Category: English

1 My fiancé forced me through painful fertility treatments to bear him eight children, all for his first love who could never conceive. At the banquet for my eighth pregnancy, Ken stroked my belly, smiling. “The doctors say Sally needs a big family to cure her depression,” he murmured. “Deliver this last one, Sylvia, and I’ll give you the grand wedding you deserve.” His friends laughed and placed bets on how much I would ask for this child. Every previous pregnancy, I demanded half a million dollars. This time, I pushed his hand away. “Keep your wedding, Ken. We are done.” He gripped my chin, eyes full of mockery. “You sell your body for cash, so stop pretending. Is the price too low?” Stacks of bills hit my face, the edges cutting my skin. Everyone expected me to crawl for the money. Instead, I took off his ring and dropped it. He did not know my mother had lost her battle with cancer last night. I no longer needed his money or to be the mother for his precious Sally. “Looks like Ken didn’t write a big enough check, and now his girl is pulling a stunt,” someone snickered from the crowd. “Half a mil for the final brat isn’t enough? What, she wants a cool million now?” “Never seen a woman so utterly greedy. Only Ken would put up with her.” The sarcastic whispers buzzed in my ears like poisonous flies. Ken’s brow furrowed tightly. He grabbed another heavy brick of cash and threw it hard against my chest. “Throwing a tantrum again? Take this. A million in total. Is that enough to shut you up?” His freezing tone dragged me violently back to a rainy afternoon eight years ago. That was the day I first found out Ken was giving our baby to Sally. I had a complete mental breakdown, smashing every piece of glass in our penthouse. I even stood outside Sally’s corporate headquarters with a megaphone, screaming that she was a homewrecker stealing my child. In the end, Ken dragged me away and locked me in a private psychiatric facility. “Think about your dying mother in that hospital bed, Sylvia,” he had whispered coldly before walking out. “Stop throwing these childish fits.” He used to love me so deeply. When my mom first got sick, he canceled a multi-billion dollar international merger, took his private jet back overnight, and personally vetted every specialist in the state for her. But the very man who once promised to shield me from the world ended up using my mother’s life as a weapon against me. Seeing me stand completely still, he assumed I was holding out for more. A sneer twisted his handsome face. “I gave you too much credit, Sylvia. At the end of the day, you’re just a woman who put a price tag on seven of her own flesh and blood.” “Fine,” he sighed, adjusting his expensive cuffs. “I’ll tell the doctors to resume your mother’s experimental targeted therapy.” “You refused to apologize to Sally last week. I couldn’t bear to punish you, so I had to let your mother take the fall.” My entire body went rigid. The blood drained from my face. I stared at him, utterly horrified, as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “Just because I wouldn’t get on my knees and beg Sally for forgiveness, you secretly cut off my mom’s life-saving medication?” “Do you even know she passed away last night?” My voice violently shook, escalating into a broken scream. A brief flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it vanished in a split second, replaced by a cruel smirk. “There’s no need to use your mother to emotionally blackmail me, Sylvia. I visited her yesterday. She was perfectly fine.” “She even asked when we were getting married. I told her the wedding is on, right after you pop out this final baby.” A laugh clawed its way out of my throat, but it sounded worse than a sob. When the hospital called with the news, I couldn’t even make it in time to see her take her last breath. Her greatest regret was watching me waste eight years of my youth on Ken Sinclair, living as his dirty little secret without a ring or a marriage certificate. She died without ever seeing her daughter walk down the aisle. My eyes were bloodshot. The pure devastation radiating from me must have been too heavy to ignore. Ken’s expression softened, a flash of guilt finally breaking through his arrogant facade. He reached out, wanting to pull me into his arms. But Sally stepped delicately between us. “Sylvia, I know you hate me,” she said, her voice dripping with practiced fragility. “But you really shouldn’t lie about your poor mother dying just to get pity.” “Ken loves you so much. Why do you have to invent such cruel lies to break his heart?” The crowd erupted in sneers. The socialites began whispering, claiming the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. They mocked how my father had abandoned my mother, saying we were both pathetic women who used victimhood to trap men. The laughter made my skin crawl. It felt like needles piercing my lungs with every breath I took. Right then, the five-year-old boy in Sally’s arms raised his cup of fruit punch and hurled the red liquid directly at my white dress. “Wicked witch! You always make Daddy and Mommy Sally sad! Why don’t you just die!” This was the child I had carried for nine agonizing months. The ballroom fell dead silent for a heartbeat before erupting into roaring laughter. “Even her own biological son hates her guts. She really hit rock bottom.” “That’s karma for selling your kids to the highest bidder.” “A toxic woman left with nothing. Poetic justice.” The boy squirmed out of Sally’s arms, glaring at me. “You sold my brothers for money! Get out of here! I only want Mommy Sally!” My heart was brutally squeezed. How could a child so young speak words so venomous? Tears completely blurred my vision. Years ago, desperate to scrape together the astronomical fees for my mother’s surgeries, I signed a contract with Ken. Voluntarily carry the children. Hand them over to Sally’s custody. Receive half a million dollars per child. Ever since then, my oldest son, who was now seven, threw things at me whenever I visited. “Wicked witch! You didn’t want us! Stop acting like you care!” Even the youngest ones were carefully groomed by Sally to spit on my shoes and call me a monster. And Ken’s response was always a dismissive sigh. “They’re just kids, Sylvia. Don’t be so sensitive.” My hands shook violently as I pulled out a tissue, trying to wipe the sticky red juice off my dress. But the moment I moved, Ken instantly stepped in front of Sally and the boy, shielding them as if I were an armed threat. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sylvia,” he warned, his voice laced with venom. “Sally is gentle and kind. She would never teach a child to say those things. This is a result of your own toxic nature. Do not take your misplaced anger out on my son.” He looked at me like I was a feral dog. Watching my fiancé fiercely protect another woman and the children I birthed broke something fundamental inside me. The agony lodged in my throat, choking the air out of my lungs. I couldn’t stomach the sight of them for another second. I turned on my heel and walked out of the banquet hall. The mocking voices followed me out the door. “Doesn’t even care about her own kids. What trash.” “She’s just putting on a show. She’ll come crawling back when it’s time to cash in on the new baby.” I tightly clutched my slightly swollen stomach, feeling the faint, fragile fluttering inside. I promised this baby, right then and there. I will never leave you behind. Not long after leaving the hotel, I opened my phone and saw Sally’s latest post. It was a picture of her holding the boy, her other arm linked intimately with my fiancé. They looked like the perfect, happy family. From the very beginning, I was nothing but an incubator. An outsider. The tears I had been holding back crashed down like a heavy storm. I booked a flight for the next morning. I was going to pack my bags and disappear from their lives forever. But the moment I pushed open the door to my bedroom, my blood ran cold. The room was completely trashed. Drawers were pulled out, clothes shredded. My seven-year-old son, Oliver, stood in the center of the wreckage, staring at me with pure hatred. “Wicked witch! You made Mommy Sally cry at the party! This is your punishment!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the only surviving photograph I had of my mother and me. Right in front of my eyes, he ripped it into tiny pieces and let them flutter to the floor. “You even lied about Grandma dying. You’re a liar! You should go die with her!” Uncontrollable tremors wrecked my body. I bit down on my lower lip so hard that the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. I remembered when Oliver was born. He was so sickly, so fragile. I stayed up for weeks nursing him, keeping him close to my chest. When Ken forced me to give him up, Oliver was just old enough to understand. He had gripped the hem of my shirt so tightly his knuckles turned white. He cried, begging me not to leave. He had even run miles in the dark, stumbling from Sally’s mansion all the way back to my small apartment. Back then, I foolishly believed that the bond of blood could survive anything. But it only took a few years for them to turn him into a stranger who hated the very ground I walked on. “Haha! The wicked witch is crying! Serves you right for abandoning me!” Oliver let out a cruel, triumphant laugh and reached for a glass vase on my vanity. Something inside me snapped. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I stepped forward and slapped him hard across the cheek. He froze in absolute shock. A second later, he let out an earsplitting wail. “The bad woman hit me!” The emergency alert on his smartwatch beeped. Seconds later, the heavy oak doors crashed open, and Ken stormed in. Without a word, he grabbed my shoulder and shoved me violently away. I lost my footing. My lower back slammed brutally against the sharp corner of the mahogany desk. “Sylvia! You embarrass Sally at the party, and now you come home to abuse a child?” “When exactly is this psychotic episode of yours going to end?” His eyes darted to the shredded photograph on the carpet. A flicker of hesitation crossed his features, but his tone remained sharp. “It’s just a piece of paper. We can print another one. No matter how angry you get, you do not lay your hands on my son.” Sally rushed into the room right behind him, sweeping the crying boy into her arms. She looked up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Sylvia, I know you resent handing the kids over to me.” “But the children are innocent. You shouldn’t take your bitterness out on them.” “If you hate it so much, I’ll just give them back to you.” The five-year-old hiding behind Sally’s leg and the seven-year-old in her arms shouted in unison. “We don’t want the wicked witch! She only pretends to be sad! She’s mean to us!” I swallowed the bitter ash in my throat and let out a broken, hollow laugh. These were the children I had bled for. The children I spent years desperately trying to hold onto. I blinked away the last of my tears. My heart was utterly, irreversibly dead. Suddenly, Oliver pointed a trembling finger at my legs, screaming in horror. “The wicked witch is bleeding!” I looked down. A sickening wet heat soaked through my dress. Thick, bright red blood was trailing rapidly down my thighs, pooling on the floor. A tearing, agonizing pain ripped through my abdomen. My knees buckled. I looked up at Ken, completely breaking down. “My stomach. It hurts so much. Please. Take me to the hospital!” His face paled. He instinctively reached out to scoop me into his arms. But Sally instantly threw herself in front of his chest, her voice trembling, fragile, and terrified. “She’s just trying to scare us with fake blood because we yelled at her.” “You know I have severe trauma regarding the sight of blood, Sylvia. Why would you trigger me on purpose?” She clutched her head, her knees giving out as she swooned into Ken’s chest. Ken’s grip on me vanished. I collapsed heavily onto the hard floor. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sally, barking orders at the staff in the hallway. “Get the car! We’re taking Sally to the ER right now!” My vision darkened at the edges. I dragged myself toward his tailored shoes, my voice a ragged, desperate rasp. “Ken. I’m not faking. It hurts. The baby. Please…” He glared down at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “I know you have a vendetta against Sally. I already promised you I’d marry you after this baby is born. Why do you have to stoop to such disgusting tactics to terrorize her?” “You used to be so kind. When did you turn into such a monster?” He snatched my phone from my trembling hand and walked out the door. The sound of the deadbolt locking clicked ominously in the silent room. His final words drifted through the heavy wood. “I’m giving you twenty-four hours to lock yourself in there and reflect on your behavior.” “Don’t force me to get rough with you, Sylvia. You know I’ve always hated hurting you.” I bit entirely through my lower lip. The taste of copper flooded my tongue. The blood beneath me spread wider, a dark crimson puddle. Using every last ounce of my fading strength, I dragged myself to the door and pounded on it. Eventually, the darkness swallowed me whole, and I slumped lifelessly against the wood. Right before my consciousness faded completely, I heard the muffled, panicked screams of the estate butler from the hallway. When I finally forced my heavy eyelids open, I was staring at a sterile white ceiling. The smell of hospital antiseptic burned my nose. Ken was sitting at my bedside. Seeing me wake, a look of genuine heartache washed over his face. He scooped up a spoonful of white porridge, blew on it softly, and offered it to my lips. It took a long time before he finally spoke. “Sylvia. I’m sorry. I just checked with the doctors. I didn’t know your mother passed away.” “I’ve already arranged for a massive, dignified funeral. The best money can buy.” His voice was thick with guilt. I remembered when we first started dating. He had knelt beside my mother’s cramped hospital bed and sworn on his life that he would protect me from the world. He didn’t just break that promise. He was the one who killed her. Just a second of recalling that memory sent a fresh wave of silent tears down my cheeks. “This porridge is from that little bistro downtown you love. Eat something. Warm up your body.” I kept my mouth shut. I just stared at him with cold, dead eyes. Waking up in this hospital bed finally gave me absolute clarity. I was never going to swallow his toxic scraps of affection ever again. My hand instinctively moved down to my stomach. It was completely flat. My heart flatlined. Boiling tears slipped past my lashes as a ragged sob tore from my throat. “Ken… where is my baby?” “The baby is gone.” Those four casual words shattered whatever was left of my soul. I threw my head back and let out a guttural, agonizing scream, sobbing uncontrollably. Seeing my hysteria, he pulled a tissue and impatiently dabbed at my wet face. His tone was irritatingly calm. “Alright, enough. The kid is gone, but your health is what matters. As long as you’re okay, we’re fine.” He pushed the spoon against my lips again. I violently smacked his hand away. The ceramic bowl shattered, splashing hot porridge all over his expensive suit. “I gave you eight of my children, Ken Sinclair! What more do you want from me?” “Get out! I never want to see your face again as long as I live!” After my mother died, this unborn child was the only anchor keeping me tethered to this earth. Now, my very last sliver of hope was butchered. Watching my absolute meltdown, Ken’s brow knitted together in deep annoyance. “It’s just one lost pregnancy. We can easily have another one. Is there really a need to act like a lunatic?” “Your mother is dead. You’re a woman who has been pregnant eight times. If you leave me, who else is going to want you?” He reached out to touch my shoulder. I used every drop of strength in my battered body to shove him away. “I will never marry you!” The air in the room turned to ice. Ken’s eyes flared red. He raised his hand and slapped me brutally across the face. “We have been together for eight years, Sylvia! You think you can just walk away?” “If you dare leave this hospital, you will refund every single penny I ever spent on you!” He roughly grabbed the jade pendant resting on my collarbone and violently yanked. The chain snapped. This necklace was my mother’s only heirloom. Years ago, I pawned it to pay for her chemo. Ken found out, bought it back, and fastened it around my neck himself. He had held me so tenderly that night. “Don’t carry the weight of the world on your own, Sylvia. Learn to lean on me.” The jade shattered into jagged green pieces across the linoleum floor. I sat frozen on the hospital bed, staring blindly at the wreckage. Seeing the fight completely leave my body, his tone softened slightly, though the arrogant command remained. “I told you yesterday to reflect on your actions.” “If you’re dead set on leaving, I will have your mother’s casket dug up from the cemetery and tossed into a mass grave.” “You owe me your life. And you will pay me back.” My soul had already turned to ash. His threats meant absolutely nothing to me anymore. I gave a slow, mechanical nod. Seeing my submission, he coldly delivered his final orders. “Your little stunt yesterday triggered Sally’s PTSD. Her condition has worsened.” “Her therapist said she needs a public gesture of security. The wedding is tomorrow. You will attend, and you will stand at the altar and tell the press that you voluntarily surrendered the children to her.” “Once you do that, we’ll go get our marriage license next month.” I gave another mechanical nod. Satisfied with my absolute defeat, he adjusted his ruined suit. “Don’t overthink this. I’ll compensate you tenfold.” “Sally and I are just putting on a show for the media. Once this is over, the whole world will know you are the real Mrs. Sinclair.” He didn’t know I had already lost the will to breathe. The flight ticket on my phone had expired. And I no longer needed to run away. After he left, I stared at the chat history with my mom for a long, long time. I typed out one final message. [Mom. I’m coming to keep you company.] Dragging my hollow, bleeding body out of the sheets, I stumbled step by step toward the hospital window on the tenth floor. I pushed it open and closed my eyes against the biting wind. I opened Ken’s contact and sent one last text. [Ken Sinclair. Meeting you was the biggest regret of my life.]

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1 At the end of the college mixer, only the campus heartthrob, myself, and a very drunk girl remained in the lounge. The remaining crowd, eager to play matchmaker, proposed a final game: whoever guessed John’s favorite fruit would be paired up with him for the upcoming week-long camping trip. I pretended not to care, stepping back to let the other girl choose first. When I saw her holding a half-burnt cigarette, lazily pointing her finger toward the bowl of mangoes, a quiet wave of relief washed over me. John was severely allergic to mangoes. Everyone in our circle knew this, and all eyes instantly turned to me. The room erupted into eager teasing. “The golden boy and the campus sweetheart, it’s a match made in heaven!” My best friend leaned in, whispering her congratulations. “Four years of a secret crush, and you finally get your happy ending.” But in the next second, John’s smooth, quiet voice broke the noise. “What a coincidence.” He opened his hand, turning his gaze toward the drunk girl with an unfamiliar tenderness. “My choice just happened to be mango, too.” The girl was still deeply intoxicated. Without warning, she swung her hand and slapped John across the face. “So you chose mango, big deal. Why the hell are you standing so close to me?” The slap echoed sharply through the quiet room. The entire lounge went dead silent. After all, John was the golden boy of our department, someone who had casually turned down major modeling scouts in his sophomore year. A bright red handprint was already blooming on his pale, handsome cheek. One of his fraternity brothers rushed forward to de-escalate. “John, don’t take it to heart. Roxy goes to the local community college down the road. She smokes, she drinks, she races, she’s a wild card. She’s not targeting you, she’s just completely wasted.” Someone else tried to nudge me toward him, giving John a subtle wink. “Amy is still waiting for you. Come on, we agreed this mixer was to get everyone paired up…” “Roxy,” John said, ignoring them entirely. He leaned down slightly, speaking to the girl in a soft, coaxing tone usually reserved for a child. “The others suggested that whoever guessed my favorite fruit would be my partner for the trip.” “You chose mango.” “And as it turns out, mango is my favorite.” He stood in the dim light of the lounge, wearing a crisp white shirt and dark trousers. His handsome features were calm, almost detached, but the tight line of his jaw betrayed his inner tension. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. After a long pause, his voice sounded strained and slightly hoarse. “So, starting tonight, you are my girlfriend.” I stood frozen in place. I stared at his profile, a sudden, heavy confusion pressing on my chest. I couldn’t stop myself from asking the one question on my mind. “John… aren’t you allergic to mangoes?” The moment the words escaped my lips, a pang of regret hit me. Asking that now made it sound as though I were demanding to know why he hadn’t chosen me. I quickly averted my eyes, clearing my throat to regain a sense of composure. “I mean, it’s not really a secret. Most people in our year know about it.” Gemma, my best friend, immediately caught my drift and chimed in to support me. John finally looked away from the drunk girl, his gaze cool and indifferent as he glanced at me. “I’m not allergic anymore. Is it a crime to like mangoes now?” He looked back at Roxy, his tone softening. “Besides, I chose my fruit and put it in my pocket a minute before either of you made your choice. Since we agreed to play, we should all follow the rules of the game.” Roxy blinked, her eyes clearing slightly as she seemed to sober up. She reached up, pinching John’s cheek with a lazy smile. “Alright then, boyfriend.” I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my throat. Forcing a polite smile, I turned on my heel. “Of course. That means for tomorrow’s couples’ rowing race, I’ll just form a solo team.” It wasn’t until we reached the parking lot that Gemma finally let out her frustration, grabbing my arm. “If I had known, I would have told you to choose mango! You’ve had a crush on him for four years, and this was your chance…” “It wouldn’t have mattered,” I replied quietly, a dull ache settling behind my eyes. “Earlier, John’s jacket was draped over my bag. When I lifted it to get my things, I noticed the pockets were incredibly heavy.” Under Gemma’s shocked expression, I took a deep breath, a bitter smile touching my lips. “He had put one of every single fruit from the table into his pockets.” He didn’t suddenly develop a love for mangoes. He had simply decided that whatever Roxy chose, he would match it. After Gemma helped me into a cab, she headed back to the lounge. With graduation just around the corner, our senior class had organized this week-long camping trip specifically to bring people together. The rule of the trip was simple: if a couple felt a spark after seven days, they stayed together; if not, they parted ways without any hard feelings. Gemma had gone to great lengths to get paired up with her crush, even buying drinks for the entire organizing committee to secure her slot. I couldn’t let my own disappointment ruin her week. By the time I unlocked the door to my apartment, my rational mind had slowly returned. Lying on the sofa of my quiet, comfortable living room, a dark thought crept into my mind. Was this some kind of cosmic retribution? Because of the secret, less-than-respectable way I used to make money when I was desperate, was I now destined to never find real love? During my freshman year, when I was at my poorest, I had taken on a very unusual gig. At first, it was simple: ten thousand dollars just to deliver a slap. But as the weeks went by, the anonymous client’s requests escalated. He wanted me to pin him down, to choke him, and to hit him. The pay rose to fifty thousand dollars per session. I wanted to refuse. But the money was simply too life-changing for a girl from a rural town who was living with distant relatives and counting every penny. And so, my double life began. By day, I was the quiet, hardworking model student on campus. By night, I let my hair down, wore a thick black mask, and went to a secluded apartment to fulfill a stranger’s dark impulses. This arrangement lasted for over six months, allowing me to save enough to buy this very apartment and secure my college tuition. Just as I was trying to figure out how to gently end the arrangement, the client vanished. His profile on the encrypted app went dark and never lit up again. Worried that something had happened to him, I went to the apartment one last time. The place was empty, but on the threshold of the door, I found a single, heavy black-and-gold bead. It had rained heavily that day. And just like that, my strange connection with a man I had never truly seen came to an abrupt end. I shook my head, trying to banish the memories that still made my cheeks burn. I reminded myself that whatever happened in that room was a mutual transaction. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Besides, there was no rule stating that because you love someone in secret, they have to love you back. John was free to choose whoever he wanted. I just needed to learn to let him go. But despite my practical thoughts, I spent the night crying, flipping through the old journal filled with his name. In the end, I still couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. The next morning, everyone gathered at the departure point looking polished and excited. I was the only one wearing oversized sunglasses that covered half my face. One of our classmates teased me as we waited. “Amy, what kind of guy are you actually into? So many people have tried to ask you out over the last four years, but you’ve never given any of them a chance.” Before I could think of a polite answer, a loud laugh from the parking lot drew everyone’s attention. Roxy, her hair dyed a vibrant red, was skipping alongside John, clinging tightly to his arm. “Matching tattoos!” she cooed, tugging at his sleeve. “Don’t you think that would be so cool?” John carried his duffel bag over one shoulder, looking relaxed and completely devoted. He smiled down at her. “Only if you promise me that when this week is over, we don’t break up.” Roxy gave a playful pout and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bag. Under the watchful eyes of our classmates, John quietly produced a lighter and shielded the flame as he lit it for her. Whispers immediately broke out around me. “Is he serious? It was bad enough that she crashed the party last night, but is he really going to let her smoke right by the bus?” “She’s a mess. I don’t get what John sees in her. Everyone was trying to set him up with Amy last night. They actually make sense together, both top of the class, both decent people…” I adjusted my sunglasses, preparing to board the bus. But Gemma couldn’t keep quiet. She called out toward Roxy, her voice sharp. “There’s no smoking near the vehicles!” The rest of our classmates quickly muttered their agreement, their expressions turning disapproving as they looked at John. The atmosphere grew incredibly tense. Roxy tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she walked straight toward Gemma. “And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Looking at the glowing tip of her cigarette, a cold memory surfaced. I remembered the days when girls like her used to corner me in the alleyways behind my high school. Roxy had spent time in juvenile detention when she was fifteen. She was the kind of person who didn’t care about consequences. I stepped in front of Gemma, blocking Roxy’s path. “She’s right. Smoking near a commercial bus is a safety hazard. If you don’t understand basic rules, I can easily call the campus security to explain them to you.” Roxy seemed surprised that I, usually the quietest person in the room, was standing up to her. “We’re not taking the bus anyway,” John interrupted coldly, his gaze sliding over me with an unfamiliar aloofness. “This is still a public parking lot. I don’t think the smoking ban applies to your personal space, Amy.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. It felt entirely foreign. Over the past four years, we had co-hosted dozens of university events together, and he had always been nothing but gentle and polite. Under the hot morning sun, I knew my face must have gone pale. “Wow,” Roxy sneered, stepping closer and blowing a thick cloud of smoke directly into my face. “And here I thought you had actually grown a spine. You’re still the same pretty, useless coward you were in high school.” With John watching, she flicked the half-lit cigarette bud directly at my bare legs. I jumped back to avoid the hot ash. Roxy burst into a loud laugh, grabbing John’s hand and pulling him toward a waiting rideshare car in the opposite direction. My phone buzzed with a text from my building’s manager just as I settled into my seat on the bus. Do you still want the cardboard box left outside your door? My fingers hovered over the screen. I thought of the journals I had spent the night reading, and the small birthday gifts John had given me over the years. This morning, I had hesitated, leaving the box in the hallway instead of throwing it into the chute. But remembering his cold eyes in the parking lot, I didn’t hesitate any longer. No, it’s just trash. Please throw it away for me. Thank you. A multi-car accident on the mountain pass delayed the buses for several hours. By the time we reached the lake, the sun had already set. The planned afternoon rowing race had to be postponed to the following morning, but the group remained in high spirits, gathering around the fire pits for a late-night barbecue. Throughout the evening, I made a conscious effort to keep my distance from John and Roxy. But as I was carrying a tray of grilled vegetables back to our table, Roxy stepped directly into my path, her chin tilted up. “Hey. I heard you submitted a resume to Vanguard Corp.” I didn’t want to engage. I tried to step around her. “Excuse me.” “Withdraw it,” Roxy said, grabbing my wrist with surprising force. A mocking smile played on her lips. “You do know that Vanguard is owned by John’s family, right?” I pulled my arm back, annoyed. “Vanguard is one of the top marketing agencies in the city. Half our graduating class applied there. Are you saying none of us are allowed to work?” I gave her a polite, dismissive smile. “I’ve already received my offer, and my start date is next month. I won’t be withdrawing anything.” “Don’t act so innocent!” Roxy’s voice rose, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Are you really that desperate to stay close to John?” Seeing that she had an audience, her tone became more theatrical. “Everyone has been calling you two the perfect couple for years, so I get why my presence upsets you. But the truth is, he never looked at you once in four years. He chose me after knowing me for a few days.” “If you want to prove you’re not trying to steal him, you’ll stay away from his family’s company.” A hot flush of embarrassment crept up my neck. Just as I opened my mouth to respond, Roxy’s heel seemed to catch on the gravel. With a dramatic gasp, she tumbled backward, crashing straight into one of the side tables. John was by her side in an instant, dropping the plates he was holding. He pushed past me, his movements fluid and urgent as he caught Roxy before she hit the ground. Once he saw she was unhurt, he let out a visible breath of relief. “She pushed me!” Roxy cried, clinging to his shirt. “I told you she hated me!” “It’s alright,” John whispered, gently brushing her hair away from her face before turning to face me. He stood up, looking down at me in silence for a long moment. “It wasn’t me,” I said, looking down at my own leg, which had been scraped against the edge of a chair during the scurry. “I didn’t…” “I know you didn’t,” John said, his voice entirely calm. I looked up, surprised by his words, only to hear him continue. “But the fact that Roxy is willing to hurt herself just to frame you shows how much your presence distresses her.” He paused, his eyes falling to the scratch on my leg. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before his voice turned cold again. “I know Vanguard was your dream job, Amy. But…” He looked away. “I’ve already called my father. Your job offer at Vanguard has been rescinded.” Before I could even process the words, John turned back to Roxy, lifting her up. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I didn’t care about keeping up appearances anymore. I limped forward, fully intending to slap him across the face. But as I drew closer, I heard him speaking to Roxy in a low, gentle tone. “If something is bothering you, just tell me. Don’t hurt yourself to get my attention, alright?” He took off his light jacket, draping it over her shoulders. Under the dim lights of the patio, as his shirt lifted slightly with the movement, I caught sight of his midriff. Right there, on his abdominal muscles, was a small, distinct dark mole. It was in the exact same spot, the exact same size, as the one on the man from five years ago. My breath caught in my throat. Then, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy beaded bracelet made of black and gold beads, missing a single piece. He placed it in Roxy’s hand. “Back then, my family found out about my condition and forced me to go abroad for treatment before I could say goodbye to you. I left that single bead at the door, hoping it would lead me back to you one day.” “I was lucky. During our last session, you dropped your high school name tag at the apartment. That’s how I knew your name was Roxy, and how I finally found you.” Roxy looked at the bracelet, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. Gemma, who had rushed over to defend me, stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the beads in John’s hand. She looked at the bracelet, then turned her eyes to me, her voice filled with surprise. “Wait… Amy, isn’t the bead you keep in your velvet box exactly like the ones on that bracelet?”

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1 One week before the company went public, an all-staff announcement popped up in the internal office system. The moment I opened it, I saw that the newly hired graduate from a top university was listed on the equity incentive plan. I froze at my desk. My chest tightened, and for a long time, I could not say a word. From the company’s earliest startup days to its upcoming IPO, I had fought my way through every stage. I led the core gameplay design for three blockbuster online games. The underlying framework and key code of the game engine were all written by me. Whenever the team ran into the hardest problems, management always came to me first. Yet after all these years, I was still only an ordinary programmer. I had never received even half a share of equity. A newcomer had just joined and was already standing at the top of the bonus pool. I had stayed with the company through the hardest years, all the way to IPO, and received nothing. My heart went completely cold. I submitted my resignation on the spot. The CEO looked confused. “The project is at a critical stage. Why are you suddenly leaving?” I said flatly, “I’m tired. I want to lie flat.” Mr. Reeves sighed, his tone gentle. “I know you’ve been fighting with us since the startup days. You’ve stayed loyal all the way to IPO. You’ve always been dedicated.” “Promotions will naturally prioritize younger people, but you’re the stabilizing force of this company. I’ll apply for an extra two thousand in your year-end bonus. Everyone is treated the same.” “I know your skills are strong. You handle difficult problems well. You’ve carried many of the core modules. The projects can’t do without you. The company sees all of that.” “Mr. Reeves,” I interrupted him. “The live core systems are all watched by me. Every emergency failure at night, I’m the one on duty. But after all these years, the equity list has never included me. Have I ever had even one chance at promotion?” His expression stiffened instantly. Over the years, I had guarded the core business like my life depended on it. Whenever they called, I showed up. No excuses. No hesitation. As the main programmer, I carried the underlying architecture and emergency fixes. Even when I was exhausted to the point of collapse, I never dared slack off. What I got in return was a tiny base salary and an ordinary employee title. I had a stack of excellence awards, but when it came to equity or dividends, I was never considered. “The company has its rules.” He cleared his throat. “There are so many people in management. I can’t give equity to everyone. You’re capable. Don’t rush.” “I’ve waited this long and still don’t even have hope.” My voice was calm. “I trained several batches of new hires. Some have already entered management. Some got shares. Only I have stayed exactly where I started.” “The new graduate received equity dividends as soon as he joined, while I don’t even qualify for consideration.” Mr. Reeves sighed. “Try to understand. The number of slots is limited.” “I understand.” I stood. “So I won’t keep wasting myself here.” His face darkened. “That’s not the right attitude. The company trained you for so many years. You say you’ll leave, and you leave? That’s heartless.” “Heartless?” I laughed, my eyes cold. “For years, I didn’t take a full annual leave. Because of urgent projects, I stayed at the office for months. I missed three Spring Festivals with my family just to make sure there were no bugs.” “And all I got was verbal praise.” “Not even a decent bonus.” “On my wedding day, a major live bug appeared. I left the ceremony and came straight back to the office to fix it. My wife fought with me over it, and we almost divorced.” “Now I have nothing, and you want to talk to me about heart?” His expression hardened. “The company gave you a platform. It gave you growth and experience. You should be grateful.” I looked at him. The last bit of expectation in me went out completely. I had taken the lowest pay and done the most critical work. I had given everything, yet I was always excluded from the rewards. The so-called platform was nothing but cheap exploitation. “I understand.” “Thank you, Mr. Reeves.” I turned and left his office. Thank you for making me see everything clearly. There had never been a place for me here. And there never would be. 2 I went to the break room to get some air, trying to suppress the dull pressure in my chest. When I passed the CEO’s office, the door was slightly ajar. The new hire, Tyler Shaw, was speaking inside. “Mr. Reeves, don’t worry. I’ve tuned the new intelligent operations system. It can automatically repair most online issues. You even personally ran the stress test with me a few days ago.” “Good, Tyler. Young people like you have flexible thinking and learn technology fast.” Mr. Reeves’s voice carried obvious admiration. “Work hard. After the company goes public, I’ll reserve the deputy technical director position for you.” I wanted to leave quietly. I did not want to hear any more. “Thank you, Mr. Reeves,” Tyler immediately lowered his voice. “But I just saw Alex heading this way. His face looked scary. It seemed like he was coming to resign.” A faint laugh sounded from the office. My steps froze. The blood in my body seemed to congeal in an instant. “Him?” Mr. Reeves’s tone was light, full of certainty. “A nearly forty-year-old code grunt with elderly parents and kids to support. His whole family depends on his salary. Does he really dare leave?” That sentence pierced straight into the softest part of my heart. My peers from back then had all jumped to top companies. Some had entered senior management years ago. Some held equity. Their salaries had multiplied several times. Only I stayed at this unknown little company, taking a salary that barely covered expenses, enduring for six full years. I always thought that as long as I guarded the underlying architecture like a fortress and covered every crisis at the critical moment, Mr. Reeves would at least remember some old loyalty. It turned out everything was just my wishful thinking. I pressed myself against the cold wall and held my breath, listening to the conversation inside. “He’s just upset because he didn’t get dividends.” Mr. Reeves sounded disdainful. “At his age, where else can he find a job if he leaves? With AI now, his old skills are already useless. Let him cool off for a couple of days, and he’ll behave.” Tyler hurried to agree. “That makes sense. Alex definitely can’t leave.” Mr. Reeves hummed, then his tone warmed as he turned back to the newcomer. “You’re different. You have energy and understand cutting-edge technology. Your future is limitless.” “Follow me and work hard. In the future, this company will belong to young people like you. The resources will naturally tilt toward you.” Leaning against the wall, I felt coldness shoot from my feet to my head. Even my fingers felt frozen. So my six years of late-night problem-solving, countless emergency responses, and protecting the team from every crisis were nothing in their eyes. Because I had a family to support, they saw me as someone easy to control. Because I did not know how to package myself with flashy concepts or chase every shallow tech trend, I had become a burden that could be replaced at any time. Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A familiar name appeared on the screen. Mr. Lang from the venture capital firm. He was the key investor leading the company’s IPO financing. I walked to a quiet corner and answered. His steady voice came through. “Alex, it’s Lang.” “The real reason I was willing to invest in your company and push for the IPO was the unreleased new project in your hands.” “I feel wronged on your behalf, seeing them treat you like this. Do you want to start your own company? I’ll fund it. I’ll connect the resources. You only need to be the technical leader.” Holding the phone, I heard the sincerity in his invitation and suddenly gave a low laugh. It was full of self-mockery and relief. I had endured six years here, begging for recognition and reward, yet never receiving either. But someone who truly understood my value gave me the best possible destination with one sentence. Memories surfaced one after another. The year I joined, my boss patted my shoulder and said, “Alex, let’s give the equity to the older staff first. You’re young. Next time, you’ll definitely be prioritized.” At the third-year celebration dinner, he publicly praised me as the backbone of the technical department, then turned around and said bonuses would go to operations first because I lacked seniority. By the fifth year, I still had no dividend eligibility. He held his coffee and advised me, “Don’t rush. Once we go public, I’ll immediately make it up to you.” I believed him again and again. Compromised again and again. Swallowed every grievance for the sake of stability. Until today, when I personally heard them belittle my value and calculate my difficulties. At last, I woke up completely. In his eyes, I had never been a comrade fighting beside him. I was only a useful, obedient tool who did not dare resist. But I had forgotten. I was also a person with flesh and blood, dignity, and choices. I took a deep breath and spoke into the phone, calm but firm. “Mr. Lang, thank you for trusting me. I’m willing.” 3 After I sent the message, Mr. Reeves tagged me in the company group chat. “@Alex Carter. The game server suddenly failed last night. Your response was slow, and you didn’t handle it properly. Your mind hasn’t been on work lately. Don’t bring personal matters into the company.” I stared at the screen, my finger hovering in midair. Over the past six years, I had heard this kind of criticism countless times. Every time, I immediately apologized and promised to do better next time. This time, I said nothing. I messaged Tyler privately. “You were on live night duty last night. Check the operations logs and send screenshots directly to Mr. Reeves.” The message went out. There was no reply. Soon, a private message from Mr. Reeves popped up. 【Come to my office now.】 I pushed the door open and went in. He pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit.” I did not move. “If you have something to say, say it directly.” “Alex,” he softened his tone, as if patiently advising me, “I know you’re upset. But as the company grows, I have my difficulties too. You have to understand the company’s position.” “You’re an old employee and the backbone of the technical department. When hasn’t the underlying framework of our main game relied on you?” “I know you feel wronged, but management has to consider the big picture. I see everything you’ve done. You can’t just focus on salary and equity as short-term benefits.” “Then what should I focus on?” I asked calmly. He paused, then said confidently, “Trust.” “Haven’t I valued you enough?” “Think about it. Our most critical core servers with the highest user traffic. If I didn’t trust you one hundred percent, would I place that entire burden on you?” “Look, now whenever a server alarm goes off, the whole company comes to you. Everyone listens to your instructions. Isn’t that enough value?” “Isn’t it obvious that we’re training you as the technical lead?” “All that trust, and you pay me thirteen thousand a month?” My voice remained steady. Mr. Reeves fell silent for a few seconds, then put on a generous expression. “How about this? I’ll talk to HR and max out your performance bonus. I’ll also make up the allowances for you.” His tone sounded like charity. “Don’t bring up resignation again. Let’s both take a step back.” “Mr. Reeves,” I looked into his eyes and said seriously, “Tyler, who I trained, received equity as soon as he joined. His base salary is twenty-eight thousand.” His face darkened, and impatience returned immediately. “You can’t compare salaries like that. He was recruited from a top university. His starting pay is naturally high. You’re an old employee. The platform and growth opportunities the company has given you, why don’t you count those hidden values?” “Hidden value.” I repeated the words and felt a chill in my heart. “The underlying framework I built, the hundreds of performance bugs I optimized, the technical department I trained, and the core servers I saved from collapse again and again. Do those count as value?” His face darkened completely. “You’re leaving just like that? The company absolutely cannot have problems before the IPO. You’re the strongest technician in the company, the only one who can stabilize the situation.” “If you walk away, who takes responsibility? Where’s your professional ethics?” I had already prepared. I took a file from my bag and handed it to him. “This is the handover document I organized.” “All server deployment documents, exception handling plans, and historical incident review experience from the past six years. I will organize everything clearly and hand it over.” Mr. Reeves flew into a rage. “The company gave you such a stable job. Instead of being grateful, you’re using resignation to threaten me. Do you really think the company can’t run without you?” “Stable job?” I could not help laughing. “I’m only an ordinary employee on a fixed salary, without even touching equity. What stability are you talking about?” His tone softened again. “Fine. I’ll make up last month’s performance pay and give you this year’s excellent employee award too. The total bonus will be three thousand.” “But you must take responsibility for the technical guarantee work before IPO. Let’s pretend this never happened.” Even the benefit he gritted his teeth to offer could not compare to a newcomer’s base salary. I laughed out loud. Even now, he still thought I was bargaining with him. I stood. “Fine, Mr. Reeves. I will take responsibility for the pre-IPO technical guarantee work to the end.” These three major online games were the key to the company’s IPO. The servers were built by me, and the code logic was so complex that no one dared change it lightly. One wrong touch could cause a collapse. At this critical IPO stage, the company could not afford an incident. If anything went wrong, investors would immediately withdraw. I wanted to see whether, after pushing out the loyal worker who carried everything, the AI department he placed all his hopes on could hold the line. 4 That night, Mr. Lang had the angel round investment agreement fully drafted. There would be sufficient startup funds. I would serve as technical co-founder and take full responsibility for product development. Once my resignation was complete, we could begin. Looking at the agreement in my hands, my emotions were complicated. From now on, I would no longer need to read anyone’s expression. I could finally fight for my own career. The next morning, all employees were urgently called into the conference room. Mr. Reeves sat at the head of the table with a dark expression. Representatives from the venture capital firm were also present, their faces unusually serious. The latest performance evaluation forms were on the table. Everyone was to step forward one by one, review them, and sign. “We are now entering the critical IPO stage. This evaluation will directly determine your year-end bonuses. Everyone must take it seriously.” His gaze swept across the room, his tone forceful. “Come confirm your evaluation results. If there are no issues, sign immediately.” “Those who perform well will be prioritized for awards, bonuses, and dividends later.” Scattered applause sounded. Coworkers stepped forward one by one. After reading their forms, they signed happily. “Alex Carter.” Mr. Reeves suddenly called my name, his voice frighteningly cold. He threw my evaluation form in front of me. It clearly stated: lowest evaluation level. Every metric had been maliciously lowered. Anyone could see it was deliberate retaliation. He looked at me coldly, his tone harsh. “Your evaluation result is unsatisfactory.” The whole room instantly went quiet. Everyone knew I had already submitted my resignation. Mr. Reeves tapped the form with his finger and pretended to be stern. “Your performance is this poor, yet you keep thinking about resignation. You have no sense of responsibility.” “The company trained you for six years, gave you a platform, gave you opportunities. This is how you repay us?” He forced the pen into my hand in front of everyone. “Sign it. Reflect on yourself. Even if you resign, you must do your work properly. The pre-IPO technical guarantee must still be handled by you.” He wanted to publicly suppress me. He bet I would not dare resist in front of everyone. As long as I signed, it would mean admitting I was incompetent and allowing him to control me however he pleased. Dozens of gazes fell on me. Some surprised, some sympathetic, more waiting to watch me make a fool of myself. I took the pen, my grip steady. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Reeves.” My tone was calm, without a ripple. “I am aware of this evaluation result.” Mr. Reeves immediately showed a smug smile. “Perfect,” I raised my head, my voice clear throughout the entire meeting room, “then I’ll take this opportunity to tell everyone something.” “Starting today, I officially resign. Mr. Lang has already invested in my new company. I will serve as technical founder and independently lead all core projects.” “The new company needs people. Anyone who wants to come with me can message me privately.” The moment I finished, the conference room door was suddenly shoved open. An assistant rushed in with a deathly pale face. “Something’s wrong. The game servers have fully collapsed. A major bug appeared. The AI department can’t fix it at all. All three main online games are down and unable to operate.” The meeting room exploded. Mr. Reeves’s face changed drastically. He froze on the spot. The venture capital representative shot to his feet, face ashen, his gaze cutting toward Mr. Reeves like a blade.

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The day Terry dragged me into the operating room, I clutched my prenatal scan and wept. “Please, spare our baby. She’s innocent.” He sneered, gripping my chin, “You, a murderer, dare to bear my child?” Later, he locked me in the basement for three years. I forgot how to speak, but I remembered humming a tuneless song to the iron bars every night. Until he knelt at the door, eyes bloodshot, clutching the truth in trembling hands: “Autumn…” I tilted my head, licking my grimy fingers, giggling softly: “The butterfly flew away, and so did the baby, you know.” Soon, everyone in the city knew: Terry Sterling had lost his mind. He watched over a woman who no longer recognized him, whispering endearments again and again. Meanwhile, in the penthouse suite, I cradled a faded doll, gazing out the window: “Shhh, the moon is going home.” 1 The basement door creaked open. I curled into a ball, shrinking deeper into the shadows. Someone was here, but it wasn’t the mute who brought my meals. “Autumn…” It was Terry’s voice. He lifted me into his arms. My bones jutted against him; he seemed to stiffen. He carried me outside. The sky was a dull, leaden gray. This was the first time I’d seen the outside world in three years. The first time I’d seen the sky since Amelia’s suicide in my bedroom. “The moon…” I murmured, “The moon is going home.” The arms holding me tightened abruptly. Terry whispered, “Who is the moon?” I lowered my head, gently stroking my abdomen, where only thin skin clung to bone. I offered a faint smile: “She’s my little moon. I named her. She’s calling me, can you hear?” Terry’s steps faltered. I felt his entire body trembling. He cupped my face, studying me for a long moment, his lips parting and closing several times before he spoke: “It’s alright… Autumn, we’ll have other children.” His eyes were red, intensely red. How strange, could he cry too? I looked at his bloodshot eyes, but stubbornly shook my head: “I only want my little moon. She’s afraid of the dark, I need to be with her.” Terry’s head snapped up, turning to the person in the white coat beside him. The doctor adjusted his glasses: “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling has endured prolonged confinement and severe emotional trauma, leading to significant cognitive regression and stress disorder. Her current intellectual capacity is roughly at a childlike stage.” Childlike? I blinked. My little moon, if she had been born, would be blinking now too. I was taken to a vast house, ablaze with the blinding light of crystal chandeliers. “It hurts… it hurts so much!” I covered my eyes, burying my face in my knees. “Turn them off! Turn off all the lights! Now!” Terry’s voice roared, laced with panic and chaos. Instantly, darkness enveloped me. Only a faint, hazy light filtered in from outside the window. He came over, drawing me into his embrace. “Let me see, Autumn, let me see your eyes.” His voice was low, trying to soothe me. He gently forced my head up. My face was wet; were those tears? I didn’t know. His forehead gently touched mine, our breaths mingling. I smelled his unfamiliar, expensive scent, mixed with a faint trace of blood – was it mine? Or someone else’s? “I’m sorry,” he rasped. Then, he carried me to the bathroom to bathe. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, gaunt and skeletal, my shoulder blades seeming to strain against my skin, eager to break free. Terry held me, sobbing softly, warm liquid trailing down my shoulder. During the bath, the tub was filled with little yellow rubber ducks. I picked one up, squeezed it, and it let out a “quack.” I laughed, squeezing it repeatedly, making it “quack-quack-quack.” Terry knelt by the tub, sleeves rolled up, carefully using a washcloth to clean me. His movements were clumsy, splashing water everywhere. He watched me play with the duck, his eyes a tumultuous sea of emotions I couldn’t decipher. After the bath, he wrapped me in a thick towel and carried me to the large vanity mirror. The woman in the mirror was emaciated, her wet hair plastered to a pallid face, eyes wide and vacant. He picked up the hairdryer, his long fingers threading through my damp hair. I stared blankly at his profile in the mirror; he was still so handsome, yet shrouded in a heavy shadow. My gaze suddenly fell upon my wrist. The towel slipped slightly, revealing a bony wrist crisscrossed with several grotesque scars. When had these appeared? I couldn’t remember, only that they hurt, more than hunger, more than the cold. “Ugly…” I flinched, trying to hide my wrist, “So ugly…” Terry’s movements stilled. He followed my gaze, his body instantly rigid. The hairdryer hummed, hot air blowing on a small patch of skin, slowly growing warm. He abruptly switched off the hairdryer. The bathroom fell silent. He gripped my wrist, looking at the scars for a very long time. “Not ugly,” he said suddenly. Then, he lowered his head, his cool lips, incredibly gently, pressing a kiss onto the deepest of those scars. A damp, warm sensation registered, but I flinched as if branded, trying to yank my hand away with force. My reaction seemed to wound him. He lifted his eyes, seeing my frightened look, and suddenly asked, “Would you… would you not be afraid of me if I were just like you?” I didn’t understand. I just stared at him in fear. He released my hand, straightened up, his gaze sweeping across the spacious vanity. Then, he picked up a silver eyebrow razor. The blade reflected a faint glimmer of light. The first stroke, across his pale wrist, a thin red line quickly emerged, widening. The second, overlapping. Blood beads welled up, merging, then flowing down in gushes, dripping onto the marble counter. The third… He didn’t stop, his expression eerily calm. The fresh scent of blood diffused into the air. I watched, numbly, as the crimson liquid snaked down. Then, I laughed. Blood still flowed from Terry’s wrist, but he smiled. “Autumn, we’re the same now.” Then, he stepped forward, pulling me into his arms with all his strength. He held me so tightly, I could barely breathe. His face was buried in my damp hair, hot liquid falling onto the skin of my neck. “I’ll atone,” he whispered. “Please, let me atone.” 2 Terry canceled all his work, dedicating himself to my 24/7 care. The room was filled with things I used to love. I was still afraid of light; even during the day, the heavy curtains had to be drawn. The slightest sound made me flinch. Ever since leaving the basement, I had nightmares every night. The cold operating table, the blinding lights, and the icy pain in my lower abdomen. “Autumn, wake up.” Terry took my hand. I clutched his sleeve tightly, crying out incoherently, “Terry… save me…” His body jolted, then he hugged me fiercely: “I’m here! Autumn, I’m here! I’ll save you, I’ll always be here!” He seemed incredibly happy, so happy he was almost crying. I snapped awake. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing his face so close. My mind was blank. I pulled away from him, grabbed the vase from the bedside table, and threw it at him. He didn’t dodge; it hit his head with a dull thud. The vase didn’t break, rolling onto the carpet. He froze, motionless. Blood streamed from his temple, across his eyebrow, dripping onto his pajamas. The door burst open, and the people waiting outside rushed in, staring blankly at the scene. Terry seemed to finally feel the pain. He lifted a hand to wipe at it, saw the blood, but didn’t even glance at the newcomers, his eyes fixed on me. “Get out,” he ordered. “Everyone, out.” They looked at him, then at me, before retreating and closing the door. We were alone again. The scent of blood filled the room. I was still trembling, but I glared at him without restraint. He took a towel from the bathroom and pressed it to his head; the white towel quickly turned crimson. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, his voice low, as if coaxing a child, “I’ll be right back.” He turned and walked out, his steps a little unsteady. The door wasn’t fully closed; I heard the doctor outside gasp in horror: “Mr. Sterling, your wound needs stitches. Your wife’s condition is too dangerous; she’s exhibiting aggressive behavior. She needs to be admitted to a specialized psychiatric hospital…” “No,” Terry cut him off, his voice sounding tired, “Treat it here.” “But…” “I said, no.” His voice deepened, “She’s not going anywhere. She stays here.” After a pause, he added: “I won’t let her leave my side again.” 3 The doctor treated Terry’s wound in the next room. “Mr. Sterling,” the doctor couldn’t help but speak, “Mrs. Sterling’s condition, if I may be frank, doesn’t seem to be merely simple psychological trauma. Was there… anything else that happened back then?” Terry leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. The wound on his forehead throbbed. “It was me. All my fault.” The doctor’s hand paused; he looked up at him. After the wound was dressed, he led the doctor back to my room. I was huddled in the corner of the bed, hugging my knees. Terry walked over, reaching to touch my shoulder, but I flinched violently, recoiling. His hand stopped mid-air, slowly retracting, and he nodded at the doctor. The doctor approached to examine me. His brow furrowed deeper and deeper. Finally, he put away his stethoscope, glanced at Terry, who stood by, and shook his head. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling’s condition… is not optimistic.” “Severe malnutrition; this isn’t recent. On her body… there are multiple old contusions and soft tissue injuries, some already scarred. Mentally, her stress response is extremely strong, with clear signs of post-traumatic disorder. She exhibits severe fear and wariness towards the outside world, especially towards you.” With each sentence, Terry’s face grew paler. By the end, he was almost devoid of color. “In summary,” the doctor sighed, “Mrs. Sterling seems to have been in an… abusive environment for a long time. This has greatly exacerbated her psychological trauma, and recovery will be very difficult.” “Abuse?” Terry repeated the word. The doctor nodded, saying no more, leaving recommendations for nutritional supplements and nerve-calming medication, then departed. The room was deathly silent. Terry stood there for a long time before slowly walking to the bedside. I burrowed deeper into the covers. He stopped a step away, not coming closer, only looking at me with that almost shattered gaze for a while, then turned and walked out. Outside the door, the old butler stood with bowed head. “Alfred,” Terry began, “Three years ago, I had her confined to the basement. What were my instructions?” The butler’s back bent even lower: “You ordered to keep her well, not to let her leave, and to deliver meals on time.” “And what else?” “…Nothing else, sir.” “I never said she could be starved, or beaten, or left with those scars on her body, did I?” Terry’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was suffocating. Cold sweat beaded on the butler’s forehead: “Sir, I… I followed your orders. Meals, cleaning… As for anything else, I, I truly had no knowledge! It must have been those scoundrels beneath me, seeing Mrs.—seeing Miss Hayes—fallen from grace, misinterpreting your intentions, and acting so brazenly! My supervision was lax, I…” “Alfred,” Terry cut him off, rubbing his temples wearily, “You’ve been with my family for thirty years.” The butler fell silent, bowing his head even lower. “You’re dismissed,” Terry said. “Out of respect for the past thirty years, your pension will be provided. Give me the list of everyone who handled the basement, everyone who touched her, now, immediately.” The butler trembled, head snapping up: “Sir!” “The list.” Terry looked at him, the last trace of warmth vanishing from his eyes, “Don’t make me say it a third time.” Hours later, night had fallen thick and dark. Behind the Sterling estate, the heavy iron door of the disused old tool basement was tightly shut. Inside, muffled, jarring thuds and short, stifled cries of agony could be faintly heard, intermittently, for a long time. Finally, the iron door was pushed open from within. Terry emerged. His white shirt was splattered with blood. He walked slowly back to the main house, went upstairs, and entered the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he put his hands under the stream, scrubbing vigorously. The bloodstains blurred in the water, fading, flowing down the drain. He looked up, meeting his reflection in the wall mirror. The man in the mirror was pale, a bandage on his temple, lips tightly pressed. He gazed at that unfamiliar self. For a long time. Suddenly, he balled his fist and slammed it hard into the mirror. “CRASH—!” The deafening sound was piercing in the night. The entire mirror shattered instantly, countless fragments reflecting countless cold, pale, blood-stained, and frantic versions of his face. He stood with his hands hanging, the knuckles scraped raw by the sharp shards, blood mixing with water, dripping little by little. 4 Under Terry’s care, my body slowly began to recover. The wound on his wrist, which hadn’t been properly treated, had become red and inflamed in some places. The doctor repeatedly urged him to go to the hospital. “No, she can’t be left alone.” In the end, the doctor had no choice but to clean and dress his wound on the spot. He always bore his injuries, carefully feeding me. I ate slowly, and he never rushed me; a single meal would take a long time. He seemed not to need sleep. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I would always see him sitting on the sofa nearby, working on his laptop. He was quiet when he worked, only the soft click of the keyboard. Sometimes, if I merely shifted, he would immediately look up, only turning back to his screen once he was sure I was asleep again. Once, likely due to an urgent company matter, he had to take a video call beside my bed. Watching the faces flicker on the screen, hearing those unfamiliar voices, an unprovoked anxiety surged through me. Before I even realized it, I had knocked the laptop from his lap onto the floor. The computer hit the carpet, and the video call abruptly cut off. Terry froze for a moment, then immediately stood up. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” “Don’t be afraid, Autumn, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made noise here.” He patiently comforted me until my fingers, gripping the blanket, slowly relaxed. Then he rose, picked up the laptop, glanced at it, and set it aside. 5 It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, with bright sunshine. Terry went downstairs to handle some business. Suddenly, the door was pushed open, and a well-dressed, exquisitely made-up woman walked in, followed by two maids. She was Terry’s mother, Evelyn. Her gaze fell upon my loose nightgown, my dull, lifeless hair, and finally on my still-dazed face, her brow immediately furrowing, her distaste undisguised. “Terry, look at yourself! What a mess you’ve become!” “Neglecting the company, spending all your time with a…” She didn’t finish her sentence. “Ah—!!!” A shriek ripped uncontrollably from my throat. I grabbed everything within reach—the bedside lamp, a pillow—and threw them at her with all my might! “Get out! Get away! Don’t come near me!!” Evelyn staggered back, her face ashen with fury: “Insolent! She’s truly insane! Guards! Someone! Hold this madwoman down! Call Crestwood Asylum immediately! Get her out of here!” The two maids hesitated, then moved forward, trying to grab me as I shrieked and thrashed, throwing things everywhere. “Everyone, stop right there!” Terry rushed in, fiercely shielding me behind him. “Anyone dares to touch her, just try me.” “Terry! What kind of attitude is that?! Look at her! Look at the state she’s in now! She’s a lunatic! A murderer! She killed your sister!” Evelyn trembled with rage. “She didn’t!” Terry’s veins pulsed on his forehead, “We both know the truth! You’re not innocent in what happened back then!” Evelyn’s face paled, then she grew even more enraged: “You… you’re abandoning your dead sister for this madwoman? You won’t even listen to your own mother? She has to go to the asylum! She’s a menace if she stays here!” “I said, no.” “No one is taking her.” “Mom, listen carefully. From now on, anyone who suggests sending her away is my enemy. That includes you.” Evelyn was stunned by the ruthlessness in his eyes, she stumbled back a step, staring at him in disbelief. “You… you’re going to spend your life with this… this murderer who killed your sister? Have you lost your mind too?!” Terry didn’t answer. After a long moment, Evelyn seemed to finally accept the reality, turning and storming out of the room.

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1 I’ve always had unusually high emotional intelligence. When I was little, a rich woman took a liking to my dad. I understood immediately and brought my young, handsome uncle over. “Girl, my dad’s prime is long gone. My uncle is hotter.” When a coworker lost a project to me and cried like the world was ending, I understood immediately and introduced her to two interns on our team who were both six-foot-two and eighteen. “Ms. Parker, you let me win this time. I’m not an ungrateful woman. These two cute boys are yours to get to know.” Thanks to this emotional intelligence, I moved through my social circles like a fish in water. Until one day, I transmigrated into an angst romance novel as the substitute heroine nobody even wanted. The white moonlight hated the original heroine for stealing the male lead. For the male lead, she framed and tortured the heroine again and again, until the heroine died miserably on the street. Looking at the male lead in front of me, his face cold as he warned me to treat his white moonlight well from now on, I nodded. Then I enthusiastically revealed the two male models standing behind me. “Sweetheart, it’s our first meeting, and I didn’t know what you liked. So I brought you two male models as a little gift.” As the saying goes, you don’t slap a smiling face. Grace Whitfield’s icy expression twitched, as if she had been shocked speechless. I pressed my advantage and bent slightly, grabbing her hand with both of mine. “Sweetie, you’ve been hanging from one tree too long. You don’t know how handsome, obedient, enthusiastic, and most importantly, clean the younger boys are these days.” That sentence seemed to carry an extra meaning. I paused. “Of course, I’m not saying Mr. Ford isn’t clean.” I patted Grace’s hand. “Sweetie, life is only a few tens of thousands of days. Women need to be good to themselves. Isn’t it a shame to waste your youth on an overcooked old vegetable?” I turned to the two men. “Boys, hurry and introduce yourselves to Miss Whitfield.” The two male models, both broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, handsome, and perfectly built, hurried to Grace’s side and greeted her in voices that were shy yet gentle. Grace instinctively backed up two steps, her face burning red. “This… this isn’t appropriate, is it?” Seeing this, Malcolm Ford roared at me in disbelief. “Ivy Lane, what are you doing? I told you to treat Grace well, and this is how you treat her?” I was confused. I scratched my head hesitantly. “What? Am I not treating her well enough?” “I still have the agency’s number. Should I call a few more?” “You… you… Ivy Lane, well done.” Malcolm angrily dragged Grace out from between the two male models and turned to leave with her. “You stay here and reflect on yourself.” I had no idea what I was supposed to reflect on. Was I wrong to save myself as an angst novel heroine? My dear vicious supporting female lead framed me again and again for this male lead, making me donate blood, kneel as punishment, and get locked in a freezer. When you got to the root of it, she did all that because of Malcolm Ford, this crooked little tree. Was I wrong to tell her the world was vast? After all, three-legged frogs are hard to find, but men with two legs are everywhere. With Grace’s family background, she could absolutely choose a partner who was more handsome, younger, and emotionally stable. Just like every romance novel plot, Malcolm left me where I stood and took Grace to a luxury store, then to a romantic dinner for two. As I packed my luggage, I happened to see a private message from Grace. 【You really are sinister. Malcolm told me everything. Those men were part of your plan to make me leave him. You found so many male models to tempt me and make Malcolm think I’m a fickle woman.】 【But I’m telling you now. I will always be his white moonlight. The person he loves most will always be me. You have no right to compete with me.】 The corner of my mouth twitched. At that moment, the sound of the front door opening came from downstairs. Malcolm walked in cold-faced and ordered me to make him hangover soup. My fingers flew across my phone screen. 【Sweetie, that isn’t love. If he really loved you, why would he find me as a substitute? From here to Europe is only a seven-hour flight. You were studying abroad, not leaving the biosphere. Did he really need a substitute?】 【To put it another way, even if you had left the biosphere, if he had even a shred of decency, he wouldn’t have found a substitute like me within a month.】 【Sweetie, you’re too innocent. You don’t understand. He just wants to have two women at once. The substitute thing is his excuse.】 【If you don’t believe me, go find a substitute too. See how he reacts.】 The other side was silent for a long time. I carried my suitcase downstairs. Malcolm was leaning on the sofa like some grand lord, staring at me coldly with the expression of a man who had seen through everything. “Ivy, don’t think you can make Grace leave me with little tricks.” “You’re only a substitute. You need to understand your place.” “Besides, Grace doesn’t care for the men you found.” Then he spoke as if granting me mercy. “Ivy, I know you don’t want to leave me. Don’t worry. After Grace and I get married, there will still be a place for you by my side.” I lifted my suitcase and shook my head at him. “Nice fantasy, but when Miss Whitfield gets married, there might not be a place for you beside her. You might not even qualify as the side piece.” Malcolm shot to his feet. “What do you mean?” I smiled at him, hesitating while staring at his face for a long time. Then I shook my head and sighed. “Nothing much. It’s just that Mr. Ford should find time for some facial maintenance.” Then I dragged my suitcase out into the endless night. I was done serving him. Anyway, the original heroine had been a substitute for three years. She must have saved quite a bit of money. I could live a good life from now on. Humming, I booked a hotel room. Then I opened the bank balance. Three hundred eighty-five dollars and seventy-nine cents. I fell silent. So the five thousand I spent hiring male models just now was my last savings. An angst novel heroine got tortured by the male lead for three years, and her wallet didn’t even have four digits? Even a nanny should have saved hundreds of thousands after three years. What exactly had she been chasing? Furious, I opened my messaging app and found Grace in my contacts. 【Sweetie, to create enough space for you to test Malcolm, I’ve already moved out of his place.】 【But this man really has terrible character. We agreed back then that he’d pay me one million a month, but now he’s withholding my wages. What exactly do you see in a man who doesn’t even honor his word?】 【Think about it, sweetie. Today he can kick me out of his house with no money and make me sleep on the street. Tomorrow he can make you leave with nothing. Marrying him is too risky. I truly advise you to reconsider.】 【If you’re willing, we can meet. I promise I’ll tell you everything.】 After I sent that whole string of provocation, Malcolm finally realized I had left the villa. 【What are you doing? Ivy, you’ve grown a temper. Now you’re running away from home?】 【Don’t forget, your mother’s medical fees are still waiting for me to pay. In a few days, you’ll crawl back and beg me.】 I was not the original Ivy, who only knew how to feel wronged and do nothing. As a woman experienced in worldly games, I cursed him, then skillfully deleted and blocked him in one smooth move. The next day, Grace asked to meet me. She chose a café. She wore a coffee-colored dress, with very little makeup. Her face was full of hesitation and conflict. “I think what you said makes sense, but I still think you’re doing this so I’ll give up Malcolm and you can take his side.” “I’ve seen plenty of women like you. I didn’t come today for advice. I’ll give you one million to leave Malcolm.” I already knew she would not trust me. But I grew even more enthusiastic. “Sweetie, that’s where you’re wrong. Do I look like I’m doing this for money?” “Forget everything else. With your face alone, you’re so beautiful. I only look thirty percent like you, and people call me a beauty. What about you? You’re the real top-tier beauty.” “After Mr. Ford has seen someone like you, how could he marry someone who only has thirty percent of your looks?” “And your family background is so good. I don’t know what Malcolm told you to make you this insecure.” “But look at your family. Look at your face. Why would you think I can compare with you? Even if you don’t want Malcolm, a man who once liked you wouldn’t look at me.” Grace looked a little embarrassed by my sincerity. I seized the chance. “I know you’re afraid Malcolm will be angry. But think about it. Since you came back, has he ever publicly confirmed your relationship?” “He’s stringing you along. So what’s wrong with you dating someone too?” “I guarantee that once you know what real dating feels like, you’ll understand how badly Malcolm treats you.” “If you’re really worried, we can keep it secret. You can pay me a little and hire me, and we can sign a confidentiality agreement. Everything will be your choice.” Grace wavered. “Does Malcolm really treat me badly? But he bought me many things and took me to a candlelit dinner.” I spread my hands. “But can’t you buy those things yourself? You’re the only daughter of the Whitfield family. People should be placing the best things in front of you.” “If you really can’t accept it, think of this as revenge for his three years of wavering. Finding a substitute is not something a decent person does. Are you willing to let that go without payback?” My words hit Grace right where it hurt. “Fine. We’ll sign a confidentiality agreement.” “Actually, when Malcolm told me he found a substitute because he missed me too much, I did feel uncomfortable. But there was always a voice in my ear saying he only did it because he cared about me.” “After hearing you say this today, I’m starting to doubt it.” I smiled at her. “Doubt is good. From now on, I will serve as your relationship consultant and help screen eligible men around you. If you like anyone, you can try getting to know him. I’ll also help you monitor Malcolm’s emotional state in real time.” Grace shook my hand. Just as I said. Grace was beautiful, from a good family, and highly educated. The men who wanted to pursue her could line up from one end of the city to the other. Before, she had only focused all her attention on Malcolm. Now that news spread that she was willing to go on dates, those who secretly liked her came rushing forward. Especially a handsome young man named Ryder Cole, who worked hard every day to create chance encounters. After learning I was Grace’s relationship consultant, he directly slapped a five-million-dollar check onto my desk. “Help me pursue Grace. Whether I succeed or not, the five million is yours.” Holding Ryder’s five million, I almost cried. The original heroine followed Malcolm for three years and only had a few hundred dollars. This young master gave five million in one move. I looked into Ryder’s background. The Cole family was old money. Clean background, good upbringing. His grandfather, father, and older brother had no mistresses or scandalous side families. He was not the eldest son, so he had no heavy pressure. His personality was lively, and he liked extreme sports, but he also kept himself clean. As for Grace, she had been restrained by her family since childhood, always proper and disciplined. The two of them were perfectly complementary, a natural pair. Of course, only if Malcolm did not get in the way. A few days after Grace and Ryder became ordinary friends, the four of us met at the same banquet. After not seeing Malcolm for more than ten days, he was still as annoying as ever. Beside him was a female companion with a great figure. The moment Grace saw him, she instinctively wanted to distance herself from Ryder. She walked toward Malcolm to explain. But what I did not expect was that Malcolm saw me first. He smiled with a self-important expression. “Ivy, you chased me all the way here?” “What? Have you finally thought it through? Being my lover is your best choice.” Faced with someone so confident, I truly did not know what to say. Before I could speak, he noticed Grace beside me. “Looks like you really thought it through. I’m satisfied seeing you two getting along like this.” “I told you Grace has always been generous. She won’t mind.” Grace froze and instinctively looked at Ryder. Ryder walked to her side and took her hand with perfect restraint. Only then did Malcolm finally notice him. He frowned. “But Grace, after you marry me, you can’t stand this close to other men anymore. As Mrs. Ford, your circle must be clean.” Grace looked sadly at the woman beside Malcolm. “But you also brought a female companion today.” Malcolm did not care at all. “So you’re jealous. Grace, you need to understand. I’m a man. I’m only networking.” “If I don’t make money, how will you be the glamorous Mrs. Ford?” Grace lowered her head. Her eyes reddened unconsciously. She wanted to ask what I, the substitute, counted as. But in the end, she did not speak. Her eyes were red as she lowered her head and held back tears. Just as I had said, in the three years she studied abroad, Malcolm found me as a substitute and had countless female companions. Even after marriage, he planned to keep me, the substitute, ambiguously by his side. Yet Grace only stood a little close to another man, and Malcolm became unhappy. So Malcolm did not fail to understand that this was wrong. He was simply a hypocrite. He simply believed both Grace and I could not leave him. Malcolm did not notice Grace’s unhappiness. He spoke to her from above, like bestowing a reward. “You can handle the wedding preparations yourself for now. I probably won’t have time to try on suits recently. Just call me when the wedding happens.” If there were not so many people present, I would have slapped him. Grace stood there stunned for a long while, covered her reddened eyes, turned, and left. Ryder hurried after her. The next day, Grace came to me. “You were right. Malcolm never treated me like an equal.” “So I’ve decided… I don’t want him anymore. There are plenty of flowers in the world.” From that day on, Grace and Ryder’s relationship advanced rapidly. When she had loved Malcolm, there was rarely a smile on her face. It had been filled with jealousy. Now her eyes seemed to hide stars, and every day she was in high spirits. When Malcolm was mentioned, she even looked regretful. “So this is what normal dating feels like. I gave up Malcolm too late.” After a few months, they met each other’s families and prepared to get engaged. Malcolm still did not know that the supporting female lead who had once been obsessed with him was about to marry someone else, and that his own heroine had been the matchmaker. He continued dreaming of having women on both sides. So when he received Grace and Ryder’s engagement invitation, he did not even look at it. “Grace really is a capable future wife. She handled this well. But why hasn’t she sent over the groom’s suit yet? Does she expect me to prepare it myself?” “Fine, I’ll prepare it myself.” As he spoke, he seemed to remember something and sighed helplessly. “Also send Ivy an invitation. Tell her that after Grace and I marry, our relationship will remain the same. She can secretly come watch, but she can’t disturb my wedding with Grace.” On the day of the wedding, Malcolm arrived in a gray suit. Then he saw Ryder in a white groom’s suit, standing arm in arm with Grace. He froze. When he turned back, he finally saw the sign by the entrance, where four bright red words were written. 【Congratulations on the marriage of Grace Whitfield and Ryder Cole】

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After the yacht went down, I was stranded on a nightmare of an island for three years. I had my fingernails ripped out. I was forced to eat raw meat. I was broken and trained like a wild animal. Until the day a red flare shot into the sky. I ran for my life, desperate for rescue. But when I reached the beach, I watched the tribal chief wipe the blood-red war paint from his face. Underneath was the face of my fiancé, Joseph. “Congratulations. You passed the wife-training trial.” “From now on, you are going to be a perfect, obedient wife.” Joseph pulled my violently trembling body into his arms. His eyes were red, his voice as sickeningly gentle as it used to be when we were dating. And the “Chief’s Wife,” the woman who used to hold my hands down and laugh while she ripped my nails out one by one? That was Valerie. My best friend. “You were too rebellious before, Scarlett. Too spoiled. Your temper was unacceptable.” Back home, my parents smiled warmly, showering me with praise. “Exactly. This is wonderful. Look how docile she is now.” 1 Pop. A red flare exploded over the ocean while I was squatting by a rocky pit, smashing animal bones with a rock. I was making soup for the Chief. If the bones weren’t crushed fine enough, I would be beaten tonight. I froze for a split second, dropped the heavy stone, and bolted toward the water. My right leg had been mangled by a wild dog during my first year fighting for scraps. I ran with a heavy, pathetic limp. Jagged reefs sliced open the soles of my feet. Low-hanging branches tore at my arms. I didn’t care. Rescue was here. I truly believed rescue was here. I stumbled and collapsed onto the sandy beach, dragging my body toward the pristine white yacht anchored in the shallows. “Help me. Please, God, help me.” A man stood on the deck. Tall, heavily muscled, his face smeared with bloody tribal paint, wearing a crown of feathers. The cannibal Chief. My entire body locked up. A second later, my knees gave out and I slammed hard into the wet sand. “Master. I wasn’t running away.” “I was looking for firewood. I swear I wasn’t running.” I wrapped my arms around my head and pressed my forehead brutally into the sand. My voice was a broken, terrified squeak. A soft sigh floated down from above me. “Scarlett.” Perfect, unaccented English. My head snapped up. The Chief slowly pulled off his carved wooden mask. He wiped the greasepaint from his jaw, revealing a face I knew better than my own. Joseph. My billionaire fiancé. My lips trembled uncontrollably. It took me agonizing seconds to choke out a single word. “…Joseph?” He stepped off the boat and crouched in front of me. Just like he had done a thousand times before we got engaged, he reached out and gently stroked my hair. “It’s me.” “Don’t be scared. It’s over.” I stared at him. My brain felt like it was being cleaved in half with an axe. A familiar giggle echoed behind him. The “Chief’s Wife”, the woman who always pinned my wrists while iron pliers tore my nails from their beds, took off her bone mask. Valerie. My ride-or-die best friend. “Scarlett, why do you look like that?” Valerie smiled, crouching down next to me. “You should be thrilled. Joseph went through so much trouble to set this up for you.” I stared at her. A deafening ringing filled my ears. Joseph pulled me into his chest. His voice was velvet. “Scarlett, you used to fight with me constantly. You threatened to cancel the wedding. You kept saying you wanted to build your own startup.” “You were too proud. Too independent. You had no idea that a marriage can’t survive on just love.” “I had to use extreme measures to teach you how to submit. To teach you how to rely on me. I had to rip those thorns right out of you.” His hand rubbed my spine, soothing me like a spooked stray dog. “I know you suffered out here.” “But if I didn’t do this, you would never have learned how to be a proper wife.” “It’s all good now.” “You finally know your place.” My blood turned to ice. My stomach violently rebelled, and I threw up right there in the sand. Valerie immediately jumped back in disgust. But Joseph didn’t flinch. He used an expensive pocket square to wipe the bile from my lips, his eyes practically swimming with tender affection. “Alright, let’s go home.” “Your parents are waiting for you.” That was the exact moment I realized the truth. These past three years weren’t a shipwreck. They weren’t an act of God. It was a calculated, custom-built slaughterhouse designed just for me. 2 The day we flew back, the Montgomery and Vance families threw a massive welcome home gala. Joseph wanted the entire elite social circle to know he had brought his missing bride back from the dead. The ballroom was blindingly bright, dripping in crystal and designer perfume. I wore a high-necked, long-sleeved gown to hide the mosaic of scars covering my body. I wore lace gloves to hide the missing fingernails. Joseph held my hand tightly, parading me through the crowd to soak up the compliments. “Joseph is a saint. Searching for three years and finally bringing her home.” “Look at her. She went through hell, but she looks so much softer and tamer now.” “Now that is exactly how a bride should act.” Joseph soaked it all in, thoroughly satisfied. He squeezed my hand and whispered, “See? Everyone loves the new you.” I kept my head down. I didn’t say a word. Right then, a waiter wheeled out a cart for table-side flambé steaks. The moment the liquor hit the hot pan, a massive fireball erupted into the air. I let out a blood-curdling scream. My legs buckled and I dropped to the floor, scrambling on all fours to hide under the nearest banquet table. “Don’t burn me! I’ll eat it! I’ll eat the raw meat! Please don’t burn me!” I dragged the tablecloth down with me. Expensive wine glasses and plates shattered across the marble floor. The entire ballroom went dead silent. Joseph’s face tightened. He immediately reached down to pull me up. But the second I saw his hand approaching, it was like looking at a glowing red branding iron. I curled into a tight ball, wrapping my arms defensively over my head. “I’m sorry. I won’t run. Please don’t use the fire.” Joseph froze. He dropped to one knee, scooped me out from under the table, and started whispering in my ear. “Scarlett, it’s okay. We aren’t on the island anymore. As long as you are a good girl, no one is going to burn you.” He held me tight and flashed an apologetic smile to the stunned billionaires. “I am so sorry, everyone. Scarlett just got back and is still adjusting. I am going to nurse her back to health.” That night, Joseph brought me back to the master suite of his penthouse. The moment the door clicked shut, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. His warm lips pressed against the nape of my neck. “Scarlett, tonight we can finally sleep in a real bed.” His hands trailed down to my waist, carrying a very obvious, suffocating implication. My entire body turned into a block of cement. A familiar, horrifying tremor shot up my spine. His expensive cologne suddenly warped in my nostrils, smelling exactly like rotting fish and cheap tribal face paint. On the island, whenever Valerie whipped me with thorny vines until I was half-dead, the masked “Chief” would step out of the shadows. He would stroke my bleeding back exactly like this. And then, ignoring my agonizing screams and my torn flesh, he would force himself onto me in the mud. He called that brutal violation a “Master’s reward” for surviving the day. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, violently shoving him away. I scrambled backward, falling off the bed and slamming into the corner of the room, dry heaving. Joseph’s hands hovered in the air. His face turned thunderous. But eventually, he just sighed and tossed a towel at me. “I know you need time. I won’t force you tonight.” He turned on his heel and went to the guest room. In the middle of the night, footsteps echoed in the hallway. It was just a maid going to the bathroom. But to my broken brain, it sounded exactly like the island guards doing their nightly patrols. I threw myself off the mattress, crawled into the deepest, darkest corner of the walk-in closet, and curled into a tight ball. I dug my ruined nails into the floorboards, too terrified to even breathe. On the island, the only way to survive the night without being spotted by wild animals or the savages was to sleep pressed against the freezing stone walls. Right before dawn, Joseph opened the bedroom door. He stared at the empty bed. Then, he found me huddled like a beaten stray dog in his closet. “Why are you sleeping on the floor?” he asked, frowning, reaching out to pick me up. I flinched violently and clamped my hands over the back of my neck. “Master, I wasn’t being lazy. I’ll get back to work right now.” Joseph’s hand stopped. A complicated emotion flickered in his eyes, but he aggressively scooped me up and dumped me back onto the mattress. “Scarlett, you are my wife now. You don’t have to do manual labor anymore.” The next morning, his private doctor came to do a full checkup. The blood tests confirmed it. I was two months pregnant. Joseph looked stunned for a second, then his face lit up with absolute euphoria. He crouched in front of my chair, gripping both my hands like they were a sacred treasure. “Scarlett, this is incredible. A baby is exactly what we need to anchor you. From now on, we are going to be a perfect family.” I yanked my hands out of his grip. My voice shook. “I don’t want it.” Joseph paused. His tone remained frighteningly patient. “Don’t be difficult. Your temper has gotten so much better lately. Having a baby will only help you settle down.” I stared at him, and the tears just spilled over. “Joseph, that whole year. It was you. Every night you…” I had survived on my own for two years in that jungle. In the third year, the fake tribe captured me and turned me into a slave. I couldn’t even finish the sentence. He acted like he didn’t understand the horror in my eyes. He just reached out and wiped my tears away. “Scarlett, it’s in the past. If you didn’t go through that, you never would have realized how important having a home is.” “As long as you understand the value of family now, it was all worth it.” I stopped crying instantly. So that was it. In his eyes, letting Valerie pull my nails out, raping me when my mind was shattered, training me like a literal farm animal… all of that was just “teaching me how to be a wife.” 3 Joseph drove me to the Montgomery estate. He said since we were having a baby, my parents needed to know. I hadn’t seen them in three years. I used to think that even if the whole world sided with Joseph, my own mother and father would protect me. When they saw me walk through the door, neither of them hugged me. My mother’s eyes dropped straight to my stomach. She frowned in disgust. “Pregnant before the wedding? Do you have any idea how bad this makes our family look?” Joseph stepped in smoothly. “Mrs. Montgomery, Scarlett’s situation is unique. This child is—” “I was asking her,” my mother snapped, cutting him off. She glared at me. “Three years fighting for your life, and instead of learning some grace, you come back knocked up? Haven’t you humiliated the Montgomery name enough?” My throat tightened. “Mom. It wasn’t like that. I was forced—” “Enough!” my father roared, slamming his hand on the mahogany coffee table. “Joseph already filled us in on everything.” “Do you even remember how you used to act?” “Arrogant, selfish, flipping out over nothing. You refused to listen to anyone. Threatening to break off the engagement every time Joseph tried to guide you. You were a walking PR nightmare. What man would put up with that?” “But look at you now. You swallowed some bitter pills, and you finally know how to bow your head.” I stared at the floor. All I ever wanted was to avoid an arranged marriage and build my own tech company before settling down. My mother chimed in. Her voice was quieter, but the words cut infinitely deeper. “Look at you now. You’re so quiet. So polite.” “If you had just acted like this from the start, none of this drama would have happened.” I stood frozen, my fingers going numb. “But Mom. They weren’t saving me on that island.” “Valerie used pliers to rip my fingernails out. When I tried to run, they broke my leg. And at night. At night Joseph would hold me down and…” I choked on my own words. Thick, hot tears streamed down my face. My mother just rolled her eyes. “Stop it. Talking about things like that in front of us is incredibly vulgar. And even if something did happen, that is private business between an engaged couple.” “Besides, if you really fought back, who could actually force you to do anything?” My father scoffed. “Exactly. The truth is, you just never respected the institution of marriage. Now that Joseph has finally put a leash on you, you’re throwing a tantrum.” Those words scrambled my brain like a blender. Flashbacks of the island hit me like physical blows. Valerie pressing red-hot wire against my calf, forcing me to swallow chunks of bloody, raw meat. And Joseph, sitting just a few feet away in a throne made of animal skins, watching with dead, cold eyes. As long as I refused to spread my legs and beg for him, Valerie’s torture never stopped. Every time I screamed, Joseph would just sigh and say, “She still hasn’t learned.” To stay alive, I had to crawl through the mud to his boots and beg him for mercy. And now, my own flesh and blood were asking me why I didn’t just fight back. I looked at the people who raised me, completely incapable of forming a single word. My mother stepped closer. Her tone shifted into something sickeningly comforting. “Listen to your mother.” “The most important thing for a woman is to secure a good marriage.” “Joseph spent a massive fortune and so much energy to fix your personality. That proves he truly loves you.” “With the way you used to behave, he is the only man on earth who would still want you.” “Now that you’re pregnant, stop playing the victim. Marry him, keep your mouth shut, and be a respectable society wife. Stop embarrassing us.” They knew. They knew everything. But they didn’t care about the barbaric, inhuman torture I endured. They only cared that the wild stallion had finally been broken into a docile, breeding mare. Joseph walked over and wrapped a protective arm around my shaking shoulders. “Scarlett, they just want what’s best for you. Look, we have a baby on the way. It’s time to settle down.” That night, in my childhood bedroom, I started bleeding heavily. The doctor said the emotional trauma was causing a threatened miscarriage. Joseph sat by the bed, his eyes bloodshot from stress. “Scarlett, don’t be scared. The baby will make it. Just please, for my sake and the baby’s, stop fighting me. Just behave. Please?” I lay flat on the mattress and slowly turned my head to face the blank wall. In that exact second, the very last shred of hope I had for humanity evaporated into thin air. 4 The night of the Joseph Corporation’s annual charity gala, he personally picked out my dress. A flowing white gown with a high, loose empire waist, perfectly concealing the slight bump in my stomach. As he locked a diamond necklace around my throat, his voice was as patient as a man talking to a toddler. “Scarlett, don’t be nervous tonight. After this, the whole world is going to know that you are finally fixed.” He loved using that word. “Fixed.” As if the old me, the woman who had pride and dignity, was a diseased monster that needed putting down. He held my hand tight the entire evening. He paraded me around, telling investors that while I was still recovering from the shock of the island, I was healing beautifully. Men praised me for being so gentle. Women whispered that Joseph truly knew how to tame a wild heart. Whenever he heard those comments, Joseph just smiled proudly. Halfway through the night, he led me to the grand piano in the center of the room. “Scarlett, play something for us. Mariage d’Amour. It used to be your favorite.” My entire body locked up. My fingers started to violently shake. The eight fingernails that had been ripped out had only just started growing a paper-thin layer of new keratin. Pressing them against solid piano keys would be agonizing. Joseph noticed my hesitation. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Don’t be scared. The only way to forget the past is to push through the pain.” He said it with such absolute conviction. As if forcing me to press my most agonizing physical wounds into my most traumatic memories was an act of profound love. I sat down. I pressed the first key. A sharp, blinding pain shot straight into my finger bones. All the color drained from my face, but I kept playing. Halfway through the song, blood started seeping from my nail beds. Little red droplets smeared across the pristine ivory keys. Joseph stood right beside the bench. His eyes were actually shining with pride. Like a strict teacher watching a slow student finally ace a test. When the song ended, the room erupted in applause. Joseph pulled me up and kissed my forehead. “Good girl.” Right then, a man in a tailored suit walked over, holding a cocktail. “Congratulations, Joseph.” I recognized that voice instantly. On the island, he was one of the fake savages. He was the one who loved making me bark like a dog for fresh water. They were all in on it. Every single one of them. The man looked at me, a nasty smirk on his face. “Miss Montgomery, care to cheers?” I kept my head bowed and offered my glass of sparkling cider. He deliberately tilted his wrist, dumping his entire martini straight into my face. Ice cold alcohol dripped from my eyelashes and soaked my hair. Without a second of hesitation, I raised my right hand and slapped myself across the face as hard as I could. Smack. I swung again. Smack. “I’m sorry. I was clumsy. I failed.” I chanted the apology mechanically. It was a reflex burned directly into my nervous system. On the island, any mistake required immediate, violent self-punishment. If I hesitated, I would be thrown into the underground water cage. The entire ballroom gasped in horror. Even the man who spilled the drink took a step back, visibly spooked. Joseph’s face went pale. He grabbed my wrists, real panic bleeding into his voice. “Scarlett, stop! No one is mad at you!” But my body wouldn’t stop violently trembling. I collapsed against his chest, and suddenly, a sharp, stabbing cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. Hot, thick liquid began pooling down my thighs. Joseph looked down, saw the dark red blood staining the hem of my white dress, and his composure completely shattered. “A doctor! Get a fucking doctor right now!” The gala devolved into pure chaos. Valerie sprinted over in her designer heels, screaming, “Why is she bleeding?!” I couldn’t stand. Joseph scooped me up into his arms, shaking like a leaf. “It’s going to be fine. The baby will be fine…” But just as he turned toward the exit, the massive projector screen at the back of the stage went completely black. A few seconds later, it flickered back to life. The footage that began to play caused several women in the room to scream in absolute terror. Joseph froze mid-step. He stared up at the giant screen, and for the very first time, I saw genuine, unadulterated terror shatter his arrogant face. And in that exact moment of distraction, I used every ounce of adrenaline left in my dying body. I grabbed a jagged, broken shard of a champagne flute from the nearest table, and violently jammed it directly into my own jugular. “Scarlett—!!” Joseph let out a sound that didn’t even sound human. I looked at him, gave him a bloody, triumphant smile, and sliced deep. Hot blood sprayed like a fountain across his immaculate white shirt. In the final second before my vision faded to black, looking at his completely destroyed, hysterical face, I felt nothing but the pure, intoxicating euphoria of revenge. Die. Once I was dead, I would never have to be his “perfect wife” ever again.

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1 When the condemned building collapsed, trapping Grandma inside, I called Jefferson twenty-nine times. Before the ceiling caved in, she’d managed to toss a knitted scarf through the rubble. “Avery, stop fighting with Jefferson over me,” she’d wheezed. “Give him this. Tell him I’m sorry for being an old fool, always causing trouble.” On the thirtieth try, he finally answered, voice dripping with impatience. “Avery, cut the dramatics. Stella’s real estate firm is facing a massive lawsuit. I’m drowning in her PR nightmare. Can your grandmother’s petty relocation dispute wait until tomorrow?” I stood before the mountain of concrete and twisted metal, icy rain slamming my face. “Jefferson. I don’t have a grandmother anymore.” A harsh scoff echoed through the receiver. “Here we go again. No shame, making up lies to force me home?” Right before he hung up, I heard Stella’s soft, trembling voice in the background. “Jefferson, they’re pressing charges. Will I go to prison? I’m so scared…” His tone shifted instantly, ice melting into pure, protective warmth. “Don’t panic. I’m the best corporate defense attorney in this city. I will never let anything happen to you.” The line went dead. I stood frozen in the rain, realizing our marriage was exactly like that hollowed-out building. The exterior looked intact, but the inside had collapsed long ago. … Jefferson finally came home. He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, his hair styled to perfection. He dropped his leather briefcase onto the sofa, radiating the arrogant aura of an untouchable elite lawyer. When he saw me shoving my clothes into a suitcase, his brows pulled together in a deep frown. “What exactly are you doing?” I folded a jacket and placed it neatly inside, not even bothering to look up at him. “Packing. We’re getting a divorce.” The room fell dead silent for two seconds. Jefferson strode over, snatched the jacket right out of my hands, and threw it hard onto the floor. “Are you done throwing this tantrum, Avery? Once I clear up Stella’s legal mess tomorrow, I will carve out some time next week to look into your grandmother’s housing dispute. Can you just be patient for five minutes?” I stared down at the black and white geometric rug beneath my feet. “There’s no need.” I unzipped the front pocket of my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I had already drafted, and handed them to him. Jefferson didn’t even read the cover page. He ripped the stack of papers in half, then into quarters, and threw them into the air. The shredded paper drifted to the hardwood floor like dirty snow. “Is this really necessary?” His voice spiked with anger. “First you lie about your grandmother dying, and now you’re throwing this childish fit. Can you just grow up? Look at Stella. Her entire family legacy is on the verge of collapse, but she isn’t screaming or making a scene. You can’t even compare to her. At least Stella doesn’t use her own family’s life as a cheap threat.” I opened my mouth to speak, but the exhaustion hit my bones. Defending myself felt utterly pointless. His phone buzzed. Jefferson glanced at the caller ID, and his entire demeanor softened. When he answered, his voice was pure velvet. “Stella, what’s wrong?” Stella’s tearful voice bled through the speaker, loud enough for me to hear from three feet away. “Jefferson, those rioters are back at the office. I’m terrified. They’re screaming that they want a life for a life. Can you please hurry?” “Don’t be scared. I’m on my way.” Jefferson ended the call. He grabbed his coat, turning back to glare at me one last time. “See? Stella is facing an actual crisis, but she just sheds a few tears, gathers herself, and stays strong. And speaking of her crisis, your grandmother’s little relocation dispute is exactly the same thing. It’s just a bunch of greedy squatters trying to extort more hush money. The people terrorizing Stella today are exactly like your grandmother. They get a free relocation apartment, decide it isn’t luxurious enough, and greedily demand more.” “It’s disgusting. Don’t bring your grandmother up to me again. Whenever I think of her, I just think of those extorting parasites.” The front door slammed shut. He was gone. I stood alone in the living room, staring blankly at the torn paper scattered across the rug. My grandmother’s issue had absolutely nothing to do with wanting more money. The developer had demolished her old neighborhood and promised her a brand-new unit with a clean title. But when the keys were handed over, what she got was a death trap. There was no property deed. The foundation was sinking, the load-bearing walls were spiderwebbed with massive cracks, and the entire high-rise didn’t even have a fire escape. It was a shoddy, illegal construction project. A literal house of cards. I had begged Jefferson to look at her case so many times. Every single time, he brushed me off, claiming he would “review the files later.” I had placed those legal documents on his mahogany desk at least ten times. He never opened them. Not once. But whenever Stella needed a favor, no matter how trivial, he dropped everything to play her knight in shining armor. I realized, with a numb sort of clarity, that I had made a terrible mistake marrying him. I printed a new copy of the divorce agreement. Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs at my newly rented apartment, my phone rang. “Avery, have you lost your mind?” Jefferson snarled through the receiver. “You actually showed up at my law firm to draft a divorce settlement? You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Trying to humiliate me, letting my entire partner board know my marriage is a joke. Your toxic behavior needs to stop!” I couldn’t be bothered to argue. I simply hung up. My new place was tiny. Just one bedroom and a small living area on the sixth floor of a walk-up building. But the windows faced south, and the afternoon sun poured in beautifully. I took the grey, crookedly stitched scarf my grandmother had thrown from the rubble and draped it over my headboard. It still smelled like her. Like lavender soap and old paper. It anchored my completely shattered heart. A few days later, I called the city’s disaster cleanup crew to ask when I could collect my grandmother’s recovered belongings. The clerk checked the system and replied, “Ms. Avery, we already shipped the box. It was sent to the residential address listed on your ID.” The address on my ID. The house I used to share with Jefferson. My stomach dropped. I tried calling Jefferson, but he immediately sent me to voicemail. Panic clawed at my throat. I flagged a cab and rushed back across town. When I unlocked the front door, the living room was empty. But I heard noise coming from the master bedroom. I walked down the hall and froze. Stella was standing in the middle of my bedroom. She was holding my grandmother’s antique wooden lockbox, casually turning it upside down over the floor. Everything spilled out in a chaotic clatter. My grandmother’s reading glasses. Her battered savings passbook. Faded polaroids from her youth. And an antique silver bangle she had treasured for decades, saving it to give to me on my wedding day. “What the hell are you doing?” My voice was tight, scraping against my throat. Stella turned around. When she saw me, a smug little smirk played on her lips. “Oh, you’re back? I’m just doing you a favor and clearing out some space. All this hoarding is really ruining the aesthetic of the room.” As she spoke, she picked the antique silver bangle up from the rug, tossing it carelessly in her palm. “What even is this junk? Cheap silver? You couldn’t pay a pawn shop to take this.” “Put it down.” “Why so aggressive?” Stella giggled, completely unbothered. “I’m literally throwing out your trash for you. You should be thanking me.” She casually tossed the bangle over her shoulder. It hit the drywall with a sharp, metallic crack, then bounced onto the hardwood floor, splitting cleanly into two jagged halves. “Stop it!” I lunged forward and shoved her hard by the shoulder. Stella stumbled backward, her hip bumping against the edge of the wardrobe. Instantly, her eyes filled with theatrical tears, and her voice pitched up into a fragile squeak. “Did you just hit me?” A second later, a stinging slap connected with my cheek. The force was brutal. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing with a high-pitched whine. Jefferson was standing in the doorway. He pulled Stella into his chest, glaring at me with absolute fury. I held my burning cheek, pointing a shaking finger at the scattered mess on the floor. “She destroyed my grandmother’s belongings.” Jefferson glanced down at the broken pieces of silver. His expression didn’t even flicker. He bent down, picked up the broken halves, and dropped them into the trash can next to the dresser. “It’s a piece of junk. Are you really going to act like a lunatic over this?” Watching him throw the bangle into the garbage, something inside me completely snapped. My nose burned, and my vision blurred with hot tears. “Those were her dying possessions. They were the only pieces of her I had left. Why are you two so evil?” Jefferson’s frown deepened. “If your grandmother is actually dead, then why hasn’t it been on the news? A building collapse is a massive tragedy. You don’t think the media would cover it?” I furiously wiped my tears away. I dug into my purse, pulled out the official coroner’s death certificate, and shoved it at his chest. “Is this the proof you need, Jefferson?” “The story was obviously buried. If you actually bothered to look into it, you would know.” Stella leaned over his arm to glance at the paper. She let out a mocking laugh. “Jefferson, look at it. It’s obviously forged. Who carries a fake death certificate around in their purse? She pre-printed this just to manipulate you.” Jefferson took the certificate. He stared at it. Then he looked at it again. For a split second, I thought the reality had finally pierced his thick skull. Instead, he slapped the paper down onto the nightstand. “Avery, clean up this mess on the floor right now. If you keep using these psychotic, fabricated lies to get my attention, I will actually sign those divorce papers.” Stella leaned her head against his shoulder, her voice dropping into a pitiful whisper. “Jefferson, my hip really hurts where she pushed me. Can we just go? I don’t feel safe here.” Jefferson wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her out. Right before he crossed the threshold, he threw a final order over his shoulder. “Clean this up. The house looks like a dumpster.” My heart turned into an absolute wasteland. I knelt on the floor. One of the lenses on my grandmother’s reading glasses was shattered. I picked up her passbook. Her monthly pension was barely a few hundred dollars. She had saved every penny for six years, hoarding a little over five thousand dollars. She used to tell me she was saving that money to give as a red envelope to my future child. I picked up her photo. It was taken last Christmas. She was wearing her red winter coat, the wrinkles on her face deep and kind. I pressed the photograph against my cheek. I remembered how she raised me single-handedly, working her fingers to the bone to pay for my college tuition, never complaining a single time. I took a shaky breath. I made a vow. Even if it was the last time I ever spoke to Jefferson, I was going to use him to get justice for her. I went back to my new apartment and dug out the thick manila folder containing all of my grandmother’s evidence against the developer. Flipping to the corporate registry page, I stared at the name of the parent company. Summerset Development Corporation. Summerset. Stella Summerset. My finger stalled on the page. Then, I turned it over. I took the file straight to Jefferson’s office. His massive desk was buried under case files. When he saw me walk in, his brow furrowed out of pure habit. “Why are you here?” I dropped the heavy folder right onto his desk and looked him dead in the eye. “I am only going to ask you this one last time. Are you going to help me or not?” Jefferson opened his mouth, clearly ready to reject me. I could literally see the word “no” forming on his lips. But he glanced down at the folder. He pulled the documents out. When his eyes hit the page listing the developer’s details, he froze. Then, in a completely unprecedented move, he agreed. “Alright.” His tone was bizarrely gentle, almost coaxing. “I’ll handle this case for you. I know I haven’t been fair lately, ignoring her situation. Give me a few days, and I’ll go with you to visit your grandmother, okay? I’ll apologize to her face-to-face.” I stared at him, a sickening, twisted feeling rising in my throat. Even now, he genuinely believed she was still alive. Whatever. I didn’t have the energy to explain it to him anymore. As long as he used his legal weight to crush the developer and get justice for my grandmother, that was all that mattered. Once the lawsuit was filed, I would sign the divorce papers and vanish from his life. He could walk his golden path, and I would walk my ruined one. We would never cross paths again. I gave a curt nod. “Fine. I’m leaving it to you.” Jefferson smiled faintly, sliding the manila folder into his locked desk drawer. “Be a good girl and leave it to me.” But over the next three weeks, whenever I texted him for an update on the filing, he deflected. He kept stalling. I knew something was wrong. Jefferson was an apex predator in the legal world. He never took more than a week to transition a case from intake to a formal lawsuit. If he was stalling, it meant he had no intention of doing it at all. I decided to follow him. I sat in a parked rental car across the street from Stella’s luxury condo. I watched Jefferson walk out of her lobby, carrying the exact same manila folder I had given him. He got into the driver’s seat of his Mercedes. Stella slipped into the passenger side, laughing brightly. Jefferson must have forgotten something crucial. Months ago, after a string of break-ins in our old neighborhood, I had installed a hidden audio-monitoring dashcam in his car that synced directly to my phone. Now, I opened the app. Through the static, Stella’s excited voice rang out crystal clear. “Thank you so much, Jefferson. With this evidence shredded, I don’t have to be scared anymore.” I heard the sound of Jefferson gently ruffling her hair. “Yeah. You can sleep easy tonight.” My legs gave out. I collapsed against the steering wheel. Jefferson’s soft laughter filtered through the speaker. The afternoon sun was blinding, but I felt like I was drowning in ice water. So that was it. He never intended to help me. He just wanted to con me out of the original evidence so he could hand it directly to Stella. From the very beginning, his only priority was protecting her. I got out of my car and marched up to his Mercedes, rapping my knuckles hard against the tinted glass. Jefferson and Stella both jumped. Jefferson rolled the window down, his face tight with shock. “Avery? What are you doing here?” I ignored him, my eyes locked on the manila folder in Stella’s lap. “Give me my documents back.” Stella instinctively shoved the folder behind her back, her face morphing from shock into wide-eyed innocence. “Documents? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “My grandmother’s legal files. Hand them over.” Jefferson unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, physically blocking my path to Stella. “Avery, drop it.” The pain in my chest was so sharp I could barely breathe. “You stole my grandmother’s evidence to give to her. What the hell is wrong with you?” Jefferson let out a heavy, patronizing sigh, talking to me like I was an irrational toddler. “Avery, you need to listen to me. This case is infinitely more complicated than you think. Stella’s corporation is in the middle of a massive restructuring. They cannot afford a fatal negligence scandal right now. I’ve already negotiated with her. She is going to write your grandmother a massive settlement check. It’s more money than you could spend in a lifetime.” “A settlement?” I stared at him, genuinely doubting my own sanity. “Jefferson, do you have any idea what kind of building they built? It was a condemned death trap! My grandmother died crushed under that concrete! And you want me to take hush money?!” “Calm down,” Jefferson snapped, his patience fraying. “Stop using such dramatic language. I’ve personally reviewed the blueprints for Stella’s project. The permits were legal, the quality passed inspection. If that specific building failed, it was a localized issue with the sub-contractors. It has absolutely no direct connection to Stella’s family.” “No direct connection? Their corporate seal is stamped on the contract! Are you insane?” Jefferson’s face hardened into pure disgust. “Avery, cut the crap. You just want a payout. I’ll get Stella to cut the check. What’s your price? Half a million? A million? Just name a number and walk away.” “I don’t want her dirty money. I’m calling the police.” I pulled my phone out and started dialing. Jefferson lunged forward and snatched the phone violently out of my hand. His voice was laced with venom. “Avery, don’t push your luck. Stella’s family finally has this PR nightmare under control. Are you really trying to bankrupt an innocent girl just because you’re bitter? Let me make this crystal clear: her company does not build shoddy structures. This is a targeted smear campaign against her. Your grandmother just had bad luck. The building just happened to collapse.” Just happened to. Bad luck. I stared at the man I had married. It felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. A heavy, absolute exhaustion washed over me. But strangely, the exhaustion brought clarity. I reached into my bag, pulled out the folded divorce agreement, and threw it directly at his chest. “Keep the settlement money. We are getting a divorce.” Jefferson caught the paper, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “You carry this around with you just so you can use it to threaten me every time you don’t get your way?” He pulled a silver pen from his breast pocket, clicked it, and aggressively signed his name. “Fine. We’re done. Let’s see how long you survive out there.” I reached out to grab the signed document, but his hand shot out, his fingers locking around my wrist like a vice. “Avery, you better think this through. Without me, you have absolutely nothing. No job, no house, no savings. How exactly do you plan on feeding yourself?” “Let go of me.” “I am telling you, outside of this marriage, you are a nobody.” “I said, let go.” His grip tightened painfully, his knuckles turning white. I yanked my arm back with everything I had. He violently shoved me away. I stumbled backward in my heels. My lower back slammed brutally against the sharp metal corner of a city trash can. A blinding flash of agony ripped through my spine. The world tilted, and I crashed heavily onto the concrete pavement. Jefferson looked down at me. He didn’t even twitch to help me up. He just turned around, grabbed Stella’s hand, and sneered. “Let’s go. Leave her to her theatrics.” Stella glanced back at me through the window, a victorious little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. The Mercedes roared to life and sped off, leaving me completely alone. I lay curled on the pavement. A violent, tearing cramp seized my lower abdomen. A thick, terrifying warmth began pooling down my thighs. I reached down with a trembling hand. My fingers came back coated in bright, sticky red. Right before the darkness swallowed me, only one thought echoed in my fading consciousness. Jefferson. Whatever love tied us together is dead. It died today, right alongside my grandmother and my unborn child. From this day until my last, you are nothing but a ghost to me.

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I was a corporate drone who stayed up every night grinding code — and sure enough, I dropped dead at my desk. When I opened my eyes again, I was a stray black cat, cornered by a group of punks who were beating the hell out of me. It was Yolanda who grabbed a broom and fought like her life depended on it to bring me home. She was a woman who’d had it hard her whole life — up before dawn, pinching every penny — and somehow she’d raised a son who was pure evil. To pay off two million dollars in gambling debts, that monster teamed up with a vicious caretaker to steal the deed to her house and use it as collateral. He even planned to sell his own mother to some creep as a bride for one million dollars. I was so furious I unsheathed my claws on the spot and raked his face into a bloody mess. If fate gave me a second chance at life, and put someone as good as Yolanda in my path, there was no way I was going to stand by and do nothing. So what if I’m a cat? Even as a cat, I’ll make sure every last one of these monsters ends up behind bars.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest. The computer screen in front of me blurred and swam. I didn’t even have time to call for help before I crashed face-first onto my keyboard. Seventy-two hours of straight overtime. I was a thirty-two-year-old game developer, and just like that — I was dead. When I came back to consciousness, cold rain was hammering down on my face without mercy. I tried to stand, but something was completely wrong with the way my limbs connected to the ground. I looked down. I had four fuzzy black legs. And a tail that was swinging around like it had a mind of its own. I had turned into a black cat. Before I could even begin to process the shock of being reborn, a burst of cruel laughter rang out above me. “That black cat looks like bad luck. Let’s just kill it.” Three punks with bleached rainbow hair were closing in on me, rusty iron rods swinging in their hands, backing me into a dead-end alley one step at a time. My instincts screamed at me to run — but a white-hot bolt of pain shot through my back leg. It was already broken. Had been before they even showed up. The iron rod came whistling down through the air. I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, out of nowhere, a battered old broom swung in from the side and cracked hard across one of the punks’ arms. “Back off! You little thugs — what kind of tough guys beat up a helpless little creature?!” I opened my eyes. Standing in front of me was a hunched old woman with white-streaked hair. She was wearing a faded blue jacket, worn soft from too many washes, and she had both hands locked around that broom like she was ready to go to war. She planted herself between me and the punks like a mother hen shielding her chick. The punks were rattled by how fearless she was. They cursed under their breath and took off. The old woman dropped the broom and crouched down, her face full of worry. She scooped me up with her rough, warm hands and held me against her chest. “Poor little thing. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” She smelled faintly of soap. In that moment, something shifted in my chest — a heart that had gone cold after years in the corporate grind suddenly felt warm again. The old woman’s name was Yolanda. She was sixty-five years old. Her home was in a run-down old residential complex. The apartment was small and worn, but she kept it spotless. She dried me off carefully with a clean towel, then used a few small pieces of wood to splint my broken back leg. “You’re as black as a little lump of coal. I’ll call you Cole.” She brought out a bowl of warm goat’s milk and a piece of plain boiled chicken breast — no salt. I ate like I hadn’t eaten in years. I nearly cried into the bowl. When I was alive, I lived on takeout every single day. Now that I was a cat, I was finally getting a real home-cooked meal. The next afternoon, two uninvited guests showed up. A man in a knockoff designer suit, and a woman wearing enough makeup to paint a wall. The man was Yolanda’s son — Ethan. The woman was the so-called “professional caretaker” he’d hired — really just his girlfriend — named Ava. “Mom, what’s that smell in here? Did you seriously bring a mangy cat home? That’s disgusting.” The second Ava walked through the door, she was pinching her nose and curling her lip. She gave my little cat bed a kick with her foot. I bared my teeth at her and let out a low growl from the back of my throat. Yolanda quickly scooped me up and smiled apologetically. “Cole is very clean, I promise. Ethan, you haven’t been back in three months — let me run to the market and grab some pork belly. I’ll make you vegetable stew you love, okay?” Ethan waved her off like she was bothering him. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Go ahead. I could use some time to rest anyway.” I watched Yolanda head out the door with her shopping basket, a happy little spring in her step. And a deep, uneasy feeling settled in my gut. These two had shifty eyes and rotten smiles. They weren’t here for anything good.

Sure enough, the second Yolanda was out the door, Ethan’s whole face changed. He shoved open the bedroom door and started tearing through everything like a burglar — yanking open drawers, rifling through cabinets. “Hurry up and find it! Where did that old woman hide the property deed?” Ava was rummaging through the closet alongside him, complaining as she searched. “Ethan, you lost another eight hundred thousand at the casino last night. With the interest from before, that’s a two-million-dollar hole you’re in! The loan sharks said if you don’t pay up in three days, they’re cutting off your hands!” I crouched on top of the wardrobe, every hair on my body standing on end. Two million in gambling debts?! Ethan was sweating buckets. He finally dug out a little red booklet from an old cookie tin under the bed. “Found it!” His eyes lit up. “So what?” Ava rolled her eyes. “This dump is worth maybe a million and a half, tops. That’s still five hundred thousand short. And besides, you need the old woman to sign off on the transfer. You really think she’s going to agree to sell the only thing she has left?” Ethan let out a cold laugh, a vicious gleam flashing in his eyes. “I already had someone forge a power of attorney. We’ll use it as collateral directly. As for the rest of the gap…” He paused, lowering his voice. “Winston’s been looking for a woman to take care of him, hasn’t he?” Ava sucked in a sharp breath. “That Winston who owns the logistics company? He’s a psycho. He put his last two wives in the hospital.” “So?” Ethan spat without a care. “He’s willing to pay a million for a diamond ring. My mom’s healthy enough. She can survive a few years of his abuse. By the time he beats her to death, our debt’s cleared and we’ll have cash left over to go win it back in Las Vegas!” My mind went completely blank. Was he even human?! Yolanda had worked three jobs a day when she was young just to put him through college. She’d ruined her health doing it. And now he wanted to sell his own mother to a violent, twisted old man just to pay off his gambling debts. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I launched myself off the top of the wardrobe like a bolt of lightning. “MRROOWW—!” I raked my claws hard across Ethan’s face, leaving three deep gashes in an instant. “AHHH! What the hell?! Where did this crazy cat come from?!” Ethan screamed and drove his foot into my stomach. I went flying and slammed into the wall. It felt like every organ in my body had been knocked loose. Ava grabbed a clothes rack nearby and swung it at me with pure hatred. “I’ll kill this little beast!” Just at that critical moment, the front door clicked open. Yolanda walked in carrying heavy grocery bags. Ethan moved fast, shoving the property deed into his inner pocket. Ava quickly tossed the clothes rack behind her back. “What’s going on in here? Ethan, why is your face bleeding?” Yolanda dropped her groceries in a panic and rushed over. “Mom! This crazy cat you picked up just went berserk and attacked me!” Ethan covered his face, playing the victim before anyone else could speak. “A thing like this is nothing but trouble. Get rid of it now!” Yolanda turned to look at me. I was slumped in the corner. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, and the splint on my broken leg had come apart. I was shaking all over from the pain. Her eyes filled with tears. She rushed over and pulled me tightly into her arms. “Cole would never bite someone for no reason. Did you two hit him?” The moment Ethan heard that, he exploded. “Oh, that’s great! You’d rather believe a stray cat than your own son?! Fine! You can spend the rest of your life with your precious cat!” He stormed out in a rage, yanking Ava along with him and slamming the door behind them. I bit down on Yolanda’s pant leg as hard as I could, trying to drag her toward the ransacked area under the bed. I needed her to know. Your property deed is gone. Your son is going to sell you off. But no matter how hard I tried, all that came out were weak little meows. Yolanda thought I was frightened. She stroked my back gently. “It’s okay, little Cole. Grandma’s got you.” I buried my face in her palm, a wave of helplessness washing over me. I was a cat. I couldn’t even open my mouth to warn the person who had saved me. But I swore to myself — I was not going to let those two get away with it.

Three days later, Ethan came back with armfuls of expensive health supplements and a smile plastered across his face. Yolanda, soft-hearted as ever, melted the moment she saw her son making peace. She got busy putting together a full spread on the dinner table. At dinner, Ethan kept that wide smile going. “Mom, I’m sorry about how I acted before. Don’t hold it against me. Actually, I came today because I have some great news to share.” I sat stiff on the chair, every muscle in my body coiled tight. Here it comes. This monster is about to make his move. “Mom, you’ve had a hard life, and it breaks my heart. I found someone for you — a good match. His name is Winston. He runs a logistics company.” Yolanda’s fork froze in midair. She stared at him, speechless. “Ethan, what the hell are you talking about? Mom is sixty-five years old — who’s she supposed to be getting married off to?” Ethan set down his fork, a cold smile plastered on his face. “Mom, Winston is loaded. He’s got a huge mansion. You’d be living the easy life. Besides, he already gave me the engagement ring — worth a full million dollars.” Yolanda’s face went pale in an instant, her lips trembling violently. “You… you took his valuable gift ? You’re selling your own mother!” “Mom! Don’t make it sound so ugly!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table, dropping all pretense. “I’m doing this for you!” “I won’t go! I’d rather die than go!” Yolanda shot to her feet, tears streaming down her face. Ethan let out a cold laugh and pulled a document from his bag, slapping it down on the table. “You don’t have a choice. I’ve already transferred the house into my name. If you don’t marry Winston like a good woman, I’ll sell it tomorrow and leave you out on the street.” “You—” Yolanda pointed at him, choked on her own breath, and collapsed straight backward. I let out a sharp cry and lunged at Ethan, sinking my teeth hard into his wrist. “Stupid cat! Get off me!” He flung me away without even glancing at his unconscious mother, then said coldly, “Winston’s driver will be here tomorrow to pick you up. You’d better have your things packed.” With that, he walked out the door. I frantically licked Yolanda’s cheek, trying to bring her around. It took a long time before she slowly opened her eyes. The house was hollow and still. Dead silent. She didn’t cry. She just walked quietly to the bedside and pulled open the drawer where she kept the property deed. Empty. She took out an old photo album next — filled with pictures of Ethan from childhood to adulthood. There was one of him riding on his father’s shoulders. Another of him holding his college acceptance letter, grinning wide. Yolanda’s thin, bony fingers traced the face of that bright-smiling boy. Then she grabbed the photo and tore it. Rip. One. Two. Three. She tore every single photo to pieces — shredding them like she was shredding every ounce of love and hope she’d poured into him over a lifetime. “Cole,” she said, her voice rough as sandpaper, “we don’t have a home anymore.” She didn’t wait for Winston’s driver the next morning. That same night, she dug out an old canvas bag and packed nothing but a few changes of clothes and my cat food. The expensive supplements sitting on the table — she didn’t even look at them. Outside, the wind was fierce, carrying a fine, cold autumn rain. Yolanda — sixty-five years old — walked out into the dark with a worn bag on her back and a black cat in her arms, never once looking back. Her figure was bent and small, but every step she took was absolutely certain.

We wandered the streets all night. By the time dawn broke, we found ourselves at the entrance of an alley in the old part of town — and that’s where we met Linda, who was out running a street sweeper along the road. Linda was the warm-hearted type. One look at Yolanda’s lips, blue from the cold, and she immediately brought us inside her home. When she heard what had happened, Linda exploded. She cursed up a storm and spat on the ground in disgust. “What kind of monster does that?! That’s lower than dirt! Don’t you worry — I’ve got a storage room out back that’s just sitting empty. You can fix it up and stay there as long as you need. No rent.” Yolanda was deeply grateful, but she was a proud woman at her core. She insisted on paying monthly rent, no matter what. The storage room was tiny — dark, damp, with nothing but a hard cot inside. But every night, I curled up at her feet and pressed my warm, furry body against her to keep her from getting cold. As long as she was there, it was home. Once they’d settled in, Yolanda started thinking about how to make a living. Her family had been known for their handmade pizza for generations. She’d grown up watching and learning, and she made an incredible pizza — and her hot dogs were just as good. With the little money she had left, she bought an second-hand oven and some ingredients. Before long, the tiny storage room was filled with a warm, sweet smell. I’d sit on the edge of the counter and watch her knead the dough. Any rat or cockroach that dared come within a foot of the food got a swift paw to the face — no mercy. I was her black knight. It was my job. The first batch of pizzas came out golden and crisp, steaming hot, smelling absolutely amazing. Yolanda wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled — the first real smile she’d had in days. The next morning, Yolanda pushed a borrowed old cart to the entrance of the subway station. The early winter wind cut at her face like a blade. The morning rush crowd moved fast, everyone hurrying off to their nine-to-fives. Hardly anyone stopped to give a second glance to an old woman’s little food stand. Day after day, business was slow. The pizza had gone cold and been reheated so many times that Yolanda’s eyes had slowly lost their light. That evening, the sky hung low and gray, threatening rain. A young girl in a trench coat stumbled up to the stall, looking completely lost. Her name was Nicole — a micro-influencer who made food review content. She had refused to sleep with her agency’s boss, and in retaliation, he’d forced her out of her contract. Not only did she lose her job, but the account she’d spent years building — millions of followers — was shamelessly stolen by the company. She stood in the wind, tears streaming down her face. I sensed her despair immediately. That suffocating feeling of being abandoned by the entire world — I knew it all too well from my past life. I jumped down from the tricycle, walked over to her feet, and gently wrapped my tail around her ankle, purring softly. Nicole froze for a moment, then crouched down and stroked my head. “Little black cat,” she whispered through her tears, “did you lose your home too?” Seeing this, Yolanda wrapped a warm slice of pizza in wax paper and held it out to her. “Girl, no matter how hard things get, you still need to eat. Something sweet will take the edge off the pain. Take it — no charge.” Nicole’s hands trembled as she took the pizza and bit into it. The soft, pillowy dough, the creamy richness of the melted cheese, and that rare, simple warmth she hadn’t felt in so long — it shattered every wall she’d built around herself. She crouched right there on the side of the road and sobbed, loud and ugly, not caring how she looked. Yolanda didn’t ask a single question. She just quietly patted Nicole’s back, the way you would comfort your own child.

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At twenty-eight, I was waiting tables at a restaurant when a lawyer in a black suit suddenly stepped in front of me and handed me an inheritance document worth fifty million dollars. It was left by a grandfather I had never once met. I thought maybe fate was finally cutting me a break — that my four-year-old son Leo and I could finally live like normal people. But that night, Leo clutched my leg with both arms, pointed at a water stain that had appeared out of nowhere on the ceiling, and sobbed like his heart was breaking: “Mommy, that boy — the one soaking wet — he says if we take the money, we’re both going to die…” I snapped my head up. A single drop of ice-cold water fell and hit me right between the eyes. It was ten o’clock at night. The restaurant had just closed. I was rubbing my aching back, getting ready to haul out the last bucket of kitchen slop. A man with a briefcase and gold-rimmed glasses appeared in the back kitchen doorway, blocking my path. “Ashley Miller?” He held out a business card. It had the name of some high-end law firm printed on it. I took a cautious step back, still gripping my dirty rag. “You’ve got the wrong person. I need to get back to work.” “Theodore Miller passed away three days ago.” The lawyer pushed his glasses up, his expression blank. “He owned an estate in the western suburbs and a fifty-million-dollar trust fund. Under the terms of his will, you are the sole legal heiress.” My head started buzzing. Theodore Miller. The old man who thought my mom wasn’t good enough, who pressured my dad into divorcing her, and who slowly drove her into depression until it killed her. I had never laid eyes on him my entire life. All I remembered was my mom on her deathbed, gripping my hand so tight her bony fingers left marks in my skin. “Ashy, don’t touch a single thing from the Miller family. Not one cent. It’s dirty. It destroys people.” I took a slow, deep breath and threw the rag into the sink. “I don’t know anyone named Theodore Miller. I don’t want the money. Please leave.” The lawyer didn’t look surprised. He pulled a thick stack of documents from his bag and pressed it into my arms. “Ms. Miller, I’ve already signed on your behalf. Theodore Miller’s instructions were clear — you have to accept this. Everything goes into effect tomorrow.” He didn’t give me a chance to argue. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark. I stood there holding the heavy documents, my hands and feet gone cold. By the time I got back to the basement apartment I rented, it was almost midnight. The place never got any sunlight. The air always smelled faintly of mold. My four-year-old, Leo, was sitting quietly on the fold-out bed, playing with a beat-up Ultraman toy. When he saw me come in, he scrambled off the bed on his little legs and threw himself into my arms. “Mommy, you’re home!” I held him tight, breathing in the faint milky smell of him, and felt the strange dread in my chest ease just a little. I tossed the documents onto the table and went to heat up some water so Leo could wash his face. But the moment I turned around, Leo screamed. “Ahhh—!” It was pure terror in his voice. It hit me like a needle straight to the eardrum. I spun around. Leo was staring up at the ceiling, his little finger pointing, his whole body shaking like a leaf. “Mommy… water… so much water…” I looked where he was pointing. Sometime in the last few minutes, a large dark-yellow water stain had spread across the ceiling of the basement. It was still growing, like something was slowly seeping through from above. Drip. A drop of water hit the floor near Leo’s feet. Leo suddenly threw his arms around my leg and buried his face in my pants, his voice going strange and high: “Mommy, that boy is crying… He says he’s so cold… He says if we take the money, we’re both going to die…” Every hair on my body stood up. Above the basement was the building’s garden courtyard. There were no water pipes up there. Where was the water coming from? What boy? I scooped Leo up into my arms, my voice shaking. “Leo, don’t scare me like that. What boy?” Leo squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face, his little fists twisting tight into my collar. “The boy in the school uniform… he’s soaking wet… he’s standing right behind you…” My breath stopped. A wave of cold hit my back — deep, bone-level cold, like someone had just been pulled out of icy water and was standing pressed against my spine.

Run. That was the only thought in my head. I didn’t even stop to change my clothes. I grabbed my phone and ID card off the table, held Leo tight against my chest, and ran. The hallway lights in the basement corridor flickered on and off. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears like a drum. Drip. Drip. The sound of water hitting the floor followed right behind me. I didn’t look back. I ran like I’d lost my mind, out of the basement and onto the street. The streets were deserted at this hour. A cold gust of wind hit me, and I realized my clothes were soaked through with sweat. Leo was slumped against my shoulder, no longer crying, but her small body was still trembling uncontrollably. I pulled out my phone to call a ride. The screen had barely lit up when an unknown number came through. My hand jerked. I answered. A man’s voice came through the line — low and threatening. “Ashley. That was fast.” My blood ran cold. It was my cousin from my uncle’s side of the family, Mason Miller. Years ago, when my mom and I were thrown out of the Miller family, Mason had been right there, watching with a smirk on his face like it was entertainment. “Mason. What do you want?” I said through gritted teeth. “What do I want? You’re a bastard child. What gives you the right to claim fifty million from Grandpa’s estate?” He let out a cold laugh. “I’m telling you — hand over that document, or I promise neither you nor that little bastard of yours makes it through tonight.” “I don’t want the inheritance! Split it among yourselves!” “Cut the crap! You already signed it — legally, you’re the heiress now! Where are you? I’m coming to find you right now!” I hung up and immediately powered off my phone. We couldn’t stay here. The Miller family had deep roots in this city, and Mason was the kind of guy who didn’t play by any rules. He kept a crew of hired muscle on his payroll. If he found us, Leo and I were finished. I held Leo close and flagged down a taxi with its light on at the curb. “To the train station — as fast as you can!” The driver was a middle-aged man. One look at my face and he didn’t ask a single question — he just floored it. The city lights blurred past the window. I let out a shaky breath and looked down at Leo. He was staring straight at the window, wide eyes fixed on the glass. “Leo? What’s wrong?” I reached up and touched his head. He turned to look at me. His eyes were completely blank. Distant. That was not the look of a four-year-old. He opened his mouth. What came out was low, hoarse — rough in a way that didn’t belong to a child’s voice at all. “He’s coming after us.” My whole body went cold. “Leo, say something — don’t scare Mommy like that!” I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. No response. He just turned back to the window and stared. I followed his gaze. In the rearview mirror, a black SUV was tailing us like a predator locked onto prey. The high beams were blinding. It was Mason’s car.

“He’s chasing us — please, drive faster!” I shouted. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and swore under his breath. “What is this, some kind of movie? Hold on tight!” The cab tore through the empty streets. But the SUV was faster. It was closing in. Bang. The SUV slammed into our rear bumper. The impact threw me forward. I threw my arms around Leo and held on. The driver panicked. He yanked the wheel, and the cab skidded off the road and crashed into the landscaped median, screeching to a stop. Before I could even catch my breath, the door was ripped open from outside. Mason stood there — thick-necked, heavy-faced, gripping a baseball bat. Two built guys flanked him from behind. “Go ahead and run! Keep running!” He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me out of the car. “Mommy!” Leo screamed from inside. I fought back as hard as I could and sank my teeth into Mason’s wrist. “You little bitch!” He backhanded me across the face. Stars exploded in my vision. I tasted blood at the corner of my mouth. The two men shoved into the car and yanked Leo out by force. “Don’t touch my son!” I lunged at them like a woman possessed — and Mason drove his boot into my stomach. I crumpled to the ground, gasping. The driver scrambled out of the car and bolted. He wasn’t going to stick around for this. Mason crouched down and grabbed my hair again, wrenching my head up to face him. “Ashley. You want to do this the hard way? Fine. Where’s the document?” “I don’t have it — I left it at home!” I lied, struggling to breathe. Mason let out a cold laugh and pulled the inheritance document from his jacket pocket, slapping it against my face. “You think I’m blind? Back at the basement door, didn’t I see this drop right on the floor?” My stomach dropped. I’d been running too fast. It must have slipped out. “Since I’ve got the document, you’re coming with me tonight to sign the transfer agreement.” Mason straightened up and jerked his chin at the two men. “Put them in the car.” I was shoved into the back seat of the SUV. Leo was huddled against me, trembling so hard he couldn’t even cry. Mason dropped into the passenger seat and lit a cigarette. “Drive. West Estate.” My head snapped up. “Why go there? You just need to sign the papers — anywhere works!” Mason blew out a slow ring of smoke and turned to look at me. There was something unsettling in his eyes — a strange, almost gleeful excitement. “Grandpa added a condition to the will. The transfer agreement has to be signed at the old house on the estate. In front of his portrait.” He let out a cold laugh. “Miserable old man, still making trouble from the grave.” The car pulled out and headed west. The sharp smell of cigarette smoke filled the cabin. I held Leo tight, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to get us out of this. Then I felt something cold on the back of my hand. A single drop of water. I blinked and looked up at the roof of the car. No leak. But I could feel it clearly — the temperature inside the car was dropping fast. The air that had been stuffy and warm just moments ago now felt like the inside of a freezer. Leo suddenly grabbed my hand. His fingers were ice cold. The kind of cold that has no life in it at all. He lifted his head and looked at Mason in the front seat. Slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled back into a smile — wide, wrong, deeply unsettling. Then he spoke in that same rough, cracking voice: “Mason. Long time no see.”

The SUV lurched sideways, nearly slamming into the guardrail. The driver wrestled the wheel with both hands, his voice shaking. “Mason — who the hell just said that?” The cigarette slipped from Mason’s fingers and landed in his lap. He yelped and shot upright. He spun around, eyes locked on me and Leo. “Ashley, what the f**k are you pulling?!” I pressed my hand over Leo’s mouth, my whole body trembling. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t say anything!” Mason’s face had gone white. For just a second, I saw something flash through his eyes — raw, genuine fear. He stared at Leo like he was looking at something that shouldn’t exist. “Mason.” The voice came again. “Don’t you remember? The lake at West Estate. The water was so cold.” Leo’s mouth hadn’t moved. But the words rang through the car, clear and unmistakable — coming from everywhere at once, from all four walls, from the air itself. Then, without any warning, rain exploded against the windows. A downpour out of nowhere. The wipers maxed out couldn’t cut through it. The road ahead disappeared. “Mason, something’s wrong with this rain — there’s fog everywhere, I can’t see a damn thing!” The driver hit the brakes. The car stopped on the winding mountain road that led to the West Estate. Everything outside was black. The headlights hit a wall of thick white fog and bounced back, casting a pale, sickly glow. The temperature kept dropping. A thin layer of frost crept across the inside of the windows. Drip. A drop of water hit the top of Mason’s head. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. When he pulled it back, his palm was smeared with dark, murky water. “What the — is this car leaking?!” The words had barely left his mouth when I looked down. The floor mats were soaked. Muddy water had pooled at our feet without either of us noticing, and it was rising — slow and steady, carrying the rotten, weedy stench of a lake bottom. “Get out! Everyone out!” Mason threw himself at the door. It didn’t move. He shoved harder. Then harder. The door held like it had been welded shut. He couldn’t budge it. The two men up front panicked, slamming their fists against the windows. “Help! Something’s wrong — the doors won’t open!” The water rose fast. In seconds it was over our ankles. I pulled Leo up onto the seat with me, pressing back as far as I could go. Leo’s eyes opened. The whites were gone. His eyes were completely black — solid, lightless, like two holes in his face. He stared straight at Mason, and when he spoke, his voice was soaked in something ancient and hateful. “Mason. When you held me under the water back then — I fought just like this.” Mason broke. He ripped a knife from his waistband, jabbed it toward Leo, and screamed. “Noah Miller! Don’t you dare try to scare me! You were a bastard — you never belonged in this family! I killed you once, and I can do it again!” Noah Miller. Something detonated in my mind. I remembered. Years ago — more than a decade — there had been an illegitimate son in the family. My uncle had fathered him with another woman. The boy had been brought to live with us eventually, but not long after, word came that he’d drowned in the lake at West Estate. An accident, they said. He’d been fifteen years old. Turns out, it wasn’t an accident. Mason had killed him!

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My brother was executed for serial murder. Then he came back — through a secret cloning program. My parents hold this “newborn” who wore the face of a monster, insisting he was a blank slate. A second chance God had given to our family. The neighbors and friends all said he was sweet and precious. They told me to let go of my hatred and accept this innocent little brother. Then, at his tenth birthday party, he leaned close to my ear and whispered in a voice identical to the one I remembered: *”Sis, want to guess who my next target is?”* — ### This is a suicide note. As I write those words, Hearing my parents leading everyone sing “Happy Birthday” song from the living room. They’re celebrating Arthur’s tenth birthday. Arthur Sterling is my brother — a serial killer who was been executed. And the boy out there is his clone. “Sophie, come out and cut the cake for your brother!” Mom called from the other side of the door, her voice carrying that familiar edge of impatience. I didn’t move. I sat on the cold floor of my bedroom, holding the phone, staring at the message my boyfriend had sent me. Liam’s a police. *”Sophie, stop being difficult. Your parents have been through enough. That kid is innocent. be more forgiving.”* *”I already picked out a gift for you. I told them it was from you. Now go out there.”* I read the message. I felt the warmth drain out of me completely. Another song ended. The living room erupted in applause and cheering. I could picture it perfectly. Arthur — the boy who wore my dead brother’s face — would be showing that angelic, unblemished smile of his, accepting everyone’s wishes. And I was the only villain. The only one in this house who played that role. Ten years ago, my nineteen-year-old brother Arthur was sentenced to death for the murders of seven young women. After he was executed, my parents aged overnight. They blamed me. They blamed me for not watching over him. They blamed me for turning on my own family — for being the one who handed the evidence to the police. In their eyes, I was the one who destroyed this family. Then, somehow, they heard about an illegal cloning program. They poured every last dollar they had into it. And they brought this new “Arthur” into the world. They told me he was a brand-new life. A blank slate. A second chance God was giving to our family. They held that tiny infant in their arms, and the look in their eyes terrified me. For ten years, they gave every drop of their love to this clone — trying to make up for everything they felt they’d “owed” the first Arthur. And I became a complete stranger in my own home. A stain that reminded them of something they’d rather forget. “Sophie! What the hell are you doing in there?! Get out here — NOW!” Dad’s voice crashed through the door. My chest tightened. I took a deep breath, got up off the floor, and opened the door. The living room blazed with light. Relatives and family friends crowded around an enormous birthday cake, every face glowing with joy. My parents stood behind Arthur, hands resting on his shoulders, like they were guarding the most precious thing in the world. When Mom saw me, her expression shifted instantly into a warm smile. She waved me over. “Sophie, come on, we’ve been waiting for you.” She crossed the room, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up to the cake. Then she pressed a knife into my hand. “You’re the big sister. You make the first cut.” I looked down at the knife. The blade caught the light. Then I looked at Arthur’s face. He was looking up at me with a smile, his big, bright eyes shining like two dark grapes. “Thank you, Sophie.” His voice was soft and sweet. The relatives murmured their approval. “Arthur gets more and more well-mannered every day.” “He really does. Sophie, look at your little brother — he’s such a good kid. It’s time to let it go, don’t you think?” My hand trembled around the handle of the knife. Only I knew what lived behind that angelic face. Because just minutes ago, while everyone was singing to him, he had walked over to me. He wrapped his arms around my legs, tilted his head back, and spoke in a voice low enough that only I could hear. “Sophie, I haven’t seen you smile in so long.” Then he rose up onto his toes and brought his lips to my ear. And in a tone that was *identical* to the one I remembered from my brother, he whispered: *”Sis, want to guess who my next target is?”* In that instant, a bone-chilling cold washed over me. Now he was looking at me, a hint of a taunting smile in his eyes. I raised the knife. Everyone thought I was going to cut the cake. Even I thought I would. But my mind went completely blank. I couldn’t think at all. I only knew one thing — I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun around and ran for the balcony. Behind me came my mom’s screams, my dad’s roar, and the gasps of the guests. I couldn’t hear any of it. I climbed over the railing and jumped. The world went very quiet in that moment. Down below, I saw my boyfriend Liam. He had just parked his car and was still holding the “gift” he’d brought for me. He looked up and saw me. His eyes filled with terror and disbelief. Then I hit the ground hard. In the last second before my consciousness faded, I thought I heard him screaming — a raw, broken sound that tore through the air. But I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I was dead. And yet I could still see everything. I floated like a wisp of air, hovering above my own body. I saw Liam rushing toward me frantically, dropping to his knees beside me. He wanted so desperately to hold me, yet he didn’t dare to even lay a finger on me. I watched my parents come rushing down from upstairs. My mom took one look at my body, and her legs gave out. She crumpled to the ground. My dad — my father, who had been strict as always — pointed at my body and started screaming. “This ungrateful little wretch! She did this on purpose, just to ruin us! A perfectly good day, and she had to come and destroy it!” I saw Arthur being held by a relative, standing at a distance. He was watching me. There wasn’t a trace of grief on his face. If anything, there was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He had won. I was dead. Now he could finally take my place completely — the one and only role of this family. — ### Chapter 2 ### My body was quickly covered with a white sheet and carried away. Liam followed in a daze, like a puppet with all the life drained out of him. My soul — or whatever was left of my consciousness — drifted along beside him without thinking. The lights at the police station were a harsh, blinding white. As my boyfriend, Liam was asked to give a statement. “Had she been acting differently lately?” the officer asked. Liam’s lips moved. It took a long moment before any sound came out, rough and hoarse. “She… she didn’t like her brother.” “You mean the clone?” “Yeah.” “Did you two ever fight about it?” Liam fell silent. I floated in front of him, watching him squeeze his eyes shut in pain. I remembered our last fight. The night before I died. I had told him I felt like something was wrong with Arthur. “The way he looks at me — it’s exactly the same as before. That look scares me,” I told him. Liam had been playing video games at the time. He didn’t even glance up. “Sophie, aren’t you being a little too sensitive? He’s ten years old. what kind of malice could he possibly have?” “You don’t get it! He’s not a normal kid! He’s *Arthur*!” I practically screamed the words. Liam finally put down the controller and looked at me with a frown. “Sophie, can we please stop bringing up the past? The dead are gone. The living have to move on. If you keep obsessing like this, you’re going to destroy all of us.” “I’m obsessing?” I was shaking with anger. “Liam, you’re my boyfriend. How can you say the exact same things they do?” “Because they’re right!” His voice rose. “You’re taking this too far! You can’t assume this Arthur is going to be like the last one just because the last one was a killer. Is that fair to a ten-year-old kid?” Fair. There it was again. Fair. But who was being fair to me? Who was being fair to all those people my age who died for nothing? I looked at him, and suddenly I felt so, so tired. “Tomorrow is his birthday. I don’t want to go,” I said. “You don’t have a choice. You’re going.” Liam’s tone left no room for argument. “Your parents have been through enough. Don’t make things harder for them. I already got a gift for you to bring. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” He thought that was love. That it was support. He didn’t know it was the last straw. Now he sat in that cold interrogation room, his face carved with regret. “We… had a fight,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “I called her obsessive… I pushed her go to the birthday party…” The officer sighed and slid a box of tissues across the table. “We’ll look into it. You should head home for now — go through her belongings, see if there’s anything that might give us a clue.” Liam walked out of the police station in a daze. He went back to the apartment we had shared. Everything was exactly as I’d left it. My slippers were still by the door. The book I hadn’t finished was still lying on the couch. Liam walked in and sat down on the sofa, pulling my favorite bunny pillow into his arms. He buried his face deep into it, his shoulders shaking violently. I hovered beside him, wanting so badly to hold him — but I could only pass right through him. He cried for a long time, until the sky began to lighten. Then, as if something suddenly hit him, he shot to his feet and rushed into my bedroom. My room was a mess. I’d left in such a hurry. He started searching through everything, like a man desperately grasping for something — anything — to hold on to. Finally, he found it under my pillow. My diary. It was the last record of my despair. Liam’s hands trembled as he opened to the first page. *October 1st. Sunny. They brought that child home today. He looks exactly like Arthur. Mom held him and cried, telling me he was our new beginning. I looked at him and felt nothing but a deep, bone-cold dread.* *December 25th. Overcast. today is Christmas Day. Liam took me shopping. He told me to look forward. But how am I supposed to look forward? Behind me is nothing but a bottomless abyss.* *March 15th. Rainy. I think I saw him again — that monster. He was hiding inside that child’s body, smiling at me. I told Mom. She slapped me and said I was losing my mind.* Liam turned the pages one by one. His hands were shaking harder and harder. His tears fell drop by drop onto the paper, bleeding into my handwriting and blurring the words. When he reached the last page and read those words — *”Sis, guess who my next target is?”* — his whole body went rigid. He sat there, frozen, like he’d been struck by lightning. For a long time, he didn’t move at all. Then, all at once, he snapped the diary shut — like it had burned him. For the first time, doubt crossed his face. Not doubt about me. Doubt about the so-called “truth.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Hey, it’s me. Liam. I need you to look into an illegal cloning experiment. Yeah. Whatever it costs.” — ### Chapter 3 ### Liam took my diary and drove straight to my family’s place. My parents’ house, I should say. After my death, the place looked like nothing had happened at all. My parents were watching TV in the living room. Arthur sat between them, peeling oranges for them like a perfect little child. “Dad, have some orange.” “Mom, this one’s sweet.” The picture of a happy family. If you didn’t know the truth, you’d never guess this family had just lost a daughter. Liam’s sudden arrival shattered that false warmth. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.” Liam’s voice was ice cold. My dad looked up and his expression darkened immediately. “What are you doing here?” My mom looked uneasy, avoiding his eyes. Liam ignored my dad’s tone. He walked straight to the coffee table and slammed my diary down on it. “I want to know if what’s written in here is true.” My dad picked it up, glanced at one page, and threw it right back at Liam. “Nonsense. That’s all just delusions she made up in her head!” “Delusions?” Liam let out a cold laugh. “Did Sophie tell you at her birthday party that Arthur threatened her?” My parents’ faces shifted at the same time. My mom’s lips trembled. She couldn’t get a word out. My dad stiffened and snapped, “You’re going to believe a child’s word for it? He’s only ten years old — what does he know? Sophie was the one with the psychological issues. She couldn’t stand us caring about Arthur!” “He doesn’t know any better?” Liam pressed forward, not letting up. “But you do. How much did you pay? What channels did you go through to run this cloning experiment? Can you even say it out loud?” Those words cut through every last layer of my parents’ pretense like a blade. My mom burst into tears. “Liam, we didn’t have a choice! He was our only son. When he died — what is left for us to live for?…” “So you spent all your savings, went to some illegal clinic, and cloned a murderer?” Liam’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “Did you ever think about how Sophie felt? and the victim’s family member! How could you expect her to live with a brother who looks exactly like the man who killed them?” “Why can’t she just face it? We’re family! Blood is thicker than water!” My dad still refused to back down. “Family?” Liam looked at him like he was staring at a complete stranger. “In your eyes, what is Sophie, exactly? Just a tool you can sacrifice whenever you like?” My dad had no answer to that. Arthur, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, suddenly jumped down from the couch. He walked up to Liam and tugged at the hem of his jacket. “Liam, Don’t be mad at Mom and Dad,” he said softly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have teased Sophie. Did she die because of me?” He tilted his head up, eyes brimming with tears, looking pitiful and innocent. If I weren’t already dead — if I hadn’t heard with my own ears what he’d said — I might have fallen for it too. Liam looked down at him, his expression unreadable. My mom rushed over immediately, pulling Arthur behind her and snapping at Liam. “Look at what you’re doing! You’re scaring him half to death! He’s just a child!” “Is he, though?” Liam murmured. He kept his eyes on Arthur, as if trying to see past the surface — past the skin and the tears — straight into whatever was underneath. Arthur met his gaze without flinching. And in those eyes was a calm — a composure far too old for his face — and something else, Mockery. Liam felt something sink in his chest. He knew then. Everything I’d written in my diary was true. This child was no blank slate. He was the monster. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” Liam dropped those words like a stone and walked out. My dad shouted after him. “Liam! If you dare to hurt Arthur, and you’ll regret it!” Liam didn’t look back. I followed him out of that suffocating place I used to call home. As I left, I looked back and saw Arthur flash my parents a wide, radiant smile. And my parents looked back at him with pure adoration — like he was the most precious thing in the world. No one gave a second thought to the fact that their daughter had just died. ### Chapter 4 ### Things developed worse than I ever expected. My best friend, Evelyn — a licensed therapist — gave a media interview after my death. “Sophie… she always struggled with serious psychological issues.” On camera, Evelyn was dressed in impeccable business attire, her expression a mixture of grief and resignation. “She had severe paranoia. She was convinced that Arthur — the clone — was going to hurt her. We all tried to persuade her, but she wouldn’t listen.” “So in your view,” the reporter asked, “Sophie’s suicide stemmed from her own mental health issues, rather than external pressure?” “To a large extent, yes.” Evelyn nodded. “Her family gave her every bit of love and patience they had. But she could never move past the trauma. It’s truly heartbreaking.” I hovered in front of the TV, watching the person I used to call my closest friend — the one who was now rewriting my story to win favor with my parents, to get whatever “connections” she was after — casually reduce me to a label. Paranoia. Mental illness. So that’s all I was to them. Just a crazy girl. Liam saw the interview while he was at the precinct, pulling the old case files on Arthur. He slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn it.” He called Evelyn immediately. She didn’t pick up. The pressure from outside kept mounting. Everyone seemed to agree that it was Liam’s “obsession” and “meddling” that had blown the whole tragedy out of proportion. Even his captain pulled him aside and told him to step back, to take some time to “cool off.” Liam was suspended. But he didn’t stop. During the day, he stayed home and played the part of someone falling apart. At night, he slipped out and made his way to my parents’ neighborhood. He was looking for proof. Something that would show the world what Arthur really was. One Saturday evening, my parents took Arthur to a dinner party. Liam used the opportunity to sneak into their house. He went straight upstairs to Arthur’s room. Arthur’s room was decorated like a prince of a fairy tale. Blue walls, a large nautical-themed bunk bed, and bookshelves packed with children’s books and model ships. Everything looked perfectly normal. Liam wasn’t satisfied. He started searching carefully. On the bottom shelf, hidden behind a stack of seemingly harmless comic books, he found a sketchbook. The cover had a smiley face drawn on it. Liam opened to the first page. It showed a little girl in a princess dress, a knife plunged through her chest. The blood was drawn big and bright red. Liam’s heart clenched. He kept flipping through. Page two, page three… each one was more of the same. A schoolgirl in uniform, dragged away on a rainy night. A woman in a white-collar work outfit, hands wrapped around her throat in an elevator. The victims in the drawings — their hairstyles, their clothing — bore a striking resemblance to the girls Arthur had killed all those years ago. And in the bottom right corner of every single drawing, written in a child’s unsteady hand, was one name. Arthur. The last page of the sketchbook was a blank frame. Beneath it, a single line of text. *”Who’s next?”* Liam’s hands trembled as he held the sketchbook, shaking like a leaf in the wind. This wasn’t the kind of doodle a ten-year-old should be making. This was a crime announcement straight from hell. Just then, the sound of a car engine drifted up from outside. My parents were home. Liam immediately shoved the sketchbook inside his jacket, climbed out through the window, and disappeared into the night.

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