Category: English

Chapter 1 Every time my husband went to visit his terminally ill childhood friend, he would hint at getting a divorce. Because his childhood friend’s greatest dying wish was to have a legitimate title. Today, he hinted at it again. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t make a scene. I just calmly said, “Okay.” Because this exact conversation had already happened ninety-nine times. And today was the one-hundredth time. I had finally found the definitive reason to convince myself to divorce him. I had miscarried our baby. Now, the only thing tying us together was two thin pieces of paper—our marriage certificate. … Seven days after my miscarriage, I ran into Liam at the mall. He was carrying bags full of shopping, his eyes overflowing with tenderness as he looked at Olivia. But the moment he saw me, he frowned instantly. “What are you doing here? Didn’t we agree to get the divorce finalized first? Are you backing out now?” He looked at me defensively, his icy stare piercing straight through to my heart. Olivia playfully swatted his arm and looked at me apologetically: “Serena, please don’t misunderstand. Liam is just too eager to marry me.” Saying that, she covertly glanced at my stomach, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Our wedding is set for next week. We’d love it if you and the baby came to watch.” I instinctively touched my flat stomach. Before I could speak, Liam cut me off: “How can she come to a wedding when she’s pregnant? What if her condition brings you bad luck? It’s bad energy.” My hand froze on my stomach. Once again, I was stunned by Liam’s absolute callousness. Olivia has a terminal illness, and you don’t think that’s bad luck? You spend every day running around a hospital, and you don’t think that’s bad luck? But because I was carrying your flesh and blood, you think I’m bad luck. It was truly ironic. But then again, I wasn’t Olivia. Why would I deserve your concern? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have completely vanished while knowing I was in the hospital trying to save my pregnancy. If you had just asked me a single question, you would have known. Our baby was already gone. Seeing me stay silent, Liam didn’t care. He just lowered his head and went back to discussing wedding details with Olivia, completely ignoring me. I watched them silently, countless memories flashing through my mind. Ever since Olivia was diagnosed with her terminal illness, Liam became a completely different person. He stopped caring about our baby, and he stopped coming home. Disappearing without a trace became a regular occurrence. At first, he said: “Serena, Olivia is very sick. I can’t just leave her side.” “Don’t worry, I just feel sorry for her. There’s nothing else going on.” Later, he said: “Serena, Olivia’s greatest dying wish is to marry me. I don’t want her to die with any regrets.” I knew exactly what he was implying, but I refused to understand. He dropped that hint ninety-nine times. And I found ninety-nine different excuses to reject him, ninety-nine times. Until the one-hundredth time, when he stopped hinting. That day, right after I received my 32nd progesterone injection to save the pregnancy, I walked out of the hospital and received a text from Liam. No concern, no comfort. Just a cold, hard notification. [The day after tomorrow, 9:00 AM, meet me outside the courthouse. We’re getting a divorce.] A single sentence, just a few words, completely shattered me. That day, lying on the cold concrete of the parking garage, I called Liam countless times. But in the end, the only call that went through was to 911. The doctor told me they couldn’t save the baby. I lay in my hospital bed from dusk till dawn, waiting, only to receive a single text from him. [Stop calling me so much. The ringing is annoying.] Staring at the message on my screen, I bit my lip until it bled. Liam, I agree. From now on, we will never have anything to do with each other again. I wish you… happiness. My memories stopped there. Liam nudged me, reminding me coldly: “Don’t forget, we’re going to get the divorce finalized tomorrow. Don’t try to fake being sick again.” I was stunned for a moment, then I remembered. On the third day after my miscarriage, Liam had called me. It was the only call he made, while he was waiting outside the courthouse. At the time, I had just finished an IV drip that lasted all night, and I was in terrible shape. When I answered the call, I accidentally hit the speakerphone button, and Liam’s impatient, accusing voice echoed through the entire hospital room. “Serena, is this fun for you?” “We agreed on 9:00 AM for the divorce, and it’s already noon. What excuse are you going to use this time?” Under the strange looks from the nurses, it took all my strength to stop trembling. I replied softly: “I’m in the hospital.” The breathing on the other end of the line hitched for a second, then quickly returned to normal. I heard Liam’s disdainful chuckle: “Enough. Stop making excuses. I’ll give you one last chance.” “Next Wednesday, I’ll see you at the courthouse.” The call ended. The nurses didn’t say anything, they just quietly walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, my remaining dignity was utterly destroyed. That was when I realized that the most painful thing wasn’t the harm inflicted by the person you love. It was the pity from bystanders while the person you love is hurting you. Closing my eyes, I pulled myself out of the mud of my memories: “Okay.” Liam raised an eyebrow and continued: “After the divorce, just stay home and focus on your pregnancy. Don’t contact me unless it’s an absolute emergency.” “Okay.” Perhaps because I agreed too readily, Liam was actually taken aback. He loosened his grip on Olivia and his gaze fell on my stomach. “How’s the baby? Is he behaving?” The moment he spoke, my eyes instantly turned red. I used every ounce of my strength to swallow the sob rising in my throat. “He’s behaving. Very well-behaved.” So well-behaved that even when he left, he couldn’t bear to let me suffer for too long. Terrified that I would lose control of my emotions, I didn’t dare say another word and simply turned to leave. As we brushed past each other, I noticed a lipstick stain on Liam’s collar. It was the exact same shade as the lipstick on Olivia’s lips. And the exact same color as the blood on the parking garage floor that day. Walking past a maternity store, a salesperson enthusiastically stopped me. “Ms. Davis, the clothes you ordered last time have arrived.” “Is it convenient for you to pick them up today?” I was about to say I didn’t need them anymore, but my eyes uncontrollably locked onto the baby in the poster. If my baby had been born safely, he probably would have been just as cute. While I was distracted, the salesperson efficiently bagged the clothes and handed them to me. It was a pastel yellow baby onesie. Liam’s favorite color was yellow. I stared blankly at the tiny clothes in the bag and fled the mall in a panic. The moment I closed my car door, the dam broke. How muffled and agonizing can the cries of a mother who just lost her child be? In that moment, I finally knew. By the time I got home, it was late at night. The moment I opened the fridge, I saw the papayas inside. I couldn’t eat them while I was pregnant, and every time I saw them, my mouth would water. Now that I could eat them, seeing them only made me want to cry. Going back to the kitchen, I made two dishes. Papaya stewed in milk, and a bowl of chicken congee. Just as I was about to eat, I heard the sound of keys turning in the front door. Liam walked in, pulling a suitcase behind him. I found it strange; he hadn’t been home in a long time since Olivia’s condition worsened. “Why are you back? Don’t you need to stay with Olivia?” Liam dragged his suitcase straight toward the bedroom, answering casually: “Since Olivia and I are getting married, I came back specifically to pack my things.” “Saves me the trouble later.” I gave a noncommittal “hmm,” but my mind uncontrollably flashed back to Olivia’s words. [Our wedding is set for next week. We’d love it if you and the baby came to watch.] Right, it was only a few days away. If he didn’t move his things now, he might catch my ‘bad luck’ in a few days, and then he wouldn’t be able to shake it off. My tears fell into my bowl, vanishing without a trace, just like Liam’s love for me. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He used to anticipate this baby’s arrival, too. We had been so happy for so long. I lowered my head, about to eat my congee, when Liam, having finished packing, suddenly spoke up: “You made chicken congee?” “What a coincidence, Olivia didn’t have dinner. This will be perfect to tide her over.” With that, he naturally walked over and snatched the bowl right out of my hands. I stared at my empty hands, forgetting to react for a moment. It wasn’t until he had already found a clean thermos to pack the congee that I finally spoke: “That’s my dinner.” Liam didn’t even look up as he packed the thermos. “Aren’t there other things on the table? Just eat that.” My gaze fell on the bowl of papaya stewed in milk. I twitched my lips and said softly: “Pregnant women shouldn’t eat papaya.” Liam froze for a second, setting down the thermos: “Then… maybe just eat a little less?” “You’ve had so many prenatal checkups and everything is fine. A little bit shouldn’t hurt, right?” My nose stung. I lifted my head, refusing to let the tears fall. “It’s fine.” The baby was already gone, so nothing mattered anymore. Perhaps sensing my sadness, Liam sighed and pulled me into a hug. “Serena, just hold on a little longer, okay?” “Once the wedding is over, I promise I’ll spend quality time with you. Just bear with it for a bit, alright?” I gave an “mhm,” but my mind uncontrollably drifted to the past. [Serena, Olivia can’t be left alone right now. Once she’s feeling better, I’ll go with you to your prenatal checkup.] [Serena, Olivia has a fever. I’ll call you after her tests are done.] [Serena, Olivia won’t let me leave. I’ll come home to you after she falls asleep.] Liam, when will you realize that I truly can’t wait anymore? I pulled out of his embrace and handed him the thermos. “Go.” Don’t look back. The moment he was about to close the door, I called out to him. “Liam, do you remember what number you were on when you asked me for a divorce that day?” Liam’s back stiffened. Before he could speak, I continued: “One hundred.” “Today is one hundred and one.” “Tomorrow, outside the courthouse. Be there.” With that, I stepped forward and slowly, but firmly, closed the door. Leaning against the door, I heard Liam’s rapid breathing on the other side. He didn’t leave, and I didn’t move. The physical distance between us was just a four-inch thick door. But our hearts were separated by an entire world. The next second, Liam used his key to open the door. He didn’t step inside, just looked at me for a long time. Finally, he pulled a palm-sized baby rattle from his pocket and handed it to me. “I saw this at the mall today. Our baby should like it.” That one sentence shattered all the strength I had forced myself to build. Taking the rattle, I immediately closed and locked the door, collapsing to the floor, sobbing silently. I didn’t understand why people only recognize love after they’ve lost it. Why must he give me a glimmer of hope right after I had finalized my decision? The rattle fell to the floor with a sharp, crisp clink. I sat there on the floor, withered, for the entire night. The next morning, I left on time. As soon as I got in the car, I received a call from the hospital, asking me to pick up the miscarriage report I had left behind. I hadn’t had the courage to open it back then, burying my head in the sand and leaving it at the hospital. I thought that as long as I didn’t look at it, I could pretend nothing had happened. Now, it was time to wake up. At 9:00 AM, Liam was late. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night either, his eyes bloodshot. When he saw me, a flash of disappointment crossed his eyes. “I thought… you wouldn’t come today.” I didn’t say anything, just walked into the courthouse ahead of him. How could I not come? We had both waited too long for this day. Right before signing, Liam suddenly hesitated. His black pen hovered over the paper for a long time, refusing to move. Seeing this, the clerk kindly suggested: “Since the gentleman hasn’t fully made up his mind, maybe you should reconsider.” I smiled, finding it ironic. If he truly hadn’t made up his mind, why would he have insisted on it a hundred times? Liam turned to look at me and whispered: “Serena, as soon as Olivia and my wedding is over, we’ll remarry.” I gave another “mhm,” remaining silent. I figured, he had lied to me so many times, it was my turn to lie to him. Holding the divorce certificate, Liam’s heart beat erratically. He felt an intense, inexplicable unease, as if he had missed something crucial. Walking out the front doors, Olivia had also arrived. She was wearing a yellow sundress, looking absolutely healthy in the sunlight, without a trace of illness. I tilted my head, gesturing to Liam: “Olivia is waiting for you.” Liam gave an unnatural “mhm,” his face devoid of joy. Olivia walked over, pulled an invitation from her purse, and handed it to me with a smile: “Serena, Liam and I talked about it, and we still want to welcome you and the baby to our wedding.” “Here is your invitation.” My first instinct was to tell her I didn’t have a baby anymore, and I wouldn’t be going to the wedding. But then I caught a glimpse of Liam’s tense expression. Forget it, we’re divorced anyway. What’s the point of saying it now? Shaking my head, I stepped around them, ready to leave. A couple walking toward me bumped into me. Smack! My purse fell, its contents spilling all over the ground. Liam’s pupils contracted. He immediately rushed to help me up, asking with urgent concern: “Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt? Our ba—” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. The man’s gaze was locked onto the miscarriage report lying on the ground.

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I liked my wife. I liked that she was a Bishop, I liked that our merger solidified the market share for both our conglomerates, but mostly, I liked that she was clinically, obsessively fastidious. Camilla had germaphobia. She treated physical contact with the grim necessity of a surgeon scrubbing in. Her boundaries were electric fences. So, when I watched her peel a jumbo shrimp at the company gala—stripping the shell with bare, manicured fingers—and drop the pink meat onto her male assistant’s plate, I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t say a word. I simply went home, stopped by the fish market on the wharf, and bought ten pounds of raw, unpeeled shrimp. When she arrived at the penthouse, I dumped the icy, grey pile onto the marble dining table. “Peel them,” I said, my voice smooth as aged scotch. “Since you enjoy the labor so much.” A woman without boundaries is like a bad investment: if she can’t be corrected, you liquidate the asset and move on. After all, I have my own compulsions about cleanliness. 1 When I walked into the private dining room at Le Bernardin, a boy I didn’t recognize was already sitting there, using his own fork to spear a piece of sea cucumber from Camilla’s plate. Not a serving spoon. His fork. I smiled, nodding to the board members, but my eyes locked on the boy who hadn’t bothered to stand up. The sales director next to him looked nervous. “This is Mr. Montgomery. Our President’s husband.” The boy finally stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He had that soft, artfully messy hair that Gen Z seems to favor. “Hello, sir. I’m Rory, the new executive assistant. First time meeting you. Please take care of me.” I looked down, hiding a smirk, and didn’t take the bait. I just took the nearest seat. I went through the motions—the small talk, the corporate pleasantries—but my attention was a laser focused across the table. I watched Camilla eat the sea cucumber Rory had contaminated. Then, I watched Rory stare helplessly at a large langoustine on the seafood tower. He bit his lip, his eyes wide and pleading as they drifted to Camilla. Camilla frowned, just slightly. Then, she pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, cracked the shell with efficient grace, and tossed the meat into Rory’s bowl. I narrowed my eyes, pulled out my phone, and texted Arthur, our house manager. Buy ten pounds of shrimp. Boil them. Leave them on the dining table. Just as I hit send, Rory, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke up. “Mr. Montgomery, I honestly envy you. You have such a good life. You married a powerhouse like Ms. Bishop, and now you just get to stay home and enjoy the fortune. Unlike us corporate cattle, slaving away just to survive.” I looked up. My gaze lingered on his young, symmetrical face. “You’re definitely new,” I said, my tone dry. “Your manners are nonexistent.” Rory froze. He clearly hadn’t expected the trophy husband to bite back. Immediately, his face crumbled into a look of practiced vulnerability. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just unfiltered—I speak from the heart. Please don’t hold it against me.” His eyes dropped explicitly to my Patek Philippe and my custom Armani suit. “It’s just… seeing you so well-dressed, spending so freely… it makes my heart ache for Ms. Bishop. She sacrificed so much to get the company to where it is today.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I propped my chin on my hand and just looked at him. The rest of the table, however, looked terrified. The Product Director slammed his glass down. “What the hell are you saying? Do you think Mr. Montgomery is some idle socialite? In this room, we call him Mr. Montgomery out of respect, but out there, he is CEO Montgomery.” Rory blinked, looking genuinely lost. The sales manager next to him whispered harshly, “Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Bishop are a merger of two dynasties. He is the sole heir to the Montgomery Group. Stop talking before you get us all fired. Apologize!” Rory’s face went pale. He bit his lip, and his large, doe eyes filled with instant, misty tears. He looked at Camilla for rescue. Camilla met my amused gaze. She shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “Apologize to him, Rory. Watch your words in the future. Learn the hierarchy. If you don’t know, ask.” Rory turned to me, his voice trembling. “Sir… I’m sorry.” I stood up, not bothering to look at him. “I have another engagement. Enjoy the rest of the meal.” It was 10:00 PM when I finished my own meetings. Camilla was waiting for me in the underground garage, leaning against the hood of her Maybach. She opened the passenger door for me, same as always. The drive to our estate in the Hamptons was quiet, the air conditioning humming a steady rhythm. When we got home, she went to shower. When she came out, wrapped in white silk, I dumped Arthur’s ten pounds of shrimp onto the table. They were cooked perfectly, piled high in crystal bowls, stretching the length of the table. A grotesque buffet of pink. Camilla looked at the mountain of shellfish, then at me. I smiled, warm and terrifying. “Honey. Peel them for me.” 2 “Did you not eat enough at dinner?” Camilla asked, bewildered. “Why buy so much? You can’t possibly eat all this.” She reached for the bell to summon Arthur. “Stop,” I said softly. “I want you to peel them. With your own hands.” Camilla paused. A flicker of annoyance crossed her perfect features. “Declan, you know I have germaphobia.” “Do you?” I leaned back, loosening my tie. “Because tonight, I watched you peel shrimp for your little assistant with remarkable dexterity.” She froze, then let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, is that what this is? You’re jealous?” She sat beside me, draping an arm over my shoulders, the scent of her expensive body wash filling the space between us. “I rarely see you possessive. I thought the great Declan Montgomery was always unflappable.” She kissed my forehead, patronizing and sweet. “He’s just an intern, Declan. He’s fresh out of college, knows nothing about the world. He speaks without thinking. I just saw a kid struggling and helped him out. If it bothers you, I promise I won’t do it again.” I looked at her face. We had been married three years. She was thirty now, and time hadn’t touched her; it had only refined her, like polishing a diamond. I reached up and touched her cheek. “Camilla, do you know why I chose you out of every eligible heiress in New York?” She tilted her head. “Because you were clean,” I said. “Your parents told me you hated physical contact with strangers. That you were obsessive about your boundaries.” “It was perfect. Because I’m the same way.” I held her gaze until her smile faltered. “Our marriage is a binding contract between the Montgomery and Bishop empires. We have a good partnership. But I expect this marriage to remain sterile. Efficient. Clean. Whether it’s you and me, or our companies, I need things to run without contamination. Don’t disappoint me.” I stood up, bent down, and kissed her lips. “Peel the shrimp. Consider it penance for letting another man breach your perimeter. Be a good girl.” I went to bed early. I don’t know when she came to sleep. The next morning, the dining table was covered in bowls of perfectly peeled shrimp meat. Camilla was gone—an emergency board meeting, Arthur said. Arthur stood silently by the table. “You have a big family, Arthur?” I asked. “Yes, sir.” “Take these home. My wife peeled them by hand. They should be very clean. Don’t let them go to waste.” Life returned to normal. The incident felt like a blip, a dash of vinegar in an otherwise bland dish. If anything, she was more attentive. I didn’t have the time to track who she interacted with. I was running the Montgomery Group; I had acquisitions to finalize. A month later, she came to pick me up for a family dinner at the Bishop estate. As the car pulled up and the window rolled down, I didn’t see an empty seat. I saw Rory’s smiling face in the passenger seat. I frowned. 3 “Hi, sir! You look dashing today!” Rory seemed oblivious to the temperature drop in the air. He beamed, radiating that toxic mix of naivety and entitlement. Camilla’s expression was neutral. She didn’t see the problem. I didn’t smile. I walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and stared at him. “Get out.” Rory’s smile froze. “Sir… Ms. Bishop was just giving me a ride home. It was on the way. I get carsick in the back.” He turned, casting a desperate look at Camilla. Camilla looked at me, saw the set of my jaw, and decided this wasn’t the hill to die on. She stayed silent. “Get out,” I repeated. “Let Mr. Montgomery sit,” Camilla finally said. Rory bit his lip, eyes glistening, and climbed out with dramatic slowness. He reached for the back door handle. “Who said you could get back in?” I asked. Rory stopped. I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. “Can’t afford an Uber? Life is tough. Here. This covers it. Go home. Safe travels.” Camilla looked uncomfortable. “Declan…” I turned to her, smiling brightly. “Camilla, this reflects poorly on you. If your staff is so destitute they can’t afford a ride, that’s a failure of leadership. Starting tomorrow, raise the travel stipend for all level-three employees by 10%. Bill it to the Montgomery Group.” Rory’s eyes were now brimming with tears. He had the ‘brave victim’ look down to a science. “Sir,” his voice trembled. “I may be poor, but I have dignity. You can’t just use your money to humiliate me because you’re the CEO!” I laughed. I actually laughed. “You’re too poor for a cab, so you mooch off your boss, but me paying for your ride is an insult? Does your dignity require the CEO personally chauffeuring you to remain intact? That’s some expensive dignity. In the time we’ve wasted here, your boss and I have made millions. How do you plan to reimburse us? With your personality?” I scoffed, ignored his flushed face, and got into the car. Slam. Camilla started the engine in silence. In the side mirror, I saw Rory standing on the curb, biting his lip, looking like a discarded puppy. The silence in the car was heavy. I let it sit there. “He rents an apartment near the estate,” Camilla said eventually. “It really wasn’t out of the way…” “Camilla.” I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I told you I liked your cleanliness. Because I have boundaries too.” “Peeling shrimp for another man? Strike one. Putting him in my seat? Strike two.” “I give everyone around me three chances. You have used two.” “My standards aren’t high. Keep your distance from other men. Maintain the perimeter. It isn’t hard.” “Don’t disappoint me again.” 4 She didn’t speak again. I didn’t care if she was sulking. I grew up an only child in a dynasty; I never learned to walk on eggshells. We arrived at the Bishop estate. I took her hand as we walked in, looking every bit the power couple. “You know this marriage is bigger than us,” I murmured as we approached the door. “If you don’t want the stock prices to tank tomorrow, smile. We’re adults. Don’t be childish.” I was smiling, but my voice was ice. Camilla forced a tight, camera-ready smile, and we walked in. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Bishop, greeted me with a hug. “Declan! You get more handsome every time I see you. Sit next to me.” The dinner was loud and lively. The Bishop clan was large. Eleanor kept piling food onto my plate. “The joint venture is moving fast,” she said. “You’re doing incredible work, Declan.” “We’re family, Eleanor. It’s what we do.” Eleanor’s expression shifted. She turned to Camilla, who had been pushing food around her plate. “What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you talking? Take care of your husband.” “You two were talking shop,” Camilla muttered. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Eleanor tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear. “I heard you hired a new assistant. A troublemaker?” Camilla’s fork hit the china with a clink. She looked from her mother to me. Eleanor continued, casual as a shark. “I called HR. He’s fired. An intern with no skills and no sense of place? Useless. I gave him three months’ severance to go away.” Camilla slammed her fork down. “Mother! I run the company now. If you want to fire my staff, you go through me!” Eleanor calmly placed a prawn in my bowl. “You’re good at strategy, Camilla, but you have a blind spot for strays. You’re young. You’re soft.” She looked at her daughter with steel in her eyes. “The Bishop-Montgomery alliance is the bedrock of our future. When we chose you as heir, it was because you were rational. You knew how to assess value. Don’t lose your edge.” I ate my dinner, smiling pleasantly, saying nothing. The ride home was tense. The moment we stepped into our foyer, Camilla spun around. “We need to talk.” Her voice vibrated with suppressed rage. 5 I walked to the powder room to wash my hands. “Talk.” “Did we have to involve my mother in our marriage?” I dried my hands on a fresh towel and looked at her. “You think I went crying to your mommy?” Camilla’s eyes were dark, colder than I’d ever seen them. “Didn’t you? Declan, I can tolerate your arrogance, but bullying a kid? Getting him fired? You’re pathologically jealous.” I narrowed my eyes. I was starting to realize that perhaps my assessment of her intellect had been generous. “You went too far,” she continued. “You humiliated him, and you undermined my authority in my own company. You know I hate interference!” “Are you finished?” I cut in. “Are you angry because your mother overstepped, or are you angry because your pet boy got his feelings hurt?” “I’m angry because you refuse to admit you’re wrong!” she shouted. “Wrong?” I stepped into her space. “Wrong for not applauding when you blurred the lines with a subordinate? Wrong for not stopping your mother when she saw a leech and salted it?” “Or was I wrong for not divorcing you the moment you peeled that first shrimp?” Camilla flinched. I stepped back, looking her up and down with genuine disappointment. “Camilla, I told you. Three strikes. You just struck out.” She stormed out that night, slamming the door. The cold war began. I didn’t chase her. The Montgomery Group was expanding into Europe; I didn’t have time for tantrums. A week later, I saw the photo in the Post. Camilla, attending a high-profile charity gala. On her arm was Rory. He was wearing a tuxedo that cost more than his student loans, a diamond brooch sparkling on his lapel. They looked like a couple. A power couple. I stared at the photo. I nodded. Then I called my legal team. “Draft the papers. Full separation.” The merger was complex, so the divorce would be a surgical extraction. We were deep in the clauses when Eleanor called. 6 “Declan, what is this nonsense in the papers?” Eleanor sounded frantic. “It looks like a fight,” I said, flipping through the draft agreement. “It looks like Camilla isn’t clean anymore.” “She lost her head,” Eleanor pleaded. “I will make her apologize. I will fix this.” “No need, Mrs. Bishop,” I said. “The divorce papers are being couriered to your estate. Review them.” “You can’t be serious!” “I am.” “Declan! Over a trifle? Over an assistant?” “It’s not a trifle. I gave her three chances. She failed. I don’t make exceptions.” “Think about the stock prices! Think about the scandal! You are a son of the Bishop family by marriage—you can’t just walk away because of some boy! Think of your father!” I laughed, a low, dark sound. “Mrs. Bishop, let’s be clear. Outside this house, people call you ‘Mrs. Bishop.’ But they call me ‘Mr. Montgomery.’ I am the head of my house. I don’t answer to anyone.” “You chose to live in your husband’s shadow. I chose to own the sun. I don’t need to explain myself to you, or my father, or the shareholders. I will manage the risk.” I hung up. I took the papers and drove to the Bishop Tower.

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The year-end performance bonus had finally hit my account, so Gary and I went to celebrate at that high-end Omakase place downtown I’d been dying to try. I hadn’t even finished my first piece of toro when his mother called. She was hyperventilating on the other end, her voice a jagged edge of panic. “Gary… your father… he’s at the hospital.” Gary practically knocked his chair over as he scrambled to his feet. “What happened? What did the doctor say? Mom, breathe—stop crying and tell me what’s going on.” My mother-in-law began one of her trademark long-winded sagas. It started three days ago when his father bit down on a piece of hard sourdough and cracked a tooth, and meandered through a twenty-minute critique of how “cold and dismissive” the ER nurses were. Finally, she got to the point. “The specialist says his case is complicated. He needs a full set of dental implants.” Gary let out a breath he’d been holding. “Mom, you scared me. I thought it was a heart attack. If he needs implants, he needs them. Just get it done.” There was a pregnant pause. “It’s… it’s expensive, Gary.” “How expensive can it be?” “Twelve thousand dollars.” Gary went silent. I sat there, calmly savoring the delicate sweetness of the sea urchin. For weeks, I’d been living with a tight knot of anxiety in my chest, wondering when the other shoe would drop. Now, finally, the knot unraveled. I felt a strange, cold sense of peace. 1 “Gary? Gary, are you there?” His mother’s voice was so shrill I could hear it from across the table. Gary glanced at me, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m here. Look, I’m out at dinner. I’ll call you back in a bit.” I felt a ghost of a smirk pull at my lips. I’d bet my entire bonus she wouldn’t let him hang up. This was the routine. Every time Arthur and Evelyn needed a infusion of cash, they followed the same playbook. Evelyn would lead the charge with the tears. If Gary folded immediately, the call ended there. If he hesitated, Arthur would take the handoff. Evelyn did the crying; Arthur did the shaming. They’d start piling on the “guilt crowns”: You’re so ungrateful. We sacrificed everything for you. Why are we even alive if we’re just a burden? In the end, Gary always broke. Tonight was no different. I counted down in my head. Three, two, one. “Here, talk to your father,” Evelyn snapped. Gary sighed, his shoulders slumping. In that light, he looked exactly like his father—a man defeated by his own drama. On the other end, Arthur’s voice was a low, martyr-like groan. “Look, Gary, I know I’m putting you in a spot. It’s my fault. I’m the one who didn’t save enough when I was younger. I’m an old man; if my teeth rot out, I guess I’ve lived long enough anyway. Forget it. Go back to your fancy dinner with Nora. Don’t ruin your night over me.” Gary panicked. “Dad, don’t talk like that—” The line went dead. Arthur had hung up. Gary stared at me. I stared at the Omakase chef’s hands. They were precise, elegant, moving with a grace that Gary had lost long ago. I could have eaten thirty more pieces of that yellowtail. It was fresh, melting on my tongue like a dream. But I only got one. Because Gary suddenly slammed his hand on the table. “My father is literally suicidal over his health, and you’re just sitting there eating?” 2 We’ve been married for three years, and I’ve heard variations of that accusation more times than I can count. The first time was three months after our wedding. His parents were walking home from a community gala when it started to pour. Instead of calling an Uber or waiting under an awning, they decided to “tough it out” and walk the two miles in the rain. Predictably, they both ended up with nasty chest colds and took to their beds like they were on their deathbeds. As Arthur put it: “Gary needs to know how we’re suffering.” When I heard, I sent a polite message to the family group chat, telling them to drink plenty of fluids and rest up. The chat stayed silent. No one acknowledged me. That evening, I was excitedly unboxing a new dress I’d ordered for a work event, checking myself out in the mirror. I asked Gary if he liked the color. He exploded. “My parents are bedridden, and you’re playing dress-up? How can you be so selfish? So cold?” The vitriol in his voice stunned me. He stormed out and didn’t come home that night. Back then, I was still deeply in love with him. Being called “cold” by the person I adored felt like a knife to the gut. I spent the night agonizing over it. Was I a bad person? Did I lack empathy? They had colds, for God’s sake. Was I supposed to drive three hours to hold a thermometer? I ended up sending them each a $500 “get well” check, telling them to treat themselves to some nice takeout and whatever they needed. Arthur cashed it instantly and called me “his favorite daughter.” Evelyn followed suit, praising my “good heart.” I didn’t say anything, but a hollow feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach. The next morning, Gary was in the kitchen making me breakfast, wearing his “I’m sorry” face. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, flipping a pancake. “My parents told me I overreacted. It’s just a cold. But—” his tone shifted, “we have to look at the big picture. Why did they get wet? Because they don’t have a reliable car. If they had a decent SUV, this wouldn’t have happened, right?” I stayed quiet. “I found a used RAV4,” he continued. “It’s only eight grand. It would give them so much independence.” Eight thousand. It wasn’t a sixty-thousand-dollar luxury car. It seemed… reasonable? I nodded. Gary hugged me, promising the money would come out of his personal savings and I wouldn’t have to worry. But for the next six months, he didn’t contribute a dime to the mortgage or our shared bills. I was annoyed, but every time I tried to bring it up, I felt like I was being “petty” about money. I told myself he was just a “good son.” Marriage is about support, right? He was broke; I had a good career. It was only natural for me to carry the load. Except the “emergencies” never stopped. 3 A year later, Gary closed a big deal at work. A $45,000 commission. I was ecstatic. I made a spreadsheet showing how we could pay down a huge chunk of our mortgage. Cutting that monthly interest would change our lives. Gary was all in. He kissed me, calling me his “brilliant, practical wife.” But the very next day, a neighbor from his hometown called. Apparently, Arthur had climbed onto the roof to fix a shingle and “fell,” breaking his leg. Evelyn, in her rush to help him, had “thrown out her back.” Now, they were both “incapacitated.” We rushed down to their house. Arthur was lying in bed with a pristine white cast, looking like he was auditioning for a Victorian tragedy. Evelyn was clutching her waist, sobbing rhythmically. The relatives were already there, circling like vultures. “It’s a disgrace,” one aunt hissed. “Leaving your parents in this old, drafty house while you two live it up in the city.” “If a neighbor hadn’t checked in, God knows how long they would have lied here,” a cousin added. “Gary, don’t let a woman turn you into a man who forgets his own flesh and blood.” “And Nora… I don’t know how you sleep at night, living so far away when they’re in this state. You’re part of this family now, aren’t you?” I felt the heat rising in my face, the shame heavy and suffocating. Gary kept his head down, his eyes red, promising over and over that it would never happen again. Arthur waved a weak hand, coughing for effect. “Now, now, don’t blame Gary. He’s busy. He can’t just take time off work for his old man…” Evelyn wiped her eyes. “He’s right. We’re fine. If something happens… well, I guess that’s just our fate.” They clung to each other, weeping silently. It was a masterclass in emotional blackmail. Gary dropped to his knees by the bed. “Mom, Dad, come live with us in the city. I’m not letting you stay here.” He looked at me, his jaw set. “It’s settled.” I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat. How do you say ‘no’ to a man kneeling in front of his “dying” parents? 4 Our three-bedroom house suddenly felt like a cage. Arthur and Evelyn insisted on having their own rooms. Arthur took the master bedroom because the “natural light” was better for his recovery. Evelyn took the second bedroom because of the “airflow.” As for Gary and me? Arthur had a suggestion. “If you knock down the wall between the living room and the office, you could make a very nice, large sleeping area.” It was absurd. I fought with Gary that night, our voices echoing through the thin walls. I didn’t care if they heard. I wanted them to live with us, sure—but I didn’t want to be a guest in my own home. By morning, the guest rooms were empty. They’d left a note saying they were heading back to the “village” because they didn’t want to be a “burden.” But of course, they got “lost” on the way to the bus station. The police called Gary at 2 AM. The three of them had a tearful reunion at the precinct. Gary begged them to stay. He tried to pull me down to my knees with him. I just stared at him like he’d lost his mind. As I turned to walk away, Arthur spoke up. “Look, Gary, we really do want to go home. Your place… it’s just too small. We can’t breathe. But… if you had a little extra cash, maybe we could just renovate the old house? Make it safe?” Gary agreed on the spot. He wired them forty thousand dollars that night. When I confronted him, he turned on me with a cold, sharp edge. “Nora, I know you have thoughts, but shut up. Just this once. Was that your money? No. It was my commission. Stop being so possessive over things that aren’t yours. It’s my money, and I’m taking care of my parents. What is wrong with that?” I was speechless. He softened his tone then, sensing he’d gone too far. “The house is a death trap, Nora. You saw it. Once it’s fixed, I can finally focus on us. Just forgive me this once. I’ll find another way to cover the mortgage.” He was usually so good to me. He did the laundry. He cooked. When my own mother was in the hospital, he was there every night, bringing her favorite soup without me even asking. He was a perfect husband—unless his parents were in the room. I forgave him. Again. 5 They didn’t renovate the house. They took that forty thousand dollars and used it as a down payment on a three-bedroom condo in the suburbs, with a fifteen-hundred-dollar monthly mortgage. “The medical facilities are better here,” they explained. Gary was blindsided. “Who’s paying the mortgage?” he asked. Evelyn looked at him like he was thick. “You are, honey. We’re old. How much longer do we have? Eventually, the condo goes to you anyway. You’re just investing in your own future.” So, we bit the bullet. Again. After that, things were quiet for a while. But it was the silence of a predator waiting in the tall grass. Soon, the “micro-transactions” started. They needed a part-time housekeeper because Evelyn’s back was acting up (500 a month). They found a “miracle” supplement that promised to add ten years to their lives (800 a bottle). They needed a specialized orthopedic mattress ($3,000). Every time, Gary hit ‘send’ on Venmo. “They worked hard their whole lives,” he’d say. “They deserve a little comfort. Since I can’t be there to take care of them, the least I can do is provide.” I wanted to point out that they were only fifty-five. I wanted to point out they’d never saved a dime in their lives. I wanted to tell him to stop subsidizing a lifestyle we couldn’t afford. I said nothing. Gary was like a programmed machine. Mention his parents, and he’d glitch into this unrecognizable, irrational version of himself. He makes $120k. I make $100k. We eat at the office cafeteria. We buy clothes on clearance. We spend our vacations at my mom’s house to save money. We should be thriving. But after three years of marriage, our joint savings account had less than five thousand dollars in it. Arthur and Evelyn were like leeches attached to our jugular. Every time we gained a little ground, they’d suck us dry. And Gary wasn’t just letting them do it—he was holding the straw. I was working sixty-hour weeks, enduring a toxic boss, all to build a life that he was dismantling behind my back. He was an anchor, dragging me into the depths of his family’s dysfunction. The clarity hit me in a single, sharp moment. One second I was texting Gary to complain about his mom’s latest request, and the next, the exhaustion just… evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, hard realization. This marriage was over.

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Right before I was wheeled into the delivery room, Ethan received news that his ex-girlfriend had been in a car accident. Without a second thought, he let go of my hand. “I’m going to check on Chloe. You stay here and listen to the doctors.” I grabbed his arm, begging him not to leave. He looked down at me, his eyes turning cold, though his tone remained pleading: “You know she was my first love, and she might be dying.” “Just let me see her one last time. Please?” Later, Chloe survived. And I died in the delivery room. That brief exchange was the last time Ethan and I ever saw each other. 1 My baby was in a breech position, so I had to undergo a C-section. Just before I was wheeled into the operating room, Ethan received news that his ex-girlfriend had been in a car accident. Her condition was critical. A second ago, he had been patiently comforting me, but now, it was like a switch flipped. He was desperate to leave. He tried to pull his hand away, but I gripped it tightly. Ignoring the stares of the medical staff, I asked the nurses to stop the gurney. Enduring the agonizing contractions, I pleaded with Ethan: “When I come out of surgery, you’re the first person I want to see. Can you please stay?” He hesitated. Sensing my grip slipping, I placed a hand on my swollen belly. “Your baby needs you too.” Ethan looked down at me, his brow furrowing as his expression turned cold, though his words were phrased as a plea: “You know she was my first love, and she might be dying.” “Just let me see her one last time. Please?” Before I could even respond, he forcefully pulled his hand from mine, taking the last shred of warmth with him. He told the doctors to hurry up, then turned and strode away. I desperately propped myself up on my elbows, calling his name several times as he walked away. He walked so fast his light gray trench coat billowed behind him like water. He never looked back once. His retreating figure suddenly felt incredibly unfamiliar. I never imagined that Chloe’s place in his heart was so absolute. Even my life, combined with the life of our unborn child, couldn’t outweigh her. 2 Before the anesthesia took hold, my mind kept flashing to images of Ethan anxiously pacing outside the operating room. The picture-perfect moment of happiness I had fantasized about so many times. All of it amounted to nothing. I stared at the blinding white surgical lights. In a haze, after a sharp sting in my lower back, everything went dark. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating near the ceiling. The ‘me’ on the operating table was covered in blood. I was dead, and my baby died with me. Two dark figures materialized, ready to escort my soul away. But I wanted to stay. I couldn’t accept this. Ethan and I had been deeply in love for years. Why, in the most critical moment of my life, did he abandon me? I looked down at the tiny, motionless baby in the doctor’s arms and felt an overwhelming, crushing grief. I begged the figures to let me stay. Fearing I would wander off and become a lost soul, they tethered my spirit to Ethan. 3 When I was transported to Ethan’s side, he wasn’t at the hospital. He was at our house. I watched him rush into his study and unlock the built-in wall safe. The safe had two shelves, both packed with corporate documents. He crouched down, reaching past the mountains of files on the bottom shelf, and pulled out a small, black velvet ring box. Inside was a silver ring. It was the ring Chloe gave him back in college. He had been hiding it from me this entire time. Ethan hastily pulled off his wedding band and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. He delicately picked up the silver ring. It was a little dusty, so he pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and carefully polished it. He blew on it softly. Then, he slipped it onto his ring finger with a look of deep satisfaction. He stared at his hand, a look of profound emotion crossing his normally stoic face as he smiled. It was as if he was silently declaring: Chloe and I are married. 4 On the drive to the hospital, Ethan sped recklessly. He was frantic to see Chloe. While waiting outside her operating room, he paced back and forth, consumed by anxiety. I never got to see him act like this when I was in the delivery room. Was this his way of fulfilling my final wish? As the minutes ticked by, Ethan’s expression grew increasingly tense. Finally, the operating room doors swung open. A still-unconscious Chloe was wheeled out. She was perfectly fine. The tight knot between Ethan’s brows instantly smoothed out. He let out a massive sigh of relief, a radiant smile breaking across his face as his eyes welled up with tears. Tears of pure joy. I couldn’t help but wonder. If my baby and I had survived the surgery, would he have cried for us too? Of course he would have. Even if not for me, then for his child. 5 The “critical condition” Ethan was so terrified of turned out to be nothing more than a few stitches on Chloe’s arm. It was just a convenient excuse to come see her. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Just how insignificant was I to him? Unlike with Chloe. For her, Ethan was willing to abandon his wife and child, sitting vigil by her hospital bed, waiting patiently for her to wake up. His gaze was filled with absolute devotion, never leaving her face for a second. It felt like all the tenderness and patience he used to show me had actually belonged to her all along. … “I wonder how Mia is doing.” In a rare moment of distraction, he finally remembered I existed. He noticed his phone was dead. After some effort, Ethan managed to borrow a charger and turned his phone back on. He casually scrolled through his contacts until he found the number saved as “Wife.” His finger hovered over the screen. He hesitated for a long time. But he never hit the call button. Instead, he muttered to himself, “She should be out of surgery by now.” “God, I hope it’s not a girl. If it is, we’ll have to have another one.” He frowned slightly, looking genuinely annoyed. Then, he let out a soft sigh: “If I didn’t need to secure my position in the Harrison family, I really wouldn’t want to have a kid with her.” Hearing those words, I froze completely. My mind spiraled into absolute chaos. Every memory of Ethan treating me well flashed before my eyes like a fast-forwarded movie. The warm glass of milk he would hand me right when I walked through the door after a long day of shopping. The way he tightly gripped my hand when crossing the street, terrified I wasn’t paying attention because I was looking at my phone. And finally, the memory of him burying his face in my chest and crying tears of joy when he found out I was pregnant. “I love you!” He had cupped my face and said those three words with absolute, solemn sincerity. It felt like just yesterday that those tear-filled, earnest eyes had looked deeply into mine. He told me that, as a man, his absolute priority was protecting our family. That I, and our unborn child, were his entire world. But now, every single one of those memories had turned into a sick, twisted joke. 6 Once the anesthesia wore off, Chloe woke up quickly. The doctors gave a few simple instructions and left. The moment the hospital room door clicked shut, Ethan and Chloe exchanged a deeply synchronized, knowing smile. The next second, Ethan leaned over the bed, and they cupped each other’s faces, crashing their lips together. Their tongues intertwined, mixing their saliva, producing soft, wet sounds. It was quiet, but to me, it was deafeningly loud. After a long time, Chloe pulled away, panting in deep satisfaction. Her tone was careful: “Ethan, you running out here to see me like this… is Mia going to be okay with it?” Ethan let out a cold, mocking scoff: “Mia is probably half-dead from the surgery right now. I just used the excuse of seeing you one last time. Like she could stop me?” “Besides, she just had my kid. Even if she finds out, she’s trapped. She can’t leave me now.” Chloe smiled brightly, raising her arm to give him a thumbs-up, praising his brilliance. So… Just how deeply did Ethan love this woman? So deeply that he had been carrying on an illicit affair with her behind my back, completely disregarding his marriage and his family. Serving her drinks, fluffing her pillows, acting like her devoted servant. He even periodically massaged her legs to keep her comfortable. Disciplined, polite, and flawlessly gentlemanly—that was the Ethan I thought I knew. But in front of Chloe, he discarded every boundary and shred of decency, driven entirely by his own selfish desires. It seemed this was the real Ethan. His large hand, with its pale, elegant fingers, slowly trailed up her leg, creeping suggestively toward her thigh. Chloe gently swatted the back of his hand, giggling shyly: “That tickles, stop it.” Ethan couldn’t help but laugh along with her: “I just missed you too much.” “This isn’t the place for that,” Chloe scolded playfully, gently pushing him away. She followed it up with a breathy, upward-inflected promise: “Don’t be so impatient. We’ll have plenty of opportunities later.” 7 Ethan played the role of the “perfect” husband, meticulously caring for Chloe in the hospital room. Every extra ounce of care was a completely voluntary, heartfelt gesture on his part. Going all the way downstairs to buy her a specific brand of nutritional porridge was just one example. However, Chloe called him back: “Ethan, I’m not hungry.” “Just stay here and keep me company, okay?” Her voice was pure, sickly-sweet whining. Ethan turned around and looked at her. Looking down at her from above, his eyes were overflowing with tenderness. “Of course.” … Ethan sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand as they reminisced about their beautiful past. The shy, awkward confession under the shade of a tree. The ambiguous, thrilling moment their pinky fingers first linked. The flushed cheeks after their first alcohol-fueled kiss. These were all their most precious, treasured memories. When discussing how they couldn’t stand next to each other in their graduation photos, Chloe’s voice choked with emotion: “When will we finally be able to be together? When can we become a real family?” Ethan’s hand rested on Chloe’s arm, his thumb gently stroking her skin to soothe her: “A good relationship allows both people to achieve their goals and grow together.” “Our relationship is doing exactly that. It’s just that our path has significantly more thorns than everyone else’s.” “But you have to remember, waiting at the end of the darkness is our truest, most authentic love.” The depth of his devotion was nauseating. In that moment, Chloe’s eyes completely melted; her gaze was filled with nothing but Ethan. It was his patience, his unwavering persistence. It was his constant encouragement and companionship throughout the years. “Faking your entire personality, kissing up to the Harrison family… you’ve suffered so much these past few years.” Chloe opened her palm, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile: “If you want, you can rest your head in my hand for a while.” Ethan froze for a second, his eyes lighting up as he softly replied, “Okay.” He crouched next to Chloe, gently rested his head in her open palm, and closed his eyes. The sunlight spilled across his pale profile, casting an aura of total peace. It was like a falling leaf returning to its roots, a tired bird returning to the forest. It was as if his exhausted soul had finally found its true sanctuary. Chloe gazed adoringly at the man she loved, her eyes brimming with absolute devotion. But suddenly, her pupils dilated in shock. “Ethan, you’re wearing the ring I gave you back then?” Ethan lifted his head, waving the back of his hand toward Chloe, and smiled: “Yeah.” The silver ring had been preserved flawlessly; it hadn’t oxidized or dulled in the slightest. “It’s always stayed this bright, just like my feelings for you. They’ve never faded!” How many people could actually withstand such devastatingly romantic, heartfelt words? Chloe froze, then quickly turned her head away. Her eyes filled with tears. Noticing her reaction, Ethan asked what was wrong. She shook her head and said it was nothing. “I just… I was thinking about when we first got together.” “I got a little emotional.” Years ago, I was the one who ruthlessly stole Ethan from Chloe.

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My boyfriend lost a game of Truth or Dare and had to kiss a girl in the room. Before he could even lean toward me, Sarah violently shoved me aside and planted her lips on his. “Stop fooling around. Today is your sister-in-law’s birthday.” Carter pinched her cheek with a doting smile. Everyone stared at me, sprawled awkwardly on the sofa, too afraid to breathe. Sarah giggled. “Don’t be mad, Chloe. Carter has never even seen me as a girl anyway.” Carter also chimed in, trying to placate me. “It was just a game. Don’t be such a sore loser.” Everyone expected me to throw a massive, hysterical fit. But instead, I just quietly took off my engagement ring and gently slid it onto his childhood best friend’s finger. “Let me know when the wedding invitations go out.” 1 “Carter, you taste so sweet! What did you eat?!” Sarah’s coquettish voice echoed through the private karaoke room. Carter had been gazing at her with absolute fondness. It wasn’t until he noticed the dead silence in the room that he finally looked over and saw me shoved onto the sofa. He let go of Sarah’s cheek and lightly patted the back of her head. “Stop fooling around. Today is your sister-in-law’s birthday.” Sarah pouted. “Aw… Chloe wouldn’t be that petty, right? It was just a dare~” With that one sentence, nobody in the room dared to make a sound. This wasn’t some silly little punishment like a slap on the wrist or a flick to the forehead. This was a kiss. A few people were already shrinking back into their seats, because usually, this was the exact moment I would explode into a screaming match. However, I simply, slowly took off my engagement ring, walked over to Sarah, and gently slid it onto her finger. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly. I smiled. “Let me know when the wedding invitations go out.” Everyone was completely dumbfounded, including Sarah. “Chloe Vance, it was just a game. Do you really have to do this?” Carter’s voice was freezing cold. “I know it was,” I replied with a soft smile. “I’m just helping you guys have more fun.” Carter’s face visibly darkened into a thunderous scowl. Sarah tugged on his sleeve. “It’s okay, Carter. It’s my fault. I didn’t know Chloe was such a sore loser.” Saying that, she pulled the ring off and threw it at me. “Here. Stop being mad. Have your ring back. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The ring hit me square in the face with a sharp sting, then clattered onto the floor with a metallic clink. Everyone in the room stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. But I just calmly picked the ring back up. “Since you don’t want it, it doesn’t have any use anymore.” With that, I tossed the ring straight into the trash can. “Chloe, are you crazy?! That’s your engagement ring!” “Quick, quick, quick! Get it out!” “Where did it go?! Why can’t I find it?!” Everyone scrambled frantically, digging through the trash can. But it was already full of watermelon rinds, banana peels, and even some vomit. Finding a tiny ring in that mess was impossible. Sarah panicked too. She gripped Carter’s hand tightly, her eyes turning red. “Carter, how did this happen? Why is Chloe overreacting so much?! Did I really cross a line? But we grew up together, we’ve never had boundaries…” The very next second, Carter stepped in front of her, shielding her behind his back. “Stop looking for it!” Everyone froze, standing around the trash can, staring at Carter. His eyes were freezing cold, glaring at me like he wanted to bore a hole through my skull. “If you can’t handle a game, why play? “Now you’ve ruined the mood for everyone. Are you happy?” A suffocating knot formed in my chest. Sarah was the one who kissed my boyfriend. I stepped aside to accommodate them. How did I become the one ruining things for everyone else? If this were the past, I would have definitely started screaming and crying, furiously pointing out that Sarah was the one in the wrong. But now, I couldn’t muster even a single ounce of interest in arguing. Instead, I turned around and grabbed my purse. “I’m leaving then. Have fun, guys.” 2 As the door closed behind me, I heard someone speak up tentatively. “Um… today is Chloe’s birthday. Is it really okay that she just left?” Carter’s voice was laced with deep irritation. “Just ignore her. It’s about time she learned to fix that temper of hers. Actually, Sarah was just hired as a lecturer at my university. Let’s have Sarah blow out the candles instead.” The room quickly livened back up. The voices that were supposed to be wishing me a happy birthday were now shouting, “Congratulations on the new job, Sarah!” My face felt cold. I wiped my cheek. I didn’t even realize when I started crying. But I wasn’t sad. I just felt absolutely nothing inside. 3 Growing up in the faculty housing complex of a university, I had admired Carter, the resident academic genius, since I was a kid. Unfortunately, I was always quiet and awkward. I never fit in with their group. I would always sit by my window, enviously watching Carter and Sarah chase each other and play. I studied like my life depended on it. Every time I saw our names ranked next to each other on the school’s honor roll, I would be incredibly happy. But I wasn’t as bubbly and cute as Sarah. Between Carter and me, we were always just polite strangers. It wasn’t until we both got into the same university, and Sarah went to a lower-tier college where she started dating someone else, that I finally gathered the courage to confess my feelings to him. Heaven smiled on me. He said yes. From that day on, every single decision I made revolved around him. When he decided to stay at the university to teach, I gave up a prestigious opportunity to study abroad. My advisor pleaded with me countless times. She brought up my older peers who had returned from abroad to secure million-dollar salaries, become distinguished scholars, and achieve full professorships at incredibly young ages. But I just blushed and told her: “As long as I can have a stable, peaceful life with him, that’s enough for me.” I poured absolutely everything I had into him. All I wanted was him. Yet he had never once considered me. Standing in the freezing winter wind, I let out a long, heavy breath and called my former Ph.D. advisor. “Professor? Excuse me, but… is that project you mentioned before still looking for people?” My professor paused for a split second before her voice exploded with excitement. “My dear girl, you finally figured it out?! “Of course we need you! This project practically has your name on it! Your junior colleague was begging and crying to join, but I still refused her! When do you plan on coming over? I’ll personally pick you up from the airport!” I smiled. “Give me about two weeks, Professor. I’ll head over as soon as I tie up loose ends here.” 4 Even though I wasn’t leaving immediately, I asked for all the detailed documentation on the project. Ireland has a significant time difference. By the time I hung up the phone, it was already getting dark for my professor. And for me, it was the middle of the night. My head was throbbing and heavy. I ran a hot bath, and as I sank into the water, the tension in my muscles finally started to ease. Exhaustion completely consumed me. Listening to the soft music playing, I drifted into a deep sleep. When I opened my eyes again, it was because of the sound of the front door opening. “Chloe?” It was Carter’s voice. His voice echoed through every room in the apartment, growing increasingly frantic. Until the bathroom door was pushed open, and his voice dropped low. “Chloe.” His gaze carried a hint of blame. I couldn’t fathom what he was angry about. Was he mad that I wasn’t sitting in the living room waiting for him like I usually did, ready to start a massive fight and interrogate him about his relationship with Sarah? “Oh, you’re back. Sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t hear you.” Gripping the edge of the tub, I turned my head. “Could you please step out?” My attitude was polite but incredibly distant. He frowned. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “I didn’t come back earlier because Sarah had too much to drink. Her ex-boyfriend was harassing her, and I couldn’t just leave a girl alone…” “I know. Safety first, right?” He froze. I gave a soft chuckle. “You’re… not mad?” I laughed out loud. “What is there to be mad about? You guys grew up together. What’s wrong with walking your childhood friend home? Especially since she lives alone.” For a split second, the look Carter gave me was one of pure disbelief. I waited for a moment, and when he didn’t move, I just stood up to grab a towel. We lived together anyway. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything before. It was just that I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Wrapping the towel around myself, I turned to leave. He grabbed my wrist forcefully. “Chloe, can you just say what’s actually on your mind?” I paused. “What am I supposed to say?” He hesitated. “Don’t you… normally have a lot to say?” I thought about it for a second. It was true. In the past, every time we fought over Sarah, I was always the one relentlessly arguing, refusing to let it go. But I’ve realized that people only lose control and go crazy when their hearts are completely full of love. I didn’t feel anything anymore. Naturally, I had nothing left to say. So, I gently pushed his hand away. “Stop fooling around. It’s past 2 AM, and I have experiments to run tomorrow.” His hand, which I had pushed away, hung frozen in mid-air. I yawned. “Don’t stay up too late either. I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.” With that, I actually got into bed and closed my eyes. There was no sound from outside the door for a while. And then. SLAM! A deafening crash jolted me right as I was about to fall asleep. It was Carter. He slammed the door and left. I knew exactly why he was mad. He had finally, rarely, offered me an olive branch. And I actually refused to take it. 5 I slept incredibly well that night. The next morning, yawning, I ordered delivery. When I opened the door, there was already a birthday cake sitting on the dining table. Carter was sitting behind the cake. “A belated happy birthday, Chloe.” I froze in place, my food delivery app still open on the payment screen. “I know what happened yesterday upset you. We really couldn’t find the ring.” His long, pale fingers gently slid his phone across the table toward me. “That style didn’t really suit you anyway. Pick out a new one. Sarah can be a bit childish, so please don’t hold it against her. Kissing is a huge deal to us, but she’s always been careless and impulsive since we were kids. You…” “You actually got a custom cake made for me? Thank you so much!” My sudden exclamation cut off whatever else he was going to say. He stared at me, completely dumbfounded. “Chloe?” I leaned over the cake, reading the inscription aloud. “Wishing my baby is eighteen forever.” “What a sweet message. Thank you, I really love it!” He frowned. “Chloe…” I was busy pulling out plates and forks, but looked up when he spoke. “Yeah?” He lowered his eyes. “It’s nothing.” My voice was full of genuine delight. “This place has the best buttercream in the whole city. I can almost never get a reservation. You really put a lot of thought into this.” He gave a soft “Mhm,” his tone quiet and unreadable. “Chloe, the ring…” “Here, this is the biggest piece! You can’t let it go to waste!” I placed the largest slice of cake directly in front of him. Then, picking up a smaller piece for myself, I took a bite. “Is this a new flavor? It’s really good.” “Chloe.” He frowned deeply. “Can you please look at what I’m showing you?” I looked down. On his phone screen was the official website for Darry Ring (DR). The diamond ring brand famous for the rule that a man can only customize one ring in his entire lifetime. My hand trembled slightly. I couldn’t even imagine how ecstatic I would have been if he had shown me this screen just one day earlier. But now, I just continued enjoying my favorite cake. “No thanks. Those are just marketing gimmicks. It’s too much of a hassle.” “Chloe?” Carter looked at me like I was being completely unreasonable. I smiled. “Really, I don’t care about that kind of stuff anymore. Don’t waste your money. Getting me this cake already makes me very happy.” Finishing my piece, I placed the empty plate on the table. “I have a meeting today, so I have to leave early. Remember to put the plates in the dishwasher.” Then, I turned and went into the bedroom to change. Scraaape. The sound of a chair being pushed back sharply. I turned around. Carter was putting his phone away. “Suit yourself. I’ll order one for Sarah. She likes this kind of stuff.” With that, he truly slammed the door and left. He hadn’t touched a single bite of the cake. For the next few days, I didn’t see him at the university at all.

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I was infamous throughout Riverton as a jealous and vicious woman, quick to lash out at my husband, Jackson Byers, if anything displeased me. Every woman who came near Jackson, even those who merely spoke a word to him, I personally dealt with. Everyone advised him to divorce me, yet he’d repeatedly endure bruises, defending me against criticism and disputes. Everyone assumed he was terrified by my ruthless methods. All the lawyers in Riverton banded together to sue for his divorce from me. But he withdrew the suit every single time: “I love Phoebe, and my life only has one option: being widowed. I kindly ask all other women to automatically keep their distance from me.” It wasn’t until the night he withdrew the suit for the hundredth time that another man, a stranger, pressed a gun to my forehead: “Jackson loves you so much; he would never cheat. My sister was innocent! All those girls were innocent! Why couldn’t you just leave them alone?” I didn’t even open my eyes, just curled my lips and turned over: “If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t be flirting with other women!” I added, “Tomorrow, I have six more ‘packages’ to handle. If you want to know the truth, you’ll have to find a way to follow me.” … I woke up to find a bodyguard in the house. Before I could speak, Jackson proactively introduced him: “Phoebe, this is the bodyguard I specifically hired for you, Michael King.” The man who had pointed a gun at my head last night bowed respectfully: “Madam, your safety will be my responsibility from now on.” I pushed Jackson away, scoffing, “This scrawny dog? Can he swing a club or wield a knife?” Seeing my dissatisfaction with Michael, Jackson immediately moved to fire him. Michael suddenly looked up, his eyes burning with anger at my mockery. Catching sight of his fist clenching in his pocket, I finally spoke: “So, do you want to protect me, the universally reviled vixen? Or do you want to seize the opportunity to kill me?” Without waiting for his answer, I lightly patted Jackson’s shoulder. “Don’t wait for me for dinner tonight, I have plans with a friend!” I gave Michael a meaningful look, then grabbed my bag and got into the car. Just as the car door was about to close, a pair of hands gripped the handle. The next second, Michael King dropped to his knees, pleading with me: “Madam, I cannot lose this job!” I finally looked at him squarely. As expected of a man who could break into my room in the middle of the night—flexible and adaptable, capable of great things. I averted my gaze, closing my eyes to rest. Jackson sternly ordered Michael: “Protect my wife. If she loses even a single hair, I’ll personally chop you into pieces!” I raised my hand, and Michael started the car. “Madam, where to first?” “Deep Glen Hotel.” Before opening the door, I calmly told Michael, “Inside is the first one I need to handle today. You can learn from it.” I pushed the door open, and the young model who had found Jackson’s car keys yesterday shrieked in terror. “Mrs. Byers… I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again…” The model was tied up, frantically shrinking into the corner of the wall in fright. I hadn’t even done anything, and she was already streaming tears. The next second, I pushed her down, straddling her, and unleashed a barrage of actions. “Mrs. Byers, I’m sorry, please let me go. I really didn’t know those were Mr. Byers’s keys when I picked them up…” After fumbling around her abdomen for a bit, I was quite disappointed. But I took the opportunity to force a handful of pills into her mouth, then pulled out my phone to snap pictures of her disheveled state. “Get out of Riverton. Don’t let me see you again.” My voice held no tremor. The young model, as if pardoned, clutched her throat and scrambled away, practically rolling. I unhurriedly cleaned my hands with disinfectant, then looked at Michael: “Did you learn anything? There are five more to go. Your turn or mine?” Michael gritted his teeth, demanding, “Why? She never intended to seduce Mr. Byers. She was innocent with him. Why are you so cruel to people?” “Cruel? This is just the beginning!” The next second, I posted the young model’s photos online. Moments later, the comment section was, as usual, inundated with insults. “So, you let me follow you, to personally watch you inflict abuse, because you’re certain I wouldn’t dare kill you?” A gun was pressed to my forehead again. I brushed the gun aside, smiling faintly. “Kill me, and you’ll never know the truth.” Michael put away his gun and accompanied me to deal with the second woman. This was a college student, Sarah Greene, who had accidentally rear-ended Jackson’s car. Sarah had just gotten her driver’s license, and on her first day with her new car, she hit Jackson’s Porsche. She cried, kowtowing to me: “Mrs. Byers, I really didn’t mean to rear-end Mr. Byers. I’ll pay whatever it costs. Please don’t hurt me, I don’t want to die…” I pulled out a self-defense baton, aiming for her bulging abdomen: “According to custom, as long as you see the error of your ways, I’ll know what to do.” Before the baton could fall, she wet herself in fear, frantically kowtowing to me: “Mrs. Byers, I don’t want to die. My mother raised me with such hardship; if I die, she won’t survive alone. Please let me go…” The stench from the mess beneath her made me immediately throw the baton to Michael: “You do it!” Michael clutched the self-defense baton, his eyes bloodshot. I ignored him, simply tossing him a box of pills with no packaging or instructions. “If you can’t bring yourself to hit her, then feed her these, and then you both go to the bathroom!” With that, I turned to my bag to retrieve my frantically vibrating phone. Ignoring the malicious insults, I routinely opened the camera. Unexpectedly, I accidentally touched a live stream that popped up on my phone. The familiar sight made me turn around in surprise. My voice trembling, I excitedly asked Michael, “Are you filming me? And live-streaming?” But he asked me, aghast, “You gave her drugs, and you want me to… to do that to her?” I lunged at Michael like a madwoman, patting him down. Seizing the opportunity, I whispered, “Quickly feed her the medicine, then take her to the restroom! Let’s be quick!” But the next second, Michael slammed the baton heavily onto my head. “You want me to take advantage and assault Sarah, then spread malicious rumors about her to control her? How can there be such a disgusting vixen like you?!” Warm blood instantly gushed out, and my vision turned red. After I fell to the ground, the live stream chat erupted in cheers: [Well done! Brother, you did what we’ve long wanted to do!] [That vixen deserves a lesson! She really thought she had supernatural powers, but she’s just flesh and blood!] [Brother, quickly rescue this student! She can’t end up tragically dead like that young model!] …That young model died? Was I too late? Lost in thought, Michael kicked me again, then left with Sarah. Sarah, however, dared not go with him, insisting on leaving alone. I desperately clutched Michael’s leg: “She can’t leave! Quickly give her the medicine! I’m doing this for her own good!” Meeting my pleading gaze, Michael hesitated. Thousands of viewers in the live stream furiously scrolled messages: [Brother, don’t be swayed by her! Giving someone drugs is called ‘doing good’?] [That vixen’s medicine is definitely not good news. Absolutely don’t give it to the girl! It could be deadly!] Seeing Sarah seizing the chance to run, I pulled out a dagger from my bag and forcefully threw it at her. Thankfully, it struck her right leg. I chased after her, intending to force the medicine down Sarah’s throat, but Michael blocked me at every turn. “What kind of medicine is this?” he demanded. “A laxative. If you want to know the truth, quickly give it to her! Any later and it might be too late…” Michael raised his hand and slapped my face. “I don’t believe it! There’s definitely something wrong with this medicine!” I was knocked to the ground by his slap. In desperation, I picked up the dagger and again stabbed Sarah, who was trying to escape. The entire internet was shocked by my ruthlessness and madness, with some netizens suggesting calling the police to arrest me. But more netizens rejected the idea. [Can’t call the police, otherwise Jackson, that love-struck fool, will surely protect her with his life!] Millions of netizens quickly signed an electronic petition, clamoring: [Phoebe Stone, go to hell!] [I bet some of the hundreds of women she ‘dealt with’ before died just like Anya Zhao!] [Since the law can’t punish her, then let justice punish her!] [Those who can go to the scene, quickly unite to eliminate this cancer! She must confess her crimes before Jackson finds out!] [Yes! The law doesn’t punish the masses! Let’s move!] I looked at these comments, brimming with anticipation. Michael also saw the public screen. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at me, waiting for more righteous people to judge me. Sarah gasped in pain, cursing me: “Mrs. Byers, you are so domineering and venomous, you’ll get your comeuppance sooner or later!” Hearing the screech of tires outside the warehouse, I smiled, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and whispered, “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you all; Jackson won’t let anything happen to me!” The next second, Mrs. Byers’s mother and a crowd of people surged into the abandoned warehouse. She also brought a restraining order. It was a court order strictly prohibiting me from approaching Jackson, and strictly prohibiting me from leaving the house. “You wretch, let’s see how you bully my son this time!” But I merely smiled. I looked past her, coldly speaking: “Jackson Byers, is this what you so boastfully call your love for me?” Mrs. Byers’s mother, accompanied by a team of lawyers, surrounded the arriving Jackson, fearing I might lose control and hurt someone. Then, in an effort to curry favor, she handed the restraining order to Jackson: “Son, look, even the court can’t stand it anymore. You can finally get rid of this vixen!” But Jackson took the restraining order, glanced at it, and tore it to shreds: “Mother, if you force me to divorce Phoebe again, we’ll cut ties!” The surrounding lawyers were so enraged they wanted to open his head and look inside right there. “Mr. Byers, you have money, you have good looks. Why are you so fixated on this vixen?” “Even in a matriarchal society, no one is as arrogant as her!” “Besides, she committed murder an hour ago! She just stabbed this young girl. You, a great philanthropist, can you bear for that young model to die so mysteriously?” He pressed, “You need to think clearly. If you continue to shield her, to clean up her messes, then you are also a murderer, an accomplice!” Jackson, however, merely elegantly tossed the shredded pieces into the air and called his assistant: “Liam, Phoebe has been wronged again today. Go hurry customs to clear the shipment; I want that Bugatti in the garage tonight!” Mr. Davies, the lead lawyer, was so angry his chest heaved violently. He had been practicing for thirty years and had never seen anyone so pathetic and masochistic—every time they met, Jackson was bruised, and his first words were either to withdraw a lawsuit or to wholeheartedly clean up his abusive wife’s messes. At this moment, half of Jackson’s face was still a terrible purple, yet his lips curved upwards, his gaze at me utterly doting. Mr. Davies quickly pinched his philtrum, then pulled out a divorce agreement and handed it to Jackson: “Mr. Byers, life is short. Can’t you live for yourself? I know you love her, but she’s a murderer, she’s going to prison soon. Why hold onto this marriage? I’m begging you, divorce her, alright?” He pressed, “Or do you love her so much that you’ve lost all sense of right and wrong, insisting on spending the rest of your life with a murderer?” Jackson’s usual gentle smile froze instantly, his eyes losing some of their warmth. “I said, I will never divorce Phoebe in this lifetime. The only way we part is if one of us dies!” Everyone present was so frustrated they felt like smashing the walls. “What spell has Phoebe Stone cast on you that makes you want to give her your life?” “Last week she pushed a college student who brushed past you down the stairs. Yesterday she knocked a filing intern into the hospital. Today she brazenly killed someone, and your face—how many days a month is it normal? Can’t you be strong just once?” Mr. Davies’ roar made the windows tremble, but it only elicited Jackson’s cold reply. “Even if Phoebe beats me to death, I will gladly accept it!” He continued, “Besides, Phoebe is just a bit quick-tempered, not a vixen. I will compensate all those people for the mistakes she made when she lost control. They have no complaints, so why are you more anxious than the emperor?” Mr. Davies was beyond furious, pointing at me and roaring, “Jackson Byers! That young model was killed by her! Wake up, will you? Even if you love her madly, can you at least have some moral compass?!” Someone, unable to stand it anymore, tried to call the police to arrest me. But Jackson’s people stopped them. “If Phoebe is truly guilty, I will atone for her sins!” A crowd of people, unable to persuade Jackson, could only glare at me with resentment: “Phoebe Stone, you are narrow-minded and vicious. You’ll get your comeuppance sooner or later!” They continued, “If you have any conscience left, actively divorce and turn yourself in!” Jackson’s sword-like gaze swept over those people: “If you want to make trouble for Phoebe, you’ll have to step over my dead body!” With that, he stepped forward with an apologetic expression, forcefully picking me up. “Phoebe, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault for making you suffer…” He then instructed his assistant to hand Sarah a check for one million dollars. “This is a small apology on behalf of my wife. Do you choose to forgive her, or pursue further action?” Everyone shouted: “Young lady, don’t be swayed by money! Let’s all work together to remove this blight from society!” Sarah hesitated, then ultimately accepted the check. “Actually, Mrs. Byers just loves Mr. Byers too much. I was the one who hit Mr. Byers’s car; I was at fault first…” Everyone was stunned, and even their perception of Jackson changed.

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After chasing the cold, aloof campus idol for a month with no success, I tried a different approach and threw money at him instead. I didn’t expect him to get even colder, to the point where his only responses were “Mm” and “Ah.” Me: “Liam, I want to eat an apple. Peel it for me, but the stem can’t fall off.” Liam gave a simple “Mm” and silently picked up a paring knife. Ten minutes later, I picked up a gleaming, freshly peeled apple from the plate for the third time. With one light bite, the stem snapped off again. Liam violently stabbed the knife into the rolling apple, a rare look of impatience crossing his face. My heart skipped a beat. I was just about to tell him to stop when I suddenly saw strange lines of text appear in the air: [Ahhhhh! I’m witnessing an iconic scene! The devoted second male lead is furiously peeling apples!] [Chloe, do NOT tell him to stop! Let him peel! Let him peel for his life! Let him peel his feelings away! What he hates are the fragile apples and his own clumsy hands!] [Yes, yes, yes! And absolutely do NOT ignore him, or he will literally cry himself to sleep under the covers!] I froze, swallowing the words “Forget it, I don’t want it anymore” right back down my throat. Right now, Liam was crouching on the floor, his shoulders trembling slightly. For the first time, I felt a flicker of doubt: Was this 6-foot tall, notoriously cold and silent campus idol not actually angry, but… feeling wronged? I instinctively walked over and patted his shoulder. Liam slowly turned his head, his face wearing its usual “stay a thousand miles away” icy expression. “Do you want me to keep peeling?” I don’t know if I was influenced by the floating text, but I actually noticed the corners of his eyes were red, and a faint glimmer of tears shone in his eyes. A trace of guilt welled up inside me uncontrollably. I carefully chose my words for a compromise. “It’s too late today. Can we peel more tomorrow?” Liam’s expression froze, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the apple. I lowered my eyes and softened my voice. “Actually, I didn’t even want to eat an apple that badly. I just wanted…” Before I could finish the words “you to keep me company,” Liam stood up abruptly. He slammed the dusty apple onto the table with a loud smack and ground his teeth: “Chloe, do you think I’m incompetent? Are you disgusted by me?” Huh? The floating text also paused for a second. [Are my eyes playing tricks on me? In the original text, didn’t Chloe just get mad and go back to her room? Why is she coaxing the second male lead?] [Serves old Liam right for not having a wife. His girl is showing weakness, and he’s just pushing her away!] [Emm… Did you guys forget? The first time the second male lead used a coffee machine, Chloe mocked him, threatened to dock his pay, and was incredibly arrogant. It’s actually pretty normal for him to react this way.] [I remember that too! When Liam made breakfast and did laundry for Chloe, she complained relentlessly about it.] Uh, I think that actually happened. Feeling incredibly guilty, I looked away. A month ago, an accident resulted in Liam and me forming an unhealthy “sugar baby/sugar mommy” relationship. Wanting some privacy for the two of us, I specifically rented a luxurious, 3,000-square-foot villa not far from campus. But Liam became even colder than when I was pursuing him. My highly experienced friend gave me some advice: “You can’t spoil a man, babe. First, you have to let him know who’s boss. “Trust me, you have to do the exact opposite of what a wild horse expects. Break him in enough, and he’ll behave!” To “break” Liam in, I truly did go out of my way to maliciously make things difficult for him. The text was still scrolling: [Putting myself in his shoes, it really would be hard to feel any good intentions from her. I know I couldn’t.] [Sigh, I really don’t want my favorite ship to end in tragedy T~T] [Chloe, don’t give up! Actually, if you just tell him you like him, he’d go through fire and water for you! He’s just stubborn!] [Yes, yes, yes, I think so too.] Perhaps completely brainwashed by the floating text, I bit my lip, silently turned around, and pulled out a wet wipe. Then, mustering all my courage, I took Liam’s hand. The moment we touched, a jolt of electricity shot straight to my brain. Liam’s fingers trembled violently. But in the end, he didn’t pull away, letting me wipe his hand. “I’m not disgusted by you, Liam. “I never was. On the contrary, I… I really like you.” My ears were burning hot, but I couldn’t resist taking a quick peek at Liam. His expression was frozen, but my reflection filled his pupils. The text went wild: [Chloe is doing great!] [Say more, say more! He absolutely loves hearing it!] Feeling incredibly encouraged, and egged on by the text. With a deafening heartbeat, I pushed forward. “Let’s… let’s get along from now on. I won’t make things difficult for you anymore, okay? “But you have to be nicer to me too. Don’t always wear that stone-cold face.” After saying that, I quickly lowered my eyes. My heart was pounding like a trapped deer, waiting for Liam’s response. One second. Two seconds. Time seemed to stretch infinitely. As I was growing confused, a soft chuckle suddenly hit my ears. Liam forcefully shook off my hand, took a step back, and mocked me coldly: “A slap in the face, followed by a piece of candy. “Chloe, are you trying to play me to death?” [Uh, what?!! Feeling bad for Chloe for a minute!] [All I can say is old Liam is single through his own sheer effort. What a waste of that peerless face.] [I’m just waiting for Mr. Regret to regret this. Some people don’t even deserve a redemption arc.] Being repeatedly misunderstood completely evaporated the courage I had so painstakingly gathered. All that was left was grievance, humiliation, and rapidly erupting anger. “Yes! I am trying to play you to death!” I viciously threw the wet wipe at Liam, my expression and tone turning icy. “Other people who keep a campus idol as a sugar baby would have devoured them completely by now! What kind of idiot just occasionally teases you and then has to tiptoe around your bad moods like I do?!” Liam shook his head in self-mockery, wearing an “I knew it” expression. He raised his hand and unbuttoned his white dress shirt. Revealing smooth, defined chest muscles and tight, firm abs. “Isn’t this what you want?” I bit my lip. This was a scene I had eagerly anticipated in my dreams. But in this moment, I only felt utterly humiliated. Liam took off his shirt and, leaving no room for refusal, picked me up and set me on the back of the sofa. He grabbed my hand and forcefully pressed it against his heart. Looking me dead in the eye, he was incredibly aggressive: “Take it. Why bother with all those high-sounding words?” I had long since lost the mood to pay attention to the floating text. I struggled wildly, kicking and scratching. “Let go, you bastard!” Soon, several red scratch marks appeared on Liam’s chest. But the difference in physical strength between men and women is vast. From beginning to end, I was firmly trapped in his arms. He even managed to free one hand to pinch my chin. “Just because you’re different from other rich girls, and only occasionally make things difficult for me, I’m supposed to be eternally grateful to you?” Tears were forced to my eyes, but I stubbornly refused to let them fall. “I am different from other people! I genuinely wanted a future with you! “But not anymore. You… you’re just a bastard!” Liam let out a laugh, but it looked worse than crying. “See? When I act like a condescending bastard just once, you feel this terrible. “But when you use ‘genuine feelings’ as an excuse to trample me underfoot and act like a bastard in every possible way, you still expect me to be grateful. Based on what? “Chloe, I feel pain too.” His words were like a sharp knife plunging into my heart, completely destroying the sense of superiority my money had given me. I suddenly felt like a clown—pathetic and ridiculous. The dam broke, and tears poured out uncontrollably. I violently shoved Liam away. In a fit of rage, I used all my strength to slap him across the face, shouting the question that had always lingered in my mind. “Then why did you accept my money in the first place?! Taking my money and giving me the cold shoulder every single day—how high and mighty does that make you?!” After saying that, I didn’t dare look at his reaction. I fled, rushing into my room. [The sky is falling, my ship has completely sunk. The plot is back to square one. It seems our girl ultimately can’t escape the tragic female lead storyline.] [They both have mouths! Why can’t they just communicate clearly?!] [I feel like they did communicate clearly. They’re just both too stubborn for their own good. Sigh, the romance is dead, blame shared equally, let’s all go home.] [Wait, why is Liam gripping the paring knife with his left hand? He’s bleeding so much, and Chloe just wiped that hand for him.] [Holy shit, he made Chloe cry, and now he knows he messed up! If he doesn’t actually like her, I will livestream myself eating shit!] The text was scrolling furiously with discussion. But right now, I had buried myself in a soft pillow, sobbing uncontrollably. I completely missed the message about Liam’s finger bleeding. I don’t know how much time passed, but I felt utterly exhausted. Yet, every time I closed my eyes, Liam’s mocking expression became even clearer. Unable to resist, I checked the floating text. [Sigh, it’s 2 AM. Why is Mr. Regret still peeling apples?] [Just caught up on the thread. @IfOldLiamDoesn’tLikeChloeIWillEatShit, don’t worry, bro, you won’t have to eat shit. Old Liam loves Chloe to death. Later, when Chloe is imprisoned and killed by the male lead, it’s Liam who remembers her kindness, avenges her, and dies in a fire.] [@BetterLateThanNever, sis, don’t worry. I have self-awareness. Old Liam is like me—raised by a grandmother because our parents were awful. For people like us, who lack love, even a little bit of warmth will make us devote our entire lives to someone. Chloe accidentally helped Liam’s critically ill grandmother. Liam is definitely eternally grateful to her. He’s just too stubborn and can’t get past the ‘sugar baby’ hurdle.] [Sigh, I feel like they’re in a dead knot that’s hard to untie. Chloe thinks Liam is naturally cold, so she acts tough and makes things difficult for him. Liam thinks the rich girl Chloe just wants to play with him, so even if he likes her, he’ll always wear a cold face. It’s an endless loop.] Reading the text, I fell silent. I inexplicably remembered the night before I “bought” Liam. My friend, seeing right through me, whispered in my ear: “He’s a tough nut to crack. Even an experienced player like me couldn’t get anywhere. “I heard his family situation isn’t great. His grandmother is seriously ill and they need money badly. But he looks down on our kind of money.” I froze, then slapped myself hard. Why had I never thought to learn more about his family situation? He was barely 20 years old, yet life had forced him to fight in underground boxing rings and work as a restaurant server. And in his moments of absolute despair, I had to repeatedly shatter his pride in the most frivolous ways imaginable. Thinking about the tragic ending for both of us mentioned in the text, my emotions were incredibly complicated. Barefoot, I quietly walked to the door of Liam’s room. Right now, he was sitting in front of his computer. His left hand was wrapped in gauze, and he held a paring knife in his right. His long fingers moved deftly, quietly and intently peeling an apple. My heart suddenly began to ache. Due to insomnia, I woke up very late the next morning. Liam was sitting at the dining table, seemingly having waited for me for a long time. Breakfast was as extravagant as always. Next to the toast sat three crystal-clear, peeled apples, complete with their stems. There also seemed to be two large jars of freshly made apple jam. I opened my mouth, but the apology ultimately didn’t come out. After eating in silence, Liam slid a document across the table. Along with the keys to the villa. “Ms. Vance, as of today, it’s exactly been one month.” His voice remained flat and emotionless. “After today, I will not be coming over anymore. Please understand.” An awkward atmosphere spread through the silent space. My chest felt like something was suddenly blocking it, making it hard to breathe. I didn’t have the courage to look at the contract he returned. Nor did I have the courage to ask him to forgive my absurdity and ignorance. I stood up and nodded calmly. “That’s for the best.” Liam clenched his fists. A moment later, he started clearing the dishes from the table. Watching his long fingers gently and skillfully handle everything. I felt incredibly sad. “Today is my birthday.” “I know.” [Waaah, what a tragic morning.] [@IfOldLiamDoesn’tLikeChloeIWillEatShit, come out and eat your shit. Absolute nonsense. You’re probably the only one who thinks this heartless man likes Chloe.] I sighed softly in my heart. It seemed he was determined to leave. “My family is throwing a birthday party for me tonight. There will be a lot of people there. Come back with me just this once. After today, everything from the past month will be wiped clean.” Liam paused, then said softly, “Okay.” The birthday party was held at the Vance family estate. Before Liam and I even walked through the door, we heard people gossiping. My rival, Sarah, was sitting in the middle of a crowd, looking arrogant as she spoke passionately: “I really don’t know what our Chloe is thinking. So many people like her, but she insists on chasing that campus idol.” “Which campus idol?” “Liam from University A, obviously. The one who looks all cold and noble, like he’s above mortal desires. But I heard a little rumor.” Everyone’s curiosity was piqued, but Sarah stopped talking. Once everyone gathered around, she smiled mysteriously and lowered her voice, though just enough so everyone could still hear: “I heard that campus idol Liam is a huge fake. He looks proper, but he actually loves money to death. A month ago, he was bought by a rich older woman in our circle for a huge sum! “And the craziest part is, that rich woman plays hard. On his very first day, Liam was covered in injuries and limping.” A collective gasp echoed through the living room. Then, the discussion became even more intense. I sharply noticed that Liam’s knuckles were white, and his face was turning a sickly shade of pale green. I was both sad and furious. The Liam I knew was a warrior who could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in a boxing ring just to support his family. He was a saint who would rather go hungry himself to save a stray cat. He was a young man who, despite growing up in the mud, remained completely untainted, filial, and kind. Even though I acted foolishly, I had never physically harmed him. And the only way he would get injured was if he was hurt by an opponent in an underground boxing ring. I never thought that a whim while I was drunk would bring him so many vicious rumors. I strode over to Sarah and grabbed her by the hair. “How did you sneak in here? I don’t recall inviting you.” Sarah looked panicked for a second, then pointed at my sister, Mia, and screamed for help. “Let go of me! Mia invited me!” I looked at my twin sister, dressed in a Lolita dress, sporting twin ponytails, her face a little pale. She shrank back, looking incredibly innocent. “Sister, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t like Sarah.” The floating text suddenly scrolled wildly. [Chloe, don’t believe this wicked witch! She’s the psycho male lead’s accomplice!] [Same face, but why does it look bright and beautiful on Chloe, but so hypocritical on the evil supporting character?!] I froze for a moment, and Sarah broke free from my grip. “Why are you glaring at Mia?” She smirked triumphantly, looking down her nose at me. “You probably don’t know this yet, but that campus god you’ve been chasing around school has already been bought by someone else.” People around us started whispering. The looks they gave me instantly carried a subtle hint of strangeness. I raised my hand and slapped Sarah with all my might. I had gotten my nails done specifically before coming here, and five red marks quickly appeared on Sarah’s face. I sneered, “Do you not have a brain? You just believe whatever people tell you?” I looked coldly around the room. “Listen up. Liam is my boyfriend. If I hear any of you gossiping behind our backs again, we don’t need to be friends anymore.” Sarah held her cheek, laughing out of pure anger: “Boyfriend? “Keep dreaming! Does Liam even know you’re a couple? Today is your birthday, so where is this ‘boyfriend’ of yours?!” “You…!” I instinctively looked behind me, only to realize Liam hadn’t followed me inside. In an instant, I felt my momentum deflate. Of course. I had brought him nothing but pain and humiliation. Why would he get involved in this? Seeing me hesitate, my rival became even more arrogant: “Chloe, there has to be a limit to how much you’re willing to humiliate yourself! He’s probably acting like a lapdog in some rich woman’s bed right now!” I bit my lip hard, my chest heaving with anger. I immediately started looking for the butler, wanting him to throw her out. Just then, a large, slightly calloused hand suddenly engulfed mine, pulling me behind him. Liam’s undeniable, icy voice rang out through the hall. “Miss, you might be mistaken. I was the one who pursued Chloe. “Today is Chloe’s birthday, and I want her to have a wonderful day.” His voice was slow and deliberate, but filled with overwhelming authority. “If anyone spreads rumors again, I wouldn’t mind getting the police involved.” Intimidated, Sarah stood rooted to the spot, not daring to say a word. The butler finally appeared with the security guards, and I instructed him to escort Sarah out. In front of everyone, I took Liam’s hand and led him upstairs. As Sarah was forcibly dragged out, she had a hysterical realization, struggling wildly: “Chloe! Were you the one who bought Liam?!” The text mocked her relentlessly: [The young couple literally just announced their relationship publicly, and she’s still talking about ‘buying’. Respect, okay?!] [How pathetic. She’s being dragged out with no escape, and she’s still struggling!] [Inexplicably feel like Sarah is kind of cute. If she knew she actually guessed right, I wonder how she’d react. Hahahaha.] [Newbie here asking a weak question: Am I remembering it wrong? I don’t think this scene was in the book. Wasn’t the original plot that Chloe and Liam had a falling out, and she gets imprisoned after her birthday?] [But I prefer this version of Chloe! I want her to be with someone where the feelings are mutual. Being imprisoned is not a good look for women!] Holding Liam’s hand, I had no time to read the text. Only I knew that from the moment he appeared, my heart rate had been skyrocketing. I had never wished for the staircase leading to my bedroom to be longer, just a little longer, as much as I did right now. But reality is reality. Soon, Liam and I arrived at the bedroom. As soon as the door locked. He proactively let go of my hand and took two steps back. After a moment of silence. “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.” We spoke in unison. He politely waited for me to speak first. “Just now… that was just a tactical move. Once this blows over, I’ll tell everyone we broke up. “You don’t need to feel pressured.” Liam looked at me quietly. The resistance and rejection from before had completely vanished. He really doesn’t like me. I smiled bitterly in self-mockery. “I didn’t think things through before. I never thought it would bring you so many nasty rumors.” Liam shook his head. “Chloe, you don’t need to apologize.” He frowned, seemingly struggling internally. Two seconds later, he turned his head away. “You weren’t the only one with selfish motives. A month ago, my grandmother, who I depend on for survival, was critically ill. I desperately needed that money to save her life. “And also, I really do… for you…” His tone was more candid and relieved than ever before, carrying a trace of gentleness. Hm? I pricked up my ears, waiting for the rest. But there was no more. Liam suddenly strode toward the TV. “Chloe! Come here, quick!” I approached curiously and leaned in. Liam pointed at an object the size of a thumb. “It’s a micro-camera. Why is this in your bedroom?” He looked at me as he spoke. The next second, he pulled my frozen, trembling body into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Buried in Liam’s chest, my body shook slightly. I closed my eyes, my mind full of the text that appeared the moment Liam pointed at the camera: [Oh boy, the countdown to the thrilling imprisonment plot officially begins!] [Our cute little Chloe probably doesn’t even know her adopted brother is the male lead yet. Because of his unrequited love, he’s rushing over with his ‘tools’ right now!] [Poor baby. I really don’t want to see a trash man abuse the female lead.] I understood every word written there, but strung together, it was unbelievable. My adopted brother, Arthur, was always gentle and refined, highly valued by our parents. It was hard to imagine him liking me, let alone wanting to imprison me. But remembering the look in his eyes when we were alone… Belatedly, goosebumps covered my entire body. “Liam, will you still protect me?” I grabbed the hem of Liam’s shirt, my voice muffled. He would definitely say no, right?

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Late at night, bored out of my mind, I secretly used an AI tool to generate a video of me kissing my massive crush to use as a substitute for the real thing. But somehow, I accidentally sent the video directly to him. After watching it, he grabbed me, pulled out his phone, and pointed the camera at us. “AI kisses are boring. “Come on, let’s film a real one.” 1 Late at night. I was scrolling through TikTok, bored out of my mind, when I suddenly saw something very interesting. A creator had used an AI software to blend photos of herself and her crush, generating a highly realistic video of them kissing. It looked incredibly real. ! Has AI technology really advanced this far?! A spark of inspiration hit me. I immediately dove deep into my phone’s camera roll and dug up a bunch of photos. They were all of my crush, Liam. His serious profile during a lecture, his lazy, smiling face while joking with friends, his incredible abs exposed when he casually lifted his jersey to wipe his sweat… Just looking at them made me drool. I had begged, borrowed, and stolen these high-quality photos from all sorts of places. I fed all the photos of Liam and myself into the AI software. After a flurry of complex operations, it exported a video of about ten seconds. In it, “I” and “Liam” looked into each other’s eyes. Then “I” looked up, “he” looked down, and “we” shared a sweet, romantic kiss. “My” hand was even resting on his chest. And “his” hand was cupping the back of my neck. Tsk. The kiss I couldn’t get in real life, I managed to get first through AI. I lay in my dorm bed, holding my phone, my heart fluttering. The smile on my face never dropped the entire time. I probably watched this fake kissing video over a hundred times on loop. But gradually, something started to feel a bit off. I felt like even though the AI “Liam” looked like the real Liam, his body proportions were slightly wrong. His shoulders weren’t that narrow, and his smile looked weird. His arms shouldn’t be that scrawny either. It wasn’t perfect. It was probably because I hadn’t fed the AI enough reference material, so the guy in the video didn’t completely match Liam’s actual physique. After thinking about it, I opened a chat with a specific friend on my phone. 2 This friend was an absolute legend at our university. I forgot how I even added her, and I’d never met her in person, but I just knew she was incredibly well-connected. Because she always had a massive stash of photos of Liam for sale. And they were never duplicates. Some of them were even selfies taken from Liam’s own perspective. I had asked her out of curiosity where she got these pictures, and she claimed she tracked down a little-known social media account Liam had on a foreign app. That account was full of photos Liam posted himself. So her “inventory” was fully stocked. A dollar a picture—cheap, affordable, and high-quality. It perfectly satisfied the needs of a secret admirer like me. Of course, she never told me the actual username of the account. [You there, babe?] My friend, whose profile picture was Hello Kitty, replied instantly: [Yeah.] [Got any more pics of Liam?] [Yeah, why are you buying more? Didn’t you just buy a dozen the day before yesterday?] I answered vaguely: [I already drew them all. I need more reference material for my art assignments.] I had never revealed to anyone that I liked Liam. Liam was notoriously hard to pursue. Since freshman year, no one had succeeded, and rumor had it he still harbored feelings for his first love. I was naturally introverted and struggled with low self-esteem. I didn’t want to humiliate myself by getting rejected; the thought of it just made me feel awkward and embarrassed. So, with this internet friend, my excuse for buying Liam’s photos was always that I needed references for my art classes. Other students from the art department also frequently drew Liam. After all, his facial features were striking and highly defined, and his body lines were excellent. He was the absolute perfect candidate for a model. Because the final products were so pleasing to the eye, the professors naturally tended to give higher grades. So my excuse of buying photos to draw Liam wasn’t suspicious at all; it was actually quite common. [But this time I don’t want his selfies. I want to buy some pictures of his body. Abs, chest—shots that show off his physique well.] [My figure drawing assignment this time is a bit tricky, sell me a few with good angles.] She replied slowly: [Alright, I’ll go find some for you.] My internet friend went to work. I waited, my imagination running wild. [Image] [Image] [Image] Soon, she sent over a few photos. They were all high-definition mirror selfies of a shirtless Liam. An eight-pack, a prominent V-line, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. His muscle lines were smooth and flawless from every angle. Paired with that incredibly handsome face, the sheer testosterone and youthful energy radiating from the photos had me completely hooked. Saved the pictures, and transferred the money immediately. [Thanks! Got any clear shots of his face looking straight ahead?] Otherwise, in the AI video, the guy’s face gets a little distorted. She accepted the money. A few seconds later, she sent a high-definition selfie of Liam. He seemed to have taken it in the bathroom of the boys’ dorm. His expression was lazy. A truly authoritative, universally acknowledged handsome face. [Yeah. We’re having a promotion today: buy five, get one free. This one’s on the house.] I was deeply moved. What an absolute god-tier internet friend. 3 Using the excuse of working on my assignment, I quickly fed these new photos into the AI software. The AI generated a brand new video. This time, it felt right. The “Liam” in this video matched his actual expressions and body type 99%. The plot seemed richer, and the video was longer. A subway train kiss. Tsk. Looks like the AI had a preference for J-drama tropes. I dragged the progress bar, continuing to watch. In a crowded subway car, “Liam” pinned “me” against the wall. He whispered in “my” ear first, then lowered his head and kissed “me.” This kind of public display of affection carried a strange mix of thrill and shyness. Hiding quietly behind my bed curtains, I felt like a furnace had been placed right next to me. I felt so hot that my cheeks and ears were burning, and my throat felt a little dry. I watched it over and over again, endlessly. I’m not joking. Even when I’m dead and nailed into a coffin, I’m taking this fake digital sustenance with me to enjoy in the afterlife. It wasn’t until I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore that I reluctantly closed the video and went to sleep. For the next few days, I was completely addicted to this AI kissing video. So much so that I temporarily stopped hitting up my god-tier internet friend for pictures. Then one day, she reached out to me first. [Why haven’t you bought any pictures of Liam lately?] I replied: [Babe, I don’t need any for now.] Hearing this, she immediately fired off a barrage of messages. [? [Don’t need them? [Did you not finish drawing the old ones? [Or are you planning to draw someone else instead of Liam? [Who is it? Does he have a better body than Liam? Is he handsomer than Liam? [His body was built from playing sports; you can’t compare those scrawny guys to him. [What’s wrong with him? Tell me, I’ll fix it.] She recalled one of her messages. [What’s wrong with him? Tell me, and next time I’ll find you some better pictures.] ? Why was she suddenly getting so defensive and anxious? 4 I was confused, but I assumed she was just worried about losing her most loyal customer. [I’m not planning on drawing anyone else. No one else has a physique that can beat his.] She seemed to be in a good mood again. [Oh, then why did you stop buying his photos?] [I saw him post some pictures on his social media, and his body seems to have gotten even better lately. [Are you sure you don’t want to buy some more for reference?] I replied mysteriously: [I don’t need static photos right now, mainly because I’ve been enjoying something much better lately.] [What something better? Let me see.] [No, it’s my secret.] If this shameless AI kissing video accidentally leaked and caused trouble for Liam’s reputation and life, what would I do? I might be thirsty. But I can’t cause trouble for Liam. That’s the fundamental rule of having a secret crush. Afraid this internet friend would keep pestering me, I brushed her off casually and stopped replying. She sent a few more messages before finally going quiet. Just as I was getting ready to resume enjoying my digital sustenance, the person pinned to the very top of my chat list sent me a message. Liam: [You there?] !! I excitedly rubbed my eyes. Holy crap. Liam had actually initiated a conversation with me! [I’m here, I’m here. What’s up?] What did he want? Was he inviting me out? Did he want me to bring him water at the basketball court? Asking me out to dinner? In just a few seconds, countless romantic scenarios bubbled up in my brain. Then, Liam just dropped a garbled link into the chat. And said: [Can you click this Temu link for me? Thanks.] …….? 5 The romantic bubbles burst mercilessly. But I didn’t dare delay. Whatever my crush does is right. So what if a guy who wears a different pair of limited-edition sneakers every day uses Temu? It just proves he knows when to spend and when to save. He is wise. I hurriedly clicked the link to help Liam secure his discount. Just watching the animation took me several minutes, only to arrive at the conclusion that I was the “luckiest person of the day.” Not bad. A perfect conclusion. I tapped the screen frantically. [Done. Check and see if it worked.] [Yeah, it did.] [That’s good.] And then the conversation died. I stared at the chat interface, racking my brain trying to find a topic to keep the conversation going. But I genuinely didn’t know what to say. After all, in Liam’s mind, I was probably just an underclassman in the same club as him. After agonizing over it, I sent him a link too. [Can you click mine too?] Liam paused for a moment: [Sure.] Then, he sent me another link. [Click this one for me too.] ? Another one? Just how frugal has my crush become lately? I was confused, but I still clicked it. Then I immediately shot another link back at him, absolutely refusing to let this conversation end. [Then click this one for me too.] And so, that night, the two of us clicked hundreds of links for each other. Eventually, Temu couldn’t take it anymore and sent us both, two absolute broke college students, a massive discount coupon. We struck gold. A massive payday. 6 After spending an entire night having this bizarre alternative “chat” with my crush, I was full of energy the next day, despite having massive dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t expect that as soon as I walked into the classroom, I’d get even more good news. The professor had specifically invited over a dozen guys from the basketball team to be our live figure models. When these guys, all over six feet tall, walked in, the usually spacious and quiet art studio suddenly felt a bit cramped. The smell of vibrant, youthful energy mixed with the scent of oil paint. My eyes instantly landed on Liam, who was standing toward the back. The campus idol had actually been dragged here to be a model too. The eyes of every girl in the studio lit up. My heart raced, and I secretly bowed to the heavens. Oh merciful gods, your devoted follower has given up vegetarianism for life; you MUST let Liam be my model! The professor told the slightly embarrassed guys to just take a seat in order. I craned my neck and quickly counted heads. Crap. Liam was going to be the model for the student sitting right behind me. But that was okay; just being able to catch glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye was enough to satisfy me. One by one, they sat down. When the guy in front of Liam was about to sit next to me, Liam suddenly patted his shoulder and said calmly: “Big Mike, I think you left your bag in the bathroom in the academic building.” The guy called Big Mike froze. “Holy shit, I knew my hands felt empty! Thanks, Liam.” “No problem. Go find it before it’s gone.” “Yeah, yeah.” Big Mike lifted his butt from the chair and rushed out of the studio in a panic. And then Liam, amidst my bewildered and ecstatic gaze, casually took the seat right next to me. “Chloe, I’ll be your model.” 7 My heart was beating like a drum. I nodded, pretending to be calm. “Sorry for the trouble.” “It’s no trouble. Do you need me to strike a specific pose?” “No, just sit however is comfortable for you.” Liam leaned back in the chair, his long legs stretched out casually. His gaze frequently landed on me. This scene felt exactly like the beginning of that AI kissing video. We were sitting on the subway, and he was seducing me with his eyes. In this moment, I was terrified that if I made eye contact with him, I would instinctively blush and expose my overly indecent inner thoughts. So I kept my neck stiff and didn’t dare look at him too much. Fortunately, I had long since memorized the proportions of Liam’s face, so I could roughly sketch it out blindly based on feeling. Liam sat quietly beside me, not saying much. But his presence was incredibly strong. Especially because of whatever laundry detergent he used; it smelled amazing. I made a mental note to buy the same brand later. Just as my mind was wandering and my sketching was becoming chaotic, the boy suddenly leaned his face closer, as if curious about my progress. ! My hand holding the pencil jerked. I ended up drawing his eyelashes way too long in one stroke. It looked a bit comical. Liam said lazily: “Chloe, that’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” “Sorry.” But Liam didn’t seem to have any intention of letting me off the hook. He raised his hand and, highly amused, lightly tapped the drawing of himself on my sketchpad. “By the way, why is the bridge of my nose so flat, and why does my mouth look so stiff? It looks like I had too much Botox.” Being criticized by the actual model, I frustratingly and sheepishly grabbed my eraser. I planned to quickly erase the garbage drawing caused by my wandering mind. “I’m sorry, I’ll fix it right now.” I couldn’t afford to get distracted again. Stay focused. But Liam said: “Don’t rush to fix it. You don’t seem to be in the zone. Why don’t you get a feel for your model first?” “Get a feel for you? How?” I turned to look at him in confusion. I heard the boy speak in a coaxing tone: “Chloe, why don’t you touch my face?” My eyes shot wide open. ! T-touch him?! Did I just hit the jackpot?!

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On New Year’s Eve, my husband’s “one who got away” showed up at our house and turned on the gas valves. I didn’t rush downstairs to call him for help. Because in my previous life, Mark saved me and our son, but his first love, Jolene, died because she wasn’t treated in time. On the surface, he said it didn’t matter. He was unnervingly patient, taking care of me with a tenderness I’d never seen before. But on the day I was discharged from the hospital, he drugged my parents and our son with sleeping pills. Then, he turned on the gas, letting the fumes take them all while they slept. Before I drifted into that final, dark sleep, I heard his hysterical laughter. “You and that brat are the reason Jolene is dead. Your parents are just as guilty for bringing a curse like you into this world. Your whole bloodline deserves to end!” “I’ve finally avenged her! I’m going to make sure you feel every ounce of the agony she suffered!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve. … A pungent, acrid smell flooded my nostrils. My vision blurred, and my head spun so violently I could barely keep my footing. A small, choked sob pulled me back to reality. “Mommy, I’m scared.” I looked down to see my son, Toby, gripping my leggings with trembling hands. That’s when I knew. I had really come back. I dragged my leaden limbs toward the door, intending to shut off the gas valve in the kitchen. The bedroom door was locked from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. In my last life, the door had been fine. What changed? I pounded on the wood with everything I had. From the other side, Jolene’s voice came through, muffled but dripping with malice. “Save your breath, Claire. No one is coming for you.” “Jolene! Open this door!” I screamed, my throat already raw from the fumes. “This is murder!” Outside, she let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “It’s a tragic accident, honey. You forgot to turn off the stove while cooking. What does that have to do with me?” Same old Jolene. Always the victim, always shifting the blame. And Mark? He always swallowed her lies like they were gospel. I used to wonder why. It wasn’t until I checked the GPS on Toby’s smart-watch in my past life that I realized they had been sleeping together behind my back for months. I had planned to wait until after the holidays to file for divorce. I never expected Jolene to be this psychotic—she couldn’t even wait for the new year. She broke in while we were sleeping and turned our home into a gas chamber. But I was awake now. And I would not let her touch my son. “Jolene, do you really think you’re going to walk away from this?” I yelled. “If I die, they’ll find you. They’ll trace everything!” “Open the damn door!” There was a flicker of hesitation in her silence. But it was gone in a second. “I checked,” she said, her voice dropping to a smug whisper. “The cameras in the hallway are ‘malfunctioning.’ I wore a mask and a hoodie. No one saw me. I’m not making the same mistakes I made last time.” My blood ran cold. Last time? She remembered too. Jolene had also come back. That’s why the door was locked. She was making sure there was no escape. “Just die already,” she spat. Then, I heard her footsteps retreating. A moment later, the heavy thud of the front door shaking echoed through the apartment. Then came a frantic rattling. She was trying to leave, but she couldn’t. Our neighbor’s kid had a sensory habit of mashing the buttons on our smart lock. If you hit too many wrong codes, the deadbolt engaged into a hard-lock mode that could only be opened with a physical backup key. That brat’s annoying habit had just trapped Jolene in this poison-filled apartment with us. And the backup key? It was right here, in my bedroom nightstand. “Jolene, open this door right now. It’s the only way we both survive!” “In your dreams! I am never letting you out to take Mark away from me again!” It was pathetic. Even with her lungs filling with gas, her only thought was her obsession with my husband. The air was getting thicker, shimmering with invisible lethality. Toby’s breathing was becoming shallow, his little face turning a terrifying shade of pale. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. I crawled toward the window on my hands and knees. I didn’t have the strength to heave it open, so I grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from my desk and smashed it against the pane. The crash was loud enough to alert the neighbor who usually watered his balcony plants around this time. Within minutes, I heard the sound of the front door being kicked. I thought it was help. Then I heard Mark’s voice, along with a few of his low-life friends. “Jolene? Oh my god, Jolene! Are you okay?” Mark roared, his voice thick with panic. Jolene let out a weak, performative whimper. “It’s… it’s Claire… she tried to…” “I’m getting you to the ER! Hang on!” “Mark, wait! Your wife is still in the bedroom!” That was Nate, the neighbor’s son. His voice was frantic. “The door is locked and the gas is everywhere! You have to get her out!” I waited for the sound of the lock turning. Instead, I heard my husband’s cold, mocking sneer. “She’s fine. She’s faking it.” “She’s done this a dozen times, Nate. Anything for a little attention. But taking it this far? Putting Jolene in danger? I’m done with her games.” Mark’s “bros” chimed in, their voices echoing in the hallway. “Seriously, Claire is a piece of work. Remember how she trapped Mark into that marriage? She’s finally getting what’s coming to her.” “She’s the queen of playing the victim. If Jolene hadn’t come back from London, Mark would still be under that psycho’s thumb. Let her stew in there for a minute.” My lungs were burning. Toby had gone limp in my arms. I didn’t care about their insults. I just wanted my son to live. I used the last of my strength to crawl to the door and hammered on it once, hard. A final signal. A heavy silence fell over the hallway. Nate spoke up, his voice stern. “Even if she’s ‘faking,’ you can’t just leave her in a gas-filled room, Mark. That’s insane.” Mark groaned, his impatience palpable. “I told you, it’s an act! You’re so worried about her—what, you two got something going on? Is that kid even mine, or is he some neighborly side-project?” “You… you prick! That’s your wife! How can you joke about her life?” The words cut deeper than the lack of oxygen. In my last life, he had at least pretended to care. Now, he had convinced himself I was a monster just to justify his own betrayal. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to breathe, let alone explain. My only hope was Nate. I heard his footsteps rushing toward the door. But then, the sound of a scuffle. Mark’s friends were holding him back. “Take it easy, Nate. You really want to catch a charge for ‘saving’ a woman who’s clearly just trying to ruin her husband’s New Year?” One of them kicked the door back, laughing. “Hey, Claire! Nice try with the gas! But maybe next time, don’t lock yourself in the one room that isn’t getting any airflow! You’re a terrible actress!” They all thought I was the villain. Every single one of them. The gas was starting to win. My brain felt like it was being wrapped in wet cotton. I looked down at Toby. He wasn’t moving. No. Not again. I wouldn’t let him die. Not for these people. I dragged my body up and slammed my fist against the door. Again. And again. A rhythmic, desperate plea. “Does that sound like acting to you?” I heard one of the friends mutter, his voice losing its edge. “She’s been at it a long time. Maybe she’s actually stuck?” “Please,” Mark snapped. “You remember the time she called me crying saying Toby was in the hospital just to get me to bail on a client meeting? It was a head cold. She’s a liar.” “The ambulance is downstairs for Jolene. I’m taking her now. Claire can sit in there and think about what she’s done. I’m done being her puppet.” No. Don’t go. Save Toby. My throat was a desert. I couldn’t make a sound. I just kept hitting the door, praying he had one shred of humanity left for his son. The footsteps approached the door. A glimmer of hope. Then, through the wood, Mark’s voice boomed—not with concern, but with pure, unadulterated rage. “Claire, stop it! Stop the damn banging! It’s New Year’s Eve—can’t you give me one night of peace without a mental breakdown? I don’t believe you anymore! I’m done!” I knew he wasn’t the man I married anymore. But five years… surely five years earned us a look through the door? I reached for the handle, but he delivered a violent kick to the other side. The force sent me sprawling backward. I gasped in shock, and a lungful of concentrated gas rushed into my system. My nerves went numb. My mind was sharp, screaming, but my body was a statue. “Go ahead, Mark,” I heard one of them say. “We’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t follow you to harass Jolene at the hospital.” The distant wail of the ambulance siren grew louder, then began to fade. No. Please. Toby was five. If he survived the hypoxia, the brain damage could be permanent. He’d be a shell of himself. With a final, agonizing surge of will, I lifted my hand and slapped the door frame. “Save… him…” It was a raspy, broken croak. Nate must have heard me. He started shouting at the others. “Get out of my way! I’m breaking the door down!” “You touch that door and it’s trespassing, kid! You’ll go to jail!” “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!” A woman’s scream pierced through the chaos. My mother. “What are you doing to my daughter? Why are you blocking her door?!” Tears finally stung my eyes. They were here. I tapped the door one last time and the world went black. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my mother’s heartbroken cry. “Claire! My baby girl!” And my father’s roar of command. “Get the paramedics up here now! Move!” I drifted through a long, feverish dream of the life I’d lived with Mark. We met in college. He was the golden boy, the one everyone wanted. I was the one who actually got him. When he accepted my confession, I thought I’d won the lottery. Five years of marriage, a beautiful son—I thought I was living the dream. Until the day I followed Toby’s watch to a cat cafe. Mark was inside, laughing with Jolene, while our son played outside alone. I had been ready to confront him, to demand a divorce. But then New Year’s Eve happened. In my first life, Mark had played the hero. He saved us, but Jolene died of smoke inhalation because he was “too late” for her. He spent the rest of his life punishing us for her death. In this life, he didn’t even try to save me. He blocked my rescue. He accused me of being a whore. Every sacrifice I made for five years—the career I paused, the nights I stayed up—meant nothing. He traded it all for Jolene’s whispers. My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. I jolted awake. My parents were by my side, their faces etched with exhaustion and relief. “She’s awake,” my mom whispered, clutching my hand. I was alive. The moment I could sit up, I demanded to see Toby. He was still unconscious, but the doctors said we got to him just in time. The damage wasn’t permanent. A miracle. On my way back from the pediatric wing, I ran into Mark’s parents. They tried to push past my parents to see Toby. “Get out!” my father barked. “Your son disowned that boy the second he let him rot in a gas-filled room. You don’t get to play grandparents now!” My mother-in-law looked distraught. “He’s our grandson! Mark was just… he was confused!” My father-in-law tried a different tactic when he saw me. “Claire, stop this. Whatever Mark did, I’ll make it right. You’re stressed, taking care of the house alone… Mark is under a lot of pressure at the firm. You have to be the bigger person.” Just then, Mark appeared, supporting Jolene as they walked out of another room. He must have caught the tail end of the conversation. “She’s the ‘bigger person’? Please. This whole thing was her own damn fault.” His parents turned on Jolene, their faces souring. “Mark, what is this? This woman has brought nothing but trouble to our family!” Mark stood his ground, his chin tilted defiantly. “Jolene and I are just friends. We have nothing to hide. Unlike Claire, who probably had Nate over the second I left for work.” I almost laughed. The audacity. To stand there in a hospital hallway and claim “innocence” while his wife and son were nearly killed by his negligence. Jolene, ever the actress, let out a soft, dainty cough. “I never thought Claire would misunderstand us so much… she invited me over just to… to do that to me…” She started to cry. “It’s all my fault. Claire, I’m so sorry. I just got back to the States and I had no one else to turn to but Mark…” Mark cut her off, pulling her closer. “You did nothing wrong. It was Claire’s jealousy. Her sick, twisted mind did this to you.” It was a revelation. Mark, the cold, stoic businessman, was capable of such fierce protection—it just was never for me. He didn’t even care about his own flesh and blood anymore. The last flickering spark of affection I had for him died right then and there. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady and cold as ice. “I want a divorce.” Mark froze. For a second, he looked stunned. But the mask of rage returned quickly. “Is this another performance? You almost killed our son to get a reaction, and now you’re threatening me with divorce? Fine. You want out? Leave. But Toby stays with me. And you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “You will never take my son from me.” “I raised him while you were out ‘working’ or playing house with her. You think you can just claim him now? Not a chance.” Jolene’s eyes darted between us. “But Claire, Mark is his father. A boy needs his father, doesn’t he?” She was poking the bear. Mark’s jaw tightened. “The boy stays.” My mother-in-law chimed in, suddenly emboldened. “Claire, you’re clearly unstable. You can’t take our grandson. You’ve been a housewife for five years—how are you going to support him?” Jolene nodded sympathetically. “Exactly. You have no income, Claire. Toby would suffer with you.” I turned my gaze to Jolene. It was a look that would have withered a normal person. “I’ve handled his schooling, his therapy, his nutrition, and every single milestone for five years. Mark doesn’t even know the name of his pediatrician. You think I’m the one who can’t raise him?” “And as for money? Don’t you worry about his lifestyle. You won’t be part of it.” My father-in-law stepped in my way. “You aren’t taking that boy out of this city, Claire. I have friends in the DA’s office. I’ll make sure of it.” The masks were all off now. The “supportive” in-laws who praised me for being a devoted mother were now ready to crush me the moment I demanded my rights. “I know you have connections,” I said, leaning in. “But we live in a world of social media and public records now. Let’s see how your ‘connections’ handle the video of your son leaving his family to die in a gas leak.” They sputtered, losing ground. Mark stepped forward, looking like he was about to explode. “You want to play hardball, Claire? Fine. Don’t blame me when I take everything you’ve ever cared about.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger. “I’m coming for you, Mark. And you, Jolene. Neither of you is getting away with this.” Jolene flinched, hiding behind Mark’s sleeve. She deliberately stepped into my path as I tried to walk away. I reached out to brush her aside, barely touching the fabric of her coat. Jolene suddenly shrieked and threw herself backward, as if I’d shoved her with all my might. Mark caught her instantly. His eyes were red with fury. “You dare lay a hand on her? Right in front of me?!” He raised his hand, his palm flat and swinging toward my face.

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I returned from a grueling business trip in the dead of night, only to find a complete stranger in my apartment. He was in nothing but a pair of low-slung gym shorts, mid-pushup in the center of my living room. His shoulders were broad, his waist tapered into that lethal V-line, and the deep groove of his spine looked sculpted. He was radiating heat, drenched in sweat, his skin glistening under the dim amber lamps. He looked like a surge of raw testosterone with nowhere to go. My flight-or-fight response short-circuited. Naturally, I chose “police.” I called 911 and had him hauled away in handcuffs. “In all my years, I never thought I’d be the one bailing someone out of a precinct at 2:00 AM!” My best friend, Maddie, was practically wailing as we stepped out of the station into the biting winter air. “Technically, you weren’t bailing me out.” The wind sliced through my parka. I didn’t stop walking toward the curb. “Gia, I’m the only one with your spare key! Couldn’t you have just texted me first?” she groaned, jogging to catch up. I pulled out my phone, opened Uber, and punched in my home address. Once the ride was confirmed, I turned to her with a sugary, dangerous smile. “And did you happen to ‘text me first’ before you rented out my guest room to a stranger?” “It was supposed to be a surprise…” Maddie gave me a playful, albeit guilty, wink. “You’ve been complaining for months that the mortgage on that two-bedroom is eating you alive. I thought I was helping.” “Surprise? Maddie, it was a horror movie intro.” I glanced over my shoulder. Standing a few feet behind her was the man in question. He was easily a head taller than me, possessing the kind of physical presence that felt like a localized weather system. If he had actually been a home intruder, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Maddie looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. “Gia, seriously. Have you lived alone so long that you’ve developed a full-blown persecution complex?” 1 “Have you ever seen that movie 3-Iron?” I asked, stopping at the edge of the sidewa She blinked, confused. “The Korean one? No, what’s it about?” “To summarize: it’s about a creep who breaks into people’s houses while they’re away. He lives in their space, eats their food, uses their shower, and sifts through their closets.” I tilted my chin up, looking past her at the man. “He sleeps in their bed, uses their mug, and stares at their photos. It’s a violation.” Maddie’s eyes went wide. “We live in a civilized society, Gia! People don’t just do that.” “Don’t they?” I gestured vaguely behind her. “Ask him. He’s the world traveler. He’s seen it all, hasn’t he?” Maddie turned slowly toward him. “Is that… a real thing? Do people do that?” “They do,” Brooks Miller said, nodding solemnly. He raised his right hand, a boyish, slightly mocking grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I swear on my life, I’m not a ‘creep.’” “The jury’s still out on that,” I muttered. My Uber pulled up. I checked the plates and gave Maddie a curt wave. “I’m going home.” “Be nice to him!” Maddie hissed in my ear as she leaned in for a quick goodbye. “I picked him specifically based on your ‘type.’ He’s gorgeous, right? Consider him my late Christmas present to you.” My jaw tightened. I didn’t even know how to respond to that level of delusion. “Just go home, Maddie. I’ll call you if I’m murdered.” I climbed into the back seat, ready to sink into the upholstery. But before the door could click shut, the front passenger door swung open. Brooks slid inside like he owned the car. 2 “Get out,” I snapped. “We’re going to the same place.” He buckled his seatbelt with practiced ease. “And I’m paying for the ride.” I thought about my $4,000 monthly mortgage payment. I thought about the twenty-minute drive ahead. My pride wavered. Before I could protest further, the driver engaged the child locks and pulled out into traffic. “Lovers’ quarrel?” the driver chuckled, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. “It’s a cold night to be fighting, folks. The man apologized by paying for the ride; give him a break, sweetheart.” “He is not my boyfriend,” I said, my voice flat. “Sure, sure. I get it,” the driver said with a knowing wink. He clearly did not get it. But the heater was blasting, and the bone-deep exhaustion of a two-week business trip finally hit me. I didn’t have the energy to argue with a stranger about my non-existent love life. I closed my eyes and drifted. When we arrived, Brooks handled the payment without a word. Inside the lobby, the silence between us was heavy. I hung my coat in the entryway, feeling like a ghost in my own home, and stumbled toward the bathroom. “We need to talk,” Brooks said. His long stride easily cut me off. My reflexes were shot. I tried to stop, but my momentum carried me straight into his chest. As I started to lose my balance, his hand shot out, catching me firmly by the waist. The scent of him—something like cedarwood and cold rain—hit me instantly. I looked up, startled. I saw the sharp line of his jaw, the slight pulse in his throat, and then his eyes—deep, dark, and currently reflecting a very disheveled version of me. My heart did a sudden, traitorous trip-wire skip. “Sorry.” He let go immediately, stepping back to give me air. “It’s fine,” I said, waving a hand as if I could brush away the tension. “I’m just… I’m dead on my feet. Can this wait?” I had been traveling for fifteen days. I had spent the last three hours in a police station. I was done. “Fine.” A faint, almost tender smile touched his lips. “Get some sleep, Gia.” Tender? Was I so starved for affection that I was hallucinating subtext? I shook my head, walked into the bathroom, and locked the door. I scrubbed my face, took the fastest shower in history, and collapsed onto my pillows. I fell asleep instantly, only to dream of a warm, shirtless man holding me close. In the dream, I didn’t call the police. In the dream, I leaned in and kissed him. I was startled awake by a series of muffled thuds and high-pitched shouting from the unit next door. I checked my phone: 1:15 AM. The “Night Owls” were back. My neighbors were a couple who seemingly lived to argue and rearrange furniture between the hours of midnight and 4:00 AM. Even with my noise-canceling earplugs, the vibration of their voices bled through the drywall. Unable to get back to sleep, I wandered into the living room for a glass of water, only to nearly jump out of my skin when I saw a shadow on the couch. 3 “What are you doing out here?” I exhaled, my heart hammering. The remnants of that dream flashed in my mind, making my cheeks heat up in the dark. He held up a glass. “Still adjusting to the climate here. My throat’s like a desert.” “You’ll get used to it,” I said, heading for the kitchen. “By the way,” he gestured toward the wall shared with the neighbors. “Is this a regular thing, or a special occasion?” “How long have you been here?” I asked. He thought for a second. “Four days.” “And how many nights has it been quiet?” He went silent. The answer was zero. “They run some kind of wholesale business,” I explained, leaning against the counter with my lukewarm water. “They get home at 1:00 AM, screaming at each other, then they start cleaning and moving boxes until 4:00. I have spare earplugs if you want them.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you just… accept this?” “What choice do I have?” I looked around my beautiful, expensive prison. “I bought this place. I spent a fortune on the renovations. I’m locked into a thirty-year mortgage. You can’t just ‘not accept’ a neighbor in a high-rise.” I didn’t mention the other sounds they made—the ones that were even more awkward to overhear. Brooks frowned. “Have you called the cops?” “Of course. And the HOA, at least a dozen times.” I shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of helplessness. “It doesn’t matter. In a building with three hundred units, the management doesn’t care about one noisy couple.” His expression shifted into something unreadable. “Let me try.” He set his glass down and started for the door. “Wait—” I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt. Because of the angle, my eyes landed directly on his abs—perfectly defined, even in the shadows. I yanked my hand back like I’d touched a hot stove. “They aren’t… they aren’t nice people, Brooks.” He looked at me, waiting for more. “See that dent in the bottom of my door?” I whispered, my hand trembling slightly. “The husband did that. He kicked it because I asked them to keep it down once. They’re bullies.” Brooks’s eyes darkened. “Stay inside. Don’t come out until I’m back.” He reached out and briefly, gently, ruffled my hair. Before I could process the “head pat” or the weirdly protective surge it gave me, he was out the door. 4 Brooks knocked on their door. Not a frantic pounding, but a steady, rhythmic, polite thrum. The muffled shouting inside continued, ignoring him. Brooks didn’t lose his temper. He just kept knocking. Three beats, a pause. Three beats, a pause. It was relentless. “It’s the middle of the night! What the hell do you want?” The neighbor’s door flew open. I knew that man—he was a wall of aggressive muscle with a temper like a live wire. Panic flared in my chest. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept under my bed and crept toward my front door, ready to intervene. “Hey, man. I’m the guy from next door,” Brooks said. His voice was incredibly calm, almost conversational. “You the owner of this unit?” “Yeah—so what?” the neighbor barked. “Look, I get it,” Brooks said smoothly. “You and the wife work hard. Long hours, late nights. It’s a grind, and I respect that.” I blinked. What was he doing? “But here’s the thing,” Brooks continued, his tone softening but gaining a razor-sharp edge. “We’re corporate types. We need our sleep to keep the paychecks coming. Any chance you could dial the volume down a bit?” “I pay my taxes! I can talk however I want in my own damn house!” the man yelled. I could hear his wife chiming in with some choice insults from the background. “You absolutely have the right to speak,” Brooks agreed. “But rights have limits. Between 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM, anything over forty-five decibels is a city ordinance violation. I can call the precinct—the one I was just at tonight, actually. I’m on a first-name basis with the sergeant.” “Call ’em! I don’t give a damn about the cops!” “I figured you might say that,” Brooks said, his voice dropping an octave. “But you’re a business owner, right? Public records make it very easy to find your LLC and your tax filings. If the cops don’t work, I’ll just go through the City Council and the Better Business Bureau. I’ll make sure there’s a formal noise and nuisance investigation tied to your business address. Constant city inspections are a real pain for wholesale operations, aren’t they?” There was a long, pregnant silence. “Listen, man… let’s not get crazy,” the neighbor muttered, his bravado springing a leak. “I’m not being crazy. I’m being neighborly,” Brooks replied cheerfully. “I’d hate to see your reputation suffer over something as simple as a loud conversation. So, are we good? Or do I need to start filing paperwork?” “We’re good. We’ll keep it down,” the neighbor grumbled. The door slammed shut. I leaned against my door, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding. For years, I had lived in fear of that man’s temper. Brooks had dismantled him in three minutes with nothing but a calm voice and a subtle threat to his wallet. For the first time since moving in, I felt safe. Truly safe. I looked at the door. Maddie’s “gift” was looking better by the second. Now I just had to figure out how to handle him.

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