Category: English

After my terminal cancer diagnosis. In the hospital room, the weather was beautiful one day. For once, I took the time to put on some makeup. I snapped a close-up selfie. “Do I look pretty today?” Many strangers left likes and kind comments. Then, Liam Kensington’s younger sister jumped into the comment section. “Ugly as hell. Did you really think putting on makeup would make my brother change his mind? You don’t deserve him.” After a while, I replied anyway. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” 1 The attending physician let out a heavy sigh. “Where is your family?” I shook my head. “I don’t have any family.” “None? How is that possible?” “They’re very busy. They don’t have time to worry about me. Doctor, I’m heading back to my room.” Leaving the doctor sighing heavily behind me, I returned to the ward. The older woman in the bed next to mine—Martha—kindly checked on me. “How did it go, honey? Any improvement?” I shook my head. “It’s getting worse.” But I wasn’t too sad about it. Martha and the family member of the patient by the window both froze. I could see the pity welling up in their eyes. It was almost time for dinner. Suddenly, I didn’t want to eat the cafeteria food today. The man Martha was caring for—her husband—also complained that the hospital food was bland. I pulled two fifty-dollar bills from my wallet. “Martha, when you go home to cook later, could you buy some extra beef? I’d really love some homemade beef stew.” She was stunned for a second. “Okay. I’ll make a massive pot of it today. Don’t buy anything from the cafeteria, honey. I’ll make enough for all of us to share.” Martha went home to cook. 2 By noon, our hospital room was filled with the rich, savory aroma of beef stew and carrots. The meat was braised until it was meltingly tender. As I ate, tears began to drop silently into my bowl. I simply raised the bowl higher to hide my face. “Slow down, there’s plenty more. I brought the whole slow cooker,” Martha said gently. I didn’t lower my bowl until my eyes were completely dry. In the end, I didn’t have a second serving. In my memories, whenever I refused to eat as a little girl, my mom would make me beef stew. The carrots my mom picked out were always incredibly sweet. Since she passed away, I had never tasted anything like it again. Today, Martha’s cooking brought back a flavor I hadn’t experienced in years. She refused to take the hundred dollars. So, I used a delivery app to order a huge basket of fresh fruit for the room, sharing it with everyone. Our room was unofficially known as the “Death Ward.” All three of us had been diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. While massaging her husband’s legs, Martha suddenly sighed. “Honey, you should ask for a room transfer.” I looked at her, confused. “That bed of yours… it’s bad luck. The last person…” I understood. The last person in this bed didn’t leave the hospital alive. I heard she was a successful female executive in her early thirties. I shook my head. “I don’t believe in superstitions.” Actually, there were VIP suites available, and the doctor had recommended one to me. But I had gone to look at them. They had every amenity you could ask for, but the private rooms were too cold and desolate. I preferred this shared room. Living here, I could listen to people chat every day. It felt grounded, full of ordinary, everyday life. After guarding an empty, massive estate for three years, I was thoroughly sick of the loneliness. I yearned for the warmth of human connection. 3 When Liam Kensington called, I was sleeping. “You’re not home?” I opened my eyes, my voice thick with sleep. “Yeah,” I replied flatly. “I brought Seraphina over. Don’t cause trouble for her.” I didn’t argue. I just said, “Okay.” “You’re agreeing that easily this time?” “Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” “Hanging up?” he scoffed. “Evelyn Monroe, if you try to play nice to my face and stab her in the back again, I swear I won’t let you get away with it.” I didn’t bother listening to the rest. I hung up. I stared at the muted TV screen. Seraphina was Liam’s mistress. A woman he kept on the side. She was presented to him at a corporate gala. In the past, there had been similar setups, but Liam had never taken the bait. Yet, Seraphina—with her elegant, Southern-belle charm—succeeded. Rumor had it she performed a captivating contemporary ballet routine at the charity ball, winning over everyone in the room. And she successfully climbed into Liam’s bed. I didn’t understand. Why? Liam hadn’t even been drinking that night. How did they just end up together? Since I was a kid, people always told me I was a bit slow to catch on. Before all this, I never once doubted Liam’s love for me. We were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. When we were just kids, he promised he would marry me. By the time I found out he had been keeping Seraphina for a while, I was trembling. Disbelieving. It felt like my entire world had collapsed. I threw fits. I screamed. We fought. But the more I fought, the more impatient and disgusted his gazes became. Eventually, he gave all his gentleness to Seraphina. I thought maybe I was just getting old. But I was only twenty-six. Liam forbade me from seeing Seraphina. He didn’t even allow the staff to mention her name around me. But eventually, I did see her. And after that meeting, Seraphina had a miscarriage. Word was, it had been a baby boy. Liam was the first to slap me. Then, his mother, Mrs. Kensington, slapped me ten times across the face. Even though I swore I didn’t do it, not a single person believed me. If this were the medieval era, I would have been banished to the dungeon. After that, I was never invited to the Kensington family dinners again. I was left entirely alone in a massive, empty estate. Liam never came home. During those cold, lonely days, I would occasionally dream. I dreamed of my late parents. I dreamed of when Liam and I were young, of the sunny afternoon we first met. He had said, “Evelyn Monroe. Your name sounds really pretty.” I would wake up with my face soaked in tears. I’d slowly pull back the curtains and waste another day away. At first, I couldn’t handle it. I demanded a divorce. I wanted to move to Europe and start a new life. But facing the massive corporate assets my family still held, the Kensington family refused to agree to the divorce. They ignored my legal papers. They just dragged it out, draining my youth. To them, giving me a house and a monthly allowance was a microscopic price to pay to keep me trapped. 4 Suddenly, there was a commotion out in the hallway. I poked my head out. “What’s going on?” Martha hurried in, shaking her head. “Don’t look.” A chorus of wailing erupted outside. A bed covered with a white sheet was wheeled past, surrounded by weeping family members. I froze. I became even quieter after that. It felt like someone left this ward every few days. Sometimes, two bodies were taken away in a single day. Just yesterday, this floor felt wrapped in a mundane, peaceful sort of happiness. So many people had come to ask for a bowl of Martha’s beef stew. There was laughter in the halls. Martha sighed as she wiped down the bedside table. “Thanksgiving is right around the corner. That family just wanted to hold on until the holidays. The universe is too cruel.” At that thought, Martha looked at her husband in the hospital bed. She turned away and wiped her eyes. When she turned back around, she was smiling again. “For Thanksgiving, what kind of pie does everyone want? I’ll go home and bake.” The older woman caring for the patient next door waved her hand. “You’re tired enough every day. Don’t wear yourself out.” “It’s no trouble, it makes me happy! And whoever eats a slice of my pie has to promise to live to be a hundred.” The room fell silent. Everyone lowered their heads. Her husband reached out and squeezed her hand. “You silly old woman.” 5 Thanksgiving arrived in the blink of an eye. Martha handed me a slice of homemade pumpkin pie. I unwrapped the foil. We were all eating in the room. But everyone was only taking tiny, hesitant bites. First, we had no appetite. Second, we had no energy. We were just going through the motions for the holiday. Finally, I couldn’t hold back my tears. “Mom, don’t give me pie, I don’t like it.” “Pie means the family is together, sweetie. Even if you don’t like it, you have to eat a little piece.” In my memory, my mom gently tapped my nose. I was so small back then. I took a massive bite of the pie. I filled my cheeks, chewed slowly, and forced it down. But then I choked. On the TV, they were broadcasting the Kensington family’s holiday gala. There was a massive dining table covered in an opulent, Michelin-star Thanksgiving feast. I bit my lip. In the center of the frame were Mr. and Mrs. Kensington. Next to them was Liam. The woman beside him in the elegant silk dress didn’t show her face; the camera only caught her pale, delicate wrist resting on the table. The left side of the screen stopped there. But on the right side, all the uncles, cousins, and relatives were shown clearly. I turned my head, my mouth full of pie, and looked out the window. In past years, the Kensington family events were always grand and strictly adhered to old-money rules. I never expected them to invite the media this time. The woman next to him was Seraphina. 6 Later on, I saw paparazzi photos of Liam and Seraphina floating around online multiple times. However, none of them ever captured Seraphina’s full face. Just a side profile. Or a silhouette from behind. It sparked a massive discussion online. “Who is the woman next to Liam Kensington?” “Is he keeping a mistress?” “Don’t talk nonsense, you can’t even see her face. It might be his wife.” “If it’s his wife, why hide her face? Plus, her silhouette doesn’t match Evelyn Monroe. This woman is a bit curvier.” “Men always prefer that type.” “Insider gossip: It’s definitely not his wife. But Liam has already brought her home to meet the parents.” “Meet the parents? Then what about the actual Mrs. Kensington?” “Who knows? But come to think of it, no one has seen Evelyn Monroe in the media for years.” I put down my phone. I raised my arm, looking at the limb that was now practically skin and bones. The doctor said I had to shave my head. I pressed my lips together in silence. I contacted my lawyer. Then, I asked the doctor for permission to go home for a few hours. From the taxi, I dialed Liam’s number. We hadn’t seen each other in six months. He sounded even colder than before. “What do you want?” “I’m coming home. We need to talk.” He paused. “You’re at the house?” “Yeah. Almost there.” “I’m in a meeting. I can’t leave.” “I’ll wait.” With that, I hung up. 7 I ended up waiting for four hours. Thankfully, the autumn air was incredibly crisp. I lingered outside, sometimes sitting on the porch steps, sometimes walking among the fallen golden leaves on the driveway. Autumn had arrived. Everything felt bleaker. I looked back at the massive estate. Even the house looked desolate. Liam’s car pulled into the driveway, sweeping up a cloud of dry leaves. He stepped out, looking at me sitting on the steps, and frowned. “Why are you sitting out here? Why didn’t you go inside?” I shook my head. “Forgot my key.” “Forgot it? More like you lost it while you were out messing around.” He turned back, grabbed his keys from the car, and unlocked the front door. As the door opened, a strong, musty smell hit us. He coughed. “Ugh.” His handsome face immediately darkened with anger. I stopped him. “Liam, let’s not go inside. Let’s just talk out here.” In the past, our fights had reached the ugliest extremes, but now, it just felt completely unnecessary. He turned around. His face wore a dark, confused expression. “Talk about what?” I unzipped my puffy jacket and pulled out a stack of documents. “Marry Seraphina. Let’s get a divorce.” He froze, looking at me in sheer disbelief. But then, the anger flared up again. “This time, I don’t want anything. I’m walking away with nothing.” His rising fury instantly morphed back into shock. If I could do it all over again, I would have asked for nothing from the very beginning. Just to fight him, I had traded my life. I trapped myself in this miserable marriage just to prove a point, demanding my 5% of the shares. Fighting for the youth I felt had been stolen. But in the end, what did I actually get? He clenched his fists. “Evelyn Monroe, what crazy game are you playing now?” We stood in silence. He didn’t take the papers. I stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and slapped the divorce agreement onto his palm. I looked up. A golden leaf fell between us. I turned around and walked down the steps. I paused for a second. “I’m leaving. Do whatever you want with this place.” With that, I walked away, accompanied only by the drifting autumn leaves. “Evelyn…” Someone seemed to call my name. But I didn’t want to answer. 8 It was almost time to shave my head. I couldn’t bear to part with my hair. The next day, the hospital barber suddenly had a family emergency and couldn’t make it. I had time to properly document myself one last time. I set up a small tray table on my bed and dumped out the bottles and compacts from my makeup bag. “You’re doing your makeup?” a young nurse asked, frowning. Another nurse quickly pulled her out of the room. That day, my makeup session drew a crowd of patients and their families. They didn’t look at me like I was a freak. They looked at me with encouragement. They told me I looked beautiful, that they had never seen a patient look so pretty. I smiled. “Believe it or not, I was Prom Queen once.” They nodded emphatically. Eventually, I was too exhausted to finish. I quickly curled my eyelashes and snapped a photo. Several patients came over to take group pictures, and I happily obliged. Finally, I picked a solo selfie and posted it to my social media account. #Do I look pretty today?# Suddenly, my notifications exploded with likes. It turned out another patient in the ward had shared my post with their network of survivor groups. “Gorgeous! Literally an angel.” “So pretty, especially your eyes. So big and round.” “I think her nose is the best feature. Perfect profile.” “Just one feature? Her whole face is beautiful! Oh my god, the prettiest girl on the internet.” I pressed my lips together. Their kindness deeply moved me. Suddenly, a comment with a verified yellow badge popped up. “Ugly as hell. Do you think putting on some makeup will make my brother change his mind?” “You don’t deserve him.” The profile picture was a girl in a pink hoodie, showing her side profile. It was Madison Kensington. She had never liked me. Some patients replied to her, telling her to have some basic decency. She fought back viciously in the replies. After a long silence, I picked up my phone. I replied to Madison. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” Then, I deleted the entire post.

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Seven years of a passionate, tumultuous love affair with Zachary ended in a breakup so messy it became public knowledge. Five years later, on the third day of the New Year, I walked into a class reunion with my four-year-old son. The moment I stepped into the private room, I was met with a barrage of surprised and confused stares. My old college roommate sidled up to me and whispered, “Amelia, did you really have Zachary’s son? Does he know?” Her question opened the floodgates. “An unwed mother… and he’s married now. Doesn’t that make the kid illegitimate?” “Bringing him here so brazenly… what’s her game? Is she trying to force his hand?” I was about to explain when the door swung open. Zachary walked in, dressed in a sharp suit, radiating an air of success. He offered me a warm smile, but it froze when he saw my son, a flicker of delighted surprise flashing in his eyes. “Amelia, my son is already this big?” “It must have been so hard for you, raising him alone for the past five years.” I curved my lips into a smile. “Not at all. His father is the one who has it hard.” 01 Zachary, who had just sat down, stiffened. The familiar, mocking smirk played on his lips. “Amelia, you haven’t changed a bit. Your words are always sharper than your heart.” “I know you can’t get over me, but you also know I’m married. This child…” I frowned, cutting him off. “Mr. Hayes, I think you’re mistaken. What does this child have to do with you?” He blinked his handsome eyes, a playful look on his face. “With a face that’s a perfect copy of mine, don’t tell me it’s a coincidence.” A few of our former classmates chimed in with a laugh. “We saw it the second you walked in. He’s the spitting image of Zack when he was a kid. Zack and I grew up together; I’d recognize his son anywhere.” “Amelia, just admit it. You and Zack were inseparable from high school through college. We all thought you’d get married right after graduation. No one expected it to end so badly. I really never thought you’d still have his baby.” “Come on, Amelia, don’t be so stubborn. Being a single mom is tough. Look at how you’re struggling. Zack’s a VP at a publicly-traded company now. A little spare change from him would be enough for you and the boy to live comfortably for years.” Following their gazes, I glanced down at my clothes. Our nanny had the day off, and my roommate had practically dragged me out of the house. My son was at that clingy stage, attached to me like a little koala, so I had just thrown on something casual. I found it almost funny. These kids, who once all wore the same school uniform, were now judging people by their appearance. Zachary pulled a checkbook from his briefcase, wrote out a number, and slid it across the table toward me. His tone was a bit commanding. “We were both too impulsive back then. Regardless, the child is innocent. Take this as compensation.” I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at the check. I just stared at him with cold, empty eyes. “Compensation? You think that’s enough?” Zachary was the illegitimate son of a wealthy family, raised amidst scorn and indifference. It gave him a hidden anxiety disorder, a secret only the two of us shared. People thought he was cold and aloof, but in reality, he was deliberately suppressing his impulses, avoiding interaction. A single word, a glance, an unintentional gesture could trigger an episode. At his worst, he had cut me with a knife. Our first baby was lost when he beat me during one of his blackouts. I can’t remember how many times he caused me to miscarry. Five? Six? Maybe more? But I never blamed him. To soothe him, I taught myself psychology. I sold the heirlooms my mother left me to buy him the best medication. But when we broke up, he heartlessly told me to get rid of what was likely my last chance at having a child. Zachary’s gaze was complicated. I knew he understood the meaning behind my words. He pushed the check forward again, an act that felt like both an apology and charity. “Amelia, what’s the point? You’ve already had our son. Why can’t you see reason?” I shot him a look, my voice cool. “See what reason? That I should use our child to force my way back into your life?” “Zachary, I’ll say it one more time. This child…” “Oh, what a lively party!” A sickeningly sweet, familiar voice interrupted me. A beautiful, exquisitely dressed woman in a designer outfit walked in. Zachary’s childhood friend quickly made the introduction. “This is Zack’s wife. She was our high school classmate too, just in a different class. Amelia, do you remember her? She was quite close to you for a while.” I focused on feeding my son a spoonful of dessert, not looking up. My voice was flat. “I remember. Of course, I remember my dear sister, Isabel.” The chatter in the room died instantly. The only sound was the clinking of the spoon against the bowl. The awkward silence didn’t last long. Isabel smiled and took my hand. “Sister, it’s been too long. I’m so surprised you came.” I pulled my hand away and wiped my son’s mouth with a napkin. It was only then that she got a clear look at my son’s face. Her expression changed immediately. “Sister, you… you actually had him?” She looked at Zachary, tears welling up in her eyes. “Zack, she had your son. I can’t let her be a single mother. Let’s… let’s get a divorce…” Zachary gently pulled her into his arms, seating her beside him. “Don’t be silly. You’re about to be a mother yourself, you can’t be so naive. You feel sorry for her, but do you think I have the heart to make you a single mother?” His words were laced with a cruel irony. He seemed to have forgotten how heartless he’d been when I had insisted on keeping my child. “Amelia, I will not acknowledge this child. If you want to be a single mother, that’s your problem. Don’t ever think I’m coming back!” So, he did have a soft spot. It just wasn’t for me. Seven years of shared history, countless lost babies. To him, I was just a stranger. The atmosphere was thick with tension. No one had expected Zachary’s current wife to be my own sister. I stood up to leave, but Isabel raised a glass to the room. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m pregnant, so I can’t drink. I’ll toast you all with tea instead. Thank you all for taking care of Zack in the years I was away.” “Especially you, sister. Zack told me you taught him how to love someone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t love me so much.” I didn’t say a word, didn’t raise my glass. I just kept feeding my son. Isabel, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness, quickly mingled with our old classmates. Someone asked how we were sisters. She gave a meaningful smile, her explanation deliberately vague. “We have the same father, but different mothers. She’s the younger sister. I’m sure you understand.” With one sentence, she branded me with the shame of being the illegitimate child of a homewrecker. But was that the truth? Who was the real homewrecker? My father was a junior employee at my grandfather’s company. He was handsome and capable, so my grandfather introduced him to my mother. After my grandfather passed away, my father took over the company, and that’s when Isabel and her mother showed up. That was when my mother learned that before my father had even married her, he had already gotten another woman pregnant. The shock sent my mother into a deep depression, and she took her own life. Isabel and her mother brazenly took my mother’s place, and mine. That happened right after our high school graduation. Besides Zachary, no one knew. Rage galloped through me like a wild horse. I slammed the spoon down into the bowl, splattering dessert everywhere. Just as I was about to retaliate, my son’s soft little hand gripped my finger. His big, dark eyes were filled with fear. “Mommy, are you upset? Noah is eating nicely.” My heart lurched. I had forgotten my son was here. I couldn’t lose my temper in front of him. Bringing him today was a mistake. I couldn’t let someone else’s malice terrify my child. I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the anger back down. I managed a weak smile. “No, honey. Noah is being a very good boy. Let’s go home.” I stood to leave, but Isabel called out, “Sister, you haven’t been home in five years. Dad misses you. My mom and I have forgiven you for what happened. You should go see him.” I lifted my eyes, my gaze as sharp as ice. “Isabel, you’ve always had a talent for twisting black into white, for making evil seem righteous. You did it with my mother and me, and you did it with you and Zachary. Do you need me to elaborate?” Her face paled instantly. Zachary’s expression darkened. He tapped his fingers heavily on the table twice. “Alright, let the past be the past. It’s a rare occasion for us all to get together. Don’t ruin the mood.” Another vague dismissal. It was always the same. Whenever we fought, whenever he cheated, he never admitted he was wrong. I was always the one on trial. A chill spread through my chest. I took my son’s hand and stood up to leave. “It’s not convenient for me with a child. I’m heading out. You all have fun.” “Wait.” I turned to look at Zachary, who had called out to me. “Is there something else?” He pointed to the check on the table. “Take the money. Consider it a New Year’s gift for my son.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh and shook my head. “No, thank you. His father already gave him one.” I turned to leave, but my roommate grabbed my sleeve, her face etched with apology. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I didn’t know it would be like this. Just wait a little longer. It’s snowing heavily outside, it’ll be hard to get a cab. I’ll call one for you…” Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from my husband. 【Darling, the snow is making the roads treacherous. I’ll be there in about half an hour. Wait for me.】 Alright. Another thirty minutes. I could endure it. Seeing me sit back down, Zachary seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, his usual cool smile returning to his face. Isabel’s smile, however, was frozen, her eyes glued to the check on the table. She was a master actress. Even seething with rage, she maintained an image of generosity in front of Zachary. She forced a smile. “Sister, don’t be so stubborn. It hurts me to see you struggling. Take the money. If you ever need anything in the future, just come to your sister and brother-in-law.” She stressed the words “sister” and “brother-in-law,” each one like a sharp slap across my face. She was warning me not to cross the line. But wasn’t she the one who had crossed it first? After my mother died, I had a huge fight with my father. I wanted to just leave. But I couldn’t. If I left, everything my grandfather and my mother had worked for would fall into their hands. I was young and hot-headed back then, no match for the likes of Isabel and her mother. They constantly plotted against me. Once, I was locked in the basement for three days without a scrap of food or a drop of water. Zachary, beaten black and blue by their bodyguards, rescued me. Isabel accused me of stealing her diamond necklace and had me thrown into a hole in the ice in the dead of winter. Zachary, ignoring the danger, smashed the ice with his bare fists to pull me out. For me, he had jeopardized his family’s business dealings, torn ties with my father, and broken with his own family. He knew better than anyone the injustices I had suffered. He hated that mother-daughter pair even more than I did. So, the moment I saw him and Isabel, tangled and half-naked in the bed of what was supposed to be our marital home, every cell in my body died. Zachary’s enraged eyes met mine. “Amelia! Get out, or do you want to join in?” I should have left. I should have done something. But my feet felt rooted to the spot. I should have screamed, I should have gone insane. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched them. My eyes, my heart, my mind were a complete blank. I couldn’t even shed a single tear. In the end, Zachary shoved me forcefully out the door. I stood there, just outside, until they emerged, fully dressed and holding hands. It was then that some switch flipped in my brain, and I launched myself at Isabel. Zachary pulled Isabel behind him, shielding her, and pushed me to the ground with one hand, looking down at me. “Amelia, look at yourself. We’re adults. Can’t you be more dignified?” I screamed at him, “When did it start? Why?” “Does it matter? Amelia, I’m tired of you. Is that answer good enough for you?” He was as cold as a stranger, his words like daggers, finding their mark in my heart. I scrambled up and tried to tear at Isabel, screaming that she was a whore, a homewrecker. Zachary slapped me across the face. “Amelia, have you made enough of a scene? We’re not even married. It’s not clear who the homewrecker is. Your mother is a perfect example, isn’t she?” I froze, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. In that moment, my world went silent. It’s true. The person who knows you best knows exactly how to hurt you the most. I refused to break up. I cried, I made scenes, I threatened to kill myself. When he felt a pang of guilt, he would come and comfort me. When he got tired of me, he would go back to Isabel. I went to his office and caused a scene. I posted their chat logs and bed photos online. I did everything a cheated woman could do, but it only pushed Zachary further away. The last time, I held a razor blade to my wrist in front of him. He just watched, his eyes cold, as the blood dripped onto the floor. That icy stare still sends a shiver down my spine. “Amelia, if you die, I’ll feel guilty for a while. But it won’t stop me from falling in love with someone else.” In that moment, I finally woke up. I let go. Lifting my head, my eyes met Zachary’s cool gaze, and an unbidden chill ran through me. I couldn’t stay in this room a moment longer. I shot to my feet and took my son’s hand. “My husband is here to pick me up. I’m leaving.” But Zachary grabbed my arm, a hint of something fragile in his eyes. “Amelia, you married someone else while raising my son?” His words drew a new round of speculative and contemptuous glances from our old classmates. “What is Amelia thinking? Did she run out of money to raise the kid? She actually found a guy to take on her baggage?” “That can’t be right. She’s still a daughter of the Su family. Even if she had a falling out with them, she should have enough money for a child, right?” “She looks so pure on the surface, but she just couldn’t stand being alone. It’s not that surprising. Zachary dumped her, and she’s still young. She can’t just be celibate forever.” “She probably found some old rich guy. What decent man would want a woman pregnant with another man’s child?” The whispers were like a thousand invisible hands, tearing my dignity to shreds. Seeing my distress, my roommate spoke up for me. “Don’t just gossip if you don’t know the whole story. Amelia must have her reasons.” I slowly regained my composure and managed a smile. “There are no reasons. I just got married. Right after we broke up.” Everyone froze. A crack appeared on Zachary’s eternally stoic face.

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Whenever I asked Mark to go downstairs, I’d add as an afterthought, “Don’t forget to take the trash out.” He always nodded. And he always forgot. Then I noticed something. Whenever he went downstairs, the trash bag outside our neighbor Daisy’s door would be gone the next morning. One time, I didn’t remind him at all. Sure enough, our trash bag was still sitting by our door, while the space in front of her apartment was spotless. I stood there for a few seconds, the faint, sour smell of last night’s garbage hanging in the air. Without a word, I picked up our trash and took it down myself. From that day on, I stopped reminding him of anything. I no longer asked what time he’d be home. I no longer entrusted him with any “while you’re at it” tasks. Until one night, he suddenly asked me, “Have you been a little cold to me lately?” I glanced at the empty trash bin by the door, thought for a moment, and shook my head. “Not at all.” It was only later that I realized some people don’t forget what they’re supposed to do. They’ve already chosen who is worth remembering. And it was time I learned to remove him from my list of necessities. … It was 2 a.m. when Mark came home. I was still awake, sitting on the living room floor, sorting through years of household receipts. I didn’t look up when the door opened. A faint scent of perfume, mingled with smoke and alcohol, drifted in. “Hey, Ellie. Still up?” Mark’s voice was laced with a guilty, eager-to-please tone. He was holding an elegant insulated container, and he crouched down in front of me. “I passed by Ocean’s Crest on the way home and stood in line to get you their seafood chowder. It’s still hot.” He kicked off his shoes, his expression expectant, as if waiting for praise. I was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. I glanced up, my eyes landing on the container. The seafood chowder from Ocean’s Crest was famous for being packed with fresh ingredients—rich, succulent pieces of lobster and crab. But because it was so rich, the potent, sweet-and-briny smell seeped out even through the sealed lid. My stomach churned. I felt my brow furrow almost imperceptibly. “Thanks. Just leave it there,” I said flatly. My indifference seemed to annoy him. He placed the chowder on the coffee table and reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, but I leaned forward, pretending to turn a page, and his hand met empty air. It hovered there for an awkward moment before he retracted it, clearing his throat and starting to unbutton his shirt. “Oh, by the way, I need this shirt for a meeting tomorrow. It’s a bit wrinkled. Can you iron it for me? Remember to hand-wash it first. The fabric is delicate, it can’t go in the machine.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if I were his highly paid housekeeper. I glanced at the shirt. It was a gift from me for our wedding anniversary—a custom-tailored Italian silk blend. It was, indeed, delicate. In the past, I had always hand-washed each of his fine shirts in cold water, using a steamer to gently smooth out every crease, terrified of scorching a single thread. I looked at him and found the situation almost funny. “Mark,” I said, gesturing to the chowder. “Did you forget I’m severely allergic to shellfish?” He froze, his hands stilled on his tie. A look of shock flashed across his face, quickly followed by embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Right… are you? I thought you used to like fish…” “That was freshwater fish,” I said, putting down the receipts. “The last time I accidentally ate shellfish, I was in the emergency room for two days. You were the one who filled out the hospital admission forms.” That was only last year. At the time, he’d been playing on his phone, complaining about how hard the hospital chairs were and how careless I’d been to get sick and make him take time off work to be there. It was clear now just how little he’d been paying attention. Mark’s face flushed red, his eyes darting away. “Well… I must have gotten it mixed up. I was just trying to do something nice for you, get you something nourishing. My mistake. I’ll get you something else next time.” He reached for the chowder, but I was already on my feet. I picked up the expensive container, walked it to the kitchen, and dropped the entire thing, box and all, directly into the trash can. It landed with a dull thud. Mark’s expression soured instantly. “Eleanor, what the hell? That was a hundred-dollar chowder! I haven’t eaten either!” “I don’t keep allergens in my house. It’s bad luck.” I turned on the faucet and began washing my hands, my voice as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. He was speechless. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to control his anger. He pointed a finger at the shirt. “Fine. The chowder was my fault. But at least get my shirt ready. I’m starving. I’m going to make some noodles.” He turned and strode into the kitchen, expertly opening cabinets to find a package of ramen. I dried my hands, picked up the silk shirt, and walked into the laundry room. Instead of filling a basin with cool water, I opened the washing machine, balled up the shirt, and tossed it inside. I poured in regular detergent, selected the “Heavy Duty” cycle, and pressed start. As the drum began to roar and tumble, I knew that delicate, expensive shirt was ruined. Mark came out with his bowl of noodles just in time to hear the spin cycle kick in. He paused, then rushed into the laundry room. His eyes practically bulged out of his head when he saw the machine churning at high speed. “Eleanor! Are you insane? That’s a three-hundred-dollar shirt! I told you it had to be hand-washed!” He fumbled with the buttons, stopping the cycle. He pulled out the shirt—now a wrinkled, misshapen rag—and his face twisted in a pained grimace. I leaned against the doorframe, watching his tantrum with a profound sense of calm. “I used to hand-wash it because I loved you, because I thought you were worth the effort.” I met his furious gaze, a wry smile touching my lips. “Now? The machine works just fine. It’s going to get wrinkled when you wear it anyway. Why waste the time?” Mark stared at me in disbelief, as if he were seeing me for the first time. “You were never like this. Eleanor, what is wrong with you lately? Is this all because I took out Daisy’s trash a few times? You’re going to act like this over that?” Oh. So he knew. He knew exactly what was bothering me, yet he chose to play dumb, to twist it around and accuse me of being hysterical. I looked at the soggy scrap of fabric in his hands and said softly, “Mark, you can always buy a new shirt. But some things, once they’re broken, can never be fixed.” After the seafood chowder incident, Mark gave me the silent treatment for two days. His social media, however, was anything but silent. He’d blocked me, but had forgotten about my alt account. Yesterday, there was a picture of him in the hallway, fixing a shoe cabinet. The caption read: A good neighbor is better than a distant relative. Always happy to help. In the corner of the photo, a pair of feet in pink bunny slippers was just visible. Daisy. I scrolled down to her feed. The same scene, but from a different angle. A shot of Mark’s back as he knelt on the floor, screwdriver in hand. There was a cute cartoon band-aid on his hand. The caption: Some hands are meant to rule the world, but he hurt his helping little ol’ me. So touched! They were practically flirting in public. I casually liked the post. Then I put my phone away and peeled the last shrimp on the table, placing it in my own bowl. Mark sat across from me, a scowl on his face. “Eleanor, when did you become so selfish? You always peel my shrimp for me.” I sipped my chamomile tea, watching him calmly without a word. He stopped, dropping a half-peeled shrimp onto his plate. “Why aren’t you saying anything? You’re not even going to peel them? You used to have a whole bowl ready for me by now.” Used to. Yes. Mark used to say he was clumsy and always pricked his fingers on the shells. He was a designer, he’d say, his hands were his most valuable asset. So every time we had shrimp, I was the one in gloves, my fingers stinging from the spicy oil, peeling each one for him. Watching him eat happily used to feel like a form of joy. Even when my fingers would later become red, swollen, and peel from the spice, he would just casually say, “You don’t have to do that next time,” and then, next time, he would wait expectantly for me to serve him again. “Mark,” I said, setting down my cup. My eyes fell on his long, elegant hands. “Your hands truly are precious.” He took it as a compliment and grunted in agreement. “Of course. These hands have to draw.” “Yes, hands for drawing,” I said with a cold smile. “But they seemed fine the other night in the hallway, when you were fixing our neighbor Daisy’s shoe cabinet. I didn’t hear you complaining about your precious hands then.” “That… Her cabinet was broken, and she’s a single woman. She couldn’t move it herself. I just happened to see her struggling. I couldn’t just walk away, could I? I just gave her a hand.” “‘A hand’? It looked like you brought your entire toolbox.” I scoffed. “Mark, you’re the man who used to wait for me to climb a ladder to change a lightbulb because you claimed you had vertigo. What happened? Did your vertigo magically disappear for the pretty neighbor? Or are your hands only precious when it comes to doing things for other people, and at home, they just wait to be served?” His face flushed a deep red. “Why do you have to be so sarcastic? What’s wrong with neighbors helping each other? Look at you now. What happened to the sweet, gentle woman I married?” “Sweet and gentle?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Mark, my gentleness is for my husband, not for a pampered child. And since your hands are so skilled, don’t expect me to call a handyman anymore when something breaks. We’ll save some money. You, the helpful neighbor, can fix it yourself.” With that, I stood up and started clearing the table. Mark sat there, watching my brisk movements. It probably dawned on him for the first time that the Eleanor who used to smile and agree to everything he said was gone. Good. It’s about time we all faced reality.

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My life had entered its final countdown, and I finally decided to let go of everything. I abandoned the noisy, exhausting city and moved back to my small hometown. My neighbor told me that the local sheriff’s deputies handled just about everything around here. Folks went to them for any kind of trouble—including welfare checks and handling arrangements when someone passed away alone. I was terrified of falling asleep one day and never waking up, with no one to take care of my body. But I never expected that when I walked into the local station, I would run into my ex-boyfriend from six years ago. When enemies meet, their eyes blaze red. He didn’t give me a single shred of warmth. He just scowled and told me to get lost. I had no way out, so I braced myself and asked, “I can’t get lost just yet. Can you wait a little longer?” With him around, my death wouldn’t be so quiet. After all, he was the one who said it. He once promised that the day karma finally killed me, he would buy fireworks to celebrate. 1 On my very first day back in my hometown, I spent hours cleaning up the old house. Then, I lay down on the bed to wait for death. Suddenly, my neighbor knocked on the door. She had brought over a plate of homemade apple pie to welcome me. She enthusiastically told me, “Sweetheart, you’re living all alone. If you ever run into any trouble, just go to the sheriff’s station down the street.” “A young woman by herself needs to be careful. I have Deputy Miller’s number. Why don’t you add him? If anything happens, you can just text him.” “Plus, he’s about your age. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a match made in heaven,” Mrs. Higgins teased, covering her mouth with a laugh. A match made in heaven didn’t matter to me. I only had about a month left to live anyway. I wasn’t about to drag anyone down with me. Right now, my only hope was finding someone who could handle my funeral arrangements. Thinking it over, I realized her suggestion made sense. Having a deputy as a contact would definitely be reliable when the time came. Mrs. Higgins quickly texted me Deputy Miller’s contact info. His profile picture was a silhouette of a girl standing against the sunlight. So much for a match made in heaven, I thought. He clearly already had a girl he loved. I sent a friend request. A moment later, he replied with a single question mark. Were all cops this cold nowadays? Looking closer, I realized I had forgotten to include an introduction message. I quickly typed: “Hi, I’m Harper. I just moved back to town.” That should be enough for him to accept, right? But this time, he didn’t reply at all. It wasn’t until late that night, when I had almost forgotten about it, that my phone buzzed. He sent: “What the hell is your problem?” 2 I froze. Why was he cursing at me? I went next door to ask Mrs. Higgins, double-checking the number just to make sure I hadn’t added the wrong person. “Mrs. Higgins, does this deputy have a really bad temper?” “No way! Deputy Miller looks tough, but he has a heart of gold. Whenever anyone in town has an issue, he’s the first to help.” That was weird. I hadn’t even done anything to him. Why was he mad at me? Patiently, I typed out a long paragraph explaining why I had added him. But he never replied. Mrs. Higgins offered a solution: “Don’t worry about it. I’m free tomorrow, I’ll take you down to the station so you can introduce yourself in person. It’ll make things easier later.” The sky grew dark. My failing body couldn’t handle staying up late anymore. I thanked her sincerely, went back home, washed up, and got into bed. But lying there, I couldn’t sleep. My brain felt heavy and chaotic. I was sleeping in my old childhood bedroom. I hadn’t cleared out the other rooms yet—especially Grams’s room. I tossed and turned. Suddenly, my nose felt warm. I reached up to wipe it. My fingers came away slick with thick, sticky blood. That woke me up instantly. Relying on the moonlight filtering through the window, I clutched my bleeding nose and struggled to sit up. I blindly stumbled into the bathroom. When I flicked on the light, I saw that my pajamas were already stained dark red. I went through the familiar routine of stopping the nosebleed, but a wave of dizzying vertigo hit me hard. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Tangled hair clung to my sweaty face, and my skin was as pale as a ghost’s. When the dizziness finally faded, I started scrubbing the blood out of my clothes. It was a good thing I chose to come back to my hometown. If my friends from the oncology ward saw me like this, they’d be heartbroken. They always said it was incredibly unfair for someone as young as me to get this disease. They naturally pitied me and tried to take care of me. I loved spending time with them. But I couldn’t endure the pain of laughing with them one day, only to see their beds empty and their names crossed off the whiteboard the next. So, I chose to leave. My head was pounding. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I walked out onto the balcony. Unexpectedly, I saw Mrs. Higgins limping up the sidewalk. A tall man was helping her walk. I instinctively opened my mouth to call out to her, but the man supporting her suddenly lifted his head. There was a bright streetlight right next to them. The glare was blinding. I didn’t know if my vision was failing me, but I couldn’t clearly make out his face. 3 I rubbed my eyes hard. He was still standing there. But his gaze… it was filled with absolute disgust and cold indifference. I swayed on my feet. I guess my illness is affecting my brain now, I thought. I’m actually hallucinating Liam. The way he was looking at me was exactly the same as the day we broke up six years ago. Filled with hatred and bitter resentment. That day was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. He had just received his acceptance letter to West Point. He came running to me, ecstatic, wanting to share the joy. But I shattered his excitement with three cruel words: “Let’s break up.” He froze, staring at me in disbelief. “What did you just say?” “I said, let’s break up. I’m bored of this. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” He ground his teeth together, his voice trembling. “Harper, are you serious right now?” Things got incredibly ugly that day. We said a lot of things designed to cut each other to the bone. And he looked at me exactly the way he was looking at me now—like he wanted to strangle me. Suddenly, reality snapped back into place. The man standing on the sidewalk down below wasn’t a hallucination. It really was him. Cold sweat prickled down my spine. For some reason, a wave of intense guilt washed over me. Thankfully, he didn’t stand there for long before turning and walking away. I let out a massive sigh of relief, my legs trembling beneath me. Over the past six years, I had imagined what our reunion would look like a thousand times. But I never imagined it would be like this. 4 The next morning, an energetic Mrs. Higgins dragged me down to the sheriff’s station at the end of the street. She introduced me to the deputies working the front desks one by one. When her eyes landed on a tall man wearing a pressed tan and green uniform, I froze. “Harper, this is Deputy Miller! I told you about him. He patrols our neighborhood. If you ever need anything, you just let him know.” Liam’s face was stone-cold. There wasn’t a single ripple of emotion in his eyes. He acted as if this was the very first time we had ever met. I held out my hand to greet him. “Hi, Deputy Miller.” His expression remained indifferent, as if to say: Why are you acting? He stood perfectly still, making no move to take my hand. Embarrassed, I pulled my hand back. Thankfully, Mrs. Higgins was there to smooth things over. She brought up the text messages from last night. Liam reluctantly pulled out his phone, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “When you text me, you’d better have a damn good reason.” I knew what he meant. He was telling me not to annoy him like I used to. I nodded and said with total sincerity, “Don’t worry. I’ll only bother you when I’m about to die.” Otherwise, there would be no one to collect my body. Liam’s fingers tightened around his phone, his eyes turning vicious. “See that you do.” 5 His gaze felt like a literal sword piercing my chest. I never expected that even after six years, he would still hate me this much. But that was fine. With him here, I could finally rest easy. After all, he had made a promise once. He said that the day karma finally came for me and I died, he would light fireworks to celebrate. At least that meant my send-off wouldn’t be totally silent. 6 Liam and I grew up together. My parents were always out of state, working odd jobs to send money back. It was just me and my bedridden Grams in our rundown little house. Liam’s dad was the town sheriff. He was a warm, incredibly kind man. Knowing my family was struggling, he was always quietly looking out for us. When we were kids, I wasn’t very smart and always did poorly in school. Liam, on the other hand, was always top of the class. His dad suggested that Liam tutor me, so I started spending every afternoon at their house. Liam was only ten at the time, the same age as me, but he was already a head taller. Unlike his friendly dad, Liam was quiet and reserved. He looked intimidating, like someone you shouldn’t mess with. I used to follow him around timidly like a little shadow. He rarely talked to me, but whenever his parents bought him snacks or treats, he would always silently push half of them toward me. Later, in middle school, the other kids found out my parents practically abandoned me. So they bullied me. They called me an orphan and a stray dog. Sometimes they would corner me in the alleyway after school and demand money. When I refused, they would beat me up. One day, they hit me particularly hard. I was covered in bruises, limping my way home. Liam was walking back from basketball practice and saw me. He grabbed the back of my collar, stopping me in my tracks, and asked through gritted teeth, “Who did this?” I was too scared to answer. The bullies had promised that if I snitched, they would go after my sick Grams next. Seeing my silence, he let out a dark, angry laugh. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me? Let’s go show your grandmother what you look like and see how you explain it to her!” I panicked. Stuttering and crying, I finally gave him their names. The very next day, he brought his dad—the Sheriff—directly to the bullies’ houses, one by one. No kid isn’t terrified of a cop showing up at their front door. After his dad handled the situation, he looked at me sternly. “Harper, this is malicious bullying. If you tolerate it once, they’ll just get bolder. If this ever happens again, you come straight to me.” From that day on, Liam waited for me at the school gates every single afternoon. He walked me home. Whenever anything went wrong at my house, he was the first one there. He never tried to hide how much he cared about me. 7 In high school, Liam announced he wanted to apply to West Point. He wanted to be a good man who protected his country, just like his dad protected our town. Desperate not to be separated from him, I studied until I made myself sick, aiming for a teaching college right across the river from his academy. But he was scared, too. He was scared I would leave him behind. He used to tell me, “If you don’t get into that school, it’s fine. Go wherever you want. I can always just come find you.” At the end of senior year, the day his acceptance letter arrived in the mail, he ran to my house to celebrate. Instead, I said, “Let’s break up, Liam.” “I only agreed to date you so people would stop bullying me. Now that I’m leaving this town, there’s no reason for us to be together anymore.” Under the moonlight, the bright, boyish smile on his face completely shattered. The shadows from the trees made his face look deathly pale. The hand gripping his acceptance letter was shaking uncontrollably. It took him a long time to finally speak. “Harper… are you serious?” My hands, hidden deep in my pockets, clenched into tight fists until my nails dug into my palms. Then, I forced them to relax. As if I had made the easiest decision in the world, I said coldly, “Yes. You deserve someone better, Liam.” His eyes filled with a desperate, furious refusal. He clenched his fists tight. “Harper,” he spat viciously. “You had better never, ever come back to this town.” “If I ever find out that karma finally got you and you died, I swear to God I’ll light fireworks to celebrate.” He didn’t know that on that exact same day, I had lost my Grams forever. And I had lost my so-called parents forever, too. Back then, I never imagined his curse would actually come true. If he knew that karma had actually caught up to me, he’d probably be thrilled.

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Every time I asked Vanessa to head downstairs, I’d add a casual reminder: “Don’t forget to take the trash out.” She’d always nod, and she’d always forget. Later, I noticed something. Whenever she went down, the trash outside our neighbor Sebastian’s door would miraculously vanish by the next morning. Once, I purposefully didn’t say a word. Predictably, our trash sat right where it was, while the hallway across from us was spotless. I stood at the door for a few seconds, breathing in the faint, sour stench of overnight fermentation. I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up the bag and walked it down myself. From day on, I stopped reminding her of anything. I stopped asking what time she’d be home. I stopped asking her for “quick favors.” Until one night, she suddenly looked at me and asked, “Are you being a little cold to me lately?” I looked at the empty trash can in the foyer, thought about it for a second, and shook my head. “Not at all.” I had simply realized that some people don’t “forget” what they’re supposed to do; they’ve just already decided who is worth remembering. And I had decided it was time to move her from my “must-have” list to the “disposable” one. … Vanessa didn’t get home until two in the morning. I wasn’t asleep. I was sitting on the living room rug, organizing the past few years of our household expenses and bank statements. When I heard the door, I didn’t look up. A faint scent of perfume, mingled with the sharp tang of gin and cigarette smoke, drifted over. “Honey, you’re still up?” Her voice held that guilty, over-compensated sweetness. She knelt in front of me, clutching a polished thermal bag. “I passed by The Gilded Oyster on the way back. I waited in line forever to get you their signature seafood bisque. It’s still hot.” She kicked off her heels, looking at me with the expression of a golden retriever begging for a pat on the head. I looked up from my papers, my gaze landing on the container. The Gilded Oyster was famous—rich, heavy, loaded with crab and lobster. But because it was so rich, the briny, cloying scent of shellfish seeped through the lid. My stomach churned. A tiny, involuntary frown creased my brow. “Thanks. Just put it over there,” I said flatly. Vanessa seemed annoyed by my lack of enthusiasm. She set the soup on the coffee table and reached out to rest her hand on my shoulder, but I leaned forward to turn a page, subtly slipping out of her reach. Her hand hung in the air for a second before she pulled it back awkwardly. She started unbuttoning her cuffs, pulling off her silk blouse. “By the way, I need this shirt for a meeting tomorrow. It’s a bit wrinkled. Can you steam it for me? Remember to hand-wash it first—this fabric is temperamental, it can’t go in the machine.” The tone was so matter-of-fact, as if I were a high-end concierge she’d put on retainer. I glanced at the shirt. It was a gift I’d bought her for our anniversary—custom Italian silk blend. Delicate. Expensive. In the past, I would have hand-washed it in cool water and meticulously steamed out every microscopic crease, terrified of snagging a single thread. I looked at her, and a sudden, sharp laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Vanessa,” I said, pointing at the soup. “Did you seriously forget that I have a life-threatening shellfish allergy?” Her hand froze on her tie. A flash of confusion crossed her face, followed quickly by embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Right… wait, really? I thought you loved fish…” “Freshwater fish,” I said, setting the bills down. “The last time I accidentally ate shellfish, I spent two days in the ER on an IV drip. You were the one who signed the admission papers.” That was only last year. I remembered her sitting by the hospital bed, scrolling through her phone and complaining about how hard the chairs were, grumbling that I was “careless” for making her take a day off work to watch me. Clearly, it hadn’t made much of an impression. Vanessa’s face flushed. Her eyes darted around the room. “I… I must have mixed it up. I was just trying to do something nice for you, bring you a treat. I’ll get you something else next time.” She reached for the container, but I was already standing. I picked up the expensive bag of soup, walked into the kitchen, and dropped the whole thing—bag and all—directly into the trash. Thump. Vanessa’s expression shifted instantly. “Grant, what the hell? That was an eighty-dollar soup! I haven’t even eaten yet!” “It’s an allergen. I don’t want it in my house. It feels like bad luck,” I said, turning on the faucet to wash my hands. My voice was as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. She stood there, stifled by my indifference. She took a deep breath, clearly suppressing her temper, and pointed at the silk shirt. “Fine. I messed up the soup. Just fix the shirt for me. I’m starving, I’m going to go make some pasta.” She turned toward the kitchen, familiar and comfortable in our space. I dried my hands, picked up the silk shirt, and walked into the laundry room. I didn’t reach for the basin of lukewarm water. Instead, I yanked open the heavy door of the washing machine, balled the silk into a tight knot, and tossed it in. I poured in the generic detergent, selected the “Heavy Duty” cycle, and hit start. As the drum began to roar and tumble, I knew that delicate Italian silk was as good as dead. When Vanessa emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of noodles, she heard the high-speed spin cycle. She froze, then sprinted to the laundry room. She stared at the spinning glass door, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head. “Grant! Are you insane? That’s a five-hundred-dollar shirt! I told you it had to be hand-washed!” She frantically hit the stop button and yanked out the wet, mangled, shrunken wad of fabric. The collar was twisted, the silk dull and ruined. Her face contorted with physical pain for the garment. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her meltdown with a terrifying sense of peace. “I used to hand-wash them because I loved you,” I said, meeting her furious gaze with a slight, mocking tilt of my head. “I thought you were worth the effort.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Now? The machine works fine. It’s going to get wrinkled eventually anyway. Why waste the time?” Vanessa looked at me like she was seeing a stranger. “You were never like this. Grant, what is wrong with you lately? Is this still about the trash? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum because I helped Sebastian with his bins a few times?” Oh. So she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what was bothering me, but she chose to play dumb, even turning it around to frame me as the one “throwing a tantrum.” I looked at the wet rag in her hands and spoke softly. “Vanessa, you can buy a new shirt. But when some things break, there is no fixing them.” After the soup incident, Vanessa didn’t say a word to me for two days. Her social media, however, was thriving. She had blocked my main account, but she forgot about my burner. Yesterday, she posted a photo of herself in the hallway, leaning over a shoe rack. The caption read: Good neighbors are better than distant relatives. Kindness is its own reward. 🕊️ In the corner of the frame, I could see a pair of blue-grey slippers. Sebastian’s slippers. I scrolled down to Sebastian’s profile. Same angle. He’d posted a shot of Vanessa’s back as she knelt on the floor with a screwdriver. There was a cute, animated heart-shaped band-aid on her knuckle. His caption: Some people use their hands to rule the world, but she uses hers to fix my cabinets. My hero. It was a choreographed duet. A public flirtation disguised as “neighborly help.” I gave the post a “Like.” Then I turned off my phone and finished peeling the last shrimp on the table, putting it in my own bowl. Vanessa sat across from me, her face darkening. “Grant, when did you become so selfish? You used to peel the shrimp for me.” I sipped my barley tea, saying nothing, just watching her with a blank expression. She dropped her fork, leaving a half-peeled shrimp on her plate, and scowled. “Why aren’t you answering me? You aren’t even going to help? You used to give me the whole bowl.” Used to. Yeah. Vanessa used to say she was clumsy, that the shells pricked her fingers. She said she was an architect—her hands were her livelihood; she couldn’t risk a scratch. So every time we had seafood, I was the one wearing the gloves, enduring the sting of the spices on my skin, peeling them one by one. Seeing her eat happily felt like a reward back then. Even when my fingers grew red and raw from the salt and heat, she’d just say, “Maybe don’t peel so many next time,” before waiting for me to serve her again. “Vanessa,” I said, setting down my tea and looking at her long, manicured fingers. “Your hands really are precious, aren’t they?” She thought I was complimenting her and gave a smug little shrug. “Of course. These hands draw the skylines of this city.” “Right. Drawing hands,” I sneered. “Funnily enough, I didn’t hear you complaining about your ‘precious hands’ two nights ago when you were fixing Sebastian’s shoe rack in the hall.” “That… Sebastian’s cabinet broke. I happened to be walking by. I couldn’t just stand there and watch him struggle. It was just a quick favor.” “A quick favor? You brought your entire professional toolkit out there.” I let out a short, dry laugh. “Vanessa, you used to wait for me to get home to change a lightbulb because you ‘didn’t know how.’ But for the guy across the hall, you’re a master carpenter? Or is it that your hands are only ‘precious’ when it comes to me, but they’re perfectly fine for manual labor when it’s for him?” Vanessa’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. “Stop being so passive-aggressive! It’s just being a good neighbor! Look at you—you’re not even acting like a gentleman anymore.” “A gentleman?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Vanessa, I’m a gentleman to my wife. I’m not a servant to a tenant. And since you’re so handy, don’t worry about calling a repairman next time something breaks in this house. Save the money. You’re such an ‘active neighbor,’ you can just handle it yourself.” I stood up and cleared the table. Vanessa sat there, watching my back. I think it was the first time she realized that the Grant who used to smile and nod at everything she said was gone. Good. It was about time someone faced reality. Vanessa wasn’t going to reflect on her behavior, of course. In her head, I was just “going through a phase.” She figured if she ignored me, I’d eventually crawl back and apologize. She kept up the act. Every morning before she left, she’d make a point to go to the passenger side of her car and adjust the lumbar pillow. I didn’t understand why. Until one day, I reached into the gap of the passenger seat and pulled out a fountain pen that didn’t belong to me. Black and gold. Heavy. It smelled like a men’s cologne—something spicy and expensive. Completely different from the pens I used. That night, when Vanessa walked in, I laid the pen on the coffee table. “Whose is this?” Vanessa glanced at it. Her eyes flickered with a split-second of panic before she smoothed her expression. “Oh. Probably Sebastian’s. I saw him on his way to work this morning and he was running late—couldn’t get an Uber. I just gave him a lift.” “A lift?” I arched an eyebrow. Sebastian’s office was in the East District. Vanessa’s was in the West. That “lift” was essentially a tour of the entire city. “Yeah, it was on the way,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. “Stop being so paranoid. The kid is trying to make it on his own; it’s just a carpool.” “Is that so?” I didn’t push it. I just opened my phone and scrolled to Sebastian’s Instagram. Posted ten minutes ago. A photo from the passenger seat of Vanessa’s car. It showed her hand on the steering wheel and the perfectly adjusted lumbar pillow. The caption: Best private chauffeur ever. Not only is she a pro behind the wheel, she even sets up the back support for me. Total VIP treatment. Never taking the subway again! Vanessa had already “liked” it. That passenger seat used to be mine. Vanessa used to say it was the “Husband Seat”—that everyone else had to sit in the back. Apparently, “everyone else” didn’t include Sebastian. I liked the photo too, then shoved the screen in front of her face. “Private chauffeur? Vanessa, is this what you meant by ‘on the way’? You’re carpooling to and from work now? Did you guys get hired at the same company overnight?” Vanessa’s face went pale. She lunged for the phone. “He’s just joking! That’s how Gen Z talks! Can you stop making a federal case out of everything?” I stepped back, dodging her hand. I laughed, but there was no heat in it—just ice. “Fine. If we’re joking, I’ve got a funny one for you.” I pulled up my contacts and hit dial on speakerphone. “Hey, Marcus? It’s Grant. Yeah, that downtown condo. I want to list it. Today. High floor, great views. Yeah, let’s move fast. Price is negotiable for a quick sale.” This apartment was mine. I’d bought it in full before we ever got married. Even though Vanessa lived here and acted like the queen of the castle, only my name was on the deed. Vanessa officially lost it. “Grant, are you crazy?! This is our home! Where are we supposed to live?” I hung up and looked at her. Her desperation was the first thing that had made me feel good in weeks. “It’s my house. I can sell it whenever I want. As for where you’re going to live…” I looked her up and down, a mocking smile tugging at my lips. “Since you love being a private chauffeur so much, why don’t you ask your ‘passenger’ if he’s got a spare room?” “You are being completely unreasonable!” She slammed the door on her way out. Going to Sebastian’s, no doubt. I didn’t care. The air in this place had been dirty for a long time. The silent treatment began. She thought she could freeze me out, wait for me to break. But she miscalculated. I didn’t break; I thrived. Without her weighing me down like an anchor, I felt like I could finally breathe. Until my birthday. Customarily, I invited a few of my closest friends over for a small dinner. We were having a great time until the doorbell rang. Vanessa went to answer it. Standing in the hallway was Sebastian, wearing a silk robe. He was holding a plate of haphazardly sliced fruit. “Vanessa? I heard things getting lively over here. I was feeling so lonely by myself… mind if I crash for a bit?” His voice was soft, performatively vulnerable. He looked straight at Vanessa, completely ignoring the room full of guests. The robe wasn’t indecent, but in a room full of people, it was wildly suggestive and inappropriate. Vanessa clearly hadn’t expected him, but she looked at his “vulnerable” expression, bit her lip, and stepped aside to let him in. “Of course. The more the merrier.” My friends’ faces turned into a gallery of disbelief. Vanessa tried to play it off. “Everyone, this is our neighbor, Sebastian. He wanted to wish Grant a happy birthday.” Hearing her call me “Grant” in that fake-sweet tone made my skin crawl. Sebastian didn’t care about the cold stares. He squeezed onto the sofa right next to Vanessa, sliding the fruit plate toward her. “I cut this specifically for you, Vanessa. Is it sweet?” Vanessa glanced at me nervously. When I didn’t say anything, she took a piece of apple. “Yeah. It’s good.” “Hehe, I knew you’d like it.” He smiled, leaning his body into hers. “Gosh, the AC is so high in here. I’m actually kind of chilly. Vanessa, could I borrow a blanket?” Without a second thought, Vanessa got up, went into our bedroom, and brought out my favorite cashmere throw to wrap around him. I heard one of my buddies mutter under his breath, “Unbelievable. Look at these two.” The hand I was using to cut the cake faltered for a second, then steadied. “Here, let’s eat,” I said, handing the first slice to my friend, completely ignoring the “star-crossed lovers” on the sofa. Suddenly, Sebastian’s phone buzzed. He answered, and his face went white. He started trembling. “What? Really? That’s terrifying! … Vanessa, I think my power just went out. It’s pitch black, and I’m hearing these weird scratching noises… I’m scared.” He hung up and looked at her with misty eyes, his hand gripping her sleeve. “Can you come check it out with me? I really don’t want to go back in there alone.” Vanessa stood up instantly, her face full of concern. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. It’s probably just a blown fuse. It’s an easy fix.” She turned to me, her tone completely dismissive. “Grant, Sebastian has an electrical emergency. I’m going to go help him. Keep eating, don’t wait for me.” I looked at her. I was still holding the cake knife. The blade was smeared with red strawberry filling. It looked like blood. “Vanessa,” I said calmly. “It’s my birthday.” “I know, I know! But I can’t just leave him in the dark! Neighbors help each other! I’ll be right back. Be a good boy.” She didn’t even wait for a response. She grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him out the door. Sebastian looked back at me over his shoulder as they left. The look in his eyes wasn’t fear. It was triumph. Bam. The door closed. The silence in the room was deafening. My best friend slammed his fork onto the table. “Grant! How are you taking this? He’s a total snake, and she’s blind!” I put the knife down and wiped the cream off my hand. “What am I supposed to do? If a dog wants to eat trash, you can’t stop it.” I walked to the door, turned the deadbolt, and slid the security chain into place. “Let’s finish the cake. We shouldn’t let irrelevant people ruin a good night.” Vanessa didn’t come back that night. My phone was flooded with her texts: Grant, the wiring is complicated. Still working on it. Sebastian is having a panic attack, he’s crying. I have to stay to calm him down. I probably won’t make it back tonight. Get some sleep. I didn’t reply to a single one. I tossed my phone aside and drank with my friends until the sun came up. The next morning, I was woken by the buzzing of the neighborhood association group chat. I opened it to find a wall of praise for Vanessa. Sebastian had posted a photo. It was Vanessa, exhausted, asleep on his sofa, covered by my cashmere throw. The caption: So lucky to have a neighbor I can count on. The power outage was terrifying, but Vanessa fixed the circuits and stayed up all night talking me through my anxiety. Total angel! A bunch of clueless neighbors were chiming in: Vanessa is such a sweetheart! We need more people like her in the building. Grant is so lucky to have such a caring wife! I looked at the “thumbs up” emojis and felt a wave of cold, sharp irony. Caring? She abandoned her husband on his birthday to spend the night with a man in his bathrobe. That was it. I was done. I pulled up a file on my laptop—the divorce papers I’d drafted weeks ago. I converted it to a PDF and dropped it directly into the group chat of three hundred neighbors. I tagged both Sebastian and Vanessa. @Sebastian @Vanessa: Since you two are so deeply in love that “fixing a fuse” requires an overnight stay, I’ve decided to make it official. I’m big on recycling, and it’s time to take the trash out. You two deserve each other. May you stay together forever so you don’t ruin anyone else’s life.

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I had been trapped in this twisted nightmare of a novel for three years. I’d been broken, humiliated, and tormented by Damian Cross exactly ninety-nine times, yet the progress bar for my mission was stuck at 99.999%. So, I decided to stop trying. I checked out. I went completely, blissfully rogue. At the charity gala, Lydia—Damian’s “Untouchable Muse,” the woman he’d spent years mourning before she suddenly reappeared—accused me of stealing her heirloom diamond necklace. Again. It was a tired script. Instead of crying or pleading my innocence like I usually did, I simply unzipped my designer gown and let it pool at my feet right there in the middle of the ballroom. “Go ahead,” I said, standing there in nothing but my skin and defiance. “Search me. Check every inch.” Damian looked like he’d been struck by lightning. His composure shattered, he lunged forward, frantically wrapping his tuxedo jacket around me, his hands shaking. Lydia stood trembling, her eyes brimming with calculated tears. Damian turned on me, his face a mask of cold fury. “Stop these pathetic theatrics, Sophie. If you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll throw you off the balcony myself.” I didn’t hesitate. I turned and sprinted toward the terrace. “Great idea! Let’s save you the trouble,” I shouted over my shoulder. I swung a leg over the marble railing. Damian’s face went white. He tackled me back onto the stone floor, pinning me there as if I were a wild animal he couldn’t comprehend. That night, Lydia came down with a minor fever. I didn’t wait for his orders. I stayed up all night, calling every top-tier surgeon in the tri-state area. “Doctor,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I stood in the hospital hallway the next morning. “I’m here to donate my kidney. When can we start the surgery?” 1 The specialist pushed up his glasses, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Ma’am, the patient has a common cold. A mild viral infection. She doesn’t need a transplant.” I stood there, feeling a genuine, crushing wave of disappointment. “Oh. Just a cold? Are you sure? What about a liver lobe? Or my corneas? Surely she needs something.” Behind me, Damian’s shadow loomed. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice. “Sophie Knight! Have you finally lost it?” I turned to him, my eyes wide and sincere. “I’m serious, Damian. I want to give her whatever she needs. If not today, then eventually, right? Isn’t that what you’ve been planning for three years? To harvest me piece by piece for her?” Damian’s chest heaved. He looked like he was about to have a stroke. Lydia leaned against the pillows, looking like a tragic Victorian waif. “Damian, it’s my fault. If I weren’t so fragile, Sophie wouldn’t be acting like this…” “It’s not your fault,” Damian murmured, his voice softening instantly for her. Then, he whipped his head back to me, his eyes spitting ice. “What kind of game is this? You think by playing the martyr, I’ll suddenly feel sorry for you? Let me be clear: I will never love you.” I stared at him, but my mind was miles away, flickering through the fragments of my real life. I was an interloper here. A system had plucked me out of my world and dropped me into this “Angst-Fest” novel. The deal was simple: reach 100% “Cruelty Value,” and I’d receive two billion dollars and—more importantly—my mother’s terminal lung cancer would be cured back in reality. So, I had played the part of the tragic wife. When I accidentally spilled wine on Lydia’s dress, Damian locked me in the wine cellar for three days without light. When Lydia claimed she felt “anemic,” he forced me to donate blood while I was delirious with a 103-degree fever. When she whispered that my architectural designs looked “familiar,” he personally shredded six months of my hard work. But after three years of hell, the meter was stuck at 99.999%. That last 0.001% was more elusive than a winning Powerball ticket. I was exhausted. My soul was frayed at the edges. Damian glared at me, giving his final warning. “Sophie, if you don’t start behaving, I will make you regret the day you met me.” I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated joy. Yes. Here comes the angst. I grabbed his hand, tears spilling over on cue. “Damian, please! I’m not playing. Tell me what I did wrong. I’ve given you three years. I’ve given you everything! Why can’t you just love me?” He sneered, ripping his hand away as if my touch burned him. “You think you can even be mentioned in the same breath as Lydia? She is the sun, Sophie. You’re just the dirt we walk on. Know your place.” I wiped my face, nodding slowly. “I see. I’m just the placeholder. The joke in your epic love story. Fine. I’ll go out to the gravel driveway and kneel until you’re satisfied with my penance.” Damian frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, but he didn’t stop me. The driveway was sharp, jagged crushed stone. I knelt there for three hours. The rocks sliced through my leggings and into my skin. Blood mixed with the grit. Then, the sky broke. A typical East Coast torrential downpour. I was soaked to the bone within seconds, my body shaking with a deep, bone-deep chill. Finally, my strength gave out. As I collapsed onto the wet stones, I whispered into my mind, System… please. I’m literally bleeding in a storm. Give me that 0.001%. The System was silent for a long time. Then, a cold, mechanical voice echoed: “Mission progress: 99.9999%.” My brain felt like mush. How many zeros is that now? “Four zeros after the decimal.” The world went black. I’d seen fewer zeros on a billionaire’s bank statement. 2 Word reached me that Lydia fainted when she saw me passed out in a pool of blood and rainwater. Apparently, she “accidentally” hit her head on a marble vanity, aggravating an old injury. Now, she supposedly needed a corneal transplant. “Sophie,” she whimpered from her bed when I was brought into her room, “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen… but my eyes hurt so much. The doctors say if they don’t find a donor soon, I’ll be blind forever.” Damian loomed over my bed. I was still shaking from the fever, but his voice was like a whip. “This is on you, Sophie! If you hadn’t been throwing a tantrum in the driveway, she wouldn’t have been distressed enough to fall. The tests say you’re a perfect match. You’re giving her your corneas. Now.” I sat up so fast I nearly got vertigo. “Really? A perfect match? Right now?” Damian’s brow furrowed. He expected a fight, a scream, a plea for mercy. “Don’t play dumb. This is the debt you owe her. There is no negotiation.” Lydia grabbed his sleeve, her voice trembling. “Damian, don’t force her. If Sophie doesn’t want to… I’ll just live in the dark. It’s okay.” “No,” Damian barked. “Your sight is everything. She will do it.” I swung my legs out of bed. “Where’s the surgeon? Do we do this now? Do I need to sign a waiver? Give me the pen!” Damian grabbed my shoulders, staring into my eyes as if trying to find the hidden trap. “What are you planning, Sophie? Is this some new way to get my attention? You think if you go blind for me, I’ll finally care? I won’t.” I shook him off. “I’m not planning anything. I genuinely want to do it. It’s a mitzvah, Damian. Bringing light to Lydia’s world? It’s the most meaningful thing I’ve done in three years.” I actually ran toward the door, shouting for a nurse. Damian caught me by the waist and threw me back onto the mattress. “Sophie! Be goddamn normal for once!” I rubbed my bruised arm. “You want my eyes, I’m giving you my eyes! Why are you stopping me?” Lydia’s sobbing intensified. “Sophie, do you hate me that much? Are you doing this just to make Damian feel guilty? To make it look like I’m a monster?” “I am not!” I yelled. “I am being incredibly sincere! Let’s go! Cut them out!” I tried to get up again, but Damian pinned me down, his face inches from mine. “You pathetic woman. You think I don’t see through you? You want me to feel a shred of remorse, to pity you. Well, it’s not happening. Even if you’re blind, I will still despise you!” He had said these words a thousand times. He had broken my heart a thousand ways. But this time, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. This was the peak angst I needed. I let my eyes well up with tears. “Damian… is that all I am to you? A monster? I just want to make things right. I just want her to be okay. Why won’t you believe me?” Damian let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Believe you? You’re a manipulator, Sophie. It’s all you know how to do.” I screamed in frustration, grabbed a paring knife from the fruit basket on the nightstand, and pressed the blade against my cheek, just below my eye. “I am not lying! If my eyes are what it takes to save her, I’ll do it myself!” Damian and Lydia froze. They hadn’t expected me to actually draw blood. Damian lunged for the knife, his face filled with a sudden, jarring terror. “Sophie, stop! Are you insane?” The blade sliced a jagged red line from my cheekbone to my temple. Blood erupted, warm and thick, blurring my vision as it poured down my face. 3 The blood was iron and salt in my mouth. Security guards pinned me to the bed while a doctor rushed in. System, I screamed internally. Look at this! I’m literally disfigured! What’s the count? There was a pause. “+0.00005. Current progress: 99.99996%.” I started laughing—a jagged, hysterical sound that echoed through the sterile room. Ninety-nine-six. The universe was a cruel accountant. Images of the last three years flashed before my eyes like a mocking highlight reel. When I first arrived, Damian hadn’t been a monster. Not yet. He used to pick me up from my studio at midnight with a container of my favorite takeout. When my seasonal allergies flared up, he’d cancel his board meetings just to sit by my bed and apply cool compresses to my forehead. He once bought a small, hidden cottage in the countryside because I’d mentioned I loved the smell of wild jasmine. He took me there on my birthday and promised he’d watch the flowers bloom with me every year. Back then, I was a fool. I almost forgot I was in a tragedy. I almost forgot my role. Then Lydia came back, and the “plot” took over. If Lydia didn’t like the soup I made, he’d throw the boiling pot at me, scalding my arms. If she lost a bracelet, he’d lock me in the crawlspace for forty-eight hours. If she felt faint, he’d drag me to the clinic to pump a pint of my blood into her veins. I knew this was the script. I knew I had to endure it. But the fact that it was stalling at the very end was driving me to the brink. I forced myself out of bed, needing to wash the blood from my face, when I heard voices from the private lounge attached to my suite. It was Damian and Lydia. “Damian,” Lydia whispered, her voice devoid of its usual tremor. “Aren’t we taking this a bit far? Sophie clearly loves you. She knelt in the rain, she let herself get burned, she’s even willing to give up her sight. We don’t need to keep testing her.” Damian’s voice was casual, almost bored. “She loves me. That’s obvious. But there’s one last threshold. If she’s willing to actually give her life for me, then I’ll know her devotion is absolute. Once she proves that, I’ll stop. I’ll settle down and be a real husband to her.” My heart stopped. Then it shattered. It was all a test. He wasn’t some tortured hero driven by a tragic past. He was a sociopath using my heart as a lab rat. Every scar, every tear, every ounce of blood I’d shed—it wasn’t because he hated me. It was because he wanted to see how much I’d take before I broke. He wanted to be a god in my eyes. The progress bar was stuck because his “cruelty” wasn’t fueled by malice, but by a sick, twisted vanity. The System hissed in my ear. “That disgusting piece of work. I thought there was a glitch in my sensors. He’s been treating your soul like a stress test. I’m actually nauseous.” My fingers curled around the fruit knife again. “Host! Don’t!” the System screamed. “The sunk-cost is too high! If you kill yourself now, we lose everything! Your mother dies!” I stared at the door, my eyes cold. “I’m not going to kill myself. I’m going to kill him.” 4 But they were gone by the time I reached the lounge. I crawled back into bed, my body aching, my mind on fire. “Host, listen to me,” the System pleaded. “He wants a life-and-death proof of love? Fine. Give it to him. Lean into the drama. Let him think he’s won, get the points, and then we get the hell out of here. Don’t let him actually win.” I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate to slow. Fine. If he wanted a grand finale, I’d give him an Oscar-winning performance. A week later, I was “discharged.” As I pulled up to the Cross estate, I saw orange light flickering against the night sky. The mansion was on fire. Lydia ran to me, grabbing my arms, her face smeared with soot. “Sophie! Damian… he went back in! He went back for your wedding rings! The fire is too fast, he hasn’t come out! What do we do?” I looked past her. There were three professional-grade fire engines parked in the back of the property, hidden by the hedges. The “fire” was a controlled burn on the east wing. He was so predictable. But I played my part. I let my face go pale, my breath hitching in a sob. “What? Damian! No! He… he really does love me.” I sprinted into the house. The foyer was empty, filled with thick, theatrical smoke. I ignored the ground floor and ran to the second story, where the fire was actually starting to catch for real. I burst into the master bedroom and found the rings in the nightstand. Three years of marriage, and we’d barely worn them. Damian was really committed to this production. I grabbed the rings, but instead of leaving, I slammed the bedroom door and locked it from the inside. Then, I threw open the heavy French windows. The sudden influx of oxygen turned the controlled fire into a literal inferno. The curtains ignited instantly. Thick, black smoke began to fill the room, searing my lungs. I leaned out the window and saw Damian standing on the lawn, looking up. I dialed up the desperation. My eyes were red from the smoke, my voice a ragged scream. “Damian! I have them! I have the rings! As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters!” I sounded like a woman staring into the abyss of her own death. Lydia was down there, jumping up and down. “Damian! Send someone in! She’s not going to make it!” Damian glanced at the growing flames, his expression terrifyingly calm. “Relax. The walls are lined with fire-retardant foam. It won’t actually spread. The trucks are right there. Let’s give her one more minute. I want to see if she tries to save herself first or if she stays for the rings.” Inside, the heat was becoming unbearable. The “retardant” foam was melting, releasing toxic fumes. My vision began to swim. I collapsed by the window, clutching the rings to my chest, my lungs screaming for air. A minute passed. Then two. Suddenly, I heard heavy boots thundering down the hall. Damian’s voice, now genuinely panicked, echoed through the door. “Sophie! Open the door! Sophie, I’m coming in!” He kicked the door, but I’d jammed the antique lock. The world began to fade into a dull gray. My heart slowed. And then, a chime rang in my head—the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. “Detection: Male Lead experiencing maximum levels of regret and existential terror. Mission Progress: 100%! Initiating immediate extraction from the World of Suffering. Returning to Reality.” I let out a soft, wheezing laugh. My grip on the rings loosened as the light finally took me.

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Arthur has always been a devoted husband. But the day his high school sweetheart was diagnosed with cancer, he handed me a pill designed to induce amnesia. “Mia, Claire is going to die soon. Give me three days. I just want to fulfill her dream of having a wedding.” “I don’t want to break your heart. This pill causes temporary amnesia. In three days, after her wedding is over, you can take the antidote. You’ll fall right back in love with me, and we’ll get remarried.” Looking at his determined face, I took the pill and swallowed it without a second of hesitation. What Arthur didn’t know was that I was the one who invented this amnesia drug. There was no antidote. In three days, I would forget him completely. Forever. 1 Stepping out of the courthouse after finalizing our divorce, Arthur checked his watch. “The pill will kick in in exactly two minutes. Over the next three days, you’ll forget every single memory of loving me. When you take the antidote, you won’t remember anything that happened during these three days. You won’t have to suffer at all.” “This divorce is just temporary. Once everything is over, we’ll get remarried. Don’t worry, my one and only true wife will always be you.” I stared at him in silence. There won’t be a remarriage. As the developer of this drug, I knew exactly how it worked. It didn’t erase memories instantly. It eroded them slowly, piece by piece, until you completely forgot the person you loved. And the antidote? I had never finished developing it. But Arthur obviously didn’t know that. I asked him softly, “Are you absolutely sure you won’t regret this?” He smiled, affectionately ruffling my hair. “Claire has loved me for years. Her only dying wish is to have a wedding with me. I can’t refuse her. Since I’ve made my choice, I won’t regret it.” “Mia, I know you’ve always been understanding and empathetic. There’s no need to hold a grudge against a dying woman. Once this is all over, we’ll go right back to our happy life together.” I forced a bitter, self-deprecating smile. I let the overwhelming, sour pain in my chest spread through my entire body, but I didn’t say a word. During the peak of our love, I drank myself into the hospital with a bleeding ulcer just to secure a crucial business deal for him. He, in turn, stayed up for days, his heart rate dangerously erratic, just to reclaim my stolen research data. Later, I joked with him, asking what he would do if we got old and I forgot who he was. His eyes immediately turned red. He kissed me fiercely. “Mia, I love you. Please, never forget me. I would lose my mind.” And now? The moment he found out his precious ‘white moonlight’ had cancer, he proactively divorced me. He demanded I take an experimental drug to forget our entire history. I guess he wanted to give her three perfect days of love. A love without flaws. Without the awkward presence of a ‘superfluous’ wife. His complete, undivided love. If he was bold enough to change his heart so openly and feed me this drug… why even bother with the charade of remarrying me later? I laughed aloud, a sharp, bitter sound. Suddenly, a blinding, needle-like pain shot through my head. I swayed, my body pitching forward. Arthur caught me with lightning speed. His deep eyes were filled with endless concern. “Are you feeling sick? If you’re really that scared… if you’re worried I won’t come back to you… you can keep the divorce decree and all the paperwork.” I forced myself to stand up straight, looking at Arthur in confusion. “What divorce decree?” Arthur froze. Then, he cautiously tested the waters. “Mia, we just got divorced. Do you remember?” “Divorce?” Seeing the blank look on my face, a barely perceptible flash of joy crossed his eyes. I looked down and saw the divorce papers clutched tightly in my hand. Suddenly, it all made sense. The drug was kicking in. The very first thing it erased was the memory of our divorce. Arthur quickly snatched the papers from my hand, terrified I would read his name on them. His voice softened dramatically. “Mia, I’m your brother. You’ve been very sick and lost some of your memories. I’m going to hold onto these important documents for you.” I looked up, meeting his evasive gaze, but I didn’t expose his lie. Fine. If he wanted to play a role, I would play along. Just then, a sickeningly sweet voice cut through the air. “Arthur, there you are!” I turned and saw Claire jogging toward us. Suddenly, she tripped over a crack in the pavement and stumbled forward. Without thinking, Arthur shoved me aside and reached out to catch her. Thrown off balance, I crashed hard into the brick wall. My head, already throbbing with agonizing pain, hit the stone with a sickening thud. Claire fell into Arthur’s arms, blushing coyly. “Thank you for catching me, Arthur.” Realizing what he had just done, Arthur’s face paled. He immediately turned to me. “Mia, did you get hurt? Claire is sick. If she falls and starts bleeding, it might not stop. That’s why I caught her first. I’m sorry.” I had already steadied myself. Suppressing the pain, I brushed the dust off my clothes. “I’m fine.” Claire clung to Arthur’s arm, pouting softly. “Arthur, it was just a quick divorce, why did it take so long? I was waiting for you forever.” Seeing me staring directly at them, Arthur coughed awkwardly. He looked at me guiltily, but he didn’t push her hand away. “It’s done now. We can focus on the wedding.” Claire beamed with joy, shooting me a triumphant, gloating look. “Mia, Arthur and I have been dating for five years, and we’re finally getting married! The wedding is in three days. You absolutely have to come.” I smiled politely. “Of course I’ll come to my brother’s wedding.” The smile on Claire’s face widened. “Then you have to be our official videographer! Make sure you record the exact moment Arthur and I kiss at the altar…” “Claire.” Arthur’s face darkened suddenly, silencing her. He stared at me intently, desperately searching my eyes for even a hint of sorrow. Finding none, a strange, suffocating discomfort settled in his chest. “She doesn’t need to attend the wedding.” My expression remained perfectly blank. Seeing Arthur take my side, Claire immediately frowned and collapsed weakly against his chest. “Arthur, my heart suddenly hurts so much. I can’t breathe.” Arthur’s eyes filled with panic. He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Is it acting up again? Just hold on, I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” He looked up at me, asking in a low voice, “Mia, do you still remember how to get home? Do you need me to have someone drive you?” I shook my head. “No, I remember.” Arthur fell silent. The lab technicians had told him the drug only erased memories of the person the subject loved most; it wouldn’t damage any other cognitive functions. Knowing that he was the person I loved most, Arthur’s expression finally relaxed. “Okay, head home then. I need to get Claire to the hospital.” With that, he scooped Claire up into his arms and carried her to his car. Nestled against his chest, Claire spoke weakly, “Arthur, being able to be openly held by you like this… even if I die right now, it would all be worth it.” Arthur scolded her gently, “Stop talking nonsense.” Through the car window, I watched as Arthur leaned over to buckle her seatbelt. Claire suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to his earlobe. Witnessing this incredibly intimate moment, a freezing chill and a sharp, stabbing pain pierced my heart. The agonizing sting of betrayal. As his car sped away, my phone rang. “Dr. Sterling? The Paris Research Institute has prepared your welcome reception. We look forward to your arrival in three days.” 2 I hung up the phone and went back to the house. Only then did I realize that the place was completely empty. It was nothing but a hollow shell. This was the house Arthur and I had renovated together. Back then, he swore he wanted to live in this cozy little home with me for the rest of our lives. But now? The tea set we designed together, the decorations we picked out—everything related to him had been completely scrubbed from the house. He was probably terrified that seeing them would trigger my memories. He even had the landscaping crew dig up and turn over all the soil in the balcony planters where we used to grow flowers together. Looking at the barren, empty house, I let out a mocking laugh. Arthur, you planned all this out so meticulously. Are you really doing this to spare me pain? Or are you just terrified that I’ll remember everything, lose my mind, and ruin your perfect wedding with Claire? If you knew there was no antidote, and that I would never regain my memory… would you regret this? I took off my wedding ring, wrote him a letter, sealed them both in an envelope, and wedged it into a hidden gap between the empty flower pots. Just then, my phone rang frantically. It was my best friend, Avery. She hesitated for a long time before finally speaking: “Mia… I need to tell you something. I think Arthur is cheating on you. I’m outside the hospital right now, and I just saw him hugging and holding some woman.” I just said, “Mm. It’s fine. Let him be.” Avery was shocked by my reaction. “Mia… are… are you okay?” Hearing the sheer panic in her voice, I actually laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? Arthur and I are already divorced.” “DIVORCED?!” I briefly explained the whole situation. When she heard that I had taken the pill, she exploded with a string of vicious curses. “That cheating bastard! He is unbelievable! Feeding you an experimental drug just so he can marry that bitch without feeling guilty?!” “Five years ago, you gave up a fellowship at the Institute just to stay with him! Half of his success is built on your hard work! And now he’s tossing you aside for another woman, claiming he’s doing it so ‘you won’t suffer’?! Who the hell does he think he is?!” A profound, agonizing ache finally surfaced in my eyes. My face turned ashen. Five years ago, when Arthur was at his absolute lowest, I married him without a second thought. I leveraged every single connection I had to drag his failing company back from the brink of bankruptcy. Back then, he would hold me every single night, whispering in my ear that I was his one and only, his forever love. But then, slowly, everything changed. His heart started wandering. He gradually forgot all the sacrifices I made. He demanded that I be ‘understanding’ and ‘obedient’. He demanded that I accept his ‘merciful charity’ toward Claire. Is it really that hard to just love one person consistently? I did it. Why couldn’t he? Avery ranted furiously for another five minutes. Finally, exhausted, she caught her breath and declared: “I guarantee you, Arthur is going to regret divorcing you and feeding you that pill! He’s going to regret it until it destroys him!” “Hah, he definitely doesn’t know you never actually finished the antidote! Let him suffer! And you? You get to finally move on.” I looked over at the gap between the flower pots where I had just hidden the letter. After living with Arthur for so many years, I knew his habits inside and out. Whenever he felt stressed or depressed, he would stand on the balcony and drink alone. If he truly regretted his decision on the day I left, he would definitely find that letter. Late that night, Arthur came back to the house. I heard him tearing through the closets in the bedroom. “What are you doing?” Arthur froze. He turned around and saw me standing in the doorway in my pajamas. He frowned and quickly draped his coat over my shoulders. “It’s freezing tonight. Why are you wearing so little?” I ignored his question and asked again, “Are you looking for something?” “Yeah. I need to borrow your wedding dress. Claire wants to wear it for the ceremony.” Arthur explained, “You probably forgot this too, but it’s the one you wore when you got married.” I stared at him in silence. Of course I hadn’t forgotten. He had designed that dress for me himself. From sketching the blueprints to the final tailoring, it took him two entire months. And he did all of it just because I had casually mentioned, “I want a wedding dress that is completely unique.” And now, he was taking the dress he designed specifically for me, to make another woman’s wedding perfect. I found the absurdity of it all almost funny. I asked him intentionally: “Is this dress really that important? Why does it have to be this exact one?” My question seemed to trigger a memory for Arthur. His hands stopped moving. The day the dress was finished, he had told me, “This dress will only ever belong to you.” I watched him closely. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before smoothly lying. “It was designed by a master. It’s the only one of its kind in the world. Claire loves it, and her only dying wish is to get married in this dress.” Seeing my eyes lower, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, as soon as the wedding is over, I’ll bring it right back. And then, whatever you want, just name your price.” It was the same flawless, airtight lie as always. But my heart took another brutal, heavy hit. On the day of our wedding, Arthur’s eyes never left me for a single second. After the ceremony, he carefully, meticulously preserved the dress and locked it in the closet. I had teased him, “Why are you treating a piece of fabric like it’s a religious artifact?” He had looked at me with total seriousness. “Because you are the one who gave this dress its unique, irreplaceable beauty. I’m going to preserve this memory forever.” But now? Just because Claire said she liked it, Arthur handed it over without a second thought. The dress lost all its sacred meaning. It was just a tool to make Claire happy. “It’s late. Go to sleep. I have to go.” Arthur, completely oblivious to my internal devastation, grabbed the dress and left. I let his coat slip off my shoulders and fall to the floor. I looked down at the empty closet, my heart drowning in disappointment and grief. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Just like the house, once he finishes sweeping everything out, it will all be over.” It was just an abandonment. Once my memory was wiped clean, I could finally, truly let it all go. Just as the thought crossed my mind, another agonizing spike of pain drilled through my brain, and another massive chunk of my memory vanished. I was violently yanked out of my grief. 3 The next day, Avery told me that Arthur was running around like a madman preparing for the wedding. The scale of the event was rivaling the one he threw for me. I nodded thoughtfully. Arthur was so busy, yet he still managed to have someone deliver three meals a day to my empty house. He really was trying to balance everything. It must have been exhausting for him. On the day of the wedding, Avery brought me to the venue. Before the ceremony began, we sat in the darkest, most secluded corner. In the distance, we saw Arthur and Claire acting incredibly intimate, surrounded by her group of bridesmaids. “I remember Arthur threw a massive wedding for Mia too. Tsk, tsk. I never thought our Claire would end up being the lucky one.” Hearing my name, Claire tightened her grip on Arthur’s arm. Arthur quickly clarified, “Mia and I are already divorced. Today is Claire’s wedding. There is no need to bring up the past.” Hearing Arthur proactively distance himself from me, the bridesmaids immediately sneered, “Our Claire is young and beautiful. How could Mia ever compare?” “Arthur, Claire is entrusting the rest of her life to you. You better not let her down.” Arthur offered a gentle smile, looking exactly the way he did when he made his vows to me. “Don’t worry. I will never let her down.” My eyes dimmed. Avery gritted her teeth in fury. “What kind of toxic garbage is this? Since when is the mistress the victim?!” Nearby, someone suddenly shouted. “It’s a beautiful day! Why don’t the bride and groom give us a kiss?!” The bridesmaids immediately started chanting. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Claire blushed furiously and looked up at Arthur, playing the shy, innocent bride perfectly. Urged on by the crowd, Arthur reached out and gently brushed her hair behind her ear, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. The cheering erupted, reaching a fever pitch. Amidst this chaotic, joyful scene, I felt absolute, deafening silence. I couldn’t hold onto his heart, and now, I couldn’t hold onto him physically either. I smirked mockingly. Thank god the drug had already erased so much. I wasn’t in agonizing pain anymore. My phone screen lit up. It was a boarding notification for my flight. “Avery, it’s time for me to go.” Avery gave me a tight hug, her eyes completely red. “Go! Leave this trash behind and go shine! I’ll be waiting for you to become famous and conquer the world!” “As for this place… I’ve got a massive going-away present for them!” “I’m off.” I smiled and tapped her nose, not really caring what her ‘present’ was. After all, in less than thirty minutes, every single memory of loving Arthur would be gone forever. I dragged my suitcase toward the exit. Arthur, holding Claire’s hand, casually glanced over. He seemed to spot my silhouette and froze in panic. But thinking about it, he probably convinced himself it was impossible. Even if I did show up at the wedding, I would be there as his ‘sister’. I wouldn’t be avoiding him, and I certainly wouldn’t be dragging a suitcase. He must have assumed he saw wrong. The lights in the venue dimmed. Arthur and Claire stood center stage. They exchanged rings and gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. The crowd erupted again, screaming for them to kiss. Suddenly, a massive banner unfurled from the ceiling. Avery stood beneath it, holding a megaphone, a wicked smirk on her face. “Congratulations to the homewrecker, Claire, and the cheating scum, Arthur! May you live a long, miserable life together, suffer from infertility, and give birth to eight useless sons!” Claire’s face instantly went paper-white. She instinctively shrank behind Arthur. Recognizing Avery’s face, Arthur grew furious. “What the hell are you talking about?! Mia and I are legally divorced! Claire is not a homewrecker!” Avery let out a chilling laugh. “You want to have your cake and eat it too. You can’t let go of your ex-wife, but you’re throwing a massive wedding for your mistress. You kept telling Mia to wait for you so you could remarry. Do you have any idea how much agony she’s been in these last three days?!” Arthur’s eyes turned lethal. “That is none of your concern. I gave Mia a drug. She won’t remember any of this.” “You absolute idiot. The drug doesn’t cause instant amnesia. It takes three full days to completely erase the memory of the person she loves. Everything you’ve done over the past three days… Mia watched every single second of it.” Avery tilted her chin up, glaring at him with pure disdain. “Do you even know who the lead developer of that drug was? It was Mia. Your ex-wife.” “And let me tell you one more thing. There is no antidote. Mia has completely, permanently forgotten you. She will never remarry you. You can live out the rest of your miserable days with your feral mistress in peace!” 4 All the color drained from Arthur’s face. He looked absolutely terrified. He marched over to Avery, his brow deeply furrowed as he tried desperately to maintain his composure. “Are you lying to me?!” “Lying?!” Avery sneered. “Do you think I have nothing better to do than come here and lie to you? You are so unbelievably arrogant. No wonder Mia wanted to leave you.” “Do you know what she told me? She said she hated herself for being so weak. She hated that she loved you too much to leave you. She told me she was actually grateful that you forced her to take that pill. It finally gave her an escape.” Her words completely pulverized the final psychological barrier in Arthur’s mind. His voice trembled violently. “Where… where is she right now?” Avery’s eyes were filled with mockery. She lifted her chin provocatively. “Weren’t you just bragging about how much you loved her? If you love her so much, go find her yourself.” Arthur clenched his fists. He threw the bridal bouquet onto the floor, turned around, and sprinted toward the exit. “Arthur! Arthur! Don’t go! Our wedding isn’t over yet!” Claire hiked up her wedding dress and ran after him in a panic, reaching out to grab him. But his jacket slipped right through her fingertips, leaving her with nothing but his rapidly retreating back. When Arthur frantically rushed back to the house and pushed open my bedroom door, he was met with absolute emptiness. All my clothes were gone. “Mia?!” He called out several times. Silence answered him. The bed was perfectly made. The desk was spotless. I had a habit: whenever I packed for a trip, I always deep-cleaned the room. And now, my room was so clean that every trace of my existence had been erased. It looked as if no one had ever lived there. He slid down the doorframe, collapsing onto the floor. According to his original plan, as soon as the wedding was over, he would give me the antidote. Everything would go right back to normal. Claire would get her dream wedding, and I wouldn’t have to suffer. But why… why did everything turn out like this? Arthur clenched his fists and punched the wall violently. Then, he immediately dialed his assistant. “Find out exactly where Mia went. Right now.” After receiving confirmation from his assistant, Arthur hung up. Frustrated, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it. He walked out onto the balcony, staring into the night, slowly trying to calm his racing heart. He poured the remaining liquid from his glass into the dirt of a planter. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small envelope wedged tightly in the gap between the pots. He pulled it out. Seeing my familiar, elegant handwriting on the envelope, his fingers froze. Inside the letter was the love I had painstakingly held onto for five years. “The drug doesn’t cause instant amnesia. It slowly erases you. Over these past three days, I watched you give Claire your entire heart. I watched you lie to me for her.” “I know you still love me. But your heart cannot beat for two people at the same time. Arthur, what I wanted was absolute, unwavering loyalty.” “Thank you for forcing me to take that drug. You severed my indecision. This time, I choose to leave.” Arthur stared blankly at the letter. A memory from long ago suddenly flashed through his mind. It was our very first major argument, and the first time he had ever seen me lose control. Just because he had stayed at the hospital to keep Claire company while she received an IV, he had accidentally missed our anniversary. I had exploded in a furious rage. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand why I was being so petty and unreasonable with a sick woman. But now, reading my words, his heart trembled violently. He had always convinced himself that his feelings for Claire were nothing more than pity and tolerance. It was absolutely not something as heavy as ‘love’. But now, even he had to admit the truth to himself. His emotions did fluctuate because of Claire. That was why, when he saw her red, swollen eyes, he agreed to throw her a massive wedding without a second thought. When exactly did he start caring so much about Claire? And when exactly did I give up on him? Arthur’s mind was a chaotic, tangled mess. He crushed the letter in his fist until it was crumpled and ruined. His knuckles turned white as he muttered hoarsely, “Mia, I was wrong.” Meanwhile, I was sitting on an airplane, checking the time. In exactly two minutes, my memories of Arthur would be completely erased. By now, he had probably already seen the letter. Would he regret his decision? I looked down and let out a soft laugh. Whatever. Whether he regretted it or not, it had nothing to do with me anymore. From now on, our paths would never cross again. After deleting his final contact number from my phone, I suddenly clutched my chest. The very last fragment of my memory of him shattered completely. When I looked up again, a flight attendant was handing me a cup of hot water, asking gently: “Miss, are you alright? You looked unwell, so I brought you some water.” I shook my head and smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391548”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years ago, Liam Carter bullied me relentlessly at school. I begged him to let me go, but he just stepped on my hand and called me trash. Three years later, he was on his knees, crying and begging me not to leave him. I gave his words right back to him. 1 Backed into a corner by the school’s notorious bully, I sent one last text to my online boyfriend. At that exact moment, the bully’s phone dinged. Liam pulled out his phone. The icy cruelty in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a soft, tender warmth. [Be good, Summer. I’m busy right now, just give me a minute.] The second he hit send, my phone gave a faint vibration. It was the special notification tone I had set for my online boyfriend. I stared at him in utter disbelief. He was standing under the streetlight, and his perfect profile and elegant features were exactly the same as my sweet “Liam” from our photos. But the dark, ruthless sneer on his face, a cigarette dangling from his lips, was completely at odds with the gentle boy I knew online. For a moment, my mind couldn’t process it. Was this my sweet, loving boyfriend, or was this Liam Carter, the terrifying school bully and Chloe’s boyfriend? “Liam, she’s the bitch who slashed my bag! She’s just jealous because she’s too broke to buy one herself. Poor people are always causing trouble!” Chloe pointed at me viciously, her eyes shining with smug triumph. “I didn’t…” I didn’t ruin Chloe’s bag. Earlier that day, Chloe had tried to slap me for absolutely no reason. When she swung again, I dodged. She lost her balance, fell hard, and completely trashed her brand new twenty-thousand-dollar designer bag. She screamed at me to pay for it. When I said I couldn’t, she threatened me, saying her boyfriend, Liam Carter, would handle me. Everyone knew Liam. He was a rich kid from a powerful family. Rumor had it he had serious connections, fought like a complete psychopath, and wasn’t afraid of anything. People were terrified of him. They called him a monster. But I never, ever imagined that my sweet, gentle “Liam” online and the monstrous school bully were the exact same person. Liam stood up straight and slowly walked toward me. The warm yellow light spilled over him, but his gaze was as freezing as ice. His tall frame loomed over me. I instinctively clenched my fists. Then, I heard his cold, detached voice. “Two choices. You pay for it, or you get on your knees and apologize.” His cold, dismissive attitude was lightyears away from the tender, affectionate boy on my phone. I couldn’t describe the twisted feeling in my chest. In a moment of pure, stubborn defiance, I stared back at him and said, “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t ruin her bag?” Liam stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a sudden, mocking scoff. “You really don’t know what’s good for you.” He turned away, his voice dripping with impatience. “Teach her a lesson.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. My ears started ringing. His cronies forced me to my knees. They slapped me relentlessly and kicked me in the stomach. The pain was so agonizing I couldn’t even scream. Liam leaned casually against the wall, completely indifferent to what was happening, smiling tenderly at his phone screen as if waiting for a message. I curled into a tight ball, taking every punch and kick, the tears streaming down my face unstoppably. The result of being beaten by several grown men was that I couldn’t get up for a very long time. Two of my teeth were knocked loose, and the blood I coughed up stained my collar red. I lay there like a dead fish for three solid hours before I finally scraped together enough strength to crawl home. I didn’t dare tell my parents. They were honest, hardworking people from a rural town. They had moved to the city to give me a better life, but they were already struggling just to make ends meet. Honestly, the only reason I was bullied was because we were poor. Every time they called me “hick,” “cheap trash,” or sneered, “Selling you wouldn’t even cover the cost,” it felt like knives in my heart. That was when I learned that being poor meant you didn’t deserve dignity. You only deserved to be stomped into the mud. “Hiss—” I quietly applied ointment to my bruises. It hurt so much. My phone kept chiming with that special notification tone. It was all messages from my sweet “Liam.” [Summer baby, are you home yet?] [You should be home by now, why aren’t you replying? ~] [Did I do something to make my baby mad? …] Even though his tone was still affectionate and sweet, a deep chill ran down my spine. I typed out several responses, but deleted every single one. Finally, I just sent: [You only went to the library tonight?] There was a slight pause on his end, then a quick reply. 2 [Yeah! I was studying hard today!] As if to prove it, he even sent a photo of himself in the library. In the photo, the boy was wearing a crisp white shirt, a bright, sunny smile lighting up his face as he stood by the bookshelves. He looked refined, gentle, and utterly perfect. But it was all a complete lie. I was so incredibly thankful I had never sent him a picture of myself, and that he hadn’t recognized me. It gave me the chance to see exactly who he really was. Terrified of falling behind in my classes, I didn’t dare skip school. Right after morning study hall, Chloe dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. She and her squad cornered me by the sinks. “Summer, how do you even have the nerve to show your face? Tsk, tsk. Did Liam not hit you hard enough last night?” “Haha, maybe she’s just thick-skinned because she’s so cheap. She’s so ugly and poor, if it wasn’t for that thick skin, she’d have killed herself by now!” “No wonder her name is Summer Pig. She’s got the hide of a pig!” The girls beside her hurled every degrading insult they could think of. Then, a bucket of filthy mop water was dumped directly over my head. It ran down my hair and soaked into my collar. The rank, damp smell made me want to vomit. “Tsk, tsk. Summer, you really are as ugly and filthy as a pig!” She grabbed a handful of my wet hair and slapped me twice across the face. Then, looking completely disgusted, she washed her hands and strutted out of the bathroom. I slid down the tiled wall, collapsing onto the floor. I buried my face in my knees, biting my lip to stop the tears from falling. Chloe locked me in that bathroom for the entire morning. It wasn’t until the lunch bell rang that someone finally let me out. I foolishly thought that would be the end of it. But Chloe wasn’t done. For the rest of the week, my desk was constantly trashed, and my homework mysteriously vanished. After a few times, my teachers stopped believing my excuses. Chloe haunted every single corner of the school I tried to hide in, taking immense pleasure in humiliating me. During evening study hall, I hid in the library, studying for hours before finally packing up to go home. I just wanted to avoid Chloe. But Chloe hadn’t left. She and her squad were waiting for me right by the library exit. She slapped my thermos out of my hand. With a loud crash, the coffee I drank to stay awake splashed all over my legs. My freshly washed white pants were instantly stained dark brown. I glared at her furiously. I opened my mouth to speak, but then I saw Liam’s warning look. He was standing right next to her, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes full of contempt. “Tsk. Summer, do you have a problem?” Chloe shoved me hard. I fell backward, landing directly in the puddle of spilled coffee. The smell of cheap coffee mixed with the dirty floor made my stomach churn. Her followers erupted into cruel laughter, mocking me for looking like a pig rolling in slop. They even tried to force me to drink the coffee off the floor! My face was mere inches from the dirty tiles when the librarian arrived to lock up and saw what was happening. “What is going on here?!” Chloe and her minion quickly let go of me. Chloe put on a bright, innocent smile and said to the librarian, “We’re just playing Truth or Dare with Summer!” “Yeah! Summer lost, so her dare was to drink the coffee off the floor!” “No!” I desperately shook my head, looking at the librarian pleadingly. “Ma’am, they were forcing me.” The librarian frowned. Just as she was about to speak, Chloe immediately jumped in, smiling sweetly. “Ma’am, don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to get out of her punishment!” “Summer, don’t be a sore loser. A loss is a loss. Why are you running to the teacher?” Chloe deliberately twisted the narrative, pinning the blame entirely on me. Her followers quickly chimed in. “Yeah, Summer, you’re taking this way too seriously.” “It’s just a game! If you didn’t want to do the dare, you didn’t have to tattle!” There were so many of them, and their stories matched perfectly. Sure enough, the librarian believed them. Her face darkened as she looked at me, then back at Chloe. “Alright, enough. You’re at school to study. No more of these pointless games!” The librarian walked away. She clearly didn’t want to get involved. Chloe looked down at me from above, smiling smugly. “See that, Summer? They’re all on my side. No one is ever going to believe you.” “Running to the teachers won’t save you. I have a hundred ways to make sure I never get in trouble, but you? You aren’t nearly as lucky!” 3 My heart turned to ash. I didn’t even hear what they said after that. I sat by the library doors for a very long time, until all the lights on campus were turned off. It wasn’t until a patrolling security guard started shouting my name that I realized I had been sitting in a puddle of freezing coffee for hours. I stumbled home in a daze. My mom was angrily scrubbing dishes in the sink. “You’re old enough to know how to keep yourself clean! How did you get your clothes so filthy? I don’t have the money to buy you new ones.” “You won’t focus on your actual studies, insisting on this useless art nonsense! It costs me twice as much to support you! It’s a sin! Why can’t you be more like your cousin back in the village? She’s hardworking and sensible.” I had heard my mom’s complaints so many times I was completely numb to them. But today, I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. I ignored her and locked myself in my room. My phone started buzzing relentlessly. It was Liam. [Summer, are you out of study hall yet?] [Hurry up and reply!] [Baby, did I do something wrong? You’ve been so cold the last two days.] [Don’t ignore me, it breaks my heart.] It breaks his heart? Yeah. It would. Even though Liam and I were only dating online, I knew exactly how dependent he was on me. He demanded to be texting me twenty-four seven. He was a boy who grew up starved for love and completely lacked a sense of security. His childhood was overshadowed by severe family trauma. Ever since his mother died, he had become incredibly dark and negative. I had appeared right at that critical moment, staying by his side and pulling him out of that agonizing darkness. Since then, he had been like a puppy rolling over to show its belly, giving his entire heart to me. He used to say: [Baby, you are the only light in my life.] [Baby, I’m slowly becoming a better person for you. I’m studying hard, eating right… I’m going to be the perfect boy you want…] [Baby, I love you the most. Stay with me forever, okay?] I thought about the things he had said, and then I thought about him helping Chloe torture me. My fingertips trembled. [Liam, if someone bullied you, what would you do?] I asked him. [Get revenge, obviously. Make their life a living hell.] [Why are you asking, Summer? Is someone bullying you? Tell me who it is, I’ll handle them for you!] [It’s nothing.] I didn’t need him to. Liam, I have my own ways of making the people who bully me suffer. 4 During art class, Chloe walked past my easel, deliberately knocking over my paint bucket and ripping my canvas. “Summer, do cheap, low-class trash like you really think you deserve to study art? Art supplies are expensive. Can your pathetic family even afford this?” She strutted away, practically glowing with smug satisfaction. I silently started cleaning up the spilled paint. Half the bucket was gone, and my canvas and other tools were ruined. I sealed up the remaining paint and took my dirty brushes to the bathroom to wash them out. I felt a heavy gaze fixed on me. I turned around and saw Liam. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth, looking at me with absolute mockery and disgust. Like I was a clown. I gripped my brushes tightly. He made no move to leave. When I tried to walk out the bathroom door, he blocked my path, trapping me against the wall. “Tomorrow, you are going to apologize to Chloe.” His tone left no room for argument, his eyes full of threat. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t ruin her bag.” I gathered my courage and met his stare. The next second, he pressed the burning cherry of his cigarette directly into my arm. “Cut the bullshit!” “It was a twenty-thousand-dollar bag. Just apologize. Don’t push your luck.” “I’m losing my patience. If you don’t apologize, you know exactly what’s going to happen to you!” Liam walked away. I clutched my burned arm, massive tears rolling down my face. When I got home that night, my mom started complaining again. She told me to quit art, saying our family couldn’t afford my dream. Finally, my dad told her to drop it. Before I went to sleep, my dad came to my room. He told me to just focus on studying hard. He promised the family would find a way to support my art. Looking at my dad—his hair turning gray far too early, his stiff glass eye—my heart ached terribly. When my dad was young, a delinquent kid in our village had hit him, blinding him in one eye. He had to get a prosthetic. Ever since then, whenever it rained or he overworked himself, the eye would ache and burn. But even with that, he carried the weight of our entire family on his shoulders. “Dad, I’m going to start a work-study program. Trust me, I’ll start making money soon.” My dad smiled proudly, telling me not to worry about money. Then he asked, “You haven’t seemed like yourself the last few days. Did something happen at school?” I shook my head. He said, “If anyone is bullying you, you have to tell us.” I nodded, reassuring him. They were already working so hard. I couldn’t add to their worries. After surviving on my own for so long, growing wild and stubborn, I always found my own ways to handle things. Chloe thought I was a soft target she could crush whenever she wanted. But did being poor mean I had to swallow my pride and accept the abuse? The day Chloe demanded twenty thousand dollars, I had already secured the security footage showing her tripping and ruining her own bag. After all, poor people like me have to be hyper-vigilant against scammers. I kept the bruises from the alley and the bathroom as evidence. I also managed to get a copy of the security footage from outside the library. I hadn’t replied to Liam much over the past few days, and he was completely blowing up my phone. I had 99+ unread messages. I opened them and read them one by one. [Summer, what are you doing? Are you so busy you can’t even talk to me?] [Summer, did I do something wrong?] [I’m sorry, baby. If I did something wrong, just tell me. I’ll fix it. Please don’t ignore me.] [Summer, are you… are you leaving me?] Reading that last message, I knew Liam was panicking. Liam, so you really do get your heart broken, huh? Don’t worry. The real heartbreak hasn’t even started yet. 5 Before I could finish reading his messages, Liam started calling me incessantly. I didn’t answer. Instead, I texted him back. [I’m not leaving you.] [Really?] Liam clearly didn’t believe me. He was far too insecure. [Then promise you won’t ignore me anymore, Summer. It hurts too much.] My fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a brief silence, I replied: [Okay.] Liam’s tone instantly brightened: [You’re the best, Summer. I want to see you as soon as possible. Can I come find you?] Liam and I had originally agreed to meet in person after we graduated high school. But now, he was clearly too desperate to wait. Maybe he could sense that I was pulling away from him. [Summer?] [You said you’d stay with me forever. You won’t break your promise, right?] I could hear the careful, desperate fear of loss in his words. A pang of sourness rose in my chest. I had been so determined to break his heart, but for a split second, I actually wavered. I asked him: [Liam, you said you were slowly becoming a better person for me. Is that true?] [Of course, Summer. I’m trying so hard.] His answer was immediate and firm. As if the guy who casually terrorized his classmates wasn’t him at all. He truly had two completely different faces. [Then you have to promise to be a good, just person. At the very least, you can’t do bad things.] I texted back. Liam, I’m giving you a chance. You had better stick to your word. … Chloe’s campaign against me was far from over. To force me to apologize, she weaponized public opinion. She posted the story of her ruined bag on the school forum. Instantly, she transformed from the abuser into the victim. She played the pathetic, wronged innocent, claiming she only wanted an apology. She took the moral high ground, preaching that poor people shouldn’t covet luxury items, that my vanity was bankrupting my family, that I was ungrateful and didn’t appreciate my parents’ sacrifices… Her “kindness and justice” won everyone’s sympathy. Overnight, the entire forum was flooded with comments attacking me. “If you’re poor, stop trying to act rich!” “This is classic ‘if I can’t have it, I’ll destroy it’ behavior! That is so malicious. Summer makes me sick!” “Yeah! Get that bitch Summer out of this school!” “I heard Chloe’s boyfriend, Liam Carter, beat her up a few days ago.” “Good! Taking a beating to pay off a twenty-thousand-dollar debt? I’d take that deal too!” “Summer needs to apologize immediately!” In the most vicious, highly-trafficked thread attacking me, I uploaded the video. The video clearly showed Chloe tripping, ruining her own bag, and then immediately blaming me. The people cursing my name went dead silent. I had planned to release the video today anyway. Chloe’s massive exposure was exactly what I needed. It gave me the perfect platform to publicly humiliate her. After hitting post, I calmly went to school.

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1 I scrolled past a post: “How to have an affair and get away with it?” There was an anonymous, highly upvoted answer. “Move into an apartment downstairs from her, buy identical furniture, use the same scented candles, even the same brand of shower gel.” “That way, even if you smell of it, your wife will just think it’s the smell of home.” Someone below asked: “That’s brilliant? Have you actually done it?” The user replied: “In progress. Just showered at the downstairs place and came back up. My wife’s hugging me now, telling me how good I smell.” I leaned down and sniffed my sleeping husband. He carried the familiar scent of white tea. And he’d just left, claiming he was taking out the trash, but was gone for an hour and a half. A strange impulse led me to unlock his phone. Everything seemed normal. Except for a purchase record for shower gel. The delivery address was “Building 8, Apartment 801, this community.” My home was in Building 8, Apartment 601. I stared intently at the online order page. “Elizabeth Arden White Tea Shower Gel, 500ml, two-pack.” “Delivery address: Building 8, Apartment 801, Recipient: Mr. Lewis.” And I was sleeping in Building 8, Apartment 601. “Honey, you smell wonderful, like home.” That was the first thing he said to me when he came back from “taking out the trash” downstairs tonight, holding me tight. Even though he was gone for an hour and a half. Even though his hair looked freshly blow-dried and fluffy when he returned. I’d brushed away my suspicions because of that familiar scent. Until I, on a whim, unlocked his phone. I refused to believe it. Liam Lewis, the model husband in everyone’s eyes, would betray me. I didn’t wake him. Years of professional experience allowed me to quickly regain my composure, even though my fingers were still uncontrollably trembling. I opened his browsing history. The first item was a forum Q&A post. “How to have an affair and get away with it?” That anonymous, highly upvoted answer was posted by his account. “Move into an apartment downstairs from her, buy identical furniture, use the same scented candles, even the same brand of shower gel.” “That way, even if you smell of it, your wife will just think it’s the smell of home.” The timestamp on the follow-up question was ten minutes ago. “That’s brilliant? Have you actually done it?” He replied: “In progress. Just showered at the downstairs place and came back up. My wife’s hugging me now, telling me how good I smell. What do you call that? Hiding in plain sight. A woman’s intuition is a joke in the face of absolute detail.” I suppressed the nausea, took screenshots of these pages one by one, and uploaded them to my cloud drive. Then, I quietly left the bedroom. In the living room, moonlight spilled onto the sofa. It was the one we’d chosen when we got married, after I’d scoured every furniture store in town. He’d said, “Whatever you like, darling, it’s fine by me.” According to the post. Now, directly above me, two floors up in Apartment 801. There was an identical sofa. Perhaps just an hour ago, he and another woman were intimately entangled on that very same sofa. I had to go up and see. I had to see it with my own eyes. I stood before the closed security door of 801. The door bore a sticker identical to ours: a red background with gold letters wishing good fortune. I held my breath, pressing my ear against the door. Faintly, piano music drifted out. It was “Wedding Dream.” It was also my favorite piece to play when I had free time at home on weekends. Liam used to say he loved hearing me play that song most of all. Now, the woman inside was not only using my shower gel, sleeping with my husband, but she was even mimicking my life. 2 The next morning. Sunlight streamed into the bedroom. Liam woke up as usual and gave me a good morning kiss. “Morning, sweetheart.” “Morning.” I forced a smile, placing his fried eggs in front of him. “Sleep well last night?” Liam took a sip of milk, his expression perfectly calm. “Very well, I always sleep so soundly next to you. Oh, by the way, some apartment upstairs was playing the piano late last night, it was a bit noisy. You heard it too, right?” “Really?” I feigned nonchalance. “I’m a heavy sleeper, didn’t hear a thing. But the soundproofing here isn’t great. I’ll complain to the building management sometime.” “Don’t!” Liam reacted quickly. “I mean, we’re neighbors, no need to make things awkward. Maybe it’s someone new who doesn’t know the rules yet, it’ll probably be fine in a few days.” “Someone new?” I looked up at him. “How do you know they’re new?” Liam’s eyes flickered. “Oh, I ran into the building manager last night when I was taking out the trash, and he mentioned someone just moved into the 8th floor.” “The 8th floor… That is pretty close.” Liam seemed unwilling to linger on the topic and quickly changed the subject. “By the way, darling, can I pick you up from work today? We haven’t been to that Japanese restaurant in ages.” “No need, I have to work late today.” I declined. “You go ahead and eat.” A flicker of delight crossed his eyes, though he said, “You work too hard, sweetheart. Remember to eat on time.” Of course he was happy. My overtime meant he had more time to go to 801, to be with his “baby.” After seeing Liam off, I didn’t go to work. I went straight to the apartment complex’s management office. “Hello, I’d like to ask who the owner of Building 8, Apartment 801 is? I’m from 601, and my bathroom is leaking. I suspect the waterproofing upstairs isn’t done properly, but no one answers when I knock.” The front desk assistant checked her computer. “801? The owner is registered as a Ms. Chloe Sterling.” Chloe Sterling. At the sound of the name, my mind quickly searched Liam’s circle of acquaintances. No one by that name. “Did she just move in?” I asked again. “No, the apartment was renovated about half a year ago, but it’s been empty until recently. Someone just started moving in and out, it seems.” The front desk assistant looked at me strangely. “And that apartment… when it was renovated, the permit was issued at the same time as yours. It seems to be the same interior design company.” I froze. The same interior design company. Half a year ago. So, as early as six months ago, or even earlier, Liam had been planning all of this. Leaving the management office, I sat on a bench in the community garden and opened that forum post. Sure enough, Liam had updated it. “My wife’s working overtime today, divine intervention! Almost got caught last night because of the piano, luckily I reacted quickly. Today I’m planning to buy the woman upstairs an identical robot vacuum, otherwise I’ll have to clean myself, it’s too much work. Oh, someone asked if I get the two homes mixed up. Actually, as long as you fix the position of everything, muscle memory takes care of it.” Someone commented below: “The poster is truly a time management guru, but don’t you think this is a bit twisted?” He replied: “Twisted? This is about pursuing perfection. I’ve provided my wife with a privileged life and given my mistress perfect companionship. I haven’t wronged anyone.” At that moment, a woman walked past me. The woman was quite delicate-looking, probably in her early twenties. She seemed to be on the phone, her voice sweetly melodious. “Honey, I know, I’ll open the robot vacuum when it arrives… You come up early tonight, okay? Remember not to go to the wrong door, hehe.” As she passed me, a familiar scent of shower gel wafted from her. I stared intently at her retreating back. Chloe Sterling. This was the woman living in 801, wearing my clothes, using my perfume, sleeping with my husband. A strong desire for revenge surged in my mind. Liam, since you enjoy playing this substitution game. Then I will play along. 3 Over the next few days, I behaved exceptionally docilely. I went to work as usual, came home, and cooked dinner. I expressed understanding for Liam’s late returns, and even gently told him to take care of himself when he claimed he had company meetings and couldn’t come home for dinner. Liam clearly relished this situation. He boasted on the forum: “My wife has been especially understanding lately. It seems my strategy is working. As long as I don’t show any flaws, she’ll always be that happy little fool. Tonight, I plan to try out the new projector in 801. It’s the same model as the one downstairs, so I won’t even need to adjust to a different remote.” Friday evening. I purposely bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and came home early. As I entered, Liam was on the balcony talking on the phone. Seeing me, he hung up in a hurry and came to greet me. “Honey, why are you home so early today?” “It’s the fifth anniversary of us meeting, darling, did you forget?” I smiled, handing him the flowers. Liam paused, clearly having forgotten. All his brain cells were tied up juggling two women; he had no time for such dates. But he reacted quickly, immediately slapping his forehead. “Oh, my mind! Of course I remember! I was just about to surprise you!” “Really? What surprise?” “Um… actually, I ordered a cake, it’ll be delivered soon.” He bluffed. I sneered inwardly. That cake, I bet it was for Chloe Sterling upstairs, wasn’t it? “That’s wonderful,” I linked my arm through his. “By the way, darling, I wanted to discuss something with you.” “What is it?” “My mom hasn’t been feeling well lately and wants to come to the city for a check-up. I was thinking our apartment, although it’s two bedrooms, the second bedroom is too small, and Mom wouldn’t be comfortable. I saw Apartment 801 upstairs seems to be empty. How about we ask if we can rent it for a few days?” Liam’s face instantly stiffened. “That… that’s not necessary, is it?” he stammered. “Your mom can just stay with us, we’ll make do. Besides, it’s such a hassle to rent someone’s apartment, and… and 801 is occupied.” “Occupied? Didn’t you say last time they just moved in and you weren’t familiar with them?” “Ah… yes, it’s precisely because we’re not familiar that it’s awkward to ask.” Cold sweat beaded on Liam’s forehead. “Honey, why are you suddenly so interested in the upstairs apartment?” “I’m just thinking about Mom.” I released his arm and turned to the kitchen for plates and utensils. “Fine, then Mom can stay in the second bedroom. But…” “But I think our apartment’s decor is a bit outdated. You know, I wonder if 801 is decorated better. I really want to go up and see.” “Clang!” Liam’s phone slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. “Honey, you… what are you talking about?” He bent to pick up his phone, his hand trembling violently. “Nothing, just an observation.” I smiled. “Let’s eat.” Liam picked at his food, barely tasting it. He frequently checked his phone, his eyes darting around. I knew he was messaging Chloe, telling her to be quiet tonight, to make absolutely no noise. But what he didn’t know was. I had already contacted my family. My dad, a retired military man, with a fiery temper. My brother, a fitness trainer, who could knock out an ox with one punch. And my best friend, a famous relationship blogger in the city, specializing in catching cheaters live, with five million followers. I told Liam I’d be going to a neighboring city for a two-day business trip tomorrow, attending a closed training session. The joy in Liam’s eyes almost overflowed, but he still feigned concern, holding me: “Honey, I’ll miss you. Be careful while you’re away.” Don’t worry, I’ll certainly give you a weekend you won’t forget. 4 Saturday afternoon. I sent Liam a text: “Honey, I’ve arrived at the hotel. The signal here isn’t great, so I might be out of touch. Don’t worry about me.” Liam replied instantly: “Okay, darling. You work hard, get some rest.” Putting down my phone, I wasn’t at a hotel in a neighboring city. I was sitting in a private room at a coffee shop across from our apartment complex. A laptop sat before me, the screen displaying the real-time interface of that forum. Liam’s post had updated: “Finally free! My wife’s away for two days, tonight I’m going to totally relax in 801. That apartment is my utopia, no need to pretend, no need to act. Tonight, I’m taking the red wine from downstairs up to share with my baby.” I looked at the screen, a cold smile curling my lips. No need to pretend? No need to act? Tonight, I’ll let you act to your heart’s content. Eight o’clock in the evening. Dusk had fallen. Lights began to flicker on across the apartment complex. Through binoculars, I clearly saw the curtains in Apartment 801 drawn. The position of that window was exactly the same as our living room. “Is everyone here?” I turned to my best friend beside me. My friend adjusted the camera in her hand and gave an OK gesture. “Don’t worry, the live stream is preheating. The title is ‘Live Reveal: The Perfect Cheater Who Duplicated His Home,’ and online viewers have already surpassed one hundred thousand.” I looked to the other side. My dad and brother stood with grim faces, carrying sledgehammers and wrenches bought from a hardware store. And the building manager I’d specifically invited, along with a few nosy elderly neighbors who loved to gossip. “Let’s go.” I stood up, adjusting my collar. “Time to deliver a surprise to Mr. Lewis.” The group marched into the apartment complex, heading straight for Building 8. The elevator numbers flickered. My heartbeat, however, remained unusually steady. “Ding —” Eighth floor. A crowd poured out of the elevator, blocking the entrance to 801. The building manager, nervously wiping sweat from his brow, knocked hard on the door, following the script I’d given him. “Open up! Open up! Downstairs is reporting a serious leak, we need to inspect immediately!” No movement from inside. “Hurry up! If you don’t open the door, we’ll have to force our way in! It concerns public safety!” The building manager raised his voice. After about thirty seconds, Liam’s impatient voice came from inside. “Who is it! What’s all the noise this late at night! There’s no leak!” “Sir, the downstairs apartment is flooded! If you don’t cooperate, we’ll have to call the police!” At the mention of “police,” the door finally opened. Liam only opened the door a crack, his face full of anger as he poked his head out. “Are you people crazy? I told you there’s no…” Before he could finish. My brother kicked the door hard. “Bang!” The security door slammed against the wall. Liam stumbled backward from the force, almost falling. The door swung wide open. Everyone’s gaze instantly focused on the interior. Despite being mentally prepared, seeing the scene with my own eyes was still absurd. It really was. Exactly the same. This place was a copy-paste of 601 downstairs. He stared in horror at the invading crowd. First, he saw my best friend holding the camera, then my grim-faced parents, and finally, his gaze settled on me, standing right in the center of the crowd. In that instant, his expression was as if he’d seen a ghost. “H-honey? How are you…” His voice was trembling, and his legs were shaking too. “Darling, what’s wrong? What’s all the commotion?” The bedroom door opened. Chloe Sterling walked out, her eyes heavy with sleep. Seeing the room full of people, she let out a shriek, wanting to retreat back into the room, but it was too late. The live stream instantly exploded. Bullet comments scrolled frantically: “Holy cow! Is this guy a psycho?!” “Even horror movies aren’t made like this!” “This is the poster? Incredible!” Liam’s face was ashen, drained of all color. He looked at Chloe, then at the room full of familiar furniture, and finally at me. “Honey, listen to me… this… this is a misunderstanding…”

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Two days before our wedding, I received a text from my fiancé, Liam. “Mia, let’s push the wedding back by a day.” I was literally at the bridal boutique, staring at my reflection in a wedding dress, completely bewildered. When I called him to ask what was going on, the voice that answered belonged to his high school sweetheart, his ‘first love’. “Hi, Mia! A group of us are playing Truth or Dare right now, and Liam lost. He picked ‘Dare,’ and his dare is to pretend to be my boyfriend for three days. I’m sure you understand, right?” I calmly hung up the phone and immediately dialed another number. “Dad. That thing we talked about last time? I agree. Change the marriage alliance candidate.” 1 “Mia, marriage isn’t a game. Are you absolutely certain?” “If you still feel this way tomorrow morning, I’ll make it happen.” After hanging up with my dad, I drove straight to the location they were at. Liam was blackout drunk, draped heavily over Chloe’s shoulder. The crowd around them was cheering and howling, “Congratulations, Liam! You finally got what you wanted!” When they saw me walk in, the noise died instantly. Chloe tried to set him down, but Liam frowned and slurred, “Chloe, why are you putting me down? You’re my girlfriend right now.” I picked up a bottle of cold mineral water from a nearby table, walked right up to him, and poured it directly over his head. “Are you sober now?” He wiped the water from his face. His eyes were ice-cold, devoid of even a shred of guilt. “Mia, are you crazy?!” Sobered up slightly, he saw it was me and didn’t offer a single apology. Instead, he snapped coldly, “Good timing. I lost a game of Truth or Dare, so I’m pretending to be Chloe’s boyfriend for three days. I’ve already had my assistant notify all the friends and family. The wedding is postponed by one day.” If this were the old me, I would have burst into tears and caused a massive scene. But today, I felt nothing but a chilling calm. “Fine. Postponed by one day.” But the groom isn’t going to be you anymore. I pulled out my phone and texted my dad: “I’ve made my decision. I’m not changing my mind.” “See? I told you she couldn’t bear to leave me,” Liam chuckled arrogantly, pulling Chloe closer against him. “Mia, you know Chloe and I are just pretending. Just wait one extra day. We’re still getting married. We’re going to be husband and wife; you can at least give me this much grace, right?” In that moment, the sheer humiliation made me want to sink into the floor, but it also completely extinguished whatever feelings I had left for him. An eight-year relationship, completely obliterated by a stupid joke from his ‘first love’. I didn’t say another word. I turned around and walked away. Perhaps because I didn’t cry or scream, one of the onlookers muttered, “Liam, Mia didn’t even say anything this time. You don’t think she’s actually mad, do you?” “Impossible. You guys know how it is. She’s been obsessed with me since we were kids. We’re practically married; there’s no way she’d actually break up with me.” Liam’s mocking, confident voice drifted after me. “Just watch. Give it a few minutes, and she’ll come running back to apologize.” But this time, he miscalculated completely. Love that requires you to crawl in the dirt isn’t love worth having. I left without looking back. When I got home, I opened my phone and scrolled through my social media feed. Chloe had just posted an update. “Ah! I won against my first love in Truth or Dare, and now we have to rekindle our romance for three days! What do I do? I’m so nervous…” And right beneath it was a comment from Liam, acting like a desperate lapdog: “When two people who love each other can’t be together, they have to cherish the time they have left.” I literally wanted to vomit. I locked my phone, grabbed a pair of scissors, and shredded the wedding dress I had brought home. I tore up every single one of our engagement photos, threw all of his belongings into garbage bags, and then called my assistant. “Sell this apartment within three days.” The news of Liam postponing the wedding inevitably spread. Early the next morning, Liam’s grandfather showed up at my door, dragging Liam by the ear. “Mia, the Sterling family has wronged you. I absolutely do not agree to postponing this wedding.” Before I could even speak, Liam jutted his chin out defensively. “Mia, I knew you’d pull some passive-aggressive stunt like this! Agreeing to my face, but running to complain to my grandfather behind my back. Let me tell you right now, just because you dragged him into this doesn’t mean I’m going to cave. I am not changing my mind!” Grandpa Sterling slapped him hard across the face. “What kind of garbage are you spewing?! Mia hasn’t said a single word to our family about this! You’ve completely lost your mind over that Chloe girl!” Liam clutched his cheek, glaring at me with pure venom. “Mia, I made it perfectly clear. I am going to marry you; the wedding is just pushed back one day. Don’t think that just because you brought my grandfather here, I’m going to drop everything with Chloe. She finally agreed to be my girlfriend for three days, and I am not throwing that away.” Grandpa Sterling raised his hand to hit him again, but this time, I stopped him. “Grandpa Sterling, it’s fine.” Liam scoffed at my intervention. “Mia, stop putting on an act. Do you honestly think I’m going to thank you for stopping him? You’re just trying to play the victim to make yourself look good! Stop dreaming. If it wasn’t for our arranged engagement, Chloe never would have gone abroad in the first place. If it wasn’t for you, we would have been together years ago. All I want is to fulfill my dream of dating her for three days. If you can’t even allow that, you’re just being cruel.” Smack. I backhanded him as hard as I could. “Liam Sterling, I won’t stop you from going to Chloe. The engagement is off.” 2 Liam was stunned again, and Grandpa Sterling was furious. “Liam! Apologize to Mia right now!” “Fine, fine, fine! I really misjudged you, Mia. I had no idea you were this manipulative. You say you want to cancel the engagement, but you know damn well our families will never actually let that happen. You’re just using this as leverage to force me to give up my three days with Chloe! Well, Mia, I won’t let you get what you want.” With that, Liam stormed out, vibrating with rage. Grandpa Sterling looked at me apologetically. “Mia, Liam is just temporarily blinded. When I get him home, I’ll talk some sense into him.” I shook my head. “Grandpa Sterling, I wasn’t joking. I meant it. The engagement is over.” Seeing my deadly serious expression, Grandpa Sterling was genuinely shocked. “Mia, you…” I couldn’t blame him for being surprised. The Vance and Sterling families had been close for generations. My grandfather had even saved Grandpa Sterling’s life back in the day. So this marriage alliance… as long as I didn’t agree to break it, the Sterling family would never dare initiate the cancellation. Since I was a little girl, I had always followed Liam around. By the time I was fifteen or sixteen, right when girls start experiencing their first crushes, I was completely obsessed with him. At my eighteenth birthday party, our engagement was officially announced. For the past eight years, I had chased him relentlessly, catered to his every whim, and constantly lowered my own standards just to please him. Everyone in the city knew I was madly in love with him. But now, I was the one proactively breaking it off. “Don’t worry, Grandpa Sterling. As long as I’m around, Chloe is never going to marry into your family. This marriage alliance was arranged while my grandfather was still alive, and I won’t disrespect his memory.” “Liam isn’t the only Sterling I can marry.” Grandpa Sterling froze, the image of his other son suddenly flashing in his mind. “Mia, that’s too unfair to you. After all, he’s eight years older than you…” I shook my head. “Grandpa Sterling, I’ve thought about it. Compared to a reckless, immature boy, I think Arthur is a much better fit for me.” Grandpa Sterling didn’t argue further. He quickly made a call to Arthur, who was currently overseas. Upon hearing the news of the marriage alliance, Arthur’s hand reportedly trembled. He booked the very next flight back home. Even though I was the one who initiated the breakup, I couldn’t deny that I was still in a terrible mood. When my best friend heard the news, she dragged me out to dinner to cheer me up. By sheer, terrible coincidence, we ran straight into Liam and Chloe. “Liam, you have no idea. If I hadn’t suddenly found out you were engaged, I never would have left the country,” Chloe’s voice drifted over from the next table. “You’re getting married so soon… Just being able to be your girlfriend for these three days is enough for me.” “Chloe, I’m so sorry…” My heart violently twisted in my chest. My best friend shot out of her chair and pointed directly at Chloe. “I have never met anyone so shameless! You know perfectly well he’s about to get married, and you still throw yourself at him like a desperate leech! You’re clearly trying to break them up! If you were actually ‘satisfied,’ you’d be wishing them well!” “Mia, are you done?! I already explained everything perfectly clearly! I’m only pretending to be with Chloe for three days, and then I’m marrying you! I swore nothing inappropriate would happen! You don’t need to stalk me and monitor my every move!” My best friend was ready to throw hands, but I pulled her back. I glanced coldly at the two of them. “Liam, you’re flattering yourself. I just came here to eat in peace.” “You expect me to believe that?” Liam sneered at me. “Mia, did you forget? Back when I was first pursuing Chloe, you used this exact same excuse—’just happening to be there’—to insert yourself into our dates. Are you really trying that old trick again?” He stepped in front of Chloe, shielding her. “But this time, you’ve miscalculated. I told you I’d marry you, but I am not changing my plans for these three days.” Before I decided to cancel the engagement, I always believed that I just wasn’t good enough, which was why Liam didn’t love me back. But looking at his twisted, arrogant face now, I realized how incredibly wrong I had been. Love is a binary thing. It’s either there, or it isn’t. And a man like Liam was completely unworthy of the genuine love I had given him. 3 “Whether you change your plans has absolutely nothing to do with me, because I already changed mine!” I didn’t back down an inch, my gaze piercing him like ice. “Liam, our engagement is over! From now on, you walk your path, and I’ll walk mine! Forget pretending to be her boyfriend for three days—even if you two drove straight to the courthouse and got married right now, I wouldn’t waste the energy to stop you!” Chloe stared at me in shock, while Liam’s brow furrowed tightly. Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at a message from his assistant regarding hotel bookings, and his face instantly darkened. “Mia, there’s a limit to your pathological lying! If the engagement is really cancelled, why are you having your people book bridal suites?!” I raised an eyebrow. “The engagement with you is cancelled. What I do with my bridal suites is none of your business.” Liam looked utterly unconvinced. “Mia, whatever manipulative game you’re playing, it’s not going to change my mind! For these three days… I am exclusively Chloe’s boyfriend!” Chloe immediately seized the opportunity, her voice dripping with fake, sickly-sweet concern: “Liam, I’m so sorry… I never meant to cause you so much trouble. Maybe… maybe we should just call it off? After all, you’re going to marry Mia…” Liam, looking like he was under some kind of hypnotic spell, grasped her hand with profound devotion. “Chloe, don’t say that. I lost the game, and I’m honoring the bet! For these three days, we are a couple, and no one can change that!” Chloe shot me a hesitant, artificial look of guilt. “But…” Liam’s expression hardened. “I fought hard for these three days! You don’t need to care what she thinks!” Chloe pressed her lips together submissively. I, however, had reached my absolute limit. “I just wanted to eat my dinner in peace! Manager! These two are no longer welcome here. Throw them out!” Liam let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Mia, are you brain-damaged? This restaurant is owned by the Sterling family! Who are you, an outsider, to tell me to leave?” “I think you’re forgetting who decides the inheritance of the Sterling family!” To repay my grandfather’s life-saving favor, Grandpa Sterling had established an ironclad rule years ago: whoever married me would inherit the vast majority of the Sterling empire. And this specific restaurant? Grandpa Sterling had transferred the deed to my name as an engagement gift years ago. Right now, I had every legal right to tell them to get out! Liam obviously knew this. He looked at me with absolute disgust. “Mia, you are sickening. You keep insisting you want to cancel the engagement, but at the same time, you’re aggressively clinging to Sterling family assets!” In his mind, he was entirely convinced I was bluffing—using the threat of a broken engagement just to force his hand! I was done arguing with these two drama queens. A moment later, the manager hurried over, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Mr. Sterling, please… you’ll have to leave.” Liam clearly hadn’t expected me to actually follow through. His eyes turned murderous. “Mia, have you lost your damn mind?!” “This is my property now. If I want someone gone, they’re gone!” Liam pointed a furious finger directly at my face. “Mia, you’re going to regret this!” “Trust me, I won’t be the one regretting anything.” “There are plenty of other restaurants in this city. We’re leaving!” Liam grabbed Chloe’s hand and turned to storm out. I slammed my hand on the table and shouted, “Hold it right there!” Liam stopped and turned around, flashing a smug, intensely punchable smile. “Mia, I knew you’d crack and try to stop me. But I’m sorry… you’re too late! Unless you grovel and apologize to Chloe right now, I will absolutely ignore you for the rest of these three days!” Looking at this man’s staggering, delusional narcissism, I suddenly felt a profound wave of disgust at my past self for ever loving something so pathetic. I let out a cold laugh. “You’re confused. I just wanted to remind you that since you ate the food, you need to pay the bill.” Liam’s face turned rigid. “Mia, I was going to give you one last chance, but since you want to play it like this, don’t come crying to me later!” “I promise you, I will never cry over you again. But surely someone with as much pride as Mr. Sterling wouldn’t resort to dining and dashing?” Suppressing his explosive rage, Liam pulled a platinum credit card from his wallet and slammed it onto the table. “Run it!” A few minutes later, the manager returned, looking even more awkward than before. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Mr. Sterling, but this card… it was declined. Insufficient funds.” Liam’s face instantly turned ash-gray. He realized immediately what had happened: Grandpa Sterling had frozen his accounts because of this stunt. He glared at me with absolute venom. “Mia, do you honestly think this little trick is going to make me beg you? I’m telling you, it’s never going to happen…” I mocked him openly. “Not going to beg? Then pay the bill!” 4 Liam’s jaw tightened. At this exact moment, he was literally broke. With no other options, he stepped aside and dialed his parents. Unsurprisingly, neither of them answered his calls. His expression grew darker by the second. He then tried calling several of his close friends. But the result was the same. The moment he asked to borrow money, they all suddenly had urgent excuses and hung up. I knew exactly what was going on. Grandpa Sterling was furious this time. Not only did he freeze Liam’s cards, but he had also sent a warning to every prominent family in the city associated with the Sterlings. Essentially, right now, no one in the entire city wanted anything to do with him. I didn’t hold back. “What’s wrong? Can the great Mr. Sterling really not afford to pay for a simple meal? Tell you what, for old times’ sake, if you just ask nicely, I’ll let you put it on a tab.” Liam’s hands clenched into tight fists, his face a mask of furious humiliation. Just as he looked ready to explode, Chloe stepped forward. “Liam, don’t be angry. I’ll pay for it.” I was actually a bit surprised she stepped up at that moment. But… did she actually have any idea how much this meal cost? Liam’s face flushed with shame. “Chloe, I’m so sorry…” “It’s okay. We’re a couple right now. And I’m not some gold-digger; splitting the bill is totally normal.” Liam’s eyes immediately reddened with emotion. He looked like he was profoundly regretting ever letting her go. But I had absolutely zero interest in watching this sickening display of fake romance. The manager quickly took her card. However, he returned moments later with the same bad news. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance, but your credit card limit is insufficient.” Chloe froze, her face turning red. “No, that’s impossible… This card has a fifty-thousand-dollar limit…” What kind of meal were they eating that fifty thousand wasn’t enough? The manager explained, “The food you ordered wasn’t actually that expensive, but you ordered a bottle of vintage imported French wine… that alone is a hundred thousand…” I looked at Chloe with open mockery. A few years ago… when Liam was first pursuing her, she had no idea what his true background or net worth was. But none of that mattered now. I paused dramatically. “Oh, so Ms. Vance doesn’t actually have the money. I assumed…” “Who said I don’t have it?!” Chloe lifted her chin defensively, pulling out several more credit cards. “Run them all! It’ll be enough!” The manager didn’t hesitate and quickly processed the transactions. Liam, obviously feeling humiliated on her behalf, glared at me fiercely. “Mia, do you think everyone in the world is as obsessed with money as you are?! I am not going to forget what you did today. Just you wait.” Shortly after, he and Chloe finally left. My best friend looked at me, bewildered. “Mia, has Liam lost his mind? Someone like Chloe clearly only came back after finding out his real identity. She’s just using this ‘fake couple’ excuse to drain as much money from him as possible.” I watched their retreating figures and smiled. “She’s significantly more calculating than you think.” My best friend didn’t understand, but I couldn’t be bothered to explain. “But this time, she’s going to be severely disappointed.” With the Sterling family changing heirs, who knew how long their “true love” would actually last? Although the interruption was annoying, my overall mood remained relatively positive. After finishing my meal, I headed back to the office. When I walked in, I was surprised to see Arthur, looking like he had just rushed straight from the airport. “Mia. Have you made your final decision?” I knew he was referring to the marriage alliance, and I couldn’t help but smile. “If I said I regretted it right now, would it be too late?”

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