Category: English

Five years after I staged my own death, a system notification jolted me back to the life I’d left behind. My daughter, the one I had to leave in that other world, was dying. How is that possible? When I gave birth and faked my death to return home, I made my last wish crystal clear: take care of our daughter. After all, the final request of the woman you loved, your ghost of a memory, is supposed to be sacred. Clive Hawthorne swore he would protect our Cici. But the system’s explanation painted a grim picture. After I “died,” a lookalike named Jessica had wormed her way into his life. Publicly, she showered Cici with affection. Privately, she poisoned their relationship, whispering insidious suggestions in Clive’s ear. She hinted that if Cici’s birth hadn’t caused the amniotic fluid embolism, I would never have died. Cici never looked much like me to begin with. Fueled by Jessica’s venom, Clive’s affection for our daughter soured into indifference, then outright neglect. And now, Cici was on the brink of death. Accused by Jessica of breaking something of mine, she’d been forced to kneel in the freezing snow, her breathing faint and shallow. A bitter, cold laugh escaped my lips. “I knew Clive was unreliable, but I never imagined the idiot was this unreliable.” “System,” I commanded, my voice tight with fury, “send me back. Now.” A replacement, after all, is just a pale imitation. What’s a lookalike compared to the real thing, returned from the grave? … When I materialized, the scene was even worse than I’d imagined. My daughter was a small, fragile heap in the snow, her tiny body nearly swallowed by the drifts. Her face was flushed a dangerous red, and frozen tear tracks glistened like shards of ice on her cheeks. She was still murmuring, delirious. “Daddy… I didn’t… Cici didn’t break Mommy’s things. I didn’t do it.” The sight shattered me. I’ve lived my life without regrets, but my one great failing was my daughter. I thought I had secured her future, left her in the safest hands possible. I never dreamed she would be tormented like this. Eight years ago, a car crash had left me in a coma. My parents, their hair turning white overnight, were devastated. That’s when the system found me. [Successfully win the heart of Clive Hawthorne and bear his child, and you will be granted one wish.] Three years later, my mission was complete. I refused the system’s offer to stay in that world. My wish was to go home, to be with my parents. They were both gravely ill, and I needed to be there for them in their final years. Because I’d completed the mission so well, the system made me a promise: after my parents passed, I would have one chance to return. I had just buried them when the system’s alert came through, telling me my daughter was about to die. “Cici, baby, it’s okay,” I whispered, wiping the tears from my own eyes. I scooped her frigid body into my arms. “Mommy’s back. No one will ever hurt you again.” This wasn’t the time for grief. The priority was getting her to a hospital. Even after five years, the security code for the main gate worked. My fingers still remembered. But I’d barely taken two steps when a shrill voice cut through the air. “You little bitch! Did I say you could get up? You run now and I’ll tell your father. He’ll never want to see you again!” Jessica climbed out of her car, her tirade screeching to a halt the moment she saw my face. Her eyes widened, a flicker of confusion and fear in them. “Who… who are you? Why do you look so much like her?” I glanced up. She truly did look like me, about eighty percent. But her upper lip was too thin, giving her a perpetually cruel, sharp look. “Get out of my way,” I snarled. “You hurt my daughter. I’ll deal with you later.” I tried to move past her, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her eyes scanned my face, burning with a jealous fire. Everything she had, she owed to that resemblance. Before I could answer, her eyes widened again, but this time, the jealousy morphed into triumphant arrogance. “Of course. I should have known. You’re just some cheap knock-off who’s been under the knife! Trying to replace me? Too bad. Clive hates fakes.” I knew she was talking about my nose, the one that had been broken years ago when I took a punch for Clive. It had left a tiny, almost imperceptible imperfection. He used to love kissing that exact spot when we were in bed. Jessica’s confidence returned in a rush. She flicked a perfectly manicured nail, her chin held high. “A fake like you can try to win over this little brat, but it won’t do you any good.” Her eyes narrowed with a flash of pure malice. “Besides, once I have my own baby, this little brat won’t be necessary anymore.” A rage colder and harder than the winter air seized me. Cici’s body was growing hotter in my arms, a sure sign of a raging fever. I suppressed the urge to throttle Jessica right there. Instead, I snatched the car keys from her hand, unlocked the door, and gently placed Cici inside. “Are you insane? You can’t just steal my keys!” This time, I didn’t hold back. I snapped, my hand cracking across her face in a sharp slap. “You…!” “What do you think Clive will do,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “when he finds out you almost killed his daughter?” Jessica froze, like a hen with its neck suddenly wrung. A flicker of genuine fear crossed her face. She tormented Cici in secret and kept Clive at a distance from his daughter, but if the girl actually died, she knew Clive would never forgive her. She still hadn’t fully figured him out, hadn’t completely secured her place. Ignoring her pale, shifting expression, I jumped into the driver’s seat and sped toward the best hospital in the city. “How could you let this happen? As her parents… Malnutrition, delayed bone development, second-degree frostbite…” With every word the doctor spoke, my heart sank deeper, the weight of my guilt growing heavier. “I know,” I whispered, my voice thick. “It’s my fault. I’m a terrible mother.” The doctor sighed, his expression softening slightly. “Look, raising a child is a two-person job. You need to get her father down here. Your daughter has been through hell. She needs both of you.” After he left, I borrowed a phone from the front desk and dialed Clive’s number, my face a mask of cold fury. “Clive Hawthorne, is this how you take care of our daughter?” “Right now, I want you to get your ass down to the hospital and pay the bills.” The familiar sound of my voice made him pause. I heard the sharp intake of breath, the disbelief. “Clara?” I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yes. It’s me. I’m back.” My voice hardened. “Clive, if I hadn’t come back, you would have let our daughter die. What happened to the promise you made me when I was on my deathbed?” Silence. He remembered. I could feel it across the line. He started to explain, his voice shaky. “Clara, listen, I can…” He stopped, then let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. “Scammers are getting more sophisticated every day. You almost had me.” He sighed, a weary, condescending tone creeping into his voice. “I’ll let this go, just because your voice sounds like hers. But if you ever try this again, I’ll make sure you can never speak again.” I was speechless. What an idiot. Because of the system’s rules, I could never tell him the whole truth. But I had tried to prepare him, telling him over and over again not to despair if I died suddenly, that miracles could happen, that we might see each other again. I’d repeated it so often, hoping it would sink in. Clearly, it hadn’t. I didn’t have time to argue or prove myself. Cici needed me. I cut him off. “If you ever want to see Clara Vance again, get to City General Hospital.” Then I hung up. I knew he would come. Whether he believed me or not, the mention of my full name would be enough to make him show up. I rushed back to the room. As I pushed the door open, I saw Jessica yanking Cici by the hair, trying to drag her out of the hospital bed. “Stop it! What are you doing? Can’t you see she’s on an IV drip?” Jessica shot me a contemptuous look. “I’m taking her home, obviously. I can’t have people seeing her in a hospital. They’ll think I’m not taking good care of her. She’s not going to die, anyway.” Blood was backing up in Cici’s IV line. Her face was chalk-white, but she didn’t fight back. She was completely limp, resigned. My heart twisted in agony. I was terrified to fight back physically, scared of hurting Cici more in the struggle. The rage built inside me, hot and suffocating. Seeing my hesitation, Jessica sneered. “Don’t tell me you actually care about this little wretch. She’s just a brat putting on a show. She doesn’t deserve a private room this expensive. A little hot water at home and she’ll be fine.” She continued, her voice dripping with venomous pride. “She once told me she was allergic to shellfish. Please. Just a picky eater. I cured her of that nonsense by sneaking powdered shrimp into her soup. The little bitch even tried to tattle to Clive. But who was he going to believe? That woman wasn’t allergic to shellfish, so Cici had no proof. All she did was make herself look like a liar.” The stories kept coming, a cascade of casual cruelty. When Cici refused to call her ‘Mommy,’ Jessica would secretly jab her fingertips with a needle. When Cici wouldn’t tell her Clive’s personal preferences, she would find excuses to keep him away, then tell Cici it was her fault, that Daddy didn’t want to see her because she was being disobedient. “I was flawless,” Jessica boasted, her confidence soaring. “Even if Clive came back right now and this little brat tried to complain, he’d just think she was lying again. See? Look at her now. She knows better than to cross me.” She was so caught up in her monologue, so proud of how she’d broken my daughter, that she didn’t see me move. I waited for the perfect moment, then lunged, grabbing her outstretched hand and bending her fingers back with a vicious twist. “Aaargh!” As Jessica shrieked in pain, I swept Cici into my arms, sinking to the floor and cradling her close. “Cici, are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I asked frantically, my voice trembling. For a moment, she remained limp and unresponsive. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her vacant eyes focused on my face, and a tiny spark of light returned to them. “Mom… Mommy…” “Yes, baby, it’s Mommy,” I choked out, my heart aching with a mix of relief and sorrow. “I’m back. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” I hugged her tightly. Her little head rested against my chest, and she didn’t say another word. But soon, I felt a spreading dampness on my shirt. She was crying. Silently weeping out all the fear and pain. The realization was a knife in my gut. “It’s okay, Cici. You can cry. Let it all out. Mommy’s here to protect you now.” Our moment was shattered by Jessica’s shrill voice. “You bitch! You think a new face makes you her mother? How dare you touch me! I’m going to be Mrs. Hawthorne, the mistress of Hawthorne Corp! You’ll pay for this! I’ll destroy you!” She blocked the doorway and pulled out her phone, dialing furiously. A jolt of fear went through me. I’d acted on impulse. The world thought Clara Vance was dead. To everyone else, Jessica was the one poised to take my place. She would have people, thugs on her payroll. But I didn’t regret it. I couldn’t stand by and watch my daughter suffer for one more second. I did a quick calculation. Clive should be here soon. I pushed the hospital bed into the far corner of the room, away from the door, and spoke to Cici in a soft, soothing voice. “Cici, no matter what happens next, I want you to close your eyes and rest, okay? Don’t look. When Mommy comes to get you, we’re going home.” Cici stared at me, her eyes wide. Then, fresh tears streamed down her face. “Mommy, don’t go. Don’t go.” Her plea squeezed my heart until it felt like a crumpled piece of paper. “I won’t leave, baby. Mommy’s going to stay with you forever.” Just as I managed to calm her down, the men Jessica had called arrived. “There she is,” Jessica hissed, her face contorted with hate. “Now you’ll learn what happens when you cross me.” My stomach clenched. I grabbed the metal IV stand next to the bed, gripping it like a weapon. “You see her?” Jessica spat at the men. “She loves that little brat so much, right? So why don’t you help her get pregnant? Let her have babies until she dies from it!” Five burly men filled the doorway, making the spacious room feel cramped and suffocating. My eyes locked onto the leader, and a spark of hope ignited within me. I knew him. He used to work for me. “Leo, it’s me, Clara Vance,” I said, my voice steady. “Don’t ask how I’m back. Just know that if you touch me, you know what the consequences will be.” He hesitated. I saw the doubt in his eyes. “Leo, are you serious?” Jessica scoffed. “You’re not falling for that plastic face, are you? Use that thick skull of yours for a second. Clara Vance is dead. Dead people don’t come back. Think about your mother in the hospital. You do this for me, and I’ll give you more than enough money to take care of her.” Leo’s hand tightened around the stun baton he was holding. I knew it was useless to say anything more. I was just thankful for one thing. Back when the Hawthorne family was a major target, Clive was constantly at risk of being kidnapped. To protect him, I’d learned self-defense. It should be enough to hold them off until he arrived. I overestimated myself. Leo had been my bodyguard for a reason. In less than five minutes, my arms were pinned behind my back and I was forced to my knees. Jessica crouched in front of me, grabbing my chin. She slapped me hard across the face. “Still so tough, you bitch? Still so proud?” she sneered. “You paid for a new face and thought you could be Clara Vance? I’m going to destroy that face today. I’ll make sure you never have a chance to replace me again!” She took the stun baton from Leo, switched it on, and aimed it at my cheek. I tried to stall, mentally counting the seconds until Clive should arrive. But it was no use. Jessica advanced, the electric hum of the baton growing louder. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain. I can’t scream, I told myself. I can’t let Cici hear me scream. The baton came down. “No!” My eyes flew open. A tiny body had thrown itself in front of me, and now it was crumpling to the floor.

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The Sterling family was going bankrupt, and Declan Sterling was reduced to working as a host at a luxury club. I immediately drove straight to Cloud 9, threw down my black card, and announced with glee: “One dance, ten grand.” “Shirtless, fifty grand.” “In a place like this, you know what kind of dance I mean, right?” That jerk. He always stole my business deals. Now I was going to humiliate him until he begged for mercy. Declan looked at me, his hand slowly reaching for the top button of his shirt. Two minutes later, he stopped and handed me a tissue. Me: “?” Declan: “Wipe your nose. You’re bleeding.” 1 What the…? I swiped a finger under my nose and saw a smear of bright red. Me: … I must have eaten too much spicy food today. This was humiliating. Declan probably thought I was bleeding because I saw him strip. I snatched the tissue from his hand, plugged my nose, and crossed my legs like I owned the place. “Keep going. The song isn’t over. Don’t stop.” I lifted my chin, trying to look unimpressed. Declan glanced at me with zero emotion, then stepped back into the open space. The strobe lights swept across his bare chest, highlighting muscles that were lean and dangerously defined. This whole situation was absurd. Declan Sterling, the ruthless heir who used to crush me in boardrooms, was now dancing shirtless for my amusement. I expected him to look ashamed. Instead, his eyes were focused, his expression solemn. He was dancing a seductive routine with the seriousness of a military drill. I gritted my teeth. Damn it. We’re both men. Why does he have an eight-pack? I felt like I was paying to make myself feel insecure. When the song ended, Declan stopped. “Seen enough?” “Huh?” I dragged my eyes away from his abs. “Oh, I was just—” “If it’s not enough, I can do another song. You can pay again.” Declan stood there with his perfect face, negotiating a lap dance like it was a merger acquisition. Me: … Is this the famous Sterling work ethic? He’s the most professional male stripper I’ve ever seen. Seeing my silence, Declan continued. “You can try watching one more. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay. From your perspective, it’s a zero-risk investment.” … I was silent for thirty seconds, then slapped my card on the table. “Fine. One more. If I’m happy, I’ll buy a bottle of your most expensive champagne. For your commission.” 2 Walking out of Cloud 9, I felt like I was floating. Declan had just given a masterclass on how to use sex appeal to extract $60,000 from a man’s wallet. I, who had never set foot in a host club, was now their Supreme VIP. The manager added me on WeChat, bowing like a bobblehead. My opinion of Declan had shifted. I used to think his success was just nepotism. But today, he made me spend a fortune and became the club’s top earner on his first night. I have to respect the hustle. I couldn’t learn six dance routines on my first day as a stripper. His skills were unmatched. My phone buzzed. It was the group chat: [Declan’s Victims Support Group]. Rich Girl Ruby: [@Alex, update! Did you go? Did you book Declan? Spill the tea!] Sean: [I still think it’s fake news. Declan is too proud. Even if he’s broke, he wouldn’t become a host.] I typed. Alex: [It’s true.] Ruby: [!!! Omg hahahaha karma is real! That’s what he gets for stealing my clients!] Sean: [Wait, he’s actually for sale?] Ruby: [@Alex tell us everything! Did you humiliate him? Was it fun?] I thought back to the nosebleed. It was exciting, sure. I still had tissues up my nose. Alex: […How do I put this? It was great. His abs are nice.] The chat exploded with question marks. Ruby: [Define ‘nice’. Be specific.] Ugh. Describing it would get me banned. Alex: [Can’t describe it. Go see for yourself.] Ruby: [Fine! I’m going tomorrow!] Sean: [Good luck, soldier.] I locked my phone and started my car. Declan should thank me. I just referred him a high-value client. 3 Without the Sterling family undercutting me, business was booming. Mr. Lee, a client I’d been chasing for months, finally reached out. I booked a dinner with him immediately to seal the deal. At 8 PM, I pulled into the restaurant parking lot. My phone started vibrating like it was possessed. Ruby: [What the hell! Why is Declan so arrogant even as a stripper?!] Sean: [Did he roast you?] Ruby: [No! I didn’t even see him! The manager said Declan is the ‘Top Host’ now. He has the right to refuse clients. He said he wasn’t in the mood!] Ruby: [I’ve spent millions at that club! I’m a VVVVIP! I said I’d pay double, and the manager just said ‘Declan says no’.] Ruby: [Is this legal?! I cancelled a date for this! I’m getting wrinkles from the stress!] Sean: […That sounds insane, but also very Declan.] While Ruby ranted, a message popped up from the manager of Cloud 9. Manager Chen: [Mr. Alex, hello! Will you be visiting tonight? We had Declan learn some new moves. Very spicy. Guaranteed satisfaction~] Me: … This was not the experience Ruby described. Mr. Lee was waiting, so I replied quickly. Alex: [Not tonight. Business dinner. Next time.] Manager Chen: [Will you be drinking at this dinner?] …Why does he care? Weird. But I was polite. Alex: [Yes.] I put the phone away. 4 The dinner went perfectly. Mr. Lee signed the contract. I celebrated with a few too many glasses of wine. After seeing Mr. Lee off, I opened my phone to call a designated driver. Suddenly, a blue electric scooter drifted around the corner, braked hard, and stopped right in front of me. A long leg extended to the ground. “Hello. Do you need a driver?” That voice… The rider lifted his blue helmet visor. Underneath was a face so handsome it made me angry. Silence. “You… are a designated driver?” The income gap between a host and a driver is massive. Declan’s expression was stable. “It’s my night off. This is my side gig.” “…But an hour ago, Manager Chen said you learned new dances for me.” “Oh. I applied for leave thirty minutes ago.” Me: … Declan Sterling driving a scooter for Uber Eats money. It felt like a fever dream. He took off his helmet, shaking his hair out like he was in a shampoo commercial. “It’s hard to get a driver for a car like yours. One scratch costs more than their annual salary.” “But I’m a good driver. I used to own cars like this. I won’t be afraid to drive it. Alex, you should consider me.” He made a compelling point. I’d been rejected by five drivers before because of my car. I handed him the keys. “You’re hired.”

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I’m a human picked up by a fox-kin. The fox-kin, having just finalized the adoption papers, frowned and grabbed me by the collar, intent on giving me a bath. I struggled for my life. Frustrated, he posted a help thread online: “The little human I adopted is extremely resistant to bathing. What should I do?” Another kin replied: “These humans are perverts. If you take off your clothes and get in the tub, they’ll be willing to wash.” The fox-kin pondered for a moment, then chose to strip completely. 1 The kin who adopted me is a melancholy fox. According to him, “I was actually planning to kill myself that day, but then I met you.” “You were covered in blood, holding some suspicious lump in your hand, looking lost and contemplating taking a bite out of it.” “I really couldn’t stand it.” “You were too dirty.” “I thought, before I die, I might as well throw that thing away and wash you clean.” “At least make you less of an eyesore.” So, I was taken home by a fox. Thinking back to that day, it feels absurd. Who would have thought this fox, who looks so dignified and aloof, actually has a penchant for self-harm in private? The clean, sharp cuts on his wrists have healed into jagged scars. Seeing me stare at his wrist, he silently pulled his sleeve down. “Don’t look, it’s ugly.” “Once I clean you up and find a suitable owner, I’ll send you away.” Without hesitation, I nodded. The fox seemed a bit unhappy, staring at me wordlessly. I was brutally honest, pointing at his scars. “You don’t value your own life, so I don’t expect you to value mine.” “If I stay with you, I might end up suffering a lot.” The fox got angry. With a cold face, he chopped vegetables so loudly the house shook for a good while, then brought out a meal that looked, smelled, and tasted perfectly human. I knew better than to provoke him, so I ate quietly. Sitting across from me, the fox was so mad the tips of his ears were trembling. “You ate my food.” I didn’t even look up. “You picked me up. You’re responsible.” I don’t understand why he’s so emotionally unstable. The first day I was picked up by the fox, I curled up on the sofa and slept soundly. But in the middle of the night, the fox, sporting dark circles under his eyes, shook me awake. “Did you drug me? Why can’t I sleep?” Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was my pitiful form curled up on the sofa. I was confused. “What does your insomnia have to do with me?” The fox stared straight at me for a while. Suddenly, he opened his arms and hugged me, burying his face in my neck and inhaling deeply. He even took the opportunity to carry me to the bed in his room. I struggled. “Are you a pervert?!” “You said at dinner I wasn’t allowed in your private space, what are you doing now?!” The fox covered my mouth, silencing me. “I changed my mind.” Then he rested his chin on my shoulder and closed his eyes. A moment later, the soft sound of steady breathing came from behind me. I lay there numbly, letting him hold me, staring at the ceiling. “I give up…” Foxes. Zero trustworthiness. 2 I transmigrated into this beast world a week ago. At the time, I knew nothing, staring blankly up at the cyberpunk-style buildings. I was even clutching a freshly made burrito in my hand. After hesitating for two seconds, I decisively walked to a nearby green belt, planning to finish my breakfast before pondering the serious question of where I was. Because in my hazy memory of crossing the street at a green light, I seemed to have been hit by something. But just as I sat down, my waist tightened. “Don’t eat that. Dirty.” The next second, a cool, calm voice spoke, and a furry head leaned in close to my neck. “A… wild human?” “Mm, smells like a little human.” He sniffed, then casually tossed my burrito into a nearby trash can. Instinctively, I raised my hand and slapped him so hard his head turned. “Are you sick?!” I struggled against the restraint around my waist, looked down, and saw a fluffy white tail. The man with ears popping out of his head narrowed his eyes, touching his face as if savoring the feeling. Then. He tilted his head and offered me the other cheek. I froze, reaching out to touch those twitching ears. Warm, moving, and translucent enough in the light to show the pink of blood flow. I paused, my gaze falling on my blood-stained hands. A flash of memory hit my brain—me getting hit by a car while crossing the street. Then my eyes rolled back, and I fainted. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard the man scream in panic: “Human, don’t die—” Damn it, I must have gone crazy from working too much. I actually saw the shadow of a fox in a person. This is too weird. The fox-kin carried me to the hospital for a checkup. Originally, the fox warned me that once he cleaned the blood off me, he’d find me an owner and send me away. I saw the scars on his wrist and calmly nodded in agreement. But after one night. The fox processed the human adoption papers. 3 And so, I was adopted by the fox-kin, becoming a member of his household. After thinking about it all night, the fox decided not to die for now. He brought me home, acting all cool and indifferent along the way. “Do you have a name? Shall I give you one?” “Do you prefer ‘Good Human’ or ‘Baby Human’?” How is this any different from a human seeing a kitten on the street and cooing “Kitty kitty”? I put on a cold face and slapped away his hand. “Neither. I have my own name.” “My name is Sarah.” The fox-kin didn’t mind my rudeness; instead, he nodded good-naturedly. “I’m Asher. I’m a fox-kin. You’re my little human now, understand?” I stopped walking and emphasized, “I’m not a pet you’re raising. I’m a person.” The fox-kin tilted his head and smiled at me. “You look really cute when you’re serious. I want to kiss you.” Since sleeping while holding the human and smelling her scent last night, he figured it out. If he ignored me, there was a high probability this little human would die, so he had to live. Suddenly, I felt a warm touch on my cheek. Simultaneously, my raised hand came down. The fox-kin covered his face, muttering as he opened the door for me, “That still hurts a bit.” My expression was serious as I reiterated, “I told you, keep your hands off me!” “I really will hit you.” The fox-kin lowered his eyes, looking at me with pity and affection. “But I’m not a human, I’m a kin. Those are different concepts.” “Did I pick up a mentally challenged little human?” “But it doesn’t matter, I can raise her. The little human just needs to be healthy and happy.” Me: “…” 4 The fox who adopted me said that in my original life, I was already dead. I looked at him with disbelief. But then, a flash in my brain showed me clutching a burrito and flying through the air after being hit by a car. I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue. I seem to really be a little bit dead… He explained: “This is the Beast World. Every human who dies by accident randomly appears here, and kin take the opportunity to pick up these intermittently dropping humans to raise.” “Humans who arrive here need to be registered for unified socialization training later to prevent stress.” “Mm… picking up a human is kind of like seeing a dirty, pitiful kitten on the road and wanting to adopt it.” “But it’s also different because here, kin and humans can be together.” “And humans who come here have a unique soothing ability that can prevent kin from going feral.” “Although it’s my first time raising a human, I’ve done a lot of research online.” I closed my eyes, terrified to imagine being raised by a fox-kin. Asher picked me up like a child and walked toward the bathroom. His tone was gentle and doting: “Alright, time for your bath.” My eyes widened in horror, and I struggled desperately, grabbing the door handle. “I can do it myself! I don’t need you to wash me!” Asher coaxed me patiently, prying my fingers off one by one. “Be good, little human, don’t squirm or you’ll fall.” “You just got here, you don’t know how to use things yet. Let me wash you.” I screamed: “Humans are autonomous! I can wash myself! I really don’t need your help—” I kicked and punched in his arms, struggling so hard I wished I could slither away into the shadows. I was harder to pin down than a pig at New Year’s.

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After another cold war with my doctor boyfriend over whether to buy a traditional gold wedding set, I found myself scrolling through a late-night relationship forum. The title of one post was explosive: [I’m an escort, and I fell in love with the doctor who treated my private tearing.] It detailed the entire story of how they met. The post mentioned that the doctor, to stop her from continuing her work, had used his own money to buy her gold jewelry, enough to support her for a year. The comment section was on fire: [I’m a simple person. I live for this kind of ‘knight in shining armor’ story!] [Oh my god, this is like a real-life redemption novel. You two have to have a happy ending!] [FYI, gold jewelry is considered the woman’s personal property and is a hard asset that can be liquidated anytime. The amount of love and consideration that must have gone into that decision is insane.] Then, the original poster updated her story: [He’s the first person who has ever been so good to me. But he keeps rejecting me because he has a fiancée he’s about to marry.] [I’ve thrown myself at him so many times, and tonight, he finally accepted me. I know it’s wrong, but I love him so much.] Through my screen, I watched the commenters turn on a dime, branding her a home-wrecker. In the midst of the chaos, the poster uploaded a picture of the man’s profile as he slept beside her. 1 The lighting was dim, the angle taken from the intimacy of a shared pillow. I knew that face all too well. It was Tim. My boyfriend of seven years. The man I was about to marry, the man I was currently in a cold war with over a set of gold jewelry. Three days ago, we had fought while planning our wedding. My parents weren’t asking for a lavish wedding gift, but they insisted on the tradition of the groom gifting a “wedding set”—a collection of gold jewelry—as a sign of respect and a blessing for their daughter. Tim argued that buying gold when the prices were so high was a complete waste of money. He thought it would be better to put that money toward our mortgage. “Audrey, we’re both highly educated people. Why are you so hung up on these outdated customs?” he’d said, his brow furrowed with the same weary patience he used on unreasonable patients. His expression stung me. I tried to explain. “What custom? My parents aren’t even asking for anything else. They just hope I…” “Hope you what? Can show off to everyone how well you married with pounds of gold hanging off your neck?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you think me not buying some gold means I don’t value you, then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all.” The argument ended with him slamming the door on his way out. He went to the hospital, claiming there was an emergency surgery. But I knew it was mostly to avoid me. This was the longest cold war we’d ever had in our seven years together. For three whole days, he had sent only two texts. The first said, “On call for the next few days.” The second, “Remember to lock the door.” And now, at three in the morning, he was in some escort’s confessional post, playing the role of the romantic hero. The post was going viral, and the comments section was a war zone. Some called the poster a homewrecker, others still romanticized the “rescue” narrative, and a few were meticulously picking apart the timeline. I scrolled through them like a form of self-torture, my fingertips turning to ice. Six months ago, the poster had been injured during a particularly rough encounter with a client and was taken to the hospital, where she met Tim. [He was the ER doctor on call that night. My private area was torn, and he was so gentle when he applied the medicine. He even asked if it hurt.] [When I went back for a follow-up, he told me the wound wasn’t healing well and that I needed to be more careful. No one had ever cared about me like that before.] [I deliberately left him my number, saying I was worried about complications. He actually added me.] [I know he has a girlfriend. He said they were getting married soon. But I couldn’t control myself. He was the first person to ever be kind to me.] [I asked him out to dinner to thank him. He refused at first, saying it wasn’t appropriate. But I insisted, and he finally came.] [We had a few drinks, and I cried on his shoulder, telling him about my life, why I was in this line of work. He held me.] [Later, when I went back to the club, he got angry. I told him I had no other way to make a living. That’s when he bought me a whole set of gold jewelry.] [He said it was all his savings and that I should use it to get by for a year while he helped me find a new job and a place to live.] [I cried in his arms, and this time, he didn’t mention his girlfriend… we got together.] The latest update had been posted just moments ago: [He’s sleeping next to me now. His breathing is so soft.] [His girlfriend must be an amazing woman, but I don’t care. Love doesn’t follow a schedule.] The accompanying photo was his sleeping profile. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved, but nothing came up. Seven years. From classmates in medical school to colleagues at the same hospital. From renting to buying a home, from our youth to the cusp of our thirties. Everyone said we were the model couple, a perfect match. Even I had believed it. I thought we were just navigating a rough patch, that everything would smooth over once we were married. But the cracks had formed six months ago. And I was still foolishly fighting with him over a wedding set, thinking that was our biggest problem. 2 My mind reeled backward in time. Six months ago, the ER at our hospital did handle a peculiar case. I remember Tim coming home late that night, looking exhausted. When I asked him what was wrong, he just said he’d dealt with a difficult patient and didn’t elaborate. “What kind of patient?” I had asked casually. “A young woman with an injury to her private area. Said she was a hostess from one of those clubs,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Took a long time to handle.” “Was it serious?” “Quite serious. Looked like she was… assaulted.” He hesitated. “But it’s been taken care of.” At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. I even comforted him. “That’s just how the ER is. You see everything.” He hummed in agreement and pulled me into his arms. “Audrey, I’m so glad you’re a normal person.” I had laughed then. “What’s that supposed to mean? Did you want me to end up in your ER?” He was silent for a long moment before whispering, “I just want you to be safe. Always.” He held me so tightly that night, as if he were afraid of losing something. I thought it was just a doctor’s natural reaction to a patient’s suffering, and I ended up comforting him. How ironic. I curled up on the living room sofa, staring at the photos on the wall. One was from our trip to the Grand Canyon last year. He had his arm around my shoulder, his smile bright and genuine. We had bought this condo together two years ago, splitting the down payment, both our names on the deed. We argued over the design style, bickered over which brand of appliances to buy, and without fail, I was always the one to compromise first. I thought that was what a marriage was supposed to be. Compromise, adjustment, and moving forward together. I was wrong. As dawn approached, I made my decision. Screenshots. Saved. Backed up to three different cloud drives. Then, I called Tim. It rang seven or eight times. Just as I thought he wouldn’t pick up, the call connected. The background was silent, not at all like the bustling on-call room at the hospital. “Audrey? Why are you calling at this hour? Is something wrong?” “Tim,” I asked, my voice flat. “Where are you?” “Where else would I be? The on-call room. Just got a few minutes of sleep after dealing with a critical patient.” He yawned, his performance seamless. “Why are you still awake? Did you come to your senses? I told you, that whole thing with the gold set…” “I want to see you,” I cut him off. “What?” “Turn on your video. I want to see you,” I repeated. Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Audrey, don’t be ridiculous. There are other people in here, it’s not appropriate. Whatever it is, can we talk about it tomorrow? Please?” His voice softened, but there was an undercurrent of impatience I could now clearly detect. I used to think it was gentleness; now I recognized it as manipulation. “Turn on the video, Tim. Right now,” I insisted. “I told you, I’m on call! Audrey, can you please be a little more considerate and respect my work?” His voice suddenly sharpened, laced with the anger of someone who has been challenged. I don’t know when it started, but anytime I didn’t go along with him, I was immediately labeled “inconsiderate” and “unreasonable.” “Tim,” I heard my own voice tremble, “I’m leaving for the hospital now. I’ll be there in half an hour. Be there.” “Audrey! What the hell has gotten into you? It’s five-thirty in the morning…” I hung up the phone. 3 I didn’t go to the hospital. After hanging up, I sat motionless on the sofa until the morning light filled the room. My phone screen lit up and dimmed repeatedly. Tim called three times; I didn’t answer. Finally, two texts came through: [Audrey, I’m sorry. My tone was bad earlier.] [But I really don’t want you driving at this hour. I have the afternoon off today. Can we please talk then?] I stared at the message for a long time, then waited until precisely thirty minutes had passed before replying with a single word: “Fine.” I needed time to think, and more importantly, I needed proof. Without concrete evidence, he had a hundred ways to shift the blame, maybe even paint me as paranoid and overly sensitive. I cross-referenced Tim’s work schedule with his attendance records for the past six months. Then I went to the jewelry store mentioned in the post. After I had everything, I intended to go home and wait for him. I never expected to be stopped at the entrance of our building by a scantily clad woman. She looked to be in her early twenties, with heavy makeup and a tight-fitting slip dress. “You’re Audrey, right?” she asked, her voice deliberately soft and breathy. I stopped. “And you are?” “My name is Vivian,” she said with a timid smile. “I’m… an admirer of Dr. Tim.” My heart sank. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, a blatant, calculating comparison in her gaze. “Dr. Tim talks about you a lot. He says you’re brilliant, the rising star of neurosurgery.” “And?” I asked, my face impassive. Suddenly, her eyes reddened. Before I could react, she dropped to her knees in front of me with a soft thud. “Please, I’m begging you, let me and Dr. Tim be together!” It was the time of day when people were getting home from work. Passersby started to stare. “What are you doing? Get up!” I took a step back, the absurdity of the situation overwhelming me. But Vivian only knelt lower, pressing her palms together in a pleading gesture as tears streamed down her face. “I know I’m not worthy,” she sobbed. “I do that kind of work. I’m tainted. But Dr. Tim is the first person who didn’t look down on me. He genuinely wants to save me.” “He said you’re too ambitious, that you always have to have the best of everything. Even for your wedding, you insisted on buying the gold set when prices are at their peak, without any consideration for him.” “He said being with you is so much pressure. You’re always so calm and rational, never a vulnerable woman who needs him.” “You’re so successful, Audrey. You’ll be fine without him. But I can’t live without him. Please, I’m begging you, give him to me…” Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, striking me where it hurt most. So, in his eyes, my wanting the wedding set was inconsiderate. My independence and strength were a failure to be a “vulnerable woman.” All my compromises and sacrifices in our relationship had become nothing but “pressure” for him. I stood there, watching Vivian’s performance, a chilling cold seeping into my bones. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered, whispering and pointing. “Is that the other woman, trying to force the fiancée out?” “She looks so young, why would she do something like this…” “Well, she’s on her knees. Must be desperate.” Just then, a familiar car screeched to a halt in front of us. Tim burst out of the driver’s side, his face a thunderous mask. His eyes first landed on Vivian, kneeling on the ground, a portrait of tear-streaked misery. Only then did he look at me. “Audrey! What are you doing?!” he roared, lunging forward to pull Vivian to her feet. Vivian collapsed into his arms, her sobs growing louder. “Dr. Tim, don’t blame her. It was my idea to kneel. I just wanted to beg her to let us be together…” Tim held her protectively, his gaze shifting back to me, filled with disappointment and fury. “Audrey, I never thought you were this kind of person! Vivian isn’t well, she’s emotionally unstable. What do you get out of tormenting her?!”

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1 I was just chilling at Eclipse, the karaoke lounge my dad owns, when a classmate of mine, Tiffany, spotted me and insisted I sing a duet with her. I tried to get out of it, but she was relentless, so I ended up singing half a chorus. The next day, I got a text from her. [Hey babe, you need to chip in for last night.] [I won’t even ask for half. Just Venmo me $500, and we’ll call it even.] My head spun. I had specifically told the front desk to give her a discount on her bill. After the discount, her total was only $40. Where did she get the nerve to ask me for $500? I figured she must have texted the wrong person, so I just ignored it. A second later, my phone rang. It was her. “Maya Sterling! Are you serious?” she shrieked. “You’re trying to skip out on a $500 tab?” “If you’re that broke, maybe you shouldn’t be mooching off people at karaoke bars!” “If you don’t pay me by the end of the day, I’m posting your freeloading, shameless face all over the campus gossip page!” I had to laugh. Go ahead. I couldn’t wait to see who would be the one humiliated in the end. … I didn’t bother arguing with Tiffany; I just hung up. The moment the screen went dark, I knew she was going to pull something. Sure enough, half an hour later, the campus page exploded. Tiffany had posted our entire chat history, along with a long, passive-aggressive rant: [Some people see me with food or drinks and just have to get a piece of it, and I usually let it slide!] [But this time, she crashed the luxury suite I booked and hogged the mic all night long!] [Her singing was so bad I should have charged her for emotional damages, but now she won’t even split the bill.] The final image was a photo of me getting into my dad’s car. She had added a special caption: [Wow, that old guy looks pretty loaded. You’d think he’d be willing to spend a little more on his sugar baby, right?] [Guess not, if she can’t even afford to chip in $500.] She had carefully cropped her own profile picture out of the screenshots, but mine was on full display for everyone to see. The next moment, someone shoved me from behind, followed by a chorus of jeers. “Hey, isn’t that you on the gossip page?” “Maya, you always seemed so quiet. I can’t believe you’d pull something like this.” “So, she’s a sugar baby? No wonder she’s always acting so high and mighty.” “Business must have been slow that night if you had to crash a client’s private room.” “Pay up, you cheap deadbeat!” Whispers spread through the classroom like a disease. I put down my book and rubbed my temples. “I’ve already screenshotted the posts for my records. Tell Tiffany to expect a letter from my lawyer.” This was too petty to waste my breath on a long-winded defense. Just as I said that, Tiffany pushed her way through the crowd. She snorted, pulling out her phone and swiping aggressively. “A lawyer? Who are you trying to scare?” “Go ahead and take your screenshots. I’ve got video.” “What’s the matter? Need that $500 for food? If you can’t afford it, don’t mooch.” Suddenly, several notifications popped up in the class group chat. Someone behind me opened one. It was a video of me singing. She’d filmed me from the most unflattering angle possible and distorted the audio to make me sound like a screeching banshee. Her roommates, Jessica and Emily, stepped out from behind her, their faces masks of righteous indignation. “There’s no use denying it, Maya. We were there too.” “The three of us couldn’t get a single song in. You hogged the mic the entire time.” They both let out a little snicker. “You guys have no idea. Her breath was so bad, the microphone smelled after she used it. Who would want to sing after that?” “We were all supposed to go pay the bill together at the end, but she just ditched us and jumped into some old man’s car.” “Yeah, she’s all friendly when she wants to use you, but when it’s time to pay up, she plays dead. So pathetic.” They were there? But I distinctly remembered being in the room with Tiffany and Tiffany alone. They ignored my questioning look and kept piling on, one after the other. The way my classmates were looking at me turned from curiosity to contempt. “There’s photos and video. If she still denies it, she’s got some serious nerve.” “LOL, no wonder I smelled something weird when I walked in. It’s her breath!” “If she can handle old guys, I guess bad breath is nothing. Ugh, just thinking about it makes me sick.” I was so angry I could only laugh. This had gone way beyond simple slander. I looked up at Tiffany’s smug face, my voice turning to ice. “The total for your room was $40. You dragged me in to sing half a song with you, and now you want me to pay you $500?” “Tiffany, why don’t you just ask me to wire you the money directly?” The smile froze on her face. She clearly hadn’t expected me to know the exact amount of her bill. But she recovered quickly, her voice rising an octave. “What $40? It was $2,000!” “That’s the most luxurious suite in the entire place! I had to book it weeks in advance! I’m already giving you a huge discount asking for only $500!” Jessica and Emily nodded furiously. “Exactly! If Tiffany wasn’t so nice, you never would have even stepped foot in a VIP suite like that!” “She’s being more than fair with you. Anyone else would have lost it by now.” I clapped my hands slowly. “Is that so? Then please, Miss High-and-Mighty, show me the receipt. Let’s see if it was $40 or $2,000. A receipt doesn’t lie, right?” The color drained from Tiffany’s face. She jutted out her chin, her voice shrill. “If you don’t want to pay, just say so! You don’t have to question my spending habits! Unlike some people, I don’t have to sell my body to make a living!” When slander failed, she moved on to outright lies. Did she have any idea that my dad’s lounge had security cameras everywhere? I was about to fire back when a male voice cut in from the classroom door. “Sell your body?” It was Ryan, the guy I had just recently started dating. I rushed over, wanting to tell him to just ignore Tiffany and her drama. But as I reached for him, he flinched back, dodging my touch as if I were contaminated. “Maya, that guy in the picture is old enough to be your father. How can you be so disgusting?” The classroom fell dead silent. Everyone was staring at us. I felt the blood rush to my head, a roaring in my ears. What was he saying? Before I could react, Tiffany sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around his. “Ryan, sweetie, it’s better you found out now. You wouldn’t want to catch some nasty disease and only find out later. That would be a real tragedy.” I stared at Ryan, searching his eyes for a single shred of trust. But he just let Tiffany cling to him, his expression filled with nothing but disgust. He was the one who had chased me for half a semester. How could he be like this now? Seeing my silence, Tiffany leaned her head on Ryan’s shoulder, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Aren’t you going to tell her, Ryan? Or are you going to let her keep thinking you actually like her? What if she gets obsessed?” Jessica suddenly burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “I can’t hold it in anymore!” “Ryan was playing Truth or Dare with us, and he lost. His dare was to ask you out. If he succeeded, Tiffany promised she’d go out with him!” “Hahaha, and you thought you were so special! The whole time, he was just doing it to get with Tiffany!” Ryan smirked, wrapping an arm around Tiffany’s waist. His tone was dripping with contempt. “Tiffany’s handbag costs more than you live on for an entire year. Did you really think I’d be interested in a broke, cheap deadbeat who skips out on a $500 bill?” So that’s how it was. I let go of the last shred of hope and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Fine by me. I’m not the kind of person who fights with a dog over a piece of trash.” “What did you say?!” Tiffany raised her hand to slap me. “You’re really asking for it!” But I sidestepped, and her hand slapped empty air. I snatched the designer bag from her grasp. “Don’t make me laugh,” I said slowly. “You think my fifty-thousand-a-year allowance isn’t enough to afford this… cheap, obvious knockoff?” The classroom was silent for a beat. Then Tiffany shrieked, “Knockoff? I flew to Paris to buy this bag myself!” The others chimed in. “You’re just jealous! Tiffany comes from a rich family, she would never use a fake!” “Exactly! I saw her get dropped off in an extended Lincoln on the first day of school!” “Fifty-thousand-a-year allowance? You might as well claim you’re the Queen of England!” “Just stop talking and pay the money!” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Look, $500 is nothing to me. But I can’t stand two-faced bitches like you who can’t own up to what they’ve done.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “If you don’t want to be the campus pariah for the next three years, you’ll transfer me the money right now.” So, after all that, it was still about shaking me down for $500. A person like this was a ‘rich heiress’? I smiled and pulled my phone from my pocket. Tiffany’s eyes lit up, thinking I was about to pay her. Instead, in front of everyone, I dialed my dad. “Dad, can you send me the security footage from Room K709 at Eclipse last night?” My dad’s worried voice came through my earbuds. “Maya, honey, what’s wrong?” Before I could answer, Tiffany snatched my phone. “Who are you trying to fool? Even if you’re a call girl there, you don’t have the authority to access security footage!” “You’re just trying to stall for time so you don’t have to pay!” “What?!” My dad’s voice was pure rage in my ear. “She called you a what? A call girl?!” “That is unacceptable! Maya, you just wait. I’m on my way.” Hearing that my dad was coming gave me a surge of relief. I sat back down and smiled. “You’re only this bold because you think I can’t get the footage, right?” “Bold?” Tiffany pulled Jessica and Emily forward. “The three of us saw you leave with that old man!” She zoomed in on the photo of me getting into my dad’s car. She pointed at the distorted, out-of-focus image. “Look! They’re all over each other! They couldn’t even wait to get out of the car. I can only imagine what they get up to in private!” Seeing the picture, Ryan made a sound of disgust. “Thank god I never touched you. Who knows what kind of diseases I would have caught.” Suddenly, I felt several pairs of hands grope me from behind. I spun around, horrified. “What are you doing?!” A few of the male students smirked lecherously. “What’s the problem? We’re young and hot. If you can let some old geezer touch you, what’s wrong with us having a little fun?” Some of the girls in the class looked uncomfortable and started to speak up, but a single glare from Tiffany shut them down. “What if it was your dad she was sleeping with? Would you still feel sorry for her then? Women like her destroy families!” At that, the girls looked away, deciding to stay out of it. I couldn’t believe it. This was a prestigious university I had worked my ass off to get into. How could the students be like this? I took a deep breath and pointed at the man in the photo. “He’s my father! If you say one more word or touch me again, I’m calling the cops!” They looked at each other, then burst out laughing. “Did you hear that? She admits it! She’s got ‘daddies’ all over the place!” “I wonder who tomorrow’s ‘daddy’ will be!” “That’s hilarious. What kind of decent father meets his daughter in a karaoke bar and gets that close to her?” “Exactly! Even if you call the cops, they’re more likely to arrest the hooker than the johns!” One of them waggled his phone at me. “Looks like business is slow outside. You could always work the campus circuit. Tell us, what are your rates? Is $50 enough for a quickie?” “Do the math. Ten guys and you can pay Tiffany back. It’s a good deal!” Ryan watched the group of greasy guys surround me and just laughed. “Oh, stop pretending to be so pure, Maya. I know you’re loving the attention. No wonder you tried to get drunk and come back to my dorm that one time. You really love your work, don’t you?” He sneered. “Service all the guys in this class and you could probably afford a decent knockoff bag of your own.” He pulled out his phone and aimed it at me. “And if you’re still short on cash, I can film it and auction the video online. I’ll even give you a cut. See? I’m such a great ex-boyfriend.” He grinned, a vile, predatory expression. A wave of nausea washed over me. Without thinking, I slapped him hard across the face. “You are disgusting, Ryan!” The second my hand made contact, Tiffany grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. “How dare you hit Ryan!” “I was going to let the $500 slide, but not anymore! You’re going to pay me back, right now!” She reached for my shirt. “I don’t care if you have to strip or have a gangbang with every guy in this room! You are paying me that money today! And then you’re going to get on your knees and apologize to Ryan in front of everyone!” The others didn’t try to stop her. Instead, they used the chaos as an excuse to grope me again. Panic set in. I grabbed my phone, which she had thrown on the desk. I saw that my dad had just sent me several video files and photos. But before I could open them, Tiffany snatched the phone again, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it until the screen shattered. “Thinking of calling another one of your daddies to save you? Too late!” The next second, the classroom door was kicked open. A group of men stormed in. The large projector screen at the front of the room flickered to life. On it, two naked bodies were tangled together on a karaoke lounge sofa. It was Tiffany and Ryan. “Ryan, sweetie,” Tiffany’s voice cooed from the speakers. “Whose body is better? Mine, or Maya’s?”

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The day I divorced Julian Thorne, I received a call from the hospital. They apologized profusely, telling me they had mixed up my test results yesterday. The other report, the one diagnosing late-stage heart failure, was actually mine. “So, Ms. Reed, please come back to the hospital with your husband, just like yesterday.” I stood outside the courthouse, watching Julian rush into his car and speed away as if escaping a plague. Husband? I didn’t have one anymore. 1 On the way to divorce Julian, I suddenly coughed up blood. When the crimson stain bloomed on the tissue, I froze. He froze too. The car stopped by the roadside. Julian looked at me, his expression strange. Not concern, but worry. Worry that I might back out of the divorce I had finally agreed to. Silence filled the car. I wiped the blood from my mouth and looked up, meeting Julian’s furrowed brows. Outside, the storm had passed, and watery sunlight filtered through the windows. After all these years, his face was still breathtakingly handsome. My heart skipped a beat, and I looked away. Julian’s impatience was palpable. But his upbringing and manners compelled him to drive me to the hospital first. On the way, he made a call. His tone was unusually gentle: “I’ll be delayed a bit. I’ll come over this afternoon.” I turned my head to the window, pretending not to hear, pretending not to know who was on the other end. I remembered how the storm this morning reduced visibility to near zero. Yet Julian had arrived downstairs before 8 AM to pick me up. He must have been eager to finish the paperwork and go to her. I clenched the bloody tissue, my fingers aching. In seven years of marriage, the only thing that made him rush to see me was divorce. 2 At the hospital, I showed the doctor the bloody tissue. After a lengthy consultation, the doctor ordered a stack of tests. Paying, queuing, testing. By noon, the results still weren’t out. Julian checked his phone frequently, his face darkening. He asked the lab several times, only to be told the doctors were on break and results wouldn’t be ready until after 4 PM. When his phone rang again, I said flatly, “Why don’t you go ahead? We can go to the courthouse tomorrow.” Julian looked visibly relieved. After a polite hesitation, he nodded. “Call me if anything happens.” He walked briskly into the elevator, phone already to his ear. His gentle murmurs faded as the doors closed. I watched him leave. As expected, he didn’t look back. I sat alone in the hallway waiting. Last night, chest pain and nausea kept me awake. Now, despite the noise, drowsiness overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes for a nap and drifted into a deep sleep. I woke up groggy. It seemed darker outside. Someone passed by with the smell of a boxed lunch. I checked my phone; it was past 5 PM. I heard a girl crying. Suppressing, helpless sobs that sounded heartbreaking. I looked up and saw a girl in her twenties curled up in a corner nearby, weeping. Hospitals are full of pitiful people and crying is a daily occurrence. My own life was a mess; I didn’t feel qualified to comfort anyone. I stood up to leave. But the girl seemed to lose her strength, dropping a test report she had been clutching. It drifted silently to my feet. I looked down and saw the diagnosis: Late-stage left heart failure. Then I noticed the patient’s name: “Sarah Reed.” I froze. 3 So young, yet struck with an incurable disease. I felt a pang of sympathy. Perhaps the name “Sarah Reed” was cursed. I took a tissue from my bag and handed it to her. “Wipe your tears.” I wasn’t good at comforting people. The girl looked up, tear-streaked face full of despair. She took the tissue, sobbing a thank you I could barely hear. Before I could speak, someone rushed past me, bumping my shoulder. A woman in her fifties, sweat on her brow despite the snow on her coat. She had clearly rushed here in a panic. She threw herself at the girl, hugging her tight, eyes red. “My baby, my poor baby! “Don’t be afraid, Mom is here. Mom will give you her heart!” The girl’s suppressed sobs turned into a wail of terror. “Mom, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.” Watching them, I remembered. Years ago, my mom used to call me “baby” too. She died when I was eight. No one called me that anymore. My eyes stung. I looked away. The elevator doors opened, and a group of people rushed out. Men in suits, an old lady with white hair, young and middle-aged alike. Six or seven people, faces full of anxiety, hurried over. In moments, the girl who had been crying alone in the corner was surrounded. Voices of comfort, weeping, and brainstorming mixed together. I squatted down to pick up my bag that had been knocked to the floor. I went to get my own test report. Nothing serious. The doctor prescribed some medicine and let me go. I walked out of the clinic. The weather, which had cleared up earlier, was dark again, snow falling. Strange. I tightened my coat, put my bag over my head, and hailed a taxi. No one was waiting for me. No one would come for me. That night, I dreamed of the girl surrounded by her family in the hospital. I woke up to darkness. I thought I might be going crazy. For a moment, I envied the girl with the terminal illness. Dawn broke, and Julian called. “I’m downstairs.” It took me a moment to remember. We rescheduled the divorce for today. 4 The snow was still falling. When I opened the car door, I saw someone in the passenger seat. Emily turned to look at me, apologetic. Her eyes were gentle and beautiful. Julian started the car, explaining calmly, “Emily has a cough. I’m taking her to buy medicine on the way.” I looked out the window, silent. We were about to divorce; his affairs were none of my business. This time, the process was smooth. Divorce certificate in hand, we walked out. Julian took off his coat and wrapped it around Emily. He turned to me. “Emily needs medicine. It’s not on the way. Do you need me to drop you off first?” As if he would actually do it if I said yes. I shook my head. “No.” He immediately opened an umbrella, pulled Emily close, and walked into the snow. Seven years. He no longer had to maintain the facade of a harmonious marriage with me. He no longer had to sneak across the city at dawn just to see Emily for a moment. I watched them walk away until my phone rang for a long time, snapping me back to reality. I took a deep breath and answered. Maybe I was dazed, but I couldn’t understand the middle-aged man’s voice at first. “Late-stage left heart failure…” “Wrong report… our mistake…” “Ms. Reed, we are truly sorry. “This is the hospital’s error. We will take serious disciplinary action…” Finally, I understood. The report that drifted to my feet yesterday wasn’t for the other girl named Sarah Reed. It was mine. So, the person who was dying, who should have been crying in the corner, was me. A chill crept up my spine. I looked at the man walking away with Emily. Instinctively, I called out, “Julian.” Like a drowning person grasping for driftwood. Julian opened the passenger door for Emily. Hearing my voice, he turned back. On the phone, the doctor continued, “So, Ms. Reed, please come back to the hospital with your husband, just like yesterday.” I looked at Julian in the distance. Trudging through the snow, I hurried toward him. I knew Julian wouldn’t care. But for some reason, I walked to him. He looked gentle from afar, but up close, I saw the indifference in his eyes. My voice trembled. “Could you…” I couldn’t finish. He interrupted me. Julian frowned slightly. “Sarah, we’re divorced.”

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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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