants to know how this metric is calculated.” I listened, then paused for a second. “That question is explained in detail on page 32 of the user manual.” “Oh, come on, I don’t have time to read the manual,” she said with a little pout. “Just tell me, Soph. Please?” I looked at her. Her makeup was flawless, her lipstick was a vibrant red, and her nails sparkled. “Tiffany,” I said. “Yeah?” “This is your job. You should be the one to understand it.” She froze. The air in our little corner of the office went still. “Sophie, what’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” I said, turning back to my computer, “that my job is system maintenance. Not training you.” Her face changed. “Sophie.” Mr. Davis’s voice came from behind me. “What was that?” I turned. He was standing there, a thunderous look on his face. “Helping a colleague is part of being a team player. How could you say that?” I looked at him. “Mr. Davis, my job is system maintenance. Tiffany is in a client-facing role. Understanding the product is her job.” “You…” “Furthermore,” I cut him off, “over the past three years, I’ve answered 437 questions for her. I counted.” He was stunned into silence. So was Tiffany. The office was dead quiet. “Four hundred and thirty-seven,” I repeated. “That’s an average of 1.7 per week. All unpaid.” Mr. Davis’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I turned back to my computer. “I’ll have the report for the afternoon meeting ready by 3 PM.” Then I put on my headphones, blocking them out. Behind me, I heard Tiffany whisper, “Mr. Davis, what’s gotten into her?” He didn’t answer. I heard his footsteps retreat. Chloe shot me a look from her desk and gave me a discreet thumbs-up. I didn’t react. But the corner of my mouth twitched into a smile. 4 On Wednesday, I took a half-day off. For the interview. Jessica’s company was in a sleek high-rise in the CBD. The lobby was impressive. The receptionist led me to a conference room to wait. The hiring manager was a woman in her late thirties with a warm smile. “Sophie, I’ve reviewed your resume. Five years of experience managing the development and maintenance of multiple systems. It’s very impressive.” “Thank you.” “But I have to ask, why are you looking to leave your current company?” I thought for a moment. “I feel that my value isn’t being recognized there.” She nodded, not pressing further. The interview lasted over an hour. I answered the technical questions fluently and presented my case studies with clear, logical thinking. Finally, she said, “Sophie, your professional skills are excellent. We’ll be in touch within three business days.” “Great, thank you.” As I stepped out of the building, I stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The sun was shining, and the wind no longer felt cold. My phone rang. It was Mr. Davis. “Sophie, Tiffany said she still doesn’t understand that data issue. I need you to come back and walk her through it.” I looked at the screen, letting it ring. Five minutes later, I texted back: “Running errands. Will deal with it when I get back.” It was already 4 PM when I returned to the office. Tiffany was out, supposedly meeting with the client. Chloe secretly filled me in. “She was in the conference room for half an hour and couldn’t answer a single question. Mr. Davis had to jump in and save her.” “And then?” “He was furious, but he couldn’t show it.” Chloe covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Soph, I think he’s starting to panic.” “Panic about what?” “That you’re not going to bail Tiffany out anymore,” she whispered. “I’m telling you, you’re the one who solves more than half of the technical issues for his clients. Tiffany is just a pretty face.” I said nothing. At 7 PM, just as I was packing up, Mr. Davis called me into his office. “Sophie, have a seat.” I sat. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Have you had any… thoughts about your work recently?” “Thoughts?” “For example,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “is there anything you’re dissatisfied with?” I looked at him and almost laughed. Five years, and this was the first time he’d ever asked if I was “dissatisfied.” “Mr. Davis,” I said, “do you want the truth, or do you want me to be polite?” He blinked. “The truth, of course.” “The truth is,” I said, looking him directly in the eye, “I feel that my compensation is not proportional to my contribution.” His expression shifted slightly. “Sophie, you have to understand, the company has its challenges…” “I do understand,” I cut him off. “That’s why I don’t complain. I simply consider my own options.” “What options?” “My career development options.” He stared at me for a few seconds. “Sophie, are you looking for another job?” I didn’t deny it. The color drained from his face. “Sophie, listen to me, the company is considering a promotion and a raise for you…” “Since when?” I asked. “Just… just recently,” he stammered, his eyes darting away. “Just wait a little longer, you’ll hear something soon.” I stood up. “Mr. Davis, I’m heading home. Let me know when you have news.” I walked out of his office, returned to my desk, and opened my work log. I wrote: October 23, 7:00 PM. Mr. Davis asked if I was job searching. Claimed the company is considering a promotion and raise for me. No specific timeline or offer was provided. I hit save. On Friday afternoon, a message from Jessica came through. “Congratulations! You got the offer! $9,000 a month, 3-month bonus. Can you start next Monday?” My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the message. $9,000. More than double my current salary. I replied: “I can. But I need to give notice. It will be at least a month.” “No problem! Just let us know when you resign. We can be flexible with your start date.” “Okay.” I put down my phone, opened my computer, and created a new document. Title: Resignation Letter.

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I received a text from Caleb, the boy who grew up with me. [If you’re willing, you and Lily will be my only family. Forever.] I looked up at the TV. On the screen, Dominic Vance—tech mogul and head of the Vance dynasty—was holding an emergency press conference to address the rumors about his secret life. [Let me be clear. I am single. I am not married, and I certainly do not have a daughter.] I looked down at the text on my phone. Then, I looked at my daughter, sitting beside me, tears welling in her confused eyes. Finally, I made up my mind. With blurry vision, I typed my reply: [Come get me. I miss you.] 1 I stared at Dominic’s handsome, indifferent face on the screen. For a moment, I felt a strange sense of dissociation. To the public, he was a cold, calculating machine. A man of deep reserve who never let his emotions show. They called him a stoic workaholic. They were wrong. Dominic had an insatiable hunger. Before his last business trip, he ignored my tears and my pleas for rest. He used his silk tie to bind my wrists, pinning me beneath him, taking me four times in one night. In a moment of exhaustion, I had bitten his neck. The mark was probably still there, hidden beneath his collar. That navy blue tie with the subtle pattern? I picked that out for our anniversary. It has been four years since we started this life together. We have a lovely daughter. She just turned three. But now. My “husband” in everything but legal paper, Dominic Vance, was standing in front of flashing cameras, using his coldest voice to erase us. “No marriage. No child.” “It is public knowledge that I have been single for years.” He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his high nose. His dark eyes held a chilling light that seemed to pierce through the camera lens and freeze the blood in my veins. “I advise those harboring delusional fantasies to stop embarrassing themselves.” 2 After dropping that bombshell, Dominic stood up abruptly. His security team and personal assistants immediately swarmed him, clearing a path through the reporters to his waiting car. I turned off the TV with stiff fingers. The living room plunged into darkness, save for the dim, lonely light of a floor lamp in the corner. That’s when I heard a low, stifled sob. I turned around and saw my little girl. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression a heartbreaking mix of grievance and confusion. She stood there, frozen. “Lily?” I got up quickly and rushed over to hug her. “Why aren’t you asleep, baby? Why did you sneak downstairs?” Lily buried her wet face in my chest. Her lip trembled as she choked out a question. “Mommy, why did Daddy say he doesn’t have a daughter?” “If he doesn’t have a daughter… what am I?” My heart shattered into a million pieces. Dominic was strict and quiet. Though he provided for Lily, he was rarely home and rarely smiled. Lily admired him, but she was also afraid of him. She was sensitive. She understood rejection. As my own tears began to fall, the obsession I had held onto for so many years suddenly dissolved. It turned to dust. I wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Lily, do you want to leave this place with Mommy?” “Where are we going?” “Are we coming back?” I looked down and smiled, though it was sad. “No. We aren’t.” “This isn’t our home.” I looked at her, deadly serious. “This is your Uncle Dominic’s house.” “We’ve stayed here a long time, and we’ve bothered him enough.” “So, it’s time to go to our real home.” Lily nodded, half-understanding. “I listen to Mommy. Where Mommy goes, Lily goes.” “Good girl.” I carried her back to her room and kissed her soft forehead. “Sleep now. Mommy is right here.” Once Lily was asleep, my gaze fell on the picture frame on her nightstand. It was a photo of the three of us. The only one we had. In the photo, Dominic sat upright, looking regal and detached. I was holding a one-year-old Lily, smiling shyly, my body leaning slightly toward him. He was not leaning toward me. I picked up the frame and left the room. I took the scissors from the drawer. As I cut the photo, I realized something. The gap between our bodies in the picture—the space where we didn’t touch—was there for a reason. It was there so that today, I could easily cut him out of our lives. 3 A week later, Dominic returned from his trip. It was ten o’clock at night. In the past, no matter how late it was, Lily and I would wait for him. But tonight, Lily was asleep. And I wasn’t in the master bedroom. I was in the guest room on the second floor. When I heard the familiar roar of his engine, I was sitting on the balcony, staring at a document on my phone I had received six days ago. A vasectomy report. “Elena, if you say yes,” the text from Caleb read. “I will treat Lily as my own.” “She will be my only daughter. My only child.” I stared at those words until the screen went black. Until I heard Dominic’s footsteps on the stairs. Until he came down from the third floor, stood outside the guest room, and knocked. “Elena. Open the door.” I wiped my face and shoved the phone under my pillow. “I’m sleeping. We can talk tomorrow…” The door opened before I finished. It was Dominic’s house. He had the master key to everything. “Why are you in the guest room?” He sounded displeased, his voice colder than usual. I sat up and looked at him. He looked tired from the long flight, rubbing his temples. His voice was raspy. I ignored the last shred of heartache I felt for him. I looked away. “I haven’t been feeling well. I didn’t want to get you sick.” “I don’t care about that. Move back upstairs.” When I didn’t move, he frowned slightly. “Elena?” “I want to sleep, Dominic. You should rest too.” He didn’t answer. He walked to the bed, bent down, and scooped me up into his arms. “It’s been a week. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” He lowered his head to kiss me. I turned my face away. He paused, surprised, and then his expression darkened. “Elena.” “What kind of tantrum is this?” 4 In four years, I had never rejected him. His drive was high. Unless he was traveling or I was sick, he wanted me every night. Before, if he had been gone a week, I wouldn’t have slept at all that night. And I would have been happy. Because only in bed did I feel like he might actually love me. I used to be afraid of his anger, but secretly, I craved it during intimacy. Once, we argued, and I ran off to a friend’s house for a week. He came to pick me up personally. In the penthouse suite, he loosened his belt with one hand, his face like thunder. He pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window. I cried until my voice was gone, but he wouldn’t stop. “Elena,” he had gritted out, “if you ever try to run away again, I will break you in this bed. Crying won’t help.” Maybe I was broken. I used to like seeing him lose control because of me. But now? My body was closed off. Dead water. Just like my heart. I struggled out of his arms. “Dominic, let’s separate.” I looked at him calmly, then laughed at myself. We had a child, yet I could only say “separate.” Because we didn’t even have a marriage license. Just a contract. He looked stunned, then his voice dropped. “Is this because of the press conference?” I wanted to scream. It wasn’t just the denial of our relationship. It was the denial of his daughter. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lily’s confused face. I couldn’t forgive that. “Yes.” “You know that was just PR. A necessary statement for the stock market.” He looked at me with that stern, CEO expression. “I am very busy, Elena. I don’t have time to soothe your emotions over something so trivial.” I tried to keep my hands from shaking. “I don’t need you to soothe me.” “I’m serious.” “We can tear up the agreement. I just want Lily.” Dominic’s eyes flashed with mockery. “You’re using Lily to threaten me? You want me to go public?” “No…” “I told you, that is impossible right now.” He interrupted me sharply. “Elena, I indulge you in many things.” “But on this, there is no negotiation.” He looked down at me like I was a stranger. The room was climate-controlled, but I was freezing. The cold seeped into my bones. “Think about it tonight. When you come to your senses, move back upstairs.” He turned and left the guest room. The door slammed shut. I pulled the covers up. In a few days, Dominic’s grandfather, Arthur Vance, would return from his health retreat. Arthur was the one who had set us up. If he nodded, I could take Lily and leave. The Vance family was old-fashioned. Dominic’s mother hated me and ignored Lily because she wanted a high-society daughter-in-law. Me leaving would make everyone happy.

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The fifth spring since our divorce. Julian and I met again in a tattoo studio. He was there to touch up his lover’s name over his heart. I was there to cover the old scars on my wrist. Years had passed. We stared at each other, speechless. After a long silence, Julian opened his mouth to speak, but a small hand tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Daddy,” a little boy said, looking at me with curiosity. “Who is she?” 1 The island breeze stirred the wind chimes on the porch, shattering the prolonged quiet. “I’m a customer,” I said. “Just like your dad. Here for a tattoo.” The little boy tilted his head. “Do you know my daddy?” “Leo,” Julian’s voice was sharp. The boy pouted and fell silent. “No,” I answered him anyway. “We’re strangers.” Julian’s expression darkened. The owner tapped the counter, his gaze shifting between us. “Who’s first?” Julian, who had been leaning against the bar, stood up straight. He looked at me, his eyes fixed. “She is.” He was wearing a white linen shirt and silver-gray trousers, the top buttons undone, revealing a well-defined chest. On his left breast, an English name was tattooed, partially obscured. I couldn’t see it clearly, but I knew whose name it was. Even though, when we divorced, that name had yet to be etched over his heart. “First come, first served,” I said, my tone polite but distant. “You were here first, sir. Please, go ahead.” Before Julian could reply, his phone vibrated. I caught a glimpse of the screen. The caller ID read: “Wife.” He killed the screen and his first instinct was to look at me. I turned and walked to a quiet booth in the lounge area. Behind me, I heard the little boy’s excited voice. “Is that Mommy calling?” 2 Julian’s voice was naturally cool, but when he was coaxing someone, he’d lower it to a warm, deep murmur that blended with the cello music playing in the studio. I stared down, stirring my coffee, when a child’s voice piped up beside me. “Ma’am?” I turned. The little boy was leaning over the armrest, watching me. He was beautifully cherubic, with a refined, handsome air that was utterly charming. So charming that even knowing whose son he was, I couldn’t bring myself to feel any animosity toward him. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispered, as if sharing something profound. “You look just like my mommy. She’s a super famous movie star, you know.” “Then you must look a lot like her.” The boy’s eyes lit up. He seemed about to move closer, but a large hand gently pressed down on his head. Julian ruffled his hair. “Go wait in the car with Uncle Hanson.” I raised an eyebrow and saw the middle-aged man who had been Julian’s assistant for years standing behind him. Our eyes met. He looked shocked, with a hint of awkwardness. “…Miss Xu.” I gave a calm nod, my voice tinged with the wistful air of an old reunion. “Mr. Hanson.” Julian scooped the boy into his arms. As he stood, a flash of silver caught my eye. It was the watch on his wrist, a Patek Philippe—a style he never would have chosen back then. On his long, elegant ring finger was a simple, unadorned band of understated luxury. In the two years of our marriage, Julian had never worn a wedding ring. True love was true love, I thought, taking a sip of coffee. Even after all these years, the passion hadn’t faded. 3 Mr. Hanson led the boy away, but Julian remained standing by my booth. “Clara,” he said, his voice low. “How have you been?” I put down my half-empty cup. “Quite well, thank you for asking.” Silence stretched between us. Finally, the shadow over me was gone. Julian had followed the owner upstairs. The cello music faded, replaced by the soft, tranquil notes of a piano, mirroring the calm in my own heart. The studio’s owner was an internationally renowned tattoo artist. His custom designs were worth a fortune, and he only took two clients a day. It was just my luck that today was the day. My eyes drifted over the designs on the wall, then stopped, fixed on the piece displayed in the center. It was a photograph of a red lipstick tattoo on a man’s inner thigh. The man was sitting on the floor, one knee bent, a black silk robe falling open to reveal boxer briefs and, just below them, the pale pink lipstick print. The shape of the lips was exquisite, the lines clean, creating a simmering tension against the bronzed skin. It was a woman’s mark, claimed on a man’s territory. “Miss Xu,” the owner’s voice pulled me back. “This way, please.” I turned and saw Julian coming down the spiral staircase, the collar of his shirt now buttoned to the top. “So quick?” I asked. “He’s being neurotic. Decided not to get the touch-up after all,” the owner said. He was clearly familiar with Julian. “You can head on up.” Julian stopped at the bottom of the stairs, one hand in his trouser pocket, his face impassive. He looked down at me, his gaze heavy and dark. We stood there, locked in a silent standoff, and all I could think of was the last time we’d made love. After we kissed and fell into bed, I had seen it. The red lipstick tattoo on his inner thigh. 4 The wall clock chimed. I picked up my bag and walked toward the stairs. As I passed Julian, he grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight, the metal of his watch digging into my skin, making me wince. “Clara,” his voice was a low rasp. “Do you have to pretend we’re strangers?” I didn’t struggle. My eyes, when they met his, were perfectly still. “The fact that I can still pretend we’re strangers is a kindness.” He froze. His grip loosened, and he rubbed his thumb over his fingers as if to wipe away the contact. “I know you still hate me.” Julian always had that ability—to control any situation, to never appear awkward. He had been exactly the same when the photos of him and Stella Vance kissing went viral. Except back then, I had been the one screaming, a hysterical madwoman next to my perfectly composed husband. “You’re overstating things,” I said, taking a few steps up the stairs, my voice deliberately detached. “Given our current relationship, ‘hate’ is too strong a word. It doesn’t apply.” He seemed about to say more, but I paid him no mind and continued up to the second floor. The studio had a distinct, post-modern style—spacious and quiet. The owner confirmed my design on his computer while an assistant prepped my skin. I unclasped the watch from my right wrist. It was a unique leather band that wrapped around three times. As it came off, the scar was revealed—a mangled, fleshy pink, angry against my skin. “The wrist is a painful spot,” the owner said, unfazed. “Brace yourself.” I smiled faintly. “It can’t be worse than when I cut them in the first place.” 5 Two scars, one deeper than the other. The numbing cream wore off. Just before he started, the owner confirmed the design with me one last time. A blue butterfly, wings spread in flight, clean and sharp. “This is a tricky area. It’ll probably need a touch-up later on,” he said, pulling on his mask. “But I can guarantee it will cover the scars perfectly.” “Do all tattoos need touch-ups?” “No. It’s because of Julian’s skin type,” the owner admitted freely. “Tattooing him is terrible for my reputation.” I didn’t say anything. After two years of marriage, I knew all about his peculiar skin. Back then, Julian hated it when I left any marks on him during our intimate moments. But now, he was willing to go through the hassle of frequent touch-ups just to keep Stella’s name on his chest. And to have her kiss tattooed on his inner thigh. The first touch of the needle sent a sharp sting through my wrist. I winced, and the owner spoke suddenly. “Tell me the story of your scars.” I paused, then laughed. “What, is that a hobby for tattoo artists?” In the public eye, Julian Croft was the man who had it all. His business empire was expanding, his career soaring. His love life was a fairy tale, a perfect marriage to a beautiful movie star, a happy family. “When I met Julian, he was already married to Stella,” the owner said. “And she looks remarkably like you.” I smiled and pulled a pack of cigarettes from my purse. “Do you mind?” He shook his head. I exhaled a plume of smoke, thought for a moment, and said softly, “I’m Julian’s ex-wife.” 6 Julian and I met in college. He was a senior in my program. When he started his own company, he recruited me. Today, NexusCore Technologies is an industry giant. But in the beginning, it was just the two of us. Julian’s standards were impossibly high. He was a campus legend, and countless students submitted their resumes. “But I was the only one he kept.” Through the haze of smoke, I narrowed my eyes. “The Julian back then was incredibly arrogant, looked down on everyone. I was the last person he interviewed.” Neither of us had any hope. I thought he was pretentious; he’d spent all day interviewing people and decided they were all idiots, myself included. “But we talked all night. As the sun came up, he held out his hand and said, ‘Let’s work together.’” “Our philosophies aligned, our goals were the same. Julian was fiercely ambitious.” I tapped the ash from my cigarette. “And as it happened, so was I.” For the first two years of NexusCore, Julian and I rented an apartment off-campus. We hustled for clients together, chased investors together. He was my mentor, teaching me everything he knew about business, networking, and our field, holding nothing back. On my twenty-second birthday, we pulled an all-nighter coding. As dawn broke, he leaned against the window and lit a cigarette. “He asked me,” I took a drag, “if I smoked.” I leaned in, curious, and was immediately choked by the smoke, my eyes tearing up. He started laughing, then pulled me against his chest and kissed me. When the kiss ended, he asked me another question. Do you want to marry me? The buzzing on my wrist paused for a second. The owner said, “That’s an interesting question. Shouldn’t it have been, ‘Do you want to be my girlfriend?’” I smiled too, feeling like I was telling someone else’s story, watching a play from a safe distance. “I said yes. And on that same day, we secured our first round of funding.” “Riding the AI wave, NexusCore took off. In just a year, we were a rising star in the industry.” “The day we established NexusCore’s core executive team, I was appointed CEO. And Julian took me home.” “That’s when I learned that his family name was Croft. As in, the Croft family, the shipping magnates of Port Sterling.” 7 The Croft family had built their fortune in shipping. Three generations of accumulated wealth made them one of Port Sterling’s most powerful dynasties. Naturally, our marriage faced opposition. But a man with the courage to strike out on his own wasn’t going to let his family dictate his choice of wife. “Julian fought them for two years. He was so stubborn that his grandfather beat him badly enough to land him in the hospital, but even then, he wouldn’t yield.” The ash from my cigarette fell silently. I stared at it for a moment before speaking softly. “After NexusCore’s first major financing round, we got married.” “The wedding was simple, on a small island. Julian later bought it and put it in my name. He called it Cove’s End.” The artist’s hand stopped moving completely. I nodded. “The very island we’re on right now.” “Before we married, Julian signed an agreement. Aside from my founder’s shares in NexusCore, he took all his liquid assets and established a trust for me.” “He said he wanted NexusCore to be my greatest strength.” “Everyone said he was madly in love with me, that he’d tied our interests so tightly together there was no room for divorce.” “I used to believe that too.” The cigarette had burned down. I crushed it in the ashtray. “Until our first year of marriage, when he personally selected Stella Vance to be the face of NexusCore.” I once asked him why he chose such an unknown actress. “Don’t you think,” Julian had said, pointing to her giant billboard, “that she looks a lot like you in college?” “About eighty percent of your spirit,” he chuckled before I could answer. “But completely empty-headed. An airhead.” “Stella’s rise was meteoric,” the artist’s voice pulled me from my memories. “If I remember correctly, she was a household name by nineteen.” “Yes,” I recalled. “Less than a year after becoming our spokesperson, she was famous everywhere.” “The night she won the ‘Best Newcomer’ award was Julian’s twenty-fifth birthday. We had plans for dinner.” “But I waited for two hours and he never came home. I couldn’t reach him, and Mr. Hanson wasn’t answering either.” “Then, at eight o’clock, a story blew up online: Stella Vance in a passionate embrace with a mystery man.” “I clicked on it,” I looked up at the artist and gave a small, bitter smile. “The mystery man was my husband.”

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