Category: English

As soon as I walked out of the SAT exam hall, I was dragged into a dark interrogation room by the police. Officers found cheating tools sewn into my clothes. And in a nearby hotel, they arrested the “gunman” (a hired test-taker) who was collaborating with me. The moment the gunman saw me, he identified me as the buyer. He voluntarily confessed to the crime and detailed the financial transactions between us. The evidence was undeniable, and it was broadcast all over the internet. Overnight, I went from being hailed as a genius scholar by the media to a prisoner. My parents tried to appeal but failed. Unable to withstand the cyberbullying, they died tragically at home. Not long after receiving the news of their deaths, I died of a heart attack. Until my last breath, I didn’t understand. I clearly did nothing, so why did all the evidence point to me cheating? When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the eve of the SATs. 1 “Zoe, what are you spacing out for? Hurry up and get your ID out to check in.” My best friend Lily’s voice rang in my ear. I shuddered violently. I was in a hotel lobby, and the clock on the wall behind the reception desk showed the date as June 6th. Lily nudged me. “Why are you still spacing out? ID!” The shove finally made me realize I had been reborn. In my past life, because the exam center was too far from home, we were worried about traffic jams on the day of the SATs. So the night before, Lily and I checked into a hotel less than a hundred meters from the exam center. On the last day of the exams, as soon as I walked out, I was arrested for cheating. And the gunman who provided me with answers was hiding in the room I stayed in. “Zoe, why are you so slow today? The receptionist is waiting!” Saying that, Lily eagerly reached into my bag to grab my ID. I grabbed her hand. “I’m not staying.” Lily frowned and complained. “Zoe, why are you like this? Do you know how much effort I put into booking this hotel?” “No, you have to stay!” I looked at Lily in confusion, puzzled. She usually had a gentle temperament and spoke softly, so why was she being so pushy today? I forced a smile. “Lily, you know I have trouble sleeping in a strange bed. I might stay awake all night in the hotel, which would affect my performance tomorrow.” “So I thought about it and decided to go home. Worst case, I’ll just get up earlier tomorrow. I’m really sorry.” Lily covered her mouth and laughed. “I was just teasing you; you actually took it seriously?” “Then think carefully. Rooms are super hard to book before the SATs. If you cancel now and change your mind later, there won’t be any rooms left.” I nodded, insisting on going home. “Then call an Uber yourself. I’m going to the room to review.” I watched her enter the elevator and hailed a cab. “Driver, to the nearest internet cafe.” 2 Everything in my past life happened too fast, exploding and vanishing like fireworks. Why were cheating tools found on me? Where did the evidence provided by the gunman come from? And who wanted to harm me, and why? These questions were like a fog in my mind. I might never find out the truth in this life, but at least I could avoid this disaster. That is, by not taking the SATs, so I couldn’t go home. I had to go to a place open 24 hours, where I could stay and which had surveillance. An internet cafe was perfect. The driver quickly took me to one. I paid for two consecutive days. After finding a seat, I binge-watched variety shows and dramas. When hungry, I ate instant noodles from the cafe; when sleepy, I slept a bit. But as soon as I fell asleep, images of my past life surfaced, and I’d wake up startled. This repeated until 5 PM on the third day. Just as I closed my eyes. A pop-up appeared on the webpage. [Breaking News: A candidate was caught cheating in the SATs in South City. The suspect has fled the exam center, and police are in hot pursuit!] I had a bad premonition. Just as I was about to click on the pop-up, the computer screen went black. Complaints erupted in the internet cafe. “Admin, what’s going on? Why did the computers go black!” “Sorry everyone, the circuit breaker probably tripped. I’ll go reset it now. Please be patient.” Not long after, sirens wailed outside. 3 Several police officers rushed in and surrounded me. They flashed their badges. “Zoe Chen, you run fast. In the blink of an eye, you ran to an internet cafe!” I asked confusedly, “May I ask what this is about?” The officer snapped, “Still playing dumb? You cheated on the SATs, and we’re arresting you!” For a moment, my brain almost lost the ability to think. “Me… cheated?” Amidst my confusion, Lily and my childhood sweetheart boyfriend, Shawn, rushed in. Lily panted as she spoke up for me, “Zoe couldn’t have cheated. You have to believe in her character. Besides, she’s already been guaranteed admission.” Shawn squeezed through the crowd, shielding me. “Yeah, officer, she has no reason to take this risk. Could there be a misunderstanding?” The students who followed them to watch the drama sneered, “Does her innocence depend entirely on your words? If so, why do we need police?” “Exactly! I think you’re accomplices. Suggest arresting them all for investigation.” Lily got anxious. “Zoe, explain quickly. I’m dying of anxiety.” Surrounded by noise, my mind went blank. Seeing my silence, Lily’s eyes went from determined to doubtful. “Zoe, you didn’t really cheat, did you?” Her voice was small, but loud enough for those around to hear. They started pointing fingers. “Oh my god, cheating on the SATs when checks are so strict these days? Some people really aren’t afraid of death.” “This girl seems to be the top scholar from my friend’s school. I’ve seen her on their honor roll. Tsk tsk, turns out it was all fake!” “Pretending to be smart usually, afraid of being exposed in the SATs, so she risked cheating.” “Heard her parents are master teachers at the school. Even a teacher’s daughter cheated; do her parents have the face to live? They might as well die!” The insults in my ears sent chills down my spine. But clearly, I had been in the internet cafe since last night and never left. How could I be suspected of cheating? My voice trembled involuntarily. “Officer, but I didn’t take the SATs, so how could I cheat?” The officer laughed in anger. “You say you didn’t take the SATs? You really won’t cry until you see the coffin.” “Come back to the station with us; I’ll show you the evidence!” 4 Handcuffs were slapped onto my wrists. I hugged the chair tightly, shouting, “I really didn’t take the SATs. If you don’t believe me, ask the people here, check the surveillance!” “Still making excuses, huh? Fine, I’ll check now, so you can give up hope!” The officer immediately asked the surrounding onlookers. “Can anyone testify that she has been here online since last night and hasn’t left?” I looked at them expectantly. But they all shook their heads. “Officer, we’re here to game. Who pays attention to who’s sitting next to them?” “I just got here. How would I know when she arrived? I have no impression.” “Officer, testifying means going to the station to register, right? Don’t make it hard for us. If my parents find out I sneaked out to game, they’ll skin me alive.” I panicked. “If they can’t testify, there’s surveillance!” The admin ran over apologetically. “Officer, I’m really sorry. Just now, a high-voltage surge burned out the storage device, and all surveillance footage is lost.” I looked at her in disbelief. “Impossible, how could it break so coincidentally? I want to see for myself.” She led me to the monitor. The words “Disk Error” stung my eyes. I asked her like clutching the last straw, “Sister, you registered me last night. Do you remember me?” The admin nodded, then shook her head. “Sorry, I’m face-blind and really can’t remember faces.” At this, I felt like I was in an ice cave, trembling all over. The admin pointed at the small red flower on my clothes. “Didn’t you just rush in from outside? I can’t remember faces, but I remember this red flower on your collar. It’s particularly eye-catching.” I got extremely agitated. “You’re lying! I’ve been sitting in my seat the whole time, nowhere else!” The officer sneered. “Zoe Chen, stop quibbling. Your cheating tool is hidden in this eye-catching red flower!” Saying that, he picked up scissors, cut off the red flower, tore it open, and indeed, an electronic device was hidden inside. My eyes widened, utterly shocked. In my past life, an identical electronic device was found in my clothes. This moment seemed to pull me back to my past life. I screamed in terror, “This isn’t mine!” At the same time, Lily screamed, “Zoe, isn’t this that?” Shawn looked disappointed. “Zoe, I can’t believe you would do such a thing.” Seeing their reactions, I seemed to lose all strength instantly. “So you saw me in the exam hall too?” They both nodded. I only saw darkness, and Shawn’s hollow, desperate voice rang in my ears. “Zoe, your best option now is to confess and seek leniency, understand?” “We’ll take care of your parents 24/7, don’t worry.”

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I woke up one morning to find my husband had turned back into his seventeen-year-old self. He refused to believe we were married. Blushing furiously, he gritted his teeth and said: “I’d rather die than marry a… trashy woman like you.” But before he could finish, a man who looked exactly like him walked in, his face dark as a storm cloud. I looked at the newcomer and said softly, “Hubby, hug.” 1 Waking up in the morning, I sensed something weird beside me on the pillow. Exhausted from last night’s activities, I wasn’t fully awake yet, so I just whined in protest. Habitually, I hugged the person next to me, nuzzling into his embrace like a clingy koala. “Hubby, let’s sleep a bit longer.” Unexpectedly, my usually gentle and considerate husband yanked his arm away and pushed me off. “Hubby?” I opened my eyes, confused. Only to realize the person beside me wasn’t Caleb. No, wait. He was Caleb. Just a carbon copy, shrunk down to a younger version. Sunlight danced on the ends of his messy hair. Unlike his usual sharp, cool demeanor, his youthful, fair face was flushed with the rosiness of just waking up. He frowned, radiating low pressure. Meeting my gaze, a flicker of darkness passed through his cold eyes. His voice was raspy. “Who are you?” “Why are you dressed like that… in my bed?” I didn’t speak, rubbing my sleepy eyes. Am I still dreaming? The Caleb in front of me was at least ten years younger. He looked like a high school student who hadn’t yet been tainted by the world. I wrapped the blanket tighter around my chest, leaning in curiously to examine him. “Hubby, you seem to have shrunk.” Hearing my address. His long eyelashes trembled slightly. He pursed his lips, dodging my touch as if avoiding a virus. Then, he looked at me with a gaze that could only be described as cold. “Don’t talk to me in that disgusting tone. I’m not your hubby.” Something was wrong. Very wrong. I propped up my weak body slowly. Habitually, like countless times before, I opened my arms for a hug. My oversized T-shirt slipped off one shoulder, revealing a patch of pale skin. Despite having seen similar scenes countless times, Caleb reacted like it was his first. He jerked back as if electrocuted, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud. The tips of his ears turned red instantly, but his eyes were fixed on me. His face remained icy, but his eyes clearly betrayed panic and shyness, along with a trace of curiosity he didn’t even notice himself. It was completely different from the mature, steady man in my memory. “Indecent!” “Stay away from me!” I was a bit dazed. I vaguely remembered last night, when I was half-asleep, he was the one who put this shirt on me, saying something about wrapping me in his scent. Everything was fine then. Why was he acting like a different person today? Before I could speak. He sneered, his gaze turning colder. “Did the old man send you?” “What, kicking me out of the house wasn’t enough? He has to ruin my reputation too?” He paused, hatred pouring out from his trembling fingertips. Then, word by word, he said with loathing: “You people are disgusting.” Caleb would never speak to me like that. And he would never look at me with such cold eyes. He looked exactly like Caleb, but the ruthlessness and despair seeping from his bones made me realize clearly—this was absolutely not the man I spent five years desperately redeeming. My sleepiness vanished completely. 2 My mission in this world was to save the villain, Caleb. In the original book, he was the most vicious, gloomy villain. Abused by his family since childhood, his personality became extremely twisted. After reaching adulthood, he would turn dark for various reasons. Not only would he kidnap and imprison the female lead, but he would also destroy the male lead’s career and orchestrate a car accident to cripple him. And I was the wealthy fiancée forced to marry him. To prevent him from turning dark, the System tasked me with teaching him what love is. But all I knew how to do was act cute, spend money, and be clingy. Since arriving in this world. I followed him around all day, calling him “hubby” non-stop. Our families had arranged our marriage since we were kids, so calling him hubby seemed justified. But he always reacted strongly, covering my mouth as if he couldn’t stand it. “Don’t call me hubby.” “Just tell me what you want.” I blinked, cleverly changing my tune: “Brother Caleb, I want to buy a bag.” He opened a supplementary card for me decisively, his attitude impatient: “Don’t appear in front of me in the future. I don’t like materialistic women like you.” I agreed readily, then turned around and moved into his house. Not only did I bring my luggage, but I also went on a shopping spree with his card. Every day, I dressed up like a little cupcake and barged into his black-and-white world. He was gloomy and sullen; I was lively and cheerful. Whenever he resisted me, I cried. The System mocked ruthlessly: “The villain is cold by nature. He was indifferent even when his own mother died. He’s an emotionless monster.” “Do you really think shedding a few crocodile tears will move him?” Is that so? Then what was that thing poking me from behind when he got drunk before? And who was the one stealing kisses while I was asleep? I said nothing, just cried. Tears streamed from my big, watery eyes. I didn’t make a sound, just looked at him with a pouting, aggrieved face. One second. Two seconds. He sighed helplessly, resignedly picked up a tissue to wipe my tears, and coaxed in a low voice: “Why are you crying again?” “So delicate.” “Didn’t you like that new bag at Ginza the other day? Ask Uncle Li to take you to buy it. And that mochi ice cream you were crying for yesterday, I bought it and put it in the fridge. Ask Auntie Qiu to thaw it for you later.” “Stop crying, okay? You’ll blame me if your eyes hurt later.” The System was dumbfounded. “I thought he was a gloomy villain? How did you train him into a sugar daddy boyfriend?” Who knows? Maybe spoiled women really do have the best lives. Two years passed. Not only was I not kicked out of the Caleb household, but I also married Caleb and became his reason for living in this world. The System announced his darkness value was cleared and he wouldn’t disturb the protagonists’ lives anymore, then disappeared. Now, I had to summon the System again. “System, what’s going on?” It arrived late, reacting slowly: “Sorry, host. There was a problem with the villain in the previous timeline, causing him to turn dark prematurely. If left unchecked, the whole world would collapse, so I had to temporarily send him to this timeline.” “What you see now is seventeen-year-old Caleb. His darkness value has reached 99%.” “If possible, please save him again. Please.” 3 I transmigrated to this world five years ago. At that time, Caleb had already become the tyrannical CEO feared by everyone in the capital. The Little Caleb in front of me had the makings of a villain, but was clearly much greener. He didn’t believe me, even sneering: “Married? Me and you?” His gaze swept over me, his expression changing from unnatural to extremely unnatural. Still not daring to look at the key areas, he forced an imposing air and snorted coldly: “I’d rather die than marry a frivolous woman like you!” Before he could finish, the door was violently kicked open. A man who looked exactly like him strode into the room, a dark aura instantly filling the space. It was the real Caleb. System: “Crap, I forgot your husband is still here.” Surprised and delighted, I called out in my usual sweet, soft voice: “Hubby!” Seventeen-year-old Caleb’s ears turned red instantly. Blushing, he retorted impatiently in a low voice: “I told you I’m not your hubby!” “She was calling me.” Caleb picked me up with a dark face, his low, raspy voice wrapped in undeniable authority and unconcealable anger. “Who called you? Flattering yourself.” In the shadows, his gaze clashed with the teenage Caleb’s. Invisible sparks seemed to fly. I obediently wrapped my legs around his waist, buried my face in his neck, and hooked my arms around him. But I could feel the two burning gazes clashing. The smell of gunpowder in the air made breathing tense. “Baby, go to the next room and put some clothes on.” Caleb patted my butt lightly, planted a gentle kiss on my forehead, then looked at Little Caleb with a flash of hostility in his eyes. “Let’s chat alone.” 4 I don’t know what Caleb talked about with him. When he came out, the boy looked disgruntled. But the strange scene before him forced him to believe he had really traveled ten years into the future. After all, there was no second person in the world who looked exactly like him. And this “frivolous” woman really was his wife. I looked at the two Calebs, one big and one small. I poked the big one secretly. Then, thinking I was whispering, I said: “Hubby, he’s so small. Still a little baby.” But I underestimated the sensitivity of a teenager in puberty. The already low-pressure person exploded at the slightest touch. His face was terrifyingly dark, with “I’m very upset, apologize to me” written all over it. His displeasure lasted until noon. While eating, he frowned and clicked his tongue, throwing his chopsticks on the table irritably. “Enough, you two. Do you have to be like this even when eating?” “Disgusting.” Caleb was deboning fish for me. Ever since a small bone got stuck in my throat last time, he never let me eat fish by myself. Seeing this, he glanced at him indifferently. “If you don’t like it, get out.” So he really got out. His face was blacker than the bottom of a pot when he left, slamming the door angrily. Once he left, I sighed in relief: “Hubby, you had such a bad temper when you were seventeen.” Caleb put the deboned fish in my bowl. “Don’t treat him as me.” I wanted to say more, but he blocked my mouth himself. “Mmph…” After a long while, he stopped. His gaze was dark as he rubbed my lips vigorously. “Baby, shouldn’t you explain to me?” I wanted to cry but had no tears. How do I explain this? It’s all the System’s fault! Caleb knew about the System. I never thought of hiding it from him and confessed everything after we got married. Seeing my expression, he guessed most of it. Pausing, he asked: “Is it the System?” I nodded quickly, hugging him and chattering about my grievances. Hearing the word “redemption,” his eyebrows raised. “I’ll figure this out. Don’t listen to the System.” When mentioning others, Caleb was always indifferent. Including himself. I hesitated: “But, that’s you after all…” “No, baby.” “I can’t let you do risky things. Besides, I know very well that only pain can make a person strong. How can he take revenge later without experiencing this? He’s not that fragile.” “I’m going abroad for a business trip soon, for at least a month. During this time, ensure your own safety first, can you do that?” I nodded. Caleb smiled with satisfaction. He reached into my clothes, felt the slight bulge of my tummy, and picked me up to carry me to the bedroom. I hugged his neck, trying to salvage the situation. “But hubby, he really looks so pitiful.” His eyes were obscure. He lowered his head and bit my shoulder. “I’m more pitiful than him. Touch if you don’t believe me.” Me: … I knew this man had no good intentions. Turning every topic into something dirty. “Caleb! Didn’t we just… yesterday!” I grabbed his hair, speaking urgently. “Don’t bite!” A chuckle. It was as if he had returned to that villain with a terrible personality. He looked up slowly, his lazy voice mixed with huskiness, carrying a low trailing note that made my heart tingle. “Why keep mentioning him? This is punishment for a disobedient baby.” I wanted to cry. How can someone be jealous of themselves? 5 When I woke up, Caleb was gone. The System urged me to hurry up with the mission. “Hurry, hurry! While your husband is away, take down this Little Hubby!” …What Little Hubby, Big Hubby. It made me feel guilty, like I was having an affair. … Afraid of others noticing something wrong. Before leaving, Caleb gave everyone in the house a long vacation. He also ordered a month’s worth of home-delivered meals from the best restaurant in town, ensuring I wouldn’t starve. I called Little Caleb downstairs to eat. He waited for ages, only to see a table of exquisite takeout. His face stiffened instantly: “Just eating this?” “Yeah.” I looked at him innocently and shrugged. “I can’t cook.” Since marrying Caleb, I hadn’t even entered the kitchen. The only time I tried to bake egg tarts following an online recipe, I barely did anything and the air fryer exploded. Since then, I was strictly forbidden from approaching the kitchen. “You can’t even cook?” Little Caleb was incredulous. He couldn’t understand how an adult couldn’t even manage basic survival skills. But my matter-of-fact expression suddenly reminded him of something, and his face turned ugly. Obviously, the person who spoiled me to the point of not lifting a finger was himself. What made him collapse was far more than this. Everything in the house was in pairs. The walls were covered with photos of me and Caleb. He stared blankly at the toothbrush on the sink, unable to believe that with his aesthetic, he would use baby blue toiletries. Seeing him looking like his soul had left his body, I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Baby blue was mine; baby pink was his. He muttered: “Impossible… how could I marry a woman like her…” I couldn’t help but find it funny. If he knew he was the one kneeling and begging me to marry him back then, wouldn’t he collapse even more? But I didn’t say that. Seventeen-year-old Caleb seemed less steady than the Caleb I first met, but more irritable.

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My mother suffered from severe Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. The day I was born, I weighed an exact three-tenths of a pound more than my twin sister, Lydia. So she put me on a scale. She gave me only minimal water each day, starving me until my weight matched Lydia’s—down to the decimal point. I screamed, my infant cries echoing with hunger, but Mom just refrigerated the formula and breast milk Lydia didn’t finish. She would feed Lydia eight times a day. Eventually, my sister and I both ended up in the hospital. I was there for severe malnutrition. Lydia, surprisingly, was there for being fed spoiled, refrigerated milk. But even that wasn’t enough. As we grew older, our weights naturally diverged again. She fed Lydia until she was dangerously overweight, yet she couldn’t stand my natural lean frame. She eventually forced me to eat rich, fatty meat—the one thing she knew I was severely allergic to. That’s how I died—suffocated. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back inside my mother’s womb… 1 I was dead. The plate of fatty meat she forced down my throat had triggered a massive allergic reaction, swelling my esophagus until I couldn’t pull in a single breath. Yet, after death, I was enveloped in the warm, cushioning comfort of amniotic fluid once more. That sensation—that safe, warm, all-encompassing space—was the only true motherly love I had ever known. Then, a sharp voice cut through the muffled quiet. “Doctor, is there any way my two children can be born at the exact same time?” “Ms. Harrington, that is physically impossible. The cervix is only so large, you cannot possibly deliver two babies simultaneously.” The familiar words sliced through the fog. A jolt, like a tiny spark of lightning, shot through my nascent brain. Sure enough, the next line came, exactly as I remembered it. “I don’t care. You will make sure my children come out together.” “Or I’ll have your license revoked for gross negligence and emotional distress. I’ll make sure you never practice medicine in this state again.” …It was Mom’s voice. As her dialogue overlapped perfectly with my memory, the horrifying truth settled in: I had been reborn. I was back inside her womb, and she was on the delivery table. In the last life, she had hired an astrologer to calculate a Golden Hour for a “lucky” baby. But with two of us inside, it was impossible to hit the same moment. I—in my mother’s cold, cruel words—was too ambitious, too eager to be first. The moment I showed my face, I was branded the unlucky one. Lydia was luckier, born a few minutes later, perfectly within the calculated window. So when the doctor informed Mom I was three-tenths of a pound heavier, she didn’t even look at me. With a wrinkled brow, she issued my “Weight Loss Order.” I didn’t get a single taste of breast milk, forced onto a drastic regimen immediately. It left me malnourished from the start, permanently affecting my ability to absorb nutrients, keeping me fragile and lean. Meanwhile, Mom had an oversupply of milk. She would scoop Lydia’s leftovers into a bowl and refrigerate it. Lydia was fed eight times a day. It landed us both in the pediatric ward: me for failing to thrive, and my sister for chronic food poisoning from the spoiled milk. 2 This time, the attending physician was furious at my mother’s brazen threat, but seeing her on the verge of delivery, he had no choice but to push through his anger and continue. But this time, I fought back. I dug in, refusing to be the first one out. “Difficult delivery!” “We’ve got a complication!” “Family, our recommendation is an emergency C-section. Please sign the consent forms immediately.” “No! C-sections produce slow, damaged children! You will not cut her, she has to deliver naturally!” That sharp, strident voice belonged to my maternal grandmother, Eleanor. If my mother was the executioner, Eleanor was the one who handed her the knife. Together, they ran roughshod over my father, Marcus, who was too intimidated to speak up. So, Mom insisted on a natural birth, risking massive hemorrhaging to deliver both of us. Naturally, she was too exhausted to continue threatening the doctor with a fabricated harassment suit. This time, neither of us was the “lucky baby.” We started life on the exact same footing. Except I was still three-tenths of a pound heavier than Lydia. “Marcus, go buy ten more scales! I don’t believe it. They are twins—how can their weight be different?” Mom raked her fingers through her hair, looking frantic after weighing us eight times. Grandma Eleanor, a tyrant to everyone else, was a willing servant to Mom. She immediately rushed out to follow the order. But to Mom’s dismay, our weights were different on every single scale. She collapsed, pointing at me with a look of pure aversion. “Take her away! She’s always trying to get ahead! She must have stolen Lydia’s nutrition in the womb.” “Starve her for a few days. That’ll teach her to be humble.” In my last life, my lifelong digestive problems started right here. Reborn, I would not allow that tragedy to repeat. Crying in front of Mom was useless—it only made her dislike me more. So I waited until four in the afternoon, when my dad, Marcus, got home, and I started screaming. I let out the most desperate, pathetic cries I could muster. It terrified my father. He rushed inside without even changing his shoes, searching frantically for me. My throat was raw when he finally found me. He found me in the drum of the washing machine. 3 Yes. I had been put in the washing machine drum. Mom had told Grandma Eleanor to starve me. But every time Eleanor turned her back, I would manage to crawl off in search of food. Exasperated, Eleanor just tossed me into the washer. Out of sight, out of mind. “Tori, what in God’s name? Why would you put a baby in here?” Dad was so shocked he didn’t even yell at Eleanor first. He turned to Mom. “Mom, why did you put her in the drum?” “Didn’t you say she needed to slim down? Shaking her around in here—that’s a workout, isn’t it?” Eleanor said, utterly self-righteous. My usually reserved father finally snapped. He faced Eleanor. “Mom, a washing machine tumbles clothes! What if she had been seriously hurt?” “Hurt? I’ve been on this earth decades longer than you! I know what I’m doing!” Eleanor’s face flushed red at his audacity. “Don’t you dare talk back to me!” But Dad was genuinely furious this time. He held his ground despite her yelling. It wasn’t until Mom intervened that the shouting stopped. “Marcus, my mother is your elder. Don’t disrespect her.” “The baby is fine, isn’t she? Why are you being so dramatic?” Dad had been poor when they first met. Mom had stayed by his side, helping him build his business. He owed her, and he always deferred to her. Mom’s words stopped his outburst cold. He merely left the room, muttering, “It’ll be too late when something does happen,” and carried me to his home office. I tried to convey my hunger, gnawing on his hand for what felt like an hour. He finally understood, and with a fresh determination, he took me back to Mom for feeding. But she looked at him with icy indifference and shut us both out. “She’s already three-tenths of a pound heavier than Lydia. Why would I feed her?” 4 I’ll never forget the raw shock and anger on my father’s face that day. He banged on the door and pleaded with her, but Mom remained unmoved. Furious, he took me straight to his office, bought a case of high-quality formula, and began raising me himself. In my past life, I hadn’t been put in the washer. Dad had just said a quick goodbye and left on a business trip, which I always took as his silent approval of Mom’s cruelty. But now, it was clear: he loved me. He consulted online forums, called pediatric nurses, and dedicated himself to parenting. I was thriving. I was healthy, plump, and free of pain. The change was evident the next time Mom decided, on a whim, to check on me. It was this progress that made her completely lose control. “Marcus Harrington, I told you she wasn’t supposed to eat! Why is she this fat?” Mom’s nails dug into my soft baby skin. I screamed. Dad immediately snatched me out of her grasp. My weight was Dad’s proudest accomplishment. He showed me off to everyone, bragging that he was raising me himself. When Mom called me fat, he immediately got defensive. “Babies are supposed to be a little plump! She’s adorable!” he said, beaming. Mom, however, was on the brink of hysteria. She demanded he bring me home immediately. I was put on those ten scales again. This time, I was a full pound heavier than Lydia. We looked less like twins and more like sisters separated by a year. Mom’s face visibly darkened, but Dad, emboldened by my health, continued to chatter happily. “Look how great Mia is doing. Lydia looks so frail, Tori. Why don’t you let me take her, too? You can take a break.” His intentions were kind, but in Mom’s mind, he had not only ruined her plan but was now gloating about it. 5 “Marcus, look at them! They don’t look like twins anymore! Mia looks like you’ve turned her into a little pig!” “They are twins, Tori. And now they look completely different.” Mom started to weep, the tears of pure frustration. Dad knew all about her OCD, but he tried to reason with her. “It’s normal for twins to look different, Tori. The world doesn’t make two perfectly identical people. Especially with fraternal twins…” He tried to be rational, but she wasn’t listening. She slapped him across the face. “Marcus, I don’t care about other people! My children must be the same!” “Look at what you dress her in, her hair, her weight, everything!” To her, all the fault lay with me and Dad. If I could speak, I would have asked her, Why can’t it be you who is raising her wrong? Why must I be forced to live according to Lydia’s image? I was the older one, the sister who arrived first. Yet I still couldn’t understand why, even in this second life, she still preferred Lydia, always making her the baseline for perfection. The undeserved slap sent Dad over the edge. His pent-up frustration and rage exploded. “Tori Harrington, do you honestly think you’re the only person in the world who’s right?” he roared. “It’s wrong if I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle. It’s wrong if I step into the house with my left foot first. It’s wrong if I pair a black suit with a gray tie! It’s wrong if I don’t eat my dinner in the exact sequence you’ve laid out!” “And now, a healthy child is wrong!” “Tori, you are the sick one! I am done with this!” Dad stood tall and defiant, speaking the words I’d held in my heart for years. Mom was stunned into silence, reeling either from his words or his sudden, terrifying rebellion. A heavy silence descended. Then, the floodgates opened. She didn’t speak, but her tears streamed down her face like a broken dam. In the end, Dad compromised. 6 But he only apologized for shouting. He stood firm on the parenting issue. My health, the solid reality of my thriving body, was his best defense. The somber tension was broken by Lydia’s sudden, wrenching convulsions. They immediately rushed both of us to the hospital. Last time, we were admitted together—I for malnutrition, Lydia for the spoiled milk. This time was no different. The results came back, and the doctor’s frustration was palpable. “The children are too small to know better, but you, as the adults? How can you give a baby spoiled milk?” Mom’s first reaction was denial. “Impossible. You have the wrong diagnosis.” Ignoring the doctor’s warning, she fled, dragging Lydia all over the city to consult every available clinic and hospital. The result was always the same. The frantic clinic-hopping, combined with her underlying illness, only made Lydia worse. She ended up in the ICU. Mom finally broke, crouching in the hospital hallway, screaming and deflecting blame. “This is your fault for never coming home! You don’t care if your wife and kids live or die! Well, now Lydia is sick! Are you happy now?” Dad, already anxious about Lydia’s condition, was aghast. “Tori, I know you’re worried, but she is my daughter, too. I’m just as concerned as you are.” “How can you say that to me?” The crowd of onlookers grew. Mom was imperious, while Dad stood there holding me, the healthy baby. The public sympathy immediately tilted in Dad’s favor. Feeling humiliated and losing face in front of strangers, Mom’s rage escalated. 7 She stormed over, her sharp fingernails digging into my cheek. “You pretend Lydia is your child?” “From the moment they were born, your attention has been all on her! You dumped Lydia on me and walked away!” “How dare you act like you care about her now!” Seeing me hurt, and driven to the edge by her sheer villainy, Dad decided he was finished protecting her reputation. “Enough!” he roared. “You say I favor Mia? Why don’t you tell everyone why I, a man running a company, have to bring a baby to work every day?” “It was you! It was you who starved her for being three-tenths of a pound heavier! You stood by while your mother put her in a washing machine drum to ‘slim her down’!” “You let your excess milk spoil instead of giving Mia one drop!” “Lydia is in the hospital right now because you fed her that contaminated milk!” Dad spoke with furious conviction, clutching me tightly. The crowd instantly believed him, murmuring in shock. Even the doctors were appalled, their attitude toward Mom doing a complete one-eighty. Exposed in front of everyone, Mom was blinded by fury. The word “Divorce” flew out of her mouth. Dad, desperate to quell the public scene, simply agreed to placate her. But Mom lunged, trying to rip me from his arms. “I birthed them both! You won’t take either of them!” Dad refused to let go. In the struggle, Mom raked her nails across his face, drawing blood that dripped onto me. The feigned agreement became a sudden, cold reality. It was Dad who wanted the divorce now.

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Five years after I walked out on Damon Kincaid, I saw him again at an auction. The difference was, I was the merchandise, caged for public scorn. He was the high-roller, seated in the VIP section, ready to spend a fortune. We played the part of strangers. It wasn’t until some rich bastard bid fifty thousand dollars to buy me that Damon shattered the iron cage, grabbed my chin, and snarled: “You’d rather be a cheap piece of trash than come back and beg me?” “Anya Rossi, you truly are despicable.” I tore his hand from my jaw and offered a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “My buyer is getting impatient. I don’t have time for a reunion.” Once, I knelt and begged, and what I got in return was carrying my parents’ decaying bodies up a desolate hill. Now, all I wanted was to cut all ties, earn enough to pay for my daughter’s cremation, and vanish forever. 1 The noisy room went instantly silent. The guests, who represented half the financial elite of Veridian City, didn’t dare breathe, staring at Damon. The mogul who’d bought me, hearing Damon’s words, broke out in a cold sweat. He finally recognized me: The woman who was Damon Kincaid’s childhood sweetheart, the one he’d once cherished, only to have him break her leg and leave her for dead on the street five years ago. Ignoring the hundreds of eyes on me, I ripped his hand away, clutching the pathetic scraps of fabric covering my body. I gave him that careless, ugly smile again. “Mister Kincaid, my buyer is in a hurry. If you want to reminisce, you’ll have to bid and win me next time. Then we can talk all night.” Damon’s hand, clenched at his side, turned white. His eyes drilled into me. “You’re that desperate? Five years, and you couldn’t spare one single plea?” A soft, delicate hand wrapped around his fist. My heart stuttered. I looked up and saw the one face I’d hoped never to see again. She used to be the nanny’s daughter at the Kincaid family parties, clumsy and dismissed when pouring wine for the guests. Now, she stood confidently beside Damon at a private auction, holding up a hundred-thousand-dollar bid paddle without a flicker of hesitation. Sadie Bell’s eyes were red-rimmed, looking at me with the theatrical sadness of a weeping willow. “Ms. Rossi, why are you always so stubborn? Five years ago, Damon asked you to apologize to me, and you refused, claiming you did nothing wrong. When your family went bankrupt, Damon told you to beg him, and you wouldn’t. Do you really feel you have your dignity now, selling your body for a living?” I couldn’t stop the caustic laugh that escaped me. “Five years and you still haven’t climbed into the spot of Mrs. Kincaid, Sadie. Is that the best you can do?” Smack! A stinging slap landed hard across my face. Used to the pain, I barely flinched, touched my right cheek, and turned to link my arm with the mogul. “Let’s go. Life is short, and we shouldn’t waste time on people who aren’t worth it.” But the mogul shoved me, right into Damon’s path. “Mr. Kincaid, if I’d known she was your woman, I would never have dared compete with you. Consider her my gift to you for the night.” I grabbed his sleeve, my smile brittle and terrified. “You bought me!” Damon let out a sudden, cold laugh, his gaze sweeping over me with sheer contempt. “Anya Rossi, without my permission, you can’t even sell your own flesh. But if you’d just kneel down and beg me right now, I’ll double his five thousand for you.” I dropped my eyes in humiliation. Damon was right. Without his consent, I was paralyzed in Veridian City. After the Rossi family collapsed, my parents died by suicide together. I couldn’t even afford their cremation. The only valuable thing I owned was the engagement ring Damon gave me. I went to a pawn shop, hoping to get ten thousand dollars for a million-dollar ring, but no one dared to take it. “Ms. Rossi, it’s not that we don’t want to help, but Mr. Kincaid gave the word. Anyone who gets involved with you will be ruined in Veridian City.” In the end, I had to carry my parents’ bodies, which were already starting to decompose, for what felt like miles to an abandoned stretch of mountain. I dug the graves with my bare hands. But had I truly never begged him? The day my family lost everything, I knelt at the gates of the Kincaid estate, my head bleeding, begging him to save my father’s company. He appeared, his arm wrapped around Sadie Bell, who wore his silk dressing gown, her neck marked with his kisses. “You kneel and apologize to Sadie. Beg her for forgiveness a thousand times, and I’ll save the Rossi family.” Sadie hid shyly behind him, biting her lip as she looked at me. “Damon, it’s enough if Ms. Rossi just apologizes. I forgive her for pushing me down the stairs. There’s no need for such cruel humiliation.” “Sweet girl,” Damon murmured, his eyes full of tenderness for her. “I know you’re too soft. I’ll settle this score for you. Since she humiliated you then, she deserves what’s coming to her now.” But I hadn’t pushed Sadie down the stairs. She was an angel in front of Damon, and a viper when we were alone. “The childhood sweetheart never beats the new conquest. Damon’s sick of a boring woman like you. You only know how to make one sound in bed. When I’m Mrs. Kincaid, I’m going to make you pay.” Back then, I dismissed Sadie as delusional, certain Damon only loved me. He would abandon a hundred-million-dollar deal overseas and fly seventeen hours, just to be there to blow out my birthday candles every year. In our chat logs, he was telling me he missed me just a minute before. But the moment the gate opened, Sadie shrieked. “Ms. Rossi, don’t hurt me!” She grabbed me, and we tumbled down the grand staircase together. My head hit the marble floor, and white flashes swam in front of my eyes. Before I could process what happened, Sadie was kneeling in front of me, frantically bowing her head. “Ms. Rossi, I truly love Damon. Just keep me like a pet. You can beat me, you can abuse me, anything, just don’t make me leave him.” I struggled to sit up and tried to speak. “I didn’t…” The words never came out. Damon’s foot lashed out, sending me sprawling. He rushed to Sadie, holding her with a heartbreaking intimacy, anxious to get her to a hospital. The one glance he threw my way was pure hatred. “She’s innocent! If you have a problem, come after me!” The beautiful cake he’d brought for me lay on the ground, smashed into a pile of trash. That night, the Kincaid family announced the breaking of our engagement and triggered the collapse of the Rossi empire. My life went from heaven to hell in seventy-two hours. My deep-seated pride fought against bowing my head. But the ravaged faces of my parents lashed at my conscience. My spine finally bent. I gritted my teeth. “Fine. I’ll kneel.” But just as my knees began to touch the ground, my phone rang. It was my mother. Hearing her ragged breathing, my heart sank. “Anya, your father and I would rather die than see you kneel and beg anyone.” My parents protected my dignity with their lives. I fought back the tears stinging my eyes and spoke to Damon, cold and final. “You want me to beg? In your dreams.” 2 A sharp pang of guilt struck me. I bit down hard on my tongue. I had failed my daughter; I hadn’t made enough for her funeral today. I would be condemning her to another day in the morgue, cold and alone. The thought of my daughter, who was so afraid of the cold in life, twisted my insides until I couldn’t breathe. It’s my fault, Sweetheart. I spun around to leave, but someone blocked my path. Teary-eyed, Sadie grabbed my arm. “Ms. Rossi, you’re still angry that Damon chose me, aren’t you? It was my fault that I was hurt so badly when I rolled down the stairs that by the time I woke up, your family was already bankrupt.” “For the past five years, I’ve been consumed by guilt. If you can just forgive me, I’m willing to leave Damon.” Her hypocritical tears made me sick. I impatiently shook her hand off. The scene from five years ago replayed instantly: Sadie collapsed to the ground with a small, theatrical cry, scraping her elbow just enough to draw attention. Damon’s face changed instantly. He lifted her, his eyes full of protective tenderness. The look made the hair on my arms stand up. I finally understood everything. He hadn’t been blind then, nor was he now. But because the person who supposedly caused Sadie harm was me, Damon didn’t need to know right from wrong. I was guilty, and I had to pay the price. “Anya Rossi, it seems the lesson from five years ago wasn’t enough for you. Sadie is not for you to touch.” A wave of terror washed over me. I turned to run, but Damon’s bodyguards grabbed me and slammed me onto the ground. “Since you want to be a whore, I’ll grant your wish. I’ll let everyone see just how pathetic and loose you are!” He spoke in a cold, loud voice to the gawking guests around us. “The man who makes her scream for mercy will get the land on the west side of the city!” The room erupted in guttural shouts. The mogul, who had been trembling with fear a moment ago, now had a dangerous light in his eyes. “Is that true, Mr. Kincaid?” Damon pulled a signed document from his suit pocket and tossed it to him. “Right here, in the main hall. I want everyone to watch her beg.” The mogul snatched the paper, then lunged at me, tearing at the few scraps of my clothing. I thrashed desperately, trying to crawl out from under him, but he cursed, hitting me left and right, grabbing my hair and smashing my head against the floor. “You filthy slut! You were desperate to be under me a minute ago, and now you’re playing the virtuous martyr!” Blood streamed from my forehead, blurring my vision. Through the crimson haze, I saw the faces of those around me—all laughing, holding up their phones, gleefully recording my humiliation. “Nice body. She was the Rossi princess, after all.” “I should have bid! Even without the land, a taste of the Rossi princess wouldn’t hurt!” The mogul pinned my head to the floor, twisting my limbs into a humiliating position. Then he leaned close, his breath hot and greasy in my ear. “Just cooperate, and I’ll give you twenty thousand when I’m done.” The moment my legs were forced apart, I closed my eyes in absolute despair and vomited up a mouthful of blood. The image of my daughter’s little, frost-covered face in the morgue flashed behind my eyelids. It’s okay… I thought, a terrible kind of peace settling in. This way, I can afford to buy her a plot that faces the sun. In the last sliver of fading consciousness, I thought I heard a distant roar: “Stop! That’s enough!” I smiled bitterly, a final, cynical thought: How pathetic, Anya. You actually thought someone would save you. 3 In the darkness, I saw two small figures standing before me. It was my daughter. She smiled and called to me: “Mommy, I’m not cold anymore. I’m going to find Grandpa and Grandma. You need to take care of yourself.” “Hope!” I screamed her name, a wrenching, tearing sound, reaching out only to grasp dissolving foam. I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The clock on the wall read nine minutes past nine. I looked at the calendar, and a bomb seemed to go off in my mind. Five days had passed since the auction. I tore the IV needle from my hand with trembling fingers and stumbled out of bed. My legs buckled, and I nearly collapsed. A strong pair of arms caught me, forcing me back onto the mattress. “Anya Rossi, you truly are something. Chronic blood loss, severe malnutrition. You’ve been living like a beggar. Why—why wouldn’t you just come back… and beg me?” Damon slammed a stack of medical reports onto my chest. “Do you really have to be this stubborn?” I looked at him blankly, a hollow spot opening in my heart. Something vital had slipped away from me. Tears streamed down my face, uncontrollable. I finally found my voice, a harsh whisper. “I did beg you…” I had sacrificed my dignity, defied my parents’ dying wish, and begged him to spare a life for my sick daughter. I was curled up in a damp storage unit, ten hours into labor, but my babies wouldn’t come. Blood soaked the cheap mattress beneath me. With the last of my strength, I called Damon. The moment the call connected, I felt like a drowning person clutching the final piece of wreckage. “Damon, I’ll apologize to Sadie. I’ll kneel and beg both of you. Just save our child…” But all that answered me were the intertwined moans of him and another woman. “Damon, I want to have your baby.” Damon’s voice, tender and doting, replied: “Only you, Sadie, are worthy of bearing my child. I’ll give our baby the best of everything.” The call disconnected, severing my last thread of hope. My screams were so desperate that a kind neighbor girl finally paid for an ambulance, and I was rushed to the emergency room. I gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. But my son, starved of oxygen, never even cried once. He was gone. My daughter, Hope, suffered from a congenital heart defect and had lived in the hospital since birth. Damon’s blockade in Veridian City meant I could only find the filthiest, most grueling work—washing dishes for ten hours a day in a greasy restaurant until my hands were raw and blistered. When the money still wasn’t enough, I sold my blood. I went to every blood bank in the city. I ate only one dry piece of bread a day; every other cent became medicine to keep Hope alive. The doctor had told me: if I could raise the money, Hope could have her heart transplant in five days. Desperate, with nowhere left to turn, I went to the auction block to sell the last thing I had left: myself. “I begged you to spare my parents. I begged you to save our baby. I begged you to give our daughter a chance to live. But what did you do? You drove me into a corner again and again.” “Damon Kincaid, you didn’t want me to beg you. You wanted me dead!” I shrieked, hysteria mounting, but the terrible dread in my heart grew heavier. I bowed my head, pleading in a new way. “I’m begging you now. Please, let me go. I need to find Hope. She needs me.” “If I don’t pay the fees soon, they’ll cut the power to her… to her resting place…” His expression was grim, his voice hoarse as he asked: “Who is Hope?” A familiar ringtone cut through the air. I searched frantically for my phone and realized it was still clenched in Damon’s trembling hand. I snatched it back and answered the call, my hands shaking. “Ms. Rossi, we regret to inform you that we have been unable to reach you. The power to the cryogenic unit has been reassigned to another family. The remains are now… badly decomposed. Please bring the death certificate to schedule cremation.” My breath hitched, stopping dead in my lungs. Just a little more time… I could have maintained Hope’s final dignity. Why? Why was I always just one tiny step too late? The call ended. My daughter’s photo filled the screen. She was already critically ill then, a slight smile on her pale face. She had said: “Mommy, I’m going to find my brother. Don’t be sad. I love you.” Tears tracked down my cheeks, one by one. I collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Damon continued to press me, his voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear, his eyelashes damp. “Hope is our child, isn’t she? I checked the hospital records. You had two children. What was the other one’s name?” He looked ecstatic, almost desperate. “This is wonderful! I’m a father! I… I’ll give them everything.”

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After transmigrating into a novel, the System ordered me to suppress the male lead. The original lines were: “Loser, with your measly salary, being with me is the greatest gift you’ll ever receive.” “Other people’s boyfriends drive luxury cars, what do you have? You’ll never give me a good life.” However, what came out of my mouth was: “If my sweet boyfriend can treat me this well with a few thousand dollars, imagine how happy I’d be if he made tens of thousands!” “With you treating your girlfriend so well, success is just a matter of time. I’ll be right here waiting for that day, won’t I?” The System sputtered in panic: [Host, you’re supposed to suppress him to make him stronger, not act coquettish!] I rolled my eyes: “Who says you have to suppress someone to make them stronger?” 1 I transmigrated into the role of the male lead’s vicious ex-girlfriend and was forced by the System to follow the plot. My mission was to constantly put down the male lead, Liam. Once it reached a certain point, I had to dump him ruthlessly. In his misery, the male lead would work hard and achieve great success in just three years. Then, the destined female lead would appear and heal him with love. However, at this point, I was supposed to regret my actions, turn around, and pester him endlessly, using every means to break him and the female lead apart. In the end, the male lead would fall into depression and commit suicide at the age of 30. A qualified ex should stay dead. The System said that as long as I successfully completed the mission, I would receive a reward of five million dollars, a new identity, and a fresh start in a strange city. 2 At this moment, Liam just came back from delivering food. He worked three jobs a day to support me, his lazy girlfriend. The System urgently came online. [Host, start the plot.] [Your line is: You make peanuts all day and come back so late, are you trying to starve me?] Yes, I didn’t lift a finger and waited for Liam to come back and cook for me every day. After Liam entered, I said the line given by the System. As result, the corners of Liam’s mouth turned down, and he innocently took out a cup of hot milk tea from his pocket. “Drink this first, I’ll go cook.” I cursed inwardly: This character setting is too vicious. Liam busied himself in the kitchen, stir-frying shredded potatoes and boiling shrimp. Probably because shrimp was too expensive, there were only nine in the dish. After peeling all the shrimp, Liam pushed them all in front of me and said carefully: “Eat up, the shrimp is very fresh today.” My heart felt like it was scratched hard. No one had ever peeled shrimp for me since I was little. The System’s untimely voice appeared. [Your line is: You’re only good for this, otherwise who would want you.] [Then eat all the shrimp.] I thought for a moment and blurted out: “I want you so much. Good things should be shared.” So I put four shrimp in his bowl. A trace of joy overflowed on Liam’s face, but he then put the shrimp back. “I like shredded potatoes, don’t give them to me, eat them while they’re hot.” My throat suddenly tightened. I remembered when I was in the orphanage, I could only eat good food during festivals. Damn it, even after dying and transmigrating, I still couldn’t have a good life. At this time, the System finally reacted. [Host, what are you doing?] [Not following the plot will result in punishment!] “What punishment?” I asked back. [You only have three chances to make mistakes, otherwise you will be electrocuted.] “Oh, remind me when it’s the last time.” 3 Before going to work every day, Liam would make breakfast in advance and keep it warm in the pot for me to eat when I woke up. I asked the System and learned that the original owner usually got up at eleven, ate, and then played games or went shopping. She demanded good food and clothes. Liam’s salary of eight thousand was often not enough for her, plus rent and utilities, forcing Liam to take two part-time jobs simultaneously. “What’s the difference between this and a parasite?” The System coughed twice: [Host, you are that parasite now.] I really wanted to curse. In the afternoon, following the System’s prompt, I went to the most prosperous shopping street in the city. I looked around roughly; any piece of clothing here cost one or two thousand. Forget it, it’s not that I can’t afford it, but Temu is more cost-effective. After walking around for a long time, I finally bought two pairs of socks for Liam. If I saw correctly yesterday, his socks had holes in them. At this time, the System asked me to call Liam and ask him to transfer money to me. But since Liam hadn’t been paid yet, he had no money, so he would get a scolding from me. System: [Just say: You can’t even take out this little money, what kind of boyfriend are you?] However, as soon as the call connected, I didn’t follow the System’s instructions but smiled and said: “I’m a scammer, send me money quickly.” Liam on the other end recognized my voice and said somewhat dotingly: “Yes, my little scammer.” I’m crying, he’s just too good. The System urgently spoke up: [Host, if you don’t follow the plot, you’ll really cry.] I couldn’t help but retort: “Do I have to say those nasty words? The meaning is the same, isn’t it enough to achieve the goal?” [Our goal is to suppress the male lead. Only after you leave him will he climb up step by step in unwillingness.] “But isn’t he working hard enough now?” “Getting up early and working late for three jobs every day, and coming back to take care of me.” “Is it possible that he just hasn’t met his opportunity yet?” [Host, I advise you not to be too rebellious.] 4 Liam eventually managed to gather three thousand dollars and personally delivered it to me. “Afraid something happened to you, I specifically asked the boss for two hours of leave.” I clutched the three thousand dollars in my hand, my heart sour. Liam currently works in a financial company, does internet promotion in his spare time, and delivers food after work. These three thousand dollars take him half a month of part-time work to earn, but in my hands, it might just be the cost of a piece of clothing. Sensing my mood was wrong, Liam rubbed my hair and asked: “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, since you’re out, accompany me for a stroll.” While holding Liam’s arm, I listened to the System arrange the next plot point. [Later you will meet a college classmate, and this classmate’s boyfriend is a rich second generation driving a luxury car worth millions. After seeing this, you felt unbalanced and went back to have a fight with Liam.] Just as the System said, not long after strolling, we met that classmate. She sat in her rich boyfriend’s luxury car and greeted us. “Isn’t this Jenny? You’re still with Liam? Can a poor boy like him afford to support you?” After speaking, she looked at us with disdain. I was angry and cursed: “None of your business, mind yourself.” She laughed instead of getting angry: “Oops, I originally thought for the sake of being classmates, I’d introduce my boyfriend’s brothers to you. Now it seems you don’t need it.” Then she dropped a “Serve you right for being poor” and rolled up the window. After they left, I secretly observed Liam’s expression and breathed a sigh of relief when I found nothing unusual. Unexpectedly, the System started causing trouble again. [Host, you need to start getting angry, and then say angrily: Other people’s boyfriends drive luxury cars, what do you have? Following you, I will never live a good life.] [Then start a cold war with Liam.] Not only did I not get angry, but I also deliberately changed the subject. “Liam, treat me to something delicious, okay?” Liam stared at me for a while, a smile blooming on his face. “Okay, let’s have a good meal today.” Saying that, he took me to a Western restaurant. Just looking at the decoration inside, I knew it must be expensive. I tugged at Liam’s sleeve and whispered: “Let’s go eat hot pot instead. Treat me here when you get a raise.” A trace of self-blame flashed in Liam’s eyes, and then he pulled me into his arms forcefully. “Sorry, I’m useless, making you hesitate even for a meal. Believe me, I will work hard to give you a good life.” I pulled the corners of my mouth and smiled: “Okay, I’ll wait for you. You must do your best.” As soon as I finished speaking, I heard a sizzling sound in my mind. Then the System’s countdown: [Number of plot violations exhausted, punishment will begin, 3, 2…] Didn’t I ask it to remind me? Soon, a strong electric current rushed through my body, and I instinctively screamed: “Ah—” It hurts so much. Liam didn’t know what happened to me, his face full of panic. “Jenny, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me…” The punishment wasn’t over, and I couldn’t speak from the pain. I only saw Liam’s eyes were scary red. “I’ll take you to the hospital, don’t be afraid, I’m here.” I opened my mouth, really wanting to tell him I was fine, it would pass soon, don’t waste that money. Damn System!!!

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After breaking up with Julian, I found out I was three months pregnant. I raised my daughter, Bella, alone for five years. But working three jobs took its toll, and a sudden brain aneurysm took my life. I found myself floating in mid-air. Suddenly, I saw him. Julian, now a famous movie star. Knocking on my front door. 1 It took a long time for the door to open. “Who are you?” It was my daughter, Bella. She had to stand on her tiptoes for ages just to reach the lock. Her eyes were guarded as she looked at my ex-boyfriend, her biological father, Julian Rivers. Seeing it wasn’t me, Bella immediately tried to close the door. Julian held it open. Frowning, he asked, “Where is Chloe?” Bella thought for a moment, then looked up with a bright smile. “You’re looking for my mommy? She’s not home.” “She’s working.” Julian’s face fell. He asked again, “Where’s your dad?” [It’s you! You’re her dad!] I shouted desperately from mid-air, but he couldn’t hear me. Bella thought about it. “My daddy is far away making big money. Mommy says when he makes enough, he’ll come pick us up.” Julian’s brow furrowed deep. Suddenly, he let out a self-deprecating laugh. He muttered to himself. “Ha, I must be crazy to think you’d wait for me.” With that, he turned to leave. Then he paused. He asked for Bella’s full name. “Bella Cloud.” “Mommy says I’m her beautiful little cloud, so I’m Bella.” Bella said it with such pride. Julian searched her face. Seeming to look for some kind of proof. But in the end, he said nothing. He stepped into his stretch limo. I watched the car drive away, screaming. [Don’t go, Julian! If you leave, what will happen to our Bella?] [She’s only five. How will she survive alone?] I turned to my daughter, who was blinking at the dust left by the car, and tried to coax her. [Bella, baby, run after him! Mommy isn’t here anymore, only he can take care of you now.] But Bella couldn’t hear me either. She just said, “What a weird uncle.” And closed the door. At that moment, I wanted to slap myself hard. Why didn’t I tell Bella who her father was sooner? Why didn’t I show her a picture of him? This is all my fault. It doesn’t matter that I’m dead. But what about my daughter? 2 Bella swung her little legs, waiting for me to come home. The sunset faded. The sky grew dark and heavy. Normally, I would be home by now. Because Bella is afraid of the dark. But I was already dead. My coworker had just received the notice at the hospital that resuscitation failed. She needed to notify my family. But when she unlocked my phone, she found my emergency contacts list empty. However, they knew I had a child. So, that night, the home phone rang. Bella ran towards the phone on her short legs. “Hello?” The稚嫩 (childish/tender) voice made my coworker tear up. She didn’t know how to tell a little girl her mother was dead. And would never come back. “Is that Mommy?” Bella’s voice was full of excitement. “Are you working late again? It’s okay, Bella is fine, not hungry at all. I just ate the bread Mommy bought.” She patted her round little tummy. “Bella, your mommy… she just passed away.” Bella asked confusedly: “Passed away? Where did she go? But it’s okay, Mommy will definitely take me with her.” Once, due to work, I had to go to a neighboring state. Unwilling to leave Bella alone, I took her with me. It was Bella’s first long trip. Sitting on the train, she pointed at the scenery outside, so excited. So now, Bella thought I just went on a business trip somewhere. Hearing this, my coworker sighed. She didn’t know what else to say. She could only hang up. Finally, representing the company, she sent my body for cremation. I was left as nothing but a jar of ashes. 3 That night felt incredibly long. It was also the first time I didn’t come home. Every so often, Bella would run to the door to see if I was there. But soon, scared by the dark, she’d run back. She ran back and forth many times. Until she couldn’t fight the sleepiness. Finally, hugging the teddy bear I bought her, she fell asleep. Dawn broke, a rooster crowed. She woke with a start. And ran urgently to the door again. Seeing I still hadn’t returned, disappointment flashed across her face. But soon, she comforted herself. “It’s okay, Mommy is just too busy. She’ll be back soon.” Having eaten nothing all night, Bella’s stomach rumbled. She could only eat the bread I bought to fill her belly. She opened a carton of milk I bought. Copying me, she tried to heat some water to warm the milk. “Mommy says don’t drink cold milk, or I’ll get a tummy ache.” Bella talked to herself while carrying a pot full of water. But her hands were so small, how could she carry it? I was frantic, telling her to stop. But I was helpless. Standing on a stool, just as Bella was about to put the pot on the stove, her strength gave out. Water splashed everywhere. The pot smashed onto her tiny foot. Instantly, it swelled up. My heart felt like it was being carved by a knife. But I was relieved it wasn’t boiling water. Bella sobbed quietly. Soon she hugged her foot, blowing on it. “Mommy isn’t here, Bella will blow on it herself, pain pain go away.” She wiped her tears. Moved a stool. Sat in the living room, staring unblinkingly at the door. “Bella won’t cry. When Mommy comes back, she’ll say Bella is brave.” Bella is so good, so sensible. Sensible enough to break my heart. How I wished she would resent me, blame me for being a bad mother. But she just waited obediently for my return. 4 Two hours later. A car stopped in front of our house. My coworker knocked on the door. Bella was thrilled, thinking it was me. She ran fast. But tripped accidentally. A sharp rock cut her shin. But she just frowned, got up quickly. Opened the door. Seeing it wasn’t me, her emotions finally collapsed. She wailed loudly. “Mommy, why isn’t Mommy back yet?” “Bella’s foot is swollen, leg hurts, Bella has been so brave.” “But Mommy still isn’t back. Does Mommy not care about Bella anymore?” “Does Mommy not love me?” Bella cried her heart out. Listening, my heart shattered into pieces. … My coworker rushed to comfort her. Found the first aid kit and disinfected Bella’s leg with alcohol, putting on a Band-Aid. After settling everything, my coworker brought in my urn and my belongings from the company. Bella didn’t understand. But seeing a photo of us at the amusement park taken not long ago, where I was hugging her and we were both laughing happily, she recognized me. She asked: “Sister, are these all my mommy’s things? Where is my mommy?” My coworker held back tears. Pointed at the jar. “Your mommy is inside here. If you miss her, hug it and talk to it.” Bella shook her head. “How can Mommy turn into a jar? She’s not the Monkey King, only he can shapeshift. You’re lying.” She hugged my photo instead. “This is my mommy.” She kissed the photo. And smiled sweetly. My coworker sighed and placed my urn on a high shelf. Then she looked around. Asked: “Where’s your dad? Are you the only one home?” Bella lowered her head. “Mommy said Daddy went far away to make money. I’ve never seen him.” My coworker couldn’t believe it. “Do you have any other family? Grandparents?” Bella shook her head. My coworker couldn’t hold back her tears anymore and hugged her. “Poor child.” “You’re so small, how could your mom bear to leave you alone.” Bella retorted. “Mommy wouldn’t leave me. Mommy loves Bella the most.” My coworker put a bank card in Bella’s hand. “This is the compensation money from the company for your mom. There’s twenty thousand dollars in here. The password is six 8s. Keep it safe. Don’t lose it.” Bella nodded seriously. Clutching the card tightly. Because we were poor, I taught Bella from a young age that money is good and must be kept safe. Now, she took it to heart. After thinking it over, my coworker called the local Child Protective Services. That place was for homeless children like her. I was filled with gratitude. I bowed to my coworker in the air. [Thank you.] If she goes to an orphanage, at least my Bella can survive.

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The first time I asked for a week off, I prepped the trash can with seven fresh liners before I left. Seven bags. I figured it would last exactly until the day I returned. When I got back, though, my own suitcase was sitting outside the front door. Blair Harrington was standing on the steps, arms crossed. “We can’t afford a housekeeper who calculates every move, Jenna.” 1 After I confirmed the week of leave with Mrs. Harrington—Blair—I started my usual final sweep. The hardwood floors were buffed until they reflected the overhead lighting. Every piece of decorative furniture was perfectly aligned. Leo’s textbooks, stationery, and next season’s clothes were all organized neatly at the foot of his bed. Finally, I made my way to the kitchen and started on the trash can. I knew Blair’s particular neuroses. She was obsessively clean—no overnight trash allowed. But she absolutely hated dealing with the liners, convinced they were unsanitary. I pulled out a fresh liner, carefully opened it, and secured it over the rim. Then another. Then another. I stopped at seven. One bag per day, exactly enough until my return. This way, for the next seven days, all she’d have to do was pull out the full bag. A clean, new one would always be waiting underneath. I finished the task and spoke quietly at the entryway. “Blair, everything is squared away. I’ll be back next week.” That week back home felt impossibly long. I’d wake up before dawn, worrying that Leo hadn’t had breakfast yet. Hearing the faucet run, I’d remember the patio plants needed watering. When I finally closed my eyes at night, I could feel the invisible dust I hadn’t reached yet. I was restless, aching to get back to my routine. I bought the earliest train ticket available. The scenery outside the window was stunning—like a postcard of the Shenandoah Valley—but I barely registered it. Instead, I mentally inventoried Leo’s uniforms, thinking they needed pressing. I reminded myself to rotate the ficus in Blair’s study to catch the morning sun. As the train pulled into the station, I pulled out my phone and texted Blair. “Blair, I’m almost there. How’s Leo’s appetite been? Should I make that heritage chicken soup tonight?” I carried the treasures I’d brought back: a genuine free-range chicken from my family’s farm—the kind that always made Leo recover faster after a bug. My dad’s specialty coffee beans that Mr. Harrington always raved about. And my mother’s homemade apple butter, which Blair loved. She didn’t text back on the ride home. I figured she was busy, or maybe helping Leo with homework. It wasn’t until the taxi pulled up that I saw her, standing near the front steps, throwing things toward the driveway. 2 I rushed out, dropping my bags and the box of preserves. “Blair, I’m back. Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of the trash.” I started to walk past her, but then I stopped, realizing what she was holding. It was my worn, canvas duffel bag. I looked at the pile on the curb. Everything was mine. My duvet, the travel mug I drank from, my toiletries. All cleared out of the small room I’d occupied for a decade. My heart started to pound. I looked up, a surge of anger tightening my chest. “Are these my things? Why are they out here?” It was then I took in her face. Normally poised and soft, it was now a mask of frigid indifference. “What happened? Is the house being renovated?” I asked, utterly confused. Before I could finish, she let out a frustrated sigh and hurled my duffel bag onto the pile, like tossing out garbage. She folded her arms again, her voice low and sterile. “Jenna, you’ve been with us since you graduated college, haven’t you? This is your tenth year.” I nodded slowly, dumbfounded. “That’s right, Blair. I came straight here.” A cold smile touched her lips. “And for ten years, you’ve been excellent. Never missed a day. You were truly meticulous with Leo.” The momentary relief that washed over me was instantly obliterated by her next sentence, which landed like a physical blow. “But Jenna, we don’t need a calculated housekeeper in this house.” I was completely blindsided. “Calculated? Blair, what are you talking about?” I fought to keep my voice steady, desperate to defend myself. “I’ve never stolen anything, I’ve never padded an expense report. What exactly have I calculated?” I met her cool, assessing gaze, my chest heaving. The sheer unfairness of it all was overwhelming. “Blair, I’m going to be frank. I have no idea what I did.” Blair inhaled sharply. “Before you left, did you or did you not line the kitchen bin with seven or eight new trash bags? I went to pull the top one yesterday, and hallelujah, I found a whole chain underneath!” I nodded, the realization sinking in. “Yes. I know you hate touching the dirty liners, so I set it up for one a day, right until I got back. Is that… a problem?” Her voice ratcheted up, edged with indignation. “I know you thought it was helpful, one a day. But is that how you live? It’s wasteful!” Richard Harrington walked up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s true, Jenna. We teach Leo about being resourceful, making things last. You came here and lined the bin with a week’s worth of bags. That’s not being thoughtful, that’s being extravagant. You’re setting a bad example for our child.” Blair picked up the thread, her voice turning completely detached. “So, we’ve decided. A housekeeper and an employer are fundamentally not family. We don’t share the same values. Your method is certainly caring, but we’re tired. We’ll pay you through the end of the month, plus an extra two weeks’ severance. You need to find a new placement. See who else can handle your kind of… care.” 3 I stood frozen. Was that it? Providing a small, thoughtful convenience was a firing offense? Looking at the profound disapproval on Blair’s face, a wave of helplessness crashed over me. Maybe our principles truly were incompatible. I took a deep breath, trying one last time to salvage it. “Blair, please. How about this? Everything I do, I’ll clear with you first. You approve it, and then I do it.” “Are you trying to cling to this job?” Blair’s brows knitted tighter. “I said our values are misaligned. Do you understand what that means?” She turned toward the door. Watching her back, the memory of the last decade flooded me, and a bitter ache rose in my throat. I took a desperate half-step toward her, my voice trembling. “But Blair, I’ve been here since I graduated. Ten years. Does that count for nothing?” The floodgates opened. The raw injustice spilled out. “My degree was in PR, but you begged me to stay after that one cleaning gig. You said you loved how meticulous I was, and I gave up a corporate offer for you! And now, because of a few trash bags—bags I set out to help you—you throw me out?” Blair whirled around, her eyes blazing. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to threaten me? Yes, I hired you, but your legs work fine. No one chained you to this job!” Her words extinguished the last ember of my fighting spirit. I had the offer—a decent starting salary in a downtown firm. But Blair’s relentless pleas—‘Just help me out,’ ‘I don’t trust anyone else,’ ‘We need you, Jenna’—had won out. Seeing the devastation on my face, Blair’s tone softened slightly, but the message remained the same. “We can’t keep you here just for ‘sentiment.’ It wouldn’t be fair to us, and it wouldn’t be fair to you. We’re not a good fit anymore.” I stood there, surrounded by my belongings, my feet planted on the same manicured lawn I’d walked across for ten years. From inside the closed door, I heard Blair’s muffled voice to Richard: “It’s too calculated. She had to organize those few trash bags for you down to the minute. You can’t trust someone like that in your home.” I looked down at the box of home-grown chicken, coffee beans, and jams at my feet. I could almost hear my parents’ voices from yesterday. “Jenna, you work hard for them. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are good people, you make sure to show your gratitude!” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. Sentiment. Gratitude. It was only me who valued it. To them, it meant nothing. I stared at the closed mahogany door, gritted my teeth, and crouched down to gather the things they had discarded. I rolled up the duvet, shoved the toiletries into a plastic bag, and packed everything back into the duffel. Then the thought hit me. Ten years of my life, packed and organized, required only one suitcase, a backpack, and a bedroll. It was terrifyingly light. Just like me. I tossed the non-essentials into the curb-side pile of garbage. Then I picked up the duffel, shouldered the bedroll, and walked away without a backward glance. The neighborhood was the same, perfectly manicured, but standing on the sidewalk, I had no idea where to go. For ten years, my world had been the organic market, the Harrington house, Leo’s school, and the local upscale grocery. Outside of that, there was a gaping void. The college degree, the PR knowledge, it had all been replaced by recipes and cleaning schedules. I was only in my early thirties—young for this line of work. But who would hire a former housekeeper who was ten years out of date for a corporate job? My resume was a wasteland. To the next family, I would just be another under-qualified hire. Panic, cold and suffocating, washed over me. The last of my resolve finally crumbled. Why? What had I done wrong? For ten years, I treated that house like a second home. I did what I was hired for, and often, much more. And all I got was an explanation of “misaligned values,” before being tossed out like trash. Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and unexpected. I stumbled forward, towing the duffel bag, my vision blurred. I walked until I bumped into someone. 4 I raised my wet, blurry face. Standing in front of me was Michelle Lindstrom, who lived a few blocks over. I’d seen her several times, usually with her shy, quiet daughter, Willa, in the neighborhood park. I’d overheard the gossip: Divorced, tough bringing up a kid alone. The nastier whispers implied she was the “other woman.” I never paid much attention, and I certainly didn’t think she would remember me. I quickly looked down, wiping my face with my sleeve, trying to slip past. “Excuse me.” But she didn’t move. “You’re Jenna, right?” I looked up, surprised. Her eyes were calm, not prying. She was simply looking at me. She held out a tissue. She bit her lip, looking slightly embarrassed. “I saw it,” she said quietly. “I saw them put your things out on the curb. And I saw you talking to them.” She studied my emotional state carefully. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was just passing by.” I didn’t know her well, and I didn’t want to talk. But under her steady gaze, my carefully constructed composure instantly dissolved. I opened my mouth, intending to speak.

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Chapter 1: The Echo of “Doe” I knew my place in the universe. It was defined not by who I was, but by who I wasn’t. I wasn’t the sun. I wasn’t the gravity that pulled planets into orbit. I was, at best, a small, rocky moon, tidally locked to a gas giant, destined to show only one face to the world while the other froze in perpetual darkness. I was the “Placeholder.” The “Backup Plan.” From the very first day I agreed to pretend to be Chase’s girlfriend, I harbored a cruel, crystalline self-awareness. So, when the news broke—when the whisper network of our social circle confirmed that she was coming back, that the Prodigal Princess, his “White Moonlight,” had touched down at JFK—I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I sat in my beige-walled apartment, staring at a cold cup of Earl Grey, and calculated the trajectory of my own obsolescence. I picked up my phone. The screen felt heavy, like a slab of granite. I typed the text to Chase. “We need to talk. It’s time to call it off.” I expected resistance. Maybe a polite protest. Maybe a “Let’s talk about this.” Instead, the response was silence. A long, stretching silence that spanned hours. And then, surprisingly, a flash of anger. Not relief. Anger. Chase didn’t want to let me go. But not because he loved me. God, no. He was angry because the prop he had been using for three years was walking off the stage before the curtain call. Let’s rewind. To understand why I let myself become a prop, you have to understand the name. My name is Chloe. But growing up in the sprawling, manicured suburbs of Connecticut, I had a nickname: “Doe.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was derived from my last name, Doe, yes, but mostly it was because of my eyes. They were too big for my face, always wide, always startled, always looking like a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming semi-truck. I was slow. My reaction time was a beat behind the rest of the world. When the punchline landed, I was the one blinking in confusion while the laughter washed over me. I was the kid who got picked last for kickball. I was the kid who, during games of Tag in the cul-de-sac, was always “It.” I remember one humid July evening when I was seven. The air smelled of cut grass and asphalt. The neighborhood kids were playing “Duck, Duck, Goose.” They knew I was slow. They knew I couldn’t catch anyone. So they targeted me. “Goose!” I scrambled up, my Keds slipping on the grass, lunging for the boy who tagged me. He was effortlessly faster. He sat down in my spot, laughing. “Goose!” another girl screamed five minutes later. I ran again. I failed again. I was trapped in a loop of humiliation, running circles around a ring of laughing faces, my chest burning, tears pricking the corners of my eyes, too “Doe-like” to shout about the unfairness of it all. That was when Chase stepped in. Chase was the boy next door. Literally. Our fathers were business partners in a boutique architectural firm, and our houses were mirror images of each other, separated only by a hedge of hydrangeas. He was three years older. At ten, he was already tall, with limbs that seemed to stretch overnight. He had sandy blond hair that fell into eyes the color of Long Island Sound on a cloudy day—grey, blue, intense. He broke the circle. He didn’t just tag someone; he stopped the game. “Cut it out,” he barked. His voice hadn’t dropped yet, but it carried the imperious weight of a future CEO. He put his hands on his hips, glaring at the other kids. “You’re targeting her. It’s cheap. Stop it.” The other kids froze. Chase was the unspoken king of the cul-de-sac. If Chase said the game was over, it was over. He walked over to me. I was panting, clutching the hem of my stained t-shirt, waiting for him to mock me too. Instead, he handed me a juice box he’d pulled from his cooler. “Stop running, Doe,” he said, wiping a smudge of dirt from my cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to chase them. Stay here. I got you.” I got you. Three words. That was the foundation. That was the cement poured into the bedrock of my soul. For the next six years, Chase was my shield. He walked me to the bus stop. He did my math homework because my brain short-circuited when looking at fractions. When the adults joked about us—”Look at the little lovebirds,” “Arranged marriage in the making!”—I would turn the color of a ripe tomato. Chase? He never blushed. He would just grin, wrap a proprietary arm around my neck, and announce to the room, “Chloe is under my protection. Mess with her, you answer to me.” The room would erupt in laughter. My heart would erupt in a quiet, desperate hope. I cataloged these moments like a curator in a museum of unrequited love. I wrote them down in a diary with a lock I kept the key to on a chain around my neck. I was precocious in my sadness. I was mature in my longing. But Chase? Chase was just a boy playing the hero. His emotional awakening didn’t happen with me. It happened sophomore year of high school. And the catalyst wasn’t me. It was Vanessa. My stepsister. Chapter 2: The Girl in the Floral Dress My father remarried when I was twelve. My mother had passed away when I was a toddler—a faded Polaroid in my memory. Dad’s taste in women was consistent: delicate, artistic, fragile. Until Vanessa’s mother, Linda. Linda was vibrant, loud, and calculating. And she brought Vanessa. I will never forget the day Vanessa moved in. I was sitting on the stairs, clutching a copy of The Great Gatsby, struggling to understand the symbolism of the green light. The front door opened, and summer breezed in. Vanessa was fourteen, the same age as Chase. She didn’t look fourteen. She looked like something carved out of marble and rose petals. She was wearing a floral sundress that cinched at the waist, and she stood with a posture that suggested she owned the air she breathed. Chase had come over to help me with my algebra. He walked into the foyer just as Vanessa was directing the movers. He stopped. I watched it happen from the landing. I saw the precise moment Chase’s universe shifted its axis. He dropped his backpack. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. “Hi,” Vanessa said, turning to him. She didn’t smile—not fully. She just offered a cool, appraising look. “I’m Vanessa. You must be the neighbor.” Chase, the boy who could talk his way out of detention, the boy who charmed mothers and intimidated bullies, stammered. “I… uh. Yeah. Chase. I’m Chase.” “Nice to meet you, Chase,” she said, dismissing him with a turn of her head. “Can you help me with this box? It’s heavy.” “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, absolutely.” He walked right past me. He didn’t even look up the stairs. That was the first time I tasted the acid of jealousy. It wasn’t a sharp pain; it was a dull, heavy ache, like swallowing a stone. Vanessa wasn’t mean. That would have been easier. If she were a wicked stepsister, I could have hated her. But she was… tolerant. She treated me with the gentle, slightly condescending patience one might offer a slow-witted golden retriever. “Oh, Chloe, let me fix your hair,” she would say. “You can’t go out looking like a haystack.” “Chloe, stop slouching.” Linda, her mother, tried too hard. She wanted to solidify her place in my father’s house, so she constantly pushed the “sisters” narrative. “Look at you two!” Linda would coo, clasping her hands. “You look so much alike! especially the nose. You could be twins!” Vanessa would pull me aside later, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ignore my mom. She’s desperate. We look nothing alike.” I would nod, obediently. But I would go to the mirror later and trace the curve of my nose, then look at hers. We did look alike. Just a little. But where I was a sketch, Vanessa was the oil painting. Where I was the draft, she was the final publication. Chase, however, refused to see the resemblance. “You look nothing like her,” he told me once, while we were sitting on my porch swing. He was tossing a baseball into a glove, his eyes tracking Vanessa through the window as she practiced the cello. “Really?” I asked, a flicker of hope igniting. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “You’re… you know, ‘Doe.’ You’re goofy. Vanessa is… intense. She has these eyes. They’re sharp.” He said it like an insult to me, but a compliment to her. “Don’t let anyone compare you,” he added, throwing the ball hard into the leather. “You’re fine the way you are.” It sounded like consolation. You’re the consolation prize, Chloe. And that’s okay. I stopped talking to him for three days after that. He didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to figure out how to get Vanessa to ride in his new Jeep Wrangler. He and Vanessa became an entity. A binary star system. They were both popular, both beautiful, both sharp-tongued. The school gossip pages loved them. I felt like I was watching a movie I wasn’t allowed to be in. The distance between the middle school building and the high school wing felt like an ocean. But I forgot one crucial thing: Even before Vanessa, even when I had Chase all to myself, he had never looked at me that way. Chapter 3: The Birthday Paradox The inevitable happened on my birthday. It was a family dinner. My father had booked a private room at Le Bernadin. I was turning fifteen. Chase sat next to Vanessa. The air between them crackled with static electricity. They spoke in shorthand, laughing at inside jokes, ignoring the lobster bisque. I opened my presents alone. A new laptop from Dad. A cashmere scarf from Linda. “Where did Chase and Vanessa go?” Dad asked, looking around as the waiters brought the cake. They were gone. They came back twenty minutes later. Vanessa’s lipstick was smudged. Chase’s tie was loosened. They looked flushed, guilty, and exhilaratingly alive. “Sorry,” Chase said, grinning—a real, wolfish grin I had never seen before. “We got lost looking for the restroom.” A lie. A terrible, beautiful lie. That night, Vanessa came into my room. She crawled into my bed, smelling of Chase’s cologne—sandalwood and expensive tobacco. “Chloe,” she whispered in the dark. “We’re dating.” My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Chase?” I feigned ignorance. “But he’s… he’s a player. You said you hated him.” “I know,” she sighed, sounding delighted. “He’s arrogant. He’s annoying. But… he’s mine.” He’s mine. The possession in her voice chilled me. “I know you guys are close,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’re like his little mascot. Don’t worry. I won’t make him stop hanging out with you.” Mascot. I lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I had stuck to my ceiling when I was ten. I realized then that hope is the cruelest thing in the world. It doesn’t die when you feed it poison; it dies when you starve it. And I was starving. Chapter 4: The Calculus of Julian High school. The great equalizer. Or the great divider. Freshman year hit me like a freight train. My GPA tanked. I couldn’t focus. Every time I saw Chase and Vanessa in the hallway—his varsity jacket draped over her shoulders, her hand in his back pocket—I felt a physical blow to the stomach. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, was a woman who believed in “social engineering.” She rearranged the seating chart based on test scores. “To facilitate peer tutoring,” she claimed. I had failed the last math test. Spectacularly. “Chloe Doe,” Mrs. Gable announced. “You’re in the back row. Next to Julian.” Julian. I knew of him. Everyone knew of him. He was the “Sleepy Genius.” Julian didn’t walk; he sauntered. He had messy dark hair that looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and he wore hoodies that were perpetually two sizes too big. He sat in the back of every class, legs stretched out, usually asleep. And yet, he pulled a perfect 4.0 GPA. He was the kind of guy who solved complex calculus problems in his head while chewing gum, but forgot to bring a pencil to class. I dragged my bag to the back row. Julian was already there, head on the desk, arms folded as a pillow. “Hi,” I whispered, sitting down. One eye opened. It was dark, almost black, with eyelashes that were unfairly long for a boy. “You’re the girl who stares out the window,” he mumbled. His voice was gravelly with sleep. “I’m Chloe,” I corrected. “I know,” he sat up, stretching his arms over his head. His hoodie lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. “You’re Chase’s shadow.” I stiffened. “I’m not his shadow.” “Sure,” Julian yawned. “And I’m not tired.” We didn’t speak for a week. I struggled with my trigonometry. He slept. Then came the incident with the graph paper. I was erasing a hole through my paper, frustration tears pricking my eyes. The sine wave just wouldn’t curve right. A hand reached over. Long fingers, calloused from… something. Guitar? Gaming? He took my pencil. “Stop murdering the paper,” he said. With three swift strokes, he corrected my equation and drew the perfect curve. “You’re overthinking the variable,” he said, tossing the pencil back. “It’s simpler than you think. X is just X. Stop trying to make it Y.” I looked at him. He was looking at me with an intensity that unsettled me. He wasn’t sleepy now. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and oddly amused. “Thanks,” I muttered. “Don’t mention it, Doe,” he smirked. “My name is Chloe.” “I heard Chase call you Doe,” he shrugged. “Fits. You look like you’re about to bolt.” “I hate that nickname.” “Then stop acting like prey,” he said softly. That was the beginning. Julian was… loud. Not in volume, but in presence. Once he decided he was awake, he wouldn’t shut up. He poked me. He drew caricatures of Mrs. Gable on the corner of my notebook. He asked me a million questions. “Why do you eat apples with a spoon? That’s weird.” “What kind of music is this? It sounds like sad whales.” “Do you ever get mad? Like, scream-at-the-sky mad?” “I don’t scream,” I told him one day during study hall. “Everyone screams,” he countered, leaning his chair back on two legs, balancing precariously. “You just do it on the inside. It’s gonna give you an ulcer.” I found myself smiling. “You’re annoying, Julian.” “And you,” he grinned, “are finally smiling. Point for Julian.” Chapter 5: The Horror Movie and the Interruption Winter break arrived. Chase and Vanessa were fighting. I knew because Vanessa complained to me every night, and Chase complained to me every morning. I was the Switzerland of their relationship—neutral ground where they dumped their emotional garbage. But I was starting to detach. Thanks to Julian. Julian had texted me. “Hey, Doe. I bet you’ve never seen a horror movie.” “I hate scary movies.” “Liar. I saw you reading Stephen King in the library. Come to the cinema. My treat. If you get scared, you can hold my hand. I charge $5 per minute though.” I went. We watched some slasher film about a haunted campground. I spent half the movie peering through my fingers. Julian spent half the movie laughing and eating popcorn. Afterwards, we stood outside in the freezing cold. Snow was starting to fall. “You survived,” he teased, wrapping his scarf around his own neck. “Barely,” I shivered. “Hey,” he stepped closer. The neon sign of the theater reflected in his dark eyes. “You look nice when you’re terrified. Very… alert.” “Is that a compliment?” “In my book, yeah.” He reached out and tugged a strand of my hair. “You should come out more. With me.” “Why?” “Because,” he said, his voice dropping. “I think you’re interesting, Chloe. More interesting than the people you hang out with.” My heart did a strange little flip. Not the heavy thud it did for Chase. This was lighter. Fluttery. “Okay,” I said. “Okay?” He looked surprised. “Okay.” Just then, a car honked aggressively behind us. I turned. A black Jeep Wrangler. Chase. He rolled down the window. He looked furious. “Chloe!” he shouted. “Get in the car.” I blinked. “Chase? What are you doing here?” “My mom called. Dad’s looking for you. Get in.” “I’m with a friend,” I gestured to Julian. Chase looked at Julian. The look was withering. “Who’s this? The sleeper cell?” Julian didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, putting himself slightly in front of me. “Name’s Julian. And you’re interrupting.” “I’m taking her home,” Chase snapped. “Chloe. Now.” The tone. It was the tone he used when he defended me from bullies. But now, it felt like he was the bully. “I…” I looked at Julian. He gave me a small nod, a look that said Your call. Old habits die hard. The reflex to obey Chase was ingrained in my DNA. “I should go,” I told Julian. “My dad…” Julian’s face fell. Just a fraction. “Right. Go be a good girl.” He turned and walked away into the snow, hands deep in his pockets. I got into Chase’s car. “Who was that guy?” Chase demanded as he peeled out of the parking lot. “Just a classmate. Julian.” “Stay away from him,” Chase gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “He looks like trouble. You’re too naive for guys like that.” “I’m not naive, Chase!” “Yes, you are,” he shot back. “You’re Doe. You need looking after.” I looked out the window, watching the snowflakes melt against the glass. “Where is Vanessa?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “We broke up.” My breath hitched. “But,” he continued, glancing at me, “We’ll get back together. We always do. Right?” He needed reassurance. He needed his mascot to tell him he was the king. “Right,” I whispered. “You always do.” But as the car drove on, all I could think about was Julian walking alone in the snow, and the way he had looked at me—like I was a person, not a shadow. Chapter 6: The Barbecue A week later, Chase tried to make amends. He organized a barbecue at his parents’ lake house. He invited everyone. Including Vanessa (they were “talking” again). And, surprisingly, he told me to invite “that Julian kid.” “Why?” I asked. “To prove I’m not a controlling jerk,” Chase said. “And so you have someone to talk to while I fix things with Ness.” So, we were at the lake house. The air smelled of charcoal and pine. I was sitting on the deck, watching Julian skewer marshmallows. He was surprisingly good at social events. He had the guys laughing at his impressions of the teachers. Chase was by the grill, watching us. Vanessa walked over to me. She handed me a plate of fruit. “No melon,” she said. “I picked it out. I know you’re allergic.” “Thanks,” I said. “Wait, I’m not allergic to melon. I’m allergic to eggplant.” Vanessa paused. She looked at the grill where Chase was putting vegetables on skewers. “Oh,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Right. I hate melon. You hate eggplant.” She walked over to Chase. “Babe,” she purred, loud enough for me to hear. “You put eggplant on these. Chloe will die if she eats that.” Chase froze. He looked at the skewer in his hand. Then he looked at me. “S**t,” he muttered. “I forgot. I thought… I thought it was Ness who was allergic.” He had confused us. He had confused the girl he “loved” with the girl he grew up with. Julian dropped his marshmallow stick. “You don’t know she’s allergic to eggplant?” Julian asked, his voice cutting through the chatter. “You’ve lived next door to her for ten years.” Chase bristled. “It was a mistake.” “A mistake is a typo,” Julian said, standing up. He wasn’t slouching now. He looked dangerous. “That? That’s just not caring.” “Julian, stop,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “No,” Julian looked at Chase. “You treat her like furniture, man. You think she’s just always gonna be there in the corner.” “She’s my best friend,” Chase stepped away from the grill. “Back off.” “Then treat her like one,” Julian spat. He turned to me. “I’m leaving. This vibe sucks. You coming?” I looked at Chase. He looked angry, embarrassed. I looked at Vanessa. She looked amused. I looked at Julian. He looked… disappointed. “I…” I faltered. “My dad is coming to pick me up later.” Julian nodded. Once. A sharp, final motion. “Okay, Doe. Have it your way.” He walked off the deck, through the sliding glass doors, and out the front. That night, Chase came to my room. He brought me a bag of gummy bears and some stomach medicine. “In case you accidentally ate the eggplant,” he mumbled, handing me the bag. “Thanks,” I said. He stood there, awkward. “That Julian guy… he likes you,” Chase said. “He’s just a friend.” “He doesn’t look at you like a friend,” Chase said. His voice was tight. “He looks at you like… like he wants to own you.” “That’s rich coming from you,” I snapped. It was the first time I had ever snapped at him. Chase looked shocked. “I’m going to sleep,” I said, closing the door in his face. I leaned against the door, my heart pounding. I looked at the bag of medicine. Pepto-Bismol. I wasn’t allergic to eggplant. I just didn’t like the texture. Chase didn’t know me at all. Chapter 7: The Peach Soju Epiphany College was supposed to be a reinvention. I stayed in-state, attending a liberal arts college in Connecticut, majoring in Marketing—safe, practical, decidedly un-heroic. Julian, consistent with his genius-slacker brand, got into a top-tier pre-law program in Boston. We were separated by a two-hour Amtrak ride, but in those first two years, the distance felt negligible. We were tethered by an invisible cord of constant digital noise and weekend visits. I remember the summer after sophomore year. We were at a dive bar in Boston, the kind with sticky floors and neon signs buzzing like trapped insects. Julian had dragged me there to celebrate my passing a brutal statistics final. “You need to loosen up, Doe,” he’d said, sliding a drink toward me. “Try this. Peach Soju. It tastes like juice, hits like a truck.” I took a sip. It was sweet, cloying, and synthetic. “It tastes like liquid candy,” I laughed. The lighting in the booth was dim, casting Julian’s sharp cheekbones in shadow. He was looking at me with that gaze again—the one that made me feel like I was the only person in the room, the only data point that mattered. He leaned in, his arm draping casually over the back of the vinyl seat behind me. “You’ve got something…” he murmured, reaching out. I thought he was going to wipe my mouth. Instead, his hand cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. The noise of the bar—the clinking glass, the indie rock bassline—faded into a dull roar. “Julian?” I breathed. “I’ve wanted to do this since high school,” he whispered. He kissed me. It tasted like peaches and cheap alcohol. It wasn’t the tentative, terrifying kiss of a first crush. It was confident, claiming. It was the antithesis of how Chase treated me. Chase treated me like a porcelain doll to be placed on a shelf; Julian treated me like a variable he wanted to solve. That night, walking back to his dorm, the air thick with humidity, he asked me the question that had been hovering between us for months. “So,” he kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. “Are we doing this? Or are you still waiting for the Prince of Suburbia to notice his Cinderella?” I stopped walking. Under the streetlamp, my shadow stretched long and thin. “I don’t know,” I admitted, the old ghost of Chase flickering in my mind. “I feel like… I feel like I’m always the supporting character, Julian. Even in my own head.” Julian grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “In my movie,” he said, his voice fierce, “you’re the lead. You’re the whole damn plot. Don’t you get that?” We started dating. And for two years, I let myself believe the script had changed.

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My boyfriend, Nate, casually started complaining about a freshman girl he was “mentoring.” “Lily is so clueless, she can’t even make a PowerPoint.” “Good thing I was there to help, or the poor girl would have cried her eyes out.” “But honestly, she’s kind of cute. Like a little lost kitten.” After he finished, I mimicked his tone, casually bringing up my own day. “Really? We have a new freshman in my department this year too. Total klutz, trips over his own feet.” “I just helped him to the campus clinic today, and he sent me ninety-nine roses.” “So dumb, right? But he is way hotter than you.” “By the way, babe, I have plans tonight. I won’t be spending Valentine’s Day with you.” Chapter 1 Nate was so lost in his own world, he didn’t reply for a long time. Only his buddy, Brad, sitting next to him, couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro, your girl is gonna have a baby… with someone else.” I ignored them, sipping my boba tea and typing away on my phone, occasionally letting out a shy giggle. Nate saw my expression and finally seemed to realize something was up. His face darkened, and he dragged me away from the table. Outside the restaurant, Nate, clearly in a bad mood, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. I was too busy replying to texts to pay him any attention, unconsciously muttering, “That’s hilarious. You’re so funny, freshman.” Hearing this, Nate angrily threw his cigarette on the ground and snatched my phone. He glanced at my chat screen, shook his head disdainfully, his voice tinged with anger. “It’s just a meme of a dead pig. What’s so funny?” I quickly snatched it back, rolling my eyes. “It’s hilarious, okay? Why are you so boring?” Then I looked him up and down with disgust. “What do you want to say? It’s hot out here.” “Hurry up, I have plans tonight.” Nate was getting anxious but looked at me with confusion. “Plans tonight?” “Aren’t we supposed to go see a movie? What plans?” I brushed him off nonchalantly. “Oh, I already saw that movie. Go find someone else to watch it with.” “I’m going to pull an all-nighter gaming with someone else tonight. Way more fun than your movie.” At that, Nate completely lost it, stomping his feet in impotent rage. “It’s Valentine’s Day! You’re ditching your boyfriend to play games all night with someone else?” I responded flatly, acting innocent. “Yeah? Is that not allowed?” “If you’re bored, go hang out with someone else too. I’m not stopping you.” Just then, another message popped up on my phone. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. I sent a voice reply: “That GIF is hilarious too. I love it.” Then I walked back into the restaurant with my phone. Ignoring Nate, who was hopping mad behind me. Chapter 2 We were almost done eating when the “clueless freshman” Nate mentioned appeared at our usual spot—Chicken Kitchen. Nate spotted her immediately and excitedly introduced her to Brad. “Brad, that’s the girl I was telling you about. Lily. Cute, right?” Brad looked up at me, suppressing a laugh. “Yeah, she’s cute.” “But I think you’re pretty clueless too. And cute.” He burst out laughing, accidentally spraying juice on Nate’s face. “Sorry, sorry, bro. Couldn’t help it. My bad, I’m clumsy. I’ll drink to punish myself.” He downed half a glass of juice in one go. Nate wiped the pulp off his face, then eagerly waved at Lily. “Hey! Fancy meeting you here.” Lily blushed and nodded, shyly clutching her backpack as she walked to the counter. On the way, she almost tripped over nothing. Nate chuckled, finding it adorable. He whispered affectionately, “Dummy, your shoelace is untied.” Then he walked over to her with a look of helpless indulgence. Brad told me to look up and stop playing on my phone, warning me my boyfriend was about to get stolen. I shrugged indifferently and looked over. Nate was squatting on the floor, tying Lily’s shoelace into a perfect bow. When he stood up, he couldn’t resist patting her head. “Why are you so silly? Didn’t even know your shoe was untied.” Lily stared at the ground, blushing. “Sorry, Nate. Made you worry.” Nate sighed lovingly. “Alright, be good. Go order your food.” He watched her get in line, reluctant to leave. Finally, unable to stand it, he grabbed her number ticket and stood in front of her. “Go sit down. I’ll wait in line for you. Don’t want you tripping and spilling your food.” Lily made a playful face at him and sat down at a table behind him. I watched their little performance blankly. I felt absolutely nothing. Instead, the boy serving the food caught my attention. I watched him working diligently, feeling strangely satisfied. Brad, seeing I wasn’t going over to tear them apart, was shocked. “Zoe, what’s going on? You’re not gonna cause a scene?” “Where’s the Zoe who once fought the entire Law department?” I gave a vague “Huh?” and replied casually. “Those are past glories. Not worth mentioning.” I continued to admire the busy boy. He filled Nate’s bowl of Braised Chicken Rice entirely with potatoes. I finally burst out laughing. The boy scratched his head awkwardly in my direction and gave a goofy smile. I silently gave him a thumbs up. Good job. Soon, I got a text. “Zoe, does anyone really love potatoes that much? No meat at all? Weird.” I replied calmly. “What’s weird about it? I love meat. Hate veggies.” The boy blushed slightly. Another text came in. “I… I like meat too.” I smiled and typed. “Don’t forget your ID tonight.” He replied instantly. “Okay. I’ll bring extra boxes of that too.” I was just about to say I prefer strawberry flavor when my phone was snatched away. I looked up to meet Nate’s gaze. He was scrolling through my chat history. I wasn’t scared. I let him read. And watched him crumble. His face went pale. “You’ve only added him for two weeks, and you’ve talked this much?” “Wait, why are you telling him everything? Even an ant carrying away your dropped ice cream is flirty conversation?” “I can’t believe this. You told him about that? I was just a little quick that one time! I last a long time usually!” “Ha, I get it. Eighty percent of your chat is about me.” “You’re just using him to make me jealous, right?” He started trying to convince himself. Then, as if he’d figured it all out, he looked at me smugly. “Hmph, and what’s this about IDs and bringing extra boxes? You’re just going to an internet cafe to game, right?” “You girls and your little tricks. Naughty.” “Lily is different. She’s too innocent. She definitely doesn’t scheme like you.” I widened my eyes innocently. “No, you misunderstood. We’re not gaming. We’re getting a room.” Seeing his disbelief, like he wanted to debate me for another few rounds… I didn’t have the patience. I yawned and brushed him off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You guessed it.” “Your Lily is innocent, everyone else is scheming. Happy now?” “Give me my phone. I need to go home and shower first.” Nate laughed angrily and threw my phone on the table. “You’re serious?” I gave him a meaningful look, then stared calmly at him as he teetered on the edge of a breakdown. Nate sensed I wasn’t joking. He couldn’t accept this shift. After all, I once fought the entire Law department to chase him. Tore up hundreds of love letters. Broke my nails multiple times. Someone who loved him that deeply couldn’t just suddenly start flirting with someone else. To him, this was fantasy. But I can only say, it didn’t happen suddenly. If he hadn’t hurt me first… I wouldn’t be treating him this way. Chapter 3 They say a woman’s love makes a man forget to look in the mirror. It’s true. I spoiled him too much. Too many girls were lining up to take my place, boosting his ego. So he grew colder towards me. Started flirting with every new girl he met. Lily wasn’t the first girl he talked about in front of me. Before her, there was Jen from Dance, and Courtney from Sports Medicine. He always did this. Never did anything big enough to make me hate him and leave completely. But he couldn’t stop flirting to prove his charm. I was exhausted. Tired, disgusted, and conflicted about whether to end it. I put so much effort into chasing him. Ending it felt like losing. During that time of hesitation, Xander appeared. He’s the nephew of the Chicken Kitchen owner. I used to see him doing homework in the shop back in high school. When he wasn’t in class, he helped out. He just happened to get into my department this year, so I recognized him immediately. One night, I went down for dinner late and ran into him alone in the shop. He gave me extra chicken leg meat. It tasted better than usual. Turns out, it was his secret recipe. To eat his cooking again, we exchanged WeChats. Sometimes he’d deliver to my door. Sometimes I’d go down when he was free. We got close. Initially, I was in it for the food. But then I realized he was funny. And we were fated. Every time Nate bailed on me, Xander appeared nearby. So for the last two weeks… The movies, escape rooms, claw machines, and music festivals I was supposed to go to with Nate… Xander filled in. As for what Nate was doing? Brad told me. This summer, Nate and Lily got a part-time job. Ten dollars a day. Working from 8 AM to 10 PM. Just making PowerPoints for a project. When I heard the wage, I was speechless. Everyone knows Nate is a trust fund kid. Does he need ten bucks? That doesn’t even cover his socks. He just wanted to flirt with the freshman. Giving me crap about “work-study” and “experiencing life.” But this time, I didn’t make a scene. Because of Xander, I felt less angry. Every time Nate was slaving away with Lily for ten bucks… I was out having fun with Xander, losing track of time. I know I’m not exactly a saint right now. Stringing two guys along. But you reap what you sow. Xander was willing to be flirted with. And I was willing to take the heat. Life is short. Screw it. Today, I’m ditching my boyfriend to go to a hotel with Xander. Who wouldn’t want to share a bed with a guy who’s 6’3″, has an eight-pack, a voice like velvet, and a soft personality? He paints. He cooks. And most importantly… he looks like my celebrity crush. Basically, I’m sleeping with my idol. Chapter 4 Nate read my chat history with Xander over and over, right in front of me. He remained convinced I was just doing it to make him jealous. I was too lazy to explain. Seeing Xander’s shift end, I grabbed my phone and left. But when I was dressed up, perfume on, heading downstairs… Nate was waiting outside my building. “Zoe, I know I’ve been close with some girls, but I never crossed the line.” “If you leave today, that’s cheating. You’ll be blasted on the campus confession wall. In the old days, you’d be shunned.” He grabbed my wrist, trying to preach repentance. But all I could think about was my 6’3″ crush. Is he packing? I didn’t have the energy for Nate. I cut him off fast. “Okay, you’re right, I’m wrong, I’m sorry.” “Post me on the confession wall if you want. Just make sure to use the photo from my trip to LA in April. Not that ugly candid you took by the river.” “If you don’t know which one, text me. I can take a new one for you.” “But I have an urgent matter right now. No time to chat. I’ll apologize properly tomorrow, okay?” I tried to hail a cab. Nate blocked me again, looking furious. “It’s Valentine’s Day! What ‘urgent matter’ do you have with another man?” “Who are you trying to fool?” Then he pulled his ultimate move. Crossed his arms, looked away, pouting like a wronged housewife. “If you dare leave today, we’re breaking up.” I clicked my tongue, expressionless. Then I hopped into a taxi. “Driver, Holiday Inn. Fast, please.”

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Chase and I met on Christmas, we got married on Christmas, and today marks exactly seven years. But on this special day, he brought his high school sweetheart home for dinner. They walked in wearing matching outfits, looking like the perfect couple, while I stood there in my apron, looking like the hired help. “Babe, it’s the holidays,” Chase said, breezing past me. “The more the merrier, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Sierra to the table and sat her down. Chase, who usually has a memory like a steel trap, stared blankly at the cake that read “Happy 7th Anniversary.” He had forgotten. Ever since Sierra came back into town, I’ve become invisible. I watched him take the wedding ring off my finger—claiming it was “too tight” on me anyway—and slide it onto Sierra’s finger to show her the design. I looked at Chase. And I smiled. “Happy 7th Anniversary, Chase. I want a divorce.” 01 “Hazel, what the hell was that? You’re throwing away our marriage over a joke?” Chase had just dropped Sierra off at her place. The moment he walked back through the door, the accusations started flying. I didn’t say a word. Just looking at his face made me sick. When I didn’t respond, he assumed I was feeling guilty and doubled down. “We were having a nice holiday, but you had to be petty. You just had to make a scene. Now look—Christmas is ruined, and everyone is miserable.” He conveniently forgot that he was the one who brought Sierra here. He was the one who forgot our anniversary. He was the one who brought a guest to our romantic dinner without asking. “I’m being petty?” I scoffed. “Do you hear yourself? It’s laughable.” I finally snapped. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Chase flared up. “Laughable? You’re the one being childish! You don’t just throw the word ‘divorce’ around! You upset Sierra so much I had to spend half an hour apologizing to her. You need to call her and apologize, too.” I let out a cold laugh. Why should I apologize? I cooked a full Christmas feast. I baked the cake. I cleaned the house. And I’m the one who needs to apologize? Seeing my reaction, Chase pulled the ring out of his pocket—the one I had handed to Sierra. His tone was nasty. “Take care of the things I give you. A wedding ring isn’t something you just hand to a stranger.” I didn’t take it. I stared at the ring. It had always been a little tight on me, choking my finger. But on Sierra? It fit perfectly. When I didn’t move, Chase frowned deeply. “Hazel! That’s enough!” “That’s enough? Chase, do you even respect me? Who brings another woman home on their wedding anniversary?” I stood up, glaring at him. A flash of guilt crossed his face, but he buried it under defensiveness. “It’s Christmas, Hazel. Sierra is all alone in the city. Inviting a friend over is normal! I didn’t think you’d be so insecure.” I looked at him and felt my heart turn to ash. A week ago, he left me stranded at a party to pick her up. He didn’t notice then, and he doesn’t notice now. The line between love and indifference is crystal clear. He cares about Sierra. Way more than he cares about the woman who has stood by him for seven years. And honestly? I don’t want to do this anymore. 02 I didn’t argue. I just reached out and brushed the collar of his grey wool coat. Chase looked confused. We were in the middle of a fight, and I was grooming him? He didn’t pull away, though. I bought him this coat. The light grey fabric shows everything. Including the faint, red smudge I just found. Lipstick. Not my shade. Chase followed my gaze and saw it. His face fell. Once your heart completely breaks, you don’t feel anger anymore. You feel a strange, detached calm. I gestured at the stain. “Next time you’re fooling around, try to clean up better.” “Excuse me? Why do you have to be so disgusting?” Chase exploded, pointing at the stain. “I brushed against her by accident! Is that a crime?” “It’s because it was an ‘accident’ that I’m pointing it out. I’m saving you the trouble of me asking questions later. Look, Chase, if you and Sierra are soulmates, go for it. But don’t insult my intelligence.” I kept my face blank. I’d heard the excuses before. I used to force myself to believe him. But tonight, my patience hit zero. His heart has tilted so far toward Sierra that he’s forgotten I’m his wife. Ever since she came back a year ago, everything changed. Sierra was his high school sweetheart. She went to Europe after graduation, and they drifted apart. Chase and I met in college. We fell in love, got married, built a life. Three years dating, seven married. That’s a decade. But Sierra has been back for one year, and she’s already torched ten years of history. People change. Betting on a man’s loyalty is a losing game. The “Seven Year Itch” isn’t just a saying. Chase always calls me petty. But he’s the jealous one. If I bump into a male friend and say hello, I get the third degree. But if I ask him who he’s texting? World War III. He screams about “privacy” and “personal space.” The double standards are exhausting. He lets her eat takeout in his car and leave crumbs on his desk. But if I eat a cookie in the passenger seat, I get a lecture. Thinking about it made my blood run cold. Chase glared at me for a long time. Seeing that I wasn’t going to back down or cry, he sighed, defeated. He reached out to hug me. “…Babe, can we please stop fighting?” 03 “It’s a holiday. I lost my temper, okay? I was wrong. Can we drop it?” I stood stiffly in his arms. My chin rested right on that lipstick stain on his collar. Chase didn’t notice my resistance. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry I forgot the anniversary. Work has been insane. I was just worried about a friend, but I swear, Sierra and I aren’t like that.” I inhaled. Underneath his usual cologne, there was a sweet, floral scent. Her perfume. He kept talking. “Yeah, we had a thing when we were kids. But we’re adults now. I’m over thirty, Hazel. I’m not that immature. Can’t you just trust me?” Then, the tone shift. The gaslighting. “Besides, were you being rational today? You took off your ring, handed it to a guest, and demanded a divorce. You humiliated me in my own home. Do you blame me for getting mad?” I pulled away from him. I knew exactly what this was. “Right,” I said, my voice flat. Chase relaxed, thinking he had won. He took my hand gently. “Sierra is an old friend. She won’t hold a grudge. Let’s take her to lunch tomorrow, clear the air. You can buy her a little gift, apologize, and we can move on.” I didn’t answer. The audacity was breathtaking. He thought my silence was agreement. He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head. His lips hit my cheek. His face darkened instantly. Before he could snap at me, his phone rang. He pulled it out. I saw the screen clearly. Sierra. As if to prove he had nothing to hide, he answered it on speaker right in front of me. Sierra’s voice, dripping with helpless distress, filled the room. “Chase? Are you home? I… I hate to bother you, but my fuse box just sparked and there’s a weird smell. I’m really scared. Can you come over?” I smirked. Classic. Chase’s face went pale. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked at me, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Hazel, look, I just need to go check. It could be an electrical fire. Safety first.” He didn’t wait for my permission. He just left. Slam. The door closed. And so did my heart. Once again, when forced to choose, he chose her. I watched from the window as his car sped out of the driveway. I opened my laptop, downloaded a divorce agreement template, and filled it out. I sent a copy to a lawyer friend for a quick review. I was just about to email it to Chase when my phone rang. It was him. “Hazel! What the hell is wrong with you?!” I frowned. “What now?” “Don’t play dumb! Did you call Sierra while I was driving over here? You are vicious! Two-faced!” “Chase, what are you talking about?” “She’s threatening to kill herself, Hazel! Because of you!” 04 “What? Suicide? Why would she…” My confusion was drowned out by his screaming. “Shut up! I never should have trusted you. You never change, Hazel. Sierra’s call log shows your name right before I got here. Don’t lie to me!” “You toxic, jealous… I never should have married you. How can you be so heartless? You know she’s fragile!” He didn’t let me get a word in. He hung up on me. When I tried to call back, he sent me straight to voicemail. I sat there, stunned. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and angry. Seven years of devotion, and he doesn’t believe a word I say. He trusts her blindly. Once the crying started, it wouldn’t stop. But eventually, the tears ran dry. I booked a train ticket out of town for the next morning. I was done. I wasn’t going to explain myself. It was such a clumsy, obvious lie, but Chase was the only idiot falling for it. If he had an ounce of trust in me, he’d check the number. He’d ask me calmly. But he didn’t. He just attacked. I didn’t sleep that night. Around 2 AM, I saw a post on Sierra’s social media. A picture of the night sky, two silhouettes. I recognized Chase’s posture instantly. Caption: Thankful for the one who stays. I blocked them both. I finally fell asleep as the sun came up. My dreams were a montage of every fight Chase and I ever had. I woke up at 9 AM, printed the divorce papers, and packed my bag. When I walked into the living room, Chase was standing there. He looked awful. “Where were you?” he barked. I ignored him. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the door. “I booked a table. You’re coming with me to apologize, and we are ending this drama right now.” “Let go of me! Chase, stop!” I tried to shake him off, but his grip was iron. He dragged me all the way down to the car before releasing my bruised wrist. “Get in. You agreed to this last night. Stop being difficult.” I rubbed my wrist, took a breath, and pulled the papers out of my purse. I slapped them against his chest. “Chase. I want a divorce.”

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