Category: English

My salary is fifty thousand a month. Right now, I’m standing at the hospital payment counter, my face burning with embarrassment because of insufficient funds. I quickly text my husband. “Send me three hundred, fast. I can’t pay for my prescription.” A moment later, a document appears on my screen. “Honey, don’t forget to fill out the advance request form!” In that instant, I knew. We were done. I set the bill down, walked out of the hospital, and went straight to a law firm. “I need your help,” I told them. “I want a divorce.” 1 We’ve been married for three years. In that time, I put all of my personal assets into our joint account. It was Ryan’s idea. “Honey,” he’d said, “a marriage needs to be equal. Our incomes are so different, it could easily cause friction.” “So, let’s pool our money. I’ll manage it, handle all the expenses. It’ll help us cut down on unnecessary spending.” I agreed. And now, here I am, stomach cramping in pain, my health insurance tapped out, and still two hundred dollars short. The clerk at the counter is getting impatient. “Are you paying or not? There are other people in line.” I awkwardly push the bill back towards her. “Sorry, I’ll have to come back another time.” Ignoring her stunned look, I clutch my stomach and hobble out, each step a fresh wave of pain. Ryan’s texts keep coming. “Honey, why haven’t you filled it out yet? If you miss the approval window, you won’t get the money today!” I glance at the message and let out a bitter laugh. Right. According to his rules, I had to submit the form within ten minutes of receiving it, or I’d lose my “advance privileges” for the day. I’d have to wait until tomorrow to try again. I take a deep breath, open my phone again, and message my best friend. I ask for a thousand. She calls me immediately. “Vivi, what’s wrong? Is it an emergency?” I quickly explain. A moment later, a transfer notification pops up: fifty thousand dollars. “Let me know if you need more!” Staring at the number, a chill runs down my spine. The man I share a bed with makes me fill out a form for two hundred dollars. My best friend sends fifty thousand without a second thought. The difference between them is staggering. With the money, I get my prescription. The relief is almost immediate. On the way home, my resolve hardens. I walk in to find Ryan on the sofa, preening. “Check it out,” he says, showing off a new watch. “Just came out. I snagged it.” “Ten percent off, paid in full!” Seeing his smug face, my own darkens. “Ryan, from now on, I’m not giving you my money to manage.” He blinks. “Babe, what are you talking about? The way you spend? You make fifty grand a month, you think you could save even ten of it on your own?” “I know you’re mad,” he continues, his tone placating, “but don’t be. This watch is an investment.” I laugh internally. When I spend money, it’s reckless. When he does, it’s an investment. I’d truly underestimated his hypocrisy. I push past him into the bathroom and check our joint account. There’s only three hundred dollars in it. Ryan’s voice comes from the other room. “Honey, I know you’re upset. Tell you what, for this three hundred, you don’t have to fill out a form. I’ll just give it to you. See? Your husband takes care of you, right?” I don’t answer. I just text my lawyer and tell him to start the divorce proceedings. He advises me that first, we need to figure out exactly how much we have in assets. He warns me that splitting it evenly, let alone getting back the majority of what I rightfully earned, will be difficult. Since I’m the one filing for divorce, I might have to make some financial concessions. I clench my fists and start scrolling through Ryan’s social media. I see a post from his brother, showing off a new apartment. Prime location, best school district, paid in full. His brother is in his thirties with no steady job, and his wife is a stay-at-home mom. Where did they get that kind of money? It’s obvious. Ryan. He’s been funneling money from our joint account. He wants to keep bleeding me dry. Not a chance. My first instinct is to storm in and confront him, but my lawyer’s words echo in my mind. I need proof. If I blow up now, I’ll be the one who loses. I compose myself. Then, I go online and report all my bank cards as lost or stolen. 2 I do a quick calculation. Fifty thousand a month, plus bonuses, commission, and stock options. Over the past three years, that’s nearly three million dollars that I’ve handed over to him. Ryan himself makes eight thousand a month. That’s it. Yet he’s amassed a net worth in the millions, buying himself hundred-thousand-dollar watches and other luxury goods. And me? I have nothing. My own jewelry is locked away. If I want to wear it, I have to submit a request, explaining the occasion. In his words, my frequent client dinners and networking events are “unnecessary.” “Eating at home is healthier,” he’d say. And jewelry? “Simplicity is best.” Back then, I bought into his talk of “simple beauty.” I was busy, and simple accessories were easier to pair with my work wardrobe. Now, I see it for what it was. He’s been gaslighting me all along. I take another deep breath, pull myself together, and head for the safe. Ryan follows me. “Honey, what are you doing?” “I have a product launch in two days. I need to pick out some jewelry.” But when I enter the code, it’s incorrect. I turn to him. “You changed the password?” “I did. If you need something, just ask me. I’ve changed all the passwords in the house.” My temper flares. “On what authority? It’s my safe, my password, and my things inside it. What right do you have to change my code?” “From this day forward,” I declare, “you will not control another cent of my assets. You’re on your own.” He remains calm. “Sweetheart, you’re just tired. Has work been stressful lately? You’re the one who authorized me to do this. Why the change of heart? Has someone been talking to you?” He reaches out to pat my head. I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” He glances at the red mark on his hand, a warning in his eyes. “Be a good girl, honey, and we won’t have any problems. If you misbehave, I’ll have to punish you.” “Open the safe,” I demand. “I need my jewelry.” “No can do. Remember to submit a request!” I’m about to slap him, but he grabs my wrist. “Vivi, you’re being emotional. From now on, you shouldn’t handle our joint finances. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you. If you want money, just ask.” I’m so angry I could laugh. “You think I can’t do anything to you?” He just smiles. “You’re overthinking things. Get some sleep.” He’s so sure of himself. He probably thinks I’ll never go through with a divorce. And I don’t need to ask to know that the safe is empty. I can’t take it anymore. I turn and walk out. As I reach the lobby, my phone rings. It’s him. “Thinking of going to the apartment on the west side? Sorry, I sold that too.” I stop in my tracks and look up. He’s standing at the window of our penthouse, smiling down at me. “Come back up. It’s getting late.” My nails dig into my palms. I can’t believe he sold my apartment. “Ryan, forging a signature is illegal! You just wait.” I have my lawyer draft the divorce papers and send them to him, then get in my car and drive away without a second thought. His calls go unanswered. Time is of the essence. The gloves are off. 3 I call a friend who’s a computer whiz, transfer him four thousand dollars, and ask him to trace all of Ryan’s financial transactions, as well as the sources of his family’s income. At the same time, I submit an anonymous tip about his unexplained wealth. Ryan works for a state-owned enterprise. They’re cracking down on corruption right now. He just bought a thirty-thousand-dollar watch and drives a hundred-thousand-dollar car. Most people in his position are trying to fly under the radar, but not Ryan. He’s new money, and he flaunts it. He’s made a lot of enemies. He used to claim it was all my money. Now, let’s see what the authorities think of that. My friend works fast. Soon, he sends me the files. As I look through the transaction details, my heart sinks. For three years, under the guise of supporting his parents, he’s been sending them five thousand a month, with a minimum of fifty thousand on holidays. In total, he’s given them over two hundred thousand. He spent three hundred thousand on his brother’s new apartment. He’s also bought countless luxury goods in their names. His sister-in-law is constantly showing off new designer bags. And the whole time, he’s been telling his colleagues he’s buying these things for me. All my money, lavished on his family, while I have to beg for money to buy medicine. My friend who works at the bank calls me. Ryan’s work is investigating him, and they’ve requested his bank statements. “Hey, is Ryan in some kind of trouble?” “Yeah,” I say. “I reported him.” She’s stunned. When I tell her what he’s done with my money, she explodes. “Vivi, are you insane? You were never on equal footing. Marrying him was one thing, but giving him your money?” “I know. I regret it. That’s why I’m divorcing him.” She’s silent for a moment. “If you need anything, just ask.” She hangs up and immediately transfers me another ten thousand. A text follows: “I know you’re broke right now. A girl’s gotta have her sister’s back. Don’t worry about it.” I laugh, then I start to cry. I’m a mess, sitting on a park bench, scaring away the passersby. I wipe my tears and stand up. Ryan calls again. “Vivi, you’re trying to ruin me. It was you, wasn’t it?” “They brought me in for questioning. Guess what? I walked out of there clean. You can’t touch me.” I just laugh. “I have plenty of time to fight you.” “I sent you the divorce papers. You’re on your own.” He’s stunned. “What? You’re divorcing me? Over a piece of jewelry? You reported me, and now you want a divorce?!” “That’s right.” I hang up and immediately boost a post about him online. While his work is investigating, I’m going to make sure everyone knows what he’s done. I don’t use his name, but I provide enough details that it’s obvious. “My Husband, the State Employee, Thinks He’s a CEO. I Have to Submit a Request to Spend My Own Money!” The title alone is enough to get people talking. I post a copy of the advance request form, along with a few “highlights,” like a twelve-dollar cake and a nine-dollar pair of pantyhose. I even include his annotations. “Honey, you can get a birthday cake for four dollars if you use a coupon. It’s just a birthday, you have one every year. No need to be so extravagant.” “Your pantyhose always rip. Stop buying expensive ones. Just get them wholesale from Wish.” I hope you’re ready for this, Ryan. You’re about to go viral.

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My husband fell in love with an intern at his company. There was no cheating, no ambiguity, no homewrecker label. He gave me the cars, the house, and all the money. He walked away with nothing but a divorce certificate. He said, “Alice, I can’t let Emily down, and I don’t want to let you down either.” I looked at this man, the one who once shared instant noodles with me in a cramped rental, who promised to spend his life with me. I wiped the corner of my eye and whispered, “Okay.” 1 Hearing my answer, Jason froze. It seemed he hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. He thought, at the very least, I would cry, scream, and refuse to let go. After all, he was prepared for a war of attrition. He had the resolve to sue, to fight, to endure the cold shoulder. That was Jason. Once he set his mind on something, he never looked back, regardless of the cost. Just like when he loved me. He fought for me, took me away from that suffocating home. He had said, “If you want to bully Alice, you have to go through me first.” A beer bottle smashed over his head, glass shards scattering everywhere. His fierce glare made those thugs back down. They swayed, then slowly released me and retreated. They only wanted me to pay my father’s gambling debt; they didn’t want a murder charge. I cried, covering his wound, heartbroken. Yet he managed a smile, hugging me triumphantly. “Alice, I told you. I like you, and I won’t let anyone bully you.” But now, he doesn’t like me anymore. He likes the new intern. 2 Jason opened his mouth, guilt finally flickering in his eyes. “Alice, I’m sorry for this. But I love Emily. I can’t let her bear the stigma of being the ‘other woman.’ I want to be with her openly and cleanly.” He was so upright, so noble. Even nearing thirty, he still had that youthful righteousness. How noble. Who wouldn’t praise the power of true love? “But I just have one question.” I wiped my eyes, looked up, and smiled. “Just one small question.” “Did your Emily only find out today that you aren’t single?” At first, he frowned and complained that the new assistant was clumsy, timid as a kitten. He wasn’t satisfied. Later, he pointed at my Valentine’s Day gift, annoyed. “How did Emily choose this gift? Who gives a giant capybara plushie for Valentine’s Day?” Yet, the assistant being scolded just blinked her innocent eyes and said, “But… I think it’s cute.” Jason laughed in exasperation, but I saw the helplessness and affection in his eyes at that moment. In the end, he said Emily truly loved him. That kind of pure, innocent girl deserved the best. It was only right that he regain his freedom so he could stand beside her in the sun. But Jason said he didn’t want the innocent Emily to bear the homewrecker label. So, before their feelings deepened, did she not know Jason was married? Hearing my question, Jason’s expression went blank for a second. He turned his head away. “Alice, we… we couldn’t help ourselves.” “But I promise you, before this, we never crossed any lines. We have a clear conscience toward you.” Indeed. Laughing in the office isn’t cheating. Helping an assistant out of a jam and driving her home isn’t cheating. Seeing her cry and standing up for her isn’t cheating either. I smiled bitterly and nodded. “Okay. Let’s divorce.” 3 After all, Jason gave up everything. The house, the cars, the money—he gave it all to me. He left with nothing but a divorce certificate. What more could I ask for? Jason finally let out a sigh of relief, looking at me happily. “Alice, I knew it. You understand me best. You would definitely want us to be happy.” Of course he knew. From eighteen to twenty-eight, I walked every step of the way with him. We knew each other for a year, dated for four, and were married for five. My personality is gentle; I dislike conflict, especially when I was younger. So much so that in the beginning, Jason often complained that I didn’t like him at all. Otherwise, why wouldn’t I show even a hint of jealousy? He got so mad he disappeared for three days. Three days later, he came back, head hung low, looking defeated. He gritted his teeth. “Alice, you win. I really like you. Even if you don’t care, I’m willing to be your lapdog.” It was when I heard him say that that I threw myself into his arms. He didn’t know that for those three days, I went everywhere looking for him. I almost had a breakdown. Hugging him, I whispered fearfully, “You said it. Don’t leave. I’m scared.” He stiffened, then hugged me back joyfully, like he had won a great victory. The corners of his mouth lifted high. “I thought you really didn’t care.” “You… you’re just like a cat.” 4 From then on, we went to the same college, graduated, and squeezed into a rental apartment eating instant noodles. When the company was just founded, we braved the elements to get business. Later, when things were on track, he proposed. The wedding was grand because he said: “I love Alice. Alice deserves the best.” Now, with everything settled, he held the divorce certificate and said: “Alice, don’t blame me. Emily deserves the best.” The intern was waiting not far away. She looked pure and innocent, glancing at me timidly as if I had bullied her. Jason noticed and pulled her into his arms protectively. “Emily is shy. If you’re upset, take it out on me. Don’t scare her.” Emily blushed, whispering apologetically to me. “Mrs. Sterling… I mean, Ms. Vance, please don’t mind him. He just has a bad temper, he doesn’t mean any harm.” Her tone was so familiar, one might think she was the one who had been with Jason for ten years, not me. I was just an outsider. And indeed, I was. Looking at the scene before me, the bitterness in my heart had long turned to numbness. I raised the divorce certificate and smiled. “It’s fine. We won’t be in contact anymore anyway.” For some reason, Jason frowned, hesitating. “Alice, even though we’re divorced, we’re still friends. If you need anything in the future, you can come to me.” Beside him, Emily’s smile froze. I had no reaction. I shook my head. “No need.” I wouldn’t need anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t go to him. After all, he left with nothing. No money, no power. Finding him would be useless. Moreover— “I don’t have a habit of bothering married men.” That sentence successfully changed both their expressions. As if guarding against me, Emily eagerly tried to pull him back into conversation. She sat in the passenger seat that used to be mine and asked kindly: “Where are you going, Ms. Vance? Should I ask Jason to give you a ride?” Husband divorced, took the b*tch, tears soak the Mercedes-Benz. I tearfully refused, then drove my Mercedes to the hospital. The doctor had been waiting for me for a long time. He handed me a new report. “Ms. Vance, the situation is this: the fetus is very stable.”

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After my cheating husband, Julian Thorne, came crawling back to the family, I started posting daily online. [How thrilling is cheating, really?] [Is cheating addictive for men?] [When a man cheats, does he feel more guilty towards his wife or his mistress?] I tagged every post with his university. Precision-targeted to his students, colleagues, and even his mistress. Everyone advised me not to make it ugly, to be a magnanimous wife. Only Julian shielded me behind him, saying, “I made a mistake. It’s only right for Claire to vent her emotions.” Until I posted the 99th thread. Julian stormed in like a madman and smashed my laptop. “Claire Sullivan, are you done yet?! I came back! What more do you want?!” “How much torture will satisfy you?” I didn’t answer. I just folded his freshly washed underwear and asked with a smile: “Do you have any more laundry?” 1 Julian froze, his chest heaving violently with rage. His interrogation felt like punching cotton. Seeing he wasn’t speaking, I proceeded to help him take off his suit jacket. “It’s all wrinkled. I’ll go iron it for you.” “Claire!” He stopped me, his voice suppressed with irritation. “What do you want! Can you stop acting crazy!” “Do you know how much your posts are affecting me? I’m human too; I get tired!” My hands paused, breathing quickening. “Are you afraid for yourself, or for Monica?” That name, like a bomb, blew us apart. “Why bring up Monica again?” “I transferred her to another group and cut off contact long ago. Don’t you know all this?” “Will you only be happy when everyone becomes as crazy as you!” His voice pitched up sharply, but he froze when he saw my prominent pregnant belly. Like a deflated balloon, he softened his tone and hugged me, full of guilt: “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” “I was impulsive. I’ll buy you a new laptop tomorrow.” I dodged his touch like I’d been electrocuted, holding onto the doorframe, retching uncontrollably. “Don’t touch me. Dirty…” Julian’s face darkened. His eyes were bloodshot as he gritted his teeth: “You think I’m dirty?” He grabbed my wrist without explanation and pinned me against the door. He tore open my collar and buried his face in my neck: “The doctor said the last trimester is fine. Claire, let’s do it…” “Don’t touch me! Disgusting!” I pushed him away with all my might, squatting on the floor and frantically scrubbing the skin he just touched, not stopping even when it turned red and painful. The room was filled with the sound of my retching. “Too dirty. I need a shower…” “Claire Sullivan! Do you hate me that much? What do I have to do for you to forgive me!” Julian roared hoarsely behind me. I rushed into the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the icy water wash over me. The door slammed with a thunderous noise. I looked up and met my reflection in the mirror. That haggard face, streaked with tears. Emotions suddenly overwhelmed me like a tidal wave. I hugged my belly, crying until I couldn’t breathe. I never thought we would go from a happily married couple in our youth to looking at each other with disgust. We used to want to stick together every moment; now, a touch feels revolting. I couldn’t forget those things. I tried. I wanted to forget, to be a generous wife. But the thought of him getting together with the student I sponsored while I was pregnant… Even doing those things in our marital bed on the day of my father’s funeral. My stomach would cramp in stress, like a knife churning my insides. Why can he pretend nothing happened with such peace of mind? I can’t do it! It took a long time before I stumbled out of the bathroom. The house had returned to a deathly silence. Julian sat on the sofa, eyes red: “Sorry, I was impulsive tonight.” “It’s all my fault. I won’t do it again.” “Doesn’t matter.” I interrupted him. “That’s your business.” Without waiting for his answer, I turned back to the bedroom. I lay on the bed, placing my hand gently on my lower abdomen, adjusting my breathing. Sorry baby, Mommy lost her temper and scared you again. My heavy eyelids slowly closed, my mind rehearsing what would happen in a hundred days over and over. Once the baby is born, I’ll be free. 2 I was woken up by contractions. Feeling the trail of blood beneath me, I struggled out of bed, only to find the bedroom door locked tight. Fear rose in my heart. Cradling my belly, I frantically dialed Julian’s number. “Julian, I’m bleeding… The bedroom door is locked, I can’t get out. Come back quick!” Julian’s voice was full of exhaustion, “Claire, the university is hosting an event today, I’m very busy. Stop causing trouble.” “Julian!” Intense contractions made me cry out in pain: “It’s true, I might be giving birth!” “Here we go again!” Julian’s voice rose sharply. “Claire Sullivan, do you just want to ruin the award ceremony?” “No wonder you were so calm last night. You were planning to threaten me with the child!” “Julian, I’m not…” I wanted to explain, but continuous pain drained my strength. He wanted to say more, but Monica’s voice broke in. “Professor Thorne, is Mrs. Thorne making a fuss again?” “Maybe you should go home, you don’t need to accompany me…” “Ignore her, work is important.” Julian’s voice merged with the laughter of students. The call was hung up. I adjusted my breathing and called 911. But when I struggled to get up, I fell into a pool of blood, tears flowing uncontrollably. The doctors arrived quickly. When they broke down the door, they saw me lying in a pool of blood. I miscarried. The doctor said the baby was nearly eight months old. If not for the delay breaking down the door, it could have been saved. Julian knelt by my bedside, slapping himself twice: “Claire, it’s my fault, I’m a bastard!” “I was afraid you’d be triggered seeing me on stage with Monica… Forgive me, wifey, we can have another child.” The last time he knelt was at our wedding. Kissing my hand, teary-eyed, swearing to cherish me forever. Now everything has changed. His figure at this moment could no longer overlap with the innocent boy in my memory. I stared numbly at the ceiling, feeling a momentary sense of relief. The child is gone. I finally don’t have to force myself to be with Julian anymore. A sudden phone ring interrupted his repentance. It was Monica calling. To show loyalty, he immediately put it on speaker and shouted: “Monica, stop pestering me!” The voice on the other end was mixed with sobbing: “Professor Thorne, I’m pregnant…” “I’ll get an abortion, but as the father, I felt you should know.” My palms clenched into fists, my biting lips trembling uncontrollably. My child just died, and she’s pregnant. Julian hung up quickly, looking at me with anxiety and embarrassment: “Claire, I won’t acknowledge this child.” I laughed abruptly, tears falling. “Julian, let’s get a divorce.” “I don’t want a divorce!” Julian stood up and hugged me tightly. “Claire, I love you. Don’t say such things.” I forcefully pulled his hands away and screamed: “Then get Monica to the hospital right now! I want to watch her get an abortion!” Julian closed his eyes, daring not look at me. “Monica has depression. If I make her get an abortion now, I’m afraid she’ll do something drastic.” “What about my child?” I threw the water cup at him. “I deserved to miscarry, is that it? That was your child too!” On the phone, Monica kept sobbing. “Professor Thorne, I won’t make it difficult for you. I’ll go kill myself right now…” Julian’s face turned pale instantly. He clutched his phone and rushed out of the ward. Watching his decisive back. My mom hugged me with heartache, “My poor daughter, we won’t take this abuse anymore.” “Divorce immediately. Mom will go back and pack your bags.” But when I received my mom’s call again, all I heard was her wailing: 3 “Claire! Julian ordered people to demolish our old house!” “Your dad built that brick by brick! It was my only memento!” Like a knife, suddenly stabbing into my heart. I broke down emotionally. Enduring the cramps in my lower abdomen, I dialed Julian’s number with trembling hands: “What right do you have to demolish my parents’ house? They were so good to you!” Julian’s voice was icy. “If I had been a second late just now, Monica would have taken sleeping pills and killed herself.” “Your mom called the school to report Monica as a mistress, almost driving two lives to death!” “The old house is gone. Now she can move to the city to live.” After nearly ten years of marriage, I understood Julian instantly. He wanted to cut off my mom’s retreat. Forcing our whole family to live under his nose. I cried hysterically, “Julian, why don’t you just die with her!” He dropped a “you’re unreasonable” and hung up. I just miscarried, hadn’t even finished my confinement. My mom had a heart attack from the shock and was hospitalized. Successive blows left me in a trance. I opened my phone and posted the 100th thread: [My child is gone, but my husband’s mistress is pregnant. How can I make them pay?] The post exploded. In less than a few hours, it hit the trending list. The comment section rushed to Julian’s account to attack: “Indeed a beast in human clothing. This couple of dogs should just die!” “What right does a rotten cucumber have to be a teacher? The school should fire him!” Seeing netizens on my side. I felt unprecedented relief, my heart much lighter. Until my account suddenly posted a statement. [I’m sorry everyone. I fabricated all 100 posts. I apologize for the trouble caused to my husband and Ms. Monica.] I wanted to log in to delete it, but found the password changed. I realized then that Julian had taken the broken laptop. Immediately after, Julian posted on Weibo: “My wife developed paranoia after getting pregnant, always fantasizing about an inappropriate relationship between me and my student.” “For her sake, I transferred student Monica to another group, but she still couldn’t control herself from posting rumors daily.” “I will make her apologize to student Monica personally. Very sorry for wasting public resources.” I didn’t expect Julian’s method of twisting the truth to be so dirty! Almost instantly, my inbox was filled with abuse. “Old woman, if you’re sick, just die! You look like the type of trophy wife who fantasizes every woman wants her husband!” “Your child died because of your karma, you know that, you bitch…” Just as I was about to retort, Julian called. “Claire Sullivan, come to the school tomorrow to apologize to Monica.” I trembled with anger. “Why should I!” His tone could not hide his anger, “Monica is innocent. What does your child’s death have to do with her?” “If you don’t want your mom’s heart surgery canceled, come to the school immediately and apologize to Monica.” My mom treated him like a son. But for Monica, he used my mom’s life to threaten me! I clenched my palm fiercely until I bit my lip raw, hearing my trembling voice: “Okay, I promise…” After settling my mom, I took a taxi to the school. Monica was sobbing in Julian’s arms. Seeing me, she couldn’t help rushing up and slapping me. “Mrs. Thorne, why did you ruin me!” Surrounding students and teachers looked at me with disdain. In front, someone set up a phone to livestream. Julian’s warning gaze fell on me. “Claire, apologize.” I swallowed the blood in my mouth, about to speak. Someone kicked the back of my knee. My knee slammed into the ground, and I knelt before Monica. My clothes were pulled open. Revealing the hideous stretch marks on my belly. “Ugly people really do create trouble. Looking like this and still having a foul mouth to frame others.” “So disgusting. I wouldn’t want a woman like this even if she paid me.” Julian glanced at me with some embarrassment. He felt ashamed. “Claire Sullivan, don’t feel aggrieved. You posted a hundred threads, Monica only slapped you once. You got off easy.” “I’ve transferred the money to your card. From now on, you owe each other nothing.” I climbed up from the ground, looking at Julian with red eyes. What they owe me, they can never repay. Suppressing the surging hatred, I rushed to the hospital to see my mom, only to hear she was transferred to the ICU. The nurse told me: “The patient fell down the stairs.” “She has intracranial hemorrhage and multiple fractures. She’s being resuscitated.” 4 Surveillance showed that the person who pushed my mom down the stairs was Monica. My blood ran cold instantly. I called Monica, “You dared to push my mom! I’ll make sure you go to jail!” But what answered me was Julian’s reproachful voice. “You can’t blame Monica for this. She came for a prenatal checkup, and Mom went up and scolded her.” “Monica was scared and pushed by accident.” Teetering on the edge of collapse, I almost roared out. “My mom has a brain hemorrhage and is still being resuscitated! Julian Thorne, you’re actually defending a murderer! Do you have a heart?!” The call was hung up immediately. When I called back, I was already blocked. I sat withered outside the ICU until the attending physician came out, looking at me with regret: “Miss Sullivan, my condolences.” My world spun, darkness falling before my eyes, and I vomited a mouthful of blood. My mom died. I have no relatives left in the world. Hatred nearly burst my chest. I immediately took a taxi to University A. Since they say I’m crazy, I’ll show them crazy! When I arrived at the school, Monica was giving a speech. I rushed up, grabbed her hair, and slapped her hard. “Murderer! I want you to pay with your life!” The audience was in an uproar. “Ah! Professor Thorne, save me!” Reacting, Julian rushed onto the stage and kicked me in the waist. “Claire Sullivan, what are you doing here? Are you insane?” Julian shielded Monica behind him, looking at me with hatred. “Mrs. Thorne, why did you ruin my speech assembly!” Monica sobbed uncontrollably. She suddenly knelt down and kept kowtowing to me. “I’ll go die right now. Please let me go. I really can’t take it anymore!” I didn’t miss the flash of triumphant mockery in Monica’s eyes. Red-eyed, she stumbled towards the rooftop. When Julian chased after her, Monica was already outside the railing, teetering. “Monica, don’t be rash. With me here, anything can be solved.” Monica cried beautifully, appearing broken and pitiful. “Professor Thorne, I have no choice. I’m being driven crazy by Mrs. Thorne. I’m just a child from a poor family, and now being bullied like this… I really don’t want to live anymore.” In the crowd, I sneered: “Then jump!” Slap! A ruthless slap landed on my face. “Claire Sullivan, shut up! Do you have to force her to death!” Julian, with a dark face, dragged me by my hair to Monica. “Kowtow and apologize to Monica immediately. Promise you won’t go crazy again.” I threw off his hand. “Dream on!” Julian tapped on his phone. The surveillance video of my mom at the funeral home appeared in front of me. He stared at me, his tone brooking no refusal: “I give you ten seconds.” “If you don’t kneel, I’ll have someone drag your mom’s corpse over to kneel for you.” I stared at him in disbelief, trying to see a trace of hesitation in his eyes. But there was none. He just counted down calmly like a machine. “Five, four…” Seeing my mom’s body really being dragged out and thrown on the ground. I couldn’t hold it anymore and flopped to my knees in front of Monica. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I won’t dare again…” Triumph flashed in Monica’s eyes. She glanced timidly at Julian, “Professor Thorne, I don’t think Mrs. Thorne is sincere.” With that, Julian immediately grabbed my head and smashed it on the ground. Warm blood slid down my face. He whispered in my ear: “Wifey, bear with it. Let’s get Monica down first.” After a full 99 kowtows, Monica came down from the roof and threw herself into Julian’s arms. She looked at me provocatively, but the next second, a group of police rushed in and handcuffed them!

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The next time I saw Zane, I was a cocktail waitress in his bar. He stepped in smoothly, defusing a tense situation with a drunk customer for me. His presence was an immediate, silencing authority. “Thanks,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. There was no awkwardness, no fumbling shame. Just a polite, professional distance between us. Everything was as it should be. A moment later, his fingers brushed against mine, his hand closing around my own just like he used to. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that I once lived for. “Do you hate me?” I gently pulled my hand away. A small smile touched my lips, but I didn’t answer. Hate him? Not really. You can’t hate someone you no longer love. My gaze drifted down to his left hand, to the plain band on his ring finger. Noticing my glance, Zane instinctively twisted the ring, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “Jenna’s been… insecure lately. That’s why…” I nodded, showing I understood, and bent to wipe the spilled drink from my uniform. I used the excuse of needing a paper towel to turn away. Suddenly, a clean, folded handkerchief appeared before me. “It’s new. Use it.” “No, thank you.” I rolled up my sleeve calmly, creating more space between us. “I wouldn’t want your wife to get the wrong idea.” The movement exposed the terrible, gnarled scars on my forearm. I hesitated for a second, then pulled the sleeve back down. The wounds had been a part of me for years now, sometimes better, sometimes worse. I was used to them. The sight no longer sent me spiraling. As I turned to leave, Zane blocked my path. “I have a private room. Come sit for a while.” “I…” He didn’t wait for an answer, his grip firm on my wrist as he pulled me along. The familiar faces in the VIP lounge froze for a heartbeat when we entered, then quickly resumed their conversations as if nothing had happened. Someone started to pour me a drink. Zane’s hand shot out, covering the glass. “Her stomach’s sensitive. Get her a glass of hot water.” A few of his friends chuckled and nudged each other, the teasing banter a well-rehearsed play. They all acted like this was normal, like I still belonged here. “Thank you, but I’m not thirsty,” I said, my voice flat. I stared out the window, a silent spectator to a drama that had nothing to do with me anymore. Zane’s posture stiffened. He turned, grabbed his overcoat from the back of a chair, and draped it over my shoulders. “It’s cold in here. Keep warm.” I shrugged the coat off and stood up. “I don’t need it. I have to get back to work.” “Clara,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, warning tone. “Do you have to speak to me like this? I’m trying to take care of you.” His tone was quiet, but I knew. He was angry. Once, that sound would have sent me scrambling to his side, clinging to him, begging for his forgiveness. But not anymore. Without another glance, I walked toward the door. This time, the mood in the room shifted instantly. One of his closest friends, a man I’d known for years, stuck out his leg and kicked the back of my knee. The impact sent a shock of pain up my leg, and I crumpled to the floor. “Don’t be a bitch when you’re offered a lifeline,” he snarled. “Zane’s doing you a favor by not treating you like the trash you are.” Another one chimed in, his voice slick with contempt. “A disgusting slut like you… no one would even want you as a mistress.” Zane slowly stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Sweetheart,” he said, the sound chillingly soft. “Are you ready to listen now?” “Come here.” My body trembled with pain as I used a table to pull myself up. “Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.” The words had barely left my mouth when a glass shattered against the wall behind me. Zane smiled, wiping a drop of blood from his knuckles. “It seems you still haven’t learned your lesson.” His crew closed in, surrounding me. One by one, they took their turns. A kick here, a lit cigarette pressed against my shoulder there. They deliberately tore at my cheap uniform, one of them even using his belt to lash at my back. I curled into a ball in the corner, the pain so intense I couldn’t even scream. Fear, cold and absolute, wrapped around me. It was just like that night. I hugged myself tightly, drowning in a sea of hopelessness. “Still think you’re the Sterling family’s little princess, Clara? Look at you. You’re as ugly as a toad.” “Got a taste for being a thief, huh? Still trying to crawl into Zane’s bed?” “I heard she’s a real screamer for the old execs. I’ve even got the video on my phone.” One of them grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. He held his phone in front of my face, the screen glowing with a high-definition video of my own humiliation, forcing me to watch. Again and again. A wave of nausea rose in my throat, hot and acidic. I curled tighter, burying my face, a broken sob finally escaping my lips. “That’s enough,” Zane’s voice cut through the haze. His polished leather shoes stopped inches from my face, right over my heart. He crouched down in front of me. That same overcoat was draped over my shaking body again. His thumb traced the scar on my neck. “Does it still hurt, sweetheart?” His calm was terrifying. I nodded and shook my head frantically, too scared to offer any resistance. A faint smile played on his lips. “I told you,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “You can never escape my grasp.” His eyes, those sharp, elegant eyes, were as cold and merciless as ever. Just like the man himself. Cold heart, cold soul. Why else would he have engineered this, cornering me, forcing me to work in his club? He had tried everything to break me, to make me bow my head to him again. He was just as indifferent the day he picked me up off the street. I was an orphan. When I was hungry, I dug through trash cans. When I was tired, I slept under bridges. Until I was ten. I was so small and scrawny I couldn’t even fight off a stray dog for scraps. So, in a final act of desperation, I threw myself in front of Zane’s car. He never even got out. His driver just tossed a wad of cash at me. But my leg was badly injured; I couldn’t even crawl. All I could do was stare helplessly at the sleek black car. The next time I woke up, I was in a beautiful, sprawling house. The wounds on my leg had been cleaned and bandaged. Zane told me he was adopting me. From that day on, he hired tutors to teach me how to read and write. He bought me the most expensive dresses. I couldn’t sleep in the strange, new place. I would cry every night. He’d complain that I was difficult to raise, but then he’d move his entire desk into my room to work through the night. “You’re too loud. Stop crying,” he’d say gruffly. Then, softening his tone, he’d add, “Be good and go to sleep. I’ll take you out to play tomorrow.” On the nights I was truly terrified, he would put his work aside and read me stories until I fell asleep. In those years, everyone said I was his little princess, spoiled rotten. They joked that with my temperament, no one would ever dare marry me. Zane would just laugh, pulling me into his arms. “Then we won’t get her married. I’ll take care of her forever.” I don’t know if that was love, but in that moment, my heart beat so fast I thought it would burst. Later, I heard he was entering an arranged marriage. I hid in my room for three days, my heart shattered. A week later, the engagement was called off. I couldn’t help but ask him. “Why did you call it off?” He chuckled softly. “You cried like this over a rumor. If I actually married her, would you cry for the rest of your life?” I turned my head away, embarrassed. “I did not.” He didn’t argue, simply pulling me onto his lap. “Alright, you didn’t. But you scared my wife away. Shouldn’t you give me a new one? I’m thirty, Clara. I can’t be single forever, can I?” I stammered, completely flustered. A smile played in his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for my Clara to grow up and be my wife.” I was eighteen that year. I didn’t say no. After that, there were no other women in his life. He treated me better than I could have ever imagined. I thought I was the luckiest person in the world. But that devotion lasted only two years. On my twentieth birthday, Jenna showed up at our door, crying, saying she had nowhere to go. She was five years older than me and the first person to show me kindness when I first arrived. We had become the best of friends. She had gotten married when I was eighteen. I asked her why so young. She said it was an arranged marriage by her family. As an illegitimate daughter, she had no choice. My heart ached for her. I had Zane prepare the most lavish dowry for her wedding. I just wanted her to be happy. Two years later, her husband died, and his family threw her out. Her own family refused to take her back. So I brought her home. I begged Zane to let her stay. He sighed, tapping my head gently. “You’re so naive. One day you’ll be sold and you won’t even realize it. Do you think the Sterling estate is a charity? Taking in every stray?” I looked at him with pleading eyes. He finally, reluctantly, agreed. Jenna’s clothes were rags, her body covered in bruises. My heart broke for her. I held her, my eyes welling with tears. “It’s okay, Jenna. From now on, this is your home. You’re going to be happy here.” And she was. She happily took over my entire life. After moving in, Jenna was too timid to go out. She spent her days in the kitchen, cooking up elaborate meals. Zane wouldn’t touch them at first, but eventually, he started offering a compliment or two. Then, on a whim, they had a cook-off. When he lost, he bought her a gift as an apology. Soon, he was asking her to cook special meals and bring them to his office. I was genuinely happy for her, thinking she was finally coming out of her shell. Until the day he bought her the entire new collection of dresses I had been dreaming about for months. He didn’t save a single one for me. I was a little upset; after all, I’d been talking about them for so long. “She hasn’t had any new clothes since she got here,” he said. “Don’t be petty about these things. Besides, there are other dresses. Don’t be so childish.” I looked at Jenna’s meek, apologetic expression and felt a pang of guilt. Maybe I was being small-minded. I started encouraging Zane to take her to parties, helping her pick out clothes. She began to shed her timidity, clinging to Zane and asking if she looked pretty, begging him for silly little gifts. I shared my deepest secrets with her. I told her I was going to marry Zane, that he was the best man in the world. She would smile and say how wonderful that was. She said she wanted to be my best friend forever. She said she hoped I would be happy for the rest of my life. She joked that at our wedding, she’d be my maid of honor for life and demand her own table at the reception. We even huddled under the covers one night, picking out names for my future children. I laughed and promised her anything, my mind already racing with ways to find her a wonderful husband of her own. Until that night. I heard noises from Zane’s room, the distinct sound of a woman’s voice. “Wow, you’re really energetic tonight.” “Well, you were the one saying I was getting old the other day. Tired now? Get some sleep.” I pushed the door open and froze. Clothes were scattered across the floor. Jenna was lying in his arms. The telltale marks of passion were all over them. “What are you doing?” My hand, gripping the doorknob, started to tremble. No one spoke. Zane carefully helped Jenna into one of his own dress shirts. The sight seared itself into my brain. I lunged at Jenna, my hand raised to strike. “Jenna! You were my best friend!” Before the slap could land, Zane kicked me. I fell to the floor as he wrapped Jenna tightly in the duvet, his eyes guarded and cold. “Clara, if you’re done with your tantrum, close the door on your way out. Jenna’s sensitive. If you scare her, she’ll be up crying all night.” He didn’t even grant me a single glance of remorse. I scrambled up, insane with grief, and tried to pull Jenna away from him, scratching at him wildly. “Why! Why would you do this to me! What about me?” He pinned both my wrists above my head with one hand, his voice laced with impatience. “I never said I wasn’t going to marry you. What are you so angry about? A man in my position can’t have just one woman. Besides, she’s your friend. You two should get along.” Jenna crawled toward me, sobbing. “Clara, I was just so jealous of you. I love Zane so much too. I’ll be the other woman, I don’t need a title. I’ll serve you both. Just please don’t send me away. Zane is just so gentle in bed… I couldn’t bear to leave him.” I yanked my hands free, a chill spreading through me. The other woman? Serve me? I destroyed everything in the house. Smashed it all to pieces. Zane just watched, a cold expression on his face, as if observing a lunatic. I replaced all the files in his work email with their private photos and blasted them across the internet. I invited my friends out constantly, telling them every sordid detail of his affair. Eventually, they stopped coming. Then, they turned on me. “Disgusting!” “You’re sick!” “It was bad enough that she was hoarding Zane’s old clothes, but now she’s digging his used condoms out of the trash? What, trying to get pregnant? I never knew you were so shameless.” My own friends took turns slapping me across the face. Then came a text from Zane. Sweetheart, you shouldn’t have provoked her. I returned to the house, hollowed out. My art studio had been converted into Jenna’s walk-in closet. Zane stroked my hair. “If you don’t behave, I can’t guarantee what will happen next. Jenna is fragile. She can’t stand to hear a bad word said about her.” So I had to be the one in the wrong. He had always known I kept one of his shirts. Back then, he’d told me I could have boxes of them if I wanted. Now, to protect Jenna’s reputation, he was willing to slander me, to make me out to be some desperate, pathetic creature. I dropped my shoulders in defeat, closing my eyes. I deliberately kept my distance from him. I poured everything I had left into a design competition. The next day, Jenna submitted the exact same designs. The organizers were in a difficult position. “Given the circumstances, perhaps we should reschedule…” “That won’t be necessary.” Zane strode onto the stage, his eyes landing on me like a physical blow. “I can testify that Clara was the one who plagiarized.” The room erupted. “I can’t believe she’s that kind of person!” “Figures. No morals, no talent. Just a useless leech.” “Mr. Sterling is a saint for keeping her around.” I looked up at Zane. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. “Sweetheart, ignoring me has consequences.” So, it was him again. I stumbled backward. “Give Jenna justice!” someone shouted from the crowd. People surged forward, grabbing at me. Someone threw a liquid. It splashed across my neck and down my right arm. A searing, unbearable pain shot through me. “Clara!” Through a haze of agony, I saw him rush to my side, holding me as if I were the most precious thing in the world. I woke up in a hospital. Alone. A bowl of cold congee sat on the nightstand. Online, the story of their epic love was going viral. Jenna wanted to study design, so he called in a once-in-a-lifetime favor to get her an apprenticeship with a modern master. Even when she was rude, even when she publicly insulted her mentor, even when she treated everyone like a fool, Zane protected her fiercely. He made a public statement. “Jenna is the woman I love. Please don’t hold her actions against her. She’s had a difficult past. I hope you can all be kind to her.” Of course. It was that easy for her. I had begged him for years for a similar introduction. He had told me I had to rely on myself, that no one would teach me if I didn’t have the talent. He wouldn’t even arrange a dinner meeting for me. Now, to legitimize the woman he loved, he forced Jenna’s family to formally acknowledge her, turning her into a proper heiress overnight. He never came to see me. Our only interaction was when his assistant came to force me to sketch designs for Jenna’s competition portfolio. When I refused, they stopped my medication. The pain from the burns was unbearable. In that small hospital room, I drew day and night, redoing sketches over and over based on Jenna’s one-word critiques until my hand cramped so badly I could no longer hold a pen. I was in agony, half-dead in that hospital bed. I finally gathered the strength to call him. I could hear them in the background. Jenna’s laughter. They were eating, sleeping, watching movies. He was so in love with her. Her design, my design, won the competition. They thanked each other publicly, flaunting their love online. It had nothing to do with me. The day I was discharged, he came to pick me up. The burns had left a hideous patchwork of scars from my neck down my arm. He helped me into the car as if nothing had happened. He asked if I was done with my tantrum. His tone was light, as if he were asking what I wanted for dinner. When I didn’t speak, he gently kissed my hand. “Jenna had it rough for so many years. I just want her to be happy. You said she was pitiable too, didn’t you? I raised you, Clara. Be the bigger person and let her have this, okay?” I closed my eyes, my chest constricting with a pain that had nothing to do with my burns. I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He held me close, humming an old lullaby from my childhood. “But Zane,” I whispered, “I have nothing left. And I didn’t do anything wrong.” He froze for a second, his brow furrowed. “But you’re still living at the estate. What more could you want?” I couldn’t control it anymore. I slapped him, hard. “Zane! You know how hard I worked! You destroyed my career! My reputation! My future! All of it, just like that.” And my love. He sighed, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “That’s all superficial nonsense. Why do you care so much about that? That’s not what life is about.” I burst out laughing, a hysterical, body-wracking sound. Not what life is about? Then why did he fight so hard to give Jenna a title? Why did he get her a master mentor and a prestigious award? When it came to me, it was ambition, greed. But in just a few short months, I was utterly exhausted. Zane wiped the tears from my face. “Okay, calm down. If you really want those things, I’ll make it up to you later.” He dropped me off, called Jenna to let her know he was on his way to the office, and then kissed my lips. He didn’t come home that night, or the next. One evening, I was curled up with my cat on the porch swing, watching the sunset. He appeared, looking weary from a long trip. He was holding a ring box. He knelt before me and asked if I would still marry him. It was the ring we had designed together last year. We had been too busy to pick it up. Now, it was right in front of me. I looked down at my scarred, slightly misshapen fingers. I didn’t speak. I just nodded slowly. His face lit up as he slid the ring on. It was too big now. It slipped off and rolled somewhere into the darkness. But he didn’t care. He cupped my face in his hands. “My sweet, good girl.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Sweetheart… Jenna has a business associate… I need you to entertain him tonight.” “What did you just say?” I thought I had misheard. Zane rubbed his temples wearily. “She just went back to her old company and wants a promotion, but she won’t let me help. Her boss has a thing for beautiful women. She’s too timid to go herself… she cried in my arms all night about it. You’re not doing anything right now. Just go help her out.” For the first time, the man in front of me seemed utterly disgusting. I pushed him away and tried to run. He grabbed me. “You won’t go? Then the cat in your arms…” He was threatening me. With the cat he had bought for me. Seeing me freeze, he smiled. I stood there like a doll while he dressed me in a beautiful gown and did my makeup. He led me by the hand and delivered me to that door. He said when I came out, he’d be there to pick me up. To take me home to get married.

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My sworn enemy lost her memories, so I tricked her into coming home with me and pretending to be my wife. I cooked for her, fed her, and even warmed her bed. She thought I loved her deeply. In reality, I was stealing all her business behind her back. I was secretly gloating, until I accidentally overheard her on the phone in the bedroom, her tone a mix of coquettishness and anger: “Let him have a few more contracts. He didn’t even sleep with me last night!” 1 My assistant found me in the remote mountain village exactly five minutes after my memory returned. She knelt and hugged my leg, sobbing, “Mr. Sterling! You’re alive!” Suddenly, a scantily clad woman burst out of the room and kicked my assistant over. “Who said you could touch my husband’s leg?!” “Bad woman! Stay away from my husband!” Scarlett Vance had a face like an angel and a body like a devil. Her collarbone was covered in suspicious hickeys and scratches. My assistant’s jaw dropped. “Ms… Ms. Vance?!” Scarlett glared at her ferociously, then turned to me, her eyes instantly softening into pure adoration. “Hubby, don’t be scared. I won’t let this bad woman bully you.” “Also, Hubby, why did she call me Ms. Vance? Is there something wrong with her brain?” Me: “…” Seeing my silence, Scarlett got nervous. She walked up to me like a kicked puppy. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she nuzzled her soft lips against my chest and whispered: “Hubby? What’s wrong?” Her lips were cool. But to me, they felt hotter than lava. I instinctively pushed her away. Scarlett stumbled back two steps. Her beautiful face froze, eyes widening in shock… Then, her eyes turned red, and she choked out: “Hubby… you… you pushed me?” “You pushed me for this bad woman?!” My assistant had already fainted from shock. I understood her reaction. Five minutes ago, I woke up in bed. Scarlett was lying beneath me, flushed, her slender arms around my neck, puckering her red lips for a kiss. This was more horrifying than waking up to see my mother. So I fainted too. I would die before admitting that Scarlett’s lips were so soft and sweet that I kissed myself unconscious. 2 Scarlett stormed back into the room after yelling at me. My assistant slowly woke up, looking at me with pure terror. “Mr. Sterling, have you and Ms. Vance… been possessed?!” It wasn’t a strange question. The rivalry between me and Scarlett was legendary in the city. The Sterling and Vance families had been at war for generations. As the heirs, we were epic enemies. We were born on the same day and grew up in the same neighborhood. We fought in school, and now we fought in business. Wherever we met, chaos ensued. If we drank together, we’d sue each other if one person drank a drop less. This time, we were both inspecting new projects in the mountains. A torrential rain caused a landslide. Our cars crashed. We were both injured and lost our memories. The villagers mistook us for a couple and put us in the same room. The key point is… we slept together! Damn it! My twenty-six years of chastity! I was saving it for my future wife, not this evil witch Scarlett! Thank god I got my memory back before her. She was still calling me “Hubby” like an idiot. Heh. Since it’s come to this, don’t blame me for being ruthless! 3 I didn’t go in to comfort the angry Scarlett. After thanking the villagers, my assistant and I prepared to leave. As we reached the car, I saw Scarlett standing there with a cold face, holding a… brick. I frowned. “What are you doing?” “Hubby, are you running away with that wild woman?” Scarlett’s eyes reddened the moment she saw me. Her gaze shifted to my assistant, narrowing dangerously. “Since you’re stealing my husband, I have to kill you.” My assistant’s legs gave out. She almost wet herself. Tsk. She lost her memory, but her vicious nature hadn’t changed a bit! An idea sparked. I walked over, wrapped my arm around Scarlett’s waist, and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Be good, wifey. Who said I was running away? You misunderstood…” Scarlett stiffened and looked up at me. “Then where are you going with her?” “She’s just a driver here to take us home. Back to our home.” Meeting Scarlett’s now clear and innocent eyes, I softened my tone to coax her. “Wifey, I remember everything now. We have a home in the city.” “I handle business outside, and you handle the cooking and chores at home.” “Let’s go home now. We can sleep in our big bed every night.” “This hard bed hurts my back. It’s uncomfortable doing that…” My ability to lie without blinking was honed back in high school when Scarlett kept reporting me for dating. Now the boomerang was coming back to her. Would she believe it? Sure enough, as soon as I finished, the brick fell from Scarlett’s hand. She hugged my waist, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me. “Boohoo, Hubby, you’re so good… I misunderstood you…” We kissed passionately. The sound of our lips meeting was embarrassingly loud. Why did this damn woman love kissing so much after losing her memory… I should film her looking so obsessed with me so I can mock her forever! I signaled my assistant to take a picture. But she was staring blankly, shocked out of her mind. It was like seeing Voldemort kiss Harry Potter. 4 “Mr. Sterling, is this really okay?” In the hospital hallway, my assistant whispered nervously, “What if Ms. Vance suddenly remembers…” Scarlett was known for her devilish body and devilish heart. Ruthless and vengeful. Everyone in the city feared her except me. If she recovered and realized I tricked her, she’d probably kill me even if it drove her mad… But I wouldn’t give her the chance. Am I, Julian Sterling, a man she can just sleep with and discard? I sneered. “Before she remembers, I’ll make sure she loses everything.” We just ran a series of brain scans on Scarlett. The doctor said if she hadn’t remembered by now, the recovery period could be long. Good, good. Long is good. Long enough for the Vance family to go bankrupt! Leaving the hospital, I got a call from HQ. A major foreign client was arriving tonight. I knew they were here to discuss a cross-border project with Scarlett. And this client happened to be my college crush, the campus goddess! Last time, I almost closed the deal, but Scarlett sabotaged it. Tonight was my chance for a comeback. I changed into a white shirt that accentuated my muscles, hiding my bellyful of bad intentions. Walking out of the fitting room, I bumped into a soft body. “Wearing such tight clothes… who are you going to see?” A seductive voice rang out. Soft, slender hands climbed up my back. A numbness shot up my spine. I shivered and glared, only to meet Scarlett’s beautiful eyes staring at me. For a second, it felt like the old, evil Scarlett was back. Just as I panicked, her hand moved from my back to my belt buckle. She tightened her grip. The mix of pain and pleasure made me flustered and angry. I slapped her hand away. “What are you doing! Hands off!” Scarlett’s hand froze. Her seductive eyes drooped, looking incredibly wronged. “Hubby, you hit me?” “I knew it. You’re tired of the amnesiac me. You make money, you have a pretty assistant who hugs your leg…” “And I just cause trouble at home.” “I don’t even have the right to touch my own husband anymore. Maybe it’s time for me to leave…” She started sobbing, acting like she was about to walk away. Her beautiful face was filled with despair, looking like she was about to shatter. For a moment, I felt like a monster. And she couldn’t leave now—my plan hadn’t even started! I gritted my teeth and grabbed her hand, putting it back on myself. “Wifey, what are you talking about? Touch! Touch all you want!” Scarlett instantly switched from sorrow to joy. She didn’t hold back. Her palm tightened, her other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me onto the sofa. Her lips replaced her hands. I ran my fingers through her long hair, panting: “Wifey… you’re coming with me to the banquet tonight, but you have to wear earplugs the whole time.” “Why earplugs?” “Um… the doctor said you need to avoid auditory stimulation. So no TV or phone either.” Scarlett had too many shady friends in the city. Cutting off her contact with the outside world was crucial. I wanted to add more instructions, but then—rip. Scarlett tore open my custom-made shirt! Just as I was about to explode, her soft, pitiful voice came from my chest: “Hubby, I tore it by accident. I know I’m useless. You won’t blame me, right?” “…” Fine, I’ll endure it!!!

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My grandmother passed away, so I went to the bank to close her account. The balance: $0.42. The teller, wearing a plastic smile, pushed four dimes across the counter to me. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, we don’t have pennies right now. Maybe next time you come in, we can settle the difference?” “No,” I said. “I want it now.” She sighed, her smile dropping into annoyance. “I’m sorry, you’re holding up the line.” The next second, she pressed a button under the counter. Security arrived and ‘escorted’ me out. I immediately filed a complaint. That night, she posted about me on social media. “Met a total psycho today. Filed a complaint over two cents. Is she starving or just insane?” Attached was a photo of the transaction slip—with my social security number clearly visible. Overnight, I was cyberbullied until my phone crashed. The next morning, I stood in front of the bank’s main entrance and dialed 911. “I want to report a crime. Someone leaked my personal information.” “Also, please investigate this bank’s financial records. I suspect the money they’ve ’rounded down’ amounts to far more than just my two cents.” 1. The police arrived quickly. When two officers walked into the bank lobby, the branch manager was trying to talk me down. “Ms. Foster, look, there’s no need to make a scene over something this small.” “This was our mistake. We’re willing to compensate you for your trouble. Five hundred dollars, how does that sound?” I stared at him, silent. The officers approached me. “Hello, did you call?” “I did.” I handed over my phone. On the screen was the teller, Jessica Miller’s, Instagram post. The slip with my full social security number was uncensored, clear as day. “This person, teller Jessica Miller, leaked my personal information on social media.” “There are already thousands of abusive comments directed at me.” “Furthermore, I’ve been doxxed and received countless threatening texts.” The older officer’s face darkened. He looked at the manager. “Bring out Jessica Miller.” The manager, Mr. King, was sweating, the fat on his face bunching up as he frowned. He bowed slightly. “Officer, maybe this is a misunderstanding? Jessica is just a kid, fresh out of college. Maybe she was just venting after work, didn’t know better.” “Leaking a citizen’s private information isn’t ‘not knowing better.’ It’s a crime,” I answered for the officer. Mr. King’s face turned an uglier shade of pale. Soon, Jessica walked out from the back. She paused when she saw the police, but the moment she saw me, she put on an act of immense grievance. “Officer, I… I was just complaining to friends. I… I didn’t know it was illegal.” “I’ll delete the post, okay? I’ll apologize to her!” She moved as if to bow to me. I stepped back, dodging her performance. The younger officer, taking notes, looked up at Jessica. “Your actions violate privacy laws and could constitute a felony. You need to come with us to the station for questioning.” Jessica’s legs gave out. “This… Mr. King, say something! Mr. King!” Mr. King wiped his sweat, pleading with the officers. “Officers, can’t we handle this internally? We’ll settle privately and ensure Ms. Foster is satisfied.” “This is a criminal matter. It’s out of your hands,” the older officer said, signaling his partner to take her. As Jessica was led away, she wailed, tears streaming down her face, cursing me. “You psycho! Over two cents?! You’ll pay for this!” I ignored her screaming and turned to the older officer. “Officer, besides the data leak, I have another matter to report.” “Go on.” “I suspect this bank is systematically embezzling small amounts from customer accounts.” Mr. King, who had just started to relax, stiffened. The officer looked at me. “Do you have proof?” “Yesterday afternoon, teller Jessica Miller explicitly stated while closing my account that the balance was forty-two cents, but she would only return forty. The two cents would just be ‘let go’.” “I suspect this isn’t just her personal behavior, but standard procedure for this branch.” “Two cents from countless customers adds up to a significant amount. Where did that money go?” Mr. King immediately retorted. “Nonsense! Our accounts are handled by computer systems. Every penny is accounted for. It’s impossible!” “Is it?” I asked him. “Then why don’t we pull up yesterday’s cash flow and system logs right now?” “Let’s see if there are any other ‘let go’ remainders besides my two cents.” The officer found my logic sound and looked at Mr. King. “Please cooperate. Show us yesterday’s records.” Mr. King nervously adjusted his tie, only making it crooked. “Officer, accessing transaction logs requires authorization from headquarters. A single branch doesn’t have that level of access…” “That’s fine,” I interrupted. “I’ve already filed a formal complaint with the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. I imagine their investigation team will arrive with authorization very soon.” Mr. King stared at me, mouth open, soundless. I met his gaze. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Quinn Foster.” “I’m a financial auditor. And my specialty is bank transaction analysis.” 2. Jessica was detained for five days and fined five hundred dollars. The CFPB called the next day, confirming a special investigation team had been formed. They would thoroughly investigate my report regarding the “embezzlement of small customer assets.” The bank’s headquarters reacted quickly too. Mr. King was suspended. A Vice President named Chen contacted me personally. His attitude was impeccable, apologizing on behalf of the bank and promising strict disciplinary action and a satisfactory explanation. I hung up, not believing a word. Institutions like this always try to bury the problem first. Sure enough, that night, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. At first, it was unknown numbers, screaming filth the moment I picked up. I set my phone to block unknown callers. Then came Jessica’s friends and family. They somehow got my number and found all my social media accounts. Someone claiming to be Jessica’s cousin sent me hundreds of voice messages. “How can your heart be so black? You got our Jessica arrested, isn’t that enough?” “For two cents, you’re ruining a young girl’s future. Are you even human?” “Leave people a way out. Do you have to destroy her completely?” And then there was Jessica’s boyfriend, even more direct. “Bitch, drop the case or I’ll find people to kill you!” He sent a selfie holding a mop handle, backgrounded by the entrance to my apartment complex. I didn’t reply. I just screenshotted everything. Mr. King’s text came through too. “Ms. Foster, better to untie the knot than tighten it. Jessica has been fired, you’ve vented your anger. The bank is willing to compensate you fifty thousand dollars. Let’s end this here, what do you say?” “If you keep making trouble, it won’t be good for either of us. You’re young, the road ahead is long. You understand.” Threats between the lines. I screenshotted this message too. They moved fast. New posts appeared on social media. The titles were variations on a theme. “Exposing the cold-blooded auditor who drove a teller to suicide over two cents.” “Breaking: The teller has had a mental breakdown and committed suicide!” “The ordinary woman who pushed someone to the brink over pennies.” The posts were detailed, claiming Jessica lost her job because of my complaint and, under my continued pressure, slashed her wrists. She was supposedly in critical condition. Below was a pixelated photo of someone with purple hair lying in a hospital bed with bandaged wrists. The comments section exploded. “Holy shit, real or fake? Suicide over two cents? Is this woman a demon?” “Omg! This is terrifying!” “My friend works at that hospital, heard she lost a lot of blood. It’s critical.” “Auditors think they’re god? Gross! Disgusting power trip!” My name, company, even my college photos were dug up. My phone blew up. My company’s reception line blew up. I watched the venomous words pop up on my screen, then calmly turned off my phone. They thought this would scare me off? I opened my laptop and posted on an anonymous forum on the dark web. Subject: “Offering $10,000 bounty for information on backdoors or artificial financial black holes in [Bank Name]’s software system.” It was the fastest way I could think of to find where the money went. 3. Within twenty-four hours, I got a reply. No chit-chat, just an encrypted file package. “Here’s what you want. Send the 10k to this Bitcoin wallet.” I opened the file. It contained code and a detailed manual. Reading it, I finally understood Mr. King’s operation. The bank’s software had a backdoor built in during development by a rogue programmer. This backdoor could create an invisible “slush fund.” When a teller handled amounts with decimals, like my two cents, the system would pop up a prompt: “Transfer difference to temporary holding?” If the teller clicked “Yes,” the money would leave the customer’s account but wouldn’t go into the bank’s general ledger. It went into the invisible slush fund. The customer’s receipt showed the amount paid. The bank’s books showed the account settled. Ghost money. After the programmer left, he sold this backdoor to Mr. King, who was then just a client manager. Mr. King used this to siphon customer assets like an colony of ants moving a mountain. From pennies to dimes, even small balances in dormant accounts, everything was funneled into that pool. Over ten years, the amount in that pool reached a staggering number. Nine million, two hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Jessica was one of Mr. King’s recruits. All participating tellers got a cut from Mr. King. Jessica came from a poor background, but this scheme let her live a life of luxury far beyond her salary. Designer bags, luxury goods—everything she flaunted on Instagram came from those “let go” two cents. At the end of the document was the transaction log for the fund. Every entry, every exit, crystal clear. The outgoing transfers pointed to three offshore accounts. The most recent large transfer was the day after I called the police. Mr. King was planning to run. I transferred the ten thousand dollars in Bitcoin. Then, I compiled everything in the document into a new report. This time, I didn’t call the CFPB. I dialed a different number. “Hello, FBI Financial Crimes Division.” “Hello, my name is Quinn Foster. I want to report Mr. King, a branch manager at [Bank Name], for utilizing system vulnerabilities to embezzle customer funds totaling nearly ten million dollars. He shows signs of fleeing the country.” The line went silent for a moment. “Ms. Foster, please give us the details.” 4. Jessica’s boyfriend was arrested. He couldn’t hold back. He tried to pry my lock open in the middle of the night, captured clearly by my new smart doorbell. Police found a switchblade on him. The charge escalated from harassment to attempted burglary with a deadly weapon. Jessica’s family panicked. Her parents ambushed me outside my office building, crying and begging. “Ms. Foster, we’re kneeling to you!” Jessica’s mom tried to drop to her knees, but my colleague stopped her. “We failed to teach our daughter. Jessica is immature, and her boyfriend is a thug. Please, be the bigger person, let them go!” “If she goes to prison, her life is over!” I looked at them, silent. “When he was prying my lock with a knife, did you think about my life being over?” “When she incited thousands to cyberbully me, photoshopped my funeral portrait, and cursed my family to die, did she think about what would happen to me?” Jessica’s dad tremblingly pulled an envelope from a cloth bag. “Ms. Foster, this is our life savings. Ten thousand dollars. Please take it as their apology…” I didn’t take it. “Keep the money. You’ll need it for a lawyer.” “But I’ll remind you: attempted burglary with a weapon, caught on tape. The best lawyer won’t change the verdict.” I walked around them and entered the building. They wailed behind me, calling me a heartless monster. I didn’t care. Two days later. A joint task force from the FBI and the federal regulators descended on the bank’s regional headquarters. Mr. King was arrested in the airport VIP lounge. He was about to board a flight to Singapore. His wife and child had left the day before. The branch was sealed off. All employees were detained for questioning. The “slush fund” hidden deep in the system was unearthed. Nine million, two hundred and thirty thousand. Down to the penny. But the money had already been moved offshore by Mr. King in batches. What awaited him was international asset recovery and a long prison sentence. The news was everywhere. “Shocking! Bank Insider Embezzles Millions in Customer Funds Over Decade!” “The Two-Cent Scandal: Financial Corruption Case Exposes Massive Security Flaw!” The people who had attacked me online were stunned into silence. The comments under Jessica’s pity post flipped completely. “Holy crap, so the teller was a thief all along?” “Suicide? More like fear of prison! Lucky she survived, jail is too good for her!” “Cyberbullying an auditor? That family is rotten to the core!” “Support the auditor! Lock them all up!” Jessica’s social media accounts were banned. As an accomplice, even though her cut was only a few thousand, she was charged with embezzlement. She was detained, fired, her boyfriend was in prison, and she faced jail time herself. She didn’t destroy my future. She destroyed her own.

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The moment my stepdaughter threw a cup of hot water in my face, I had a shocking realization: I was the cannon fodder stepmom in a trashy novel. My stepdaughter was the “evil heroine,” a ruthless narcissist who climbed to the top by stepping on everyone else. As her stepmother, I was an eyesore. The baby in my belly was an obstacle. And so, I was destined to become just another casualty in her story. I wiped the water from my face, my eyes fixed on the text scrolling across my vision, like comments on a live stream. 【YES! This stepmom is so fake. She pretends to be nice to the main character but is already planning to have her own kid.】 【I hate these types, playing the innocent white lotus. Can’t wait for our girl to slap her into next week!】 【She’s about to announce she’s pregnant. You think our queen is gonna stand for that? LOL no.】 The words hit me like a physical blow. I took a sharp breath and quickly shoved the pregnancy report deeper into my pocket. Turning to my husband, another piece of cannon fodder in this twisted story, I forced a small smile. “Arthur, honey, there’s something I need to talk to you about after dinner.” 1 My stepdaughter, Miranda, propped her chin on her hand and sneered. “Your voice is ruining my appetite.” She lowered her hand, her fingers inching toward the soup tureen. It looked like she was getting ready to douse me again. The comments flew across my vision. 【This stepmom talks way too much. That’s our queen’s dad, and she keeps calling him ‘honey’ right in front of her. So gross.】 【Do it again! Throw the soup! This is the content I live for!】 I blinked, confirming that the text wasn’t a hallucination. I immediately lurched to the side, dodging the scalding chicken soup Miranda slung at me. It splattered everywhere, coating the beautiful dinner I’d spent three hours preparing in a greasy film, making it completely inedible. I couldn’t even care about the ruined food. The spot on my face where the hot water had hit was starting to burn with a dull, throbbing pain. I rushed to the kitchen and splashed my face with cold water again and again until the stinging subsided. Just moments ago, all I had done was take a piece of the tender fish belly, and Miranda had retaliated by throwing her glass of water at my head. Thank God it wasn’t boiling, or my face would have been ruined. Miranda watched me with cold, dismissive eyes. “Seriously? The water wasn’t even that hot. Stop being so dramatic.” Arthur finally put down his chopsticks, his expression darkening. “Miranda, that’s enough. You need to show some restraint.” The comments immediately shifted to him. 【What a scumbag dad. First, he marries a new wife, and now he wants a new kid? Where does that leave our girl?】 【Guess she’ll have to tolerate him for a little while longer… for the inheritance, of course.】 In my eyes, Arthur had always seemed like a decent father. Miranda’s mother had died in a car accident shortly after she was born, and he had remained single for fifteen years before marrying me. He chose me, I think, because I came from a small town with no connections, no power to challenge his precious daughter. But Miranda didn’t give him an ounce of respect. She scoffed. “Restraint? I have none. What are you going to do about it?” “This is my house,” she spat, “and I’ll kick out anyone I don’t like. If you have a problem with it, you can get out with her!” More comments appeared. 【That’s our queen! A total savage. If you get in her way, she’ll send you to your grave!】 Send me to my grave? My hands clenched into fists. Having also lost my mother, I had always felt a sense of pity for Miranda. When she refused to let me move into the master bedroom, I took the guest room on the first floor. When she didn’t want our marriage to be publicly announced, I agreed to cancel the wedding. I even made sure to buy her favorite fruits. I had hoped that once she was past her volatile teenage years, we could find a way to live in peace. But now, I saw that was just a foolish fantasy. It wasn’t just me Miranda couldn’t tolerate. It was my baby, too. With that thought, I discreetly pulled the pregnancy report from my pocket and held it under the running faucet. I let the water wash away the ink until the paper disintegrated into a pulpy mess. “Hey, you. Are you done with your little drama yet?” Miranda stood up and sauntered toward me. “Stop playing the victim. I can’t stand it.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you just came from the hospital, didn’t you? Are you pregnant?” At her words, Arthur’s head snapped up, his eyes fixed on me. A flicker of something crossed his face, but he remained seated, watching as his daughter advanced on me. Miranda casually picked up a kitchen knife, running her finger lightly along the blade. She smiled. “I can smell the antiseptic on you. What did the doctor say?” The comments exploded with excitement. 【Go, Queen! Stab the cannon fodder stepmom and that little parasite in her belly right now!】 【So smart and so ruthless. This is the evil heroine I signed up for!】 A chill traced its way down my spine. A mother’s instinct took over, and I forced myself to stay calm. I frowned slightly and sighed. “No, I’m not.” Miranda eyed me with suspicion. I lowered my head, my voice cracking. “The doctor said… my health isn’t good. It will be very difficult for me to conceive.” “Miranda,” I whispered, “it looks like you might be the only daughter I’ll ever have.” Her expression soured, and she tossed the knife back onto the counter with a clatter. “Who’s your daughter? Don’t get any ideas.” She turned and stalked out, clearly annoyed to be in the same room with me. But as she left, she threw an order over her shoulder. “I want to wear the coat my mother left me tomorrow. Have it pressed for me tonight.” “And for Dad’s tie, choose the one with the thin stripes, not the one you bought him.” There it was again. In the year since I had married into the Prescott family, she constantly used these little commands to assert her dominance. I usually let it slide, not wanting to argue with a teenager. But this time, I shook my head. “I’m a little tired today. Why don’t you ask the housekeeper to help you?” She stopped in her tracks and turned, her voice cold. “Is that so?” Arthur suddenly interjected. “Clara, you should do it. The housekeeper is too clumsy.” I looked at him, and in his eyes, I saw a flicker of disappointment. Was he disappointed that I wasn’t pregnant, or disappointed that I wasn’t endlessly catering to his daughter? Not wanting to argue in front of Miranda, I simply nodded. “Fine.” A triumphant smirk touched Miranda’s lips as she swept out of the house. The moment the door closed, I hurried to Arthur’s side. “Honey,” I said, stopping him as he put on his coat to follow Miranda out for a shopping trip. “Can we please talk?” “Clara, I know Miranda shouldn’t have thrown water at you,” he said, “but you’re the adult. You should be more patient with her. Don’t be so sensitive.” He seemed to feel a little guilty, patting my shoulder. “And don’t be too sad about the baby thing. If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be.” “We’ll focus on raising Miranda. One child is enough, right?” I froze. The poorly concealed relief in his voice hit me like a physical blow. We had agreed to have another child after we married. Now, it seemed like our baby was completely disposable to him. I didn’t give up. I had to try. “I wanted to ask… could I go with you to the overseas branch for a while?” Just a year. It would be enough time for me to get away from Miranda and have this baby safely. Arthur laughed as if I’d told a joke. “I’m going there to expand the market, Clara, not on vacation.” “You need to stay here and take care of the house. If you come with me, who’s going to look after Miranda?” I said nothing, focusing on the comments that were now scrolling in front of my eyes. 【Phew, thank god. The scumbag dad has at least half a brain. He knows our girl is the most important.】 【Miranda’s probably watching this on the cameras. She’ll be so pleased.】 【Can’t wait for the day our queen is done using him and tosses him aside. Maybe she’ll grant him a clean death.】 【But why did the stepmom’s plot change? When is the main character going to find out she’s pregnant? I need to see her deal with this white lotus!】 The comments sent a fresh wave of fear through me. Just because I was a stepmother, did that mean I deserved to die at Miranda’s hands? What could I do to protect myself and my child? My gaze shifted back to Arthur. I had once been drawn to his gentle, refined nature. Even knowing he was older and had a daughter, I couldn’t help but fall for him. Now, his face was etched with impatience. “Miranda is waiting for me outside. I have to go.” And this was our first wedding anniversary. Dinner was ruined, and now the anniversary was, too. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Arthur, maybe we should separate.” He frowned, the look in his eyes changing. “Clara, are you seriously picking a fight over a disagreement with a child? Is it really necessary?” “Stop this nonsense. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He didn’t want to waste another second on me. He turned and walked away. The door shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty house. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I immediately began searching for the cameras the comments had mentioned. There was a pinhole camera hidden in the leaves of a potted plant, another tucked beside the television, and even a listening device taped under the dining table. In that moment, I understood the true extent of Miranda’s danger. I hired a professional security team and had them sweep the entire house. When they found a camera hidden behind the bathroom mirror, one of them whistled. “What is this, are you guys filming a spy movie?” My face went pale. The thought that Miranda had been watching me, even when I was showering, for the past year was so repulsive I almost threw up. In total, they found sixteen pinhole cameras and seven listening devices throughout the Prescott mansion. When Arthur and Miranda returned, I was sitting in the living room, waiting for them. His parents, my in-laws, were with them. I knew then that Miranda had discovered I’d removed the cameras. I got straight to the point. “There was only one room in this house that wasn’t bugged, Miranda. Care to explain?” “This is a violation of my privacy! It’s a crime!” Miranda just snorted, crossing her arms. “So what? I’m a minor. Go on, call the police. See if they even care.” My mother-in-law glanced at the pile of surveillance equipment on the table, then sat down on the sofa without a care in the world. “What’s with that look on your face? You really are from a small town, aren’t you?” My father-in-law sneered. “People with no breeding are so easily scandalized.” I wasn’t surprised they were protecting her. I looked at Arthur. His was the only opinion that mattered to me. He turned his head away, refusing to meet my eyes. “Miranda explained it to me. She did it because she feels insecure.” “Besides,” he mumbled, “it’s not like she actually did anything to you. Let’s just drop it.” I let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh, my last shred of hope for him gone. “Arthur, I’m serious. I want a divorce.” Miranda immediately scoffed. “A divorce? You’re just after the money, aren’t you?” I didn’t deny it. If I were alone, I would have walked away with nothing. But I had a child to think of, a child who would need financial support. I would fight for what was rightfully mine. My mother-in-law glared at me. “Who do you think you’re threatening? Do you really believe our Arthur can’t live without you?” Arthur stared at me for a long time before speaking, his voice heavy. “Think this through, Clara. Who really stands to lose in a divorce?” I gave him a calm smile. “Oh, I’ve thought it through very clearly.” Miranda was a ticking time bomb. I could either strike first, or get as far away from her as possible. Since I didn’t want to become a criminal myself, divorce was my only option. It was late. I was too tired to argue with them anymore, so I went to my room. The next morning, I had an appointment with my lawyer. As I opened the front door to leave, a plastic bag filled with water fell from above, drenching me. Before I could even process what happened, I felt something cold and slimy slither down my collar. The sensation sent a jolt through my body, and I froze, a violent shiver racking my frame. Miranda was standing a short distance away, a gleeful smile on her face as she watched me frantically pull at my shirt. My panic only made her laugh harder. A goldfish flopped onto the ground at my feet. Its tail gave a few weak flicks before it went still, its gills ceasing their motion. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I turned my head and retched. Miranda’s smile vanished. “You… you’re pregnant, aren’t you?!” I wanted to deny it, but my body betrayed me. I ran to the nearest bathroom, bile rising in my throat. I knelt before the toilet, heaving until tears streamed from my eyes. The rest of the family heard the commotion and came to investigate. My mother-in-law, who usually did nothing but glare at me, actually had a smile on her face. “That reaction… she must be pregnant.” Arthur frowned. “But Clara just came back from the hospital yesterday and said she wasn’t.” His mother grabbed his arm. “Take her again! There’s no mistaking that kind of morning sickness!” Even my father-in-law’s tone was unusually gentle. “If she really is pregnant, then this divorce is out of the question.” “The Prescott family needs more heirs. This child is coming at the perfect time.” In stark contrast to their joy, Miranda’s lips were pressed into a thin, cold line. The look she gave me was filled with enough hatred to flay me alive. I sat weakly on the floor, my mind a chaotic mess. The comments reappeared. 【This stepmom’s plot is so weird now. How did she find the cameras? And she dared to ask for a divorce? Her character is totally broken!】 【Finally! The main character knows she’s pregnant. It’s time to get rid of her!】 I wouldn’t let that happen. Why should I, a living, breathing person with feelings and a future, be nothing more than cannon fodder for Miranda’s story? On the way to the hospital, I thought hard. Finally, I took out my phone and sent a message to my lawyer. I told him to pause the divorce papers and draft something else entirely. The hospital confirmed it quickly. My in-laws held the report, their faces beaming. They pulled Arthur aside. “Arthur, you can’t get divorced now. You need to talk to Clara, smooth things over.” “If you have to, just give her some more money.” Arthur looked at me, his eyes filled with an emotion too complex for me to read. “Clara, why did you hide the pregnancy from me?” I deliberately lowered my voice. “I was scared.” He was speechless for a few seconds before he finally managed to say, “Miranda is just a child. She didn’t mean any harm.” From the comments, I already knew his fate. He was cannon fodder, just like me. You can’t wake someone who’s pretending to be asleep. I decided to respect his choice. When we left the hospital, I didn’t get into the family car. I walked straight to a waiting taxi. Arthur blocked my path. “What are you doing now?” A heated debate erupted in the comments before my eyes. 【YES! The cannon fodder stepmom is finally going to die! Smeared all over the road! So satisfying!】 【But… the stepmom hasn’t really done anything bad. She cooked and cleaned for the main character. Isn’t this a little too cruel?】 【If you have a bleeding heart, why are you reading an evil heroine novel? Get lost! The main character is supposed to get everything she wants. Who cares if a few side characters die?】 I smiled. “If I told you that Miranda tampered with that car, would you believe me?” Arthur’s face hardened. “That’s enough, Clara. Why are you so determined to pick a fight with a child?” “I thought you genuinely cared about Miranda, but now I see…” I tuned him out and shut the taxi door. On the way home, I deliberately had the driver take a longer route. When I walked through the front door, my in-laws were excitedly telling Miranda about the baby. The moment she saw me, her eyes widened in disbelief. “You… How…? Then who was in that car?!”

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I was the kept woman of the Crown Prince of New York. Julian Sterling had the looks, the body, and the stamina of a god. Unfortunately, his personality was pure poison—sharp-tongued, manipulative, and rotten to the core. Three years into our beautifully toxic arrangement, my safety net collapsed. —Julian Sterling was switched at birth. He wasn’t the real heir to the Sterling empire. —He offended so many people for Chloe Tan. Let’s see how he survives now. —A peasant girl and a bastard. A match made in heaven. … Everyone was celebrating his downfall. I wasn’t particularly sad either. That night, Julian came home looking like a kicked puppy, only to be startled by me and the row of private security guards lining the villa. “Don’t be sad, Julian. I know you’re proud, but it’s okay. Your sugar mama has arrived!” “I’m done pretending. Cards on the table: I’m filthy rich, and now you’re my boy toy!” “You might have lost your crown in New York, but I’m still the Princess of Shanghai! Big sister’s got you covered!” Julian: “…Why are you so hyped right now?” I flipped the script on Julian, humiliating and bullying him to my heart’s content, laughing maniacally as he silently seethed. Until a week later, my adoptive father called me. “Come home quick, Chloe. We found your biological brother.” Looking at the photo he sent, I fell silent. 1 When the news of Julian Sterling’s bankruptcy broke, I was with my girlfriends, face masks on, getting pedicures. CEOs and tycoons have their cliques, and we “canaries” have ours. I listened leisurely as everyone passionately roasted their sugar daddies. Mr. Qi was a gossip, Mr. Shen was an idiot, Mr. Gu was cheap, Mr. Zhang was ugly… “And don’t get me started on Old Man Li. He’s old enough to be my dad,” Bella complained, shaking her leg, a tattoo peeking out on her ankle. Summer rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Money is hard to earn, and shit is hard to eat. You have the nerve to complain? Everyone knows Shen treats you like a placeholder. His sickly white moonlight is coming back from abroad next week. Watch your kidneys.” … Two sighs echoed in my ears. “Chloe is the lucky one. Her Prince is young, rich, handsome, has stamina, and doesn’t force her to cosplay his dead ex-girlfriend.” “Yeah… he’s just got a foul mouth.” Foul was an understatement! “Oh my god! I’ve never met anyone with such a rotten personality. He’s impossible to please.” I sat up straight, ready to list Julian’s eighteen deadly sins, when the WeChat group exploded with notifications. “What’s happening? New member?” I opened my phone. 99+ messages. Just as I was about to dive into the gossip, a message popped up: You have been removed from the group chat. ? Three minutes later, Summer awkwardly handed me her phone. “Julian isn’t the Chairman’s biological son. Let’s see what Chloe has to brag about now.” “He’s been kicked out of the Sterling family. Left without a word. Looks like he’ll have to tuck his tail between his legs from now on.” “Julian used to be so arrogant. He offended so many people for Chloe. Lol, let’s see how this dog couple survives.” “A hillbilly and a bastard. Next time I see them, I’m spitting on them.” … Bella patted my shoulder. “Don’t be sad, Chloe. They’ve always been bitches. It’s nothing. In our line of work, change is constant. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to someone better.” I pursed my lips. “I need to go back first.” Kicked out. Someone as proud as Julian… he must be devastated. But… I had already booked my ticket back to Shanghai. 2 I was conflicted. This accidental arrangement started as exactly that—an accident. Three years with Julian, causing chaos in New York, partners in crime. Emotionally, it was meh. But personality-wise, we were a match made in hell. He was rotten to the core, speaking his mind with zero filter. I rode his coattails, becoming the center of attention even though New York wasn’t my turf. But a relationship that starts as a transaction can’t change its nature. Sugar daddy, sugar baby. He wanted beauty, I wanted money. Even though I didn’t need the money, I did it for fun. But people grow up, and fun ends. My contract with Julian was expiring. He was cold, his temper stank, and I never knew if I was special to him or just another accessory. Plus, news came from home. The Tan family was in chaos. My dad found his long-lost biological son, but the guy refused to return. I had to go back and keep the old man company. My phone buzzed again. Summer. She sent me contact cards for several rich second-generation heirs. I squinted. One of them was her stepson. Summer: [Add him. From now on, we’re family.] Me: [Is he legal? Isn’t this a crime? This is Lee, Julian’s best friend.] Summer: [So what? I trained him myself. Obedient and well-behaved. Don’t you hate foul-mouthed guys? This one is good. Very good.] Me: [No. No bottom line. My conscience would kill me.] Summer: [I get you, babe. But let me remind you. In this circle, don’t tell me you’re looking for true love. He wants your youth and beauty; you want his money. You pity Julian now, but when you’re old and your looks fade, will he pity you? Besides, he’s a fake prince. He didn’t share his glory with us when he was up; why should you share his suffering and revenge when he’s down?] I was silent. Summer was right. In the eyes of outsiders, even Julian’s, this is how it should be. But lying on the sofa, staring at my flight info, I hesitated for a long time. Should a canary be loyal? I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting off. When I woke up, I had been moved from the sofa to the bedroom. My clothes were changed into pajamas, and the sound of sizzling came from the kitchen. Julian must be back. Still half-asleep, feeling like I was in a dream, I shuffled to the entryway and stared at his back. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just an apron over his bare skin. Strangely erotic. I yawned. “It’s so late, you haven’t eaten?” He didn’t answer. I shook my head. “Are we doing it tonight? If not, I’m going back to sleep.” “The old dishwasher broke. I bought a new one. Put the dishes in after you eat. If you don’t know how, read the manual.” He still didn’t turn around. Just as I was about turn back, I heard a strange sound. Julian lowered his head, shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly. It took him a long time to compose himself before he looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “What is this? A breakup fuck?” His voice was soft, heartbreakingly careful. I shuddered, instantly awake. 3 Julian looked like he was about to shatter. Usually he strutted around like he owned the world. Now he looked pathetic and small. I remembered a celebration party two years ago. Everyone was drunk. Someone joked with him, “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as Miss Tan.” Julian’s face was cold. The guy laughed again. “When you’re tired of playing with her, how about letting me have a turn?” He was drunk out of his mind. Sober, he wouldn’t dare speak to Julian like that. But he didn’t get an answer. He got a wine bottle smashed over his head. Premium red wine mixed with blood, dripping down his forehead. Julian sneered. “You worthy?” I thought he was sober and dragged him to a corner in panic. “Are you crazy? You’re going to be on the news tomorrow.” But he buried his face in my shoulder, looking aggrieved. “A boyfriend has to be loyal, right?” But when I brought it up the next day, he denied it flatly. “It’s Sugar Daddy. You heard wrong. Come on, dummy, call me Daddy.” … I pursed my lips, snapping out of the memory. A brilliant smile involuntarily spread across my face. I looked at Julian’s obviously crying eyes and said, “What’s the big deal? Crying like a baby? Are you in elementary school?” Before he could retort, I filled a bowl of rice for him, pulled him to sit, scooped up a spoonful, and blew on it like I was feeding a child. “Here, say ahh.” Normally, Julian would be disgusted by now. Whenever he was grossed out, he’d launch into a roast session. Once he vented his spleen, everything was easy to solve. But he just lowered his eyes silently and actually ate the spoonful of rice. Eyelids trembling, long lashes fluttering, eyes misty. Every movement and expression fit that face perfectly. …I shivered. Possessed? Well, a blow like this would break anyone. “Mr. Sterling, I have something to say to you.” “Hm?” He looked startled. “Everyone is an individual. The world keeps spinning without anyone. No one stays with anyone forever. You’re young, you have opportunities. Even though you have no money and no home now, at least you still have…” To prevent him from mocking my narcissism later, I swallowed the word “me.” “At least you see people clearly now. You know who was fake and who treated you with sincerity.” I spoke earnestly, but the air around Julian grew heavier. After a long time, he looked up, meeting my eyes with a gaze so deep I couldn’t read it. “Is that so?” He smiled self-deprecatingly and whispered, “I understand.” 4 He pushed aside the freshly made food, picked me up, and carried me to the bedroom. I saw the sudden darkness in his eyes and gasped. But he did nothing. He held me tight, resting his chin on my forehead. “Chloe.” “Hm?” “Do you hate me?” I shook my head gently, sighed, then lifted his face with my hands. “Don’t talk to me like that. It’s scary.” He shut up. Still worried, I knelt on the bed and kissed his face. Seeing his stunned expression, I comforted him softly, “So what if your parents don’t want you? My parents dumped me when I was four, and I’m still alive and kicking.” “We have hands and feet. Worst case, we work. If you really can’t hack it, I’ll go home and sell seafood to support you.” He stared at me blankly. I wanted to be an actress and came to Beijing. My dad threw money at it, Julian threw money at it, but my three-minute passion burned out long ago. Looking at Julian’s face, even I felt impressed. Me, the queen of short attention spans, actually liked this person for so long.

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On my birthday, my stepsister smashed my late mother’s portrait in front of everyone, stomping her high heels on my mother’s face. Trembling with rage, I slapped her for the first time in my life. That night, I was kidnapped, dragged to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city, and tortured for twenty-four hours. They used iron bars to crush my hands and feet. Gasoline was poured over me as I screamed in agony. “Mr. Sterling said you offended Miss Bella, so we need to teach you a lesson.” I was shocked. Bella was the woman Sebastian Sterling, the heir to the Sterling empire, cherished above all else. On the brink of death, my fingers brushed the tiny distress button hidden in my hair. It was given to me by my most trusted personal doctor, Dr. Sebastian Sterling. He had promised, “No matter where you are, I will come to save you.” Just as I was about to press the button, a familiar voice crackled over the kidnapper’s walkie-talkie. “She passed out? Leave her alive. Don’t actually kill her.” It was Sebastian. He was the mysterious heir to the Sterling family all along! My blood ran cold. … The noises from the other room faded. I closed my eyes, weak and defeated, letting the darkness swallow my consciousness. Sebastian had been my doctor for two years. His gentleness, his concern, his every approach—it was all just to stand legitimately by Bella’s side. No wonder every time I argued with Bella, an “accident” would follow. A fall where no one was looking, a dress inexplicably tearing, food poisoning, sudden allergies… Every time, he stood by, calmly documenting my pain, calling it “desensitization therapy.” He was never protecting me. He was protecting Bella. Lying on the cold concrete, amidst the excruciating pain, everything suddenly made sense. I thought of my secret, unspoken love for him… Laughter mixed with blood bubbled up from my throat. When I woke up again, the smell of disinfectant filled the room. Sebastian sat by the bed, brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you call for help?” I turned my face away. The conversation I heard in my delirium churned in my mind. He orchestrated everything, yet he could still feign concern? “Water?” His voice was soft. “The doctor said you need rest.” Before he could finish, the door was kicked open. My father stormed in and slapped me hard across the face. “You ungrateful brat! Because of you, Bella missed her music competition!” I clutched my burning cheek, tasting iron in my mouth. “Kidnapped?” My father sneered. “Making such a scene, only to show up at the front door yourself? I say you staged the whole thing!” I licked the blood from the corner of my lip, my eyes drifting to Sebastian. He paused mid-pour, then continued as if nothing happened. Bella, eyes teary, chimed in, “Sister, even if you’re angry, you shouldn’t hurt yourself like this. Seeing you like this breaks my heart…” My stepmother, Elena, wiped away fake tears. “Chloe, Bella was so worried when she heard you were kidnapped, she didn’t even go to her competition. Thank god you’re okay!” “Where did you learn such dirty tricks?” My father raged. “First hitting people, then staging this drama. You’re a disgrace to the family!” I opened my mouth, then laughed. How ridiculous. No matter what I said, my father wouldn’t believe me. Since the day Bella walked into this house, his and my brother’s hearts had belonged to this outsider. My brother, Liam, stood by with a look of disgust. “Chloe, you’ve gone too far! You hit Bella and made her worry. Apologize to her!” This was my biological brother. “She smashed Mom’s portrait first,” I rasped, my voice firm. “I will never apologize.” Slap! Slap! Two more slaps. My father was trembling with rage. “Won’t apologize? I’ll beat you until you admit your mistake!” Sebastian stepped in to stop him, then turned to me, whispering, “Just apologize. We’re all family. Wait until your father calms down, then explain.” Family? How ironic. They were a family. I was just the extra. Sebastian’s hand rested on my shoulder, seemingly gentle but forcing me off the bed with undeniable strength. “What?” I sneered. “You’re going to force me?” “Kneel and apologize!” My father barked. The next second, a force pushed me to my knees. I looked up, meeting Sebastian’s complicated gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice low. “Just apologize. You were in the wrong first.” In that moment, my heart felt like it was being ripped apart alive. For Bella, he broke my limbs, let me suffer torture, and now hypocritically demanded I apologize. I struggled to stand. Suddenly, a metallic taste filled my throat, and the world spun. 2 When I woke again, the hospital room was dark and silent. I checked my phone. Photos of Sebastian shopping with Bella and the news of my father buying her a manor filled the screen. Strangely, my heart remained calm. My phone buzzed. A message from Sebastian. Rest well. Bella isn’t feeling well, I’m staying with her for a few days. I smirked. Busy? He just found an excuse not to face me, the person he loathed. An auction news alert popped up. My blood froze. My mother’s favorite jade bracelet was listed. The day I was discharged, no one came for me. Dragging my unhealed body to the auction house, I saw Sebastian and Bella sitting intimately together as soon as I entered. “Sister!” Bella waved. “Come sit next to me!” Sebastian started to speak, but I turned and walked to a corner. When the translucent green jade bracelet was presented, the crowd gasped in awe. “One million!” “Two million!” When the bidding reached five million, I raised my paddle without hesitation. “Eight million!” Bella’s face soured. Sebastian walked over quickly, face grim. “Chloe, don’t be stubborn. Your sister likes this bracelet, why…” “Even if I have to sell my car and house,” I looked him in the eye, “I’m taking this bracelet.” He looked at me with a complicated expression, then returned to his seat. I saw him typing on his phone, and my heart sank. “Eight million going once! Eight million going twice!” “Sky Lantern!” A man in a suit burst in. “Mr. Sterling lights the Sky Lantern for Miss Bella!” Bella flushed with delight. I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white. Back home, Bella flaunted the bracelet on her wrist. “You wanted this, didn’t you, sister? Too bad. What I want, someone always hands to me on a silver platter.” She suddenly took it off, dangling it in front of me. “Hehe, I have too much jewelry. I don’t really need this one. Want it?” “What’s the condition?” My voice was tight. “How about… you crawl and bark like a dog?” She giggled. “Dream on,” I stared at her. “What a shame.” She smiled, and her fingers opened. Crash! The bracelet fell from the second floor, shattering into pieces. “You!” I screamed, losing control. Suddenly, she slapped herself hard across the face. “Sister, Mr. Sterling gave me this bracelet! Even if you like it, you can’t just snatch it! If you can’t have it, you destroy it? You’re too much!” Sebastian rushed up the stairs, eyes cold and sharp. “Chloe, are you bullying Bella again?!” Bella teared up. “Sister, why won’t you let me go? Dad and Liam are good to me because we’re family…” While speaking, she moved closer to me unnoticed by Sebastian. Then, she shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I fell backward, tumbling down the stairs. 3 I lay on the floor, warm blood trickling down my forehead. Sebastian’s expression shifted. Just as he was about to move, Bella laughed lightly. “Sister, playing the victim again?” Sebastian stopped, frowning. “Let’s go. She brought this on herself.” I lay on the cold floor until late at night when the housekeeper found me and called an ambulance. Checking social media, I saw Sebastian helping Bella choose a new designer bag. As my nominal doctor, he didn’t care if I lived or died. Pain pricked my heart. I smiled bitterly and closed my eyes. Half-asleep, I heard the door open gently. I heard Sebastian whispering instructions. “Tomorrow’s date with Bella, prepare the best custom suit. And pick out a few pieces of jewelry worth millions.” I kept my eyes closed, motionless. After being discharged, I made a call to a number I hadn’t used in years. Returning home, I opened my door and froze. All of my mother’s belongings were gone. “Sister!” Bella stood at the door, smiling. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d fall that hard.” Liam sneered beside her. “Stop acting.” “Where are my mom’s things?” My voice trembled. “Those old things?” Bella tilted her head. “I saw you were always depressed holding onto them, so I burned them for you.” “Who let you touch them!” I raised my voice. “I did!” My father walked over with a baseball bat. “Your mother’s been dead for ten years, and you’re still clinging to that junk! I think your brain is broken!” “Do you know how she died?” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “If it wasn’t for you and Bella’s mother…” Years ago, my father was fooling around with Elena. My mother went looking for him in the rain and died in a car accident. My father immediately brought Elena and Bella into our home. “Shut up!” The bat struck me hard. I ran out the door into the pouring rain. Unknowingly, I arrived at the old street my mother used to take me to. I curled up by a dumpster for the whole night. At dawn, a Bentley pulled up at the corner. The window rolled down, revealing Sebastian’s profile. He pulled a yellowed photo from his pocket. The girl in the photo wore a white dress and had a bright smile. It was Bella. He remembered that in this dark alley, a girl in a white dress had saved him from thugs. He put the photo away and told the driver, “Watch closely. Bella should be here soon.” Hearing “Bella,” I smirked self-deprecatingly. How could he be looking for me? Sebastian waited from morning till night, but Bella never showed up. Night fell. Sebastian called someone, sounding disappointed. “Bella, I waited all day. Why didn’t you come…” On the other end, Bella sounded like she just woke up. “Oh, sister is missing, the house is a mess…” Sebastian hung up and suddenly noticed me. He strode over, grabbing my wrist. “Why are you here?!” “Let go!” I struggled. “Come back with me!” His face was dark. “The family is in chaos because of you!” “Our contract ends tomorrow,” I shook him off. “My business is none of your concern.” He paused, then hardened his tone. “There are still 24 hours. I am still your doctor. You are unstable. You must come with me.” Before he finished, his phone rang abruptly. He stepped aside, lowering his voice. “Mr. Sterling, the 15-carat engagement ring you ordered has arrived. We need you to come…” Hanging up, the gloom on his face vanished, replaced by unconcealed joy. “I have urgent business. Go back yourself.” Whenever it involved Bella, I was always the one sacrificed and discarded. After Sebastian left, my phone exploded with news notifications. I stared at the screen, my breath catching. 4 The top trending topic read: #Details of Sterling Heiress’s Childhood Assault Revealed#, followed by a glaring “EXPLOSIVE” tag. My fingers trembled violently. Memories I had deliberately buried came flooding back. When I was twelve, with my mother barely cold in her grave, my father slapped me in public for Bella again. I ran into a rainy alley, only to be dragged into the darkness by three drunks… The men’s laughter, the sound of tearing fabric, my father’s disgusted look afterward—these fragments were like knives, still buried deep in my heart. Clatter. My phone hit the ground. I stumbled home. The villa was empty. Only my father and Sebastian knew about this. My father cared too much about his reputation, so that only left… I called Sebastian over and over, but no one answered. In the evening, Sebastian and Bella returned. I rushed over, grabbing his collar. “Why did you rip open my scars for the world to see?! Why did you expose me?!” He shoved my hand away in disgust. “What are you crazy about now?” “Every therapy session, you asked for details. I thought you were helping me…” Tears streamed down my face. “Instead, you broadcast my most painful secret!” Bella cooed, “Dr. Sterling, ignore her. Sister’s mental state has been bad lately. She bites everyone.” “Look at you now, hysterical,” Sebastian said coldly. “No wonder you were…” He stopped abruptly. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but it was too late. I ran back to my room and locked the door. For three days, I didn’t eat or drink, lying in bed with my eyes open. On the morning of the fourth day, I got dressed and went to the concert hall. Pushing open the doors, I saw two rows of black-suited bodyguards. In the center stood the Sterling family butler, holding 999 roses. Beside him, trays of jewelry glittered under the lights. “Mr. Sterling sent these to wish Miss Bella a successful performance.” Bella walked elegantly onto the stage. As soon as she touched the harp strings, her face changed. “Who did this?!” She shrieked, scanning the audience. Her gaze locked on me. “Sister, was it you?!” “Miss Chloe,” the butler stepped forward. “Mr. Sterling ordered that if anyone disrupts Miss Bella’s performance…” “What?” I interrupted softly. “Break my hands and feet again?” Sebastian, standing in the corner, changed expression. My father rushed over, kicking me hard in the waist. I fell to my knees, hearing a bone crack. “You animal!” My father roared. “How dare you harm your sister!” My stepmother wiped fake tears nearby. “She’s twisted because her past was exposed. Taking it out on Bella.” Reporters swarmed, flashbulbs blinding me. Sebastian stood in the crowd, looking at me with undisguised annoyance. I laughed softly. The sound silenced the hall. “Since everyone is here,” I said quietly, making everyone hold their breath, “Today, I, Chloe, officially sever ties with the family.” My father’s face turned purple. “Are you insane?!” “Since Bella arrived, you never celebrated my birthday again. She smashed Mom’s portrait, and you blamed me without checking the cameras.” I turned to my brother. “We have the same mother, yet you watched her burn Mom’s belongings.” Finally, I looked at Sebastian. “My psychiatrist? Who were you with when I had an episode?” “All these years, no one truly believed me or cared about me.” I pulled out a prepared dagger. The crowd erupted. “Stop her!” As Sebastian rushed forward, the blade plunged deep into my chest. Blood sprayed onto his face. Bella screamed. In the last moment of consciousness, I heard Sebastian screaming my name. Finally, I could be free.

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The day my parents divorced, two agreements sat on the table. One was to stay with my gambling, debt-ridden father in the old neighborhood. The other was to go with my mother, who was remarrying a wealthy businessman, to the coast. In my last life, my younger brother, Liam, threw a tantrum, crying for Mom. I quietly packed my bags and went with Dad. Later, Dad quit gambling, our old house was demolished for a huge payout, and he showered me with affection. Meanwhile, Liam was emotionally abused at his stepfather’s house, forbidden from leaving, and eventually died from depression. This time, starting over, Liam snatched the cigarette from Dad’s hand and clung to him, refusing to let go. “Leo, I feel bad for Dad. You go enjoy the good life. I’m leaving it for you.” Dad froze for a second, then a look of relief crossed his face as he patted Liam’s head. I said nothing. I just picked up the train ticket to the coast. Liam didn’t know that the only reason Dad quit gambling in our last life was because I, diagnosed with a brain tumor, worked myself to the point of coughing up blood to pay his debts. My life was the price for his redemption. In this new life, free from the sound of debt collectors, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep. … I picked up my worn duffel bag. “Go on, get out of here. Go find your gold-digging mother,” Dad said, waving his hand like he was shooing a fly. Liam hid behind Dad and made a face at me, mouthing exaggeratedly, “Bro, don’t come crawling to me for money later.” I just smiled and didn’t say a word. I turned and walked out into the rain. I hunched my shoulders, a damp chill seeping into the very marrow of my bones. It didn’t really matter where I went. I just wanted to find a quiet place to live out my remaining time. No more listening to loan sharks banging on the door. No more smelling that nauseating stench of cheap cigarette smoke. Mom’s black Mercedes was parked at the end of the alley. The window rolled down, revealing her perfectly maintained face. She frowned at the sight of me, soaked to the bone, her eyes filled with disdain. “What happened to you? Get in, quickly. Don’t get the car dirty.” I opened the back door and was about to get in. “Put that bag in the trunk,” Mom snapped, pointing at my duffel. “It’s filthy. God knows what kind of germs are on it.” I paused for a moment. But I did as she said, closing the door and stowing the bag in the trunk. When I got back in the car, I squeezed myself into the corner, trying not to touch the leather seats. The heat was blasting, but I was still cold. “Leo, when we get there, you need to be sensible,” Mom said, watching me in the rearview mirror as she drove. “Your stepfather doesn’t like noise. Stay in your room unless you have a reason to come out.” “Don’t slurp when you eat. Don’t drag your feet when you walk.” “And another thing. Don’t ever mention your father. He’s bad luck.” I watched the rain-streaked scenery fly by and nodded. “I know.” The thorn in my brain pricked me again. For a second, the world went black, and I raised a hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her tone laced with impatience. “Nothing. Just carsick,” I said. “So dramatic,” she scoffed. “You’re just like your father.” I closed my eyes and swallowed, forcing back the coppery tang of blood that rose in my throat. I’m not doing this again in the next life. The drive took five hours. It was pitch black by the time we pulled into a gated community on the hillside. It was ablaze with light, yet cloaked in a dead, suffocating silence. “We’re here.” Mom parked the car, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. She was shifting gears, transforming from the sharp-tongued woman she was with me into a gentle, considerate wife. “Get out. Remember to call him Mr. Sangster.” I followed behind her, carrying my duffel bag. A man was sitting on the living room sofa. A blanket covered his legs, and a book was in his hands. He looked up when he heard us. This was my stepfather, Julian Sangster. The man who drove Liam to his death in my last life. “You’re back?” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Julian, this is Leo,” Mom said, pushing me forward with a plastered-on smile. “Leo, say hello to Mr. Sangster.” I stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “Hello, Mr. Sangster.” Julian turned a page in his book as if he hadn’t heard me. After a few seconds, a quiet “Mm” escaped his nostrils. His gaze flickered down to my wet shoes, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “The carpet is new.” He looked back down at his book. “The guest room is ready. Second floor, first door on the left.” “Thank you, Mr. Sangster,” I said. Mom let out a sigh of relief and pulled me upstairs. “See? Mr. Sangster is a very nice person,” she whispered. “Just don’t make him angry, and you’ll be able to stay here.” The room was huge and empty. “Mom.” I called out just as she was about to leave. “What is it?” “I’d like to change rooms.” Her expression soured instantly. “Leo, are you seriously being picky the moment you arrive? What’s wrong with this room? It’s a hundred times better than that pigsty your father lives in. Don’t be ungrateful.” I watched her tirade calmly. When she finally ran out of steam, I spoke. “It’s not that. This room faces north. It’s too cold.” “I’d like a south-facing room, even if it’s smaller.” I was genuinely cold. The tumor had messed with my body’s ability to regulate temperature, leaving me in a perpetual state of freezing. Only sunlight offered any real comfort. “Cold? Just turn on the heat,” she said, thinking I was being unreasonable. “The south-facing rooms are your Mr. Sangster’s study and a storage room.” “The storage room is fine,” I said. Her eyes widened. “Are you insane? You’d rather sleep in a storage room than a perfectly good guest room? Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to make Julian think I’m mistreating you?” Her voice grew shrill. I covered my ears. It was too loud. The blood vessels in my head throbbed. “I’m just cold,” I repeated. Just then, two soft knocks came from the doorway. Julian was standing there, a glass of water in his hand, his expression dark. “What’s all the shouting about?” Mom’s demeanor changed in a flash, her voice trembling. “It’s nothing, Julian. The boy is just being difficult, complaining about his room. I’ll handle him.” Julian looked at me, and I looked back at him. His face was pale, his lips colorless. He looked like he was dying. “Where do you want to stay?” he asked me. “The south-facing one,” I said, pointing down the hall. “That room is filled with old furniture.” “I don’t mind. As long as there’s sun.” Julian was silent for a moment. “Suit yourself. Just don’t shout in the hallway.” He turned and left, completely uninterested in our mother-son dispute. Mom poked my forehead in frustration. “Just keep pushing it. What will people say when they hear you’re living in a storage room? How am I supposed to show my face?” I ignored her and walked toward the end of the hall with my duffel bag. I pushed the door open, and a cloud of dust hit me. But I saw the floor-to-ceiling window. When the sun rose tomorrow, this room would be warm. That was enough. I made my bed and placed the photo album under my pillow. The doctor’s diagnosis was tucked inside it. As long as I was alive, no one would bother snooping through my things. That night, I slept soundly. There were no debt collectors in my dreams, only a vast, endless darkness. I settled into the house like a ghost, an invisible presence. Julian liked quiet. Even the housekeeper tiptoed around. Mom spent her days trying to please him, making him soup, giving him massages, and watching boring financial news with him. She was less a wife than a high-end caregiver. As for me, I rarely left my room, except for meals. I had cleaned out the storage room. It was still cluttered with old furniture, but the sunlight was wonderful. I would often pull up a chair and sit by the window for hours, basking like an old man on the verge of death. Sometimes Julian would pass by my open door. He would pause when he saw me soaking up the sun, but he never said anything. The look in his eyes was strange, as if he were looking at one of his own kind. One day at lunch, the dining table was silent except for the soft clinking of chopsticks against porcelain. My phone suddenly buzzed, sounding like an alarm in the quiet room. Julian frowned. Mom immediately put down her chopsticks and shot me a glare. “Who told you to bring your phone to the table? Have some manners.” “Hang up,” she ordered. I took out my phone and glanced at the screen. It was Liam. I declined the call. Two seconds later, it buzzed again. I declined it again. The third time it vibrated, Julian set down his chopsticks. “Just answer it,” he said, his voice faint. “The noise is giving me a headache.” I took the phone out to the balcony. The second I answered, Liam’s voice exploded in my ear. “Leo, did you do this on purpose? You took the bank book, didn’t you?” I held the phone away from my ear. “What bank book?” “Dad said the bank book is missing. He’s sure you stole it. There was five hundred dollars in there!” I had to laugh. That five hundred dollars was what I had earned washing dishes last summer. “That was my money,” I said. “Your money is the family’s money,” Liam shot back, full of self-righteousness. “Dad has no money for cigarettes now, and he’s throwing a fit. You’d better transfer the money over, or I’ll tell Mom you stole from us.” I could hear things crashing in the background and Dad’s slurred curses. “Useless piece of trash! Ungrateful wolf!” “I should’ve strangled you at birth!” Even from hundreds of miles away, those voices still suffocated me. “I didn’t steal anything,” I said calmly. “That was money I was saving for my medical bills.” “Medical bills? What’s wrong with you?” Liam sneered. “Stop pretending. Just send the money, or I’ll go to your school and tell everyone you’re letting your own father die.” I looked out at the garden. The flowers were in full bloom, a violent, blood-red. “Liam,” I said. “You chose this path. Now you have to walk it, even if you have to crawl.” “Don’t bother me again.” I hung up and blocked his number. As I turned, I felt a warmth trickle from my nose. I touched it and my hand came away covered in blood. Frantically, I pulled a tissue from my pocket and pressed it to my face, tilting my head back to stop the flow. But it was coming fast, running down my throat and into my stomach, making me nauseous. I rushed to the downstairs bathroom. In the mirror, I saw the bright red blood staining half my face. I turned on the faucet and desperately tried to wash it off. “What are you doing?” A voice came from behind me. I froze, and through the mirror, I saw Julian standing in the doorway. He was looking at my blood-and-water-streaked face, his eyes dark and deep. I hastily wiped my face. “Nosebleed,” I mumbled, looking down. “Probably just the dry air.” Julian didn’t say anything. He walked over and handed me a clean towel. “Here.” I took it and pressed it to my nose. “Thanks, Mr. Sangster.” He glanced at the faint red streaks still in the sink. “Does this happen often?” “Sometimes,” I lied. The nosebleeds were getting more frequent. Julian studied me for a long moment. “You should see a doctor,” he said. “It’s not necessary. It’s an old problem.” I kept my head down, trying to get past him. “Leo.” He stopped me. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells in this house. Your mother is your mother. You are you.” I froze and looked up at him. His expression was still cold, but there was something in his eyes I didn’t understand. “If you don’t feel well, say something.” “No one’s giving out medals for toughing it out.” He turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the bathroom. The towel in my hand smelled faintly of pine. That was his scent. That, and the faint scent of death. Julian had a secret. I knew because I’d seen a familiar pill bottle in his study’s trash can. It was a powerful painkiller, the kind prescribed to terminal cancer patients. Mom had asked me to bring a fruit platter to his study one day. Julian wasn’t there; he was at the hospital for dialysis. As I was leaving, I saw the familiar white bottle in the wastebasket. I picked it up. It was labeled as Ibuprofen, but inside were morphine tablets. I’d used the same trick. Hiding life-saving medicine in an ordinary vitamin bottle, to fool myself as much as others. So, the aloof, untouchable stepfather, the man Liam called a cold-hearted monster, was also enduring his own private hell. I put the bottle back and pretended I hadn’t seen anything. That evening, Julian came home looking worse than usual, his steps unsteady. Mom rushed to help him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, pulling away, his voice tight with pain. Mom’s hands froze in mid-air, her eyes welling up. “Julian, did I do something wrong?” “I’m just tired,” he said without looking at her, and went straight upstairs. He paused for a fraction of a second as he passed me. In that instant, I smelled the heavy scent of antiseptic from the hospital, and a faint, metallic trace of blood. The lingering smell of dialysis. I woke up in the middle of the night, pain screaming through my head. The tumor was pressing on my nerves, a relentless, crushing force. I was drenched in a cold sweat, curled in a ball, shaking. I needed water. I stumbled out of bed and made my way downstairs. The living room was dark, but I could see a shadow on the sofa. It was Julian, sitting perfectly still. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, a tiny ember in the darkness. I didn’t dare make a sound and started to back away. “Since you’re awake, come here.” His voice, hoarse and weary, cut through the dark. I had no choice but to approach. “Mr. Sangster.” “Do you play chess?” he asked. “A little.” “Play a game with me.” I sat across from him. In the moonlight, I could see his face was ashen, his forehead slick with sweat. He was in pain, just like me. We played three games in silence, the only sound the crisp click of the pieces on the board. His moves were aggressive, a release of some pent-up fury. Mine were steady, calculated. “Are you that afraid of losing?” Julian suddenly asked. “I can’t afford to lose,” I said, placing a piece. Julian let out a short, dry laugh. “Life is a lost game from the start. No matter how much you struggle, you lose in the end.” I didn’t argue. As dawn approached, the final game ended. I was about to put the pieces away when Julian’s hand pressed down on the board. “Leo. That diagnosis you have hidden under your pillow,” he said, his voice low. “How long did you plan on hiding it?” He looked up, his deep-set eyes boring straight into me. “Leo. That diagnosis you have hidden under your pillow. How long did you plan on hiding it?” My hand, holding a chess piece, froze. My heart skipped a beat. He knew. Of course he knew. In this house, if he wanted to know something, nothing could stay hidden.

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