Category: English

1 At my twenty-fourth birthday gala, I searched for Marcus to start the dance. Outside the VIP lounge, I heard him tell Nate he’d spent five years humiliating me because he lost a bet to his childhood friend Melody. They agreed to make me a fool for six years running. Today marked the sixth. Next year, he’d propose, he said. He fingered the deep blue tie I’d embroidered through sleepless nights, smiling. “I’ll give this to Melody’s golden retriever, Duke. It’ll make her laugh.” Nate gaped. Marcus shrugged, voice thick with indulgence. “If I don’t humor her, our little princess throws tantrums.” I walked away. Grandfather’s warning echoed: a Kingsley heir gets five chances at love’s weakness. This was year six. The tie meant for my fiancé would hang on a dog’s collar. The engagement was over. … Ten minutes later, the gala began. I stood at the top of the grand spiral staircase, the moonlight-white gown hugging my curves. Marcus sat at the head table, flanked by Melody, who wore a striking, attention-grabbing red dress. A golden retriever trotted excitedly around their feet. “Here, Duke,” Marcus called, snapping his fingers. The dog trotted over, wagging its tail. Under the watchful eyes of the entire room, Marcus untied the deep blue silk from his neck and fastened it around the golden retriever’s neck, tying a neat Windsor knot. Everyone in the ballroom recognized that tie. It was our engagement token, the silk bearing the patterns I had painstakingly stitched by hand. “He looks beautiful,” Melody giggled, leaning her head onto Marcus’s shoulder. “Marcus, doesn’t he look like a proper little gentleman now?” “He does,” Marcus murmured, patting the dog’s head with a soft smile. Then, his gaze drifted up, cutting through the crowd to land on me. In the past, clueless of the truth, I would have thrown a fit and demanded answers from Melody. Marcus would then scold me in front of everyone for being immature, and the night would end with me swallowing my pride and apologizing. But now that I knew who the real puppet master was, the anger vanished. I stared at the blue tie. Taking a deep breath, I gathered the train of my gown and stepped down the stairs, the sharp clicks of my heels echoing off the marble floor. The crowd parted, carving a path for me. I walked straight up to Marcus. Melody shrank back, playing the terrified victim as she hid behind him. Marcus frowned immediately, shifting his weight forward to shield her. “Vivian, it’s your birthday. Don’t make a scene,” he warned, his voice low and threatening. I ignored him entirely, my eyes lingering on the golden retriever. “That color suits him,” I remarked, my voice smooth and level. “It matches his coat perfectly.” Marcus froze. Melody’s smug smile stiffened on her face. “What did you say?” Marcus growled. “I said it looks good on him.” I reached out, lifting a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray. I raised it toward him in a mock toast. “Since you have such unique tastes, Marcus, consider the tie my official gift to the dog.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the VIP table. Behind me, a chair scraped violently against the floor. “Vivian! Stop right there!” Marcus roared. I didn’t even pause. I had already exhausted every ounce of patience my grandfather had allowed me. He had thrown my six-year token to a beast. And with that, our six-year engagement was dead. After the gala, I returned to the downtown penthouse where Marcus lived. It was a property my family had bought as our future marital home, but he had been staying there rent-free. I began gathering my files scattered on the coffee table, preparing to move out. The heavy front door swung open. Marcus stormed in, reeking of alcohol and the cloying gardenia perfume that Melody always wore. His face was a mask of fury. Ripping open his collar, he threw his jacket onto the sofa. “What the hell was that attitude at the party tonight?” he demanded, stepping into my space and blocking the light from the chandelier. I slipped the last folder into my leather briefcase and clicked the brass locks shut. “No attitude. Just stating the obvious.” “Stating the obvious?” he sneered. “Melody was just having some harmless fun. She thought the dog looked cute. Did you really have to humiliate her in front of everyone?” He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “Do you have any idea how long she cried tonight? She blames herself. She thinks she ruined your birthday.” I looked up at him. “Marcus, it was my birthday.” “So what?” He blew a cloud of smoke into my face. “You’re the Kingsley heiress. You have everything. Melody has no one but me. I was just trying to put a smile on her face, and you couldn’t even tolerate that?” Melody slipped through the door, wearing one of Marcus’s oversized button-down shirts. Her eyes were red and watery. “Marcus, please don’t fight with Vivian because of me,” she whispered, tugging gently on his sleeve. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said the tie was pretty. I’ve just never seen anything so beautiful before. I got carried away.” Marcus immediately clasped her hand, his eyes turning frigid as he glared at me. “Do you hear her, Vivian? Even now, she’s thinking of you.” I stared at their intertwined fingers. Six years of devotion, reduced to a cheap farce. “There’s a dozen more of those ties in the hallway cabinet,” I said quietly. “Take them all. In fact, you can keep the penthouse, too. Consider it your new home.” Marcus blinked, then let out a harsh laugh. “Are we playing the runaway game again, Vivian? Let me remind you, the last time you packed your bags, you came back crying, begging me to take you back.” Melody bowed her head, a triumphant smirk slipping onto her lips where Marcus couldn’t see. “Vivian, please don’t be mad. I’ll leave right now…” She made a show of rushing toward the door, deliberately clipping her hip against the corner of the heavy wooden coffee table as she passed. “Ah!” she cried out in pain, collapsing perfectly into Marcus’s waiting arms. He caught her, whirling around to bark at me, “Why did you pull the table so far out? Did you do that on purpose?” That mahogany table hadn’t been moved an inch since the day we bought it. I didn’t bother correcting him. Marcus carefully carried Melody to the sofa, rolling up her pant leg to examine her knee. There was barely a faint pink mark. “I’ll grab some ointment,” he said, pushing past me. As he went, his shoulder slammed hard into mine. The impact was violent. Balanced on thin heels, my ankle buckled, throwing me off balance. I crashed sideways into the sharp edge of the display cabinet. A white-hot flash of pain shot through my skull. Something warm and wet began to trickle down my temple, blurring my vision with red. Crimson droplets splattered against the hardwood floor. Marcus paused and glanced back, his brow furrowing. “Stop being so dramatic,” he scoffed. “It was a tiny nudge. You expect me to believe you’re bleeding? Go get Melody an ice pack. Her leg is more important.” I cupped my forehead, feeling the hot blood seep through my fingers. Over on the couch, Melody watched me, her eyes gleaming with unspoken triumph. I gripped the cabinet to steady my trembling legs and stood up. I didn’t look at either of them. Grabbing my briefcase, I walked out into the night. The freezing midnight wind whipped against my face. He had no idea that with that blow, he had severed the last thread connecting him to the Kingsley family. The next morning, I sat at the head of the boardroom table on the top floor of the Kingsley headquarters, a clean white bandage taped over my temple. The heavy double doors swung open, and Marcus strolled in, followed closely by Melody, who clutched a stack of folders. Marcus was the general manager of our subsidiary branch, and Melody was his personal assistant. Seeing the bandage on my head, he hesitated for a fraction of a second. “What happened to you?” he asked, irritation clipping his words. I flipped open the quarterly report in front of me. “Let’s begin, Marcus. Everyone’s time is valuable.” His expression darkened, but he took his seat across from me. Ten minutes into the presentation, Melody stepped forward to hand Marcus a fresh cup of coffee. Her hand slipped, and the scalding liquid splashed across the original financial audits resting on the table. “I’m so sorry, Marcus! It was an accident…” she squeaked, grabbing napkins as tears welled in her eyes. Marcus caught her wrist, his voice softening instantly. “It’s fine. It’s just paper. Don’t burn yourself.” He turned to me, his tone turning demanding. “Vivian, have your assistant print another copy.” I clicked my pen shut, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Marcus, that document was finalized by three different departments and bears the physical signatures of our international partners. It is the only legally binding copy we have. Digital backups exist, but they cannot replace the raw legal authority of the signed original.” Marcus dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “Then have the team run the process again! Melody stayed up until midnight helping me compile these figures. She made a minor mistake. Show some understanding.” The executives around the table kept their heads down, holding their breath. I leaned back, looking him dead in the eye. “Marcus, this is a corporate boardroom. Keep your personal life out of it.” “Are you seriously targeting Melody again, Vivian?” Marcus slammed his hand onto the stained paper. “It’s a single report. As my fiancée, can’t you show a little grace?” Melody sniffled, stepping forward with her head hung low. “Ma’am, it’s my fault. Please don’t blame Marcus… I’ll redo the files right now.” She bent down to pick up the scattered papers, her body swaying as if she were about to faint. Marcus caught her by the waist, glaring at me with raw venom. “That is enough! Look at yourself, Vivian. Where is the elegance of a Kingsley heiress? Melody’s health is delicate. If you stress her into an episode, you won’t hear the end of it!” I reached out and pressed the intercom button. “Security to the executive boardroom, immediately.” Marcus blinked, caught off guard. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Melody is being terminated immediately for gross negligence and destruction of vital corporate property,” I said as two burly security guards walked in. Then, my eyes locked onto Marcus. “As for you, Marcus, you have consistently failed to separate your personal interests from your professional duties. Effective immediately, you are suspended from all duties. Pack your things.” Marcus let out a bitter, mocking laugh, pointing a finger at me. “Is this how low you’ll go to force me to apologize, Vivian? Fine. I’m leaving. Let’s see how your precious Southside development project moves forward without me!” He grabbed Melody’s wrist. “Let’s go.” Melody glanced back over her shoulder, a tiny, venomous smile playing on her lips. At the doorway, Marcus paused, throwing a cold warning back at me. “When you finally learn how to be a proper fiancée, you can beg me to come back.” The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them. A dull ache throbbed beneath my bandage. I picked up the ruined documents and fed them into the paper shredder, the low hum filling the tense room. I flipped to the next item on the agenda. “Let’s proceed with the meeting.” Three days later, I stood in the sterile hallway of the municipal hospital’s VIP wing. My grandfather’s chief cardiologist looked at me with a grim expression. “Ms. Kingsley, your grandfather’s heart is failing. He needs emergency bypass surgery immediately. However, Dr. Harrison, the only specialist capable of this procedure, is currently attending a secure, military-sponsored medical conference upstate. All normal communications are blocked. The only way to get him here in time is via Marcus’s private jet, which already has pre-approved flight clearances for that restricted airspace.” I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking violently as I dialed Marcus’s number. The first call went straight to voicemail. The second rang out. On the third attempt, he finally answered. The background was filled with loud music and roaring crowds. “What do you want?” Marcus snapped, his voice tight with irritation. “Marcus, my grandfather is in cardiac arrest. He’s in the operating room right now,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I need your jet to fly Dr. Harrison back. I am begging you, please authorize it now.” The line went quiet for a second. Then, Melody’s whiny voice echoed in the background. “Marcus, who is that? You promised we were going to watch the meteor shower tonight. If you let someone take the jet, we can’t go… I’ve never seen a shooting star in my life.” Marcus’s voice softened as he whispered back, “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s fine.” When he spoke to me again, his voice was cold. “Vivian, stop it. This is getting pathetic.” “I am not lying! He is in the ICU!” I cried, my composure fracturing. “The ICU? Last month you said his blood pressure was high. Last week you claimed you cut your hand slicing fruit just to get me to visit. You’ve used up your crying-wolf cards, Vivian.” Marcus chuckled dryly. “I’m sick of your little dramas. Melody has never been on a private plane, and she’s never seen a meteor shower. I gave her my word I’d take her tonight. I’m not breaking a promise to her.” “Marcus, a man is dying!” I screamed into the receiver. “That’s enough,” he cut me off. “If you want me to come home, just say so. Don’t use your grandfather’s health as a sick bargaining chip. I’m busy. I don’t have time for your games.” The line went dead.

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1 Lucy’s first love Marc paid to run me off the road, shattering my legs and ending my career as a surgeon. While I lay critical in the ICU, Lucy knelt outside the glass doors through the night. She sent every conspirator to prison, ruined Marc’s name, and forced him out of the country by morning. The feared courtroom litigator disappeared. She abandoned corporate defense to represent traffic victims pro bono, inked my name on her wrist, and flew me to Iceland each winter for the northern lights. When nightmares woke me, she stayed by my bed, holding my hands and whispering that I was safe. I believed tragedy had finally earned me her heart until one night beneath the emerald aurora. Her coat slipped, and her phone fell. The screen lit up with a photo of Marc shirtless in bed. The caption read, Must have been torture holding back all these years. Does your cripple husband know you only bring him to Iceland so you have an excuse to sleep with me? I unlocked the phone and scrolled up. Her last message to him read, Just for tonight. Keep your mouth shut. The arctic wind cut through me. Every year of penance had been a performance. She had not brought me to heal. She had brought me somewhere remote and frozen to hide her betrayal. The northern lights blazed overhead, but I felt nothing. I threw her phone into the snow, booked a one-way flight to Boston, and walked away without a word. … Twelve minutes before the boarding gate closed, my phone rang. It was Lucy. Her name flashed on the screen as the airport’s draft chilled my fingers. She called six times. On the seventh, I finally swiped to answer. The other end was quiet, save for her shallow, controlled breathing. “Gavin, where are you?” I kept silent. She sounded like she was keeping her temper in check, softening her tone as if coaxing a frightened child. “Don’t wander off. It’s freezing out there. I’m having someone pick you up.” I stared out at the heavy snow blanketing the runway. “Lucy,” I whispered, my voice sounding incredibly distant. “Do you find my limp repulsive?” Silence stretched across the line. It was so quiet I could hear the faint rustle of her clothes. When she finally spoke, there was no denial, no frantic defense. Only a cold question: “Who told you that?” She didn’t deny it. She only wanted to know who leaked the truth. A dry, raspy laugh escaped my throat, tearing at my raw vocal cords. “So it’s true.” Lucy’s voice hardened. “Gavin, come back.” Always those two words. Every time I woke up screaming, shaking off the memory of the impact, whispering that I couldn’t drive down that road again, she would hold me tight and say, Come back. Just come back to me. I used to think she was my safe harbor. I had no idea she was the one holding the blade. The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. I looked down at my hand. When I had thrown her phone into the snow, the cracked screen had sliced my index finger. A bead of blood had dried into a tiny dark speck under the cold air. “Lucy, let’s get a divorce.” A sharp clatter sounded from her end, as if something had dropped. A moment later, she regained the icy composure she wore in court. “Divorce is not a conversation we have over a phone call.” “Then what is?” I asked. “Using a trip with your husband as a cover to sleep with Marc? Is that suitable?” She didn’t answer. In that silence, the last piece of my heart died. I hung up, switched off my phone, and walked through the gate. As the plane climbed into the heavy clouds, I stared out the window, my eyes burning but dry. I landed in Boston the following afternoon. The moment I exited customs, Lucy’s chauffeur was waiting. He stepped forward. “Mr. Jiang, Mrs. Jiang asked me to take you home.” I pulled my suitcase back, avoiding his reach. “No, thank you.” The driver looked caught in the middle. “But sir, Mrs. Jiang said your legs are weak. She doesn’t want you traveling alone.” My legs were ruined, so I couldn’t walk alone. Ever since the accident, everyone spoke to me like that. They booked my rides, hid my car keys, decided where I went and who I saw, shielding me from any trigger. They handled me like glass, terrified I would shatter again. Yet no one ever asked who had broken me in the first place. I walked past him. As I reached the curb, a black Bentley pulled up. The rear window slid down to reveal Lucy. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion, but the tattoo of my name, Gavin, was stark and glaring against her pale wrist. She stepped out, draping her heavy wool coat over my shoulders. “Let’s go home first. Don’t make a scene in public.” I looked at her. Her hands were warm, but her coat carried the faint, crisp scent of the masculine cologne from the hotel in Iceland. Marc’s signature scent. I slipped the coat off and handed it back to her. “Lucy, my entire life is already a joke.” Her fingers tensed. The next second, she grabbed my wrist, not hard, but with a firm grip that refused to let me pull away. “You can be angry, Gavin. You can blame me all you want. But don’t punish your own body out of spite.” I stared at the tattoo on her wrist. Those letters used to be my anchor. Now, they were just a cruel brand over a rotting wound. I pulled my hand free. “You tattooed the wrong name.” Lucy’s composure finally cracked. Nearby, the driver opened the trunk. Inside sat my old suitcase and a thick black document folder. Lucy reached in, pulled out a transparent plastic sleeve, and held it in front of me. Inside was a yellowed ultrasound image showing a tiny, blurry dark spot. Eight weeks. The baby we lost. My hands went cold. “I know you visit his grave every year, Gavin,” she said softly. I stared at her, frozen as the chilly wind whipped around us. She hadn’t come to take me home out of love. She had brought my final, most painful weakness to force me to my knees. The faded paper was curled at the edges, preserved in that cheap plastic sleeve. It was the only tangible proof that our child had ever existed. When I first found out she was pregnant, I had stayed up all night with sheer joy. But the very next day, she had handed me an abortion slip, saying casually, Marc heard I was pregnant and threatened to take a dangerous humanitarian post in Africa. We can have another baby, Gavin, but Marc wouldn’t survive out there. The baby was gone, but the ultrasound remained, a permanent splinter in my chest. I stared at the plastic sleeve, my throat tight. “You’re using our dead child to threaten me?” Lucy frowned. “I just know you’d never leave it behind.” She was so certain. Certain that I would hurt, certain that I would yield, certain that I was still trapped in the wreckage of that crash and could never leave her. I reached for the folder, but she pulled it back. “Let’s go home first.” “Give it to me.” Her tone dropped, carrying a warning weight. “Gavin, don’t make a scene at the airport.” A scene. When I woke up from my coma and refused to get into a car, it was a scene. When I panicked near the crash site, it was a scene. Now, wanting my own child’s ultrasound back was a scene. A hollow laugh escaped me. “Lucy, when you look at that paper, does your conscience not scream?” Her expression hardened into granite. “Gavin. Enough.” Enough. That was her favorite word. The nightmares were enough. The physical therapy was enough. My doubts were enough. Now, even the truth was too much. I turned to walk away. Her voice stopped me in my tracks. “Your mother’s appeal hearing is next Tuesday.” My feet felt glued to the concrete. Years ago, my mother had been framed for corporate bribery. Lucy was the one who took the case and cleared her name. Though the initial verdict was overturned, the final appeal was still pending. For years, Lucy had protected my family, my mother, and my fragile dignity. I had thought it was love. Now I realized every favor carried a price tag. Lucy stepped up beside me, her voice softening. “I’m not threatening you, Gavin. I just want you to calm down and think.” I looked at her. “So freezing my credit cards, keeping my friends from picking me up, and holding my mother’s freedom over my head… that’s your way of helping me calm down?” She fell silent for a moment. “You aren’t in the right state of mind to make decisions.” I looked at the black ink on her wrist, sitting like a permanent, mocking badge of guilt. Marc’s texts flashed in my mind: Did you have a wild night, or were you just desperate to escape your cripple? “How long have you and Marc been sleeping together again?” I asked. Lucy hesitated. That hesitation told me everything. “You can’t even give me a timeline, can you?” She closed her eyes. “It’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” She had no answer. Her phone buzzed in her hand, the screen lighting up right in my line of sight. It was a photo from Marc. Her diamond earring sat on a hotel nightstand. You left this last night, Lucy. If your husband asks, tell him you lost it at the terminal. Lucy darkened the screen instantly. I stared at the bustling airport traffic, my fists clenching. “Lucy, you make me sick.” She flinched. Before this, I had never spoken a harsh word to her. Even when the phantom pain in my legs kept me awake, I would bite down on my sheets rather than complain. She finally realized I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. Yet, she still gripped my arm, guiding me toward the open car door. “Let’s go home first.” The ride was dead silent. Lucy sat beside me, keeping her distance. Her phone lit up again. I didn’t turn my head, but the reflection on the dark window glass betrayed the message. Marc again: He still can’t even sit in the front seat, can he? Must be exhausted playing chauffeur to a broken man. My nails dug into my palms. After the crash, I developed severe PTSD. A sudden brake would send me into a panic attack. Back then, Lucy would hold me, promising she’d walk with me forever if that’s what it took. It took me years to build the courage to touch a steering wheel again, hoping I could drive her to work. I had no idea my pain was just a joke she shared with her lover. The car pulled up to our house. The housekeeper met us at the door, her face tense and eyes darting nervously. “Welcome home, sir.” Sensing the tension, I asked, “Who’s inside?” The housekeeper glanced at Lucy. Lucy’s voice was flat. “Let’s go inside.” The heavy oak door swung open. Marc was sitting on our living room sofa. He was wearing my black cashmere cardigan, holding my favorite ceramic mug. He looked up, offering a smooth, polite smile. “Gavin. Long time no see.” I stood in the entryway, melted snow dripping from my shoes onto the rug. That cardigan was a gift Lucy brought back from Switzerland two years ago, right after my reconstructive surgery when my legs were always freezing. She had wrapped it around me and whispered, Wear this whenever you’re cold. Now, it was draped over Marc’s shoulders, warming the man who had shattered my body. Lucy’s brow furrowed. “How did you get in here?” Marc’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “I didn’t have a place to stay after my flight landed. I just wanted to pick up some of my old things. The housekeeper said you weren’t back yet, so I waited.” He turned his gaze to me. “Gavin, please don’t misunderstand. Lucy and I aren’t doing anything wrong.” Those words were a sick echo of the past. Years ago, he had asked to meet me, claiming he was ready to step aside and let Lucy be happy. Hours later, my brakes failed. My entire life ended in a deafening crunch of metal. I walked over and snatched the mug from his hand. “This belongs to me.” Marc’s hand hovered in the air, his polite smile faltering. “It’s just a mug, Gavin. You’re still as sensitive as ever.” Lucy looked at me. “Gavin, go upstairs and rest.” I stared back. “Make him leave.” She hesitated. That split second of hesitation was all the answer I needed. “It’s fine, Lucy,” Marc said softly, standing up. “I’ll go. He’s been through a lot of trauma; I shouldn’t agitate him.” As he rose, the cardigan slipped from his shoulder. When he bent to retrieve it, his collar parted to reveal a dark, unmistakable bite mark on his neck. Lucy’s eyes flicked to it. It was a brief look, but it was brutal. Realizing he’d been caught, Marc quickly pulled his collar high. “The hotel heating was too high last night. Broke out in a rash.” The excuse was pathetic. Lucy’s voice went cold. “Marc. Shut up.” But the damage was done. Looking at him, I remembered the night outside the ICU. Lucy had just lost the baby, her face pale, yet she knelt on the hard hospital floor until dawn. When I woke, she looked at me through the glass, her eyes bloodshot. I will make everyone who hurt you and our child pay, she had promised. I believed her. I thought she hated Marc. I didn’t know hatred and lust could thrive so comfortably in the exact same heart. I picked up the cardigan from the sofa and handed it to the housekeeper. “Throw this in the trash.” Marc’s face fell. “Lucy got you that, didn’t she? What a waste.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Why would I keep something that’s been ruined by garbage?” Silence blanketed the room. Lucy’s brow pinched deep. “Gavin, stop taking your anger out on him.” Taking it out on him. She called this a tantrum. I nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll ask you.” I pulled the draft of the divorce agreement from my bag, one I had my lawyer draft during my layover. “Sign it.” Lucy stared at the pages, her eyes cooling into ice. “You certainly prepared quickly.” “Not as quickly as you,” I said. “Booking a room for him while pretending to watch the northern lights with me requires real coordination.” Marc let out a soft sigh, his voice carrying clearly across the room. “Don’t blame her, Gavin. A woman has needs. Besides, you’ve needed a babysitter just to leave the house for years.” He left the rest unsaid, but the implication was louder than any insult. “Marc!” Lucy barked. Marc’s eyes watered. “Am I wrong, Lucy? Didn’t you only stay with him out of pity?” I turned my gaze to Lucy. She said nothing. Maybe she didn’t have the time, or maybe she simply didn’t know how to deny it. A crushing weight settled on my chest, cutting off my breath. In that moment, I realized Marc’s mockery wasn’t what hurt. It was Lucy’s silence. I placed the papers on the table. “Ten tomorrow morning. At the attorney’s office.” “That’s not happening,” Lucy said. “Then we go to court.” She stared at me. “I still hold your mother’s case files.” I let out a soft laugh. “So you admit you’re blackmailing me.” Her jaw clenched. Marc whispered, “Don’t, Lucy. Gavin’s unstable right now. The more you push, the more he’ll think you don’t care.” Lucy didn’t look at him. She picked up the contract and tore it down the middle, letting the pieces flutter to the rug. “We’ll talk when you’ve cooled down.” I walked upstairs, ignoring the shredded paper. In our bedroom, a framed photo of the northern lights sat on the nightstand. On the back, Lucy had written in her own hand: Don’t be afraid, I’m here. I flipped the frame face down. I opened my desk drawer and pulled out an old backup phone my mother had given me before her arrest. I powered it on and dialed a number I had memorized long ago. A crisp, female voice answered. “Gavin. You finally called.” I looked out the window, Marc’s faint voice still drifting up from the living room. “I want to file for divorce,” I said. There was a brief pause on the line. “Gavin, the investigation you asked me to run… I have the results.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Tell me.” “The traffic cameras on the stretch where you crashed were never damaged,” she said. I choked, unable to form a word. She continued, “The original footage exists. It was kept out of the official court records. The police were handed a doctored backup copy.” My vision blurred. “So that’s why only the mechanic and the truck driver went to prison.” The line was quiet for a second. “Because someone covered Marc’s tracks.” My voice trembled. “Who?” She sounded hesitant, but she spoke the name anyway. “Lucy.” My blood turned to ice. “Lucy intervened personally. She claimed Marc had only accidentally mentioned your itinerary to the mechanics and had no direct role in the crash. She was the one who had the ‘damaged camera’ report submitted to the police.” I stood frozen. It wasn’t a lack of evidence. Marc hadn’t escaped by luck. Lucy had cleared his path herself. She threw the hired help into prison to appease her conscience, while the mastermind was sent safely abroad. For four years, my nightmares, my agony, and my search for justice had been buried under her lie of ‘insufficient evidence.’ Before I could speak, the bedroom door swung open. Lucy stood on the threshold. Her eyes locked onto the old phone in my hand, her expression darkening. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. She looked from the phone to my face. “Who are you calling?” I gripped the phone tighter. “My attorney.” Her brow pinched. “Phoebe?” I didn’t answer. The name seemed to prick her pride. “Gavin, you’d rather trust an outsider than listen to me?” I looked at her. “Then explain.” She fell silent. It was always like this. She demanded I listen, but when it was time to speak, she offered nothing but silence. “How many times have you slept with Marc?” I asked. Her face went pale. She rarely lost her composure like this. In court, she could break the most stubborn criminals, but now, she couldn’t utter a word. I nodded. “More than once.” She took a step toward me. “Iceland was an accident.” “An accident?” “I had too much to drink.” “Did he force you, or did you walk into his room willingly?” Her throat bobbed. “Gavin, please. Stop.” I laughed aloud. Not because it was funny, but because it was so utterly absurd. “When you were ‘investigating’ the crash, you made me recount the accident over and over. You said we needed every detail to secure a conviction.” My voice was barely a whisper. “You sat there listening to me describe the brakes failing, the roar of the truck, the realization that my hands were ruined and I’d never hold a scalpel again.” I held out the phone. “Were you thinking about justice for me, or were you figuring out how to build Marc’s defense?” Her pupils dilated. In that single look, I knew Phoebe was telling the truth. Lucy knew. She knew Marc had orchestrated the crash. She knew he was the reason my joints throbbed with agony every time it rained. I stood up slowly. “You destroyed the evidence, didn’t you?” She reached out, pressing her hands onto my shoulders. “Gavin, that’s in the past.” In the past. I had been trapped in that mangled car for four years, and she wanted to close the file with a single sentence. Her grip hurt my shoulders, but my body had already begun to shake. The screech of tires and the crunch of steel filled my ears again. Sensing my panic attack, she let go immediately. “I’m sorry.” She had said those words a thousand times. Outside the ICU, after my nightmares, under the northern lights. But an apology couldn’t fix my shattered knees or mend a life ruined by self-hatred. Marc’s voice drifted through the door. “Lucy, I’m not feeling well. Can the driver take me to the clinic?” Lucy closed her eyes. I watched her, and she watched me. In that brief silence, history repeated itself. It was always like this. During my physical therapy, she’d slip away to answer his calls. When I needed her, she’d claim Marc’s situation was more urgent. I’d wake up shaking, and she’d leave into the night because her phone lit up. Lucy whispered, “I’ll be right back.” I asked calmly, “He’s more important, isn’t he?” Driven to her limit, her tone sharpened. “He made a mistake, Gavin, but it was a crime of passion. In the timeline of our lives, you were the interloper.” My ears rang. “What did you say?” Lucy realized her mistake, her face changing color. I took a step back. “A crime of passion.” She said nothing. I thought of the ‘punishment’ she had given Marc. Sending him abroad. It sounded harsh, but he went with money, a luxury apartment, and her annual visits under the guise of the northern lights. Meanwhile, the man whose body was broken was left to rot in the dark. “I was the interloper. Fine,” I said, my voice shaking. “Then I’m stepping aside.” Lucy’s voice went hoarse. “Gavin, don’t push me.” Marc couldn’t wait any longer, he pushed the door open and walked in. “Since he’s asking, why keep lying?” “Marc!” Lucy snapped. Marc sneered. “You’ve protected him for years, and he still treats you like an enemy.” He tossed a manila folder at my feet. The papers spilled out. One sheet was a DNA test. Probability of Paternity: 99.99%. Child’s Name: Oliver. Mother: Lucy. Father: Marc. My blood turned to stone. Marc whispered, “How do you think I left the country so smoothly, Gavin? Who do you think signed off on closing the investigation?” He looked at Lucy, his tone dripping with malice. “Lucy and I had Oliver before you two even married. He’s already speaking, did you know that?” I looked up at Lucy. Her face was bloodless, as if she were receiving her own death sentence. Just then, the backup phone rang again. I tapped the speakerphone button. Phoebe’s voice cut through the silence. “Gavin, we restored the files. We have proof Victoria He ordered the truck driver to change his route. Marc was the one who leaked your schedule and paid off the mechanics. And Lucy signed the order to seal the evidence.” A suffocating silence fell over the bedroom. Lucy stared at me, paralyzed.

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1 For eighteen years I was her blood, yet Mother treated me as a crash-test dummy clearing the way for her adopted daughter, Cindy. Now, to guarantee Cindy’s safety after eye surgery, she bound a blindfold over my eyes. “I must run a full sensory trial,” she said, knotting it tight before shoving me into the living room. I stumbled, knee slamming into the TV console’s sharp corner. Silence. Mother sighed, not helping me up but scribbling notes: TV console, bottom right—hazard. My seventeenth bruise that afternoon. She wrapped the edge in foam, murmuring, “You’re tough. A bruise heals. But Cindy is fragile. Pain would destroy her.” Blindfolded, I asked quietly, “If she stays here, where do I go?” “Rented you a basement near campus,” she replied, already walking away. “Pack tonight. You’re gone for a month.” No argument, no tears. Just hollow calm. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” … That night, she stayed at the hospital to watch over Cindy before her operation. I was left alone in the silent house, quietly packing my life away. The living room floor was already covered in textured, non-slip mats designed for the visually impaired. Every corner had been padded. All of it, entirely for Cindy. I stuffed my clothes into my suitcase, one piece at a time. As I zipped it shut, I couldn’t help but look toward the master bedroom. That used to be my room. Just yesterday afternoon, my mother had personally thrown all my belongings into the hallway to clear it out for Cindy. “Mom, why do you always choose her?” I had asked, standing in the middle of the mess, my voice trembling. She had slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. “How dare you ask me that!” she had shrieked, her face twisted in rage, her eyes bloodshot. “If your pathetic father hadn’t used such dirty, underhanded tricks to force me into marrying him, I would have married Cindy’s father years ago!” She had grabbed me by my collar, her gaze so venomous she looked ready to tear me apart. “Cindy’s parents are dead! She has no one! This house belongs to her. That room belongs to her. Even I belong to her! You should be willing to carve out your own heart and hand it to her, yet you have the audacity to ask why I favor her?” Right. I owed her. I was the mistake, the product of a marriage she despised. So I surrendered everything. The next morning, just as the first light broke, I dragged my suitcase to the entryway. She probably expected me to drag my feet and cry, but I didn’t want to waste another second in this place. But before I could turn the doorknob, the front door swung open from the outside. My mother was back early, gently guiding Cindy, whose eyes were wrapped in thick white bandages. The moment my mother’s eyes landed on me standing there, her expression soured. “Is my sister still here?” Cindy whimpered, flinching. She gripped my mother’s arm, her voice trembling with synthetic fear. “No, sweetie. Don’t be scared,” my mother cooed, patting her hand to soothe her. Afraid of upsetting Cindy, she held back her rage. Instead, she yanked a pair of thick, soft slipper-socks from the shoe cabinet and hurled them at my feet. She glared at me, her mouth moving in a sharp, silent, furious command. Shoes off. Put these on. Not a sound. I froze. Seeing me hesitate, her eyes turned dangerous. She took a step forward and grabbed my collar, keeping her voice down to a harsh whisper right against my ear. “Put them on! She’s incredibly sensitive to noise right now. Are you trying to give her a panic attack?” I took a slow breath, letting go of my suitcase handle. I bent down, slid off my sneakers, and pulled the ridiculous, bulky socks over my feet. For the next few hours, in my own home, I was forced to live like a silent ghost. Cindy stumbled around the living room, trying to find her bearings. “Mom, where’s the couch?” “Right here, sweetie. Just two steps forward. Take it slow.” My mother’s voice carried a warmth I had never once heard directed at me. “What about the TV console?” “I wrapped the corners myself. Feel this, see how soft it is?” “Mom, I’m so scared of bumping into things…” “Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy threw away everything that could possibly trip you.” I stood in the corner of the hallway, feeling a sudden, sharp tickle in my throat. The freezing wind from the night before, when I had been moving things to the hallway, had caught up to me. My chest felt tight, and a cough was clawing its way up. I clamped my hands over my mouth, desperate to choke it down. But despite my best efforts, a tiny, muffled sound escaped. “Ah!” Cindy cried out, flinching violently. She tripped over the edge of the plush rug and crashed to the floor. “Oh my god, what happened!” My mother dropped her cleaning rag and practically threw herself across the room, wrapping Cindy in a frantic embrace. “Mom, is someone else here?” Cindy sobbed, her hands clutching at my mother’s shirt. “Did I take my sister’s room? Is she mad at me? Did she make that noise on purpose to scare me? Maybe I should just go back to the hospital!” “No! No, there’s no one else!” my mother cried, squeezing her tight, her voice cracking with protective agony. “It was just the wind outside. The window wasn’t shut properly. Don’t be scared, Cindy. This is your home now, and yours alone. There is no one else here. No one will ever bother you again!” Once Cindy calmed down, my mother turned her head. Her eyes pinned me with absolute malice. She raised a finger, pointing directly at the front door. Her lips moved in a sharp, unmistakable word. Get out. The thick socks on my feet offered no warmth against the freezing floor. Watching this picture-perfect display of motherly love, a sudden wave of dark amusement washed over me. In this house, where I had spent eighteen years of my life, I wasn’t even allowed the dignity of a breath. I turned away soundlessly and walked into what used to be my bedroom to grab my backpack, the last of my things. Just then, a noise came from the living room. “Mom? Where are you? I want some water…” “Mommy’s on the balcony getting the laundry! Don’t move, sweetie, I’ll be right there!” my mother’s panicked voice drifted in. But Cindy didn’t listen. Eager to prove she could manage on her own, she groped along the wall, shuffling toward the dining table. Her fingers brushed blindly across the surface. Right on the edge sat the glass kettle my mother had just set down. It was filled to the brim with freshly boiled water, steam still rising from the spout. Cindy’s hand was barely an inch away from knocking it over. “Don’t touch that!” My instincts, honed over eighteen years of trying to keep the peace, took over. I dropped my backpack and sprinted out of the room. The moment her hand knocked the kettle loose, sending it plunging toward her legs, I threw myself forward and shoved her out of the way. The boiling water, along with shards of exploding glass, showered over my right forearm and hand. “Ah!” A white-hot wave of agony blinded me. I collapsed into the mess on the floor, my skin blistering instantly into raw, angry red welts. A jagged piece of glass drove deep into the back of my hand. Blood welled up immediately, mixing with the scalding water pooling on the tiles. “What happened? Cindy!” At Cindy’s startled scream, my mother bolted from the balcony, dropping her laundry. She didn’t even look at me. She stepped right through the shattered glass, her boots grinding near my face, and scooped Cindy off the floor. “Did you get burned? Are you hurt?” she cried, her voice frantic as she checked every inch of her. “Mom… I’m so scared… someone pushed me! Someone did it on purpose!” Cindy sobbed, clinging to my mother’s neck like a frightened child. Once my mother was sure Cindy was physically unharmed, she turned to face me. I thought she would notice my mangled, bleeding arm. I was wrong. She kept her voice low to avoid upsetting Cindy, but the fury in her eyes was searing. “What is wrong with you?!” I was shaking violently from the pain, my left hand desperately gripping my right wrist, cold sweat soaking my shirt. “I told you to leave, but you just had to stay and find a way to hurt her, didn’t you?” she spat, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You knew she couldn’t see, and you threw her to the ground anyway!” “I didn’t…” I managed to whisper, my lips trembling. “Don’t lie to me! I saw you push her with my own eyes! What are you trying to do, kill her?” I held up my arm, blood still dripping from the raw flesh, my voice raw and cracking. “I was saving her… the kettle was falling… I got burned, Mom. It hurts. It hurts so bad.” My mother spared a brief, cold glance at my arm. Her eyes lingered on the glass shard embedded in my skin for a single second. Just one. There was no pity, no maternal instinct, only annoyance at being inconvenienced, followed by a deeper wave of disgust. “Enough,” she cut me off, her voice flat. “Save the theatrical sympathy acts. I’m not buying it.” I stared at her, completely numb. “An act?” I whispered, hot tears finally spilling over from the agony and splashing onto the cold tiles. “If you hadn’t lunged out of the dark like a lunatic and scared her, she wouldn’t have fallen in the first place, and the kettle wouldn’t have spilled!” she scolded. “To think you’d resort to self-harm just to get attention. You disgust me.” “Mom… is she bleeding?” Cindy whimpered, burying her face in my mother’s shoulder. “I smell copper… it’s scary…” “Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s just tea leaves from the pot,” my mother lied smoothly, cupping her hand over Cindy’s nose. Then, she looked down at me as if I were a piece of trash. “Clean this mess up,” she ordered. “Don’t let her smell the blood. When you’re done, get out of my sight.” With that, she carried Cindy into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. On my knees in the scalding water, I used my uninjured left hand to pick up the shattered glass, piece by agonizing piece, wiping away the blood. A moment later, the bedroom door opened. My mother rushed past me toward the kitchen to get Cindy some warm water. Using that brief window, I forced myself to stand. I limped to my room, nudging the door open with my foot to grab some pain relievers and bandages from my drawer. The room was dark. The burn on my arm had already risen into massive, weeping blisters. But as the door swung wider, I stopped dead. Cindy was in my room. She hadn’t been resting at all. Instead, she had used the cover of my mother’s absence to sneak in, her hands frantically rummaging through the items on my desk. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice flat. Cindy gasped, pulling her hands back as if burned. “Sister? I… I got turned around. I was looking for the bathroom.” “The bathroom is in the hallway. The door was wide open. My door was shut,” I said, stepping closer. “What were you looking for?” “Nothing!” she cried, backing away in a panic, her flailing hand catching the edge of my desk. Whatever she had been holding slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor right at my feet. It was a crude, hand-sculpted clay puppy. I froze. It was from my tenth birthday. My father had sculpted it with his own trembling, pain-riddled hands while lying on his deathbed. “Daddy won’t be able to stay with you anymore, sweetie,” he had whispered, his voice weak. “Let this little pup protect you for me.” It was the only piece of my father left in this cold house. And now, it lay on the floor, cracked clean in half. “Why did you touch it!” I shrieked, tears finally spilling over as I dropped to my knees. “I didn’t mean to! Don’t yell at me!” Cindy covered her ears, screaming hysterically. “I can’t see! I really can’t see!” Footsteps pounded down the hallway. “What’s wrong? Cindy!” My mother burst in. She snatched Cindy and pulled her protectively behind her back, glaring at me like I was a rabid animal. “What is wrong with you now? Haven’t you caused enough trouble in the living room?” Still on the floor, I carefully cupped the two broken halves of the clay dog in my left hand. I looked up at my mother, my vision blurred with tears. “This was the last thing Dad left me. You know exactly what this means to me, and you just let her break it?” My mother hesitated, her eyes landing on the shattered clay. But a second later, she felt Cindy trembling behind her, clutching her coat. “Mom, she’s so scary…” Cindy sobbed, gasping for breath. “I just wanted water… I accidentally knocked over some cheap piece of dirt… and she looked like she wanted to hit me… I’m so scared…” “She won’t touch you. Not while I’m breathing,” my mother vowed, wrapping her arms around Cindy. She looked down at me, her face completely devoid of remorse. “It’s just a cheap piece of dried mud. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” “Cheap mud?” I stared up at her. “You were standing right there in the hospital room when Dad made this!” “He’s dead and gone!” she snapped. “Cindy is blind right now! If it was so important, you should have locked it away. Did you leave it on the desk on purpose just to trip her up?” “This is my room!” I finally snapped, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Why is she even in here snooping around!” “Cindy can go wherever she pleases in this house!” my mother barked back. “How dare you raise your voice at me! You have no right!” “Why? Just because she’s temporarily blind, I have to hand over my entire life to her?” My mother’s hand swung fast, striking my cheek with a resounding slap. “You ungrateful monster!” she hissed, her chest heaving with rage. “You want to know why? Because her father was the only man I ever loved! If your pathetic father hadn’t ruined my life and forced himself on me, I would have been Cindy’s mother legally years ago!” “That’s your drama, not my debt!” I spat back, tears burning as they dripped onto my raw, blistered skin. “Oh, really?” My mother stepped forward, grabbing me by the collar again. “What about three months ago? That storm! If you hadn’t insisted on having that stupid eighteenth birthday party, do you think I would’ve been too busy to pick her up? If she hadn’t been forced to walk home alone in the pouring rain, would she have been hit by that car?” “You didn’t even show up to my birthday!” I cried out, my voice breaking. “You forgot about her all on your own! How is that my fault?!” “It is your fault! If I hadn’t been burdened with a parasite like you, I would’ve been living a good life with Cindy long ago!” she shrieked. “You owe her those eyes! You should be begging to give her yours!” Right. Cindy was the daughter of her lost love. In this house, my mother’s obsession with that man had morphed into an absolute, suffocating favoritism. And I was merely the leftover sin of her failed marriage. To soothe the sniffling Cindy, my mother deliberately lifted her foot and brought her heavy heel down on the broken clay pieces on the floor. “Mom, what’s that sound?” Cindy asked innocently. “Nothing, sweetie. Just a piece of garbage.” My mother ground her foot back and forth, twisting her heel to crush the clay into fine dust. “It was dirtying up my floor.” I stared blankly at the powder beneath her shoe. “All you do is bring misery to this house,” she said, looking down at me with pure disdain. “Cindy can’t handle stress. I already paid for that basement. Pack your things and get out. Right now.” Silence settled over the room like ash. I looked at the gray dust on the floor. I looked at the face of the woman who had birthed me, twisted with nothing but hatred. Suddenly, the urge to argue, to scream, to ask why, vanished. I slowly stood up, dusting off my jeans. “Fine,” I said quietly. “I’m leaving.” My mother blinked, caught off guard by how easily I had surrendered. Then, a smug sneer curled her lips. She thought she had finally broken me. “Go to the basement and think about what you’ve done. For the next month, don’t you dare show your face around here and stress Cindy out.” I looked at her, completely detached. “Okay.” “Leave your keys and the security fob on the table,” she demanded. “Cindy’s hearing is incredibly sharp now. If she hears a key in the lock, she’ll panic.” “Okay.” I turned, grabbed my backpack, and wheeled my suitcase out. In the living room, my mother was gently placing a pair of noise-canceling headphones over Cindy’s ears. “Is the music nice, sweetie? Come on, let’s go down to the courtyard and get some fresh air and sunshine.” “Okay. Thank you, Mom.” I dragged my suitcase past them. Just as my mother finished tying Cindy’s shoes, she stood up. She dug into her pocket, pulled out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills, and stuffed them into my coat pocket like she was tossing spare change to a street beggar. “Basements get damp. Buy yourself some dehumidifier packets at the store,” she said coldly. “Don’t expect me to visit. Cindy needs me every second. Once you’ve cooled your head, you can come back in a month and get on your knees to apologize to her.” She didn’t wait for a reply. The front door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silent apartment. I stood in the center of the living room, looking around this obstacle-free fortress built entirely for another girl. It was hilarious. I let out a dry, raspy laugh, and as I laughed, a single tear traced down my cheek. I had no intention of going to that basement. I walked over to the coffee table and set down my keys and the building fob. I kept the forty dollars in my pocket, consider it my exit fare. I grabbed a piece of scrap paper from the counter and scribbled a final note: Every dime you spent raising me for eighteen years will be wired back to your account with interest. We are done. I grabbed my suitcase, walked out of the building, and headed in the exact opposite direction of my mother, leaving this city behind forever.

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1 On our wedding eve, Austin casually mentioned he’d married Natalie after losing a dice game at a bar. “A month-long joke,” he shrugged. “Not worth mentioning.” That night, he hosted a VIP party to “win back his divorce papers.” I entered to find him kissing Natalie before the crowd. Laughing, they pulled me onto the sofa. “Napkin pass,” someone explained. “Pass paper by lips. Drop it, we all get a demand.” Austin kissed Natalie for three minutes before turning, a damp scrap clinging to his lips. “Your turn, Vivian,” he slurred. “Catch it or forfeit.” I stared, arms folded. “I forfeit.” Natalie smirked against his shoulder. “My demand: lend me Austin for a year.” Austin patted her hand, silent. I nodded, expressionless. “Fake marriage’s dull. Let’s raise the stakes.” … The laughter in the room died down instantly. Austin frowned, his gaze narrowing. “Vivian, what are you planning now?” I didn’t answer him. I kept my eyes locked on Natalie. “Are we playing or not?” I saw a flash of excitement in Natalie’s eyes: the unmistakable thrill of a predator watching its prey step into a trap. But she hid it quickly, leaning back against Austin and casually twirling his fingers. “I already have Austin as my husband for a year,” she said, looking at me with amusement. “As a woman, I’ve already won. Why should I risk playing you unless you put up a stake that actually interests me?” “You name the stake,” I said. She smiled maliciously, her eyes sparkling under the dim lounge lights. “Tomorrow is your ten-million-dollar wedding, isn’t it? If I win, tomorrow’s wedding night belongs to me.” Several people in the room gasped. I looked over at Austin. “That depends on what Austin wants.” Austin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Vivian, if you’re too scared to play, just say so. Don’t use me as an excuse to back out!” I nodded. “Fine. Let’s play.” Natalie sat up, her interest fully piqued. “And what’s your demand if you win?” “My demand is simple. You both delete that relationship app from your phones.” Austin let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Vivian, you’ve been snooping through my phone? Just because Natalie and I logged in for thirty consecutive days to get the ‘Honeymoon Couple’ digital badge? It’s a game, Vivian. You’re seriously throwing a tantrum over a virtual badge?” To the crowd, I looked pathetic. Betting my actual wedding night just to force them to delete a silly app: it was the ultimate, desperate humiliation of a woman blinded by love. The whispers in the room started immediately. People muttered about how Vivian Jiang, the ruthless CEO of the Jiang Group, could be so weak and submissive when it came to Austin. I ignored them. I knew exactly what they were saying. During our junior year of college, Austin had gotten into a bloody brawl over Natalie, smashing a beer bottle over a man’s head. I was the one who showed up at the police station at 4:00 AM with a team of lawyers, paid the victim’s massive medical bills, and kept his name out of the press. He had never apologized. He kept getting into fights for Natalie, and I kept cleaning up his messes. My own father had threatened to disinherit me because he hated Austin, and I had nearly severed ties with my family just to secure tomorrow’s wedding. To everyone here, I was just a rich fool who would tolerate any abuse to keep her man. Natalie picked up the silver dice cup. “How are we playing?” I picked up my cup clumsily, my hand shaking slightly. As I did, one of my dice slipped out, rolling across the carpet. A wave of snickers ran through the room. Austin picked up the die, tossing it back to me with an irritated sigh. “Why do you have to embarrass yourself like this? You never step foot in clubs, and you can’t beat her. Are you trying to lose me completely before you’re satisfied?” I began to shake the cup slowly. “There isn’t much left to lose anyway.” Austin’s breath hitched, but my public defiance clearly bruised his ego. He sneered, leaning back. “Fine! If you lose, I’m sleeping in her bed tomorrow night. Don’t come crying to me!” Natalie gave her cup a professional, elegant shake and slammed it onto the glass table. She lifted it. Double sixes: a perfect twelve. The room erupted into cheers. Unless I rolled a twelve as well, I was finished. Austin leaned in, playfully biting Natalie’s cheek. “Good job, babe.” I reached for my cup. “Wait,” Austin interrupted, holding my hand down. “I’m raising the stakes. If you lose, you have to personally book the room for us tomorrow night. I want the penthouse suite at your luxury hotel: the most expensive one you own.” They were dragging my pride through the mud, and they wanted me to pay for it. I nodded. “Deal.” I lifted my cup. A two and a three: five points. “Hahaha!” Natalie burst into laughter, wrapping her arms tightly around Austin’s waist. She looked at me with mock pity. “Come on, Vivian. Women shouldn’t be so cruel to each other. If you beg me right now, we can call the whole bet off.” It was a classic psychological trap. I had used that exact negotiation tactic in boardrooms when she was still using it to flirt with college boys. “No need,” I said, my voice dry. “A bet is a bet.” Natalie’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Want to keep going? Let’s raise the stakes again.” “Yes,” I replied without hesitation. Natalie leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If I win this time, I want your wedding ring. And tomorrow’s wedding? I want to be the bride standing at the altar with Austin.” The room fell into a shocked, suffocating silence. I looked at Austin, my voice slightly raspy. “Do you agree to this?” Austin didn’t even hesitate. He looked at me with utter contempt. “Vivian, do you really think you can use me to back out of this?” “Natalie is gorgeous, and I don’t lose either way. If you lose, just wait a year. I’ll divorce her and marry you then. You’ve spent your whole life waiting for me anyway, haven’t you?” The very last drop of my affection for him evaporated into the cold air of the lounge. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s play.” This time, she rolled an eleven. I rolled an eight. I lost again. Natalie poured two glasses of champagne, locking her arm with Austin’s for a celebratory toast. “To our early wedding!” Austin drank it down, looking at me with a smirk. “See, Vivian? That’s what a real woman looks like.” Without a word, I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a message to my family group, my business partners, and my social media accounts. Tomorrow’s wedding is canceled. Please do not attend. Then, I dialed my PR director. “Transfer tomorrow’s wedding venue, catering, and floral arrangements to Ms. Natalie Shen, free of charge. Draft a press release: ‘The Jiang Group congratulates Natalie Shen on her sudden marriage.’” Austin’s glass nearly slipped from his hand. “Vivian, are you insane? That wedding cost tens of millions!” Natalie froze for three seconds, then let out a nervous laugh. “Vivian… you’re incredibly generous! But I don’t want to steal your man forever. Let him be my husband for just a year. That’s a fair compromise, right?” She was trying to act magnanimous, believing I had lost my mind over Austin and wanting to keep me hooked in the game so she could extract more from me. “If that’s what you want…” I said, my hands trembling slightly. Natalie’s smile grew wider. “Let’s bet on something else then. I’ll put up my family’s entire company assets.” A murmur of surprise ran through the room. The Shen Group was a medical supply business that had made a quick fortune during a recent supply shortage, but they were heavily leveraged and on the verge of bankruptcy without cash flow. My H Luxury Hotel Group, on the other hand, was a stable, massively profitable empire with prime real estate across the country. She thought she was a financial genius. She didn’t realize she was standing on the edge of a cliff. Seeing me hesitate, she offered: “If you think the stakes are too high, I can give you tomorrow’s wedding back… though the groom still belongs to me for the year.” “No need,” I interrupted. I stared at my dice cup with the desperate, bloodshot eyes of a ruined gambler. “H Hotels it is. Let’s roll.” Natalie shook her cup with excitement. Before I could lift mine, she stopped me. “Wait, Vivian. Since this involves corporate assets, shouldn’t we have lawyers and media witness it?” “Sure,” I said. A man in a sharp suit stood up from the corner. “What a coincidence, I’m a senior partner at a top law firm. I have a digital contract template ready.” Two elegantly dressed women stood up beside him. “We’re journalists. We can document this live on our platforms.” I smiled. “Perfect.” The lawyer handed me the tablet. I signed my name without even reading the clauses. “No need to review. Your firm’s founder is my company’s independent director and personal advisor. If there’s a loophole, I’m sure he’ll handle it.” The lawyer’s face went pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Y-yes, absolutely no issues, Ms. Jiang.” We both signed the digital agreement. Natalie shook her cup one last time and lifted it. Double sixes: twelve points again. I lifted mine. A five and a six: eleven points. I lost. The crowd groaned in disappointment. “So close. What a shame.” I let out a heavy sigh, slamming my cup onto the table. “Alright, H Hotels is yours. Want to keep going?” Natalie’s eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated greed. “Anytime, Vivian.” I ruffled my hair in simulated frustration. “Let’s make it quick. All-in. If I lose, you get the entire Jiang Corporation. If you lose, I get your family assets, H Hotels back, Austin back, and tomorrow’s wedding.” Austin grabbed my wrist. “Stop! You’re going to lose everything!” He glared at me, his breathing ragged. “If you do this, even if you win, I’ll never choose you. And if you lose and become a pauper, I definitely won’t want you. Stop this now!” I shoved his hand away and began to shake my cup. “We’ve been playing high rolls. This time, lowest roll wins.” Natalie laughed. “Sure, whatever you want.” “Reveal!” She lifted her cup. Two ones: a total of two points. The lowest possible roll under normal circumstances. Everyone looked at me as if I were a dead woman walking. I calmly lifted my cup. A collective gasp rattled the room. Natalie leaned forward, her face turning from triumph to absolute, paralyzing horror. “How… how is this possible?”

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1 Past midnight after my twelfth surgery, exhaustion and cramps left me bent double. Shivering, I went to Preston’s office for my cashmere blanket. He already had it draped over Brooke. “She’s fragile,” he said coldly. “You’re stronger, Summer. Don’t be difficult.” For three years, I’d written his charts, covered his shifts, taken abuse from families. His only praise: “You’re always the mature one.” Now I saw maturity meant being left in the cold. Brooke settled in as he handed her hot brown sugar water. I stood nearby, scrubs stiff with blood, invisible to him. Silently, I walked out and dropped my engagement ring in the trash. Ten minutes later, his text buzzed: Stop the tantrum. I’ll make it up after my shift. The hundredth time. I opened my email and clicked the fellowship invitation I’d ignored for months. … At the morning sign-out the next day, I dragged my sleep-deprived body into the conference room and placed three complex ICU charts on the table. Every page had been typed out, letter by letter, while I fought off waves of abdominal pain the night before. Preston walked in. Ignoring my pale face, he swept the charts off the table and handed them straight to Brooke. My heart contracted, leaving a heavy, suffocating weight in my chest. I remembered my first year of residency. I had cried in his office because I couldn’t draft a proper clinical chart. He had held my hand, guiding my pen, and whispered: “Summer, your handwriting is as beautiful as your heart. It’s meant to save lives. This is our silent partnership.” Now, that partnership felt like a slap in the face. Brooke, still wrapped in my cashmere blanket, looked up with an air of fragile innocence. “Preston, Summer stayed up all night to write these. She should present them. I don’t want to steal her thunder.” As she spoke, her eyes locked onto mine, flashing a brief, triumphant smirk. Preston’s voice cut through the room, cold and warning. “Brooke is still recovering from an illness. Who are you glaring at, Summer? You could learn a thing or two about her thoughtfulness.” A sharp, stabbing pain bloomed in my chest, and my vision blurred for a second. Ignoring Preston entirely, I looked at Brooke. “Is a stolen blanket really that warm?” Her eyes instantly welled with tears. Preston stepped in front of her, shielding her from my view. I remembered a time when I had argued passionately with the department chief over a rare disease treatment plan. I had been red-faced and furious, nearly slamming my hands on the table. Afterward, Preston had pulled me into the empty stairwell, pinching my cheek with a fond laugh: “I love how fierce you are. You never let anyone walk over you, my little thorny rose.” But now, that same fierceness only annoyed him. During grand rounds, the hospital leadership requested an update on our cardiogenic shock research. This project had been my obsession for the past three months, costing me endless sleepless nights. I raised my hand, though my arm felt like lead. Preston’s gaze swept over me, completely ignoring my hand, and landed on Brooke. “Dr. Brooke is the primary contributor to this project. It is only fitting that she presents the findings.” Brooke walked up to the podium, holding my notes, and began reading the slides with a hesitant, stuttering voice. Preston had once told me that this research would be our shared crown, the ultimate graduation gift for my residency. Now, he was handing my gift to someone else. After the meeting, he cornered me in the hallway. “The paper will be published in a major medical journal soon,” he said, his tone entirely matter-of-fact. “I want you to give Brooke the first-author credit. She needs the publication for her upcoming promotion.” Looking at his handsome, entitled face, I felt a tremor of rage run through me. My heart went completely cold. I squeezed my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms, forcing back the tears. Then, I smiled. “Sure,” I said. He seemed taken adjust by how easily I had surrendered, blinking in surprise. “I knew I could count on you. You’re always so reasonable.” I turned and walked away, pulling out my phone. I opened our shared research group chat, titled Cardiology Vanguard, and without a second thought, tapped Leave Group. To celebrate the initial approval of the cardiogenic shock paper, the department booked a private room at a high-end restaurant across the street. This dinner should have been my celebration. Instead, at the main table, colleagues took turns raising their glasses to Brooke. Brooke shrank behind Preston, her voice dripping with artificial modesty. “Thank you, everyone, but Preston won’t let me touch a drop of alcohol. He says my health is too delicate.” Preston smiled, naturally taking the glass from her hand. His eyes, as he looked at her, were filled with a soft, protective indulgence. “Alcohol is terrible for her recovery. I’ll drink her share.” For the next half hour, he drank glass after glass to shield her, the two of them looking every bit like a devoted couple amidst the cheers of our colleagues. I sat in the farthest corner of the room, my body shivering as the menstrual cramps worsened. I kept my head down, biting my lip to keep from throwing up. Suddenly, the deputy chief of the department walked over to me, glass in hand. “Summer! You’re the backbone of this research team. You’ve worked so hard, you have to drink with me!” The pain was so intense I could barely stand. I forced myself to rise, holding up my glass of warm water. “I’m so sorry, Chief. I’m not feeling well tonight. Let me toast you with water instead…” Before I could finish, a hand slid over mine. Preston easily took the water glass from my grip, picked up a bottle of liquor, and poured me a generous shot. “Come on, Summer,” he murmured in a low, coaxing voice. “The chief has always championed you. Everyone is having a good time, so don’t act like a child.” The cold glass seeped into my palm, sending a shiver up my spine. I looked at the man I had loved for five years, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m on my period, Preston. The pain is unbearable.” “And I have a severe alcohol allergy,” I added, my voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll go into anaphylactic shock. Have you forgotten?” When we were sophomores in college, I had accidentally eaten a chocolate filled with liquor. My airway had swollen shut within minutes, and I had nearly died in the emergency room. That night, Preston had broken every bottle of alcohol in his apartment, crying as he held me close. He had sworn: “Summer, I will never let a single drop of alcohol near you again. If I can’t even protect the woman I love, I don’t deserve to be a doctor.” Now, he didn’t look angry. He only sighed, his expression tinged with irritation. “Summer, that was years ago. Your immune system has gotten much stronger since then. Just take a sip or two, and I’ll drink the rest.” “With me right here, what could possibly happen to you? Just be good.” My chest ached so badly I could barely draw breath. Right then, Brooke walked over, holding a glass of dark liquor filled to the brim with ice. She held it right up to my face. “Summer, I know you’re upset about the paper’s authorship,” she said, her voice sounding like a sweet poison. “Let’s drink to put it behind us, okay?” The smell of the alcohol made my stomach heave, and I instinctively stepped back. But Preston’s hand slid around my waist, locking me in place. “Summer, Brooke is offering you a peace treaty,” he whispered near my ear. “You can throw your tantrums at home, but give me some face in front of our colleagues.” “Drink it, and I’ll take you out for your favorite dumplings afterward, okay?” A violent cramp ripped through my abdomen, and sweat beaded on my forehead. Looking at Preston’s familiar, gentle, yet utterly heartless face, a wave of absolute despair washed over me. I violently shoved his hand away. “Are you sure you want me to drink this, Preston?” I rolled up my right sleeve, exposing the jagged scar on my wrist from the emergency venous line they had cut to save my life during my last allergic shock. I thrust it right into his face. “If I drink this, I will suffocate on this floor! Are you so eager to please her that you want me dead?” The room went dead silent. Every conversation cut off instantly. Preston stared at the scar, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his features. But my gaze had already drifted to Brooke’s wrist. There, glittering under the restaurant lights, was a rare, limited-edition watch. It was the watch I had left in the hospital call room, the one Preston had gifted me last year. He had told me: “Every tick of this watch represents a heartbeat of mine for you.” It turned out his heartbeats were cheap enough to be handed out to anyone. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the engagement ring I had retrieved from the trash can earlier, and dropped it into Brooke’s glass with a sharp splash. “The wedding is off, Preston. Consider the research paper my parting donation to your new life.” “Don’t ever make me sick again.” Droplets of alcohol splashed onto Preston’s expensive shirt. When he looked up, his eyes held only a cold, patronizing authority. “Summer, you used to be so mature. You’re disappointing me today.” He loosened his tie, his voice flat and certain. “Walk out that door, and you can spend the next few days reflecting on your behavior. When you’re ready to stop acting like a child, come find me.” “But until then, don’t expect me to reach out.” I let out a cold laugh, turned on my heel, and walked out without looking back. He had no idea that just an hour ago, I had liquidated the joint investment portfolio I had set up under my name for our house down payment. I had sold the entire balance of two hundred thousand dollars at a loss, forcing him to absorb the massive financial hit. I was going to make sure he felt every single penny of that loss. The morning after I submitted my transfer request, the alarms in the cardiothoracic ward blared, shattering the peace of the hospital. A critical patient, who had been transferred from the general ward to the ICU the night before, had gone into acute heart failure. The cause was a lethal overdose of Deslanoside, a powerful cardiac medication. The administration launched an immediate investigation. Within hours, the digital footprint was uncovered. The electronic signature that authorized the fatal dose belonged to my account. The timestamp read 2:00 AM. Instantly, my colleagues looked at me with cold, accusing eyes. Rage and panic rushed to my head, leaving my limbs numb. I could barely stand. I immediately demanded to see the shift logs. At 2:00 AM, I wasn’t even in the hospital building. I had been curled up in my apartment, crying from menstrual pain. How could I have logged into the system? Brooke was sobbing behind Preston, looking pale and fragile. She offered a tearful, stuttering defense, claiming she had only “borrowed” my login to look up some reference files. She claimed she must have bumped the keyboard by mistake, leading to the error. “Summer, I’m so sorry… I really didn’t mean to…” She wept as if she were the victim here, making my teeth chatter with pure fury. “By mistake?” I yelled. “Brooke, you’ve been an assistant surgeon for five years! You’re telling me you accidentally ordered a lethal dose of a high-risk medication?” I demanded that security pull the footage from the nurse’s station and verify the IP logs to prove my innocence. But Preston grabbed my arm, dragging me away from the administration office. He slammed a pre-printed document onto my chest. The sharp edge of the paper sliced across my cheek, leaving a stinging red line. It was a Resident Clinical Error Confession Form. He spoke in a sickening, patronizing tone, trying to force me to take the fall for her. “Summer, just sign it. An incident like this will ruin Brooke’s career. But you’re different, you’re just a resident. Once she gets her promotion, I’ll use my father’s connections to get you into a fully funded PhD program. Think of this as a temporary sacrifice.” He reached out to touch my shoulder. “You’ll help us, right? You’re always the mature one.” Staring at the paper that would destroy my license and my entire career, and looking at the man who was willing to ruin my life to shield his mistress, the last of my sanity burned away. With trembling hands, I tore the confession form to pieces right in front of the hospital board. Then, I threw the paper shreds straight into his handsome face. “Clean up your own garbage, Preston!” By that afternoon, an official email was sent to the entire hospital: Resident Summer Offen Suspended Indefinitely for Major Clinical Error. My phone exploded with messages. My old mentors expressed their deep disappointment, while the interns whispered in chat groups about how my quiet demeanor had been a mask for incompetence. I hid in the empty stairwell, my back pressed against the cold concrete wall. My throat felt dry, and my chest throbbed with a suffocating weight. Just then, my father called. “Summer, did you and Preston have a fight? The news says…” He sighed. “Don’t be foolish, sweetheart. Preston is a good man.” Hearing his voice, the dam broke. I covered my mouth to muffle my tears, hung up the phone, and curled into a ball on the cold floor. My screen lit up again. It was a text from Preston: Take a couple of days to calm down. Stop being stubborn. I’ll smooth this over, and once the dust settles, we’ll get our marriage license. That arrogant, charitable tone felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I blocked his number and deleted every trace of him from my phone. On the third day of my suspension, I returned to the department to pack up my belongings. When I pushed open the office door, I found Brooke playing with my custom, hand-engraved stethoscope. It was the stethoscope Preston had promised to buy me for my birthday, but he had later backed out, calling it an unnecessary expense. I had worked three months of extra night shifts to buy it myself. Seeing me, Brooke shrank back, though her voice held a smug undertone. “Oh, Summer. You’re back?” “Preston said that since you won’t be practicing medicine anymore, he wanted me to have this as a little gift.” The last remnant of pain in my chest flared into white-hot rage. I grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she released her grip, and snatched my stethoscope back. I pulled out a disinfectant wipe and began scrubbing the metal, over and over, right in front of her. “Keep your hands off my things,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “I don’t like getting dirt on my equipment.” “Ow!” Brooke let out a sharp shriek. Hearing her cry, Preston stormed into the office, violently shoving me aside. The small of my back slammed hard against the sharp corner of the desk, sending a jolt of agony through my spine. Without even looking at me, he wrapped his arms around Brooke and glared at me. “Summer! Have you lost your mind? You’re a suspended nobody! How dare you come back here and cause trouble?” “A nobody?” I forced myself to stand straight, a cold laugh escaping my lips. I pulled my officially stamped resignation letter from my bag and slapped it hard against his chest. “Open your eyes and look closely, Preston. I quit!” Preston’s face went pale. “Summer, don’t forget that your residency completion certificate is still in my hands! Without my signature, your entire residency is a waste of paper!” He threw my resignation letter onto the floor. “You think you can threaten me with this? You’re being pathetic.” Just then, a chaotic scream echoed from the hallway. A man holding a long kitchen knife charged into the office, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He locked his gaze onto Brooke, lunging forward to grab her by the hair, delivering a brutal slap that sent her falling to the floor. “You’re the doctor who killed my mother, aren’t you?” “My mother died this morning because of your dosage error! You heartless monsters, I’m taking you down with her!” Brooke’s lip was bleeding as she screamed, “Preston, help me! Save me!” My chest tightened. This man was the son of the patient who had died from the Digoxin overdose. Suddenly, a powerful grip clamped onto my arm. Before I could react, Preston yanked me forward with brutal force, throwing me directly into the path of the lunging man. “You have the wrong person!” Preston shouted, shielding Brooke with his body as he pointed at me. “The electronic signature on the lethal order belongs to Summer Offen! She’s the one who killed your mother!” The man lunged, his blade slicing clean through the skin of my neck. Preston froze, his face turning an instant, ghostly white as my blood began to spill.

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1 My wife and daughter claimed they could cross into another world through our TV, where they had another home and family. On Father’s Day, Lily announced she’d spend the day with “Daddy Nathan,” her “real dad” there. For our anniversary, Evelyn brushed off my new suit, saying her other-world husband was waiting. Even when I had a raging fever, they rushed out to meet Nathan at an amusement park. Over the Fourth of July, they vanished for a week. Returning, Evelyn cradled a newborn. Lily proudly declared him “the baby brother Daddy Nathan gave me.” Evelyn added, “Nathan thinks you should raise him. You’re not productive anyway.” I grabbed her wrist, shaking. “This is an affair! Do you care about us?” She yanked free, impatient. “He’s in another dimension. We’ll never meet. What are you jealous of?” Taking Lily’s hand, she headed for the living room. “Come on, sweetie. Back through the portal to Daddy Nathan.” As they walked away, I dialed the electronics recycler. “I need an old TV hauled tomorrow morning.” … The next afternoon, Evelyn and Lily stepped out of the television. The moment they crossed the threshold, they froze. Usually, lunch would be waiting on the dining table. The dishes would be piping hot, the soup simmering, and their favorite snacks neatly arranged on the coffee table. Today, there was nothing. The table was bare, the floors unswept. The baby lay alone on the sofa, his voice raspy from crying for hours. I was sitting in the darkest corner of the room, watching the baby cry without moving an inch. Evelyn’s face fell. She rushed over and scooped the baby into her arms. “What is wrong with you?” I remained silent. “Are you deaf? The baby is screaming his lungs out and you’re just sitting there? No food, no cleaning… what do you even do all day?” She glared at me. “I ask you to do one simple thing, to help watch a child, and you fail miserably. No wonder my husband in the other world is ten times better than you. He actually knows how to be useful.” Lily stood beside her, her expression dripping with disgust. “You’re a terrible dad. Daddy Nathan is always gentle. He keeps his house spotless, plays with me, and takes great care of baby brother.” She crossed her arms and added, “If the TV portal didn’t have a twelve-hour limit every day, Mommy and I would never come back here. We hate looking at your face.” In the past, hearing those words would have sent me into a panic. I would have leaped up, apologized profusely, run to the kitchen, and swallowed my pride just to keep the peace. Today, I didn’t budge. I just stared at them, completely silent. Evelyn assumed I was playing passive-aggressive games. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to soothing the crying infant. Lily sneered and ran off to find her toys. Neither of them noticed the absolute coldness in my eyes. I looked at Lily’s young face, remembering how she used to cry through the night when she was a newborn. Evelyn was always busy with her career, so I never let her wake up once. I kept telling myself that if I just got through this phase, things would get better. When Lily was two, she became terrified of strangers. I quit my job to become a stay-at-home dad just to give her a sense of security. I told myself again, just get through this phase. When she was three, she tripped and cut her forehead. I held her tight as we sped to the emergency room. She got three stitches, and I cried harder than she did. The doctor told me that kids don’t remember early trauma, that she would forget it when she grew up. She did forget. She forgot everything I had ever done for her. Now, she stood before me, summarizing my ten years of devotion with a single word: terrible. Evelyn handed the baby to Lily and began packing a bag with formula, baby food, fresh clothes, and a few small toys. “Come on, Lily,” Evelyn said. “Let’s head to the supermarket. We need to buy your brother some new clothes, and pick up some of the groceries Nathan likes.” Lily’s eyes lit up. She hurried after her mother, barely slipping her shoes on before rushing out the door. The heavy click of the front door echoed through the empty house. I was alone again. I walked over to the television and stared at it for a long time. The screen was black. In its glossy reflection, I saw my own face. My eyes were bloodshot, my hair disheveled, my skin pale. I looked like a stranger. I had foolishly believed that if I worked hard enough and loved them gently enough, they would eventually appreciate me. But yesterday, when Evelyn stood at the door holding another man’s child and demanded I raise it, something shifted. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t sadness. It was a sudden, terrifying clarity. It was never about me not being good enough. It was simply that they had decided, a long time ago, that I would always be the very last thing on their list. 2 Late that night, a fever took hold of me. By the time Evelyn and Lily came back, I was slipping in and out of consciousness. The moment they walked in, they began organizing their haul. The new baby clothes were folded neatly into a storage box, and the gourmet ingredients bought for Nathan were packed into the fridge. Evelyn finished up, turned around, and began rattling off instructions in her usual demanding tone. “Starting tomorrow, feed the baby at seven in the morning, noon, and right before bed. Change his diaper every three hours. Wash his clothes the day they get dirty; do not let them pile up.” I leaned against the bedroom doorframe, barely able to keep my eyes open. “Nathan said he is worried about leaving the baby with you, so he told me to keep a close eye on things,” she added, not even looking at me. “You don’t have anything else to do anyway, so just make sure you get this right.” Lily nodded solemnly beside her. “Yeah, you need to take good care of baby brother. No slacking off. Daddy Nathan works so hard, you can’t let him down.” I parted my dry, cracked lips. “I have a fever.” Evelyn frowned. “A fever?” “Yes.” She glanced at me, her eyes lingering on my pale face for less than two seconds before darting away. “Drink some hot water and take some ibuprofen. It can’t be that bad.” I took a deep, shaky breath, gripping the doorframe to stay upright. “Can you please grab the medicine for me? It’s in the cabinet. I’m too dizzy to stand.” She didn’t move. Instead, her eyes drifted toward the television. I followed her gaze. The screen was already glowing, the portal’s countdown timer ticking away. “Can you stop being so difficult?” her voice snapped with irritation. “Nathan worked a double shift last night, and we finally have a chance to go over and keep him company. You just have to ruin it, don’t you?” She sighed. “It’s just a fever. Stop being so incredibly selfish.” I stared at her, the silence stretching between us. Lily stepped around her mother, looking up at me like a disapproving adult. “You’re acting like a baby, always causing trouble,” Lily said. “Daddy Nathan never complains when he’s sick, and he still takes care of us. He’s the best dad.” She paused, pointing a finger at me. “Make sure you watch my baby brother. If you mess up and make Daddy Nathan sad, Mommy and I will be furious.” She grabbed Evelyn’s hand. “Mommy, hurry! The portal is going to close!” Evelyn squeezed her hand, and together they stepped toward the glowing television screen. A second later, they vanished into the light. The living room plunged back into quiet. I stood there, my muscles aching, my head throbbing, my ears ringing with a high-pitched buzz. I limped over to the television and struck the side of the plastic frame. The screen flickered violently, suddenly displaying a live feed of the other side. It looked like a security camera feed. In a cozy kitchen, a man wearing an apron stood by a stove. Evelyn walked up behind him, leaning in close to whisper something. He laughed and playfully nudged her away, her face lighting up with joy. Lily sat at the dining table drawing. “Daddy!” she called out. The man smiled and walked over, praising her drawing. Lily beamed and planted a kiss on his cheek. They looked like a perfect, happy family. After dinner, Evelyn helped him clear the table, and Lily eagerly offered to wash the dishes. The man tried to stop her. “Go play, sweetie. I’ve got this.” Evelyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Let her do it. Go sit down and rest.” Lily rolled up her sleeves and stood by the sink, looking back with a bright grin. “Look, Daddy! I learned how to wash dishes!” The man watched her, his eyes welling with touched tears. Watching the screen, the final piece of my heart shattered into dust. They weren’t incapable of helping around the house. They were willing to fight over who got to wash the dishes for him, but they couldn’t spare three seconds to hand me a single pill. 3 Evelyn and Lily returned promptly at noon the next day. I was still in bed, having survived the night through sheer willpower. “Mommy, I bet baby brother is going to roll over today!” “Really? Let’s go see.” I heard their footsteps head toward the living room, followed by a sudden silence. A moment later, Evelyn’s heavy steps marched toward the bedroom. She threw the door open and yanked me up from the mattress. “Did you miss his night feeding?” “I had a fever,” I whispered, my throat raw. “I don’t care!” she barked. “A baby cannot miss a feeding! Do you have any idea how bad that is for him?” I looked into her cold eyes. “I burned up all night. You didn’t bring me medicine or water. I had to crawl out of bed to find the pills myself. I still got up to soothe him when he cried…” “Enough, enough,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m asking about the baby. Why are you bringing up your own drama?” Lily peeked through the crack of the door, seeing me still lying down, and scoffed. “You are so lazy. What if baby brother got hungry? Daddy Nathan would be devastated if he knew.” Evelyn pulled out her phone, checking the living room security feed. Her expression darkened further. “You spent almost the entire afternoon in bed. How many times did you feed him? Did you even change his diaper?” “Once,” I said. “Only once?” “My temperature was 102 degrees.” She stared at me as if I were a stubborn child who refused to understand basic logic. “So what if you had a fever? Feeding a child is a basic human duty. If you can’t even handle that, what use are you to this family?” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “Just because you felt a little under the weather, you decided to neglect a helpless infant?” “How old is he? He can’t feed himself! Do you have a single shred of responsibility left in you?” “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” She began grabbing my arm, trying to drag me out of bed while dialing her phone. “Get up. I’m calling an ambulance. Go to the hospital. If you stay here and infect us, we won’t be able to go back to the other world. Do you understand?” Lily nodded in agreement. “Yeah, go to the hospital, Dad. What if you make Daddy Nathan sick?” “He has a weak immune system. If he catches your germs, Mommy and I will never forgive you.” I looked at the two of them standing side by side. Their expressions were identical, painted with the same chilling sense of entitlement. I suddenly laughed. I laughed at the realization of how many years I had wasted worrying about these two ungrateful people. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” The ambulance arrived quickly. The paramedics loaded me onto a gurney. “Is any family coming with him?” one of the paramedics asked. Evelyn stood by the doorway, shaking her head. “No. He can manage on his own.” The paramedic blinked, looking between her and me. “The patient has a very high fever. It’s much better if someone accompanies him…” “He’ll be fine,” Evelyn interrupted, her tone sharp. “I have a baby to look after. I can’t leave the house.” The paramedics didn’t argue. They wheeled me out. I spent three days in the hospital. During that time, neither Evelyn nor Lily visited me once. They didn’t even send a text. I opened my phone and checked our home security cameras. Unsurprisingly, they entered the television portal right on schedule every day, returning only at the very last second. On the fourth day, I was discharged. It happened to be Lily’s first day back at school. Out of old habit, I walked her to the school gates. One of her classmates called out her name, and the two girls began whispering. Lily laughed, her voice loud and proud. “I have two dads, you know!” Her friend looked confused. “Two?” “Yeah!” Lily bragged. “One lives in another world, and one lives in my house. Daddy Nathan in the other world is the best. He never yells, he plays with me, cooks delicious meals, and loves me the most.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “The dad at home is useless. He just nags and complains. I absolutely hate him.” The classmate didn’t say anything, but she glanced awkwardly at me. Their teacher walked over, kneeling down to look at Lily. “Lily, you shouldn’t talk about your father like that.” Lily looked at the teacher, completely unbothered. “But it’s the truth.” The teacher frowned, about to speak, when Lily suddenly turned around and shoved me. “I wish Daddy Nathan could stay with me forever,” she shouted. “I don’t want you!” I was still weak from the hospital and lost my balance, falling backward onto the pavement. Lily didn’t even look back as she ran through the gates and disappeared into the crowd. As I sat there on the cold concrete, my phone buzzed. It was the electronics recycling company. “Hi, we have an opening tomorrow morning. Would that work for you?” “Yes,” I said, brushing the dirt off my palms. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll be waiting.” 4 I didn’t go to pick Lily up that afternoon. When she finally walked through the front door, her face was twisted with rage. “Why didn’t you pick me up?” I sat on the sofa and didn’t answer. “Every other kid had their parents waiting for them! I had to walk home all by myself!” She threw her backpack onto the floor. “What do you even do all day? You’re so lazy you can’t even remember your own daughter?” I kept my eyes on her, silent. She huffed, turning around to forage for snacks in the pantry. I watched her small back, remembering how I used to stand outside her school gates every single day, holding her favorite treats, ready to take her bag and ask how her day was. She had always pushed me away, eager to get home and rush to the TV so she could see Nathan. When Evelyn came home from work, she tossed a heavy grocery bag onto the kitchen counter. Lily immediately ran over and wrapped her arms around her mother’s leg. “Mommy! I miss Daddy Nathan and baby brother so much! Can we please go see them now?” Evelyn smiled warmly, stroking her hair. “Of course, sweetie. Right now.” She turned to me, her warm expression instantly freezing into a cold glare. “Cook these groceries. I want to take the meals inside with us tonight.” I didn’t argue. Instead, I pulled a stack of documents from the drawer and handed them to her along with a pen. “Sign these first,” I said. “They’re utility authorizations and some administrative paperwork.” Evelyn grabbed the pen and scribbled her signature on the lines I pointed to, not even bothering to read a single word. She shoved the papers back into my hands. “There. Now hurry up and cook.” She had no idea that the very bottom sheet of that stack was a mutual divorce agreement. I put the papers away and quietly walked into the kitchen. Behind me, Evelyn’s voice drifted through the air. “Look how perfect this is. I spend half my time with you, and the other half with Nathan. Everyone gets a piece of the pie. No one loses.” She chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. He’s over there, you’re over here, you’ll never cross paths. It’s peaceful. You just stay home, cook, take care of the baby, and I’ll make sure your allowance is paid on time.” I finished cooking and packed the food into neat containers, handing them to her. She looked pleased and patted Lily on the shoulder. “Let’s go find your father and brother.” They walked over to the television, the screen flared with light, and they stepped through, vanishing into the glow. I stood in the center of the dark living room, watching the television screen. On the display, Nathan was setting the table. Evelyn opened the containers, and Lily leaned in happily. “Daddy, look! Mommy brought more delicious food!” The man smiled warmly, taking the boxes. “Thank you, girls.” They gathered around the table, laughing and preparing to eat. I turned around and walked into my bedroom, lying down on the mattress. I closed my eyes. The dose of sleeping pills I had crushed into that food was more than enough to put them all into a deep, uninterrupted sleep on the other side. A sleep long enough for the recycling crew to arrive. Long enough for the television to be taken away. Long enough for everything to end. At eight the next morning, the recycling crew knocked on my door. They walked into the living room and eyed the television. “This the one?” “Yes,” I replied. As the worker reached for the power cord, I spoke up. “If the screen is shattered and the frame is broken, do you still take it?” The worker paused. “Yeah, we mostly just strip them down for the internal components to sell back to manufacturers. We don’t care if the casing is damaged.” I walked over to the hall closet and pulled out a heavy claw hammer. The worker’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word. I raised the hammer, aimed directly at the center of the screen, and swung with everything I had. The sharp, deafening crack of imploding glass shattered the quiet of the room. The screen splintered instantly, a web of fractures spreading across the dark glass before it went completely dead. I swung a second time. Then a third. Every blow was heavy, landing square in the center. Pieces of glass rained down onto the hardwood floor with a soft, metallic clatter. The worker stood by, completely speechless. I stopped, letting the hammer slip from my hand to clatter onto the floor. I looked at the ruined, hollow shell of the machine. My voice was quiet and cold. “It’s ready. You can take it now.”

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1 During an escape room game, my boyfriend and my best friend left me locked inside a coffin. They promised it would only be ten minutes. They said they would solve the final puzzle and come right back to let me out. But I ended up counting fifty blocks of ten minutes. Over eight hours in the dark. When the heavy wooden lid finally creaked open, it wasn’t Marcus or Ella waiting outside. It was a panicked, apologetic employee. Night had fallen by the time I stepped out of the venue. I called Marcus, and his voice on the other end was breezy, utterly unbothered. “Honestly, it slipped my mind.” “Nora, you’re so dense. If we didn’t show up, you should’ve just climbed out yourself.” Yet, on Ella’s Instagram, a photo of her and Marcus at Disneyland told a completely different story. Underneath their bright, smiling faces, the caption read: Ditched the scaredy-cat. Best day ever! In the bottom corner of the image, two annual passes peeked out of her purse. During my three years with Marcus, both he and Ella, who absolutely loved adrenaline rushes, had never ridden a single roller coaster or watched a single horror movie. They always claimed it was to protect my weak heart. I used to think it was a beautiful sacrifice, a testament to their love and care. Now, I realized it was just a quiet resentment they had wrapped up in a pretty bow. I stared at the Live Photo on my screen, watching the two of them scream with pure thrill as the coaster dropped. Then, I opened my email inbox and pulled up an old message: an offer from a prestigious research institute in London. They wouldn’t have to hold themselves back for me anymore. Sitting on a bench outside the escape room venue, I stared at Ella’s post. A mutual friend had commented: You guys go like a dozen times a year and still aren’t sick of it? I had never seen a single one of those trips on my feed. They had blocked me from seeing their stories for years. Marcus and Ella finally called me back, claiming they had received a last-minute job interview invite and completely lost track of time. “Nora, go wait for us at the diner next door,” Marcus urged. “We’re on our way now.” That “now” took another two hours. When they finally burst through the diner doors, panting and offering hurried apologies, they blamed the traffic. I kept my eyes on my lap. I had checked the navigation maps minutes ago; the roads were entirely clear. Two hours was exactly enough time for them to squeeze in one last ride before leaving the theme park. At the table, they ordered a massive spread of my favorite mild, healthy dishes. But neither of them touched a single bite. They hated bland food. Halfway through the meal, they exchanged a quick look. “Your heart might be acting up from the scare earlier, Nora,” Marcus said, standing up. “I’ll run to the pharmacy and grab your meds.” Ella stood up right after him. “And I drank way too much water. I need to use the restroom.” I watched them disappear around the corner, heading straight for the hot wing joint next door. When they returned ten minutes later, Ella’s lips were swollen and bright red. Marcus’s nose was flushed from the heat. I waved down our waiter. “Could we get two cans of ice-cold Coke, please?” They both froze. I pushed the cans toward them, my voice completely flat. “On the house. The restaurant gave them to us because we hit the minimum spend.” Only then did their shoulders drop, their expressions relaxing. On the drive home, Marcus checked the health data synced from my smartwatch. When he saw my heart rate had spiked to 180 beats per minute inside the coffin, his brow furrowed in annoyance. He turned to Ella, his voice sharp with blame. “This is on you. Why did you insist on bringing Nora to an escape room?” “You’re the one who agreed to it!” Ella shot back. “Stop,” I whispered. “I won’t go again.” Only then did they quiet down. The truth was, I had begged them for months to let me join them just this once. Usually, they spent days planning our outings, filtering out anything even remotely risky. No hiking near steep cliffs, no horror movies, and strict dietary checks. Everything exciting was a forbidden zone. Whenever I told them they didn’t need to baby me, they would say in unison: “No way! We’re a team, everyone has to have fun.” I had believed them. Now I realized I was just a chore they had to manage. Back at our shared apartment, Ella’s tote bag was slumped on the sofa. A furry blue monster headband peeked out of the half-open zipper. It was a character from a popular animated movie. It suddenly clicked. A few days ago, Marcus had tried on a goofy, matching blue monster hoodie, checking himself out in the mirror and asking me if he looked handsome. He was usually so serious, yet he had posed in that childish hoodie for twenty minutes. It matched Ella’s headband perfectly. Leaving me behind hadn’t been a sudden mistake. It was a carefully orchestrated date. I told Marcus to make sure Ella got home safely and went straight to my room. But Marcus didn’t even wait a minute before slipping in after me. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his touch familiar and suffocating. As he did, his phone screen lit up on the nightstand. A notification popped up: Your booking for the tandem skydiving experience is confirmed. See you soon! The date was our fifth anniversary. The next second, Marcus whispered into my hair, “Nora, I have to head back to my hometown on our anniversary. Family stuff.” “What a coincidence,” I said softly. “I have plans that day too.” “We’ll make up for it later, okay?” I didn’t answer. My plans for that day involved going to the consulate to secure my visa. There would be no “later” for us. The next afternoon, feeling guilty, they suggested a movie night at home to keep me company. They chose a slow, artsy drama. Twenty minutes in, Marcus was yawning continuously, and Ella was scrolling through her phone. Every now and then, they would lean in close, whispering and giggling at something on her screen. When I got up to get a glass of water, I heard Ella whisper, “This movie is agonizing.” “Just hang in there,” Marcus murmured, rubbing her shoulder. “You know Nora can’t handle anything intense. Next month, we’ll do the skydiving trip. Did you watch the video I sent you?” Ella nodded eagerly. “Yes! It looks insane. We should sneak away for it the next time we take her hiking.” Hiking. Over the years, we had gone to parks and nature trails. But every single time, the two of them would fall behind. Marcus would claim he was looking for a beautiful leaf to give me. Ella would say she was chasing away bugs. I had always slowed my pace, waiting for them to catch up, only for them to return empty-handed and breathless. They had been using every spare second to slip away and chase the cheap thrills they denied themselves around me. I walked back into the living room and said, “I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll head to bed. Why don’t you guys put on something you actually like?” Marcus’s face instantly cleared. Within minutes, the low, creepy soundtrack of a bloody slasher film echoed through the apartment. I shut my bedroom door, blocking out their laughter, and opened my laptop. I pulled up the email from the London research institute. I typed a quick reply to the HR coordinator: Hello, my visa appointment is booked. I look forward to joining the team as soon as possible. They replied almost instantly, confirming my start date. A knock sounded on my door. Marcus walked in carrying a mug of warm herbal tea, perfectly brewed. He was always so attentive. But my eyes drifted past him to the living room table. There sat a massive pitcher of rum and coke alongside boxes of blazing hot takeout, dripping with spicy red oil. Bold, fiery, and exciting. Meanwhile, my tea was tepid, bland, and safe. “I know you don’t like spicy food, so I didn’t ask,” Marcus said, noticing my gaze. “It’s fine,” I murmured. He squeezed my hand. “Let’s go hiking this weekend. Didn’t you want to visit the historic chapel on the mountain to draw a fortune slip?” I had wanted to go for months. With graduation approaching, I wanted to pray for their career success, to pray that the three of us would never grow apart. But they had always claimed they were too busy with job interviews, pretending to be stressed out and exhausted. Now, they suddenly had time. I knew why. The mountain had recently opened a new cliffside rappelling course. Looking at his gentle smile, I said, “Okay.” Only this time, the wish wouldn’t be for them. On Saturday, we drove to the mountain. Marcus packed everything with his usual meticulous care: bug spray, rain ponchos, and snacks. He handed me an insulated bag with four sandwiches he had made. “Keep these in here. They’ll last a couple of days.” “I thought we’d be back by noon?” I asked. Marcus stiffened slightly, then recovered with a quick laugh. “Just in case you want to feed the stray dogs on the trail.” When Ella arrived, she twirled me around. “Nora! You look beautiful in that pastel pink set I bought you!” It was a soft, pale pink. She had told me it matched my gentle personality and that we had matching sister outfits. But Ella wasn’t wearing hers today. She was dressed in bright, neon orange. When Marcus walked out of his room, he was wearing the exact same shade of vibrant orange. Ella playfully punched his arm. “Copycat! Why are you wearing orange? You look ridiculous.” “You’re the one who looks like a neon traffic cone,” Marcus joked back. Same brand, same glaring color. I looked at them. “Do you guys not like the shirts I bought you? I’ve never seen you wear them.” Their laughter died instantly. “They’re in the wash,” Marcus stammered. “They’re too nice to ruin on a dusty hike,” Ella chimed in. The same old excuses. I used to think it was just bad timing. Now I knew they simply hated my taste, yet they had pretended to love the gifts anyway. Before I could think further, they pulled me out the door. The front passenger seat had always been my spot. It had the soft, light-colored seat covers I liked and the plush toys Marcus had won for me. He had even started the AC before we got in. It was perfect care, but it felt hollow. In the back seat, Ella cracked open a cold beer and popped some spicy chips. She gasped from the heat, complaining, “Your driving is awful today, Marcus.” “Still better than yours,” Marcus snapped. “Remember last time when we…” He stopped abruptly. The car fell dead silent. Another “last time” I was never told about. I stared out the window. Soon, a massive billboard for the mountain rappelling course flashed by. “They opened rappelling up there,” I murmured. “Do you guys want to try?” They answered almost in unison. “No way,” Marcus said, squeezing my hand. “It’s too dangerous. Your heart couldn’t handle it.” “We’re here for you today, Nora,” Ella added, leaning forward. “Don’t worry about us.” But as we started up the trail, their minds were clearly elsewhere. Their eyes kept darting to the directional signs for the rappelling ledge. Halfway up, Marcus used his usual routine. “There might be snakes ahead. I’ll go scout the trail.” Ella immediately chimed in. “I’m parched. I’ll run back down to the trail shop and grab us some water.” They vanished down the side path with practiced ease. This time, I didn’t stand there waiting. I turned and walked up toward the chapel alone. By the time I came out of the chapel, a torrential downpour had started. I pulled on the rain poncho Marcus had packed, but the wind was too strong, and within minutes, I was soaked to the bone. The mountain path became a muddy slide, and my foot slipped, twisting my ankle with a sharp crack of pain. Limping, I made my way down to the mid-mountain medical station. Near the rappelling platform, I saw two figures in bright orange suits, locked in a tight, joyous embrace before leaping off the ledge together. Their wild laughter echoed through the rain. They looked so light, so free. And I felt so heavy. Why couldn’t they just tell me the truth? Why did they have to construct an elaborate cage of lies just to spare my feelings? A rushed tourist accidentally collided with me, knocking the fortune card I had drawn from my hand. It fell into a puddle, turning into a soggy mess of paper. I knelt in the mud, desperately trying to piece the fragments back together, my tears mixing with the rain. My eyes burned far worse than my swollen ankle. Suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulder. I looked up to see Marcus and Ella. Marcus scooped me up, his voice trembling. “Why did you wander off? We told you to wait!” Ella held a bottle of juice, her clothes caked in mud. “Nora, we went back and you were gone! You scared us to death!” Her eyes were red, spilling over with real tears. But as I looked past them, I saw the two people in orange walking down from the rappelling landing zone. They were complete strangers. Marcus hoisted me onto his back. “Forget the ruined card. I’ll carry you back up to get a new one.” He began trudging back up the muddy trail, Ella hovering close by, her eyes glued to me. Inside the smoky, quiet chapel, my hands shook as Marcus handed me the wooden canister of wishing sticks. I closed my eyes, gave it a gentle shake, and a single slip fell to the floor. It was the worst possible omen. I didn’t ask the monk to translate it. I slipped it into my pocket and walked out to find Marcus and Ella, who were whispering near the courtyard. “Nora has been acting strange lately,” Ella whispered. “She even asked about the rappelling. I knew she’d come looking for us.” “Thank god we took the cable car down right after we finished,” Marcus replied, sounding relieved. “Otherwise, she would have caught us red-handed.” “Paying those two strangers to wear our orange gear was genius,” Ella giggled quietly. “Now she’ll just think she’s being paranoid. She won’t doubt us again.” My fingernails dug deep into my palms. I said nothing, turning back toward the main hall. When they caught up with me, they eagerly asked what my fortune said. I pulled out the slip and handed it to them. A shared path cannot stretch a thousand miles; this lifetime is destined for an early parting. Their faces went pale. “This is garbage!” Marcus hissed, crumpling the paper into a tight ball. Ella hugged me tightly, her voice shaking. “Nora, I’m never letting you go.” I only murmured, “Let’s head down. We need to pack for the move.” They had both signed with the same company in San Diego. They claimed they had turned down prestigious offers in Boston just so I could live in a milder, warmer climate. I had told them they didn’t have to, but they had ignored me, already planning out our lives. They discussed which neighborhood we’d live in, what style of furniture to buy, and which local spots to visit. They had even chosen a job for me: a braindead, dead-end desk job at a tiny local firm. “We’ll take care of you,” Marcus had said, ruffling my hair with patronizing affection. “You don’t need to stress yourself out.” They seemed to forget that I had graduated at the top of my class, winning the university’s highest honors. Multiple top-tier firms had fought to recruit me. On moving day, they insisted I rest and handle none of the heavy lifting. They packed my things with extreme care and loaded them into the truck. But when they slammed the truck doors shut and drove off, they didn’t even notice I wasn’t in the car. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the highway that Marcus realized. His call came through, frantic. “Nora! Where are you?” “At the airport,” I said. I heard both of them sigh with immense relief over the speaker. Marcus chuckled. “Well, flying is much easier on your heart anyway. Glad you didn’t have to suffer through a long drive.” Staring at my boarding pass for a flight to London, I said nothing. This time, I was flying in the opposite direction.

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1 Right before graduation at my elite private university, I accidentally bumped into the campus queen bee, a girl dripping in generational wealth. I apologized and walked away, assuming that would be the end of it. I was wrong. That very afternoon, she filed a formal report with the university. She claimed I had stalked her into the campus woods and relentlessly sexually harassed her. Victoria was the untouchable golden girl. Her family had donated half the buildings on campus. Naturally, everyone chose to believe her. Even I could not understand why she would bother framing me, a dirt-poor scholarship kid who barely existed in her world. I was expelled immediately. Sixteen years of grueling academic work went up in smoke. I was doxed, branded a predator online, and dragged into those same woods by a group of trust-fund frat boys who beat me within an inch of my life. When my adoptive parents saw my broken body, they did not offer comfort. Instead, they conspired to sell my labor to a brutal, off-the-grid manufacturing plant just to squeeze the last drop of value out of my existence. Driven to absolute despair and freezing in the winter rain, my heart finally gave out. I collapsed outside the campus gates, dying a pathetic, miserable death. Then, I opened my eyes. … I was standing on the tree-lined campus promenade. Victoria was walking straight toward me. Without thinking, I threw myself entirely out of the way. My knees slammed into the concrete, sending a sharp spike of pain up my legs, but I let out a massive breath of relief. I had successfully avoided her. Before my death, I had replayed this moment a million times. Bumping into her was the catalyst for my entire tragedy. Victoria always looked at people like me as if we were insects. I figured my touch had disgusted her so much that she decided to crush me just for fun. But as I pulled myself up from the ground, Victoria suddenly pivoted. She stepped directly into my space. Before I could back up, our shoulders collided. My blood ran ice cold. The original collision was never an accident. It was a premeditated setup. Victoria frowned in disgust, staring at the edge of her designer skirt where it had brushed against my jeans. She looked as though she had just been contaminated. Her perfectly manicured sidekicks immediately jumped forward, pointing their fingers in my face. “Are you completely blind? How dare you touch her! Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness right now!” It was the exact same script from my past life. But this time, I did not cower. I did not stammer out an apology. I slowly straightened my spine. “She intentionally stepped into my path. Why the hell should I apologize?” The lead minion widened her eyes, raising her hand to slap me. “You absolute trash! I will teach you how to speak to your betters!” Victoria glanced at me, a flicker of surprise breaking through her icy mask, but she quickly smoothed her expression into utter indifference. “Do not waste time on him,” she said flatly. “We have actual business to handle.” The minion lowered her hand, instantly shifting into a sycophantic smile. “Of course, Victoria. We will get everything ready perfectly.” The business Victoria mentioned was her grand, public proposal to Sebastian, the billionaire golden boy of the university. In my previous life, while the sky exploded with fireworks celebrating their perfect aristocratic love, I was bleeding out in the dirt of the campus woods. But why? Why go to such lengths to destroy me? I waited until Victoria and her entourage disappeared around the corner before I realized my legs were shaking violently. Fear was useless now. God had given me a second chance, and I was going to fight tooth and nail to survive. I immediately sprinted to the main campus gates, as far away from the woods as possible. I found a spot directly beneath a highly visible security camera and stood completely still. Two hours later, my phone rang. It was Dean Sinclair. Her voice was trembling with suppressed rage. “Rowan, my office received a severe complaint from Victoria.” “You stalked and harassed her in the campus woods this afternoon. Get to the administration building this instant!” I looked up at the blinking red light of the camera above me. “I was never in the woods.” “Shut your mouth!” Dean Sinclair snapped. “If you want to lie to my face, you can do it in my office!” “It is not a lie,” I replied, my voice steady and unnervingly calm. “Since Victoria bumped into me on the promenade two hours ago, I have been standing directly beneath the main gate security camera. I haven’t moved an inch.” “Therefore, it is physically impossible for me to have been in the woods.” The line went dead silent for three seconds. Then, she let out a cruel sneer. “You really think you are smart, pulling an alibi out of thin air. Did you forget that camera is broken?” I stared right at the glowing red operation light. “It is not broken. I am looking right at the recording indicator.” “It is broken as of right now,” she said coldly. A second later, the red light above me clicked off. A campus security guard stepped out of the nearby booth, grabbing me roughly by the bicep. “Move it, kid. Dean Sinclair wants you in her office right now.” I yanked my arm out of his grip, forcing my heart rate to slow down. “Take your hands off me. I can walk myself.” I had tried to use the camera to prove my innocence, but they casually disabled it without breaking a sweat. The power imbalance was suffocating. But panicking would only get me killed again. I had to face them head-on. The Dean’s office was stifling. Victoria was lounging gracefully on a leather sofa. She looked at me the way one looks at roadkill. Dean Sinclair’s face was pinched in fury. She threw a withdrawal form across her heavy mahogany desk. It fluttered to the floor at my feet. “Sign the expulsion papers, apologize to Victoria, and we will consider the matter closed.” “Victoria is gracious enough not to press criminal charges against a charity case like you. It would ruin her aesthetic.” I did not move to pick it up. The sharp edge of the paper had grazed my cheek, leaving a thin red line. I casually wiped a drop of blood away with my thumb. “Why would I withdraw, and why would I apologize for something I did not do?” “Is she being gracious, or is she just a pathological liar?” “How dare you!” Dean Sinclair slammed her palms onto the desk, her voice echoing off the walls. “You commit a filthy, degrading act, and you have the audacity to play the victim?” I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep my hands from shaking. “I did nothing! If you are accusing me, bring out the proof.” Dean Sinclair laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Who do you think you are? Do you honestly believe a girl of Victoria’s breeding would lower herself to frame you? Trash like you does not belong in an institution like this!” “How do you know she wouldn’t?” I leaned forward, refusing to break eye contact. “And as a Dean, taking one side of a story without a shred of evidence while calling a student ‘trash’ violates every code of conduct in this university.” “The only person who doesn’t belong in this institution is you!” Dean Sinclair’s chest heaved. Her eyes looked like they wanted to strip the flesh from my bones. She pointed a trembling, manicured finger right between my eyes. “Say that to me one more time.” I did not flinch. “I will say it as many times as you want. You are making wild accusations because Victoria is your actual niece. This is a blatant abuse of power and nepotism.” I had wanted to scream those exact words in my last life. “My administrative methods are none of your concern!” Dean Sinclair glared at me, her rage boiling over into a terrifyingly calm smile. “Expulsion is off the table now. Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. Now.” She placed her hand on the brass doorknob of her office. “Otherwise, this leaves the room, and your life is over.” It was a naked threat. I looked her dead in the eye. “I didn’t do it.” Dean Sinclair’s face turned purple. She ripped the door open. A crowd of students and faculty, drawn by the yelling, immediately swarmed the doorway, whispering and pointing. Victoria slowly stood up from the sofa, adjusting her immaculate cardigan. She pointed a delicate finger at me. “He stalked me. He cornered me. And now he is trying to play the victim. It makes me sick.” The crowd erupted. “Rowan always played the quiet nerd. Who knew he was such a creep?” “Harassing Victoria? A scholarship rat trying to touch an heiress? He should be locked up!” “Expel him! Get that predator out of here!” Dean Sinclair crossed her arms, her voice booming over the hallway. “Rowan has sexually harassed a female student, refused to admit fault, and verbally assaulted faculty.” “Since this has now caused severe disruption to our campus environment, the university has no choice but to involve law enforcement.” Victoria let out a soft, mocking laugh. “If this goes to the police, I guarantee he sees the inside of a cell.” They both stared at me, waiting for me to crack. Waiting for my knees to buckle. Waiting for me to beg. My face lost its color. I knew exactly what the wealthy elite could do to a nobody like me. “Please do not call the police!” Right on cue, my adoptive parents shoved their way through the crowd, looking panicked and frantic. “Ma’am, please, we are Rowan’s parents.” My adoptive father hunched his shoulders and actually dropped to his knees in front of Dean Sinclair. I instinctively reached out to pull him up. “Don’t beg them! I am completely innocent!” He aggressively slapped my hands away, looking up at the Dean with a sickeningly sweet, fawning expression. “We failed to raise him right. It is our fault. Blame us.” “Please, you are a big, important person. Have mercy on him.” My adoptive parents kept bowing their heads. Dean Sinclair let out a dramatic, theatrical sigh. “A parent’s love is truly a tragic thing. For your sake, I will offer Rowan one final chance.” “If he withdraws voluntarily and gets on his knees to apologize to my niece right now, we will drop the charges.” My parents’ pathetic smiles froze on their faces. “Does he have to drop out?” my adoptive mother pleaded. “It took everything we had to get him out of the trailer park. We borrowed from everyone in town just to afford his bus ticket here.” “If you just let him keep his scholarship, we will owe you our lives. We will kiss your shoes…” This time, Dean Sinclair didn’t even bother looking at them. “Spare me the poverty sob story. Expulsion is an act of extreme mercy on my part.” Victoria dramatically checked her diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch. “Well? Make a choice. I do not have all day to breathe this air.” My parents collapsed onto the floor in a theatrical display of despair. They crawled toward me on their knees, grabbing my pant legs, tears streaming down their weathered faces. “Son, just listen to the nice lady. Drop out and apologize.” “If the cops come, your life is ruined, and your father and I won’t be able to survive the shame! Please, I am begging you!” In my past life, this was the exact moment my spirit broke. I surrendered. I did it because I knew I could not fight billionaires, and because I thought my parents actually loved me. But shortly after my expulsion, while pretending to support me, they secretly sold my labor contract to an illegal factory for a quick cash payout. The memory of my lungs failing in the freezing mud rushed back to me. I dug my nails into my palms so hard the skin broke. God had given me a chance to clear my name. I was not going to walk back into the slaughterhouse. “I will say it one last time. I will not confess to a crime I did not commit.” My body was trembling, but my voice was completely steady. “Furthermore, the police are already on their way. I called them myself.” The entire hallway went dead silent. Dean Sinclair blinked, genuinely shocked. “You called the cops? You?” Victoria scoffed. “You really have a death wish.” My adoptive parents lunged at me, their eyes bloodshot with sudden, inexplicable rage. “Call them back and cancel it! You are going to go to jail!” “Stop being stupid! Just drop out! We cannot afford to mess with people like this!” Looking at their twisted, furious faces, something clicked in my brain. We were poor. Dirt poor. I was their only child. Years ago, a neighbor accused me of stealing a ten-cent egg, and my adoptive father nearly burned the man’s house down in my defense. Yet today, facing a life-ruining sexual assault allegation, they did not even ask me for my side of the story. They instantly believed I was guilty. It made no sense. None of this made any sense. Through the chaos of my racing thoughts, a terrifying theory began to take shape. Before I could process it, heavy footsteps echoed down the marble corridor. It wasn’t just the police. The crowd parted, revealing a dozen professional camera crews and reporters flanking two uniformed officers. The lead officer scanned the room. “Who is the caller? Rowan?” I raised my hand. “That is me.” The reporters immediately swarmed forward, microphones extended. “Are you the one who tipped us off about a massive campus cover-up?” I nodded. “Yes.” For the first time, Dean Sinclair’s arrogant mask cracked. “Rowan, have you lost your absolute mind? You invited the press? Do you honestly think the media is going to side with a trailer park kid over the Victoria family?” My adoptive parents dug their dirty fingernails deep into my forearms, screaming in my face. “Tell the cops you made a mistake! Tell them right now!” “Tell the news people to get out of here! Do you hear me?!” I stood perfectly still. The pain in my arms only made my mind sharper. “I did nothing wrong. I am not afraid of the spotlight.” A private settlement meant a quiet death. I had no choices left. I had to detonate the entire situation. I had to make it so loud they couldn’t bury it. “Step away from the student.” The officer aggressively pushed my adoptive parents back. He turned to me, his tone shifting to something more neutral. “Son, walk me through exactly what happened.” I pointed a steady finger at Victoria. “Today, she intentionally collided with me on the main promenade. Then, she falsely accused me of harassing her in the woods. During the exact timeframe she claims the assault happened, I was standing directly beneath the campus gate security camera.” I then pointed at the pale, sweating Dean. “When I informed our Dean—who happens to be Victoria’s biological aunt—about my alibi, she immediately claimed the camera was broken. Based solely on her niece’s unverified accusation, she ordered me to get on my knees, apologize, and accept expulsion.” A reporter in the front row gasped loudly. “Wait, the Dean is covering up for her own niece to ruin a scholarship student?” Dean Sinclair’s face flushed dark red. “Do not listen to his manipulative lies! I am entirely impartial.” Victoria casually rolled her eyes and glanced at her minions. They took their cue perfectly. “Rowan is a liar! He bumped into her on purpose! I saw the whole thing!” “He has been obsessed with her for months! He is always creeping around trying to get her attention!” A reporter shoved a microphone toward them. “Are you talking about Victoria, the heiress to the tech fortune?” “Exactly! Rowan is just a disgusting peasant from the middle of nowhere. Use your brains, people. Who is framing who here?” The atmosphere shifted instantly. The reporters exchanged skeptical looks, their cameras turning back toward me with heavy judgment. Only the lead officer remained professional. “Are there any other witnesses to the alleged incident in the woods? Aside from the two parties involved?” A suffocating silence fell over the room. Then, the sound of expensive leather shoes clicked down the hallway. “I can personally vouch for the victim.” An older man in a bespoke suit walked through the crowd, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. It was Chancellor Wallace. “I have watched Victoria grow up since she was a little girl. I stake my decades of academic reputation on the fact that she does not lie.” “Chancellor Wallace, your reputation is noted,” the officer said politely but firmly. “But the law requires empirical evidence.” Seeing the police refuse to bow to campus royalty gave me a surge of hope. But then, another figure stepped out from the shadows of the corridor. Victoria, who hadn’t bothered standing up for the Chancellor, immediately leaped to her feet. “Sebastian! Are you here to testify for me?” She practically threw herself into his arms, her normally cold eyes melting into pure adoration. My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. Sebastian was the campus prince. Old money, impeccable manners, and famously philanthropic. He was known for sitting down and eating with HIV patients just to combat social stigma. I had never cared about Victoria, but I had always genuinely admired Sebastian. I believed a guy with that kind of moral compass would never commit perjury. But Sebastian looked at the police officers and nodded with absolute certainty. “Yes. I am the eyewitness.” “I personally saw Rowan stalk and physically harass Victoria in the woods.” “Why?” I whispered, shaking my head in sheer disbelief. “Why are you lying to destroy me?” Sebastian looked deeply troubled, playing the role of the reluctant hero perfectly. He took a deep breath. “During the struggle in the woods, his shirt was torn. I saw a very distinct, bright red birthmark right over his left pectoral muscle.” “If you want to know who is lying, an immediate physical examination will settle it.” All the blood drained from my face. I could not form a single word. It was an incredibly intimate secret. Not even my college roommates of four years knew about it. How the hell did Sebastian know? It was utterly impossible. My deathly pale, stunned silence looked exactly like a confession to everyone in the room. Looks of sheer disgust rained down on me from every direction. I even saw the frat boys who had beaten me to death in my past life smirking in the back row. The police officer sighed heavily. “Rowan, do you consent to a physical examination?” The reporters immediately raised their glowing smartphones, preparing to live-stream my utter ruin. Slowly, the shock faded, leaving behind absolute clarity. The chaotic puzzle pieces in my mind snapped perfectly into place. “Yes.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of heavy stock paper. I held it directly up to the closest camera lens. “But before you check my chest, you might want to look at this.” Like a drop of cold water hitting boiling oil, the entire room exploded.

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“Jared, sweetie, if I don’t sell this prosthetic limb soon, they are going to fire me!” My fiancé received this desperate plea from his precious childhood sweetheart, Gemma. To help her meet her sales quota, he actually orchestrated a horrific car crash to shatter my limbs, forcing me to buy Gemma’s overpriced, defective prosthetics. The cheap materials led to a severe infection, and I died in agony on a cold hospital bed. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the very day of the crash, sitting in the passenger seat of my newly started car. Remembering my fiancé’s deeply superstitious family, a dark smile played on my lips. I gripped the door handle. As a cemetery plot sales representative, I was under huge pressure to meet my sales quota, due before Memorial Day. 1 “Sweetheart, I just realized you were up all night taking client calls. It is too exhausting for you. Let me drive today.” Reborn, I wasted no time unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the car door. In my past life, in less than thirty minutes, a preplanned truck would smash into us on this very road. Jared had deliberately faked a bad phone signal, delaying the ambulance until my severed limbs missed their golden window for reattachment. The memory of that bloody nightmare was still raw in my mind. I was not going to sit here and wait for death. “It is fine, babe. Your office is so far away, and you run around all day. I love doing things for you.” Jared lifted his foot off the gas pedal, squeezing out a smile. He reached over, trying to buckle my seatbelt back in. I stepped out of the car and yanked his door open. “I will drive.” Seeing the absolute resolve in my eyes, Jared’s jaw twitched. His gaze flickered away guiltily. While we were at a standstill, the car’s Bluetooth automatically connected to an incoming call. “Jared, how is it going? Did she break her legs or her arms? When should I bring the sales contract to the hospital?” I pretended not to understand, keeping a calm, pleasant smile fixed on my face as I stared at Jared. “Gemma, I am a bit busy right now. I have not left yet. Let us talk later.” He hung up in a panic, beads of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Oh, well, Gemma just started as a sales rep at a medical prosthetics company. She asked me to recommend some clients so she would not lose her job. I remembered a friend of mine who was recently in a bad wreck, so I wanted to hook them up. I just have not had the chance to introduce them yet.” A cold sneer rippled through my mind. Of course not. Because the client’s legs had not been shattered yet. In my previous life, when Gemma found out my limbs were completely crushed, her ringing laughter echoed in my ears: “Jared, you are amazing! I signed a massive contract. Not only will my boss keep me, but I might even be the top seller of the month!” But this time around, his precious sweetheart’s sales crown would not be so easy to claim. “Jared, I actually had a terrible nightmare last night. I dreamt you drove me to work this morning. You know how treacherous the roads to my office can be. We got into a horrific crash. My limbs were shattered, and you…” I let my voice trail off, looking at him with deep, chilling intensity. He wiped his sweat. “What happened to me?” “Oh, do not ask. It was too gruesome. They had to shovel your remains into a body bag.” I sighed heavily, putting on a show of grief. Jared, who had always been deeply terrified of the paranormal and bad omens, went completely pale. “Such an ominous dream. God must have seen how good a person I am and sent you a warning! We should definitely drive separately today. Our wedding is right around the corner, we cannot have any bad luck!” Terrified out of his wits, Jared slammed on the gas and sped off alone in his own car. I could not tell if he was running out of guilt because I had exposed his plot, or if he was genuinely spooked. I smiled triumphantly and called a cab to my workplace, Havenwood Cemetery. Before this, Jared always claimed Gemma’s office was on his way and only drove her. It was clear his sudden offer to drive me today was packed with malice. Looking down at my perfectly intact limbs, a profound sense of relief washed over me. In my previous life, the moment I arrived at the hospital, the doctors declared my limbs unsalvageable. I was doomed to spend the rest of my days relying on cheap prosthetics. Jared and a smug Gemma, who had been waiting like vultures, marched into my ward to force me to sign the purchase contract. When I refused, Jared dragged me off the bed onto the cold tile floor, stomping brutally onto my freshly stitched stumps. The wounds ruptured, spraying blood across the floor. That was how I was bankrupted, becoming Gemma’s ticket to a promotion as sales manager. He dumped me immediately after and married Gemma at the very venue I had booked. Their mothers practically glowed with joy at the wedding. They even ordered people to throw my personal belongings from the old apartment onto the road so the bridal caravan could run them over repeatedly to dispel the bad luck. All I got was a pair of mismatched, defective prosthetics: two left hands and two right feet. I died alone, shivering from a rampant infection. But now, I was alive, and my boss had just let me off shift early. Humming a tune as I walked out of the cemetery gates, I spotted Jared’s car parked in a secluded patch of woods nearby. The vehicle was rocking violently. As I drew closer, heavy panting and high pitched moans drifted through the cracked window. “Jared, consider this your reward for working so hard for me! When your precious bride to be comes out, do not miss your chance like you did this morning!” “Don’t worry, babe. With you cheering me on like this, I’ll drag her into the car myself if I have to. I will get you that sales commission!” I scoffed quietly. Bending down, I grabbed a thick stack of burnt offering ritual paper from the ground, stuffed it deep into his exhaust pipe, and took a cab home. The moment I walked through the front door, I saw my future mother in law, Helen, locked in an intense game of bridge with her friends. Among them was Gemma’s mother, Beatrice, who was even more superstitious than Helen. Seeing me walk in, they all turned their heads and spat on the floor three times. “What bad luck! May the spirits forgive us!” Accustomed to their hostility, I ignored them. I stood behind them, watching the game while humming a light tune, which only made them glare harder. “Audrey, have you no shame?” Helen slammed her cards down, glaring at me. “Working in a depressing place like that all day, and then coming home to ruin our luck!” “Oh, Helen, do not get worked up,” Beatrice chimed in, dripping with smug satisfaction. “Who told your son to propose to a cemetery worker when he could have married my highly educated daughter? You brought this on yourselves.” I let out a soft laugh. Who knew selling fake limbs made someone a highly educated elite now? Before Helen could snap back, the phone call I had been waiting for finally arrived. I immediately pressed the speakerphone button. Jared’s trembling, terrified voice filled the living room. “Audrey! Is there a curse on your cemetery? I came to pick you up out of the goodness of my heart, and my car suddenly caught fire on the road! It was spitting ash and burnt paper from the exhaust! The car is a total loss!” At this, Helen could not care less about the card game. “You have not even married into this family yet, and you have already ruined my son’s luxury car! You jinx! Your parents died because of your bad luck, and now you work in a graveyard! If anything happens to my Jared, I will make you pay!” Thinking of Jared’s terrible second hand luxury car, I suppressed a chuckle and forced a vulnerable, trembling expression onto my face. “Mom, I told you I had that nightmare last night. It warned me that if we shared a car, we would have a horrific accident. Today is right before Memorial Day, and my company hired a high priest to perform a cleansing ritual. I prayed so hard… maybe the spirits were protecting us by warning me in my dream.” Helen’s eyes lit up. She snatched the phone from my hand. “That’s right! Son, from now on, you are not allowed to ride in the same car as her! Do not let this curse touch you!” Over the line, I could hear Gemma huffing in frustration, but I ignored it. I reached into my bag and pulled out several embroidered sachets. “Ladies, the priest who did the cleansing is highly renowned. I bought these protective sachets for all of you to keep the bad energy away, especially around Memorial Day. It is for your safety.” Helen’s scowl softened into approval, and Beatrice’s eyes gleamed with greedy delight as she took one. “Well, at least you are somewhat useful,” Helen muttered, hanging the sachet around her neck and keeping one for her son. “You are the biggest bad luck jinx around here. Wearing this might actually block some of your negative energy.” Both women loved temple trinkets and blessed charms, so they readily accepted them. What they did not realize was that the patterns on these sachets were very specific. Jared returned shortly after, his face deathly pale. He clearly had not recovered from the shock of his car catching fire. Helen rushed over and hung the sachet around his neck. “Look how terrified my baby is! You only got into this mess because you pampered this jinx by picking her up! I swear, we need to rethink this wedding. I would be too embarrassed to look our guests in the eye if they found out what she does for a living!” Jared glanced at me. Seeing my submissive, quiet demeanor, he let out a sigh of relief. I knew he would not let me go. Not until he could squeeze every cent out of me to buy Gemma’s prosthetics. I stepped forward with a warm, eager smile. “Mom, today was entirely my fault. Jared got scared because of me. Let me make it up to you.” I held up the keys to the brand new car I had picked up this afternoon. The moment they saw the keys, their scowls instantly vanished into broad, greedy smiles. The next morning, as I stepped out, I saw Jared and his mother loading my new car with luggage. Gemma and her mother were already sitting inside, looking like they were heading off on a luxury vacation. Even more ridiculous, all four of them were wearing matching family outfits, complete with bright gold embroidery on their chests. As they rolled past me, Gemma made Jared slow down. She rolled down the passenger window, a mocking smirk on her lips. “Morning, Audrey! Sorry about this, but since you and Jared cannot ride in the same car, we decided to take your new ride for a spin. You do not mind us breaking it in for you, do you?” Through the window, I could see her hand resting firmly on Jared’s thigh. Helen sat regally in the back, barely deigning to look at me. “My son is doing her a favor by driving her car. He is too kindhearted, always doing charity work. Otherwise, who would want a jinx like her? Even a beggar would turn her down.” Without waiting for my response, they laughed loudly, and Jared slammed on the gas. As they sped away, the two of them leaned out to share a kiss while flipping me off through the window. I smiled serenely, entirely unbothered. I pulled out my phone and tapped into the hidden camera feed I had installed in the car. Helen’s loud, angry voice filled my screen. “You two were childhood sweethearts. If only you had married Gemma instead of that trash!” Then, Gemma excitedly laid out their grand scheme to the two older women. Hearing the plan, Helen finally burst into a hearty, satisfied laugh. “Gemma, you really are brilliant! This way, we can bleed that orphan dry, throw her out, and use her wedding venue for you and Jared. It is flawless!” Beatrice rolled her eyes proudly. “My Gemma has always been a genius. It is just a shame she did not do well on her college exams, otherwise Jared would not have had to settle for that graveyard girl. Now that Gemma is back with her master’s degree, she will show everyone what she is made of! But if she cannot ride with Jared, how are we going to break her limbs?” “That is easy,” Helen sneered. “We will invite her hiking next time. We can just push her off a steep ledge. Just make sure she does not die on impact.” Jared looked at Gemma with sheer adoration, his eyes growing hazy. “Gemma, you are not just smart, you are absolutely gorgeous. Your skin is so soft, and your body… God, I cannot wait to wrap my hands around you…” The older women stared in shock at Jared, whose face was flushed as he started drooling. “Jared, what nonsense are you talking? Your mothers are right here!” Gemma snapped, trying to pull her hand away. But Jared grabbed it tightly and guided it down to his lap. “Gemma, don’t you love doing it in the car? Let us make this drive exciting. Let us do it while I drive!” “You animal! My daughter is a decent, highly educated woman, and you are trying to ruin her right in front of us!” Beatrice shrieked in fury, lunging forward to grab Jared’s collar. Helen and Gemma scrambled to pull her back, and the cabin of the compact car descended into pure chaos. The car began to swerve wildly across the winding mountain road. Jared seemed to snap out of his daze just as a stray cat darted across the pavement. In a panic, he slammed on the brakes. The heavy vehicle skidded violently, its momentum carrying it over the edge of the cliff. The car ground to a halt with its front wheels dangling precariously in mid-air, spinning over the empty abyss. “Jared, are you insane? Thank God we are good people and the heavens protected us, or we would be dead!” By the time they crawled out of the back doors, their legs were shaking so violently they could barely stand. Remembering her son’s bizarre behavior right before the near-crash, Helen was white with rage. Jared took several deep breaths, then burst into loud, pathetic wails. “I don’t know what happened to me! The moment I looked at Gemma, I lost all control. I felt possessed!” Beatrice’s eyes darted around. “Have you two done something to offend the spirits recently? Tell the truth, or we might lose our lives next time!” Blushing, Gemma hesitantly confessed to their midday tryst right outside the cemetery gates the day before. “No wonder! The wedding is in a few weeks, and you two had to do that in a place where the dead rest? The car spitting ash yesterday was a warning! We need to find a spiritual medium right away, or we will all die before we can even touch Audrey’s money!” Watching the four of them clutch the sachets I gave them, kneeling in a neat row at the edge of the cliff to pray to the heavens, I nearly choked on my laughter. They would never guess that the scent from those sachets, when combined with the specific air freshener in my new car, acted as a potent aphrodisiac specifically designed for the driver. I chose that exact moment to dial Jared’s number. “Sweetheart, are you guys having fun? How is the new car?” Jared quickly brushed it off, his voice trembling. “Oh… it is great. Just a minor hiccup, we are handling it.” “That is a relief,” I said warmly. “As long as you are safe. I spent all my savings on that car, but I consider it part of my dowry anyway!” The moment I hung up, all four of their faces drained of color. “She spent all her money on the car? What about my prosthetic sales commission?” Gemma hissed, gnashing her teeth. “Don’t worry,” Jared sneered, pulling out a contact card for a predatory high interest loan. “We will make her take out a massive loan. Once she is dead, she won’t have to pay it back anyway.” They all shared a wicked, dark laugh. I looked down at the four cemetery plot registration forms in my hands, my smile far brighter than theirs. They would be needing these very soon.

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1 Philip’s childhood friend Lenore was a viral relationship coach. He swore love needed her rules, not instinct. Lenore said women were stray cats. Starve them to make them cling. So when I worked late, he bolted the door, leaving me shivering in the hall until dawn. She claimed security bred complacency. So at our engagement party, he vanished to test if I would break down publicly. Each time I sobbed, he sighed. Lenore says you are projecting low vibrations. Boundaries protect our future. I endured it until Mother’s stroke landed her in the ICU. I borrowed from everyone, still twenty thousand dollars short. Begging Philip, he sent not a dime but forwarded my pleas to Lenore. By nightfall, I was viral. The video’s title read, Girlfriend Uses Sick Mom to Extort Twenty Grand. Charity Grift? My mother’s blurred ICU notice fueled the mockery. Comments hailed Philip as a high value man. I was a greedy parasite. Bloodshot, I begged him to delete it. He chuckled. The comments help me cut losses. Reflect on why you look like a scammer. Something in me died. No more explanations. I would scrub this rot from my life and walk away forever. … The hospital billing counter was closing in ten minutes. I slid my debit card into the machine three times. The balance mocked me, stuck permanently at thirteen thousand six hundred dollars. The nurse slid the invoice back under the glass. “You are still short on the upfront fees.” “If you cannot cover the rest before midnight, we will have to delay her next round of medication.” I clutched the paper and bolted out of the hospital doors. Rain was pouring down in sheets. There was an estate jeweler glowing warmly just across the street. The appraiser inspected the diamond through his loupe. “The stone is small. The setting has noticeable wear and tear.” “Eighteen grand, tops.” Philip had paid sixty-eight thousand for it. On the day we went ring shopping, he held my hand and walked with me through the jewelry district for an entire afternoon. The ring I truly fell in love with was a hundred and twenty thousand. He had squeezed my fingers tight. “Wait until our tenth anniversary. I promise I will upgrade it to something massive.” On the drive home, Lenore sent him a dozen voice notes. “Never feed a woman a full meal on the first try.” “If you meet all her expectations immediately, she will bleed you dry later.” In the end, he drove back alone and bought this cheaper one. Lenore praised him on her next live stream for keeping a level head. “As long as you let her try it on and invest her time, she will automatically rationalize the disappointment for you.” And the pathetic truth was, I really had made excuses for him back then. I slid the ring across the velvet counter. “Sell it.” My phone finally buzzed. It was Philip. “Where are you?” “The jeweler across the street from the hospital.” Philip went dead silent for a second. “Are you pawning your ring?” “My mother needs the money to survive.” “Hazel, why do you have to be so extreme every single time things do not go your way?” I crushed the pawn receipt in my fist. “Philip, my mother is in the ICU.” “I know.” “And I am already here, am I not?” I looked up. He was standing across the street in the pouring rain. He was holding a thermal takeout bag from that little soup place behind the hospital. I ran over to him. He reached out and brushed the wet hair away from my forehead. “Why are you wearing so little in this weather?” Inside the bag was creamy tomato bisque. Low sodium, no basil, extra croutons. Seeing that familiar order made my eyes burn with sudden, stupid tears. Philip twisted the lid off and handed me a plastic spoon. “Eat a little bit first.” I had barely reached for it when his phone rang. Lenore’s voice echoed loudly through the speaker. “She is highly dysregulated right now. Do not soothe her.” “Make her record an apology video first.” “If you cave now, she will learn that throwing a tantrum gets her exactly what she wants.” The hand holding the spoon froze in midair. Philip looked at me, then slowly placed the lid back on the soup. “I did not lie to anyone.” “You saw the critical condition notice with your own eyes.” Philip furrowed his brows. “A stroke does not mean she is definitely going to die.” “Lenore looked it up. A lot of patients wake up perfectly fine the very next day.” “You came at me crying and demanding money. Anyone would have their guard up.” He held his phone inches from my face. On the screen was a pre-written caption. I exaggerated my mother’s illness due to severe anxiety. Philip never refused to help me. I want to thank Lenore for keeping us both grounded. “Read it to the camera.” “Once you read it, she takes the post down, and I wire you the money.” I did not take the phone. His voice hardened into something cold and corporate. “I am willing to pay.” “But you cannot use your sick relative to trample all over my boundaries.” We had been together for seven years. Boundaries was his favorite word. I was not allowed to look at his phone. I was not allowed to ask where he and Lenore went on the weekends. I was not allowed to feel insecure when they talked on the phone until three in the morning. But Lenore was allowed to read our private texts. She was allowed to dictate his replies. She was allowed to decide when he should hold me, and when he should leave me freezing in the dark. The bank notification popped up on my screen. The jeweler had wired the money. I looked down and paid the hospital portal on my phone. Philip stood in the rain, his expression freezing over. “If you refuse to film this today, do not ever say I did not give you a chance to fix this.” It was past one in the morning by the time I finished the paperwork and sat outside the ICU doors. My phone kept blowing up with clips of Lenore’s latest live stream. She was sitting in front of her ring light, casually twisting a new diamond bracelet around her wrist. “Huge shoutout to an old friend who wants to remain anonymous.” “He knew I just hit ten million followers and insisted on spoiling me.” The camera conveniently caught the price tag on the velvet box. Nineteen thousand eight hundred dollars. The video had been posted exactly seventeen minutes after I sent Philip that voice note begging for my mother’s life. It was not that Philip did not have twenty thousand dollars. It was just that saving my mother was not worth his money. The next morning, HR called to suspend me. “We received hundreds of complaints overnight.” “Management feels you are a liability to our clients right now.” The moment I stepped out of the office building, my phone buzzed again. My GoFundMe campaign had been frozen due to mass reporting. The sixteen thousand dollars I had managed to raise was locked. I could not withdraw a cent. Then the hospital called. People were posing as relatives, calling the front desk to ask if my mother was a paid crisis actor. Some demanded the hospital do a live stream to prove she was actually dying. The nurses’ station was harassed for half an hour until they were forced to unplug the main phone line. When I sprinted back to the ward, there was a massive floral wreath sitting ominously in the hallway. The white ribbons had jagged red letters painted across them. Hope the scammer mother and daughter rot in hell together. I grabbed the heavy wooden frame and dragged it toward the elevators. The sharp wires sliced right through my palm. Blood dripped steadily down my fingers, staining the pristine hospital floor. The elevator doors chimed open. Philip stepped out. His eyes locked onto my bleeding hand. He immediately dug a bandage out of his coat pocket. “Why are you always so reckless?” “Give me your hand.” I did not move a muscle. He grabbed my wrist anyway, his fingers expertly peeling the wrapper and pressing the bandage over the cut. He knew I hated raw onions. He knew thunderstorms gave me panic attacks. But when my mother was lying half-dead in the ICU, he had to ask Lenore for permission to help me. His phone buzzed against his palm. A text from Lenore lit up the screen. You offered comfort. Now pull away. Do not let her think that self-harm equals more attention. Philip smoothed the edges of the bandage down, then instantly dropped my hand like I was on fire. I ripped the bandage off and threw it into the trash can along with the grotesque flowers. “Do you really need her permission just to give a damn about me?” His jaw tightened. “Stop being so toxic.” “Lenore takes time out of her busy schedule to analyze your behavioral patterns. She is doing this to help us.” I looked him dead in the eyes. “The wedding is off.” “From now on, she can manage your love life all she wants. I am done.” Philip froze for two seconds, then actually laughed. “Using a breakup to manipulate me into backing down?” “Lenore called it last night. She said once you realized crying would not work, you would threaten to leave.” “Hazel, every single move you make is utterly predictable.” He held out a sleek canvas bag. It had my phone charger and some fresh clothes inside. “You are going to be pulling all-nighters here.” I pushed the bag back into his chest. “I need to go back to the apartment to get my ID.” He stepped into my path. “I will have my assistant drop it off.” I tilted my head, studying the stranger standing in front of me. “Or what? Do I need Lenore’s permission to enter my own home now?” He did not answer. Half an hour later, I shoved my spare key into the door of our apartment. My fuzzy slippers were still neatly lined up by the entrance. Next to them was a pair of sharp designer heels. Lenore was lounging on my living room sofa. She was wearing the thick, hand-knitted wool socks my mother had made for me last winter. I stared blindly at her feet. “Take those off.” Lenore casually glanced down. “They are just socks.” “A truly independent woman does not project her emotional baggage onto inanimate objects.” I lunged forward to rip them off her feet. The study door clicked open. Philip walked out quickly, grabbing my arm in an iron grip. “That is enough.” “Her feet were cold. She is just borrowing them for an hour.” I looked at the man holding me back. Suddenly, I remembered the day we moved in four years ago. He had pressed the metal key into my palm. “This is our home now.” “This is your safe place.” I violently wrenched my arm out of his grip. I stumbled backward, my lower back crashing into the heavy oak desk. The impact knocked one of the drawers open. A thick stack of paper bound in a blue folder slid into view. It was a seed funding contract. Philip had invested two hundred and eighty thousand dollars in exchange for a fifteen percent stake in Lenore’s new media empire. The signature at the bottom was dated the exact same day my mother was rushed into the ICU. Three years ago, Philip’s marketing agency hit a wall. He was drowning in debt. My mother sold her only house in the old suburbs. She gave him every last cent she had. Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. The written agreement stated he would pay her back in two years. He kept delaying. Every time she brought it up, he would gently hold her wrinkled hands. “Mom, just give me a little more time.” “Once Hazel and I are married, your money is our money. We will take care of you forever.” Yet when she was suffocating on a ventilator, he refused to spare twenty grand. All while her life savings sat untouched, perfectly transferred into Lenore’s bank account. “Why is my mother’s money in this contract?” Philip lunged forward and slammed the drawer shut. “What do you mean, your mother’s money?” “The loan went into my company. It became corporate capital.” “As the CEO, I have the right to diversify our investments.” I stared at him, my chest tight. “Giving it to Lenore is an investment.” “So what was giving my mother twenty grand? A waste?” Lenore leaned against the doorframe, sipping a glass of water. “It was a black hole.” “Twenty grand today, rehab costs tomorrow, assisted living the day after.” “If Philip does not establish boundaries now, you and your mother will bleed him dry for the rest of his life.” I yanked the drawer open again. The memo line on the contract clearly read. Initial Funding for Project LG-01. Philip snatched the paper from my hands. “This is internal company documentation.” “You have no right to look at this.” “You took her money to fund a project with her initials on it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “LG is just a random code.” Lenore walked up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. The new diamond bracelet on her wrist caught the overhead light, flashing brilliantly in my eyes. Suddenly, this apartment felt completely alien to me. My clothes were in the closet. My favorite mugs were in the cabinet. My photos were on the walls. But standing here, I felt like a ghost who had wandered into someone else’s life. My mother finally woke up on the afternoon of the third day. The doctor said she had severe expressive aphasia. The entire right side of her body was paralyzed. When I walked into the room, she was struggling to reach her phone with her trembling left hand. The screen was flooded with hateful text messages from unknown numbers. Just die already so you can prove your daughter is not a liar. Only trash raises trash like you. I snatched the phone out of her hand and powered it off. Her pale lips were quivering uncontrollably. The nurse handed us a clipboard and a pen. She gripped the plastic barrel awkwardly with her left hand. Every single stroke was a painful, jagged effort. It took her five minutes just to write three words. Enough money left? I dropped to my knees beside the metal bed rails. “Yes.” “My company gave me an advance on my salary.” She stared into my eyes. She knew me too well. She did not believe a word of it. “I promise, Mom. We have enough.” Tears spilled over her eyelashes, rolling into the thin hospital pillow. Her right hand was dead weight, so she clumsily patted the top of my head with her left. The heavy door creaked open. Philip walked in, holding a small white box from the local bakery. Lemon drizzle cake. “Mary, you are awake?” He smoothly reached for the remote, adjusting the head of the bed before setting the bakery box on the tray table. My mother’s eyes lit up the second she saw him. He remembered she loved lemon cake, but hated thick frosting. Four years ago, when she was hospitalized for severe hypertension, I was stuck on a business trip across the country. Philip stayed by her side for two straight nights. When I finally rushed off the plane and ran into the ward, he was slumped over the side of her mattress, fast asleep. Ever since that day, she always told me. “Philip has a good heart. He will keep you safe.” He pulled up a plastic chair and wrapped both his hands around her functioning left hand. “Mary, I am so sorry you had to deal with all this.” “The internet is just full of angry people who do not understand our situation. Please do not let it stress you out.” She looked at me, her eyes wide with frantic worry. Philip followed her gaze. “Do not worry about us.” “I am not going to leave Hazel over a little misunderstanding.” The tight lines of tension across my mother’s shoulders instantly melted away. For one fleeting second, I almost fell for it too. I almost believed he was still the same boy who had slept by her hospital bed four years ago. Then, he reached into his sleek leather briefcase and pulled out a freshly printed document. “The public backlash is getting out of hand.” “If you could just sign this to clarify things, Lenore can have her team scrub the negative trending topics immediately.” The paper read. I, Mary Lin, willingly gifted Philip two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. This was not a loan. My daughter, Hazel, recently suffered an emotional breakdown and exaggerated my medical condition to extort money. I snatched the paper and ripped it straight down the middle. “You are forcing a woman who just woke from a stroke to sign this garbage?” Philip’s face darkened. “It is just a formal clarification.” “I have her written IOU for the money.” “Then the IOU is void.” He leaned in, lowering his voice into a sharp hiss. “We are getting married in a few months.” “What is the point of drawing lines between your mother’s money and my money?” “When she gave it to me, she called us family.” “Now that she is sick, you suddenly want to treat me like a bank?” His jaw locked. “Can you stop treating our relationship like a spreadsheet?” “When my mother was dying, you literally calculated the return on investment for twenty grand.” Hearing the word married, my mother grabbed the sleeve of his expensive blazer. She pointed frantically at the torn pieces of paper, then pointed a trembling finger at me. Philip patted her hand gently. “Once you sign, I will make Lenore delete all the videos tonight.” “The wedding will go on as planned.” “I promise I will not abandon her.” My mother stared at me, her eyes pleading. I stepped between him and the bed. “Get out.” His eyes turned cold. “Hazel, stop biting the hand that feeds you.” “Your mother knows exactly what is best for you.” “She just woke up! She cannot even speak!” “The only thing she knows right now is the terror of you leaving me!” My mother pushed herself up, gasping for air. The heart monitor beside her began to shriek violently. Nurses flooded the room, aggressively pushing both of us out into the hallway. A doctor grabbed me to sign emergency consent forms. By the time I rushed back upstairs, Philip was gone. The room was deathly quiet. There was a small red ink pad sitting perfectly square on her bedside table. The statement I had ripped in half had been reprinted. At the bottom right corner, sitting bright red against the white paper, was my mother’s crooked thumbprint. When she saw me walk in, she panicked and tried to hide her left hand. On her notepad, freshly written words stared back at me. He said, sign it, and he marries you. I stood rooted to the linoleum floor. I could not breathe. I could not move. At eight o’clock that evening, Lenore dropped a teaser for her upcoming live stream. The thumbnail was a high-resolution scan of that exact document, the red thumbprint glowing like an open wound. The title was bold text. After seven years of being leeched off, he finally secured a confession from the mother. In the short clip, Philip was wearing a crisp white button-down, offering the camera a tired, devastated smile. “I truly thought of them as my own blood.” “But some people have an appetite you simply cannot satisfy.” My mother’s phone vibrated violently against the plastic tray table. I scrambled to hit the power button, but she had already seen the screen. She stared at me, her chest heaving. Her left thumb was still stained with red ink. She opened her mouth, her jaw trembling, but no sound came out. All she could do was shake her head. Over and over again. The live stream was scheduled for seven the next evening. Lenore spent the whole day dripping out exclusive behind-the-scenes clips. Footage of Philip helping my mom carry groceries from the farmer’s market. Footage of my mom sitting in his cramped first office, folding dumplings for his startup team. And finally, the video of her handing the keys of her old house to the real estate agent. All of these videos were stolen straight from my private cloud storage. Lenore’s editors had stitched them together under a new, sickening title. How to spot a generational grifter. I dialed Philip’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Finally ready to be an adult?” “Cancel the stream.” “Too late.” “My mother just regained consciousness. She cannot take this kind of stress.” I heard Philip sigh. Through the line, I heard Lenore murmur something in the background. His tone instantly turned rigid. “You are using her health to manipulate me again.” “The broadcast is just to set the record straight.” “That money was a loan. You manipulated a brain damage patient into signing away her rights.” “If you want to dispute it, take me to court.” The line went dead. At exactly seven, the broadcast went live. I muted my mother’s phone and shoved it deep into the bottom drawer of the nightstand. I begged the nurses on duty not to play any viral videos in the ward. But someone, hungry for drama, snuck into the hospital’s public chat group and pasted the streaming link. While I was downstairs picking up her evening meds, she managed to hook her fingers around the drawer handle and pull it open. She sent one final voice note to Philip. Then, she clicked the link. When I stepped back into the room, Philip’s voice was echoing sharply off the sterile walls. “Mary always promised me that as long as I married Hazel, her money would eventually be mine.” “I was young. I actually believed she viewed me as a son.” The document flashed on the massive screen behind him. Lenore leaned into the microphone, her tone dripping with fake empathy. “So, when Hazel used her mother’s so-called critical condition to demand twenty grand from you, how did that make you feel?” Philip lowered his eyes perfectly on cue. “Empty.” “It was never about the twenty grand.” “But if you feed a stray without boundaries, eventually it will try to eat you alive.” The chat box exploded with thousands of people cheering for him. My mother sat rigidly against the pillows. Her face was the color of ash. I dropped the plastic bags and dove for the charging cable, yanking it straight out of the wall. She grabbed my arm with terrifying strength. A terrible, wet rattling sound came from deep inside her throat. “L-loan…” “L-loan…” She was trying to scream that it was a loan. But on the glowing screen, Philip had pulled out the original handwritten IOU. He held up a thick red marker and drew a massive, brutal X right across her handwriting. “Mary personally confirmed this afternoon that this paper was just for tax purposes.” “So I am choosing grace. I will not pursue legal action against them for their past behavior.” “But as of this moment, I am completely cutting them off financially.” My mother’s eyes locked onto the screen, wide and entirely bloodshot. Her chest jerked upward in a violent spasm. The heart monitor flatlined with a piercing shriek. Doctors sprinted through the door. “Secondary hemorrhage! Bag her, now!” They crashed the bed through the doors, rushing her toward the surgical unit. I ran after them for three steps before my knees completely buckled. I slammed hard into the drywall. On the phone lying discarded on the floor, the stream carried on. Lenore excitedly announced her new masterclass had just crossed one hundred thousand sales. The live studio audience erupted in applause. I grabbed the phone with shaking hands and dialed his number. Once. Twice. Seventeen times. It rang into the void. The surgical lights burned bright red for three grueling hours. When the doors finally swung open, the lead surgeon pulled down his mask and slowly shook his head. “I am so sorry. The damage was too catastrophic.” They wheeled her out. A stark white sheet covered her face. Her left hand, still faintly stained with red ink, slipped off the mattress and dangled limply in the air. I slowly sank to the floor. I gently picked up her hand and tucked it safely back under the warm blankets. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my pocket. Lenore’s live stream was now the number one trending broadcast in the country. On the screen, Philip was thoughtfully answering a fan question. “If Hazel gets on her knees and apologizes right now, will you still marry her?” He casually adjusted his silver cufflinks. It was the dark charcoal suit I had bought for him to wear to the courthouse. “That depends entirely on whether she shows genuine accountability.” “Marriage is an equal partnership, not a charity.” “I am not going to abandon my core values just because she knows how to cry.” More deafening applause. The broadcast seamlessly transitioned into a champagne celebration. A production assistant suddenly jogged onto the stage, handing Philip a tablet. “Sir, your personal phone has been ringing non-stop.” Philip glanced down. The screen clearly displayed seventeen missed calls from me. Then, an unknown local number flashed onto the screen. Lenore reached out and placed a manicured hand over his. “We are still live.” The ringtone pierced through the applause, sharp and unrelenting. Philip finally swiped to answer. “Who is this?” Because he had not muted his lapel mic, the caller’s voice blasted through the stadium speakers, echoing into millions of homes. “Am I speaking to Mr. Philip?” “This is City General Hospital.” “You are listed as the secondary emergency contact for Mary Lin.” “I regret to inform you that Mary passed away at exactly 10:27 PM following a massive hemorrhage.”

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