Category: English

My sister is actually my mother. Locked in our basement are over a dozen of my “fathers.” Limbs broken, eyes gouged out, they pickle in large glass jars of liquor—the secret ingredient to my mother’s eternal youth. Today, my mother brought home a new “father.” I knew she was planning to brew a new batch. But this new father… seemed to be a woman. 1 “Chen, say hello to your brother.” My mother clung to the arm of a strikingly handsome man, laughing like a schoolgirl. The man stared at me with a half-smile. There was something unsettlingly familiar in his eyes that made me freeze. Seeing my gaze linger on him, my mother kicked me hard in the stomach. “You little brat, already thinking about men?” “Keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out!” I clutched my stomach in pain, falling to the floor. I watched as my mother fawned over him. Her low-cut dress brushed against his arm as she whispered, “Shawn, my little sister has a bad habit of eyeing my men. Don’t let her seduce you.” She wasn’t lying about one thing. I was interested in every man she brought home, but not for the reasons she thought. The man dismissed me immediately. “I don’t like scrawny bean sprouts.” He slapped my mother on the rear. “I like women like you!” My mother giggled, looking even more radiant. It was impossible to tell she was pushing fifty. Her skin was porcelain white, her face retaining the baby fat of a twenty-year-old. In fact, as long as I could remember, she hadn’t aged a day. If anything, she looked younger. “Dinner’s ready, right? Go pour some wine,” she ordered, glancing at the darkening sky. I pushed myself up from the floor and headed toward the basement. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her trace circles on his chest. “Shawn, I can hardly wait.” He pulled her closer, whispering something that made her eyes glaze over with lust. Only I knew what she really couldn’t wait for. Every man she seduced and brought home would taste her special “Handsome Man Wine.” After a few rounds of drinking and intimacy to establish a “connection,” they wouldn’t live past sunrise. They would become the next batch. This wine was her fountain of youth. This was the eighteenth man. If this succeeded, she would be young forever. 2 The dark basement smelled of strong alcohol mixed with the stench of rotting flesh. Seventeen men were preserved in semi-transparent glass containers. The secret to the wine was simple: it only required the body. So, the men in the jars had been eviscerated, blinded, and their limbs broken to fit into the twisted glass shapes. Seeping blood dyed the liquor a dark crimson. Years of soaking had bloated their bodies, rendering their once-handsome faces unrecognizable. My mother’s angry voice echoed from the entrance. “Little bitch, hurry up or I’ll break your legs!” I quickly grabbed a pitcher, ladled out some wine, and hurried upstairs. For a second, I thought I saw one of the bodies in the jars twitch. But when I looked back, everything was still. After dinner, my mother swayed her hips into the bathroom. The sound of running water soon followed. I learned from her that this new man was named Shawn. I kept my head down, clearing the table. Shawn, already half-drunk, suddenly lunged at me from behind, wrapping his arms tight around me and inhaling deeply at my neck. “Little sister, you smell just as good as your big sister.” I struggled, terrified but silent. If my mother heard, I’d get another beating. “Let go!” I hissed, my voice trembling. Shawn didn’t care. His hand slid under my shirt, grazing the fresh wounds on my back. Pain shot through me, triggering an instinctual fight response. My body was a map of my mother’s bad moods. When she was drunk, she used me as a punching bag. If I fought back, she’d throw me into the wine vats, letting the alcohol burn my open cuts. My wounds never really healed. I clawed at Shawn’s clothes, ripping his jacket open in my panic, exposing his neck. He froze, shoving me away violently and frantically adjusting his collar. A suspicion flashed in my mind. I scrambled into my bedroom and slammed the door. My hands shook as I touched my own chest. Wait. He was different from the men in the basement. He… didn’t seem to have an Adam’s apple. I shook my head, recalling the soft sensation I felt when he pressed against my back. A realization hit me. He seemed to be a woman. 3 “Then why did she…?” I muttered to myself, cracking the door open. My mother had just come out of the bathroom, wearing a red silk nightgown, her damp hair loose over her shoulders. She straddled Shawn’s lap, her back to me. Shawn closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Darling, you smell amazing.” He scooped my mother up and carried her into the bedroom, his gaze lingering on my door for a few seconds before kicking his own door shut. Just then, a chaotic whimpering noise came from the basement, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Crap. If a jar broke and the wine spilled, my mother would kill me. I didn’t think twice before rushing down to the basement. But when I got there, I froze. The seventeen jars that had been lined up on the floor were gone. Panic set in. The entrance to the basement was narrow, barely wide enough for one person. The jars were larger than a grown man. How could they all disappear in such a short time? As I stood there bewildered, the iron door at the top of the stairs slammed shut. Darkness swallowed me. A strange male voice echoed in my ears: “Chen, you can’t escape.” “You and your mother both deserve to die.” Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I scrambled up the stairs and pounded on the iron door, but it was locked from the outside. The sinister voice grew closer, then stopped right next to me. Silence. Absolute silence. Then, from outside the door, came the muffled sounds of intimacy. It was my mother’s voice. I paused. For over a decade, every time my mother brought a man home, I heard these sounds. I wouldn’t mistake it. But… wasn’t Shawn a woman? I leaned against the wall, my mind racing. After a long while, the sounds stopped. The iron door creaked open. I swallowed hard and stepped out. My mother’s bedroom door was ajar. Through the crack, I saw the messy bed. Something was wrong. Usually, after the deed was done, my mother would kill the man and drag him to the basement. But today, it was strangely quiet. Did she fail? Impossible. She hadn’t failed in years. Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the house. “Ahhh!” I ran to her room. My mother sat naked on the bed, her pale skin mottled with red marks. But Shawn was gone. 4 “Where is he?” she screamed, eyes bulging. I huddled by the door, too scared to speak. She grabbed a vase and hurled it at me. It shattered against my forehead, warm blood trickling down. “Are you mute?!” The pain nearly knocked me out. I shook my head, trembling. My mother stood up like a madwoman, throwing on clothes. She picked up a shard of glass and slashed my face. “Useless thing!” Blood ran into my mouth, the metallic taste making me gag. Watching her frenzy, I didn’t dare tell her the wine jars were gone. Her eyes darted around the room, then landed on the open basement door. She lunged for it, but I grabbed her leg. She kicked me away, storming down the stairs. “Come out! I know you’re hiding down there!” I gulped, backing away in fear. But when she entered the basement, everything was normal. I followed her down and saw the jars lined up perfectly, exactly where they should be. Not a single one missing. Did I hallucinate? My mother tore the basement apart but found no sign of Shawn. I knew he wasn’t there—I had been locked in the whole time. Suddenly, her face twisted in agony, and she collapsed to the floor. I rushed to help her, but she shoved me away. She plunged her head into one of the open wine vats, drinking greedily. “Thirsty… so thirsty.” She clawed at her neck as she drank. Her fingernails tore her skin, drawing blood. She screamed as her skin began to sag visibly. The youthful fullness in her face vanished, replaced by wrinkles and age spots. At the same time, her stomach began to swell rapidly. It looked like she was suddenly… pregnant.

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My little brother, Leo, has been obsessed with those switched-at-birth stories lately. After the daughter of our family driver, a girl who looks eerily like him, started spending time at our house, his already present dislike for me morphed into outright disgust. He was convinced I was the fake heiress, swapped at birth, and that she was the real one. I couldn’t be bothered to argue with his delusions. Until my eighteenth birthday gala, when he crashed it, dragging the driver’s daughter along to ‘reclaim her birthright.’ He looked at my parents, hungry for praise. “Mom, Dad, Zoe is your real daughter, my real sister! Claire is just an imposter!” Then he slapped a DNA report across my face. “You’ve stolen my real sister’s place for eighteen years. Now you can get the hell out of the Page family!” Behind him, the driver’s daughter, Zoe, wept pitifully. “I just want to be with my real family…” The entire ballroom erupted in whispers. My parents were stunned. But as I looked down at the report, the one confirming a sibling relationship, a slow smile spread across my face. “Have you ever considered, Leo,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise, “that you’re the one who doesn’t belong here?” 1 My name is Claire Page, and I am the heiress to the Page fortune. Today is my eighteenth birthday, and my parents have booked the city’s most exclusive hotel ballroom, inviting the crème de la crème of society to celebrate with me. I stand in the center of it all, a glittering princess in a custom couture gown. I just never expected my own brother, Leo, to be the one to burn it all down. “Claire Page is a fraud! She has no right to be standing here!” Leo strode into the center of the ballroom, pulling the driver’s daughter, Zoe Reed, behind him. He glared at me as if I were something vile he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. Zoe hid timidly behind him, her large, doe-like eyes glistening with unshed tears. My parents, completely bewildered, tried to intervene. My father’s brow furrowed. “Leo, not only are you late to your sister’s gala, but you come in here causing a scene? What is the meaning of this?” “Leo, honey,” my mother pleaded, “you and Claire have your squabbles, but this is her big day. Have some decency!” Leo ignored them. He pointed a finger straight at me, his voice ringing with conviction. “Claire isn’t a real Page! She was switched at birth! The real Page heiress is right here—Zoe Reed!” As he spoke, he pushed Zoe in front of our parents, beaming as if presenting them with a prize. “Mom, Dad, she’s your real daughter! My sister! Just look at us! Our faces are proof enough!” His words were a bombshell. The guests’ eyes darted between the three of us, analyzing, comparing. “You know, now that you mention it, the Page siblings look nothing alike!” “But Leo and that Zoe girl… it’s like they share the same face.” “Could she really have been switched at birth?” “Well, this is turning into quite the party.” Even my parents were shaken, whispering to each other, “He and Zoe really do look alike…” Leo savored the murmurs and the accusing stares now aimed at me. He shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. I, however, remained calm. “Leo, have all those trashy novels finally rotted your brain? You say I’m a fake, and that makes it true?” I knew Leo had always resented me. Maybe because I was the older sister, stealing half of our parents’ affection. Or maybe because I excelled at everything, constantly overshadowing him. Whatever the reason, he saw me as an obstacle, one he desperately wished would disappear. His recent obsession with ‘switched-at-birth’ stories had only fueled his fantasy that he could replace me. So, in a way, this dramatic scene wasn’t a surprise at all. Seeing my lack of fear, my refusal to crumble, only enraged him further. “You’re shameless, Claire!” he sneered. “Don’t think you can keep freeloading off my family. If you have any sense, you’ll pack your bags and get lost!” Before I could respond, my parents found their voices. “Leo! That is enough!” My father’s tone was sterner than I had ever heard it. “Where are your manners? Claire is your sister. How dare you say something so monstrous!” “He’s right, Leo,” my mother added. “You can’t just accuse your sister of something so terrible just because some stranger resembles you!” Their immediate defense of me pushed Leo over the edge. “She’s not my sister, Mom! Zoe is!” he roared. “You should be comforting Zoe for the eighteen years of hardship she’s endured, not wasting your sympathy on an imposter!” As if on cue, Zoe began to sob, her shoulders trembling as she twisted the hem of her cheap dress. Her voice was a choked whisper. “I just… I just wanted to come home… If you don’t want me, I’ll leave…” She risked a tearful glance at my parents before dropping her head again, fat tears splashing onto the polished floor. It was a masterful performance. My mother, ever the soft heart, tried to comfort her. “My dear, we haven’t even figured out what’s happening yet—” Her words only made Zoe’s sobs grow louder, more desperate. Leo looked at her with heartbreaking tenderness, pulling her behind him protectively. “Don’t worry, Zoe,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the only sister I’ll ever recognize. You are a Page!” The audience was hooked. Sympathy for Zoe swelled through the room, and the looks I received turned from curious to contemptuous. “That poor girl. Her real parents are right in front of her, and she’s being treated like an outcast.” “And the Pages… how can they be so biased toward the fake one?” “Claire is despicable. She’s lived a life of luxury that wasn’t hers for eighteen years, and she still won’t step aside!” The comments stung my parents, their faces paling. As for me, I found the whole spectacle laughable. I let my cold gaze sweep across the room. “Don’t be in such a hurry to pick a side,” I said, my voice laced with ice. “The show hasn’t even started yet.” Minutes ago, they were all fawning over me, the Page heiress. Now, they were falling over themselves to curry favor with the supposed ‘real’ one. They were all sharks, smelling blood in the water. My words silenced them; they recognized the threat in my tone and remembered, for now, whose party it was. I turned my attention back to Leo. “You’re making a scene based on nothing but a facial resemblance, Leo. You’re embarrassing our family, and you’re humiliating Mom and Dad. Either show some actual proof, or take your little friend and get out.” My sharp reprimand, delivered in front of this entire crowd, made his face flush a deep, angry red. He glared at me, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a file, slapping it hard across my face. “Open your damn eyes and look, Claire! The only one getting out is you, you cuckoo who stole my sister’s nest!” The file was a DNA test report. As I stumbled back, the contents of the report flashed onto the massive screen behind the stage. Based on DNA analysis, Sample 1 (Leo Page) and Sample 2 (Zoe Reed) are confirmed to have a full sibling relationship. “Everyone see that?” Leo shouted, his voice amplified by the ballroom’s acoustics. “The report proves it! Zoe is my sister! She is the true, one-hundred-percent Page heiress! As for Claire? She has nothing to do with our family!” My parents stood frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief. “A DNA report… Leo and Zoe are really siblings?” my father murmured. “How can this be…” my mother whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. The crowd exploded. “It’s confirmed! Claire is a fake!” “The Pages must be devastated. Their real daughter was suffering while they raised a stranger like a princess.” “Serves Claire right for being so arrogant! Talk about a public humiliation!” In an instant, I had gone from the pampered heiress to a pathetic fraud, someone anyone could look down on. Leo’s chin was high, his eyes gleaming with victory. “Nothing to say now, Claire? Scram!” Zoe tugged at his sleeve, playing the part of the magnanimous victor. “Leo, maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be so harsh. After all, Mom and Dad raised her for eighteen years.” Her feigned kindness only made me look worse. I watched their little play unfold, making no move to leave. “Leo, you don’t run this family yet.” That was the last straw for him. He gestured to the security guards. “Are you deaf, Claire? I want her thrown out! And rip that dress off her first! A stray doesn’t deserve to wear couture!” Several guards moved toward me, but before they could lay a hand on me, my father’s voice boomed through the hall. “Stop! I dare any of you to touch my daughter!” His voice held an absolute authority that froze the guards in their tracks. My mother rushed to my side, shielding me with her body. Leo’s eyes turned red with fury. Even with a DNA test, his parents were still protecting her. “Dad! Mom! Have you lost your minds?” he shrieked. “Zoe and I are your family! How can you care more about this imposter than your own flesh and blood?” My parents’ expressions were complicated, pained. After a long moment, my mother simply said, “Claire is a Page.” Her voice was quiet, but it was unwavering. A warmth spread through my chest. No matter what, my parents were my fortress. But her words were a lit match to Leo’s gunpowder. He looked ready to explode with resentment. Zoe, of course, chose that moment for another dramatic burst of tears, this time so heart-wrenching it sounded like she was being torn apart. “It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have made things so difficult for Mom and Dad, or so painful for Leo… I never should have come back…” She made a show of running for the exit, the perfect self-sacrificing martyr. Leo grabbed her arm. “Don’t go, Zoe! This is your home! The one who needs to leave is Claire!” Zoe looked at him through her tears, then cast a timid, pleading glance at my parents. “I really don’t want to cause any trouble. I just wanted my real mom and dad back. Why is that so hard?” Just then, our driver, Mr. Reed, pushed his way through the crowd. The moment he reached my parents, he dropped to his knees with a loud thud. “Mr. and Mrs. Page, it’s all our fault! We’ve wronged you so terribly! It was my wife… back at the hospital, she had a moment of weakness… she swapped the babies!” Mr. Reed was sobbing, his confession raw and convincing. “My only wish now is for Zoe to be able to come home. Claire has already had the life that belonged to Zoe for eighteen years. We can’t live with this lie any longer. Zoe is a good girl, I beg you, please give her a chance to come home! As for Claire… she is my daughter. She should come back to the Reed family with me.” My parents stared at each other, their faces growing grimmer by the second. “Robert,” my father said slowly, “are you telling us the truth?” Mr. Reed nodded vigorously. “Every word, sir! My wife has been living with the guilt for years. If it wasn’t for Zoe and the young master looking more and more alike, we never would have found the courage to confess! It’s all our fault. Blame me, but please, don’t take it out on Zoe!” His confession was the final nail in my coffin. Leo grew even bolder. He stepped right up to me, spitting as he yelled in my face. “You hear that, Claire? Even Mr. Reed admitted it! You were maliciously swapped at birth!” “We have a witness and we have the evidence! Now get out of my house, you fraud!” Mr. Reed got up and tried to pull me away, but I sidestepped him.

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The prestigious Foster family of San Francisco held a lavish birthday banquet for their eldest son, Julian Foster. The highlight of the evening was a piano competition, ostensibly to select a fiancée for Julian. His father, Mr. Foster, had once declared that his son’s wife must be a virtuoso pianist. In my previous life, I was the one who shone brightly at that banquet. The Fosters and my family, the Quinns, officially united, and I married into the Foster dynasty. Meanwhile, the woman Julian truly loved, Sarah Miller, fell ill and died of a broken heart. After Julian became the CEO of Foster Corp, he placed Sarah’s memorial tablet in the seat of honor in our home. He forced me to kneel before it for three days and three nights. “If you hadn’t injured Sarah’s hand before the banquet, my parents would have chosen her. You are the reason we were separated by life and death.” “The position of Mrs. Foster should have been hers.” His first act as CEO was a hostile takeover of Quinn Enterprises, bankrupting my family. My father died of a heart attack from the stress, and my mother followed him a year later, consumed by grief. The Quinn family fell into ruin. In this life, at the Foster birthday banquet, I injured my own wrist, withdrawing from the fierce competition among the socialites. He wants a lifetime of devotion with Sarah Miller? I’ll grant them their wish. 1 “The winner of the piano competition, with the most votes, is Miss Sarah Miller of the Miller family.” At the birthday banquet, Julian’s aunt announced the winner’s name loudly. Whispers rippled through the crowd. “I can’t believe she won first place.” “I heard Chloe Quinn sprained her wrist and couldn’t play. Sarah Miller really got lucky.” “Wasn’t Chloe the Fosters’ preferred choice for daughter-in-law?” “But the rule was that the winner becomes Julian’s fiancée. Julian set that rule himself.” Julian’s face was filled with joy and delight. He tightly held Sarah’s hand and walked forward. “Dad, Mom, this is the fiancée I have chosen.” Julian’s eyes were full of tenderness. Sarah looked shy, her face flushed red, but she never let go of Julian’s hand. Everyone looked at me with pity, my wrist still wrapped in gauze, but their eyes betrayed their eagerness for drama. Mrs. Foster looked at me, hesitating to speak. After all, she had hinted that I was her choice and even spoken to my parents to ensure they wouldn’t arrange other matches for me. Now, things had taken an unexpected turn. Mrs. Foster hesitated for a moment before asking Julian, “Is there any other girl you like? Your father is happy today; perhaps if you mention someone else, he might annul today’s results and give it more thought.” She glanced at me, hinting for him to reconsider. But Mrs. Foster was wrong. I no longer wanted to marry Julian. In my past life, Julian accused me of breaking Sarah’s hand, preventing her from playing. But that was something beneath me. If he had calmly considered my character, he would have known I wouldn’t do such a thing. But seeing Sarah with her head lowered and eyes red, his heart ached for her. Sarah broke free from his grasp and said, “I know Miss Quinn doesn’t like me, but I just wanted a fair chance to be with you. Why couldn’t she give me that? Just because her father is the CEO of Quinn Enterprises? Because the Miller family isn’t as wealthy as hers?” Her single sentence planted the seed for Julian’s hostile takeover of my family’s company later. Only later did I learn that after hearing my performance of a long-lost piano piece—which even earned nods of approval from the principal pianist of the National Symphony—Sarah realized she couldn’t win. She deliberately cut her own hand with a small knife to fake an injury and avoid losing. 2 In this life, I wouldn’t give her that chance. I’d rather use the pretext of accidentally injuring my wrist at yesterday’s spring luncheon to withdraw from today’s competition than give them another excuse to slander me. They want to be together? In this life, I’ll grant their wish. I’ll stay far away from them. Hearing his mother’s question, Julian declared loudly, “Mom, Sarah is the only woman I love. Since she got the most votes and won first place, according to my rules, I must marry her.” “In this life, I will only love Sarah.” Mrs. Foster sighed helplessly. “I have no objection to you marrying her, but a marriage alliance is no small matter. I hope you consider it carefully. Besides financial strength, the upbringing of future generations must also be considered.” She looked at Sarah. Sarah had eyes only for Julian. Perhaps love gives people infinite courage. She stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. “Mrs. Foster, after marrying Julian, I will give him a son and devote myself to raising our children and educating the next generation of Fosters. But Julian said he won’t marry anyone else.” “Every woman wants to be the only one for her beloved. Mrs. Foster must feel the same, right? Please agree to our marriage.” As soon as she finished speaking, the expressions of the ladies in the hall varied. Especially the mothers of other potential candidates, whose faces turned dark. “Miss Miller is really something. Bossing Julian around before she’s even married into the family.” “Which successful man doesn’t have a few women? Besides, Julian is Mrs. Foster’s only son. What is she trying to do? If she can’t have a son, does she intend to end the Foster line?” “It looks like Sarah Miller wants to monopolize Julian’s affection.” Although Julian knew it was inappropriate, he still defended her. “Mom, please agree to let me marry Sarah.” Mrs. Foster closed her eyes and waved her hand wearily. “Since your mind is made up, I can’t control you. In three days, I’ll send someone to the Miller family to propose.” As everyone filed out, I was stopped before I could leave the Foster estate. “Miss Quinn.” It was Sarah. Behind her, servants carried the jewelry Julian had given her. She walked up with a smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Quinn. I didn’t expect you not to play today. I thought you would win.” I smiled faintly. “Congratulations, Miss Miller. Your wish has come true.” Her eyes reddened. “Do you blame me? I know Mrs. Foster prefers you, but I really love Julian, and he said he wanted to marry me. For him, I had to disregard our sisterhood. Please don’t blame me.” “This diamond necklace was a gift from Julian. I’m giving it to you as a token of our sisterhood. I wish you find your true love soon and have a son early.” I took the necklace, but before I could speak, a man’s hand snatched it away. “I gave this to you. Why give it to someone else? This is a blessing for us to have a son early after marriage. Why don’t you care?” Sarah looked at Julian shyly. “Julian, Miss Quinn is upset about losing. I wanted to comfort her. Don’t be so petty.” 3 Julian looked at me with disdain. “Upset? Chloe, it’s my mom who likes you, not me. I hope you understand. My mom probably values your father’s support. But once I get the approval of all shareholders, I will be the next successor of Foster Corp. Everyone will have to listen to me then, right?” “I won’t rely on a woman’s connections to develop my career. And I never said I wanted to marry you.” “We used to get along because I thought you were generous and interesting to talk to. But I didn’t expect you to be so ambitious, wanting to become Mrs. Foster.” Watching them sing their duet, I lost patience. I took a step back. “Mr. Foster, I came to the birthday banquet because of your mother’s invitation. As for relying on women for your career or marrying you, save those delusions. Don’t make Miss Miller overthink.” “If she starts thinking you’re implying her family isn’t helpful, how will she find her place in the Foster family?” With that, I turned and left. Sarah was naturally suspicious and petty. The Miller family had long declined; among San Francisco’s elite, they barely ranked. Compared to my family’s background, hers was not worth mentioning. Three days later, the Foster family proposed to the Millers. Once the engagement was set, Sarah immediately held a banquet, inviting all the socialites of San Francisco. For Julian’s sake, who dared not go? At the banquet, Sarah was draped in jewelry, wearing all the pieces Julian and Mrs. Foster had sent. Even before becoming Mrs. Foster, she was already putting on the airs of the mistress of the house. I remembered in my past life, she was favored by Julian for her simple elegance and dislike of luxury jewelry. He claimed to prefer her fresh, unworldly charm. I wondered if the Julian of this life would still praise her for being untainted by the world seeing her like this. In front of everyone, Sarah held my hand tightly. “Miss Quinn, when I get married, could you be my bridesmaid? With a good sister by my side on my wedding day, I won’t be so scared.” Her face showed pleading, but her eyes held a triumphant smile. In her mind, she was already the winner, trying to embarrass me publicly. “You are Mrs. Foster. Who would refuse your choice of bridesmaid? No one in San Francisco would dare not give me, Julian Foster, face. Chloe, don’t you agree?” The speaker was Julian, walking in. He came to support Sarah’s banquet, showing how much he doted on her. Everyone looked at me, waiting for my response. If I agreed, I would be submitting to the status of Mrs. Foster. If I refused, I would be disrespecting Julian. Julian was confident, and Sarah was triumphant. But they forgot that my father is the CEO of Quinn Enterprises. In San Francisco, aside from respected elders, I don’t need to bow to anyone. I pulled my hand from Sarah’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I probably can’t attend your wedding. My dad sent someone to pick me up. The flight booked is on the exact day of your wedding.” Sarah looked at me, eyes filled with tears. “Are you angry with me, Miss Quinn? Otherwise, how could it be so coincidental that Chairman Quinn sent someone for you?” 4 My companion answered for me. “The person Chairman Quinn sent arrived last night. He said a marriage has been arranged for Chloe. She’s been in San Francisco for six months; it’s time to go home and prepare for her wedding.” Upon hearing this, Julian’s face changed drastically. “You’re going back to LA? Didn’t your dad send you to San Francisco to find a husband from a prominent family?” “I know you’re upset I chose Sarah. If I agree to marry her, I can still be with you, okay?” Sarah’s face changed. Before she could speak, I smiled and said, “Mr. Foster, what kind of joke is that? Didn’t you tell Mrs. Foster the other day you wanted a lifetime of devotion with Miss Miller?” “Besides, a daughter of the Quinn family would never be a mistress.” Julian gritted his teeth. “Chloe, must you be Mrs. Foster? Do you care that much about a title?” I looked at him bafflingly. “Julian, I never said I wanted to be your wife. I’ve just been in San Francisco long enough. My family misses me, and I have no relatives here. Going home is only natural. Is there a rule against going home?” Julian’s face grew darker. “What if I don’t agree? What if I don’t let you leave?” “Mr. Foster might be disappointed. Miss Quinn and I are already engaged. Is CEO Foster trying to steal my wife?” I turned around. It was Christopher Wells, who grew up with me. Dressed in a formal suit, looking a bit travel-worn, he seemed to have rushed to San Francisco. He walked in, stood beside me, and silently protected me. Julian stared at him. “Christopher Wells, what are you doing here instead of staying in LA?” Christopher smiled. “I’m here to negotiate a deal for Uncle Quinn and to bring Chloe back to LA.” Then he looked at me, seeing no one else. “Chloe, these banquets are boring. I heard there’s a fireworks show in San Francisco tonight. Want me to take you?” I smiled, stood up, and bid farewell to Julian and Sarah. “I’ll take my leave now. I’m afraid I’ll be gone by the time you two get married. Wishing you a happy marriage in advance.” With that, I walked to Christopher and followed him out of the Miller residence. Julian chased after us. “Chloe, is being with me worse than being Christopher’s fiancée?” “When I become the heir to Foster Corp, I promise I’ll let you have a child for me, okay?” Christopher walked to the sports car outside, opened the door, and helped me in. I sat inside with a smile, closed the door, and he drove away, leaving Julian and his words behind in the dust. Julian’s wedding was a major event for the Foster family. On the morning of his wedding, my car was packed and ready to go. Unexpectedly, our car encountered the wedding procession on the street. I had specifically chosen a route they wouldn’t take, but Julian had chosen this road. Dressed as a groom, he blocked my car. “Chloe, are you really leaving?”

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My husband, the lead surgeon, insisted on having his intern—his childhood sweetheart—assist him during a heart transplant surgery. Just because I scolded her for wearing jeweled acrylic nails in the operating room. My husband abandoned the patient, chest cavity open, and ran out of the OR to comfort his sobbing sweetheart. I begged him to come back and finish the surgery, but he said: “Chloe is upset. Can you not make a scene right now? The surgery can wait. Is a little delay more important than Chloe’s feelings?” In the end, the patient was left exposed on the operating table for forty minutes and died in agony. Later, we found out the patient was the highly respected mayor of our city. My husband and his sweetheart pushed the blame for this medical malpractice onto me: “If you hadn’t gone crazy in the OR and driven us out, the mayor wouldn’t have bled to death! This is all your fault!” I couldn’t defend myself. I was sentenced to life in prison and died there after enduring endless torment. Meanwhile, my husband and his childhood sweetheart walked down the aisle and became the youngest hospital director and vice director in history. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the mayor was having surgery in our hospital. 1 “Dr. Reed, Liam is the lead surgeon. He said I could wear nails during surgery. What right do you, an assistant doctor, have to tell me what to do?” Hearing the familiar arrogant voice, I instinctively opened my eyes and saw Chloe standing before me, looking haughty. I scanned the surroundings. A heart transplant surgery was underway. To ensure sterility, everyone was fully covered. Except for Chloe. Not only were her hands adorned with rhinestones, but she wasn’t even wearing a mask. At this moment, I was sure I had been reborn. Reborn to the day the mayor had surgery in our hospital. In my past life, my husband, Liam, insisted on having his intern, Chloe, assist him during a heart transplant. But Chloe was clumsy. She handed him the wrong scalpel, ignored basic OR protocols, and almost dropped a rhinestone into the patient’s body. I couldn’t help but scold her, telling her she shouldn’t wear nails in surgery. She thought I was targeting her and stormed out in anger. Seeing this, Liam abandoned the patient, chest open, and chased after her. I begged him to return, but he said: “Chloe is upset. Can you not make a scene right now? The surgery can wait. Is a little delay more important than Chloe’s feelings?” The patient was left on the table for forty minutes and died a painful death. After finding out the patient was the mayor, Liam and Chloe blamed me for the incident: “If you hadn’t gone crazy in the OR and driven us out, the mayor wouldn’t have bled to death! This is all your fault!” I couldn’t defend myself. I was sentenced to life in prison and died in agony. Liam and Chloe got married and became the youngest hospital director and vice director in history. Snapping back to reality, I saw Liam frowning and scolding me. “Sarah, this is an operating table, not a place for your jealousy. I allowed her to wear the nails. Apologize to Chloe.” Looking at Chloe’s triumphant face, I suppressed my anger. “Why should I? Hospital rules forbid nails in the OR. I did nothing wrong.” Seeing I wouldn’t apologize, Chloe’s face darkened. “Sarah Reed, you’re just targeting me, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll leave.” With that, Chloe threw the scalpel onto the operating table. One of the blades nearly sliced the patient’s aorta. Anxious and angry, I picked up the scalpel, only to see Liam preparing to chase after her. I said sternly, “Liam, the patient’s chest is open. The transplant must be done immediately, or he’ll die.” “You’re a doctor. Are you going to watch your patient die?” Liam looked in the direction Chloe left, then at the patient on the table. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the scalpel again. I had just sighed in relief when Liam’s phone rang. It was Chloe. 2 Liam put it on speaker. Chloe’s angry voice came through. “If you don’t come comfort me right now, I’m going to be really mad.” Liam patiently soothed her: “Chloe, I’ll come find you right after the surgery.” Chloe huffed: “If you’re not here in five minutes, I’m going to abort the baby. You won’t be a father.” Hearing Chloe was pregnant, bitterness filled my mouth. In my past life, I thought Liam only got together with Chloe after I went to prison. I didn’t expect them to have hooked up long ago and even conceived a child. Before I could recover from the shock, I saw Liam rushing out of the OR. I grabbed him quickly. “Liam, you can’t leave. The patient’s surgery can’t be delayed.” Liam glared at me with fury: “Didn’t you hear Chloe say she’s going to abort the baby? If I don’t go now, it’ll be too late.” I frowned: “What about the patient?” Liam said indifferently: “I’ll be back as soon as I can. A few minutes won’t matter.” I looked at Liam in disbelief. A heart transplant is a race against time. Every minute delayed increases the danger. In my past life, the patient died because of the long delay. Thinking of this, I refused to let Liam leave. Seeing I wouldn’t let go, Liam was furious. “Sarah Reed, are you blocking me on purpose so Chloe aborts the baby?” Before I could explain, Liam pushed me hard. I lost my balance and fell, my back hitting the operating table heavily. I groaned in pain. Liam didn’t even look at me, turning and striding away. Seeing this, others in the OR helped me up. “Dr. Reed, are you okay? Dr. Black is too much. Defending Chloe usually is one thing, but hitting you for her?” “Exactly. I always thought there was something going on between them. Didn’t expect a baby.” I waved my hand: “Not the time for this. I’ll get Liam back.” Compared to Liam’s betrayal, the patient’s surgery was more important. This time, I absolutely couldn’t let the tragedy of my past life repeat itself. I chased him out of the OR, only to be surrounded by family members. “Doctor, how is the patient? Is the surgery successful?” I recognized them immediately as the mayor’s family. Before I could speak, the mayor’s elderly mother knelt before me. “Doctor, please, you must save my son. Please.” The mayor’s seven-month-pregnant wife also knelt, crying. “Doctor, I beg you too. They said only your hospital can perform this surgery. Please save my husband.” I quickly helped them up and promised solemnly: “Don’t worry, I will save him.” Seeing Liam was gone, I returned to the OR. Everyone gathered around, looking behind me. “Dr. Reed, where is Dr. Black?” I shook my head: “I didn’t catch him.” The anesthesiologist panicked. “The patient is under general anesthesia, chest open. If we don’t operate, when the anesthesia wears off, he’ll die of pain.” “Only Dr. Black can perform this surgery in the whole city. Even finding outside help is too late.” I took a deep breath: “I’ll do it. Liam and I were classmates. I can do what he can.” Everyone rejected the idea immediately. “Dr. Reed, you’re just an assistant doctor. According to hospital rules, you can’t perform surgery.” “How about this? Call Dr. Black and tell him to get back ASAP.” Seeing their insistence, I swallowed the words that Liam wouldn’t return. In front of them, I dialed Liam’s number. 3 As soon as the call connected, I spoke urgently. “Where are you? Come back immediately, we’re waiting for you to perform the surgery.” Liam’s voice was filled with anger: “Chloe is upset. Can you not make a scene right now?” “Pause the surgery. I’ll do it after I comfort Chloe.” With that, he hung up. Everyone looked at each other. The anesthesiologist cursed. “Such an important surgery. By the time he comes back, the patient will be dead.” “Dr. Reed, call him again. He must come back. If something happens to the patient, we’re all liable.” Seeing they wouldn’t give up, I called Liam again. “The patient is critical. Come back quickly.” Liam was impatient: “Heart transplants are risky. If he dies, it’s his bad luck.” I didn’t expect Liam to be so irresponsible. I questioned him: “If the patient dies and the family sues, can you bear the consequences?” Liam scoffed: “A powerless patient. If they dare make trouble, say they’re extorting money.” “Don’t call me again. Chloe wants strawberries. I’m going to buy her strawberries.” Looking at the hung-up phone, everyone was furious. “Buying strawberries for Chloe instead of saving a patient with an open chest? He’s not fit to be a doctor!” Just then, the anesthesiologist exclaimed. “Patient’s blood pressure is dropping rapidly. If we don’t operate, he’s dead!” I stepped forward: “I’ll do it.” Seeing their hesitation, I said sternly: “Besides me, no one can operate on him now. Are you going to watch him die?” The anesthesiologist looked conflicted: “But it’s against regulations. Even if you save him, you’ll bear all the consequences.” I said calmly: “Whatever the consequences, I’ll take full responsibility.” “There’s no time. Please cooperate with me.” Everyone looked at each other and made up their minds. I walked to the operating table, picked up the scalpel, removed the patient’s heart, and transplanted the donor heart. After suturing the blood vessels, I stared at the flat line on the monitor. Time passed second by second. Suddenly, a beat appeared on the monitor. When the heart rhythm stabilized, everyone cheered. “Dr. Reed, there’s a heartbeat! The surgery is successful!” I didn’t speak, focusing on closing the chest cavity. When the surgery was completely finished, I collapsed on the floor, exhausted. Only then did I realize my back was soaked with sweat. An hour later, the patient woke up. It was then that everyone realized he was the mayor. 4 In the ward, after checking the mayor post-op and confirming the transplant was successful, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. The mayor looked at me with a smile: “I heard you performed the surgery. Thank you for your hard work.” “But I remember my lead surgeon was Dr. Black. Why isn’t he here? Did something happen?” Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Liam called. The mayor glanced at it: “It’s Dr. Black. Answer it here.” I put it on speaker. “Where are you? Come to Chloe’s house immediately.” “I’m doing post-op checks. The heart transplant was very successful.” Liam paused for a few seconds: “You did the surgery? This guy is tough. Chest open for forty minutes and still alive.” “Pity. I thought I could use his body for research.” Seeing the mayor’s face turn livid, I warned: “Liam, watch your words. We are doctors; saving lives is our duty.” Liam scoffed: “What’s the point of saving these ordinary people? Powerless and useless, living is a waste of resources.” “Their greatest use is for us to practice on and improve our skills.” Hearing such arrogant words, I gasped. The mayor’s face was terrifyingly dark. Liam didn’t know this and continued talking. “You upset Chloe just now and caused her fetal movement. I give you half an hour to come apologize.” “Oh, and Chloe wants your cooking. Buy groceries on the way.” Hearing Liam order me around like a servant, I laughed in anger. “The patient just finished surgery. I need to monitor him for complications.” Liam didn’t expect me to refuse and got angry: “Is his danger more important than Chloe not eating?” “The surgery is done. Even if he dies, it’s his fate.” “Don’t make me say it twice. Get over here!” Looking at the hung-up phone, I felt a chill in my heart. I never expected Liam to be such a person. Ordinary lives were worthless in his eyes. The mayor was equally furious: “Abandoning a patient on the table for a mistress. A person like Liam Black being a doctor is a disgrace to the medical field!” Agitated, the mayor started coughing. I quickly went to help him breathe easier: “Mayor, you just had a heart transplant. You can’t get angry.” The mayor calmed down: “You’re right. Such a person isn’t worth my anger.” “Since Liam Black thinks being a doctor makes him superior and doesn’t value ordinary lives, I’ll make sure he can’t be a doctor.” He looked at his assistant. “Pass my word. From today, revoke Liam Black’s medical license and ban him for life.”

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1 My twin brother was murdered, dismembered, in our own home. I was the only witness. But I couldn’t remember a thing. The doctors called it traumatic amnesia. They said the memories might never return. My parents refused to believe it. They tried everything—electroshock therapy, hypnosis, experimental drugs… None of it worked. All it did was leave me with the same crippling depression that had haunted my brother. After my ninth suicide attempt, my parents finally broke. Their eyes were bloodshot as they screamed at me. “Stop trying to be him! Every time you fake it, you make us sick! You will never replace him!” “If you really wanted to atone, you’d tell us what happened that night!” They threw me out of the house. I was wandering aimlessly along the riverfront when a mysterious man stopped me. He held out a photograph of my brother. “I can help you relive that day,” he said softly. “But the price… is your life.” I looked at the photo, then down at the dark, churning water below. A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Deal.” After all, to me, forgetting was a fate worse than death. I just never imagined that when the images of that night finally played out in the tribunal, the first people to break would be my parents. … The light in the Memory Tribunal was a sterile, unforgiving white. The gallery was sparsely populated with a few observers. They told me the entire procedure would be recorded as a landmark case in deep memory extraction. The man who’d found me by the river, my brother’s best friend, Quentin, stood silently by my side. I could see a flicker of conflict in his eyes. “It’s not too late to walk away,” he murmured, his voice low. I glanced down at the latticework of scars on my wrists and shook my head. Just then, a side door burst open and my parents rushed in, their hair disheveled as if they’d run all the way here. My mother’s eyes locked onto me instantly. There was no concern in them, only a raw, overflowing agony and resentment. “What are you doing here? Do you think this is some grand gesture of redemption?!” her voice, sharp and piercing, echoed in the vast chamber. “Your brother… he died so horribly! You were right there! How could you forget? How dare you forget?!” My father didn’t cry. He just stared at me, his eyes a spiderweb of broken blood vessels. “We tried everything to help you remember! The shocks, the hypnosis… and what did you do?” “You knew how much he suffered, and yet you had the gall to fake depression just to be like him?!” “And now this? A Memory Tribunal?” “Do you think this makes you look tragic? Do you think it makes you more like him?!” A low murmur rippled through the observers in the gallery. My mother’s chest heaved. “Were we not good to you? You were the younger sister, we always worried you’d feel left out! But him?” “He was so considerate, always looking out for you, protecting you! And in the end… in the end…” She broke down, sobbing. It took her a long moment to regain her composure before she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Did he die protecting you?! Did you get him tangled up in something terrible?!” “Is that why you won’t talk?! Is it?!” I stood frozen, a chill creeping up from the soles of my feet, turning my limbs to ice. In their eyes, was I really that worthless? Quentin’s hand came to rest on my rigid shoulder, a silent comfort. “Your brother wouldn’t blame you.” I turned to him, saw the pity in his eyes, and asked softly, “If I go through with this, the truth of what he went through will come out, right?” Quentin was silent for a few seconds before giving a nearly imperceptible nod. “The memory feed will be broadcast live. Every hidden detail will be exposed.” “Then let’s begin,” I said. Quentin’s brow furrowed as he gestured toward the chilling metal chair in the center of the room. A gleaming neural probe was suspended directly above it. “That’s the Lumina Probe. It will pierce your skull and reach the core of your brain.” “The older and more traumatic the memory, the deeper it has to go. And the more it will hurt.” My gaze drifted past the long, cold probe to my parents in the gallery. My mother was still weeping into her hands. My father had turned away, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. A small, quiet smile touched my lips. “It’s okay. I’m not afraid.” “As long as my brother can rest in peace, as long as Mom and Dad can know what really happened… it doesn’t matter how much it hurts.” Quentin watched me for a long moment before finally nodding to the lead technician. The technician stepped forward, his expression grave. “Mr. Quentin, once the memory extraction process is activated, it cannot be stopped.” “Upon completion, the subject will suffer irreversible brain damage, resulting in brain death.” “As per protocol, the next of kin must be informed of the ultimate risks.” “No!” The word escaped me before I could think. I looked at Quentin, my eyes pleading. “Please… don’t tell them. Not yet. Can you do that?” In the gallery, my mother lifted her tear-stained face. My father looked over, his eyes still burning with anger. Quentin’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he said to the technician, his voice hoarse. “I’ll take full responsibility. Begin.” Two assistants guided me to the cold metal chair, strapping my arms and legs down securely. The probe overhead whirred, adjusting its angle to target the crown of my head. An anesthesiologist approached with a sedative. But just as the needle was about to touch my skin… My father shot to his feet, his voice trembling. “Wait!” 2 A flicker of something stirred in my numb heart. A tiny, pathetic ripple of hope. Were they… worried about me? My father’s next words shattered that fragile illusion. He looked at the lead technician, his gaze sharp and cold. “I’ve heard… anesthetics can interfere with the clarity and authenticity of the memories. Is that right?” The technician paused, taken aback. “Theoretically, there can be a minor impact, but for the subject’s well-being…” “Then don’t use any.” My father cut him off, his tone absolute. “She wants to remember, doesn’t she? This way she can have a good, long look.” My mother flinched, a flicker of pity crossing her face. But it vanished as quickly as it came. She turned her head away and added her firm agreement. “That’s right… She said she forgot. Let’s make sure she sees it all clearly this time.” A dead silence fell over the tribunal. The observers exchanged shocked glances. Someone audibly gasped. Quentin surged forward, his face a mask of disbelief and rage. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?! The pain of this procedure is unimaginable! It’s—” “Quentin,” I called out, stopping him. My eyes were fixed on the two faces in the gallery, so familiar yet so alien. “Fine,” I said quietly. “No anesthetic.” He whipped his head around to look at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Phoebe! The pain is a thousand times worse than being flayed alive! You… you can’t handle it!” “I can,” I interrupted, my gaze unwavering. “Let’s begin.” “I want to see the truth just as much as they do.” Quentin opened his mouth, but seeing the resolve in my eyes, he said nothing more. After a long, heavy pause, he signaled for the technician to proceed. The probe overhead descended, drilling viciously into my skull. “Ngh—!” A blinding, white-hot agony shot through me. I bit down hard, clamping my jaw against a scream. On the large screen, the first memory began to surface. I was in a loose-fitting hospital gown, curled into a ball on a bed, staring blankly into space. Bang! The door to the room slammed open. My mother stormed in, her eyes a hysterical red. She lunged for the bed, her hands grabbing my shoulders, shaking me violently. “Phoebe! Look at me! Tell me what happened that night!” “Who was in our house?! Your brother… how… how did he die?!” The world spun. Tears streamed silently down my face as I shook my head over and over. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I really can’t remember… I’m so sorry…” “How can you not remember?! How can you?!” My mother’s sanity finally snapped. She shrieked, her hands closing tight around my throat. “That was your brother! Your twin brother!” “You were in my womb together for nine months! You grew up side-by-side!” “He was right next to you… while someone was… how could you forget?! How DARE you forget?!” Suffocation and a tidal wave of guilt drowned me. My face turned purple as I choked out broken whimpers. “Sorry… so sorry…” My father stood in the doorway, his eyes burning. My mother suddenly released me, screaming, “What good is saying sorry?! I want the truth! I want the killer!” The scene abruptly shifted. Now I was strapped to a metal chair. Electrodes were stuck to my head and body. “Final session, Phoebe. What did you see that night?” a doctor’s cold voice asked. I shook my head in terror, tears gushing from my eyes. “I’m sorry… I can’t remember… I really don’t know…” The moment the words left my mouth, a violent current shot through my body. “AAAAAHHH!” A scream tore from my throat as my body convulsed uncontrollably. “Did you remember anything?! Did you see something?!” My mother’s sharp voice came from behind a glass panel. My mouth gaped open, but all that came out were strangled gasps and agonized moans as I continued to shake my head. “Increase the voltage!” my father commanded without a hint of hesitation. A more powerful shock slammed into me. My body arched against the restraints, saliva and tears streamed down my face, my pupils dilating from the sheer agony. “Have you remembered yet?! Say it!” “…No… nothing… AHHHH!” “Again! To the maximum! She remembers, she’s just not talking!” my father roared. “No… please… just kill me… kill me…” “AAAGGGHHHHH!” As my scream ripped through the air, the screen went black. The memory ended. The tribunal was utterly silent. Suddenly, my father’s furious voice shattered the quiet. “What was that?!” “Is this what we came here to see?! We want to see what happened that night!” My mother shot to her feet, crying out at the stage. “Keep going! Dig deeper! Skip all this useless garbage! We want the truth!” Subdued whispers and stifled sobs could be heard from the gallery. Quentin looked at me, drenched in sweat and trembling, his brow furrowed in deep concern. The lead technician took a shaky breath, his voice strained. “First-level surface memory extraction is complete. The subject is conscious, but her vital signs are fluctuating.” “I will state again: forcibly extracting memories without anesthesia may lead to sudden cardiac arrest and death.” Before the technician had even finished, my father yelled, “Keep going! I told you, whatever the cost! We want the truth!” 3 The technician looked at me with pity in his eyes. I gave a weak nod, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “Continue.” He took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he keyed in the command. The machine whirred to life again, the probe resuming its relentless drilling into my brain. “AAAAAHHHHH!” The pain was so intense I couldn’t stop myself from screaming. My body started to twitch and writhe in the chair. My parents looked over, the sound of my agony seemingly the first thing to register as real. But a moment later, the screen lit up again, and their attention was stolen away once more. The image slowly came into focus. This time, the memory was of a simple barbershop. In the mirror was a boy in a plain white t-shirt. His jaw was sharp, his eyes clear, and his bangs fell softly across his forehead. His face, his entire demeanor… he was the spitting image of my brother, Leo. In the gallery, my parents both held their breath. Quentin froze, his fingers tightening on the control panel. In the memory, the boy in the mirror looked up, revealing his full face. It wasn’t my brother. It was me. My shoulder-length hair was gone, replaced by a short cut identical to Leo’s. I was wearing one of his old shirts, a light-blue striped button-down that hung loosely on my frame. My parents’ eyes, which had been lit with a flicker of impossible hope, went dark the moment they recognized me. The memory shifted. I walked out of the barbershop and went home. My parents were sitting on the living room sofa. “Dad, Mom, I’m home.” I pitched my voice lower, trying to mimic my brother’s cadence. On the sofa, they both jolted, their heads snapping in my direction. As they saw the figure in the doorway, my mother’s eyes flew wide. “L… Leo?” My father shot to his feet, his pupils constricting as he stared. But as their eyes adjusted, as they truly saw my face, the light in their eyes died. “Chlo… e!” My mother shrieked my name. “What… what is this?! What are you trying to do?!” She rushed forward, grabbing my arm, her questions frantic and wild. I was terrified, stumbling over my words. “I… I just wanted… to make you feel a little better…” “I thought… I thought if I looked more like him, you wouldn’t be so sad…” “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to atone…” SMACK! My father’s hand cracked across my face. He was shaking with rage, his eyes crimson. “Atone?! You think dressing up like Leo is atoning?!” “Phoebe, let me tell you something. This isn’t atonement. This is disgusting!” “You want us to forget him completely so you can take his place, is that it?! Huh?!” My cheek burned. I clutched my face, shaking my head frantically. “No! Dad, no! I never wanted to replace him!” “I… I really was just trying to… atone…” My mother shoved me away, her voice rising into a hysterical wail. “You want to atone?! Then tell us what you saw that night! Find the killer!” “What good is playing dress-up?!” I collapsed onto the floor. Faced with their fury and accusations, all I could do was repeat the same useless words over and over. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I really can’t remember… I’m so sorry…” My father leaned down, his bloodshot eyes boring into mine. “It’s not us you should be sorry to! It’s your brother, Leo!” “If you really want to apologize to him, then why don’t you go do it in person? Go to hell and tell him you’re sorry—” The final image of the memory was the living room, late at night. I was kneeling ramrod straight on the floor, my forehead a bloody, pulpy mess. The tears on my face had long since dried, leaving only a numb, hollow emptiness. Facing my brother’s portrait, I slammed my head against the floor again and again, whispering a ceaseless mantra. “I’m sorry, Leo.” Thud. “I’m sorry…” Thud. “I’m sorry…” Thud. The dull impacts, punctuated by my apologies, echoed in the silent room. The screen went dark. My mother’s broken, screaming sobs pulled everyone back to the present. She pointed at me, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Phoebe! Do you even have a heart?!” “Who are you showing this to?! Are you trying to get sympathy?!” “We want to know how your brother died! The truth! Do you hear me?!” My father’s face was ashen, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Skip this self-pitying crap!” he roared. “Keep digging! Keep going!” I watched them, their faces twisted with rage, and fresh tears welled in my eyes. My lips moved on their own, a familiar, desperate whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Mom and Dad… I’m sorry…” “I’m sorry… Leo… I’m sorry…” With every “I’m sorry,” the probe in my mind seemed to twist deeper. “Ugh—!” After the last apology escaped my lips, a spray of blood erupted from my mouth.

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I was choosing my tenth anniversary gift when my son’s preschool called. His teacher said he’d fought over a story he wrote. I picked him up, his face full of hurt pride, and took him home. After calming him, I opened his notebook. The title was shakily written: My Real Mom and My Fake Mom. “The fake mom takes care of me and Daddy. She’s our unpaid maid.” “My real mom works far away. Her job is to love me and Daddy.” My hands turned cold holding the paper. Just then, my husband Simon came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. He hugged me from behind. “What did our boy write this time?” But when he saw the page, his smile stiffened. His voice tightened as he reached for the book. “It’s just a child’s nonsense. Is his teacher overreacting?” I didn’t let go. I turned and looked at the face I’d slept beside for ten years—now a stranger. In the living room, Liam watched cartoons, unaware. If I was the “fake mom”… Who was the “real mom” far away? And the son I carried for nine months—where had he really been? … “Clara? What are you spacing out for?” Simon waved a hand in front of my face, his voice light and casual. “It’s our tenth anniversary today, you know. What did you get me?” He winked, deftly changing the subject. I watched him in silence for a long moment before reaching into my purse. I pulled out the box I’d prepared and handed it to him. His face lit up as he took it. He opened it to reveal the limited-edition watch he’d been wanting for ages. “It’s beautiful! Honey, you have the best taste!” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Will you put it on for me?” I did as he asked, my movements mechanical as I fastened the watch around his wrist. For ten years, for nearly every important occasion, I had never missed a gift. He, on the other hand, rarely bothered with such details. I had always told myself it was just his personality, that he wasn’t good at expressing himself. But Liam’s story said something different. “Daddy loves getting presents for my real mom. He says picking out a gift for someone you love is more important than the gift itself.” The innocent words of a child were now a blunt knife, twisting in my heart with every letter. It wasn’t that he was bad at expressing himself. It was just that I was never the one he wanted to express it to. “Simon…” I started, the words catching in my throat as I tried to figure out what to say. “Are you… are you hiding something from me?” His body stiffened. He turned away from me, his face clouded over with irritation. “Clara, are you seriously questioning me? Don’t forget, Liam is six years old. Are you really going to take something he scribbled in a notebook seriously?” I wanted to press him, but he had already turned and walked back into the bedroom. Watching his retreating back, I realized for the first time just how vast the distance between us had grown over ten years. Late that night, the man beside me was fast asleep. But the words from the notebook, Simon’s forced smile… the images churned in my mind, chasing away any hope of sleep. I slipped out of bed and crept out of the bedroom. The door at the end of the hall—to Simon’s study—was slightly ajar. He’d always hated me going in there, and for ten years, I had respected his privacy. But tonight, some unseen force pulled me toward that door. I pushed it open and stepped inside. I searched every corner, every drawer, desperate to find a clue, a single thread of an explanation. But I found nothing. Straightening up, my gaze landed on the picture frame in the center of his desk. It was a photo of the three of us. Simon was holding Liam high up on his shoulders, and I was leaning against him, my face beaming with happiness. To anyone looking at it, we were the perfect, loving family. I picked up the frame, my fingertips tracing the smiling faces of my husband and son. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Was I really going to doubt the man who had loved me for a decade, all because of a six-year-old’s story? A wave of guilt washed over me. I sighed, ready to put the frame back and convince myself it was all in my head. As I moved to set it down, I noticed the base of the frame was loose. I instinctively tried to fix it, but my fingers slipped. CRACK! The frame clattered to the floor. I bent down quickly to pick it up. But as my fingers closed around it, I froze. The back of the frame wasn’t a solid piece of cardboard. Tucked inside was a carefully folded photograph. It was Simon, looking young and bright, with his arms wrapped around a girl in a white sundress. Holding my breath, my hands trembling, I turned the photo over. On the back, in his familiar, bold handwriting, was a single line. “Anna, no matter who I marry, my heart will always be yours.” The date was the day before our wedding. 2 The next morning, after dropping Liam off at preschool, I didn’t go to the office. Instead, I drove to the nearest phone carrier’s store. “Hi,” I said, handing over my ID, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’d like to see a detailed call log for our family plan. The bill seems unusually high lately.” The clerk typed efficiently, and within moments, our call history for the last six months was on the screen. My eyes immediately found it: a number from the neighboring state that appeared over and over again. The calls were mostly late at night, ranging from ten minutes to over an hour. I discreetly copied the number down and left. That night, while Simon was in the shower, he left his phone charging on the nightstand. The screen was locked. I typed in the password we used to share. Password incorrect. I then tried his birthday, our anniversary, every significant date I could think of. All incorrect. Finally, with a self-mocking bitterness, I typed in the date from the back of that photograph. Password correct. My heart sank into a cold, dark pit. I searched his phone, but the number wasn’t in his contacts. I found it in his blocked list. How could a blocked number have such a frequent call history? There was only one explanation: he unblocked it to talk, and then blocked it again immediately after. A chill crawled up my spine. I opened his social media apps, searching for more clues. I typed the phone number into the search bar, and a profile popped up. The background photo was a silhouette of a family of three against a sunset. Two adults holding a child’s hand. The man’s profile was identical to Simon’s. I put the phone back exactly where I’d found it and called my assistant, Laura. “I need you to run a background check on a phone number. As fast as you can.” … After the call, I crept into Liam’s room. He was fast asleep. Simon always said our son looked just like me, but now, looking closely at his eyes, his nose… I couldn’t see any of my features in his face. The splinter of doubt in my heart dug deeper. When the school sent out a notice for annual health check-ups, I took Liam to the hospital myself. After all the tests were done, I gently plucked a few strands of his hair, making sure to get the follicles, and sealed them carefully in a small plastic bag. That afternoon, I dropped off the bag, along with a sample of my own hair, at a DNA testing facility. During the week I waited for the results, Simon started staying out late more often, using “guys’ night” as an excuse. Before he left, he’d spend an unusual amount of time in front of the mirror, fussing with his hair. One evening, after he left, I got in my car and followed him. He drove across town, finally pulling into the parking lot of a secluded spa resort on the outskirts of the city. As Simon got out of his car, a woman in a long dress, who had clearly been waiting for him, walked up to meet him. I recognized her instantly. It was the woman from the photograph. Simon casually took her handbag, his other arm wrapping expertly around her waist. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and a deep blush spread across her face. After a few more quiet words, they walked into the resort, their bodies pressed close together. I sat in my car, the heater blasting, but I felt a chill that went straight to the bone. Just then, my phone buzzed with an email notification from the testing facility. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. I opened the attachment and scrolled straight to the bottom. “Based on the DNA analysis, Clara Mills is excluded as the biological mother of Liam Scott.” That one sentence was a poisoned blade, skinning me alive. The son I had raised for six years, the boy I loved more than life itself, was not mine. The woman’s face from a moment ago flashed in my mind, her features overlapping with Liam’s. The resemblance was sickeningly clear. I felt a wave of nausea so strong I thought I was going to be sick. But I remembered being so careful. The hospital where I gave birth had a reputation for being chaotic, so I’d specifically arranged for a private nurse to conduct a paternity test and had hired security to watch over the nursery. The results had been clear, written in black and white. We had our son. So why… why six years later was he someone else’s child? And the baby I carried for nine agonizing months… where was he now? I picked up the phone and dialed my assistant. “Two things, Laura.” “First, find out everything you can about the connection between a woman named Anna Ross and my son, Liam.” “Second, find my real son. Spare no expense.” Laura was silent on the other end for a beat. “Understood,” she said, her voice grim. “I’m on it.” In the days that followed, I went about my life as if nothing had changed. I could even face Simon and pretend everything was normal. But I no longer returned his hugs. At night, I slept in the guest room. When he asked why, I told him I was stressed with a big project at work and didn’t want to disturb him. He looked at me with a flicker of something in his eyes but didn’t push it. A week later, Laura placed a sealed envelope on my desk. “We acquired a DNA sample from Anna Ross through… certain channels,” she began, her voice low. “We ran it against Liam’s sample.” She paused. “The results show a biological mother-daughter relationship.” Even though I had expected it, the confirmation hit me so hard I had to grab the edge of my desk to stay upright. Six years. For six years, I had poured every ounce of my love into a child who carried another woman’s blood. “We also looked into your hospital records from the birth,” Laura continued. “The only other woman who gave birth on the same day as you was Anna Ross.” “She checked in alone. The emergency contact she listed was… Simon Scott.” My head snapped up. “What about her baby?” Laura’s expression was somber as she consulted her notes. “There were complications during the delivery. The baby boy she gave birth to… he passed away on the third day.” The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place, forming a horrifying picture. “Keep digging,” I ordered, my voice raspy. “I want every single detail about that baby boy.” Laura’s efficiency was remarkable. She quickly managed to track down a retired nurse who had been on duty at the maternity ward that week. The old nurse glanced around nervously before leaning in to speak. “Those two mothers went into labor almost at the same time,” she whispered. “But that Ross woman, she had a rough time. Three days of labor, and the baby still didn’t make it.” She took the cash from the envelope Laura handed her, licked her thumb, and counted the bills with a smack of her lips. “But that… that was just the official story. To fool everyone else. But I saw it with my own eyes… That Ross woman, she switched the babies herself! Her baby never died! They were all lying!” After dropping her bombshell, the nurse stuffed the envelope into her purse and scurried away, leaving Laura and me frozen in place, a chilling dread washing over us. My voice was a raw, unrecognizable whisper. “Find my son. I don’t care what it takes.” A few days later, all the leads pointed to a remote orphanage in the next state. The admission date, the child’s age—it all matched. I couldn’t wait another second. I drove the hundreds of miles myself, following the address Laura had given me. The afternoon sun bathed the orphanage’s yard, where children were playing in groups. My eyes scanned every face, a frantic hope pounding in my chest. And then I saw him. In a corner, far from the other children, a small figure was curled up, his little hands blue from the cold seeping through his threadbare clothes. The orphanage director noticed my stare and followed my gaze, letting out a soft sigh. “That’s Aiden. He was brought here six years ago, covered in bruises. He doesn’t talk much. He’s terrified of people.” She shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine what that poor child has been through.” In that instant, my heart stopped beating. Even from a distance, I could see my own features reflected in his small, frightened face. He was my son. When he needed his mother the most, what was I doing? I was giving all my love, all my devotion, to another woman’s child. An all-consuming agony ripped through me. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, my nails digging into my palms. Simon. Anna. You stole my life. You stole my son. For everything you took from me these past six years, I will make you repay it a thousand times over.

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Three years after we broke up. I ran into Lucas Sterling again at a luxury hotel. I was the front desk receptionist. He checked into the Presidential Suite with a woman on his arm. That night, I received three calls from his room. The first time, he said, “The sheets are dirty. Change them.” I sent housekeeping up to handle it. Two hours later, he called again to change the sheets. I complied. At 2 AM, he called a third time. I politely refused before he could even speak: “I’m sorry, sir, housekeeping has already clocked out.” The man chuckled softly, his voice careless: “Then you come up and change them.” 1 I ignored him and hung up the phone. I work at the front desk; I have no reason to do housekeeping’s job. My colleague leaned in, asking mysteriously: “Was that the guy in the Presidential Suite again?” Seeing me nod, she covered her mouth and giggled: “Making housekeeping change the sheets three times in one night… that stamina is impressive!” “But you said housekeeping clocked out. What did he say?” I told her honestly: “He told me to go up and change them.” My colleague froze, then laughed sarcastically. “Does staying in the Presidential Suite make you amazing? No respect for people.” “Does he think the hotel is his house? Treating us receptionists like 24-hour servants…” Before she could finish, the phone in front of her rang abruptly. She cleared her throat and picked it up. The next second, she respectfully addressed the manager. I don’t know what was said on the other end. My colleague suddenly widened her eyes and looked at me. “You’re saying… send Emily to the Presidential Suite to change the sheets right now?” 2 Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the door of the Presidential Suite, bracing myself to ring the bell. Lucas answered the door wearing a bathrobe. Seeing it was me, he stepped aside to let me in. The faint sound of splashing water came from the bathroom. He led me to the bedroom. Then he sat himself down on the nearby sofa. Calmly, he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. I silently lifted the duvet. The water stain on the sheet caught my eye unexpectedly. It felt like a punch to the chest. A dull ache throbbed in my heart. He blew smoke rings, his tone carrying a hint of lazy satisfaction: “Sorry about that. My girlfriend is quite… reactive. Can’t sleep without changing them.” “Please hurry, she’s a bit tired.” I tried to maintain my composure: “Five minutes.” I moved quickly, stripping the dirty linens and putting on fresh ones. When I was done, I picked up the dirty sheets, ready to leave. He suddenly approached, pinning me tightly against the edge of the bed, blocking my way. As he leaned in further, I stumbled and fell back onto the bed. The next second, I was pinned firmly beneath him, unable to move. The water in the bathroom was still running. I clenched my hands, gripping the edge of the bed, trying hard to stand up. But the strength disparity was too great; I couldn’t move him an inch. I frowned, pushing against his chest, my voice low: “Your girlfriend will misunderstand. Let me up.” The man’s eyes were cold and sharp, his breath heavy with alcohol as it hit my ear: “After all these years, I still can’t figure it out.” “Why did you cheat on me with him back then?” 3 The sound of water in the bathroom stopped abruptly. He remained unmoved. In a panic, I bit his arm. He frowned and groaned, his grip loosening slightly. I seized the opportunity to push him away and fled with the linens. Just as the door was closing, a woman’s soft voice drifted out: “You’re so annoying. If you make someone change the sheets again, I’ll be too embarrassed to see anyone tomorrow.” “…” I couldn’t hear his reply clearly. Walking down the silent corridor, my racing heart slowly calmed down. I had imagined what it would be like if we ever met again. But I never thought that three years later, he would hate me this much. It would have been better if we had never crossed paths again in this life. 4 Back at the front desk, my colleague leaned over to gossip. “Do you know who the guest in the Presidential Suite is?” It was late, and I was tired, not in the mood to chat. But she got more excited as she spoke: “I just looked him up online. He’s actually the young master of the Sterling family from淮City.” I said indifferently: “It’s against the rules to look up guest information.” “I was just curious!” “No wonder a single call from him could alert our manager even at 2 AM.” She continued to share like a machine gun: “A quick search online shows the massive hundred-billion-dollar inheritance war of the Sterling family three years ago!” “This Young Master Sterling actually fell seriously ill at a critical moment back then, almost losing his inheritance rights.” “He had a girlfriend at the time, his first love too. She was so opportunistic. Seeing he was about to die, she actually cheated on him at his lowest point.” “The guy was still lying in the ICU, and that woman turned around and went with another man. It almost killed him back then! Luckily, he pulled through.” “People online are still cursing this woman to this day. Simply devoid of conscience. She must be regretting it so much now, watching the position of Mrs. Sterling fly away just like that.” “By the way, I haven’t told you the most shocking part yet. Do you know who she cheated with?” My colleague’s noisy voice buzzed in my ears. “Yeah, I know.” She raised her voice slightly: “You know? You read the news too?” I slowly turned my head, looking calmly at her surprised expression. “I don’t need to read the news.” “I am that cheating first girlfriend.” The expression on her face froze instantly, and she didn’t recover for a long time.

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At the company holiday gala, my boss insisted on setting me up on a blind date. Drunk and emotional, I red-eyed confessed that I still wasn’t over my ex. My colleagues, hungry for gossip, pressed for details. The CEO, sitting at the head of the table, watched me with an increasingly strange expression. “This ex of yours… his last name wouldn’t happen to be Sterling, would it?” 1. The other executives instantly sobered up, exchanging nervous glances. I, however, had face-planted onto the table, achieving the deep, peaceful sleep of an infant. I completely missed the boss’s question. My colleagues, desperate for the tea, shook me vigorously. “Don’t fall asleep, Summer! Keep going!” I lifted my head with great effort. “Say what?” “Is your ex’s family rich?” “Filthy. Obscenely rich,” I mumbled, spreading my arms wide. “His kitchen… had a row of fridges just for imported seafood people gifted them.” “How did you meet?” “High school classmates.” I mumbled a few more incoherent things and sat there trying to buffer. My body found the camera lens before my brain did. I immediately tried to fix my facial expression. Only to realize it was the big boss, secretly filming me with his phone. “Mr. Vanderbilt, why are you filming me?” Chase Vanderbilt was handsome, rich, and constantly in the tabloids. Among the group executives, he was the one everyone gossiped about. They called him the “Spare Heir.” He had an older brother, the Crown Prince. But a year ago, the brother was transferred abroad, and Chase took over the company. Rank-wise, I wasn’t important enough to sit at his table. But today was the annual gala. And I was the top-grossing livestreamer across all sectors last year. I went wherever the company pointed me. To show their appreciation, the leadership allowed top-performing employees to sit at the VIP table. Chase pursed his lips, gesturing for me to continue. “Don’t stop on my account. I want to hear this.” “Let’s not talk about dating…” I slurred. “It’s embarrassing.” I absentmindedly dropped a cherry tomato into my wine glass. Realizing I wasn’t out with clients, I fished it out and ate it. Sour. Chase hissed in sympathy. “Embarrassing?” He seemed like he wanted to laugh but held it back. “Is dating your ex that embarrassing?” I shook my head. “He’s not embarrassing. I was just… a failure back then.” “That doesn’t track,” he led the conversation. “If you were a failure, why was he with you?” I didn’t answer. He shot a look at the people around him. Several half-drunk executives immediately stood up, claiming they needed to toast other tables. Seeing this, my colleagues also slipped away one by one. Confused, I decided to follow the herd. Chase looked up quickly, clearing his throat. “Where are you going? Your performance last year was stellar. Let’s talk about a raise.” I jolted awake and shimmied back into my seat. I refilled my glass, muscle memory taking over to offer a toast. “Thank you for the recognition, Mr. Vanderbilt. Bottoms up.” “Sit, sit. Stop drinking.” He held my glass down. “Tell me more. Ethan… I mean, your ex. How did his mother convince you to break up? Did she curse at you? Threaten you?” No. She was very kind. It was my senior year of college. Since confirming our relationship sophomore year, I would stay at Ethan Sterling’s place during winter and summer breaks. His mother appeared suddenly one afternoon. I was napping on the couch and was startled awake by a knock. I thought Ethan had forgotten his keys. I ran to open the door, only to find a strange woman. She looked about thirty percent like Ethan. She wasn’t surprised to see me. And she didn’t seem to be looking for Ethan. I greeted her slowly, “Hello, ma’am.” “Summer, hello.” She smiled. “Can we go inside and chat?” I guessed her purpose immediately. She introduced herself as Mrs. Sterling. Her family controlled shipping lanes on the East Coast. Her marriage to Mr. Sterling was a business alliance. The two families’ industries complemented each other perfectly. They had been married for years in relative harmony, and Ethan was the only son. Maybe Mr. Sterling had illegitimate children. But Ethan’s position was secure. Assuming he didn’t do anything stupid. Like letting an outsider find a weak point to exploit. “I trust Ethan’s abilities; he doesn’t necessarily need a marriage to secure his position,” Mrs. Sterling said, adjusting her designer clutch. Then came the pivot. “However, marriage is a way to gather support.” “If he doesn’t do it, someone else will.” “If others realize his wife’s family is weak, they might use marriage alliances to challenge him. That wouldn’t be good.” With every sentence, my back stiffened. I was sitting on pins and needles. Let’s get this over with. I kept my head down. “Mrs. Sterling, what… what do you want me to do?” She looked at me picking at my fingers, her gaze almost pitying. “Summer, I’ve known about you since high school.” “Back then, Ethan would always ‘accidentally’ mention your name at home.” “I looked into you. I know your parents are traditional and strict, that you relied on financial aid to leave your rural town, and that you got into the prep school on grades alone.” “You’ve had a hard life.” “You’re smart, and you’re pretty.” “But to be our daughter-in-law… you don’t have to be perfect, but you can’t have such glaring deficits.” “I didn’t want to break you two up so quickly.” “But Ethan is graduating. If you stay in the country, he won’t want to go abroad to manage the overseas branches.” “So, Summer, for his sake, and for yours… consider this.” She opened her clutch. She slid a thin check across the coffee table. I wiped my face quickly, afraid to look up. “Okay. Okay, I understand. Is it alright if I don’t walk you out?” Her soft cashmere shawl brushed against my flannel pajamas. The scent was faint, like old money and sandalwood. The scent faded. She closed the door, as if she had never been there. I went to the bedroom to pack. Only then did I realize how much stuff I had. Clothes and socks filled a corner of the walk-in closet. Jewelry, hair ties, and skincare products Ethan had bought me on a whim. The plants I raised, the plushies I bought, the half-used toiletries. It was way more than the single suitcase I arrived with. I packed, then unpacked. I left all the expensive jewelry. I took the skincare products. I wouldn’t bear to buy such expensive brands on my own. I took extra pajamas. And the cashmere shawl—it was a celebrity style, very long. When I bought it, Ethan laughed, saying I was trying to look cool despite being short, that I looked like a manta ray in it. I had to take that. The sound system was a brand I picked out. It was supposed to be amazing. Though, once we got it, I realized the internet hype was exaggerated. But I still loved it. Too bad I couldn’t carry it. What about the flowers on the balcony I’d tended for two years? Would I have to spend another two years growing new ones somewhere else? I sat next to the messy suitcase and suddenly broke down. The front door opened and closed. Footsteps, the rustle of bags being placed on the table. “Summer,” Ethan called from the living room. “I’ll make dinner, okay?” I didn’t answer. He muttered to himself in confusion. He must have seen the check on the coffee table because his footsteps suddenly became frantic. The bedroom door flew open. “Who came here…” Ethan’s face was pale as he held the thin piece of paper. I turned to look at him, quickly wiping my face with my sleeve. “Hey, don’t cry. Don’t cry.” He half-knelt, pulling me into his arms. “Who came to see you? Tell me.” His fingertips were cold; his coat was freezing. I rubbed my face against his coat, burying myself in his warm sweater. But his sweater smelled of sandalwood too. They were family. Could I really drag him down, forcing him to choose sides? Gasping for air, I tried to pull away, but he yanked me back. His fingers tangled in my hair, forcing my head against his chest. “Speak. Was it a man or a woman? How old?” He lowered his head, his nose pressing against my temple, his breath ragged with anger. I shook my head. “We… we need to talk.” “Talk about what? Summer, what are you doing? Breaking up?” His gaze was severe. “When we got together, didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t give up easily?” I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn’t. He had told me he thought everything through before asking me out. So he hoped I would consider the obstacles we’d face before giving him an answer. I promised him I would stay by his side. But I was too young. I underestimated the weight of the world. Facing it now, I realized a single sentence from his mother was enough to negate everything. I was retreating. Would he retreat too, at some point? “Maybe we should… just separate?” I met his eyes, my voice getting smaller. “I’m afraid… afraid you’ll regret it later. That you’ll feel I’m… a burden…” “Enough!” Ethan cut me off, swallowing hard. For three years in high school, I rarely spoke. At first, when classmates asked me questions, I wouldn’t answer. I’d just write down the solution. They thought I was arrogant. They called me the “Silent Ice Queen of Exams.” Later, teachers called on me to answer questions. It happened enough times that they realized I had a speech impediment. A severe stutter. So, I gained immunity from answering questions. No one forced me to speak. They just occasionally advised me to practice more. Classes during the day, dorms at night… time was tight. I couldn’t find space to practice, nor did I want to. Only after getting together with Ethan did I occasionally open my mouth. He would always wait for me to finish. Even if describing a simple event took me ten minutes. He never interrupted me like this. I clamped my mouth shut. “Summer,” he took a deep breath, cupping my face in his hands. “Do you still love me?” I looked at him and nodded. “Then don’t mention breaking up. Do it for me—practice speaking. I’ll practice with you at home.” He applied a little pressure. “Do you hear me?” I nodded again. He pulled me into his arms, tightening his grip. “Good girl.” After that day, neither of us mentioned the two-million-dollar check. He hired a housekeeper, and he spent all day dragging me into conversations. Sometimes I woke up late at night to hear him on the balcony, taking calls. The person on the other end didn’t sound happy. He would listen in silence for a long time, giving low responses. Usually, the next day, he’d apologize, saying he had to attend board meetings and would be gone for a few days. I saw the documents on his desk. Meeting minutes, industry reports, financial statements. Confidentiality level: Unknown. I didn’t dare look closely. I just knew I was probably dragging him down. When he was gone, I practiced speaking to my phone. I started a voice chat livestream. Regardless of whether anyone was listening, I forced myself to talk. Some viewers were scared off. College classmates who bumped into me on campus thought I was having a mental breakdown. For a while, my weird livestream was even discussed on the university forum. I replied to comments one by one, explaining the reason. To my surprise, the internet was kind. People came just to chat with me. But it was so painful. The livestream got more popular. Some encouraged me; others mocked me. Some tricked me into reading inappropriate comments. I still stuttered. After accidentally reading a phonetic pun for a slur, my channel was banned again. I couldn’t take it anymore. Why torture myself like this, and drag Ethan down with me? A lifelong condition isn’t something that can be fixed in a short time. I wanted to give up. But this time, I didn’t have the courage to face Ethan. I left everything behind, taking only the clothes on my back. I broke up with him via text from a hotel room. He flew back from the West Coast that very night. He insisted on seeing me. I opened the door to see a travel-worn Ethan. Eyes bloodshot, standing stiffly. Neither of us spoke. I couldn’t stop the tears. I cried and cried. Finally, I spoke the most fluent sentence of my life. “Ethan, the pressure is too much. I really can’t keep going.” He pursed his lips tight. “You really can’t keep going? Can’t we try again?” I said, “I’m so tired.” He placed a gift bag on the floor, lowering his eyes. “If it’s really that painful… then forget it.” I squatted on the ground, watching him turn his back. “Ethan!” He stopped and looked sideways. Only then did I realize his eyes were red too. I said, “Can we still be friends?” Will we ever see each other again? He laughed lightly. “Yeah. If you need anything, find me.” But I understood. He meant he wouldn’t find me. And indeed, we never contacted each other again. It’s been over three years. If he knew my speech is crystal clear now— I wonder if he’d be happy for me. Alcohol brings up old memories. Illusory emotions rushed to my head, making me forget reality. I was slumped on the table, completely forgetting I was at the group gala. Sitting opposite me was my boss’s boss’s boss. Chase frowned and patted me. “Summer? Summer, wake up… Holy crap, does she have alcohol poisoning? I’m dead. Ethan Sterling is going to chop me up.” I was shaken awake, tilting my face out from my arms. I opened one eye to look at him. “Hmm? Mr. Vanderbilt?” Chase let out a sigh of relief. He handed me a napkin, lifting his chin. “Wipe your face. Crying like that.” “Sorry, drank too much. Got emotional. This wine is strong.” I forced a smile, realizing something. “Hey, Mr. Vanderbilt, weren’t we talking about a raise?” He waved his hand expansively. “Raise. 50%. But tomorrow… no, the day after tomorrow, you have to come with me to… uh, a cross-company exchange meeting.” “Is my rank high enough to attend with you?” “Oh, it’s just a simple dinner.” “Oh. Wait, the day after tomorrow is the start of the holiday break.” “Triple overtime pay. The meeting is full of big-shot connections. I’m taking you because you’re ambitious.” Chase sounded very convincing. I didn’t suspect a thing and made an ‘OK’ sign. He let out a breath, smiling like a triumphant fox. “I’ll have the driver take you home. Rest up. I’ll pick you up the day after tomorrow.” 2. I slept until 2 PM the next day, thanks to the alcohol. I woke up and sat on the edge of the bed thinking for thirty minutes. I couldn’t remember exactly what I said at the gala last night. But I definitely remembered Chase’s mischievous expression at the end. His reputation with women wasn’t great. One day sending a starlet to a magazine cover. The next dining with a debutante. Though I hadn’t heard of him messing with female employees. Still, it gave me goosebumps. Before I could think of an excuse to bail, a corporate message popped up. [Tomorrow’s dinner is a birthday celebration for a buddy of mine. You’d better bring a gift.] [Take this seriously. Maybe if they like you, you can make a few hundred thousand more in commission this year.] [5:30 PM. My secretary, Leo, will pick you up.] Your private party? I shouldn’t go. I drank too much yesterday and ran my mouth, please forgive me, Mr. Vanderbilt. There are people with better sales numbers than me, maybe give the chance to them? I deleted all my refusal drafts. Cowardly, I typed: [Received.] After washing up, I realized I forgot to ask key information. Is this buddy old or young? Does he like western stuff or traditional? What’s his orientation? I knew nothing. I searched “gifts for male leaders” on my phone. The history showed shops I used to buy from. Scarves, belts, briefcases. The prices were low, ranges I wouldn’t choose now. But back then, Ethan was always happy to receive them. I suddenly felt dazed. Ethan’s birthday was coming up soon, too. He was born right around the holidays. Every year, he’d celebrate with me, then rush home to celebrate with his family. He’d return the next day with bags of stuff. Gifts from relatives and the Sterling family’s business partners. Some knew he was dating, so they gifted trendy luxury items suitable for women. He’d pick through them and bring me everything I could use. He’d tease me, refusing to hand them over easily. Making me circle him, anxious and stuttering. Only then would he lift his chin and slowly hand over the suitcase. I’d sit on the floor opening boxes. Ethan would lean against the wall, sipping water, watching me. “Like any of them?” I’d show him my favorite. He’d nod, smiling. “Got it. I’ll discuss more projects with that family next year.” I’d say, “You… you’re abusing your power.” My birthday is in the fall. Exact date? Unclear. With his gifts piled up, it felt like I had a great birthday too. Since breaking up, I hadn’t picked a gift for anyone. Filtering through millions of items to match someone’s temperament, preferences, and status was exhausting. I summoned the courage to message Chase. “Mr. Vanderbilt, what does your friend like? I’ll prepare accordingly.” He said, “Anything is fine.” … Anything it is. I asked a contact to buy a brick of aged tea. I just said I wanted expensive. Gifting tea is never wrong. The shop owner said the tea I wanted was high grade, and the only one in stock was reserved. He had to transfer stock from another store. Luckily, it arrived before the dinner. I picked a semi-formal business casual outfit and left with the gift box.

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The day I asked for a divorce, I slapped the evidence of my husband’s ten-year affair with his business partner on the table. Evan stared at the file, his face a mask of shock. “So you knew? Ten years ago, you already knew about Zoey and me?” “Yes.” A long silence stretched between us. “Then why now?” he finally asked. “Why wait until now to divorce me?” “Because I no longer have to endure it.” Our daughter’s final exams were over. I was done pretending. 1 I ignored the swirling confusion and shock in Evan’s eyes, pushing the divorce agreement across the table toward him. “The company shares in your name, we split them fifty-fifty. Everything else—all other assets—comes to me.” Evan’s eyes scanned the document, his brow lowering with each line. He slammed the papers down. “Impossible!” he roared. “How is that any different from leaving me with nothing? I will not agree to this divorce!” He leaned forward, his voice rising. “And besides, you’ve been a housewife all these years! You haven’t touched the business. I was the one out there, grinding, closing deals, drinking until I was sick to build this company. What right do you have to half the shares?” I didn’t get angry. I simply leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms, my tone as casual as if I were discussing the weather. “Fine. Let’s take it to court.” “But I should remind you,” I continued, “with the evidence I have, I can easily file for an asset freeze. All our marital property will be locked down, including your shares. And while we’re at it, I can also sue Zoey to claw back every penny of our marital funds you spent on her over the years. If I freeze her assets, that will certainly include her shares in the company.” I let that sink in. “The company is about to go public. With the shares of the two largest stakeholders frozen simultaneously… you can forget the IPO. The entire company’s operations will be paralyzed.” Evan’s hand, resting on the table, clenched into a tight fist, the veins bulging on his forearm. He spoke through gritted teeth. “So you planned this. You deliberately chose this exact moment to bring this up.” I held his gaze, my expression unreadable. “Do you remember what yesterday was?” He looked utterly lost, his eyes blank. “Yesterday,” I prompted, “was the last day of Chloe’s final exams.” Watching his eyes widen in dawning horror, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. He’d forgotten. Of course, he had. How many important dates had he forgotten over the years? My birthday. Our anniversary. And now, he had forgotten the single most important milestone in his daughter’s life. I closed my eyes and let out a long, slow breath. When I opened them again, they were clear. “Our daughter has graduated. Divorcing now won’t affect her anymore.” 2 Under Evan’s stunned gaze, I slid the agreement back in front of him. “Fifty-fifty on the shares. You have two options. One, you transfer the equity to me, which will require a shareholder vote. Or two, you buy me out.” He exploded. “Are you insane? You’re taking everything else! Where am I supposed to get the money to buy you out?” I shrugged. “Then give me the shares. Or we go to court. Your choice.” “You—” He was seething, a vein throbbing in his temple. But my face remained a mask of cool indifference. He finally choked out his decision through clenched teeth. “Fine. I’ll buy you out.” It was just as I’d expected. The IPO was everything to him. If we divorced and I took half the shares, his control over the company he’d built would be threatened. After all this work, he would never allow that to happen. He scrawled his name on the signature line, then threw the document at me before storming toward the door. He yanked it open, only to find Chloe standing there. She froze, clearly startled. My heart leaped into my throat. My plan had been to finalize the divorce and then gently break the news to her. I had waited until she was out celebrating with her friends to have this confrontation with Evan. I never thought she’d be home so soon. What should I do? How much had she heard? “Chloe…” I started, stepping toward her. But her eyes, red-rimmed and furious, were fixed on her father. “Is it true, Dad?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “What Mom said? Have you been with another woman for the last ten years?” Evan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He just lowered his head in silence. Chloe’s eyes welled with tears. She bit her lip, turned, and ran. “Chloe!” I started after her, but a hand clamped around my wrist. I spun around to face Evan’s furious glare. “Sienna, did you have to do this? Did you have to get a divorce and hurt our daughter like this?” I stared at him, my own anger flaring. “Let’s be very clear, Evan. You hurt her when you betrayed our marriage. When you betrayed this family!” Ignoring his stunned expression, I wrenched my arm free and ran out the door after my daughter. I searched everywhere, finally finding her in the small park near our neighborhood. She was sitting on a bench, staring blankly into the distance. I sat down beside her. Her voice, when she spoke, was a ragged whisper. “Mom… I’m so sorry.” 3 Tears streamed down Chloe’s face. Panicked, I pulled her into my arms, stroking her back. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetie. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She let out a choked sob. “But you knew! You knew Dad was cheating all this time, and you endured it for ten years… for me.” My hand stilled on her back. A familiar ache spread through my chest. She wasn’t apologizing for a mistake. She was apologizing for my pain. “Oh, honey,” I whispered. “It wasn’t endurance. It was a choice. A calculated decision that adults have to make.” “I made that choice because I wanted you to grow up happy and healthy, in a whole family.” Chloe pulled away, her tear-filled eyes locking on mine. She blinked, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “But a person only has so many decades. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to carry the pain of his betrayal alone for ten years.” Ten years. It was a long time. I sighed softly, my expression softening. I smiled, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and gently wiping the tears from her face. “Who said this family only brought me pain?” I said, playfully pinching her cheek. “You’ve brought me so much joy over the years.” “Besides,” I added, “it’s not too late for me. I’m only in my forties. The best is yet to come.” A small laugh escaped Chloe’s lips. She nodded, her expression firming. Then I remembered something, and my own face grew serious. “But I didn’t ask you. I just went ahead and asked your dad for a divorce. Are you… are you angry with me?” Chloe’s head snapped up. There were still tears clinging to her lashes, but her gaze was resolute. “Mom, we are all independent individuals. You have the right to pursue your own freedom and happiness. You don’t need my permission for that.” “And I will always, always support your decisions. Just like you’ve always supported my dreams.” I stared at her, my own eyes filling with hot tears. In that moment, I knew. My daughter was truly grown up. 4 When Chloe and I got back to the house, Evan was still there. Chloe shot him a cold look, huffed, and walked straight to her room without a word. I turned to him. “Let’s go sign the papers tomorrow.” Then, ignoring the lost look on his face, I went to join Chloe. That night, we lay in her bed and talked for hours, sharing old memories. We laughed until our sides hurt, and we cried together. As the night wore on, we made a decision. It was time for a road trip. The day after the divorce was official, Chloe and I left. Ever since she was a little girl, Chloe had dreamed of building rockets. Aerospace was her passion. She was planning to apply to MIT, so we started our trip there, touring the campus. Then, we drove three thousand miles across the country to a beach town in the south. I was lounging on a beach chair, sipping a cold coconut water and watching Chloe play volleyball with some other tourists, when my phone started buzzing. It was Evan. Again and again. I ignored it. But he was relentless. Finally, I sighed, put down my drink, and answered. “Sienna, where did you put my blue striped tie?” A tie. He was ruining my vacation over a tie. If I wasn’t halfway across the country, I would have slapped him. “You’ve lived in that house for over a decade, and you can’t find your own things,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s clear you never saw it as your home anyway. Why don’t you just hurry up and move out? Move into a home where you can actually find your own ties.” I hung up. Until the divorce was legally finalized, I couldn’t completely block him. I just silenced his calls and muted his messages and tried to forget he existed. When we finally returned home, Evan’s pent-up frustration exploded. “Sienna, you’re finally back!” he yelled. “Look at this place! You just run off without a word, and the house is a disaster! I can’t find anything!” “And my suits! No one’s been ironing them. They’re all wrinkled! How am I supposed to see clients like this? You’re in your forties! Can’t you stop being so selfish and just abandoning your family?” I almost laughed. Had he lost his memory? We were divorced. He wasn’t my problem anymore. I was about to tell him so when Chloe’s door opened. “You have no right to talk to Mom that way!” she shouted. 5 Evan looked as if he’d been struck, utterly dumbfounded that Chloe would yell at him. Her voice, strong and clear, echoed through the large house. “For as long as I can remember, Mom has been the first one up and the last one to bed. She handled every single thing in this house, all by herself. She never even let herself get sick.” “And you? What did you ever do? All you did was show up for meals and expect your clothes to be clean!” “The only reason you’re a ‘big shot boss’ now is because Mom was here, ironing every one of your suits, polishing every pair of your shoes, so you could look brilliant when you went out to impress those clients.” “Don’t think you’re so great just because you make some money. If Mom had a career, she’d probably earn more than you!” Before Evan could even process it, SLAM. Chloe shut her door. His face was beet red with fury. He couldn’t argue with Chloe, so he turned his anger on me. “Sienna, did you teach her to say those things? Is this how you raise a daughter? To disrespect her own father?” I was about to slap him when the door creaked open again. Chloe stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing. “Mom didn’t have to teach me. I have eyes. I have a brain.” “And I can tell you what she did teach me. She taught me to have a sense of responsibility. To have integrity. To have a moral compass.” “And you? What did you teach me? I look at you and all I see is a liar who betrayed his family, a coward with no integrity and no morals!” SLAM. The door shut again. Evan’s face was ashen. He stood there, trembling, as if he’d been physically assaulted. I slowly lowered my hand. To be so thoroughly condemned by your own child… it was a humiliation far worse than any slap I could deliver. He stormed back to his room, slamming the door behind him. When he emerged, he was dragging two large suitcases. Chloe and I were in the kitchen, laughing and talking as we made dumplings. We didn’t even look at him. The front door slammed shut, rattling the windows. Neither of us looked back. When the exam results were released, Chloe’s score was more than high enough for MIT. We hugged, jumping up and down with excitement. I couldn’t stop crying. In that moment, the last ten years of pain and sacrifice felt worth it. After we submitted her application, it was as if a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I never expected that Zoey would come looking for me. And I certainly never expected that she would be coming to convince me not to get the divorce.

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1 The Bright family’s real heiress had a strange quirk: she acted like a baby. She ate from a baby bowl, slept in a cradle, and needed a stroller to go out. She had our prestigious law firm redecorated as a nursery—cafeteria served purees and rice cereal, clients’ coffee swapped for hand-mixed formula. “Grown-ups are yucky,” she’d say. “We need to purify the world with childlike innocence!” Wracked with guilt over losing her as a child, my parents catered to her every whim. Even my fiancé Bruce urged me: “Eloise, you had her life for twenty years. Can’t you be more tolerant?” On the final hearing of the firm’s biggest case, the entire court waited for her to wake from her “baby nap.” The judge fumed. I stepped up to take her place. With a brilliant defense, I saved our client $300 million and earned a partnership. Humiliated, the heiress drank on the rooftop, fell, and died. My parents and Bruce blamed me: “You snatch everything! It was a guaranteed win, yet you stole it!” They tied me to a chair and brought in my case losers. One by one, they took revenge—one knife per verdict. I died in hatred. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day she demanded the case. This time, I walked straight into the opposing firm. You want a “guaranteed win”? I’ll make you lose it all. … “Eloise, sis, pretty please let Baby have the case?” The cloying, saccharine voice grated on my ears. Vivi Bright, dressed in a custom-made pink onesie, was practically hanging off my fiancé, Bruce. She pouted, her childish pigtails whipping against his arm. “Baby wants to try the Hawke Industries case!” Bruce looked at me, his face a mask of weary apology. “Eloise, Vivi’s new to the firm. She needs a confidence boost. You have so many cases on your plate… why not let her take this one for practice?” His gaze was as gentle as ever, but an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. In my past life, it was Bruce who drove the final knife into my heart. “Eloise Bright,” he had hissed, his eyes colder and more alien than I had ever seen them. “You owe Vivi a life!” Seeing my silence now, my father, holding a baby bottle, scowled. “You enjoyed twenty years of her life. Are you really going to fight her over a small, open-and-shut case like this?” Small case? I laughed internally. Hawke Industries was accused of commercial fraud, with three hundred million dollars on the line. The prosecution had a rock-solid chain of evidence. It was an ironclad case. I had pulled fifteen all-nighters, sifting through thousands of pages of documents, to find the one single loophole that could turn it all around. That “guaranteed win” was bought with my blood and sweat. I suppressed the storm raging inside me, my voice frighteningly calm. “Fine. The case is hers.” The tension in the room instantly evaporated. Vivi cheered and planted a loud, wet kiss on Bruce’s cheek. “Yay! Now I can stand in court with my favorite Bruce!” He stiffened, glancing at me in a panic. “Eloise, don’t get the wrong idea. Vivi just has the mindset of a child. She’s like that with everyone she likes. It doesn’t mean anything.” He’d used the same explanation in our last life, even scolding me for projecting my “filthy adult thoughts” onto an innocent baby. But I’d never seen Vivi kiss anyone else. Only Bruce. And always, always, when I was there to see it. I curved my lips into a faint smile. “I understand. Since Vivi is taking the case, I’ll step down. I’ll get all the relevant materials organized for her.” “Wait,” my father called out from behind me. “You’ve been on this case for a long time, and you have the courtroom experience. You’ll be Vivi’s assistant on this one. It will be a glorious moment for the Bright family when you two sisters win this together!” He left the other half of his sentence unsaid: and if you lose, you’ll be the sacrifice we offer to Gideon Hawke to appease his anger. Seeing me lower my head in silent agreement, his expression softened. He walked over and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Eloise. We’ll be fair to both of you. We won’t play favorites.” In my past life, that empty promise had moved me to tears. I had been so desperate for their approval, even knowing they only adopted me because my eyes held a faint resemblance to their lost daughter. The moment Vivi returned, they looked at me with nothing but disgust and contempt, as if I were a cheap counterfeit. Vivi’s sticky voice broke through my reverie. “Bruce, which lawyer’s robe should Baby wear? The pink one with the little lambs, or the blue one with the little stars?” Bruce stroked her head dotingly. “No matter what you wear, our Vivi will be the most dazzling star in the room.” He used to say that to me. After a victory, he would ruffle my hair and whisper, “My Eloise, always so dazzling.” Now that word, along with the people I once considered my family and my love, all belonged to Vivi. I waited downstairs at the firm for a long time before Bruce and Vivi finally appeared. Her outfit today was even more absurd: a dinosaur onesie. She bounced and bobbed her head all the way to the car and expertly climbed into the passenger seat. That’s when I noticed it. Bruce’s Mercedes now had a pink child safety seat installed in the front. The clicks of the five-point harness echoed as he buckled her in. He was practiced, clearly not his first time. He caught my gaze and explained, looking uncomfortable, “Vivi says she gets scared in the car. A safety seat offers better protection…” Vivi waved her fists in protest. “Baby’s not scared! Baby just values her life!” I turned to look out the window, completely indifferent. Mr. Hawke was already waiting for us in the conference room. His eyes, deep as pools of ink, swept past Bruce and me, finally landing on Vivi. His brow twitched almost imperceptibly. Bruce bowed slightly. “Mr. Hawke, this is the lead counsel our firm has assigned to your case, Ms. Vivi Bright.” Hawke’s expression remained unchanged. He extended a hand. Vivi leaped backward. “Strangers are icky! Baby is clean. Baby doesn’t touch strangers!” The air froze. The secretary at the door looked like she had swallowed a fly. Bruce’s face went white. He scrambled to smooth things over. “Mr. Hawke, I apologize. Vivi is… very pure-hearted. She likes to joke around.” Hawke slowly retracted his hand. His face betrayed no emotion, but the atmospheric pressure in the room dropped several degrees. I stood silently to the side, watching. Gideon Hawke. His ruthless reputation was legendary. Rumor had it he’d spent his early years in gray areas, with a past he didn’t talk about. He was not the kind of man who would play house with a “baby.” Feeling Hawke’s hostile gaze, Bruce pressed on. “Vivi is the sole daughter of the Bright family. She may be eccentric, but she’s a legal prodigy. She scored first in the state on the bar exam.” Vivi propped her chin on her hands, blinking exaggeratedly. “Uncle Gideon, Baby looked at your case. It’s super easy! The other side is a bunch of big meanies. Baby will definitely win and make them cry!” Hawke’s brow furrowed. He turned to me. “Eloise Bright. You were handling my case before.” His voice was dark, laced with suppressed fury. “Are you certain this… woman… is competent?” My expression was calm. After a moment of silence, I turned to Vivi and spoke with grave formality. “Vivi, the Hawke case involves a three-hundred-million-dollar settlement. More importantly, it involves the future of the Bright law firm. Are you sure you want to take this on?” Her face changed. The feigned cuteness twisted into a mask of resentment. “What are you trying to say, sis? Do you think Baby is going to lose? Baby is super smart!” She stomped her foot, the tail of her dinosaur onesie wagging behind her. Bruce rushed to placate her while desperately explaining to Hawke, “Mr. Hawke, Eloise has been a bit emotional since Vivi came back. Vivi’s abilities are absolutely not in question!” Gideon Hawke’s gaze shifted between the three of us. Finally, he spoke, his voice flat. “I’m not interested in your family drama. I only care about results. Win this case, and your firm will be at the top of the food chain in this city. Lose it…” He paused, his eyes glinting like polished steel. “And for three hundred million dollars, I don’t mind sending you all a funeral wreath.” We were politely “escorted” out. The moment we were back in the car, Vivi’s lower lip trembled, and tears began to stream down her face. “He was mean to Baby! He scared Baby!” Bruce fumbled to wipe her tears, pulling a lollipop from the pocket of his tailored suit. I opened my car door and stepped out. “Where are you going?” Bruce yelled after me. I stood by the curb, hailing a cab. “I’m going back to organize the case files for Vivi.” “You could at least try to be nicer! Can’t you see Vivi’s crying?” A taxi pulled up in front of me. I smiled. “Calming the baby is your job. My job is to make sure the baby doesn’t die too ugly a death.” The car door slammed shut, cutting off Vivi’s sobs and the sight of Bruce’s furious face. The taxi wasn’t as fast as the Mercedes. By the time I arrived at the firm, Vivi was already buried in our mother’s arms, wailing. “Mommy… everyone was bullying Baby… Uncle Gideon was mean to me, and Eloise was mean to me too…” She let out a hiccup and then spat up a mouthful of milk. My mother’s heart broke for her. She patted Vivi’s back while glaring at me. “Eloise Bright! What did you do now?” Bruce quickly tried to intervene. “Auntie, it’s a misunderstanding. Eloise was just…” I cut him off calmly. “I just told her the case was important and that she should be careful.” SMACK! The slap stung my cheek, leaving a fiery pain. My ears were ringing, but I could still hear my father’s enraged voice. “We raised you for twenty years so you could threaten Vivi like this? You really think you’re something special, don’t you? Without the Bright family, you’d be rotting in a ditch somewhere! Get out! Get out of my sight! As of today, the Bright family has no one like you!” I was thrown out by security. My office supplies were tossed into a box and dumped on the curb, spilling everywhere. I silently began to pick them up. Bruce hurried over, hissing in a low voice, “Eloise, stop this. Just apologize to them. I’ll help you plead your case.” I looked at him. The man I had loved with all my heart. He had said nothing while I was being hit. Now he was telling me to “apologize and admit I was wrong.” My fingers brushed against something cold. It was the family portrait from my desk. After a brief pause, I tossed it into a nearby trash can. An hour later, I was sitting in Ethan Cole’s office, meeting his inquisitive gaze head-on. “The Hawke Industries fraud case. I want to be the counsel for your plaintiff.” He was stunned for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Why?” My voice was ice, devoid of any emotion. “Because Hawke is going to lose, and I don’t want it to affect my win rate.” His brow furrowed slightly. He tapped his fingers on the desk, then suddenly asked, “What happened to your face?” “I was slapped.” “By who?” “Mr. Bright.” He raised an eyebrow. “Your adoptive father?” My face was a blank mask. “My former adoptive father.” Ethan chuckled and shook his head. “That man is really losing his touch…” He sobered, his expression serious. “Are you sure you want this case? It means going head-to-head with the Bright family, with Hawke Industries, and with your… fiancé. There’s no turning back.” I looked out the window. The sky was gray, but my mind was crystal clear. “I never look back.” Ethan smiled and extended his hand. “Welcome to the battlefield.” A week later, when I appeared outside the third courtroom of the district court, my former parents were sitting in the front row. Bruce stood beside them, constantly checking his watch, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The defense counsel’s seat was empty. Vivi hadn’t arrived yet. The judge was already seated, reviewing the case files. The court clerk kept glancing at the door, her expression growing impatient. Seeing me, my adoptive parents both frowned. My father practically lunged at me, hissing through his teeth, “What are you doing here? You’re not a lawyer with my firm anymore. Still can’t let it go?” I looked at his furious expression and answered calmly, “I’m here to observe.” He was about to say more when the judge’s voice cut him off. “Is the defendant’s counsel not present?” It was 2:05 PM. The hearing was already five minutes late. “We will wait another five minutes. If counsel does not arrive, they will be considered to have forfeited their right to defense.” More sweat beaded on Bruce’s forehead. Gideon Hawke’s stare was making him squirm. He stood up, bowed slightly to the judge, and explained cautiously, “Your Honor, Ms. Vivi Bright may be stuck in traffic. We request the court’s understanding…” Before he could finish, the judge interrupted coldly, “Traffic is not an excuse. This court has rules.” The minutes ticked by. Just as the five-minute extension was about to end, Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and addressed the judge. “We request to change our defense counsel!” His eyes shot to the gallery, and he pointed at me. “Ms. Eloise Bright is also an excellent lawyer at our firm. She can take over the defense!” All eyes turned to me. My former parents looked at me, a hint of desperation in their eyes. The judge pushed up his glasses. “Ms. Eloise Bright, are you willing to take over the defense?” I ignored Bruce’s silent plea and spoke slowly. “I cannot.” “I was fired from the firm a week ago.” “Eloise!” Bruce cried out, his voice cracking. “This isn’t the time to throw a tantrum! The firing was just talk. You can come back anytime!” I calmly shook my head. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I simply cannot…” My father stood up, his voice sharp with accusation. “So this was your plan all along! Now you’re just putting on a show!” “Order!” The judge’s gavel came down with a sharp crack. “Maintain order in the court!” Bruce glared at me like a cornered animal, but before he could speak, Vivi’s high-pitched voice echoed from the doorway. “Baby’s here! Baby’s here!” My father shot me a triumphant glare, as if to say, See? We gave you a chance and you blew it. But in the next second, the courtroom fell into a dead silence. A giant baby walker appeared in the doorway. Vivi, dressed in a frilly doll dress and a fluffy sleeping cap, was gripping the handlebar of the walker, taking shaky, toddling steps into the room. The only sound in the silent court was the whirr-click of the wheels. A terrified-looking assistant followed her, carrying a diaper bag overflowing with a baby bottle, diapers, and pacifiers. Everyone was speechless. Even the judge forgot to bang his gavel, his mouth hanging open as the pink walker wobbled its way to the defense table. Vivi took the pacifier out of her mouth, her cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “Baby didn’t even get to finish her nap. Why did we have to start so early?” The judge, who had likely never witnessed such a farce in his entire career, turned to Bruce, his voice trembling slightly. “Are you… certain… this is your defense attorney?” Bruce looked at Vivi, who was now struggling to climb into her chair, and a doting smile touched his lips. “Your Honor, please rest assured. Our lawyer’s professional capabilities are beyond question. As for her personal habits and quirks, I believe those are not the standard by which we should judge a person.” The judge’s mouth twitched. After a long moment, he shook his head in defeat. “Very well. Court is now in session.” The gavel struck. “The plaintiff may now state their claim.” I picked up my files and, under the astonished gaze of everyone in the room, walked to the plaintiff’s table. “Your Honor, members of the court.” My voice was clear and steady. “I am the legal counsel for the plaintiff, Eloise Bright.” CRASH! Bruce’s chair clattered to the floor.

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