Category: English

1 I had just donated an entire building to the university campus of my son’s private school to serve as their new gymnasium. But the very next day, my son ran home crying, telling me he’d been beaten up by a pair of twin college athletes from the university division. I took my son straight to the school and demanded the Dean pull the security footage. I never expected the two college jocks to smirk and pull out two identical black credit cards. “Dean, how about we each donate a hundred grand to the school? Maybe the security cameras could just… happen to malfunction?” The Dean hesitated. My son was furious. But I smiled. Those two supplementary cards were the ones my wife had begged me for a while back. She said she liked the new card design and asked for two of them. It turns out it wasn’t the card design she liked; it was the twin brothers holding them. I turned away with a cold sneer and immediately called the bank to freeze those two cards. Then, I sent a message to my company’s legal department: “My son was assaulted. Get a team down here immediately. I want them to pay a heavy price.” “Also, pull the prenup. Draft a divorce agreement. Serena gets nothing.” “Spending my money to keep a couple of toy boys and letting them bully my son? Keep dreaming.” … Right in front of me, the Carter twins, Jax and Jace, each handed a sleek black card to the Dean. The students gathered around gasped. “Holy cow, I’ve never seen real Centurion Cards before. And they have identical ones!” “Those require a massive spending history and liquidity. You need millions in cash just to qualify!” The Dean swallowed hard, respectfully taking the two cards with trembling hands. My son, Lucas, was crying tears of rage. “Dean Miller, you can’t just let them get away with beating me because they have money!” Dean Miller hesitated, his hand hovering in mid-air, caught between greed and duty. Jax and Jace looked at us with pure disdain. “Dean, even if you pull the footage and prove we beat him, what’s the worst that happens? We pay some medical bills.” “But if the cameras ‘break,’ we donate that money to the school instead. Isn’t that a win-win?” Other students, desperate to suck up to the wealthy twins, started lying through their teeth. “It was Lucas who started it! I saw it!” “Yeah! I was there too. Lucas threw the first punch!” Lucas was shaking. First, he gets beaten, and now he’s being framed and isolated. He couldn’t swallow this injustice. “This is unfair! If this happens to me today, it could happen to any of you tomorrow!” Lucas shouted. But Jax and Jace just laughed maniacally. “Fair? Kid, fairness is a luxury for the rich.” “Your dad is broke, and so are you. That’s fairness! Wait until you graduate; I’ll give you a job as a doorman at our Sugar Momma’s company. We’ll teach you all about the real world then!” Lucas wanted to argue, but the surrounding students told him to face reality. The Dean, hearing this, made up his mind. He praised the students for being “sensible” and swiped Jax’s card through the machine. But the moment he swiped it, the machine let out a harsh, mechanical beep. “Transaction Denied. Account frozen due to suspicious activity.” He tried again. Same result. The Dean looked at Jax awkwardly. Jace immediately handed over his card. “Use mine.” Beep. “Transaction Denied.” The twins looked confused. “Impossible. The school’s machine must be broken!” The crowd agreed. It had to be the machine. The finance director was called in with a new terminal. Swipe. Beep. Denied. Sweat started to bead on the twins’ foreheads. The Dean’s attitude shifted instantly. He glared at them. “You two punks, did you bring expired cards to play games with me?” Jax snorted. “These cards belong to our… god-sister. We’ll call her and ask what’s going on!” They pulled out their phones to video call their “god-sister.” The call connected. I glanced at the screen. The woman on the other end was my wife, Serena. 2 They started putting on a show, cooing and flirting with the rich woman on the screen, completely ignoring everyone else. The Dean and the students, though internally judging them, understood the rules of the game. Money talks. Listening to the ambiguous flirting, everyone knew the money was coming one way or another. What they didn’t know was that my wife, Serena, used to be a housewife. Every cent she gave these twins was money she had wheedled out of me. After hanging up, the twins shot me a provocative look. A minute later, my phone rang. It was Serena. Her tone was icy, as if she were my boss, not my wife. “Leo, I just finished lunch with the girls. I tried to pay, and the card declined!” “Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was? Go to the bank right now and fix it!” I sneered internally but kept my voice calm. “Our son got beaten up at school. I’m handling it. I’ll go to the bank when I’m done.” “Lucas? He’s a boy, he’s tough. A few bruises won’t kill him. Go to the bank now!” She hung up on me. I clenched my jaw. The urge to destroy her was overwhelming. Since marrying me, I supported whatever she wanted to do. Money flowed like water. She wanted a title, so I let her be the figurehead General Manager of one of my subsidiaries. I even jokingly called her “The Duchess” because of her spending habits. The nickname stuck. Now half the city called her “The Duchess.” And this is how she repays me? Cheating on me, neglecting our son, and funding two college bullies? A moment later, the twins shouted at the phone again, calling out “Sis, Sis!” My phone started blowing up with calls and texts from Serena. I ignored them all. I stared coldly at the twins. I wanted to see exactly how they planned to pay. But then, the twins held up their phones triumphantly. “Look! The money’s here!” “Dean Miller, we weren’t lying! Forget a hundred grand; we can drop a million right now!” The Dean immediately bowed and scraped, a disgusting smile plastered on his face. He waved me away impatiently. “There is no footage! They didn’t hit anyone! I’m the Dean, and what I say goes!” The twins looked at me, then at Lucas. “Kid, you’re kinda cute. I know an investor who likes young boys like you…” Lucas’s chest heaved with anger. The crowd immediately started sucking up. “As expected of the campus kings. Handsome, rich, and connected!” A chill radiated from my eyes. I pulled out my primary Black Card and handed it to the Dean. “Five million dollars.” Everyone froze. The Dean took the card. The silence in the room was deafening as he swiped it. Ding! “Approved.” The crowd gasped. “Lucas’s dad is the real tycoon!” The Dean’s face turned pale. “The footage! Yes, the footage is available! Our surveillance system is top-notch, donated by our esteemed alumnus, Mr. Leo Sterling!” I smirked. I am Leo Sterling, you idiot. The twins’ faces turned ugly. They frantically texted their “god-sister.” Then, they both held up their phones, showing bank transfer screenshots. One million each. The crowd gasped again. “They just matched two million!” “Maybe Lucas’s dad isn’t as rich as the Duchess after all!” “I mean, look at them. Tall, athletic… I can see why a rich female CEO would sponsor them.” Serena really had some nerve. Spending my money on boy toys without blinking an eye, letting them bully my son. But this is all marital property. Every cent they took, I will make them vomit back up. But for now, I needed to humiliate these parasites. The Dean looked at me nervously. He knew if I didn’t outbid them, the cameras would “break” again. I raised my card again. “Double it.” 3 The entire office went dead silent. “Double? That’s ten million dollars! Ten million for a security tape?” I glanced at the twins. Ten million was nothing to me. It was the price of a business dinner. But for these college kids? That was a lifetime of debt. Students started whispering. “Justice prevails! These twins have bullied so many people. Finally, someone is stopping them!” Jax gritted his teeth. “You’re spending ten million for a video? Even if it proves we hit him, the medical bills are only a few thousand!” Before he could finish, the Dean’s terminal beeped. “Ten million dollars approved.” I looked at them coldly. To them, this was about money. To me, this was about my son’s dignity. Jax and Jace weren’t giving up. “Our money comes from the Duchess! Your money is probably your life savings, old man!” Lucas looked up, face beaming with pride. “My dad makes millions while he sleeps. He doesn’t care about this pocket change!” He wasn’t wrong. But that five million I just spent? I’m going to make sure the twins spend the rest of their lives paying it back to me. The Dean was trembling with excitement. He rushed over to shake my hand. “I had no idea we had such a titan of industry among our parents!” He turned to the twins, his face stern. “Are you going to outbid him?” “Our school has strict rules. If you really beat up a minor, you will be expelled immediately!” The threat was clear. Pay up or get out. The twins gritted their teeth. “We’ll add more!” They looked at my faded t-shirt and jeans and seemed to regain confidence. “Our god-sister is ‘The Duchess’ Serena! No matter how rich you are, you aren’t richer than her!” “See the donor wall outside? She’s a distinguished alumna. That’s our sister!” “You better take your kid and run. If you offend her, you won’t just leave this school; you’ll be run out of the state!” The crowd murmured. “I wondered who that mysterious female donor was. It’s Serena!” “The library and science center were donated by her!” “This dad and son are screwed. Why mess with the Duchess?” The Dean’s face flipped again. He poured water for the twins apologetically. Then he turned to us. “Kids lie because parents teach them poorly! Accusing these fine young men of violence today, accusing someone of murder tomorrow!” The crowd swayed like grass in the wind. ” Flashing a few million when you’re up against real old money? Pathetic.” “You offended a big shot. You better kneel and apologize to the twins now!” I laughed. “My son and I will wait right here for this ‘Big Shot’.” The money Serena donated to the school was money I gave her to build a reputation. I never thought it would be used as a weapon against our son. The twins called Serena, whining and exaggerating the situation, begging her to come save them. Before hanging up, they threatened me: “Our sister is coming. She has a security team like the Secret Service. They’ll chop you two up and feed you to the dogs!” Hearing Serena was coming, the Dean organized the students into a welcoming line. He even sent someone to buy flowers. I watched the circus act, suppressing a laugh. Soon, Serena walked in, wearing a tight designer dress and high heels, radiating authority. As soon as she entered, everyone bowed. “Hello, Sister Serena!” 4 The twins ran to her, faces full of fake grievance. As expected, Serena didn’t even notice me in the corner. She rushed to them, looking concerned. “Who dared to bully you? I’ll handle them!” Damn it. Her own son was beaten, and she didn’t care. Two boy toys spend money fighting, and she’s heartbroken. Lucas recognized his mother immediately. But he didn’t run to her like usual. Instead, he looked at me with teary eyes. “Dad, is that Mom? Why is she hugging the bad guys who hurt me?” I patted his back, whispering that I would make it right. Seeing “The Duchess” in person, the students went wild. “She’s so beautiful and young!” “No wonder the campus kings are fighting over her attention!” After the praise, Jax and Jace flanked Serena, pointing at me. They put on whiny voices. “It’s those two! They don’t know their place. They claimed we beat up his kid!” “He forced the Dean to pull the tapes and wants us expelled!” “Sister, destroy him!” Serena straightened up, eyes flashing with anger. “Who has the audacity to bully my boys?” Following their fingers, she looked past the crowd and finally saw us. The arrogance on her face vanished instantly, replaced by pure shock and gray fear. “Leo… what are you doing here?”

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Julian Vance had always been the little tyrant of our group. He hated the color red, so no one around him was allowed to wear it. He loathed cherry tomatoes, so no one around him was allowed to eat them. But with his wealthy background and only-child status, everyone indulged him. I was no different. I obeyed his rules: no red, no cherry tomatoes. Until she appeared—the scholarship student. She wore a red dress and held a box of homegrown cherry tomatoes, trying to curry favor with Julian, hoping he’d help her father find a job. I wanted to warn her about Julian’s taboos, fearing she’d only anger him and lose any chance of help. But before I could speak, Julian smiled and took the tomatoes from her. He turned to me and said, “Red and cherry tomatoes… maybe they’re not so bad after all.” In that moment, a bitter ache spread through my chest. Novels always say that being an exception is the first sign of falling in love. But there’s no room for three in a relationship. So, I changed my college application. 1 Auntie Sarah always said Julian had a terrible temper and was high-maintenance. If her health hadn’t been so poor, preventing her from having a second child, Julian would have been disciplined long ago. She often claimed she wanted to beat some sense into him. But I knew better. Auntie Sarah doted on Julian more than anyone. Those were just empty words. Every time Julian caused trouble, she’d scold him a little, then immediately send someone to clean up his mess. She had already donated five buildings to our school. The principal couldn’t stop smiling. Because of this, Julian grew up spoiled, a veritable little tyrant. He thought red was too flashy, so he forbade anyone around him from wearing it. He hated cherry tomatoes, so no one was allowed to eat them, or he’d throw a fit. When he got angry, he sought revenge. Like right now— The guy sitting in front of him brought a sandwich to class and took a big bite right in front of Julian, revealing the tomato slices inside. Julian’s face instantly darkened. “It’s just two slices, you can barely see them. You don’t mind, right, Julian?” The guy, Chad, laughed it off, not taking it seriously. Julian didn’t answer. instead, he pulled out his phone and called the project manager at his family’s company. “Cancel the partnership with the Miller Group.” Hearing this, Chad dropped his sandwich, his face draining of color. The partnership between the Millers and the Vances had only happened because Chad had sucked up to Julian. Now, having violated Julian’s taboo, the benefits were revoked. Chad threw himself at Julian’s feet. “Julian, I’m sorry! Please don’t cancel the partnership! My parents will kill me!” Julian sneered, ignored him, and went back to his mobile game. Chad kept begging. Julian got annoyed. “One more word, and I’ll help your old man find a couple of illegitimate sons to bring home. Believe me?” Wealthy families always had dirty laundry. Illegitimate children were common. If Julian helped an illegitimate son gain power in the Miller family, Chad would be finished. Terrified, Chad covered his mouth, not daring to make another sound, though tears welled in his eyes. Maybe he just wanted to show off his closeness to Julian, to gain envy and admiration. Instead, he ruined his family’s business. I couldn’t help but tug on Julian’s sleeve. “Maybe let it go?” Julian looked down at me. “Sasha, you know my temper. Non-negotiable.” Indeed, he had always been like this. What he said was law. No one could persuade him. Not even me, his best friend since childhood. I thought he would always be this way, that no one would ever be an exception. Until— The scholarship student appeared. 2 Our school was a private academy funded by the city’s top corporations. The resources were top-tier. Getting in usually depended on family background. However, to keep the college acceptance rates looking good, the school recruited top students from outside every senior year, offering them free tuition. Exceptionally good students even received large scholarships. Most of these recruits were excellent students from poor families. They were the most willing to transfer. Transferring right before college entrance exams was risky; a new environment could hurt grades, and the snobbery in our school was rampant. Wealthy families wouldn’t take that risk. Maya was one such transfer student—top grades, poor background. Because Chad had offended Julian, his family, furious and afraid he’d annoy Julian further, transferred him to another class. This opened up a spot in our class, and Maya filled it. She wore a faded blue dress and looked nervous introducing herself on the podium. Julian glanced up once. He muttered, “So skinny. Do her parents not feed her?” Then he went back to his game. After her introduction, the homeroom teacher assigned Maya to Chad’s old seat. Her desk mate was a kind girl who immediately started filling her in. “Everyone in our class is pretty nice, don’t be nervous. Just don’t offend the guy sitting behind you.” “Have you heard of the Vance Group?” “He’s the heir. His family is super rich, even the principal is afraid of him…” I didn’t catch the rest. I only saw the flash of excitement in Maya’s eyes when she heard Julian was the Vance heir. Growing up, I’d seen too many people try to get close to Julian for his status. I knew that look. But I didn’t expect— The next day, Maya came to class wearing a red dress. She had clearly dressed up. The school had no uniform policy. As long as you weren’t naked, you could wear a ballgown. When she appeared, the noisy classroom fell silent. Everyone stared. Some waited for the drama; others looked on with pity. But no one dared to speak. Maya, confused by the attention, clutched her backpack and hurried to her seat. Julian was asleep. Before I could warn her, she turned around and tapped Julian’s arm, hard. Julian had a terrible temper when waking up. No one dared disturb his sleep. Annoyed, Julian propped himself up on one elbow and slowly opened his eyes to look at Maya. One glance, and his brow furrowed deeply. Maya, oblivious, bit her lip and pulled a box of cherry tomatoes from her bag, carefully offering it to Julian. “My family grew these.” Her voice was small. Like a kitten. Timid, yet determined. Julian raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Maya spoke again: “Julian, can I ask you for a favor?” This scene had played out before. A freshman girl, knowing Julian’s status but not his taboos, had come to our class in a red dress. She wanted to get to know him and discuss a business partnership. That day, Julian had glared at her. “Get to know me? You think you’re worthy?” He made her cry. Not only that, he sent word to her father that she was annoying. That night, the girl transferred. The partnership was canceled. Because they offended the Vances, other companies shunned them, and they soon went bankrupt. Now, history was repeating itself. Maya was inviting disaster. Julian only needed to say a word, and her family would suffer. Just as I thought Julian would explode, he did something unexpected. He reached out, took the tomatoes, and picked one up to examine it. “Tell me what you want first.” His tone was light. He seemed in a good mood. The whole class was shocked. Except Maya. I scrutinized her. She wasn’t stunningly beautiful, but her features were pleasant. Dressed up, she looked pitiful and endearing, sparking a desire to protect. Yet, there was a stubbornness in her eyes. A fragile but resilient white flower. Hearing Julian, she lit up and stated her request. “My dad used to work for the Vance Group. He was framed, fired, and forced to pay a huge penalty. My parents fell ill from the stress. I want you to help my dad get justice and his job back…” 3 When school ended, Julian took the tomatoes with him. Since we were neighbors, we shared a driver. As soon as we got in the car, he handed me a tomato. “Sasha, try one.” I looked at the tomato in my hand, confused. “I thought you hated cherry tomatoes.” Actually, I liked them. Sweet, sour, refreshing. But I liked Julian more. So if he hated them, I could live without them. I hadn’t eaten one in years. Julian shrugged nonchalantly. “I did.” He paused, as if recalling something. “That girl… Maya, right? Let’s call her May.” He loved giving nicknames to people he liked. Like me, Sasha, short for Alexandra. He never let anyone else call me that. He continued: “May is so skinny. Tiny, like the hamster I had as a kid. But she’s so pale, and her eyes are bright.” “The red dress suits her. I used to think red was ugly. Now I think it’s just that other people look ugly in red.” “So I thought I’d forgive her this once. Just this once.” Julian looked at the tomato in his hand again. “She’s interesting. Everyone else gives me sports cars or watches. Only she gave me homegrown tomatoes.” He popped one in his mouth. “Not bad, actually!” I stayed silent. Just last month, a new chef put tomatoes in a fruit salad. Julian took one bite, spat it out, and fired the chef on the spot. Tomatoes taste the same. The only difference was the person giving them. An indescribable feeling rose in my chest. “So, will you help her?” I asked. Julian hadn’t given a clear answer earlier, only saying he’d consider it. He wasn’t one to meddle. But I was wrong again. Julian chuckled, eyeing the tomatoes with amusement. “I ate her food; I should probably help. But…” His tone shifted. “Getting my help won’t be that easy.” 4 The next day, Maya wore red again. And brought another box of tomatoes. Julian had stayed up gaming and overslept, so I went to school alone. He was probably on his way. Seeing her place the tomatoes on Julian’s desk, I remembered his “just this once.” So I decided to warn her. “Julian has hated red and cherry tomatoes since he was little.” Maya froze, a look of disbelief flashing across her eyes. But she recovered quickly, smiling at me. “But yesterday he didn’t seem angry. He even took the tomatoes.” Just then, Julian walked in and sat down. Seeing the tomatoes, he frowned, then looked up at Maya. She smiled brilliantly. “Julian, I picked these fresh this morning. Try them.” Then she lowered her eyes and sniffled. “But Sasha said you hate red and tomatoes. I must have misunderstood. I’ll take them away.” She reached for the box. Her sleeve slid up, revealing a scratch on her pale arm. Julian frowned. “What happened?” Maya pulled her sleeve down quickly. “Nothing. I just tripped while picking tomatoes.” Julian muttered, “Clumsy.” Maya’s smile froze. She looked panicked. Julian laughed. “You look so silly, May.” Maya blinked and pointed at herself. “You called me May?” “Don’t like it?” She shook her head vigorously. “No, no, I like it. It sounds nice.” Julian’s smile deepened. He grabbed the box of tomatoes and stuffed it into his bag. “Can’t let your effort go to waste.” Maya beamed, then glanced at me. “But Sasha said…” Julian waved his hand. “I think tomatoes aren’t bad now. And red… you look good in it. Don’t listen to her.” He turned and patted my arm. “Right, Sasha?” I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. I was the person closest to him. I knew his likes and dislikes better than anyone. Last night, a maid was fired instantly for wearing red. He still hated red. But Maya was different. I’d read enough romance novels to know that being an “exception” is the start of love. Julian’s exception for Maya was glaring. It was an exception I, his childhood friend, had never received. My heart tasted bitter. All these years, my love for him might have been one-sided. There’s no room for three people in a relationship. Maybe it was time to let go.

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Ten years ago, I walked in on my husband with my adopted sister. Unable to process the scene, I slapped them both, hard, and then smashed everything in the room. Faced with my fury, my husband offered no explanation. He just watched me break, his expression unnervingly calm. That same night, he had men bind me and throw me in prison. Before they took me away, he cooked a large meal for me, his voice a gentle poison. “Brenda, you frightened Chloe yesterday. Go cool off for a few days. I’ll calm her down, and then I’ll come get you.” But “a few days” turned into ten years. When I was released, I found a small town and started a new life under a new name, working as a waitress in a diner. Until I saw him again. My ex-husband, Nick. He stood there in a tailored suit, his presence calm and commanding. He froze when he saw me, and then his eyes reddened as he grabbed my hand. “Brenda, you’re out. Why didn’t you tell me?” “These years… have you been okay?” I gave a bitter smile, touching my head through my beanie. I have no hair left. Ten years of torment had given me cancer. By my count, I have a month to live, at most. … I didn’t answer him. I just pulled the sleeves of my worn cotton jacket down, trying to hide the dense cluster of needle marks on my arms. Nick wouldn’t let it go. He opened his mouth to speak again, but my boss yelled from across the room. “Davis, stop dawdling! Get over here and clear that table!” “Coming!” I called back, not daring to look at Nick again. I fled. In my peripheral vision, I saw him start to call after me, but his mouth closed without a sound. Later, I brought out his order. He’d only ordered a single dish of braised fish, a bowl of spicy lamb soup, and a bottle of wine. I frowned. He’s allergic to fish and hates the gamy taste of lamb. But they were my two favorite dishes. A cruel irony, since the stomach cancer meant I hadn’t been able to eat them in years. I placed the dishes in front of him, my face a blank mask. “Sir, your order is complete. Please enjoy.” I turned to leave, but his hand shot out and gripped my sleeve. “Brenda, I ordered all of this for you. Sit down. Have a drink with me, please?” I froze, my mind flashing back to the night he sent me away. He had prepared my favorite foods then, too, right before condemning me to a decade in hell. Seeing my silence, he continued, his voice pleading. “I’m begging you. Just let me talk to you for a minute…” I sighed and sat down across from him. He poured me a glass of wine. “Brenda, I was supposed to pick you up when you were released, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” “They all said… they said you were dead.” I didn’t touch the wine or the food. “I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you, Nick.” His reaction was unexpectedly emotional. He leaned forward, grabbing both of my hands. “Brenda, I know I wronged you. Please, come back with me. I’ll make it up to you, I swear!” “Your father’s sixtieth birthday is in three days. Come with me, and I’ll explain everything to him.” Explain. Ten years ago, to appease my adopted sister, Chloe, and to keep me from exposing their affair, Nick had forged evidence that I’d taken bribes at my company. It earned me a ten-year sentence for a crime I didn’t commit. And my parents? They didn’t even question it. They disowned me on the spot, calling me a parasite on society. His words brought all the pain and despair of those years rushing back. I fought to suppress a tidal wave of agony, but my body betrayed me, trembling uncontrollably. “Explain? What is there to explain?” “Are you going to explain your sordid little affair with Chloe?” My voice was louder than I intended, sharp with emotion. Instantly, curious, gossiping eyes from the surrounding tables turned towards us. I shot to my feet and walked away. I thought that would be the last I’d see of Nick. After all, how much genuine remorse could the man who personally cast me into hell truly feel? But the next morning, when I arrived for my shift, he was already there, waiting by the door. He strode towards me as I approached. “Brenda, you were a top-tier engineer. Are you really content wasting away in a place like this?” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “But you’re the one who ruined my life, remember? Doesn’t it make you sick to say things like that now?” He flinched, a flicker of panic in his eyes. He opened his mouth to explain, but I pushed past him and went inside. Nick didn’t leave. He ordered a plate of food and a pot of tea and sat there all day. I ignored him, going about my work as usual. Near the end of my shift, a sharp, twisting pain shot through my stomach. A metallic, sweet liquid surged up my throat. I fought it down, stumbling back a step. In my daze, I bumped a table, knocking a glass of red wine all over a customer. The wine soaked his shirt. The man stared for a second, and before I could even apologize, his hand cracked across my face. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you blind? This shirt is designer, you think you can afford to replace it?” He grew more agitated as he spoke, ignoring my apologies. He kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sprawling to the floor. Then he picked up the bottle of wine from his table and poured it over my head. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A strangled cry escaped my lips as I coughed up a mouthful of blood. The crimson mixed with the red wine, staining my clothes in a grotesque pattern. Still not satisfied, the man raised his foot to kick me again, but someone shoved him aside. Nick stood over me, his eyes bloodshot with fury, a protective shield. He roared, “I’d like to see anyone touch her!” The man started to curse, but when he saw the feral look in Nick’s eyes, a flicker of fear crossed his face. He muttered a few more insults and then scurried out of the diner. Nick gently helped me up, his face etched with concern. “Brenda, the blood…” I glanced down at the red mess on my shirt and stammered, “It’s just the wine.” I pushed him away and ran. The next day, I quit my job. I’d only been working to pay for chemotherapy drugs. Since I was going to die soon anyway, there was no point. Besides, my greatest wish now was to get as far away from Nick and his world as possible. I wanted to die in peace. Quitting was easy. I just told my boss, collected my final paycheck, and left. As I walked out, I remembered my last medical report was still at the hospital. I decided to pick it up and buy some more painkillers while I was there. But just as I collected the report, I saw a familiar figure. My adopted sister, Chloe. And standing beside her were Nick and my own parents. Chloe saw me first. She froze, staring in disbelief. “Brenda? You’re not dead?” I glanced at the bag of medicine in her hand. It was from the maternity ward. The name on the bag read: Chloe. Then I saw her swollen belly and the intimate way Nick stood beside her. I didn’t need any more clues. Even after ten years, seeing it with my own eyes felt like a piece of my heart had been carved out. I laughed, a sound full of self-mockery. “Still alive. Sorry to disappoint you.” A dark look flashed across Chloe’s face, but she quickly replaced it with a wounded expression. “Brenda, I know you hate that I married Nick.” “But you two were divorced. And after what you did ten years ago… you couldn’t expect him to wait for you forever, could you?” Nick chimed in. “Our parents are here. Just apologize properly. It’s Dad’s birthday tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll forgive you.” I sneered. It was their fault, and they wanted me to apologize? “You know exactly what happened ten years ago,” I said, my voice sharp. “Why should I be the one to apologize?” At that, my parents finally noticed me. They looked much older. Not yet sixty, but their hair was almost completely white, their backs stooped. They stared at me, stunned. My mother was the first to speak, her brow furrowed. “Why are you so thin? Are you on drugs?” “You were trouble ten years ago, and you still are. You didn’t even come to us after you got out. You must have a guilty conscience!” I was floored. It took me a moment to process what she was saying. How utterly laughable. After ten years apart, there was no concern, no question about my health. Her first instinct was to suspect me of being a drug addict. That was the image they held of me. I laughed, and tears streamed down my face. My father frowned at my laughter. “Your mother’s right. You’re unnaturally thin.” Without another word, he grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards the hospital’s lab. “Come with me for a drug test!” He shouted, drawing a crowd of onlookers. In the struggle, he shoved me, and I fell, my head hitting the corner of a nearby table. Blood trickled down my forehead. The surge of emotion brought on another wave of intense pain in my stomach. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. Then, Nick spoke, his tone a sickening mix of gentleness and concern. “Brenda, I didn’t notice yesterday, but you really are… just listen to them. Go take the test.” “If there’s a problem, we’ll help you get clean. It’s not too late to turn back.” Chloe feigned concern as well. “Sister, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you can’t keep making mistakes!” That same condescending tone. Why? Why did they get to decide who I was? Why did I have to pay the price for their twisted fantasies? My father tried to grab me again. I pushed his hand away and struggled to my feet. “Fine,” I said, my voice ragged. “I’ll go.” I limped into the testing room. The results, of course, were clean. A flicker of embarrassment crossed my parents’ faces, but there was no apology. My mother just glanced at me and said awkwardly, “Well, that’s that. Let’s go home. It’s your father’s sixtieth tomorrow. Make sure you’re there.” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “You were right all those years ago. I’m not your daughter. We cut ties a long time ago.” “I won’t be coming to the party. Happy birthday to him.” With that, I gave them a slight bow, turned my back on their curses and pleas, and walked out of the hospital. On the morning of my father’s sixtieth birthday, I woke up and coughed up more blood. The pain was now a constant companion, a fire burning inside me. It came in waves so intense they nearly brought me to my knees. I knew the cancer was accelerating. Every day was a new form of torture. I probably wouldn’t even last the month. Just as I wiped the blood from my lips, there was a knock at the door. It was Nick. I had no desire to see him. “Nick, your wife is pregnant,” I said through the door. “It’s not appropriate for a husband to be visiting his ex-wife so often.” His voice was grim on the other side. “Brenda, I know you hate me. We can talk about us later.” “Today is your father’s birthday. You have to be there. We’re a family. We need to talk this out.” I didn’t want to go, but the cancer had left me too weak to resist. He was forceful, pulling me into his car without another word. During the drive, he kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Brenda, why are you so thin?” I ran a finger over the needle marks on my hand and gave a bitter smile. “Terminal cancer. Would you believe that?” Nick was stunned for a moment, then he laughed. “Brenda, don’t say things like that. You can’t joke about something so serious.” “How could you have cancer? You must be on some crazy diet. I’ve always told you, a little meat on your bones looks good. Don’t be so anxious about your figure…” I didn’t really hear the rest of what he said. I just nodded. “You’re right. I was joking. I don’t have cancer. Just a crazy diet.” The rest of the ride was silent. We arrived just as the party was starting. I kept my eyes down, standing off to the side, a silent ghost at the feast. My parents, by some unspoken agreement, didn’t introduce me to anyone. Instead, Chloe played the part of the devoted daughter, with Nick as the perfect son-in-law, mingling with the guests. I was the outsider. As the party was winding down, a swarm of reporters burst in, surrounding Chloe. “Ms. Chloe, is it true that your current husband was once your brother-in-law?” “How long has this scandalous affair been going on? Was your sister’s sudden criminal breakdown related to this?” Faced with the onslaught, Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears. Under the blinding flash of cameras, she dropped to her knees right in front of me. “Sister, I’m begging you, please leave me alone.” “Nick and I only got together after you were divorced. Please, call off the reporters. I… I can’t take this.” This time, before I could even react, my mother’s hand struck my face. “You wretched girl! How could you do this to your sister!” Nick helped Chloe to her feet, his eyes a mixture of complex emotions and disgust as he looked at me. “Brenda, you refused all my offers of help, and this was your plan all along? To go after Chloe? You disgust me!” I was stunned. “This wasn’t me,” I pleaded. “I don’t know anything about this.” My father was shaking with rage. “You monster! And you still dare to lie!” “Look at you, thin as a rail! I don’t know how you cheated that drug test, but now you’re trying to ruin your sister!” “You’re my daughter! You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?!” He grew more and more agitated, his chest heaving. “Someone! Bring me the whip!” A long, leather whip was brought to him. Without a word, he swung it, and it cracked against my body. The thin fabric of my shirt tore, revealing an angry red welt. Blood trickled down my skin. I coughed up more blood, but this time, I gripped the windowsill, refusing to fall. The irony was that a flicker of pity crossed Nick’s eyes. He even tried to reason with me. “Brenda, just give in. Apologize to Chloe. We’re all family here…” “Apologize?” I ground out the word, glaring at the people before me. “Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” Then, under the shocked gazes of the guests and the flashing cameras, I tore off my shirt, leaving me in just a thin tank top. A collective gasp went through the room. My skeletal frame was a canvas of scars, old and new, crisscrossing in a horrific pattern. My arms were covered in a dense tapestry of needle marks. I pointed to the scars, my voice ringing out, directed at Nick. “Ten years ago, all I did was walk in on you with my adopted sister, and you forged evidence to send me to prison.” “You said you’d come get me after you calmed Chloe down. I waited ten years. I begged them every day to let me see you, and all I got in return was a decade of beatings and abuse.” I turned to my parents, who were frozen in shock. “You wanted to know why I’m so thin?” I laughed, a sound of pure release. “Because the abuse gave me cancer. I have only days left to live.” “I’m a waitress now. How could I possibly have the connections to hire reporters?” My father was trembling. The whip fell from his hand with a clatter. Nick and my parents clung to each other, taking a step towards me, but I backed away, pressing myself against the open window. I fought back the searing pain from the cancer, my gaze sweeping over their three pale, horrified faces. “Remember this,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “You killed Brenda. My own parents and you, Nick. You murdered me.”

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On New Year’s Eve, Dad brought home a bottle of expensive whiskey. Grandma, afraid it would expire, insisted on putting it in the refrigerator. Unexpectedly, my little brother mistook it for soda and was about to drink it. I stopped him just in time. After I explained the dangers of drinking chilled hard liquor, my brother pointed at Grandma and cursed her out. Afterward, Grandma held a grudge against me, thinking I was meddling and causing a rift between her and her precious grandson. When I had been studying for the civil service exam for three years, Grandma put sleeping pills in my milk. She secretly sent me to a tattoo parlor. She gloated: “I want to see how you can take the civil service exam with tattoos!” With tattoos, my three years of hard work went down the drain. Unable to bear the blow, I jumped from a high building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that New Year’s Eve. Drink! Drink it all! 1 “You money-losing brat, get out of the way!” Grandma slammed her cane heavily onto me. The pain cleared my thoughts. I blinked and quickly stepped aside. Seeing me so compliant, Grandma’s anger subsided significantly. She was clutching something bulging in her arms. She walked towards the refrigerator in the kitchen. I turned my head and glanced at my parents in the living room. I had no urge to warn them. Grandma opened the fridge, unwrapped the box in her arms. Revealing a distinctive bottle. She squeezed it into the crowded fridge. After placing it, Grandma smiled with satisfaction. At that moment, my six-year-old brother, Liam, woke up. He ran barefoot towards me. “Sis, give me a piggyback ride!” He skillfully jumped on my back, pulling my hair. “Get down quickly, I want a piggyback ride!” My parents acted as if they didn’t see anything, making no move to stop him. Instead, Grandma, seeing me motionless, raised her cane again. “Didn’t you hear my precious grandson? Give him a ride!” My gaze fixed on the refrigerator, then quietly moved away. “Okay, piggyback ride.” After all, my brother’s status at home was like a prince. No one dared to disobey him. If he was unhappy, he could tear the roof off, literally. 2 In my past life, Grandma was afraid the expensive whiskey would expire. She secretly put it in the refrigerator. Liam got tired of playing and went to the fridge for a drink. I watched him pick and choose in the fridge. He chose the chilled whiskey. Even though I disliked this brother who was arrogant and domineering at such a young age. But blood is thicker than water, so I grabbed the bottle away. “This is liquor, kids can’t drink it, especially chilled liquor.” I explained the dangers to Liam. Grandma claimed she meant well. But Liam pointed at her nose and cursed: “You old hag, are you trying to kill me on purpose?” Even my parents became dissatisfied with Grandma. “Mom, you’re really getting old and confused!” I thought this was just a small episode, but who knew Grandma would hold a grudge against me. She felt I did it on purpose to sow discord. Knowing she put the liquor in, but not reminding her to take it out. Waiting for Liam to drink it before exposing her. Just to alienate her from Liam. During the time I prepared for the civil service exam for three years. Grandma put sleeping pills in my milk. She drugged me and sent me to a tattoo parlor. “I want to see how you can take the exam with tattoos, hmph!” When I woke up and saw the tattoos all over my body, I almost fainted. I questioned Grandma furiously, but she didn’t care at all. “A money-losing girl like you wants a government job? That spot is for my grandson in the future, you don’t deserve it!” Grandma was ignorant; she thought a family could only have one spot. But her ignorance ruined me! After learning what Grandma did, my parents just remained silent. Finally, they advised me. “Forget it, it’s done, you can’t make your grandma pay with her life!” I did everything I could just to escape this family. I prepared for this exam for three full years. I completely broke down. Unable to bear the blow, I jumped from the rooftop. However, after death, my soul didn’t dissipate immediately. Instead, I saw a harmonious scene at home. My parents were praising Grandma for doing well. “Since the girl can’t take the exam anymore, she can peacefully marry and earn a dowry for our family!” Liam lay in Grandma’s arms, clapping his hands: “Grandma is awesome! Only I am the hope of this family!” I didn’t understand. If so, why did they give birth to me? Why let me go to college? Why agree to let me take the exam? And why watch Grandma ruin me? Before my soul dissipated, I heard the answer. “Hmph! Letting her go to college was just to get a better price when she marries. She even wanted a government job!” “It’s good she’s dead, there’s a big compensation payout. This is much more profitable than marrying her off!” I thought I was dead. Who knew, I opened my eyes and returned to New Year’s Eve. It seems even God couldn’t stand it. Gave me a chance to start over. 3 Liam pulled my hair. He found a small leather whip from somewhere. And whipped me again and again. Grandma clapped and shouted happily: “My grandson looks like a king, he will achieve great things in the future!” Liam beamed with joy. Don’t be fooled by his age; he knows a lot. My eyes grew cold, and as I lowered my head, a sneer appeared. “Liam, don’t go through the fridge, there’s stuff kids can’t drink in there.” My voice was very low, only Liam could hear. Liam’s reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window paused, his eyes darting around. He quickly climbed off me. “Playing with you is boring.” I got up quickly and deliberately flattered him: “Liam is a little adult now, of course you should play games for adults!” After speaking, I turned and left, leaving Liam standing there. Seeming to be thinking about something. I went into the kitchen and proactively took over the New Year’s Eve dinner for the family. By the way, I placed the whiskey in the most conspicuous spot in the fridge. I made all the dishes heavy in flavor. Heavy oil and salt. One bite would require three or four glasses of water. During the meal, I poured a glass of red wine for Dad. Dad was reluctant to drink the whiskey. Said he wanted to save it for when Liam gets into college. “Dad, you worked hard this year, I toast to you.” Seeing me like this, Grandma couldn’t help but mock: “Damn girl, always pretending.” Dad shook his head at Grandma and drank the wine I toasted with a smile. At this moment, I was still the sensible and filial daughter in their hearts. My parents didn’t intend to turn against me yet. Seeing this, Liam also held an empty glass, clamoring to drink. Dad quickly stopped him: “You’re still young, kids can’t drink!” Just as Liam was about to throw a tantrum, Grandma hugged him. “Oh, Grandma’s good grandson, knowing to drink at such a young age, you’ll be amazing when you grow up!” I smiled without speaking. Soon, chatter started at the table. No one noticed Liam had slipped away. 4 Dad drank until his face was red, constantly bragging about his youthful feats. “When I was young, who didn’t suck up to me? I just looked down on their hypocrisy, otherwise I’d be a big boss now!” I echoed: “Dad is still amazing now, and our Liam will definitely be a dragon among men in the future!” These stories were repeated almost every year at the dinner table. Dad did have some skills when he was young. He was a famous carpenter around here; everyone wanted him to make furniture for their weddings. But he was self-righteous and never listened to customers’ opinions. He only cared about his own preferences, and over time, people stopped asking him to make furniture. The current apartment was allocated from the village demolition. Without the demolition compensation, our family would have starved. Dad bragged about those tiny achievements every year without shame. Halfway through, Liam pulled Dad’s arm: “Dad, I’m thirsty, I want a drink!” Dad was still immersed in his world, and Grandma had happily drunk a few glasses too. “Go get it from the fridge yourself!” Liam’s eyes darted around, and he moved a small stool into the kitchen. I couldn’t help curling my lips, pretending to be drunk and lying on the table. After a while, a loud noise came from the kitchen. I peeked through a slit, seeing Grandma’s face change suddenly, jumping up from her chair. My parents sobered up a bit too. “Is Liam in the kitchen?” “Liam?” “Liam!” My parents shouted a few times, no response. They quickly pulled chairs and rushed into the kitchen. I boldly opened my eyes; the kitchen faced the balcony. Through the reflection, I could see what was happening inside. Liam burped drunkenly with a red face and patted his stomach. “I drank alcohol, I’m an adult too!” And the noise just now. Was the sound of the bottle hitting the floor. Dad went up and shook it, finding the bottle empty. Obviously, Liam drank it all.

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1 I chased the food truck owner for three full blocks. Finally, I got my hands on the legendary Birria Tacos I’d been dreaming of. In my excitement, I snapped a photo and posted it to my Instagram Story: [Finally caught “The One.”] The very next second, my usually stoic, silent husband texted me: [Are you coming home tonight?] The next morning, he made a rare post on his own social media: [I still won.] 2 There’s a food truck on the East Side that makes Birria Tacos so good they should be illegal. I stood in line for an hour. Just as I had my payment app open, a flash of blue lights appeared in the distance—parking enforcement. Before I could react, the truck owner slammed the window shut and peeled out. In the blink of an eye, the bustling street was left with nothing but confused customers and a cloud of exhaust. I stood there, jaw dropped. I looked at the fleeing truck. I gritted my teeth. And I ran. The truck drifted around a corner. I chased after it, lunging forward while yelling, “Hey! Two beef, extra consommé, no onions, extra cilantro! I already sent the money!” After sprinting for ten minutes, I finally saw the truck pull over in a safe alley. Panting like a dog, I walked over. The owner gave me a look that said you need help, but he handed over my tacos. I accepted them with glee. I immediately posted a picture of the steaming food: [Chased “The One” for three blocks. Finally got him.] Just as I finished licking the consommé off my fingers, I received a text from my contract husband—a man who rarely messaged me first. [Where are you?] I paused, finger hovering over the screen. [East Side.] He replied instantly: [Are you coming home tonight?] I stared at the message, surprised. In our three years of marriage, we had maintained a polite, respectful distance. He rarely asked about my schedule, let alone if I was coming home to sleep. After a moment of hesitation, I typed: [Yeah, heading back now.] He sent a simple “Drive safe,” and the conversation ended. Ten minutes later. He sent another message out of the blue: [Were you with “The One” just now?] Confused, but honest, I replied: [Yeah.] [Ok.] That was it. No follow-up. I didn’t know why he was suddenly reaching out, but I didn’t take it to heart. Until I got back to the villa and saw the man sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at his phone in the dark. 3 When I pushed the door open, the living room was pitch black. The only light came from his phone screen, harsh in the darkness. Julian frowned, his finger sliding gently across the screen. I cleared my throat. He snapped his head up, locking his phone screen with the speed of a kid caught stealing cookies. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” I reached for the switch. He stood up unnaturally. “I forgot.” Me: …? How do you forget to turn on a light? Maybe my look of disbelief was too obvious. He turned his head away, avoiding my gaze. “You…” We spoke at the same time, then stopped. He spoke first. “Xavier is back in the country?” Xavier? Who is that? I looked blank. “Xavier?” I didn’t notice Julian staring at me intently, trying to read something in my reaction. I searched my brain for the name. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off. Xavier. My college roommate’s boyfriend. “Oh! Him!” I realized. “Yeah, he came back a few days ago.” I had seen my roommate’s post recently about ending their five-year long-distance relationship. They came back to get married. But how did Julian know him? Confused, but whatever. That night, Julian was fiercer than usual. He pinned me against the headboard, his warm palm gripping my waist. I tried to push him away, whimpering, but he pinned my wrists with one hand. “It hurts,” I protested quietly. His response was a harder thrust. His kisses landed on my neck, turning into a bite. I arched my back in pain, tears springing to my eyes. “Julian!” I cried his name, but he sealed my lips. In a daze, I heard him ask: “Am I better, or is he better?” Better than who? What is he talking about? My exhausted brain refused to process. “You…” I begged for mercy. I thought I heard him laugh triumphantly. He seemed satisfied with that answer and finally slowed down, gently kissing away my tears. “Remember what you said,” he whispered, biting my earlobe. “You can only ever be mine.” I nodded groggily. Before I slipped into darkness, I vaguely heard him sigh. “Wifey… be mine forever, okay?” 4 When I woke up the next day, Julian was gone. I rubbed my sore waist and cursed him under my breath. Checking my phone, it was already 10 AM. There were a few unread messages. The top one was my best friend telling me to check my feed. I opened it and saw that Julian had actually posted something: [I still won.] The photo was of sunlight filtering through curtains, with the corner of a messy bedsheet visible. I stared at it, bewildered. In three years, Julian’s feed had been cleaner than a desert. And today he posts this? Below it, mutual friends were commenting: [Mr. Sterling, is this…?] [???] [Am I seeing things? Is this Julian?] Just as I was about to comment and ask what was going on, my best friend called. “Hello?” “Did you know Elena is back?” she asked, sounding indignant. I froze. Elena. Julian’s “White Moonlight”—the love of his life. 5 My marriage to Julian was an accident. The day my family went bankrupt, my dad knelt on the floor and begged me. “Zooey, only the Sterling family can save us.” I clenched my fists. “But Julian loves Elena.” Everyone in our circle knew. Julian Sterling, the sole heir, had only one woman in his heart. His college sweetheart, Elena. After Elena went abroad, no one else ever appeared by Julian’s side. “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like you,” my dad said, eyes red. “As long as we marry, the Lin family survives.” I closed my eyes and finally nodded. “Okay.” The first time I met Julian was at a dinner arranged by our families. He wore a sharp suit and didn’t look at me once. I stirred my coffee, thinking: As expected, he doesn’t want to marry me. But to my surprise, when the dinner ended, he handed me a pre-nup. “Let’s get married.” I was stunned. “You… are willing?” He glanced at me indifferently. “It’s just a business alliance. We each get what we need.” My chest ached, but I smiled and signed. “Okay.” For three years, we treated each other with polite respect. He never interfered in my life, and I never asked about his schedule. What does it feel like to marry someone who doesn’t love you? If I had to answer, it’s the bitterness swallowed alone late at night, and the gentleness you can never quite touch. Three years of Julian’s impeccable behavior almost made me forget the transactional nature of our marriage. 6 My best friend was still chattering on the phone. “Elena came back to hold a solo art exhibition. I heard Julian even invested in it…” My fingers tightened around the phone, a sourness rising in my chest. So his strange behavior last night… was it because the love of his life returned? “Zooey? Are you listening?” “Yeah…” I forced a light laugh. “I’m fine. We were just a business arrangement anyway.” After hanging up, I stared at Julian’s post. [I still won.] So… who was he competing with? Lost in thought, the bedroom door opened gently. Julian walked in. Seeing me awake, he paused. “Why didn’t you sleep a bit longer?” His voice was raspy. “I made congee.” I quickly turned off my phone screen and forced a smile. “Thanks.” He walked to the bed, his gaze falling on the marks on my neck. His eyes darkened. “Last night…” he started, hesitant. “It’s fine.” I instinctively pulled up my collar to hide the evidence. “I… I’ll go wash up.” I scrambled to get up, but my legs went soft, and I nearly fell. Julian caught me instantly, his warm hand steadying my waist. “Careful.” I looked up into his deep eyes. For a second, I almost drowned in them. But then the news of Elena’s return flashed through my mind, snapping me back to reality. I looked away and pulled out of his embrace. “Thanks.” In the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. My neck was covered in red marks, evidence of last night’s madness. Julian rarely lost control like that. Was I just a substitute because she was back? The thought pierced my heart. When I went downstairs, Julian was waiting at the dining table. There was plain congee, side dishes, and my favorite shrimp dumplings. “I don’t know if it suits your appetite,” he said flatly, pushing the dumplings toward me. I lowered my head and ate. “It’s delicious. Thank you.” The dining room was terrifyingly quiet. “What are your plans for today?” He broke the silence after a long while. I paused. He never asked about my schedule. That was twice in two days. “Shopping with my best friend.” “Okay.” He nodded and didn’t ask more. Silence again. I thought for a moment and asked out of politeness, “And you?” “Company meeting.” He paused. “I might… not be home for dinner.” “Okay.”

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1 A year after the cold war with my uncle, Commander Shepherd, I posted on my social media: “8 pounds, 6 ounces. Mom and baby are doing great. From now on, you two are my whole world.” The post blew up in our friends’ group chat. Everyone was tagging him. “Commander Shepherd, when did you and your niece get married? You kept that under wraps!” As the chat lit up, I added my husband to the group. “Easy, everyone. This is my husband.” The once-frenzied chat went silent, followed by a stream of notifications: “This message was deleted.” I had chased my uncle for seven years. It only took a single moment to finally let him go. … Seven years ago, my confession of love was a disaster. I drove him to take a post on a remote border. Seven years later, he returned with a flourish, all for another woman. The news echoed through the entire military base. That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. I called him ninety-nine times. He declined every single one. After seven years of devotion, he chose someone else. And I was finally tired. So I applied to join a medical aid mission abroad, booking a flight for the following month. For the next week, I didn’t contact him once. I didn’t see him again until the annual Distinguished Service Award ceremony at the base. I saw him with her—Seraphina Vance. My department head pulled me aside, his face a grim mask. The award, which was supposed to be mine, had been personally redirected by Commander Shepherd. It was now Seraphina’s. The fallout was immediate. The “Field Trauma Initiative,” a project I had poured three years of my life into, would be shelved because I’d lost the award. If the project died, my career would be in ruins, my only option a transfer to some forgotten outpost. On stage, the presenter’s voice boomed, “Congratulations to the winner of this year’s Distinguished Service Award, Dr. Seraphina Vance! And now, let’s welcome Commander Shepherd to present the award!” I felt nothing. No one knew better than me how shamelessly Ethan Shepherd could favor someone. Seraphina smiled, gliding onto the stage to deliver a well-rehearsed speech. At the end, she took Ethan’s arm and turned her gaze to me. “But the person I’m most grateful for is Ava Ross. Your research paper was incredibly insightful. I wonder, could I have your blessing today?” A wave of snickering and amused glances fell on me. For seven years, I’d never hidden my feelings. Everyone on the base knew I was desperately in love with him. Now, his official girlfriend was calling me out in public. They were all expecting a meltdown. But I simply rose from my seat with grace, meeting that deep, intense gaze from the stage. My voice was calm and steady. “Congratulations to you both.” After the ceremony, the news of my loss spread like wildfire, trailed by whispers of mockery. My standing at the Military Medical Center plummeted overnight. I was demoted from lead surgeon to second assistant. My single, focused surgery per day turned into a grueling marathon of back-to-back procedures, leaving me barely any time to breathe. I didn’t complain. I just silently performed my duties, a blur of practiced movements—clamping bleeders, suturing wounds. Two weeks passed in a sleep-deprived haze. I was averaging less than three hours a night. The exhaustion was a welcome tide, washing away any spare thought of Ethan Shepherd. Until one day, rushing from one operation to the next, I was stopped in my tracks. A military-grade SUV screeched to a halt barely a foot from me at the hospital entrance. The license plate was exclusive to the District Command. It was his. The tinted window rolled down, revealing his handsome, stern face. “Get in.” I didn’t move. I just pulled off my soiled gloves, a faint frown creasing my brow. “Sorry, I have another surgery.” He looked genuinely surprised by the rejection, his expression hardening instantly. “I thought you only had one surgery a day. What kind of scene are you making now?” I stared at the cold, severe man before me, a profound clarity washing over me. The uncle who had once cherished me, who held me in the palm of his hand, was gone. All these years, my obsession and my desperate chasing had only earned me his contempt. But this time, I wasn’t making a scene. If he hadn’t stolen my award for Seraphina, my project wouldn’t be on hold, and I wouldn’t have been demoted. But I knew he wouldn’t believe me. I had a history, after all. I’d once pretended to faint from exhaustion after an all-nighter, just to get a moment of his attention. He’d ignored me completely, but the hospital, citing my “frail health,” had blocked my promotion to attending surgeon, leaving my career stalled for years. Now, though, I could meet his gaze without flinching. “As a dedicated doctor,” I said, my voice even, “saving lives is my duty.” A humorless smirk touched his lips, the coldness never leaving his eyes. He was angry, I could tell. But this time, I had no intention of soothing him. “Please leave, Commander. You’re blocking the patient entrance.” He shot me a look so frigid it could cut glass. Without another word, the window slid up, and the SUV pulled away. The next day, I scrubbed in for what was once my signature procedure—a cardiac bypass. But when I reached the operating room, I found Seraphina there. Ethan, I learned, had pulled strings with the hospital board to make her lead surgeon. “So sorry, Ava,” Seraphina said, her smile a deliberate provocation. She was waiting for me to lose my temper. “There was a last-minute change. You’ll be assisting me today.” I simply shrugged. “That’s my job.” During the procedure, Seraphina made a critical error. A major artery was nicked, and blood began to flood the surgical field. The patient was hemorrhaging. If we didn’t get it under control, he would die on the table. In that moment of crisis, I took over. I pushed her aside and reclaimed my place as lead surgeon. After the marathon surgery, I stumbled home, collapsing into bed, dead to the world. I was jolted awake the next morning by a frantic call from my department head. “The patient from yesterday has severe complications! His family is raising hell, and it’s all over the internet. They’re saying you went rogue. What the hell happened, Ava?” I opened my phone. A news alert was glaring at me: [Military Hospital Assistant Hijacks Surgery, Kills Patient in Reckless Bid for Promotion!] Below the headline was a damning photo: me, at the head of the operating table, which was soaked in blood. “This is a doctor? Trampling on a patient’s life just to get ahead!” “I can’t believe they let people like her near a scalpel. She should be in jail!” The comments were a torrent of venom and hate. I stared at the screen, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Seraphina messed up. I had to take over. The surgical recording will show everything.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” I choked out, “but it wasn’t because of my technique.” My boss sounded defeated. “I tried to pull the recording the moment this broke, Ava. It’s been corrupted. The file is gone.” “Find out who else was in the OR,” he continued. “We’ll get their statements, try to piece together the truth.” I hung up and was about to head out when another notification popped up. Seraphina had just released a public statement: “While I was the lead surgeon in name, Dr. Ava Ross performed the entirety of the actual procedure. The responsibility for this tragic outcome is not mine.” In the next second, my phone exploded with a tidal wave of new hate mail and death threats. Her statement had sealed my fate. Even if my colleagues backed me up, the public wouldn’t care. Without the surgical recording or a confession from Seraphina herself, I was guilty. I didn’t go back to the hospital. I called Ethan. I called him again and again, but he never picked up. Finally, I drove to the exclusive housing on base, only to be blocked by the guards at his door. By the time I managed to climb up to his bedroom window, night had fallen. I was about to force it open when I heard sounds from inside. Muffled, wet sounds mingled with ragged breaths. Again and again, the frantic, desperate rhythm of it went on and on. I froze, clinging to the window ledge. I stood there all night, listening to the man I had loved for so long find his passion with someone else. As the first light of dawn broke, I finally moved my numb, frozen limbs and waited by his front door. When Ethan finally emerged, the first thing I saw was the wet, red mark on his neck. My eyes were bloodshot from a sleepless night. I stumbled to my feet. “I need to see Seraphina.” His voice was cold, dismissive. “Seraphina is just getting established at the hospital. She can’t take the blame for this.” He looked at me, his face a mask of impatience. “You take the fall for now. I’ll make it up to you later.” The color drained from my face. I stared at him, barely recognizing the man in front of me. Was this the same principled uncle I had known? He had defended our country’s borders, but he had lost his own moral compass. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “So, what you’re saying is, Seraphina can take a life, face no consequences, and an innocent person has to pay for her crime?” Ethan was silent for a moment, rubbing his temples in irritation. “You were the second assistant. The most renowned cardiac expert in the entire hospital. You failed to assist her properly. How are you innocent?” “Look,” he said, trying a different tactic. “You’ve always wanted to travel abroad with me, right? Once things settle down, I’ll take you.” My mother always told me that traveling with someone you love was the best way to grow closer. I had begged Ethan to take me on a trip countless times. He always agreed, then postponed it for work. Now, after everything, after all the arguments and broken trust, the offer felt like a cruel joke. I reached up and unclasped the bullet shell necklace from around my neck. He had put it there himself the year my parents died and he took me in. He told me this casing had once grazed his heart, that it was special. He promised that as long as he was alive, he would protect me with his life. And if he was gone, the shell would watch over me in his place. I placed it gently in his hand. I looked him straight in the eye, a sense of release washing over me. “Here, you should have this back. Thank you, Uncle, for taking care of me all these years. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.” “You’ve long since repaid any debt to my parents. From now on, let’s keep our distance, Mr. Shepherd.” My story with Ethan Shepherd was over. His willingness to protect another had trampled on my dignity and my deepest beliefs. I wasn’t so pathetic that I could just smile and accept it. I paid an enormous settlement to the patient’s family and submitted my resignation to the hospital. At the airport, my old department head saw me off, his expression pained. “Ava, you’re the most talented surgeon I’ve ever seen. It’s a tragedy about that incident…” I shook my head gently. “It’s in the past.” He sighed. “If only that recording hadn’t been destroyed… But with your skill, you’ll shine no matter where you go.” “I will,” I promised with a smile. I took one last look at the city I had called home for over two decades and turned toward the boarding gate. Ten years of knowing him, seven years of loving him. I could finally let him go. Ethan Shepherd. Goodbye, forever. Just as the plane began to accelerate down the runway, my phone, which I thought was off, began to vibrate and ring with frantic, unstoppable intensity. 2 Meanwhile, Ethan Shepherd pushed open the door to my apartment. “Ava, about what’s online…” His words died in his throat. The apartment was hollow, empty. He strode through the rooms, his heart beginning to pound. The closet doors were open, most of your clothes gone. The photo of them on the desk had vanished. “Ava?” His voice trembled slightly. “Commander? What is it?” His aide, hearing the commotion, hurried in. “Where is she?” Ethan demanded, his voice sharp. The aide looked lost. “Miss Ross… maybe she just stepped out for some air?” Ethan bolted from the apartment, searching the surrounding streets, his calls echoing in the empty air. There was no sign of her. He finally collapsed onto the sofa in the study, his face pale. “Sir,” the aide said hesitantly. “Someone mentioned they saw Miss Ross leaving with a suitcase yesterday…” “Leaving? Where did she go?” Ethan shot to his feet. The aide shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. She got into a car…” Ethan lunged for the phone on the desk and dialed Ava’s number. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been switched off…” He slammed the phone down in frustration, his gaze falling on an envelope left on the desk. With trembling hands, Ethan tore it open. A single sheet of paper fell out. He unfolded it, her familiar handwriting swimming before his eyes: Uncle Ethan, By the time you read this, I’ll be overseas. Thank you for raising me all these years. I wish you and Miss Vance a lifetime of happiness. Ava. He crushed the letter in his fist, a sharp pain lancing through his chest. He looked around the room, every corner a ghost of a memory he’d shared with her. How could someone who had been a part of his life for over a decade just vanish? He strode to the safe hidden behind a bookshelf and punched in the code. Inside lay a single photograph of him and Ava. In it, a much younger Ava was beaming, and he was looking down at her with an expression of pure, unguarded tenderness. That was the day she first called him “Uncle.” Ethan’s hand shook as he held the photo, his eyes stinging. The memories came flooding back. Ten-year-old Ava, a newly orphaned little girl, arriving at his family home. A tiny sprite hiding behind his legs, shyly calling his father “General.” Fifteen-year-old Ava, playing guitar in the garden on the base, sunlight catching in her hair, a vision so beautiful it stole his breath. Her eighteenth birthday, when she’d confessed her feelings, her face flushed, and he’d panicked and pushed her away… Ethan shook his head, trying to force himself back to the present. “Sir,” the aide said softly from the doorway. “Major Hayes called just now. He said…” “Said what?” Ethan spun around. The aide flinched. “He said that he and Miss Ross have landed safely in London…” Before the aide could finish, Ethan was already out the door. “Get me on the next flight to London!” he roared at his adjutant over the phone. “But Commander, you have the strategic briefing tomorrow morning…” “Cancel it!” Ethan snapped. “Cancel everything!” Hanging up, he gripped the photograph, his eyes a storm of pain and resolve. “Ava,” he whispered. “I’m not letting you go that easily.” At London’s Heathrow Airport, Ethan emerged from customs, haggard and exhausted. He hadn’t slept a second during the fourteen-hour flight. He pulled out his phone and dialed Leo Hayes’s number. “Leo. Where is she?” “Well, well, Commander Shepherd?” Leo’s voice was lazy and dripping with sarcasm. “Finally remembered you have a ‘niece’?” Ethan’s fist clenched. “Tell me where Ava is.” “Tsk, tsk. I don’t take orders from you, Commander.” “Leo!” Ethan roared. “Hey, calm down,” Leo chuckled. “I’m her boyfriend now. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.” “I’m her legal guardian. I have a right to know her whereabouts.” “Guardian?” Leo scoffed. “You did a bang-up job of that, didn’t you? Chased her halfway across the world.” “I didn’t chase her anywhere!” “Oh really?” Leo drew out the word. “Then what about the online mob, the doxing? Where was her ‘guardian’ then?” Ethan fell silent. “What, cat got your tongue? Or do you need me to remind you what Ava’s life has been like for the past few months?” “Leo,” Ethan ground out between his teeth. “Don’t make me ask again. I want to see Ava.” “Commander, are you forgetting something? Oh, that’s right. You’re engaged.” “My engagement to Seraphina has nothing to do with Ava.” “Trying to have it both ways, Commander? Impressive.” “What did you say?!” “Don’t get mad,” Leo said breezily. “I’m just stating the facts.” “Leo, tell me where she is. Now.” “Sorry, Commander. That’s a secret between me and Ava. Can’t help you.” “I’ll make you regret hiding her from me!” Ethan bellowed. “Yeah, right,” Leo mocked. “Why don’t you go back and plan your wedding, Commander? Stop bothering me and Ava. We’re living together now. And we’re very happy.” “LEO!” The line went dead.

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Everyone thought I had married the perfect wife—gentle, capable, and a true catch. Little did they know, the moment she stepped into the kitchen, she became a walking disaster. Ask her to cook, and she’d mistake salt for sugar or dish soap for oil. Send her to the market, and she’d return with wilted, yellowed cabbage, unable to tell it was spoiled. No matter how much I taught her, every time she entered the kitchen, chaos followed. So, over our three years of marriage, the kitchen slowly became my territory alone. I often joked with friends, “If my wife ever left me, she’d probably live on takeout forever.” That changed when I went on a business trip. Worried she wasn’t eating well, I checked our smart home app. To my shock, the woman who couldn’t even light a stove was wearing my apron, expertly reducing sauce for braised pork and stir-frying with fluid, confident movements. Sitting on our sofa was a man I’d only seen in her phone album. My wife, Claire, arranged the dishes gracefully before him, handed him utensils carefully, and gazed at him with a tenderness I’d never seen. “David,” she said softly, “I promised these hands would cook only for you. All these years, I kept my word.” Staring motionless at the screen, a deep silence washed over me. She wasn’t a bad cook—she had simply saved every bit of her culinary warmth for someone else. 1 When I got back from my trip, my plan was to wait for Claire to get home and confront her about what I saw on the monitor. But when I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a few takeout containers artfully placed at the top of the trash bin. Then I looked at the stovetop, polished to a mirror shine. Even the pots and pans were arranged in the exact same way I’d left them. The fire of anger and betrayal inside me was suddenly extinguished, replaced by an icy dread. Two years of dating, three years of marriage. For five years, Claire had flawlessly played the part of a kitchen idiot. When we first got married, I had daydreams of us cooking together, a cozy, domestic scene. But every time Claire set foot in the kitchen, it was a catastrophe. A simple stir-fried vegetable dish? She’d use sugar instead of salt, serving up something sickeningly sweet. A pot of soup? She’d burn it to a black crisp, ruining an expensive enamel pot. She couldn’t light the stove, couldn’t tell one green leaf from another, couldn’t distinguish between spices. The kitchen was a war zone after she was done with it. Patiently, I would clean up the mess while trying to teach her. She would just stand aside and sigh helplessly. “I guess I just don’t have the talent for cooking. It’s a good thing I married such a capable husband, or I’d probably have blown up the kitchen by now.” I believed her. I thought she was genuinely, naturally unsuited for cooking, so I gladly took over all the meals. Only now did I realize the truth. Her skills were exquisite; it was just that her warmth, her fire, was reserved for another. While Claire was working late, I found the man from the video. To my shock, he was living in the old apartment Claire and I had shared before we bought our house. Claire had told me she’d rented it to a friend of a colleague. Apparently, that “friend” was the man from her photo album. David. Seeing him standing in front of me, I felt a strange sense of dislocation. When I first met Claire, I’d jokingly asked her what her ideal type was. She’d answered without hesitation, “Dark curly hair, pale skin, and two dimples when he smiles.” At the time, I dismissed it as a girlish fantasy. I had seen David’s photo once, but only for a fleeting second before Claire snatched the phone away and deleted it. It wasn’t until I saw his face today that I understood. Her ideal type was never a fantasy; it was a checklist based on a real person. I look nothing like David, but I never forgot what she said. Over the years, I’d started perming my hair and taking better care of my skin. Except for the dimples, at a quick glance, I suppose I did start to resemble him. And yet, my wife’s affection for the two of us was worlds apart. Claire and I met when we were 24 and married at 26. Now, approaching 30, I thought we were set for a lifetime of happiness. I always told myself, she just can’t cook. Nobody’s perfect. I can do a little more. For five years, she hadn’t lifted a finger in the kitchen. Even when I was bedridden with a fever, she never once made me a simple bowl of soup. But for David, she would tie on an apron and spend an entire afternoon at the stove, whispering promises that her hands were for him alone. I had given her five years of my heart, and I never even knew what her real cooking tasted like. All the questions I wanted to scream at him boiled down to one, pathetic curiosity. “David,” I asked, my voice hollow, “is Claire a good cook?” 2 David looked startled, as if he hadn’t expected that question. Not about his relationship with Claire, not about why he was living in our old place. But about her cooking. A look of pity crossed his face, followed by a smug, satisfied smile. “You didn’t know, did you?” he said, his voice laced with condescension. “Back in the day, I told her offhandedly that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Without a second thought, she went and got a professional culinary degree.” He leaned back. “I mentioned once that her braised pork was just okay, so she practiced it dozens of times. Now it’s her signature dish. After all these years abroad, I really missed her… braised pork.” I was floored. When I first met Claire, I wasn’t much of a cook either. But knowing she was a picky eater, I spent my days watching tutorials, learning to make new and different dishes for her. I knew she loved braised pork, so I practiced it endlessly. At first, I’d either burn the caramel or the meat would be bland. Claire would always frown and meticulously point out everything I’d done wrong. I kept at it until my hands were covered in burns from the hot oil. The day I finally perfected it, Claire took one bite and froze. She was silent for a long time, a strange, faraway look in her eyes. I didn’t know what memory she was savoring then. But I understood now. Watching my expression, David slowly stood up and took a pristine glass container from his fridge. He opened it with a deliberate slowness, as if unveiling a priceless treasure. “Claire made these this morning. Sweet and sour ribs. But you probably know she’s never liked sweet food.” “But I love it,” he continued, his eyes glinting. “She once consulted a Michelin-starred chef just for me, to get this recipe right. She said you have to tweak the sugar and vinegar ratio over and over to get that perfect balance. That’s why she was up before dawn today making them.” I stared at the ribs, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I love sweet and sour ribs. The year I was trying to win her over, I learned to make that exact dish, practicing until the flavor was perfect. But when I served it, her face fell. She threw down her utensils and accused me of not knowing her at all. I was completely baffled. It was only later that I learned she didn’t eat sweet dishes. I felt guilty for a long time and tried to make it up to her. I even fed the entire plate of ribs to a stray dog downstairs right in front of her to prove my remorse. From that day on, I never made another sweet dish. I was even careful about adding too much sugar to my stir-fries. My eyes stung, but I let out a bitter laugh. “Is there more?” David frowned, confused. “What are you, a masochist? You think hearing more will make you give her up to me?” I smiled faintly. “You never know.” His eyes lit up. He opened his laptop. His inbox was filled with hundreds of unread emails, all from Claire. The last one was sent three years ago, the night before our wedding. “David, I’m getting married tomorrow. I know you’re busy and rarely have time to reply, but I wanted to tell you this. You once said you wanted your own personal chef. I’ve never forgotten that. I’m a certified Master Chef now. I have so many dishes I’m great at. And even though my name will be on another man’s marriage certificate, I swear to you, these hands will never cook for anyone but you. This is my permanent promise to us.” I read every word, my vision blurring and clearing. I finally understood why Claire had always been so critical of my cooking. It was never about the technique or the flavor. It was about the person making the food. Since she had already promised her culinary skills and her heart to someone else, then I didn’t want this wife anymore. There are plenty of women in this world who know how to cook. 3 I drew up the divorce papers. It was late when I got home, but I knew Claire would be even later. After all, she had someone else to be with. I found the old wooden box that had been gathering dust for years. Claire had told me it contained confidential work documents and that I was never to touch it. But I knew what was really inside: her journals and her Master Chef certificate. I opened a journal. Page after page was filled with details of her five years with David, from high school through college. All the sweet nothings I’d never heard, all the romantic gestures I thought she was incapable of, had been given to another man long before she ever met me. Claire came home late that night, calling out habitually as she walked in. “Honey, is dinner ready?” She searched the kitchen and the fridge but found nothing. Usually, I’d greet her with a smile. Tonight, I didn’t even leave the bedroom. She came to find me, a frown on her face. “Why didn’t you cook? I came home starving, specifically to eat with you.” I kept scrolling on my phone, not looking up. “I’m tired. If you’re hungry, make something yourself.” Her face flushed with anger, her voice rising. “You know I can’t cook!” “Oh,” I said flatly. “Then I guess you’ll go hungry. I’m going to sleep.” Sensing my unusual coldness, her tone softened. She came and sat on the bed, trying to coax me. “How about you just make a bowl of noodles? Please? I worked late, and I’m so hungry. Don’t you feel bad for me?” With all emotion stripped away, I looked up at the face I had slept next to for three years and felt like I was looking at a stranger. I had just gotten back from a business trip myself. Had she shown an ounce of concern for me? A Master Chef who had pretended to be a kitchen klutz for five years. She had watched me toil day in and day out, getting up to cook for her whether I was sick or exhausted, all so she could keep a promise to the one that got away. I couldn’t take it anymore. My face hardened. “I said I’m tired. I’m not cooking. Get out and let me sleep.” Just then, her stomach growled loudly. That was the last straw for her. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight? Fine, don’t cook! I’ll go eat out!” She slammed the door on her way out. She didn’t come back that night. I no longer cared where she went or what she ate. I just had a good, long sleep. The next day, I met with my lawyer and settled the divorce arrangements. Then, I went to an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet by myself. For years, to accommodate Claire, I couldn’t eat seafood, cilantro, mangoes, or eggs. Everything she disliked had vanished from my life. But now I was discovering that satisfying my own stomach was far more important than pleasing a woman. Halfway through my meal, a message popped up on my phone. It was Claire. “It’s our anniversary today. Since you don’t feel like cooking, let’s go out to a nice restaurant.” In previous years, I was always the one who excitedly brought up our anniversary. I’d take a half-day off work and cook a huge feast, just to make it special. And she, the woman who never cooked, would always find something to criticize, all under the guise of “improving my skills” and “enhancing our marital happiness.” A second message followed immediately. “Did you go see David yesterday?” “He’s just a tenant. Please don’t bother him.” It clicked. So that’s why she suddenly remembered our anniversary. She was afraid I’d disturb her precious first love. I laughed out loud and typed back, “Don’t worry, I won’t bother him.” After all, I was about to leave her. After I finished eating, I called her. “Claire, let’s not go out tonight. Come home. I’ll cook.” This would be our last meal together. When I first pursued her, I won her over with a meal. Now, I would end it with one. A fitting end to a beginning.

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Before high school graduation, the class’s airheaded “prom queen” volunteered to hold onto everyone’s exam admission tickets for safekeeping. As the class president, I firmly refused. This annoyed my childhood friend, Carter: “You’re targeting her again.” I ignored him. On the day of the SATs, I personally checked everyone’s IDs and tickets one by one to make sure there were no issues. But the moment the prom queen got her hands on the tickets, she turned around and cried that I had lost hers. Carter snatched my own admission ticket from my hand and tore it to shreds. Before I could even get angry, I ran until my legs gave out, managing to get a replacement ticket printed just seconds before the bus left for the testing center. But my classmates kicked me off the bus. “You lost Bella’s ticket. You don’t deserve to take the test.” Using the study guide I had prepared for them, every single one of them got excellent scores. I had no choice but to repeat the year. I became the top scorer in the state. When the news interviewed me, Carter and my former classmates—now successful students at top universities—returned to our high school. They presented fabricated evidence that I had cheated. I couldn’t defend myself. A student who had failed because of the cheating scandal poured gasoline on me and lit a match. Carter watched me burn in agony, shielding Bella behind him. Years later, after graduating from an Ivy League school, he gave Bella a multi-million dollar wedding. The whole class fought to be their groomsmen and bridesmaids. When I opened my eyes again, I didn’t hesitate. I handed all the admission tickets to the clumsy prom queen. Except for mine. 1 “I just gave the protein bar you brought me to Bella. Do you have to target her like that?” Carter’s annoyed voice rang in my ears. “Bella is frail. With exams coming up, she needs the nutrition more than I do. “You call yourself fair? Then let Bella hold onto the admission tickets! Stop being such a control freak!” My hand tightened around my own ticket. In my past life, Carter had backed Bella just like this. I had fought with him, even dragging the homeroom teacher in to mediate so the tickets wouldn’t fall into Bella’s hands. But my classmates immediately accused me of bullying Bella, saying I wasn’t fit to be class president. They isolated me. I had to beg them, one by one, to use the study guide I spent sleepless nights creating. Those very questions helped students who were barely passing get into state universities. But they didn’t thank me. Instead, when the failed student doused me in gasoline, they deliberately called my parents to watch. My parents watched me burn alive. Carter shielded Bella, laughing. My parents couldn’t take the shock and ran into the fire with me… “Samantha, don’t be too much…” “Here.” I shoved the stack of admission tickets into Bella’s hands, cutting Carter off. Then I grabbed my backpack and turned to leave. I didn’t want to look at these people for a second longer. I wouldn’t step foot in this school again until exam day. Bella gasped, clearly surprised that I had handed the tickets over so easily. But just as I stepped out of the classroom, Carter grabbed my backpack strap and yanked me back. “Wait. Where’s your ticket?” “I’m keeping it.” I pushed Carter away impatiently, but he wouldn’t let go. “No. We agreed everyone’s tickets go to Bella for safekeeping. Yours too.” “Why?” I clutched my ticket, putting distance between us. “You guys want Bella to hold yours, I won’t stop you. But I don’t want to. Is there a problem with me keeping my own property?” “Jesus, Sam, can you stop being jealous for five seconds?” The gym rep, Mike, stepped up and grabbed my arm. Other class officers joined in: “Yeah, Bella is our class mascot. She just wants to do something nice. Why do you have to be so difficult?” “As class president, you should trust your classmates. If we say Bella holds them, she holds them all. No exceptions!” Mike snatched my ticket from my hand and tossed it to Carter. I lunged for it, but the boys played keep-away, tossing my ticket back and forth over my head. “Come on, Prez! Jump for it!” “Haha, look at her hopping around like a dog!” “Serves you right! Always bossing us around!” I slammed my backpack onto the floor with a loud thud and stormed out the door. Carter’s smile froze. Someone whispered, “Is she crying?” Carter frowned, looking in the direction I had gone. I washed my face in the bathroom, hiding any trace of tears. It didn’t matter. I looked at myself in the mirror. If the ticket was gone, it was gone. I didn’t want it. There was still time to get a replacement. But when I returned to the classroom, the first thing I heard was the sound of cards shuffling. I rushed in and saw my classmates sitting in a circle, playing poker with the admission tickets. 2 The game was intense. Several tickets had fallen onto the dirty floor, but no one cared. “Bella’s a genius! Exactly 54 people in class, perfect for a deck of cards!” “School banned poker, and Sam watches us like a hawk. Good thing Bella has the tickets. Let’s see Sam confiscate these! Haha!” “I play this one! Who dares to beat it?” “I dare! I have Carter!” “Then I play Bella!” Tickets were slapped onto the desk. When they saw me, they frowned. “What are you looking at? You gonna manage the tickets too?” “Exams are in two days. You aren’t studying?” I asked, genuinely curious. They scoffed. “What’s there to be afraid of? Didn’t you say you made a study guide for us?” I paused. In my last life, I stayed up all night analyzing past exams. They scoffed at my guide, and I had to beg them to use it. So they knew how important it was all along? Bella’s eyes darted around. She smiled and played my ticket. “I play the Class President. Who can beat her?” “The Prez?” Everyone’s attention snapped back to the game. “I play Jerry!” “Ooh! Even the class clown beats the President?” “Tsk! Sam, looks like anyone can beat you, huh?” “Wow, deep meaning there. I play Kevin!” “Josh!” Tickets piled on top of mine. The boys whose faces were played groaned. “Hey! I don’t want to be on top of her! Gross!” The room erupted in laughter. Bella giggled, covering her mouth. “Oh stop it, you guys are so mean. Someone might think you’re talking about a toilet.” Slap! A hand struck Bella across the face. Carter had gone looking for me, hadn’t found me, and came back just in time to see this. “Samantha!” He grabbed my wrist. “What are you doing!” The class immediately started shouting, accusing me of being jealous of Bella. “Carter!” I pointed at the pile of tickets on the desk. “They’re using my ticket like a piece of trash to be stepped on. Am I supposed to applaud?” Looking at the thick stack pressing down on my face, even Carter couldn’t miss the implication. “Carter…” Bella tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft and pitiful. “We were just joking…” But Carter looked at my red eyes and hesitated. For the first time, he didn’t immediately side with Bella. “Pack it up.” “Aw, Carter…” “I said pack it up!” Carter frowned. The class shut up and started gathering the tickets. He looked at me, wanting to say something, but I grabbed my bag and walked out without looking back. 3 I didn’t go back to school, but Bella made sure to update me on their situation. In a karaoke room, the whole class was celebrating a “Prez-free” pre-exam party. Carter had his arm around Bella’s shoulder, grinning as he interrogated the Arts rep: “Letting Bella take the tickets today, was that to show Sam who’s boss? Speak!” The room erupted in cheers. In front of everyone, Carter tore my admission ticket into pieces, smiling at Bella. “Believe me now? Princess?” “Carter’s the man!” “Carter and Bella, power couple!” Beer sprayed into the air. Amidst the cheers, a voice message from Bella popped up on my phone: “Oops, sorry. I was just joking. I didn’t think he’d actually tear up your ticket just to prove he doesn’t care about you~” I forwarded the video to Carter. He replied the next day, after his hangover cleared. “Oh, drank too much last night. Forgot to tell you. Go get a replacement.” I gripped my phone. “Carter, if I hadn’t messaged you, were you going to wait until the exam started to tell me?” He choked, then got annoyed. “Can you stop being so jealous?” He hung up. I used to want to take the exams mainly to go to the same college as Carter. But not anymore. I dialed my aunt’s number at the Research Institute. “Auntie, I finished the code for the project. I accept the offer. I’ll join the Institute early.” “Oh my god, Sam! You finally agreed! What about your little boyfriend? Is he coming to the capital too?” I shook my head. “We’re done.” My aunt’s institute had some coding problems that only I could solve. With my memories from my past life, the project was a breeze. Without the pressure of exams, I focused on packing for the capital. But the day before the exam, my classmates started spamming me. “Prez? Where’s the study guide you promised?” “Exams are tomorrow!” “Are you for real? I need to sleep by ten!” They were frantic. But when I begged them to study before, they had scoffed: “Trying to get attention because Bella is the favorite now?” “Lol, your guide is for dogs.” I replied in the main group chat: [No guide. You’re on your own.] The group exploded. “What do you mean! You said you’d do it!” “I haven’t studied at all waiting for this! You did this on purpose!” “Fine, fine! We apologize for liking Bella more. Just send the guide!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Who said my guide was for dogs? Since you don’t trust me, why didn’t you study? “Idiots who can’t take responsibility for themselves deserve to fail!” I had never been this blunt. The class lost their minds. Just as I was about to turn off my phone, Bella sent a zip file to the group. [Even though I’m not as smart as the Prez, I organized some practice questions. Hope it helps~] I opened it. Every single question perfectly avoided the actual exam topics. But the class was ecstatic. [Bella is the best! Keeping our tickets AND helping us study. Unlike a certain useless president.] [Lol, besides being jealous, what can she do?] A notification popped up— I had been kicked from the group chat. I wasn’t angry at all. They probably hadn’t noticed yet. During their little party, several admission tickets had slipped out of Bella’s bag and into the trash can. 4 On the day of the exam, I went to the school gate to soak in the atmosphere. From a distance, I saw Bella surrounded by a crowd. “What’s going on? Did you leave them in another bag? They can’t be lost!” Bella’s eyes were red as she frantically dug through her backpack. “Impossible… I checked last night, everyone’s was there…” I knew she was lying. Tickets fell into the trash the night they got drunk. How could she have checked? The students looked nervous, glancing at the exam hall while trying to be patient. “It’s okay, look again. We have thirty minutes…” But ten minutes passed. The bag was turned inside out. No tickets. “You didn’t actually lose them, right?” Mike, the gym rep, snapped first. He rushed forward and grabbed the bag, shaking it out. “Holy sh*t! You lost them?!” “No way!” The class swarmed her, searching her pockets, her jacket. “Bella, you said you’d keep them safe! Where are they! You lost 54 tickets!” “I… I…” Bella hugged herself, looking pitiful. But she wasn’t the class mascot anymore. “Find them now or we’re dragging you to the police station!” Some girls collapsed on the ground crying. “How could this happen! We should have let Sam keep them! She’s responsible!” Carter stepped forward, looking conflicted. “Bella, think hard. If they’re at home, there’s still time.” But the police had already checked her house ten minutes ago. Nothing. “Bitch!” Mike tore her bag in half. “I stayed up all night studying that guide! Now you tell me I can’t take the test?!” Parents were losing it too. “What is going on! Aren’t you the class president? I thought you were reliable!” When they found out Bella was just “helping,” the parents had a meltdown. “You idiots! Your president is so responsible! Why give them to her?!” Bella was surrounded. Just as the mob was about to turn violent, she pointed a finger at me. “I remember! It was Sam! She didn’t trust me yesterday, so she forced me to give her the tickets!” Everyone turned to look at me. I looked at the parents. “I think you all know my character.” The parents hesitated. They knew how diligent I usually was. Seeing them waver, Bella tugged on Carter’s sleeve. “Carter… you know, right? Sam took them…” Carter stiffened. He looked at me, hesitating. “Carter…” My voice was raspy. He hardened his gaze. “Yes. I saw her take the tickets last night!” The parents snapped. They rushed me, patted me down. One slap landed hard on my face. “Scum! Where is my son’s ticket!” “And my daughter’s!” I ignored the pain and pulled out my phone. “I didn’t take them! Bella lost them and framed me!” Bella started wailing. “Sam, how can you lie like that! I might make mistakes, but I would never joke with everyone’s future! You’re the one who promised a study guide and then bailed. Now you’re framing me!” Mike was furious. He slapped the phone out of my hand. “She definitely lost them! She bailed on the guide, and Bella sent us the real questions. “Why would Bella help us study if she wanted to sabotage us? It has to be Sam!” Students and parents swarmed me, pulling my hair, tearing my clothes. “Bitch! Where are the tickets! Tell us or I’ll strip you right here!” “If my son can’t take the test, you’re going to the hospital!” They were so angry the police couldn’t hold them back. I looked at Carter. He instinctively shielded Bella, frowning at me. “Stop it! Just give them the tickets!” My mouth tasted like blood. I used all my strength to grab my cracked phone from the ground and hold it up. “Who lost them? Watch the video and see!” Bella’s face went white.

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After we married, Alan Shawn developed a system. Before he took a new lover, he’d send me a single number. It was his countdown. The number of months he’d amuse himself with his new conquest. He had a thirst for novelty, and three months was usually his limit. But a year had passed since his last text. The new girl, Minnie, had grown bold, spoiled by his prolonged attention. She had the audacity to show up at our estate, to challenge me. “Do you know what Alan loves about me?” I stroked the Persian cat nestled in my lap, not even bothering to lift my eyes. “He loves that I’m wild,” she sneered. “You’re so rigid, like a porcelain doll. No man wants that.” Her provocations were like water off a duck’s back. I remained unmoved. The next day, I had an old woman delivered to Alan’s corporate headquarters. She was paralyzed, incontinent, and had been for years. “Your secretary, Minnie, tells me you have a taste for the wild,” I announced to the lobby, my voice carrying over the sudden hush. “This woman has been marinating in her own filth for years. Is this wild enough for you, darling?” … The office erupted in a symphony of whispers and stifled laughter. Alan’s face was a mask of thunderous fury. “Get her out of here,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. His security team moved as if divinely ordained, rushing forward. I stepped into their path. “I’m paying her three thousand a day. It seems a waste to send her home so soon, don’t you think?” Alan pulled out his phone and tapped the screen twice. “I’ve sent you thirty million. You’re Aurora Shawn. Stop worrying about petty cash.” A wave of gasps rippled through the onlookers. “God, if I had a man that rich,” someone muttered, “I wouldn’t care if he cheated. He could have a dozen kids on the side, and I’d personally babysit for the mistress.” A cold smile touched my lips. Whenever I showed the slightest displeasure, Alan threw money at the problem. I had always been happy to accept. After all, I’d married him for two things: his fortune and his face, which was, admittedly, not unpleasant to look at. His affairs were his own business, but a child was a line he could not cross. I scanned the crowd, not seeing the face I was looking for. “Where’s Minnie? If she hadn’t enlightened me about your new tastes, I never would have known. I owe her my sincerest thanks.” “Minnie called in sick today,” a voice from the crowd offered. I smiled sweetly. “Then I’ll be back tomorrow to thank her in person.” Alan’s brow furrowed. He seized my wrist and pulled me toward his office. This time, I didn’t resist. In the world of adults, there’s no need to burn every bridge. Poise, grace, and a gentle demeanor—these were among the reasons Alan had chosen me as his wife. Inside his office, the door clicked shut. “Why are you escalating this?” he demanded, his face grim. “Because Minnie is pregnant.” The words came out with a tremor I couldn’t hide. I watched his face, a sour, acidic feeling churning in my gut. Alan froze. Clearly, this was news to him. Instinct took over, and I couldn’t resist a jab. “Your little canary is quite the schemer, isn’t she? Managed to trap you with a child.” He took out his phone again, his thumb moving swiftly across the screen. “I’ll have her terminate it,” he promised, his eyes fixed on me. I pressed him. “How long?” “A week.” “Three days.” “She’s a delicate girl,” he argued, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. “She’ll need time to process it.” In his eyes, I was the easy one, the one who could be soothed with cash and a few soft words. My feelings were an afterthought. Normally, I wouldn’t have pushed him. But this was different. Minnie held a weight in his heart that the others never had. My chest felt tight. I rose and walked toward him, straightening the collar of his suit. A small, pink brooch pinned to his lapel glittered, catching the light like a shard of glass in my eye. He never wore such gaudy things. It was true what they said. Love could change a man. A thought flickered through my mind. Perhaps I, too, could find someone to play with. A distraction to burn off this suffocating negativity. “The longer she waits, the more developed the embryo becomes. It’s more traumatic. I’m thinking of Minnie’s well-being,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “If you can’t do it, I will. Husband.” “Don’t you dare.” His grip on my wrist tightened, a clear threat. I had rarely seen him lose control like this. I wrenched my hand free, my gentle facade crumbling away. “Then handle it. Cleanly. In three days. It’s better for everyone,” I threatened back. “Otherwise, I don’t mind having a little blood on my hands.” Alan stared at me, seeing not the placid, obedient wife he was used to, but a flash of the wild, defiant woman I once was. He had almost forgotten. Years ago, Aurora Sterling had been the most dazzling, dangerous rose in Manhattan’s elite circles. But then, tragedy struck. My mother and brother were gone, and my father handed the family fortune to his illegitimate son, leaving me with nothing. The change in me had been profound. This glimpse of the old me… it was novel. Exciting, even. Alan nodded, conceding. “Fine.” He had rules for his games. His women could be spirited, but on matters of importance, they had to obey. Minnie had crossed a line. It was time to deal with her. I turned and walked out of his office without another word. In the car, the driver asked my destination. “Onyx.” He shot me a surprised look in the rearview mirror. “I’ve seen it on Alan’s credit card statements,” I said, my voice flat. “I know what kind of place it is. Just drive.” We arrived at Onyx. It was quiet in the daytime. A handsome server approached me immediately. “What can I get for you, ma’am?” “A man.” He blinked, then a slick, practiced smile spread across his face. “How about me?” My gaze drifted past him to a figure busy in the background. Even with his head down, wiping a table, I could see the clean, almost boyish line of his jaw. He looked… innocent. I pointed. The server pouted. “Ma’am, he’s just a college kid. He doesn’t know the first thing. You should be with someone experienced. I’ll take good care of you.” “I want him.” I have filth at home. When I come out to play, I want something clean. “Ethan! A client for you.” The young man, Ethan, walked over. He hid the hand holding the cleaning rag behind his back and mumbled a polite, “Ma’am.” He stood there stiffly, like a student being disciplined—all shy, awkward innocence. “Get a bottle of your most expensive wine. I’m buying. It’ll go on your commission.” I held out my black card. Ethan just stared at it, dumbfounded. The first server nudged him. “What are you waiting for? She’s giving you a chance. Take it.” Ethan took the card and scurried off to the bar. I idly picked up a book left on the table. How to Capture a Man’s Heart. Before Ethan could return with the wine, my phone started buzzing relentlessly. Alan. He must have gotten the transaction alert. I declined the call and powered the phone off. A moment later, the driver’s phone rang. He answered it nervously, putting it on speaker. Alan’s voice, cold as ice, filled the car. “Come home. Now.” A strange sense of exhilaration washed over me. “Are you angry?” I purred into the phone. “Worried I might be unfaithful? Does infidelity bother you, Alan?” Silence. The book was open to a chapter on theatrics. A woman should act, it said. Turn one part love into ten. Play the victim, feign devotion. A wicked idea took root. I decided to play the part. “I wasn’t going to do anything reckless,” I began, my voice laced with a carefully constructed sorrow. “This is just… your favorite place. I thought if I came here, I could learn what you like. And maybe… maybe you’d like me a little more.” His tone softened instantly. “Aurora, come home.” I pressed on, weaving a web of half-truths and raw emotion. “No matter how wonderful those other women are… please, don’t forget about me. Promise me you won’t.” In his car across town, Alan’s throat tightened. He drove straight through a red light, his mind reeling. But his license plate, SHAWN 1, was a shield. No one dared to touch him. “Ma’am, your wine.” Ethan’s voice was like a bomb detonation in the quiet car. Over the phone, Alan’s voice sharpened into a command. “You’re a lightweight! Don’t you dare drink!” I lifted the glass of deep red liquid and drained it in one go. The “lightweight” persona was a sham, a calculated weakness I’d adopted years ago so Alan wouldn’t see me as a threat, so I could latch onto him and escape the abyss. In reality, I could drink a cellar dry and still walk a straight line. Alan heard me swallow. “You drank it?” “Mmmhmm.” The book said a state of pleasant intoxication was conducive to romance. I didn’t need romance, but I did need a child. And once I had one, I’d have Alan sterilized. A permanent solution. “Keep an eye on her,” he barked at the driver before hanging up. Ethan handed back my black card, his fingers warm. I slipped it into my purse and settled onto the lounge sofa to wait. Perhaps it was the wine, but looking at Ethan, he seemed particularly appealing. “Are you a virgin?” I asked casually. His eyes widened in shock. He gave a shy, almost imperceptible nod. “Yes.” The door burst open with a violent crash. I slumped back, feigning drunkenness. Alan’s frantic footsteps echoed on the floor as he rushed to my side and swept me into his arms. “I told you not to drink. Is this how the Lady of the Shawn estate should behave?” he chided, his voice tight with frustration. I let the alcohol—real or imagined—loosen my tongue. “I want a child,” I murmured against his chest. “I can give you one. You don’t need Minnie.” He stopped dead in his tracks. To appease his family, Alan would occasionally return to the estate to perform his husbandly duties. But my own broken family had always made me hesitate to bring a child into the world. “We’ll talk about this after I’ve dealt with the Minnie situation.” I didn’t answer, pretending to have drifted off to sleep. Alan brought me back to the estate, tucked me into bed, and left. I immediately put the thirty million he’d given me to work, launching a series of strategic attacks against my father’s company. Under my relentless assault these past few years, his empire was already crumbling. But I wanted more than that. I wanted ruin. I wanted them to know what it felt like to have nothing. The jagged lines on my trading screen mirrored the chaos in my heart. Three days later, Alan returned. He pulled me straight into the bedroom, his lips brushing against my ear. “Let’s make a baby.” He didn’t mention Minnie. I didn’t ask. I simply met his gaze and whispered, “Okay.” He was gentle, impossibly so, as if I were a porcelain doll he feared he might break. But this time, I was different. I was the aggressor, my body winding around his. Minnie was right. No man wants a doll. Alan was both shocked and thrilled. His restraint shattered, and he returned to his usual self—a storm of raw, unbridled passion. Afterward, as I drifted in the hazy space between wakefulness and sleep, he carried me to the bath. His long fingers traced the lines of my face, my eyebrows, the bridge of my nose. The only sounds in the cavernous bathroom were our breathing and the frantic drumming of our hearts. I was too exhausted to even open my eyes, a pliant weight in his arms as he carried me back to bed. But I knew Alan too well. Something was wrong. And the reason was painfully obvious. The child in Minnie’s womb was still alive. He had broken his promise. He didn’t bring it up, so I pretended not to know. We would maintain the final, fragile dignity of our marriage. Every day, I sent Alan the same text. “Are you coming home tonight?” And every day, the reply was the same: “Yes.” There’s truth to the old saying about familiarity breeding affection. Alan, who once despised the smell of cooking, who thought it clung to a person and made them seem cheap, began making me dinner. He even started watching my favorite shows with me, wasting hours of his precious, thousand-dollar-an-hour time. “I want to work at the company,” I said one evening. “Work is exhausting. Why not stay home and be pampered? Isn’t it nice having people wait on you?” He was refusing me. I didn’t argue. I just snuggled closer into his embrace. “You work so hard for our family, darling. Let me give you a gift.” Under his watchful gaze, I went to the bedroom and changed into a piece of lingerie I’d bought. When I returned, Alan’s eyes darkened, a primal hunger flaring within them. But then he stood, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and pulled me close. “You don’t have to do this.” “I thought… I thought this is what you liked,” I said, my voice small and timid. “I just want you to be happy.” He knew. He knew I was still thinking about what Minnie had said. A complex mix of emotions played across his face. He looked at my feigned innocence, this performance of purity, and his expression softened into something resembling pity. He stroked my cheek gently. “I like you any way you are. As long as it’s you.” He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. “I’ll set you up with a position tomorrow. You can work, but once you’re pregnant, you’re done.” I pressed a triumphant kiss to his lips and wrapped my arms around his neck. I had won. I was in. Once inside the company, I pushed forward the project designed to annihilate my father’s business. Everyone said it was a suicide mission, a plan that would cost us dearly even in victory. But Alan, like a king so besotted he’d sign away half his kingdom for a smile, signed the papers without a moment’s hesitation. To the outside world, that document was a testament to Alan’s profound love for me. To me, it was the key that unlocked access to all his financial records. I stared at the screen, at the river of money flowing to an account in the United States. And I saw Minnie’s face. Through the glass wall of his office, Alan watched me staring into space and smiled, a fond, indulgent look on his face. His wife might not be good for much, but she was lovely to look at, like a cute little figurine on his desk. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, deeper than simple fatigue. I went to the doctor. The moment I held the positive pregnancy test in my hand, I booked a flight to the United States. I sent Alan a text: “Going to see a friend for a week. Don’t miss me too much.” He replied instantly. “I’ll come with you.” He’d grown accustomed to having me around. My absence felt wrong to him now. Even my not being there during his lunch break today had unsettled him. “No,” I typed back. “It’s a girls’ reunion. No boys allowed.” Reading my message, a strange unease flickered in Alan’s chest. He immediately told his assistant to find out where I was going. But he didn’t know that I had already spoken to her. “I’m planning a surprise for Alan,” I’d said. “If he asks where I’m going, just say Aspen. Don’t say anything else.” “Aspen.” The answer put Alan at ease. At least it wasn’t the United States. He sent one last text: “Be safe.” On the plane, I placed a hand on my stomach. “Mommy’s going to clear the way for you.”

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I’d sold the house, ready to fly to Canada and join my daughter. The day before I was set to leave, Mrs. Gable from downstairs asked me to help carry a new fifty-pound bag of rice up to her apartment. I was breathless by the time I reached her door, just as her daughter-in-law, Sarah, was getting home from work. She saw me, froze for a second, and then quickly pulled me aside. She shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand, her eyes wide with panic, and urged me to leave. Confused, I unfolded the note. It contained a single, terrifying sentence: “Your daughter died in a car crash last month. The person you’re talking to is an imposter!” In that instant, my world plunged into an icy abyss. The plane ticket in my pocket felt like a shard of frozen steel. 1 A roar filled my head, something inside me shattering as my vision went white. The world fell silent, replaced by the frantic, deafening drum of my own heart against my ribs. A prank. It had to be a sick prank by some bored, cruel person. My daughter, Emily, my only child—it was impossible. Just yesterday, we’d been on a video call. She was smiling, telling me how brilliant the Canadian maples were, how warm and cozy she’d made the room she’d prepared for me. My hand, clutching the note, was trembling violently. The flimsy piece of paper felt as heavy as lead. I had to know. Now. My fingers, moving with a will of their own, unlocked my phone. I found the number I had pinned to the top of my contacts, the one labeled “My Emmy,” and started a video call. Every second of the ringing tone was an agony, stripping my nerves bare. She answered. The screen lit up. A familiar face appeared against a dim background, the connection spotty and the image pixelated. It was my daughter’s face, her eyes curved into a gentle smile, though she looked pale and tired. “Mom? What’s up?” Her voice on the other end held the perfect measure of concern, laced with an almost imperceptible weariness. “Are you exhausted from all the packing? I told you, don’t bring any of that old stuff. I’ll buy you all new things when you get here.” My throat felt like it was clogged with cement. I couldn’t form a single word. I stared, desperate, at the face on the screen, searching for a single flaw, any sign that this wasn’t her. There was nothing. It was the face I had watched for thirty years, a face I knew better than my own. “Mom? Say something. You’re scaring me.” “…It’s nothing.” The words scraped their way out of my throat, dry and rough as sandpaper. “I’m just… just going to miss this old house.” I forced a smile that felt more painful than a sob. The “daughter” on the screen seemed to sense my unease. Her smile faded, and her tone sharpened. “Mom, this is no time for that. The ticket is booked. I’ve arranged for the lawyer and the doctor here in Canada. We need to get the paperwork sorted and get you a full check-up as soon as you arrive.” “You have to be at the airport on time tomorrow, do you hear me? Don’t mess this up.” A lawyer? A doctor? She’d never mentioned any of that before. A cold, commanding tone I’d never heard from her sliced through the screen. “Okay… I know.” I numbly ended the call. The phone slipped from my limp grasp, hitting the floor and shattering the screen into a spiderweb of cracks. My legs gave out, and I slid down the cold wall of the stairwell, crumpling onto the steps. The black ink on the note and the urgent, demanding words of my “daughter” tangled and clashed in my mind. One said my daughter was dead. The other was pushing me to get to Canada as fast as possible. Once planted, the seed of doubt grew with terrifying speed, sprouting thorny vines that wrapped around my heart, squeezing until it bled. My mind raced, and I suddenly realized how strange her behavior had been over the past month. She never let me talk to any of our relatives, always blaming the time difference. My sister, who loves to chat, had tried to video call her niece several times, only to be shut down with excuses about work or a bad signal. I remembered, too, how I’d casually brought up a funny story from her childhood—the time she was chased by the neighbor’s dog and fell into a ditch. On the video call, she had stared blankly for a long moment before mumbling, “That was so long ago, I don’t really remember.” At the time, I just thought she’d outgrown her childhood memories. Now I knew the horrifying truth. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten. It was that she never knew in the first place. A sharp chime broke the silence. A text from my bank. A new deposit of five thousand dollars had just hit my account. Immediately, my phone rang again. It was “Emily,” a voice call this time, her tone sickeningly sweet. “Mom, I sent you a little spending money. Buy yourself some nice new clothes for the trip, and some snacks for the plane.” “Don’t be afraid to spend it. Your daughter will take care of you from now on.” The false warmth was a poisoned dagger twisting in my gut. An overwhelming wave of grief and rage at being so cruelly deceived threatened to burn away my sanity. No. I couldn’t fall apart. If the note was true, if my Emmy was really… gone… then who was this imposter? What did this demon who had stolen my daughter’s identity want from me? She had tricked me into selling my home, into traveling alone to a foreign country. Her goal wasn’t just money. I took a deep, shuddering breath of the cold air, forcing myself to think. I picked up the shattered phone and called the number back. The moment she answered, I let out a choked, hysterical sob. “Oh, Emily, honey, you’re such a good daughter! Mom is so touched, so proud of you.” “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll be there on time tomorrow, I promise! I won’t be a minute late!” 2 That night, I lay awake, staring into the darkness until dawn. The patterns on the ceiling twisted and morphed, forming my daughter’s smiling face before shattering into nothingness. Grief washed over me in relentless waves, threatening to break the dam of my composure. But I couldn’t cry. Not yet. At five in the morning, I knocked on Mrs. Gable’s door. She answered, bleary-eyed and surprised to see me. I managed a weary smile and handed her a bag of fruit. “Mrs. Gable, thank you for everything over the years. I was hoping I could speak to Sarah for a moment, just to thank her for her reminder yesterday.” Sarah, the young woman who had given me the note. Mrs. Gable led me inside. Sarah soon emerged from her room in her pajamas, her eyes full of concern. She ushered me into her room and carefully closed the door. “Ma’am, are you…” The moment I saw her kind face, my carefully constructed facade crumbled. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “The note… is it true?” Sarah didn’t speak. She silently retrieved a file folder from her nightstand and pulled out a set of photocopied documents. Her movements were gentle, but the papers felt like red-hot irons, searing my eyes. The bolded text at the top of the first page read: “International Waybill.” The recipient was my daughter, Emily. And the item being shipped: “Deceased’s Personal Effects.” Attached was a summary of a death certificate. The date of death was the fifteenth of last month. The cause: “Traffic Accident.” The last sliver of hope was annihilated by the black-and-white proof. My Emmy, the girl who had promised to show me the world, was gone. A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat, and the world started to go black. Sarah caught me, gently rubbing my back and pressing a glass of warm water into my hand. “You have to stay strong,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. “This shipment came through my logistics company. The recipient’s information was so strange—that’s why I looked into the original file.” “The recipient was listed as Emily, but the contact number was unknown, and the address was just a vague forwarding point.” I forced myself to look up from the depths of my despair, latching onto that crucial detail. The scammers didn’t just want my money. They were intercepting my daughter’s belongings. This was bigger, deeper. Her death might not have been an accident at all. The terrifying thought sent a chill through my entire body. I gripped Sarah’s hand like a lifeline. “Sarah, can you… can you help me one more time?” “I need to know where my daughter’s things ended up. I need every single detail you can find.” Sarah nodded firmly. Just then, my phone buzzed. A video call from the imposter. I quickly wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and answered. “Mom, are you up? All packed?” The woman’s voice was still cloyingly sweet. This time, I clearly saw the shadow of a man move quickly behind her. My heart seized. She hastily adjusted the camera angle, laughing it off. “Oh, that was just a colleague, stopping by to say hello.” Her smile was flawless as she added, “I’ve got everything arranged for you here in Canada, Mom. You’re going to have a wonderful life.” I looked at the face on the screen, a face that was a cruel seventy percent replica of my daughter’s, and felt a tidal wave of hatred rise within me. Tears streamed down my face, but I smiled into the camera. “I believe you, sweetie. I’ll do whatever you say.” “I’ll be there tomorrow. My Emmy will be at the airport to pick me up, right?” My expression, a grotesque mask of tears and smiles, must have looked insane. But that monster, she saw only an old woman’s sentimental joy and bittersweet farewell. 3 The next morning, as planned, I dragged an empty suitcase to the curb in front of my old building. A black sedan was already waiting. A wiry man with a pasted-on smile got out. He introduced himself as Rick, a guy from our hometown who my “daughter” had sent to pick me up. He was overly attentive, loading my suitcase into the trunk while peppering me with questions, but his eyes were like a hawk’s, watching my every move. The car pulled smoothly onto the highway, heading for the airport. My heart hammered against my ribs, my palms slick with cold sweat. Step one of my plan was to throw them off schedule. Just as we merged onto the elevated expressway, I let out a sharp cry and slapped my thigh. Rick’s head whipped around. “Mrs. Chen, what’s wrong?” I put on a performance of utter devastation, my voice cracking as if on the verge of tears. “Oh, no! I… I left something incredibly important back at the house! It was a family heirloom from my late husband. I have to go back for it!” Rick’s friendly demeanor vanished. His face hardened. “Ma’am, we can’t do that. The plane won’t wait.” His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. My demeanor changed in a flash. My panic morphed into a full-blown tantrum. “I don’t care! It’s the only thing I have left of my husband! It’s more important than my life! If I don’t get it today, I’m not going!” I wailed, reaching for the door handle as if I might jump out. The driver, hired by Rick, started laying on the horn, muttering about what a pain I was. The car was thick with tension. I was betting on one thing: they wouldn’t dare cause a public scene in broad daylight. Their entire operation depended on secrecy. They couldn’t risk attracting any unwanted attention. Rick’s face was grim, his eyes flashing with fury as he stared at me. But in the end, he didn’t dare lay a hand on me. He got out of the car, muttering into his phone. I could faintly hear a woman’s sharp, angry voice on the other end, cursing me for being a senile old fool. It was the imposter. Finally, she relented. Rick got back in the car, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. “Go back and get it.” The car, amidst a cacophony of angry horns, slowly turned around. I leaned back against the seat, heart pounding, limbs ice-cold, but my mind was crystal clear. It had worked. I had not only bought myself more time, but I had also confirmed their greatest weakness: they were terrified of being exposed. We arrived back at the building I had once called home. I looked up at the familiar window, no longer mine. But I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I would get back everything I had lost. A new, clearer plan was beginning to form.

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