Category: English

She always told me that family, friendship, and love—they will all betray you. Only money never will. So the moment I returned to the Prescott family estate, I made a decision. I would become the master of the Prescott house. 1 I never knew my father. It was just my mother and me, living in a small, forgotten hollow deep in the country. The town was poor. Everyone, from the toddlers to the great-grandmothers, had to work. The phrase they loved to repeat was, “Poor children learn to run the house early.” But my mother was different. She never taught me how to work the land or keep a home. From the time I could understand, she drilled into me that the world was cruel and offered no fairness. When Mrs. Gable taught her daughter to be kind and gentle, my mother demanded I shed any excess goodness. Claw your way up by any means necessary the moment you see an opening. When Mr. Jones taught his son that kinship and family were everything, she taught me that family, friendship, and love would all betray me. Only money never would. She taught me to observe, to be sweet-tongued on the surface, and ruthless underneath. She showed me, through her own actions, that cold, hard cash was the only loyal thing on this earth. When I was fifteen, my biological father showed up. He wore a tailored suit and his hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. His polished leather shoes, reflecting the sunlight, looked absurdly out of place on our cracked concrete porch. Mrs. Gable teased me, “Well, girl, looks like you’re finally going to have a good life.” I sat on the steps, staring absently at the gleaming hood ornament on his car—a silent signal of a world I didn’t know. I knew better. Good fortune doesn’t just crash down on you for free. That day, I was driven in the expensive sedan straight to a hospital. The driver oversaw a full physical exam and several vials of blood drawn. When we were done, I was dropped back in the hollow. My mother said nothing, just told me to wait. Ten days later, the man returned. His brow was relaxed; he seemed to be in a much better mood than the last time. He wanted me to stay outside, but my mother insisted I remain in the room and listen to their conversation. “The matching results are in. It’s a half-match.” My mother seemed unsurprised, her expression tranquil. But I saw the truth. Her facade of calm was paper-thin. Her hand, clutching mine, was trembling. At fifteen, I didn’t know what a “half-match” meant. That day, the two people with the closest blood tie to me negotiated for three hours in my presence. In the end, I went home with my biological father. My mother walked away with Five Million Dollars. My bone marrow. That’s what she sold for the price of a house. 2 Alistair Prescott didn’t like my mother, and he certainly didn’t like me. On the drive away from the hollow, I listened to him vent to the driver. My mother, it turned out, was a “mistake” from his youth. He said that if he hadn’t thought she was young, pretty, and easily controlled, he never would have slept with her. He never expected her to be so calculating, running off once she realized she was pregnant. From his tirade, I gathered he had a devoted wife, Sylvie. A daughter, Sierra, who had been raised like a princess. And a son, Remy, who had leukemia. If his son didn’t desperately need a bone marrow transplant, he would never have dragged me into the Prescott family’s life. Alistair dozed off mid-sentence. The space in the luxury car was vast, yet I felt cramped and suffocated. After what felt like forever, the car stopped outside a stunning, columned mansion. Smack. I was still climbing out when the slap landed. I hadn’t even had a chance to register the house. The sudden blow, combined with the stiffness from the long drive, sent me sprawling onto the driveway. My cheek was a sheet of stinging heat. “Sierra! What in God’s name are you doing?” Facing her father’s reprimand, the girl—my half-sister—pouted. “Daddy, don’t you love me anymore?” Alistair sighed, already melting. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. I was just worried you’d hurt your hand.” Sierra instantly brightened. She hooked her arm through his, staring down at me with an air of pure, arrogant disdain. “Hitting her dirties my hands. Dad, she’s ruined my mood on her very first day. Can we at least make her kneel in the solarium and pray for Remy? Please?” Alistair glanced down at me, then affectionately ruffled Sierra’s perfect blonde waves. “You’re impossible, kid. Fine. You win.” As they turned away, Sierra’s shimmery, designer dress caught the light, a spectacular, dazzling thing made of a fabric I’d never seen before. I knelt for five hours that day. It wasn’t until late that night that I met Sylvie, Alistair’s wife. She was immaculately maintained, but her face was etched with a permanent, profound worry. She barely spared me a look before ordering a housekeeper to take me away. I was settled in the staff quarters, sharing a room with Mrs. Lewis, the senior housekeeper. Mrs. Lewis brought me a plate of food. The rice was dry, and on the side were two cold, greasy pieces of pot roast. The first bite was heavy and oily, coating my mouth with fat. I smiled brightly. “Thank you, ma’am. This is very good.” She just looked at me and said nothing. I knew everyone here disliked me, the bastard daughter dragged in from the backwoods. But if I was going to survive here, I had to change their minds. A few days later, I was taken to see my half-brother, Remy. His face was ghostly pale, as if he might crumble at any moment. When he saw me, there was no hostility, only a quiet emptiness. But when he heard I was his donor, his eyelashes flickered. 3 The doctors opted for a bone marrow biopsy and stem cell harvest. The operating room was freezing. Even through the anesthesia, I felt the pain. An insidious, deep ache. That was the first time I cried since I came back to the Prescotts. I missed my mother. I wanted to ask her why it hurt so much. Remy’s recovery went smoothly enough. Alistair’s attitude toward me softened slightly. He even enrolled me in the same elite private school as Sierra. But even though I had saved her brother’s life, she still hated me. The news of my illegitimate status spread through the school instantly. Sierra led the charge to isolate me. My freshman year was a cycle of finding spiders in my desk, razor blades in my water bottle, and the constant threat of a burnt scalp from a hurled curling iron or a stapler puncture. I was hit, cursed, threatened, and shunned. Whether I was drenched in cold water or locked in the storage closet for the night, I always faced them with a smile. I never told on them. I certainly never cried. I started eating all the heaviest, unhealthiest food I could find. I gained weight, my face broke out with teenage acne, and I wore the baggiest, most shapeless clothes. I was utterly, deliberately forgettable. My mother had taught me: When you are dull and without light, fewer people will bother to look your way. After a while, my complete lack of resistance bored Sierra. She stopped constantly monitoring me. I finally got the breathing room I needed to study. I kept my grades consistently low, always positioning myself at the bottom of the class roster to act as a buffer for Sierra’s terrible scores. In the second half of sophomore year, Remy’s rejection symptoms became severe. I went in for another bone marrow harvest. It was more painful than the last time. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let a single sound escape. Crying is a currency, and I had already spent mine long ago. After that procedure, I was moved into a small, independent room. It had the worst light in the entire villa, but for the first time, I had a space that was just mine. Mrs. Lewis secretly made me a dish of liver—good for the blood. She watched me eat, then turned her back to discreetly wipe away tears. Having shared a room with me for over a year, she knew exactly how often I came back with new bruises. Her initial disgust for the “bastard child” had transformed into pity. She once asked me, Don’t you resent them? I offered her a silent, weary smile. After you’ve walked too many helpless miles alone, resentment simply turns into calculation. 4 Senior year arrived. Sierra’s grades were a lost cause, so Alistair had already arranged for her to study abroad. Naturally, I, with my equally poor grades, had no such luxury. I had to remain in Avery Metropolitan, ready for the next bone marrow call. Sierra had already flown to Switzerland when I took my college entrance exams. Over the summer, her social media feed was full of the Swiss Alps, the Greek Islands, and spectacular skydiving videos. Life is an open frontier, her captions declared. A few weeks later, my scores came in. I had completely over-performed, scoring high enough to get into one of the top public universities in Avery Metropolitan. It was the first time Alistair had ever truly seen me as a daughter. Before that, he didn’t even know what schools I’d applied to. He actually called me to the main dining table for dinner. At the table, he said he would grant me one wish. Even Sylvie looked at me with an uncharacteristic flicker of warmth. Seeing their expectant faces, I let the tears fall, one by one. I told them I had only one wish: I hoped Remy would get well soon. My sincerity wasn’t questioned. They both knew I visited Remy twice a week. The stack of handwritten prayers I copied for Remy in the solarium was thicker than anything Sierra, his biological sister, had ever done. Alistair’s eyes misted over. He patted my shoulder. “It will happen, Rowan. I promise.” Sylvie’s expression was complex. After a long moment, she reached over and put a piece of tender sea bass on my plate. I had earned my seat at the table. I spent most of the summer vacation at the hospital, caring for Remy. Remy was a quiet boy, and perhaps because I was his literal lifeline, he didn’t resist my presence. To an outsider, we looked like a genuinely devoted brother and sister. Sylvie was almost always there, too. She had grown used to my presence, occasionally even offering a word of genuine concern. On the day my freshman year began, Alistair sent a driver and Mrs. Lewis to accompany me to campus. Everyone in the household had noticed the shift in my status. Everyone, that is, except Sierra, who was still abroad. 5 College life was better than I could have imagined. I joined the university’s competitive math society and met Rhys Easton, a student two years ahead of me. He was honest and gentle, completely unlike a rat like me who had spent her life crawling in the gutter. He was a sun, and I couldn’t help but orbit him. I liked him. By a stroke of beautiful luck, he liked me, too. On a perfect, sun-drenched afternoon, he held a bouquet of flowers and asked me to be his girlfriend. The friends he’d enlisted cheered and wished us well. Rhys placed a light, tender kiss on the back of my hand. He tilted his head back, his smile open and radiant. Watching the small tear-mole beneath his eye, my heart melted into something soft and unrecognizable. I was, however briefly, living a beautiful life. During my first college break, Sierra didn’t return. She went to Iceland and chased the Northern Lights. Sylvie didn’t say much, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes. I had long realized that Sylvie favored Remy. She was traditionally biased toward her son, and his leukemia had only intensified that focus. She was visibly upset that Sierra hadn’t returned to check on Remy. Sylvie was aging. Stress had started to thread grey through her hair. The constant surgeries and stress over the years had made her anxious and quick-tempered. The day before New Year’s Eve, Remy’s condition suddenly deteriorated, and he was rushed into the ICU. Alistair was out of town and couldn’t make it back. The staff were all busy at the estate preparing for the holiday. It was just Sylvie and me at the hospital. Outside the operating room, Sylvie gripped my hand tightly, staring at the closed doors. In that moment of extreme vulnerability, I, the bastard daughter, was her only comfort. Thankfully, it was a false alarm. Remy was stabilized. The overwhelming relief of not losing him caused Sylvie to forget herself. She threw her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably. She cried, and I cried with her. I whispered, “Please, take my bone marrow again. I’ll do anything to make Remy better.” She patted my head, a shaky, tearful gesture. “Sweet child, it’s not that simple anymore.” After that scare, Sylvie became terrified of losing Remy. She moved all her personal belongings to the hospital, including the small chapel paraphernalia she used for prayer. She swore off meat to pray for Remy, and I quietly began eating only vegetables with her. She gradually grew more fragile, and her arguments with Alistair grew explosive. Alistair’s company was demanding, and I knew he maintained several mistresses. His sick son and his increasingly hysterical wife were wearing him down. Alistair’s absence during Remy’s rush to the ICU became the final flashpoint, and their marriage crisis exploded. 6 The villa’s foyer was littered with broken glass and porcelain. Sylvie had stormed out, slamming the door. Alistair slumped onto the sofa, resting his head in his hands. The overflowing ashtray spoke volumes about his frustration. I brought him a cup of calming herbal tea, cautiously offering comfort. “Please don’t be angry, Dad. Sylvie is just so worried about Remy.” Alistair lifted his eyes, accepted the mug, and sighed deeply. He looked me over, his gaze assessing, before changing the subject. “How are things at school?” I pressed my lips together and smiled. “Thank you for asking, Dad. The students are friendly, and my professors are wonderful.” He nodded, his eyes drifting to my worn, faded jeans. “I’ll have my assistant wire you some money. You’re an adult now. Buy some nice clothes.” He stood up, ready to leave. I walked him to the car. Before the door closed, he said, “I’m busy. When you have time, go check on your brother for me.” Until the semester started, Alistair only visited the hospital once. Sylvie handed me one of her credit cards, putting me in charge of the household expenses and staff payroll. Neither she nor Alistair returned to the villa frequently. Everything in the house was now my responsibility. My bedroom was moved from the small, badly lit staff room to a large, sunny suite on the second floor. If Sierra were here, she would have slapped me and accused me of stealing her life. The following summer, Sierra returned for one week. I conveniently managed to miss her, taking a trip to the coast with Rhys. Rhys was a man of integrity. He never pressured me to do anything I wasn’t ready for. Our relationship was still confined to hand-holding and embracing. But the shared trip brought our hearts closer. After the vacation, Rhys began an internship at his family’s company. While he hadn’t made a big show of it, he hadn’t hidden his identity, either. He was the only son of Silas Easton, the famously ruthless real estate developer in Avery City. Our time together became shorter. But no matter how busy he was, Rhys still came to see me every single day. When midterms arrived, I applied to participate in a math competition in New York to bolster my application for a post-grad scholarship. It was my first time traveling abroad. Rhys arranged to attend as an administrative assistant, just to be with me. The competition went well. I didn’t win the top prize, but I ranked well. Afterward, Rhys suggested we celebrate. He mentioned that his sister went to college nearby and could recommend a good restaurant. Walking down a New York street, he held my hand. “Funny enough,” he said, turning his black eyes, bright as sunlight, to mine, “my sister shares your last name.” Rhys was beautiful. Even lost in a throng of people, he shone. A moment later, I spotted Sierra. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year. In that year, I had lost fifteen pounds, traded my heavy bangs and black-rimmed glasses for a sleek, long haircut, and my acne had vanished. Sierra didn’t recognize me. That didn’t stop her immediate, knee-jerk hostility. “Sierra, this is Rowan, my girlfriend.” “Ugh, did you get a girlfriend and forget about your sister, Rhys? You haven’t checked on me in ages.” Sierra cut him off, clearly annoyed. Rhys shot her a look of resignation, then turned back to me, but his expression froze. My face was paper-white. Cold sweat coated my palms. My body was shaking uncontrollably. “Rowan? What is it?” Sierra’s impatient gaze finally landed on me. She frowned. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was shaking, staring at her. “Si…erra…” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She lunged, grabbing my arm. “Rowan Prescott! You! How DARE you!” “Stop it! Let her go. Show some respect,” Rhys demanded. Sierra looked infuriated. She grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Respect this tramp? This bastard spawn of my father’s mistake? You don’t know, do you? She’s Alistair Prescott’s filthy illegitimate daughter!”

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The CEO of the company was my husband. Garrett Rhys. But he had never publicly acknowledged me. “It’s a strategic alliance, a dynastic merger,” he’d always say. “We need to maintain the Golden Bachelor image for the sake of the stock and the brand.” It wasn’t until his college sweetheart, Sierra Thorne, returned from abroad, and he abandoned me, burning up with a fever, to personally host her welcome-home dinner, that the blinding truth finally hit me. I was nothing more than a shadow—a stand-in for the idealized ghost of his first love. With my heart finally broken beyond repair, I drafted a divorce agreement. I was ready to step aside. But on the day I presented the papers, Garrett gripped the agreement with a death-lock, refusing to let go. “Harper, what was the last five years, then? What did it all mean?” I met his gaze, my own eyes utterly vacant. “I’m calling it a massive loss. A failed investment.” 1 My marriage to Garrett Rhys had lasted exactly five years. It was a cold, calculated transaction—a strategic alliance between two powerful families, each of us gaining what we needed. He was my older brother’s closest friend, and I had harbored a silent crush on him for years. So when my family proposed the alliance, and he was the intended groom, I said yes without a second thought. I learned later that he had agreed because his first love, Sierra, had just married someone else and moved overseas. Heartbroken and indifferent, he felt it no longer mattered whom he married. I was simply a suitable, well-connected Sterling—perfectly matched in family background and resources. In those first months of marriage, I held onto a naive, foolish fantasy: that companionship would bloom into love, and that I could melt even the coldest stone. Five years later, the truth was undeniable. Some people’s hearts are the Arctic permafrost—no amount of lifelong devotion can warm them. Over those years, we drifted from polite strangers to co-habitating ghosts. He still kept Sierra’s photograph hidden in his private study. We were husband and wife, yet we were less intimate than neighbors. Aside from the mandatory appearances at family and corporate functions, we slept in separate wings of the penthouse. Our lives were parallel lines that never touched. Five years. No shared vacations, no anniversary celebrations, not even a casual weekend trip to the grocery store together. But I remained the dutiful wife, the perfect Mrs. Rhys. He managed the massive corporation; I ran the family’s charitable foundation, ensuring his domestic life was flawlessly handled. Sometimes, I would wonder if he would spare me even a glance if I didn’t have the Sterling name and the successful foundation work to back me up. Even our rare moments of physical intimacy felt like a chore for him—silent and deeply detached. The real devastation came when I stumbled upon an old box of his college keepsakes and found Sierra’s high school picture. Her eyes, her expression, her overall look—there was an undeniable, six-out-of-ten resemblance to me. In that single, agonizing moment, a cold terror washed over me. I was not his wife. I was merely a placeholder. The irony grew even sharper when I discovered he and Sierra had been discreetly back in contact for several months. I took the evidence to him. “Garrett, Sierra’s back in The City. You’ve been meeting her in private. What exactly is going on?” A flash of panic crossed his face, instantly replaced by a sudden, imperious anger. “Harper, are you seriously spying on me? Sierra is a critical contact for a major partnership. We’re talking business.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. Business? Did “talking business” require meeting her in a private, high-end club until past midnight, avoiding all of his usual security protocols? No wonder he’d been coming home later and later over the last six months, and had practically stopped all physical contact with me. He was keeping himself pure for his rediscovered first love. I had foolishly blamed myself, believing I wasn’t beautiful enough, gentle enough, or attentive enough. Now I understood. He hadn’t been looking at Harper Sterling at all. He was looking at the woman he wished I was. The long-term stress and constant emotional repression took their toll. My body began to break down. My doctor insisted I check into the hospital for a comprehensive, stress-related procedure. When Garrett heard, he only offered a cool, clipped directive: “Tell Finance what you need. They’ll handle the expenses.” No inquiry about my health. No comfort. The only thing he did was instruct his executive assistant to book the best surgeon and private suite. I went to the hospital alone. After the procedure, as the anesthesia wore off, the pain and the weakness made me crave human comfort more than anything. The nurse asked me to call a family member. In this beautiful but emotionally sterile city, my own family was states away. I’d established my life here for him. I dialed his number. “Garrett, my surgery is done. I’m at Saint Jude’s…” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “I’m stuck in an incredibly important international call right now, I can’t break away…” Through the phone, I could faintly hear the strains of a sweet violin, followed by a woman’s light, recognizable laughter. The line went dead quickly. I stared at the call record—less than ten seconds. I tried to stretch my lips into a smile, tasting only the salt of a single, stray tear. Just days earlier, his secretary had innocently mentioned that Garrett had reserved an entire rooftop restaurant to celebrate Sierra’s birthday. Ten seconds for his wife’s medical emergency was an interruption; a whole evening for his ex was a given. But I was his legal wife. Did he truly hold me in such low regard? Less valuable than the person he had already abandoned once? I thought I would weep, that I would break down completely. But strangely, the barren land in my chest remained perfectly calm. There were no ripples left. The deepest grief had passed; only the empty silence remained. Against the doctor’s strict advice, I demanded to be discharged. The doctor tried to stop me, warning that leaving so soon was dangerous. Desperate to escape, I yanked my arm free. A searing pain shot through the fresh stitches—I felt sure they had torn. “I don’t care if I collapse! It won’t be your responsibility! I don’t have a family left anyway.” I spoke of having no family because tonight, I was going to cut all ties with Garrett Rhys. Seeing the blood starting to seep through my hospital gown, the doctor was horrified. He insisted on re-dressing the wound and then, resigned, personally drove me back to the penthouse. I stopped at a 24-hour print shop downtown to print the final divorce agreement. Back home, I sat in the vast, silent living room, waiting for Garrett’s return. 2 He came back at 1:00 AM. He carried the light scent of expensive scotch and the faintest trace of a delicate, feminine perfume. A soft, lingering smile—a look of pure, easy pleasure—still played on his lips. I realized I hadn’t seen that kind of relaxed happiness on his face in the entire five years we’d been married. Reunions with old loves must be wonderful. He looked surprised to see me sitting on the sofa, then, naturally, he gave an order. “You’re still up? Perfect. Go make me some sobering-up tea, will you?” I didn’t move. He frowned slightly. “Harper?” I finally raised my eyes and fixed my gaze on him. “Garrett. I want a divorce.” I slid the printed agreement across the coffee table toward him. He froze instantly, staring at me in disbelief, as if I had spoken an alien language. “What did you just say?” His voice dropped, laced with the accustomed tone of command and corporate intimidation. But I was no longer afraid. “Sierra is back, isn’t she? I’m clearing the path for her.” Garrett’s face went white. The alcohol-induced warmth in his eyes vanished. “You… how do you know about that?” I curled my lips into a cold, mocking smile. “If you wanted to keep it secret, you shouldn’t have used your assistant’s phone to book her a restaurant reservation. And you definitely shouldn’t have let her wear a diamond brooch identical to your custom cufflink set at an industry gala, allowing her picture to be posted all over social media.” Garrett was speechless. He clearly hadn’t anticipated the extent of my knowledge. Five years of marriage had completely depleted every last, small measure of hope I’d held for him. Since my reserves were exhausted, it was time to leave. “Sign it. Once you do, you can openly pursue your perfect ghost without having to pretend I’m anything more than a copy. We both get to be free.” In five years, the times he had genuinely smiled at me were countlessly few, and mostly for show. I had believed he was simply a cold man, born aloof. Now I knew better. His warmth, his passion, his smiles—they were just things he refused to grant me. If I could rewind time, I would never have agreed to that alliance. You shouldn’t meet someone too magnificent when you’re young; otherwise, your entire life becomes a sustained regret. I had already paid five years of my life for a youthful crush and a family obligation. The dream was over. Garrett snatched the divorce agreement, tearing it violently into small, jagged pieces. “Don’t you dare, Harper! Your family pushed for this alliance! You said you wanted to marry me! Now you just decide to walk away? Five years as man and wife, and you can just drop it all like this?” I watched him, my heart a piece of still, cold glass. “Drop it? Then ask yourself this, Garrett: In the last five years, did you ever, even for a single moment, see me as your wife, and not just a shadow?” 3 The air instantly thickened and froze. My question silenced him completely. Watching his struggle for an answer, I mocked myself internally. How many five-year periods does one life hold? My youth, my devotion, my sincere hopes—all wasted. Garrett loosened his silk tie, visibly frustrated at his lack of an answer. He softened his tone. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. Divorce isn’t simple. It affects both corporations. Just calm down, we’ll discuss this another day.” A flicker of genuine panic in his eyes sealed my total disappointment. I knew his real concern. Divorce would shatter the cooperation between the Sterling and Rhys groups, and it would destroy the devoted husband image he’d painstakingly cultivated, tanking the stock price. My heart was dead, but I wasn’t spiteful. “When we married, I brought the Sterling assets and resources. When I leave, I will take nothing. I’ll walk away clean. You keep it all. Use it to marry the woman you actually want.” I was raised in a business family; I understood transactions. Though I married him with a secret, personal hope, I also brought my full power to assist his career. Now, I saw it was only ever a deal—and I was the fool who lost her heart in the process. “Harper, I forbid it! I am not signing these papers!” It was the first time Garrett had ever lost his composure in front of me. Was that a hint of… fear? I looked at him one last time, my expression calm and empty. “Whether you agree or not, this marriage is over. I’ve submitted my resignation to the Foundation board. After the three-month transition period, I will return to finalize the papers. In the meantime, you need to quickly adjust to life without a Mrs. Rhys.” Garrett panicked, perhaps afraid of losing control entirely. He rushed out the words: “You’re the Foundation Director! Without my consent, your resignation is invalid!” I almost laughed. While the Foundation was tied to the corporation, my professional reputation and my family’s backing gave me significant autonomy. “That’s not up to you. If you try to obstruct me, I’ll call a press conference tomorrow and announce the complete breakdown of our marriage.” With that, I tried to stand up. But my body, weak from surgery and long hours of sitting, swayed. My vision swam. I nearly collapsed. Garrett instinctively reached out and caught me. “What is wrong with you? Your face is pale.” I yanked my arm away with all my strength. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Rhys. I’m not going to die.” Hearing the frigid formality of “Mr. Rhys,” his body went rigid. For five years, I had always called him “Garrett,” even though he rarely responded in kind. “Mr. Rhys” was the demarcation line. It meant he was a stranger. Only then did he truly look at my ashen complexion, and the realization hit him. “Today… was the day of your surgery?” 4 Without asking, he pulled up the hem of my thin house robe. He saw the tight bandages around my abdomen and the dark, wet spots of seeping blood. Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Why aren’t you still at the hospital? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your husband!” I met his glare with a cold, simple question. “Why aren’t I at the hospital? Have you forgotten, Mr. Rhys? I called you. You said you had a ‘very important international meeting.’” “As for husband…” I paused, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “That’s about to change.” Garrett urgently pleaded, “Harper, let me explain…” “Stop!” I cut him off. “This surgery—it’s the price I paid for years of emotional repression and stress, all because of you and this marriage.” “Now, I’m only excising the disease for myself.” “Garrett, I don’t love you anymore. I’m too exhausted to try. We are finished.” “If I could rewrite history, I wish… I had never met you.” As the words left my lips, I clearly saw a flicker of pure panic in Garrett’s eyes. Ignoring him, I dragged my weak body toward the front door. My hand touched the handle just as the doorbell rang, sharp and intrusive. I opened it instinctively. Standing there was a woman who did bear a noticeable resemblance to me, her smile bright and charming. Upon closer inspection, her features were similar, but hers were softer, more deliberately alluring. She paused when she saw me, then offered a practiced, flawless smile. “You must be Harper. You really are like the rumors say—you do look a little… like me.” Her tone was gentle, yet threaded with a tiny, undeniable note of triumph. I offered no reply. I had been a stand-in for five years. Now, seeing the original, I couldn’t even summon the energy to feel angry. She held out a folder. I didn’t take it. “Garrett forgot some important documents at my place earlier. I tried his phone, but he didn’t answer, so I dropped it by on my way home.” She spoke, her eyes subtly glancing past me into the living room, where Garrett stood, his face a mask of discomfort. I scoffed inwardly. No wonder Garrett hadn’t stayed in his comfort zone all night—he’d conveniently “forgotten” the “files.” I said nothing, merely stepping aside to let her enter. My heart was ash; their drama was no longer my concern. I walked straight toward the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, I heard Garrett rush forward. “Harper—!” The rest of his voice was cut off. It didn’t matter. I called my assistant, Owen Vance, and asked him to arrange a place for me immediately. Owen sounded surprised on the phone, but he asked no questions, simply giving a crisp, efficient “Understood.” Soon after, he pulled up in a discreet SUV. Seeing my extreme weakness, he immediately jumped out to help me. “Harper? You look terrible. What happened?” I shook my head. “Just a small procedure. I’m fine.” He pulled up the edge of my jacket without asking, saw the bandage, and the telltale bloodstains. His face darkened instantly. “This is a small procedure?! You shouldn’t be traveling! We’re going to my apartment first. I’ll call my family doctor.” I wanted to refuse, but I truly had nowhere else to go, and my body was failing. I nodded weakly. Without another word, Owen folded down the back seat, covered it with a soft blanket, and helped me lie down. He drove smoothly, constantly checking on me in the rearview mirror. When we stopped at a red light, he passed me a thermos of warm water. “Harper, drink this.” It was the first time I had ever clearly felt genuine, unfiltered care from another person. So this is what it feels like to be truly cherished. It felt good.

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Top-tier movie star Sebastian Hayes posts on Twitter: “Who stole my dog!” An hour later, my alt account posting pictures of the dog was doxxed. Soon, netizens discovered: “Isn’t that Sebastian’s dog?!” “This kid actually dared to steal the movie star’s dog? Everyone knows that dog is his precious baby!” “He’s done for. Wait for the lawsuit!” But no one knows, the dog followed me willingly. Because it was the token of love I gave to Sebastian. 1 It’s common knowledge that movie star Sebastian Hayes loves dogs. Especially the one he raised himself, named “Moon.” He can go a month without posting a selfie, but he absolutely cannot go without posting a picture of his dog. His fans say if you want to capture Sebastian’s heart, you first need to capture Moon’s heart. But that night at nine, Sebastian suddenly tweeted: “Who stole my dog!” The exclamation mark at the end practically screamed his rage through the screen. Fans and passersby were stunned. [OMG, who dares to steal Moon? They’re dead meat!] [Dog thief! Give Moon back to Sebastian!] [I can imagine Sebastian thinking about Moon being gone and losing sleep all night.] [If I can find Moon, will… Sebastian date me? Hehe.] [I feel like he’d give you his life if you did.] Meanwhile, the “dog thief” everyone was talking about—me—was happily walking the Samoyed outside. This dog was the love token I gave Sebastian, but after we broke up, he forcibly kept the dog. He wouldn’t let me see it and posted pictures all day to tempt me. As one of the dog’s owners, could I tolerate this? So, on the 38th night of him hogging the dog, I found out his schedule, sneaked into his house, and vowed to steal the dog back. Who knew the moment I opened the door, I locked eyes with Moon’s round, bulging eyes. Moon’s pupils dilated instantly. He obediently held the leash in his mouth and spun around excitedly, as if he knew I was there to pick him up. I patted his fluffy head with satisfaction, took the leash, and carefully slipped away. Moon was super excited the whole way, tail wagging non-stop. I smirked triumphantly. Seems Moon still likes me more. Sebastian can have the dog’s body, but he can’t have its heart. Besides, the dog followed me willingly. How can you call that stealing? 2 Watching the dog frolic and act cute on the grass, my heart felt warm. I couldn’t help but snap a nine-grid photo set with my phone. After taking them, I specifically posted these nine photos to my alt Twitter account with the caption: [The cutest baby in the world is with me.] This alt account had zero followers and followed no one. It was purely for my unhinged rants. Usually, no one comments, but today my notifications were blowing up. Ding dong, ding dong, non-stop. Does everyone else think my dog is super cute too? Makes sense, but something felt off. Confused, I clicked open the comments. [Isn’t that Sebastian’s dog?!] [This kid actually dared to steal the movie star’s dog? Everyone knows that dog is his precious baby!] [He’s done for. Wait for the lawsuit!] I kinda understood, but also kinda didn’t. My dog theft was discovered so quickly? It had only been an hour. I found Sebastian’s Twitter, clicked in, and saw his pinned tweet about the stolen dog. I was silent for a moment, then hurriedly deleted all content on that account and deactivated it. Terrified anyone would find out any info. Then I took the dog back to my place, played with him for a bit, and fell asleep. 3 The next day, before I even opened my eyes, there was a bang bang on the door. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and opened the door to see my manager’s angry face. I raised an eyebrow: “Early menopause? Who pissed you off?” Just then, the Samoyed trotted over on his little legs, white fur flying in the air, staring blankly at my manager. My manager pointed a trembling finger at the Samoyed, his voice filled with grief like he was terminally ill: “What is this? I’m asking you, what is this?” I grinned mischievously, rubbing Moon’s head vigorously: “My dog! Cute, right?” I raised my eyebrows, signaling him to give a compliment. Instead, my manager had a breakdown, screaming right there, his sharp voice piercing through the floors: “Ahhh! Cute my ass! Who told you to steal the movie star’s dog? Ah! Now the whole internet knows you’re a dog thief.” I pondered for a second. Who could know? I already deactivated the account. Thinking of this, I lay calmly on the sofa and said leisurely: “Don’t worry, I handled it perfectly.” The next second, my manager pulled out his phone, opened a page, and shoved it in my face. I stared for three seconds. Huh? What! Sebastian, you bastard! On the screen was Sebastian’s new tweet with a video attached. In the video, a man sneakily arrived at the door, skillfully entered the passcode, and entered the room. About 30 seconds later, he led a chubby Samoyed out. The Samoyed in the video was obviously very happy, grinning from ear to ear, tail wagging non-stop, and kept rubbing against the man’s leg. He even specifically tagged me in this tweet with the caption: [Dog thief, give me back my dog @TylerXu] I’m a D-list celebrity. Before this, I participated in a variety show and got maliciously edited, resulting in my social media being full of haters. But since I flopped pretty hard, there weren’t that many haters. Sebastian’s move pushed me straight into the eye of the storm. At this moment, I was as devastated as my manager. But after a moment’s thought, I realized: dog in hand, world in hand. I don’t care what people say about me. Thinking of this, I clicked open the comments directly. [Can I say the dog looks like it went willingly… sorry, should I not say that?] [Can I say the man in the surveillance video looks kinda hot? Which star is he? I’m gonna follow him rn.] [This guy looks like he knows his way around. Is there a story between them?] [I can only say the internet has no memory. This guy bullied male guests on a variety show before, and now he dares to steal the movie star’s dog. His character has always been rotten.] [For real… then I’m unfollowing. Stealing dogs isn’t cool.] 4 Looking at these comments, I couldn’t help but smirk. Seems many people noticed the dog was willing. I am the dog’s owner! Besides, I don’t rely on the internet or variety shows to eat. What use are fans to me? And with so many haters already, what’s a few more? Thinking of this, I replied directly under Sebastian’s comment section: “Who are you? Stop clout chasing.” Less than three seconds later, Sebastian replied: “You better not be home tonight.” I could even feel him gritting his teeth behind the screen. That’s the effect I wanted. So I replied: “Moved already.” Sebastian: “…” Seeing Sebastian speechless, I tossed my phone aside and laughed out loud. My manager looked at me like he wanted to die, finally shaking his head helplessly: “How can you choose to completely rot just because of malicious editing?” I patted his shoulder to comfort him: “My brother inherited the family business. I don’t need to manage anything and still have endless money. Why must I stay in show business?” “I only joined that show for fun. Who knew it would be so boring and I’d get slandered. Talking about it just brings tears.” “Just rot with me in peace. My brother’s money won’t treat you badly.” “And my brother works abroad all the time, so don’t bother him with these small things.” My heartfelt speech made the manager nod repeatedly, finally choosing to rot with me. Rotting is an attitude, and I’ve implemented this attitude perfectly from the start. Just then, there was another knock on the door. Sebastian’s reply suddenly popped into my mind. Could he have found me? Impossible, impossible. I already moved, and only my manager and brother know this new location. I hesitated, walked up to the peephole, and saw nothing outside. Is it a prank? There are many kids in this neighborhood who like to knock on doors randomly. I’m used to it. Thinking of this, I rolled up my sleeves, planning to teach the prankster a lesson. I swiftly opened the door and looked out. The next second, a large hand grabbed my wrist. I couldn’t help but let out a sharp scream. The sound just came out when it was blocked by Sebastian’s other large hand. My pupils dilated in shock. How did Sebastian find me?

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To “teach me a lesson,” my parents faked a DNA test claiming I wasn’t their biological son. My sister ignored my begging and threw me into a psychiatric hospital. “Troublemaker, why don’t you just die?” And my beloved fiancée not only stood by and watched but used her connections to make sure I suffered hell inside. Five years later, I finally learned to be “good.” But now, they want the arrogant, spirited young master back? 1 “Lucas, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? It’s so late, and you’re still not home. Are you trying to make everyone worry on purpose?” My sister, Clara, scolded me over the phone. Five years. The Lu family finally arranged for my release. Because today is Ryan’s birthday, and he “graciously” offered to give me a chance to apologize. Dad took the phone. “I know you resent us for sending you to the mental hospital, but who told you to be so willful and bully Ryan? We did it for your own good!” Clara chimed in: “Exactly. Besides, we’ve taken you out now, haven’t we? What more do you want?” They rambled on for half an hour before finally asking where I was. “Where are you? We’ll send a car. Behave yourself this time, don’t run around!” I swallowed hard, my voice raspy from disuse. “The psychiatric hospital.” Yes. I had been waiting here from dawn till dusk, never moving an inch. Silence on the other end. A long pause, followed by louder questioning. “You couldn’t come back on your own? Do we have to fetch you? You haven’t forgotten the way home!” “Who are you putting on this show for? Still holding a grudge? I knew you haven’t learned your lesson. We shouldn’t have let you out!” They seemed to have forgotten that they told me to wait here and not move. “S-Sorry, Mr. Lu, Miss Lu. I didn’t mean to.” I apologized instinctively. The other end went silent again. Maybe shocked by my obedience, or perhaps surprised by how I addressed them. Five years ago, we were the closest family. If not for that DNA test, I would never have imagined that I, who looked so much like my parents, wasn’t their biological son. “Forget it!” The anger seemed to deflate. “I’ll have your sister pick you up!” 2 I continued to sit quietly, letting the cold wind and hunger consume me. “Buddy, need a ride?” A taxi stopped in front of me. I shook my head. “Waiting for someone.” Taxi after taxi came and went. It wasn’t until past 10 PM, when the hospital gate was closing, that the Lu family was still nowhere to be seen. Not a single message on my phone. The security guard couldn’t watch anymore. “You’ve been waiting all day! I’m off work soon. It’s remote out here, dangerous for you to be alone at night!” I just twitched the corner of my mouth, saying nothing. I waited five years; what’s one more day? The guard sighed, handing me some water and bread, then stayed overtime to keep me company. “Thank you, sir!” I ate the bread obediently. This was the happiest birthday I’d had in five years. 3 In the end, the Lu family’s car never came. The security guard drove me back. It was already midnight when I arrived at the Lu mansion. Still no message on my phone. The house was lit up, laughter spilling out from inside. I didn’t question them. If the maid hadn’t opened the door, I might have stood there forever. “How did you get so ugly? And your clothes are filthy.” Clara blurted out the moment she saw me. Mom seemed unable to believe it either. “Lucas, why are you so thin?” Why, in just five years, did the fit young master turn into a skeleton weighing less than ninety pounds? A flicker of heartache appeared in Dad’s eyes. He immediately ordered the maid to cook something for me. “We were going to pick you up, but Ryan wasn’t feeling well, so we…” I knew. This was their way of “reconciling.” They could neglect and suppress me for Ryan’s sake without guilt. Then give me a small favor afterward to make me forget the pain. Before, I would have been overjoyed. Now, I didn’t care. I tried to speak, but Clara interrupted. “Playing the victim card again? Pretending not to eat to make you feel bad so he can stay?” Mom shushed her, turning to me with gentle eyes. “Since we haven’t found your biological parents, you’ll live here. You can still call me Mom, like before. I still see you as my son!” “It’s okay, Mrs. Lu. I’m already very grateful you took me in!” A polite title turned the once closest relationship into a chasm. Mom couldn’t hold back, bursting into tears. I was no longer her arrogant, spoiled son. Even if I complained or blamed them for their neglect, it would be better than this servile humility. 4 Ryan trembled when he saw me, as if seeing a monster. After a long while, he mustered the courage to extend his hand. “Lucas, let’s make peace!” I stood frozen. I never fought with him, so where did “making peace” come from? Five years ago, as a college freshman, I declared my claim on Grace, my fiancée, as usual. I loved her fiercely, and as the arrogant Lu heir, I tolerated no rivals. Ryan was one of them. Though raised in an orphanage, he somehow made the aloof Grace look his way. Even my sister sided with him. I visited him once. After that, Ryan suffered bullying. Rumors said I was behind it. Until the end of the semester, Ryan couldn’t take it and jumped off the roof. He was saved, unharmed, but left a note filled with accusations against me! No one believed me. Grace cut ties with me. I thought that was rock bottom. Until the news broke: I wasn’t the real Lu son. Ryan was. Where were my biological parents? No one told me! Overnight, I fell from heaven to hell. Eventually, my family of twenty years united to send me to a mental hospital scarier than prison. “I don’t want the family to worry. Whatever you did, I forgive you.” “As long as you don’t upset Mom and Dad, I can treat you like a brother!” Ryan smiled, obedient and magnanimous. Anyone would praise him as the worthy Lu heir. Dad nodded approvingly. “Right. If you turn over a new leaf, you’re still the Lu family’s young master!” Clara scowled. “I’m only forgiving you for Ryan’s sake. Thank him! If you bully him again, I won’t spare you!” Five years ago, I would have explained desperately. I didn’t bully Ryan. He staged it all. But now, I wouldn’t act like a clown explaining to people who didn’t care. “Sorry. I came back mainly to get my ID card…” Everyone’s face darkened. They thought I was ungrateful. “Why do you always fuss over small things? Still being difficult? Do you want to go back to the hospital?” “We raised you! Why can’t you be good like Ryan? Why always defy us?” Mom seemed to lose control. I didn’t understand her reaction. “But, I’m not your biological son anymore!” Isn’t it normal to get my ID and leave? Mom froze. She stared at me, finding me strange. 5 Clara huffed. “You really calculated this, huh? Enjoyed twenty years of luxury and want to leave? Think you can repay that debt?” I lowered my head. I didn’t understand these people. They hated me. I wasn’t family anymore. Shouldn’t they be happy I’m leaving? In the end, I stayed temporarily. My old master bedroom was now Ryan’s. I was put in the nanny’s room I never used to step foot in. I had no complaints and went to bed early. Even in the soft bed, nightmares found me. Dreams of the humiliation in the hospital. Those terrifying people tearing at my clothes, ignoring my screams. I begged, telling them my powerful family and fiancée wouldn’t let them get away with it! But my resistance only excited them more. They laughed at my delusion. Laughed that I still thought I was the Lu young master. They called me stupid. Because everything I suffered was permitted by the Lu family and Grace! I woke up screaming, drenched in cold sweat.

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I’d just settled into the Officer’s Quarters with my husband, Commander Marcus Cole, and our three-month-old daughter. Three months old. And his eight-year-old adopted daughter, Piper, used a gun she’d somehow hidden in Marcus’s study to shoot her. Right in front of me. The gun was pointed at my baby. My daughter only managed two choked whimpers before her breath simply vanished. I went crazy, screaming for a medic, for justice—anything. But it was too late. Because Piper was just a child, my mother-in-law and Marcus only gave her thirty minutes of standing at attention. Her biological mother, Sienna Reed, arrived and theatrically fell apart, claiming I was trying to destroy their lives. But all I wanted was my baby back! I cried until my chest felt shredded, demanding accountability. Marcus and his mother just looked at me with cold disapproval. “Piper is just a child, Gen! Are you going to ask for an eight-year-old to pay with her life just because your daughter is gone?” I had nowhere to turn. My heart tore itself apart, and I died in that bitter winter. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the morning of the day she died. 1 I didn’t hesitate. I immediately ordered my personal detail to secretly take my daughter to my parents’ safe house. But even this time, Piper managed to shoot another infant. I’d barely stepped back into the Base Housing when a deafening gunshot ripped the air from the street below. BAM! A small bundle wrapped in an O.D. green tactical blanket lay in a growing pool of crimson blood. A cold dread washed over me. I lifted my gaze to the second-floor study window. Piper peeked out, gave me a look of pure, chilling provocation, and then pulled back. My mother-in-law and Marcus rushed down. The moment my mother-in-law saw the scene on the ground, she let out a piercing scream and nearly collapsed. Marcus staggered forward, bending down for a look, his voice shaking. “Genevieve, the baby… it’s not breathing.” I didn’t dare look closer. I bolted for the second floor. Piper’s door was shut, locked from the inside. I slammed my foot against the solid wood. “Piper! Open this door! Who did you shoot?” The room went quiet for a moment, then I heard Piper and the nanny giggling. “Miss, what if they call the cops? The mistress will be after me…” “Who cares? It’s not like we meant to. Besides, I’m only eight. What are the police going to do to me?” The brazenness of their conversation was like an ice pick to my ear. I was shaking uncontrollably. I kicked the heavy door again with all my strength. “Get out here! You just committed murder!” Marcus, a step behind me, grabbed my arm, his eyes red-rimmed. “Gen, you need to calm down! Don’t terrify the child!” I glared at him, pure hatred in my eyes—it was the exact same script as the first time. Our daughter was dead—he thought—and his only concern was protecting his little terrorist. My mother-in-law wiped her tears and tried to sound reasonable. “Sweetheart, I agree Piper went too far this time, but Gen, don’t be so unforgiving.” “The baby was only three months old. Gone is gone. You’re young, Gen. You can always have another one.” I froze, then the realization hit me—they thought the dead baby was mine. But my daughter was already safe, spirited away by my security detail. Then who was that small, bullet-ridden body on the cold asphalt downstairs? Marcus came closer, trying to hug me, promising, “Gen, I swear I’ll get justice for the baby, but Piper is still small and doesn’t understand…” Before he could finish, I shoved him away, hard. “Doesn’t understand? Then why doesn’t she try shooting herself to see what she understands then!” With that, I grabbed a sturdy wooden stool from the hallway and smashed it repeatedly against the bedroom door. The wood groaned and splintered. The entire floor seemed to shake. “Piper Cole! Get out now, or I’ll tear this door off its hinges!” How dare she murder someone and hide comfortably inside? Even if the body downstairs wasn’t my flesh and blood, I would get justice for that innocent infant! A scream came from inside. “Stop smashing! If you break the door down, I’ll shoot myself!” Gasping for breath, I turned and stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy butcher knife, and slammed it against the door. The blade bit deep into the wood, stuck fast. “Shoot! If you don’t, when I get in there, I’ll make sure you pay for a life!” Piper finally gave in and unlocked the door. Her small face was a mask of annoyance and impatience. “Who did you shoot?” She jutted out her chin, swaying carelessly. “Your daughter, obviously. Who else?” I slapped her. The sharp crack echoed. Half her face instantly flushed red. Tears welled in her eyes. She clutched her cheek, disbelief etched on her face. “You hit me? My real mom never hit me! You evil woman—” I slapped her with my other hand. “It’s precisely because your real mother indulged you that you grew up to be this monster!” Then I grabbed her by the collar and hissed, “I’m asking you again! Who did you shoot?” Only then did fear creep into her eyes. She covered her face and mumbled, “It was… your daughter. But I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to see what happens if you shoot a baby…” “How was I supposed to know she’d die?” I looked into the room. The window was wide open, letting in a chilling gust of air. The nanny was huddled in a corner, shivering and silent. They were both well over eight years old. How could they not know the danger of a loaded gun? Marcus stepped closer, trying to intervene. “Piper knows she made a mistake, Gen. You’ve let out your anger. Let’s… let’s bury the baby now.” The sheer absurdity of his statement stunned me—a life was gone, and the only requirement was a half-hearted apology? My mother-in-law rushed forward, tightly hugging Piper, gently caressing her swollen cheek. “You hit her so hard. You’ve ruined her face…” She only had a swollen face. The baby downstairs lost her entire life! I pushed my mother-in-law away and grabbed Piper by her braid, dragging her toward the open window. “You said you didn’t know what happens when you shoot? Why don’t you experience it firsthand, then?” Piper was hysterical, snot and tears running down her face. She struggled wildly. “No! Shooting kills people! If you kill me, you’ll have to pay too!” So she did know about paying with her life. Yet she did it anyway. In two lifetimes, I could never fathom how a child’s heart could be this wicked. A sharp pain shot through my arm. Marcus had violently pulled me away. The force of the movement sent my forehead smashing against the window frame. Warm blood immediately streamed down my brow bone. Marcus shielded Piper behind him, his face a mask of revulsion. “Is this ever going to end? The baby is dead! Why are you fighting with a child? This is your fault for not securing the weapon properly in the first place!” Marcus and his mother stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Piper, looking at me as if I were a threat. I saw it clearly in the first life, and now again: they were the true family. My three-month-old daughter and I were nothing. I clutched my forehead, my hands trembling as I reached into my pocket for my phone to call the MPs. Marcus snatched it away and threw it to the floor. “This is a family matter! Why are you calling the MPs?” “Piper is under ten. Even if you drag her to the police station, what are they going to do?” I leaned against the wall, rising slowly. I looked at him, despair absolute. “Is it because you don’t care, even though it’s your biological daughter who died?” Seeing the blood covering my face, a flicker of something—maybe guilt—crossed Marcus’s eyes. “Gen, we… we can have more children.” “But Piper, I only have this one adopted daughter.” What a noble Special Forces Commander! What a dedicated family man! I was once charmed by his supposed loyalty to his family. I never thought that “loyalty” would become the blade that gutted me. He had never considered my daughter and me to be his true family. All he cared about was the bloodline he acknowledged, and apparently, an adopted daughter was far more important than his own flesh and blood. I turned to go downstairs, but Sienna, who had rushed back, slammed into my shoulder. She lunged past me to hug Piper, her eyes blazing. “How dare you hit my daughter? I wouldn’t lay a finger on her, and you, you wicked woman—what gives you the right?” I was shaking with rage. “Why don’t you ask your daughter what she did first?” “Your daughter died, and you blame my Piper? Clearly, your daughter was weak and meant to die!” My hate for Sienna was immense, but right now, my heart ached for the child who had just been shot. Who was she? Why was she here on the compound? “Sienna, you’re a mother. If that was Piper lying dead, could you still say that?” Sienna’s pupils constricted. She pointed at me and shrieked a curse. “You poisonous shrew! Your own daughter dies, and you curse mine? I hope your daughter is dead! She deserved it!” I picked up the cracked phone and headed straight for the stairs. My mother-in-law yelled urgently, “Stop her! She’s calling the MPs! She’s going to the police!” Sienna was unconcerned. “So what if she calls them? Piper is only eight. Are they going to lock her up in juvie?” “You idiot! If she takes this public, what about the Commander’s reputation? We’ll have to pay a massive settlement!” Sienna’s face paled as the financial implications hit her. She turned on Marcus, her expression twisted with malice. “Marcus, look at the wife you married! Her daughter’s dead, and all she cares about is scheming against us!” Marcus’s face was iron-gray as he chased after me, but I had already hit the emergency distress button. Marcus tore the call box off the wall. Seeing that I had already alerted the security detail, he was so enraged he slapped me. “I said this was a family matter! Did you have to broadcast it to the entire post?” “Sienna and Piper have already had a hard life. Are you trying to destroy them? I never knew you were this cruel!” I pressed a hand to my chest and smiled a bitter, desolate smile. Yes, I was cruel. I wished this entire house of monsters would burn to the ground alongside my daughter! I said nothing more, only stumbled down the stairs. I needed to know who that child was. I had a terrible hunch, but I didn’t dare confirm it. Seeing my silence, Marcus panicked and followed me. Just as I was about to step out of the Officer’s Quarters gate, he grabbed my shoulder, his grip bone-tight. “Gen, don’t make this worse. Please. I checked the baby. She’s… she’s gone.” “Let’s bury her properly, and we can move past this. Okay?” I pulled away, my face expressionless. Then my eyes widened in a sudden, horrific realization— The granite ground where the infant had been lying was now empty. I whirled around, grabbing Marcus’s collar. “The baby? Where did you take the baby?” The rhythmic sound of boots approached. A squad of MPs quick-marched into the courtyard, snapping to attention. “Report, Madam. What is the emergency?” Marcus slapped a hand over my mouth, forcing a smile. “Nothing, fellas. My wife was just distressed and pressed the wrong button. You can go back now.” My mother-in-law and Sienna hurried down the stairs. My mother-in-law pointed at me. “She’s lost her mind! Fighting with her husband and calling the MPs! The disgrace!” The patrol leader looked confused but saw it was a domestic issue within the Officer’s Quarters and wisely didn’t press. He saluted and led his men away. Only when the sound of their boots had faded did Marcus remove his hand. “Gen, you think I don’t hurt when a child dies?” “You want to broadcast this to the entire post? How is Piper supposed to live her life? Where does that leave my reputation as a Commander?” I wiped the cold tears from my face. “Does any of that compare to a human life?” I frantically searched the area for any sign of the child. I scanned every corner of the housing area. The small body was gone. My gaze landed on the equipment warehouse in the backyard. Piles of military-green weapons crates sat in the corner. Seeing me walk toward the warehouse, Sienna rushed over and gripped my arm. “The warehouse is restricted access, Madam. You shouldn’t go in there.” I coldly shook her off and charged inside. The sharp smell of metal and military-grade oil assaulted my nose. In the deepest corner, a partially opened weapons crate showed a faint edge of the O.D. green blanket. I trembled so hard I felt my teeth rattle. A gut-wrenching scream tore its way out of my chest. “Are you… are you even human?!” Sienna actually looked proud, clearly pleased with her quick thinking. “If I hadn’t reacted fast, you’d have pinned this on us. It’s just a body, and we can’t afford the settlement for a Commander’s daughter.” Piper hid behind Sienna and stuck her tongue out at me. “Evil woman! Your own daughter died, and you just want to shake us down for money? Shameless!” “Your baby was only three months old, and you think you can bankrupt us? Then you should have had a dozen more and become a millionaire!” My mother-in-law and Marcus came in, urging me to let it go. Marcus put a supportive arm around me, whispering, “Tomorrow, I’ll get a bank transfer—five thousand dollars for you. Calm down. It’s just a baby. We can have another one.” I was so choked with fury and grief I could barely stand. I had only one thought: I must know who this child was. “Bring… bring the baby out. We’ll… we’ll bury her properly.” Marcus frowned, glancing into the dark corner of the warehouse, clearly disgusted and unwilling to touch the crate. I laughed a hollow, bitter laugh. “This is your flesh and blood, Marcus. And you’re too squeamish?” Marcus took a deep breath, as if accepting his fate, and instructed the duty officer to move the crate. But Sienna blocked the way, her eyes fixed on me with suspicion. “Commander, she’s setting a trap! The moment we bring the baby out, she’ll call the MPs again!” “Then she’ll charge Piper, and how much money will we have to pay? Piper’s life will be ruined!” Piper clutched Marcus’s sleeve, tears streaming down her face. “Daddy, I don’t want to pay! If we pay, how will Mom and I live?” Marcus put down the tools and sighed at me. “The child is gone, Gen. Let’s not disturb her any further.” I closed my eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I turned and stumbled toward the exit. Sienna was desperate. She grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard. “Where are you going? Don’t even think about calling the police!” “You’re staying right here until spring. We’ll tell everyone your daughter went missing—that it was an accident!” By spring, the body would be too decomposed to clearly identify a gunshot wound. My mother-in-law retrieved a pair of handcuffs from a cabinet. She and Sienna quickly cuffed my hands to the stair railing. “Gen, sweetheart, you behave, and you’re still my good daughter-in-law.” I struggled, but the handcuffs only dug deeper into my wrists. I looked at Marcus, my final plea. “Do you… do you really think I’m doing this for money?” Marcus averted his eyes. “Gen, just stay put. Don’t damage the post’s reputation any further!” Piper seized the opportunity, rushing forward and delivering a hard slap to my face. She made a mocking face. “You were so tough! Go ahead, hit me! Nah, nah, nah!” I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. I was trembling like a leaf, but my hands were cuffed. I couldn’t even defend myself. “You are a born monster! A terrible seed!” Piper was ecstatic with her power. She kicked me hard in the stomach. My postpartum incision screamed in pain. I clamped my mouth shut to keep from crying out. I held onto a sliver of hope that Marcus, remembering our marriage, would let me go. But he was busy comforting Sienna, and casually dismissed my pain. “It’s a child, Gen. How hard could she kick? You terrified her earlier; let her blow off some steam.” Piper kicked me again, screaming triumphantly, “Your daughter deserved to die! She should have died!” “Who said my granddaughter died?!” A furious roar, like thunder, exploded behind us. My father, General Robert Harrison, stood in the doorway of the Officer’s Quarters, holding my very much alive daughter, flanked by his own security detail.

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Chapter 1: The Golden Boy and the Grinder The air in the locker room didn’t smell like sweat. Sweat is honest. Sweat is the byproduct of hard work, of a gym in Philly or a dojo in Jersey. No, this place smelled like copper and stale adrenaline. It smelled like fear that had fermented in the concrete walls for a decade. I sat on the edge of a wooden bench that was splintering with age, staring at my hands. They didn’t look like my hands anymore. They were swaddled in layers of white gauze, wrapped so tight my fingertips were turning a dusky purple. I flexed them, testing the tension. The tape was rough, like shark skin. I brought my knuckles to my mouth and spat on them, rubbing the saliva into the fabric. It was an old trick, a dirty trick. It made the wraps harden as they dried, turning my fists into limestone clubs. “You nervous, Viper?” The voice came from the doorway. It was Sergei, my handler. A man built like a vending machine with a neck that disappeared into his shoulders. He was wearing a suit that cost more than my father made in a lifetime, but it couldn’t hide the fact that he was a thug. “I don’t get nervous, Sergei,” I lied, my voice sounding like gravel grinding in a mixer. “I get impatient.” “Good.” He lit a cigarette, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ sign that was peeling off the wall. “Because the odds are shifting. The crowd loves this Carlos kid. They call him Apollo. They say he’s beautiful.” I snorted. “Beautiful don’t stop a shin bone from snapping.” “Just win, Viper. The Big Boss has a lot of money riding on the underdog tonight. And you are the underdog.” He left, leaving a trail of expensive tobacco smoke and existential dread. I stood up and walked to the mirror. The glass was cracked, a spiderweb fracture right over where my face should be. Maybe that was fitting. I looked at the reflection. A lean, scarred body. Asian heritage mixed with something else, something harder. My eyes were dark, hollowed out by years of sleeping in barracks and training in freezing Siberian warehouses. I wasn’t beautiful like Carlos. I was a tool. A hammer. I walked out into the corridor. The noise of the crowd hit me like a physical wave. This wasn’t a sanctioned bout in Vegas. This was the “Summit,” an illegal, high-stakes tournament held in a converted slaughterhouse somewhere on the Mexican border. The audience wasn’t fight fans; they were cartel bosses, arms dealers, human traffickers, and the kind of billionaires who got bored with hunting lions and wanted to see men hunt each other. I stepped into the arena. The lights were blinding, hot white halogens that made the blood on the canvas look black. And there he was. Carlos. Sergei wasn’t lying. The guy looked like a Greek statue brought to life. He was tall, maybe six-two, with skin the color of polished bronze and muscles that looked like they were sculpted by Michelangelo. He had blonde highlights in his hair and a smile that said he’d never been hit hard in his life. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, shadowboxing with a fluidity that was terrifying. He was faster than me. Stronger than me. Europeans usually had the size advantage over us Asians, but Carlos was a genetic freak. Just like Khan, I thought, a bitter memory rising in my throat. Khan was a friend, a fellow fighter who had faced Carlos in the qualifiers. Khan was dead now, or wished he was. I stepped through the ropes. The referee, a impartial mercenary who looked like he’d stab his own mother for a twenty, waved us to the center. “No rules,” he mumbled, repeating the mantra of the Summit. “Fight until one can’t stand. Or won’t.” The bell rang. Carlos didn’t waste time. He came at me like a thunderstorm. He threw a jab that snapped the air like a whip. I slipped it, but the wind of it stung my cheek. He followed with a cross, a hook, an uppercut. His hands were a blur. I covered up, shelling into a defensive posture, feeling the impacts rattle my skeleton. He hit hard. My forearms screamed in protest as I absorbed the blows. I was backed into the corner, the ropes digging into my spine. “Is that all you got, Chinaman?” Carlos sneered. He actually spoke to me. In English. I peeked through my guard. He was grinning. He was enjoying this. He thought this was a sport. Big mistake. I remembered Khan. I remembered watching the tapes. Carlos was a headhunter. He loved the knockout. He loved the glory. But when Khan had fought him, Khan had stumbled him with leg kicks. Carlos had weak foundations. He was a statue made of marble, standing on clay feet. I waited for his next combination. He threw a looping overhand right, looking to take my head off. I ducked under it, pivoting my hips. I didn’t aim for his head. I didn’t aim for his body. I aimed for the meat of his left thigh, just above the knee. WHACK. My shin connected with his muscle. It sounded like a baseball bat hitting a side of beef. Carlos flinched. The smile flickered for a millisecond. He reset and came at me again. Jab, cross. I ate the jab. I tasted blood in my mouth. It tasted metallic and familiar. I didn’t care. I stepped in, twisting my body, and unleashed another low kick to the exact same spot. WHACK. This time, his leg buckled slightly. The nerve cluster in the thigh is a funny thing. You can be the strongest man in the world, but if someone shuts down the peroneal nerve, your leg becomes a dead weight. “Stop running!” Carlos shouted, frustration creeping into his voice. I didn’t answer. I wasn’t running. I was chopping down the tree. For the next three minutes, I became a machine. I ignored his punches. My left eye was swelling shut, turning the world into a blurry haze on one side. My nose was bleeding freely, dripping onto my chest. But every time he stepped forward, I kicked him. Inside leg kick. Outside leg kick. Calf kick. Thigh kick. His left leg was turning a horrific shade of purple and black. He started to limp. The fluid bounce was gone. He was flat-footed now, a stationary target. The crowd sensed the shift. The roar changed from excitement to bloodlust. They didn’t care who won; they just wanted to see something break. Carlos was desperate now. He knew his mobility was gone. He loaded up for a hail mary, a massive haymaker intended to end my life. I saw the telegraph. He dropped his shoulder. I didn’t retreat. I stepped in. I used a front teep—a push kick—straight to his face. My heel connected with his nose. Cartilage crunched. He stumbled back, eyes watering, hand flying to his face. “Chinese?” he sputtered, blood leaking through his fingers. “That’s right,” I whispered. He roared and lunged, abandoning all technique. This was it. I waited until his weight was fully committed on that damaged left leg. I spun. I put every ounce of hatred, every ounce of fear, every ounce of the freezing Siberian winters into my right leg. I aimed lower this time. Not the muscle. The joint. The kick connected with the side of his knee. CRACK. It wasn’t a thud. It was the sound of a dry branch snapping in a quiet forest. It was a sound that made your stomach turn. Carlos’s leg bent inward at an angle that anatomy does not allow. He didn’t scream immediately. There was a second of silence where his brain tried to process the information. He looked down at his leg, which was folded sideways like a broken doll. Then, the scream came. It was a high-pitched, animalistic shriek that tore through the noise of the arena. He collapsed to the canvas, clutching the ruin of his knee, rolling in the blood and sweat. The referee didn’t even count. He just waved his arms. I stood over him, my chest heaving. I looked at this Apollo, this golden god, now writhing in the dirt, snot and blood mixing on his beautiful face. I felt… nothing. No joy. No triumph. Just a cold, hollow relief that it wasn’t me screaming. I looked up at the VIP box. Sergei was there, lighting another cigarette, nodding. The Russian mobsters were clinking glasses of vodka. They had made a fortune. I spat a glob of blood onto the canvas and walked away. Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Bunkhouse That night, the adrenaline crash hit me like a freight train. The “accommodations” for the fighters were a joke. We were housed in a concrete block that used to be a holding cell for cattle. Rows of metal bunk beds, a single toilet that always backed up, and the constant hum of industrial fans trying to circulate the humid, stagnant air. I lay on my bunk, staring at the underside of the mattress above me. My shin was throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache. My eye was completely swollen shut now; I looked like I had gone a rounds with a baseball bat. “You got lucky, Viper.” The voice came from the bunk across the aisle. It was “Reaper.” He was a towering heavyweight from Ukraine, a man whose face was a map of scars. He had fought earlier in the day. He had won, but his eyebrow was split open so wide you could see the white of the skull. “Luck had nothing to do with it,” I muttered, touching the bruise on my ribs. “He had a glass leg.” “He had arrogance,” Reaper corrected, sitting up and cleaning his wound with a bottle of cheap vodka. “He thought he was invincible. Just like Khan did.” I flinched at the name. “Don’t talk about Khan.” “Why? Because he’s dead?” Reaper took a swig of the vodka and winced. “We’re all dead, Viper. We just haven’t laid down yet. Look around you.” I looked. The room was half empty now. When the tournament started three days ago, there were thirty-two of us. Now, there were eight. The empty bunks were like missing teeth in a smile. Where was “The Sickle”? The skinny Brazilian kid who fought like a demon? Gone. Strangled to death this afternoon. Where was “Ironhead”? The massive Korean judoka? Gone. Neck broken in the preliminaries. “Tomorrow is the semi-finals,” Reaper said, his voice low. “Do you know who you have?” “I don’t care,” I said, turning on my side, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. “You should. It’s ‘The Priest’.” I froze. The Priest. I had watched his fight. He was from somewhere in Southeast Asia—Thailand or Cambodia maybe. He was small, wiry, with skin like tanned leather. He didn’t look like a fighter; he looked like a malnourished farmer. But in the ring… he was a nightmare. He didn’t punch. He didn’t kick much. He moved like water. He would slide around his opponents, slippery and elusive, until he got a hold of them. And once he grabbed you, it was over. He was a master of strangulation. He didn’t just submit people; he put them to sleep and held the choke until the light went out of their eyes. I had watched him kill “The Sickle” today. The Sickle had tapped out. He had slapped the mat frantically. But The Priest hadn’t let go. He just stared into the distance, a blank expression on his face, squeezing and squeezing until The Sickle stopped moving. “He’s fast,” Reaper warned. “And he likes the ground. If you go to the ground with him, Viper, you don’t come back up.” “I know,” I whispered. “Get some sleep,” Reaper grunted, lying back down. “If you can.” I closed my good eye. Sleep? How could I sleep? Every time I drifted off, I saw the faces. Not the faces of the men I fought, but the faces of the men I used to know. Da Hu. Ah Qiang. Nai Kun. The Indian brothers. They were all fighters I had trained with in the early days, back when we thought this was a sport. Back when we dreamed of gold belts and cheering crowds. Now, they were all gone. Some dead in the ring, some dead in alleyways, some just broken and discarded by the Syndicate. I was the only one left. The last gladiator. I touched the bandage on my hand. Why was I doing this? Why didn’t I just run? Because there was nowhere to run. The Russians had my passport. They had my family’s address back in China. They owned me, body and soul. “Just one more day,” I told the darkness. “Just survive one more day.” Chapter 3: The Embrace of the Priest The semi-final match was scheduled for noon. The sun was high and brutal, heating the metal roof of the arena until it felt like an oven inside. I stood in my corner, bouncing on my toes, trying to shake the stiffness out of my legs. My shin was bruised black and blue from kicking Carlos, but the adrenaline masked the pain. Across the ring stood The Priest. He was terrifyingly calm. He wasn’t bouncing. He wasn’t psyching himself up. He just stood there, arms hanging loosely by his sides, staring at my throat. His eyes were black pits, devoid of any humanity. He looked like a reptile waiting for a mouse to make a mistake. The bell rang. I didn’t rush in this time. I circled, keeping my distance. I threw a few probing jabs, trying to gauge his reaction. He didn’t flinch. He just tracked me, his head moving slightly, like a cobra following the movement of a flute. Suddenly, he lunged. It was fast. Inhumanly fast. He covered the distance in a blink. He didn’t throw a punch; he threw a low sweeping kick, but it was a feint. As I lifted my leg to check it, he changed levels and shot in for a takedown. He hit my waist with the force of a cannonball. I sprawled, trying to get my hips back, trying to stuff the takedown. But he was slippery. He used my own momentum against me, twisting his hips and dragging me to the canvas. Panic. Cold, sharp panic spiked in my chest. I was on the ground. This was his world. I tried to scramble to my feet, to wall-walk up the cage, but he was on me like a wet blanket. He moved with a fluid, suffocating pressure. He passed my guard effortlessly, sliding from side control to mount. He was heavy. For a small man, he felt like he weighed a ton. His center of gravity was perfect. He didn’t strike. He didn’t try to punch my face. He began to work his hands up, snake-like, seeking my neck. I grabbed his wrists, fighting him, but his grip was like iron pincers. He isolated my left arm, trapping it with his knee. Then, he wrapped his arm around my head. He was setting up a choke. A D’Arce choke? A Guillotine? No, he was transitioning to the back. In a scramble of limbs, he took my back. His legs wrapped around my waist, his hooks sinking in. I was in hell. I could hear his breathing right next to my ear. It was slow, steady. In. Out. In. Out. He wasn’t even tired. His right arm snaked under my chin. I tucked my chin, burying it in my chest, trying to block the forearm. But he was relentless. He used his other hand to pry my head up, just an inch. That inch was all he needed. His forearm slid under my jaw, pressing against the carotid arteries. He locked his hands together. He squeezed. The world instantly started to go grey. The roar of the crowd faded into a dull buzz. The lights seemed to dim. It wasn’t painful. It was just… inevitable. It felt like sinking into deep water. I remembered The Sickle. I remembered how he tapped, and how The Priest didn’t let go. If I tap, I die. If I don’t tap, I die. The blood flow to my brain was being cut off. My vision tunneled. I saw spots of light dancing in front of me.

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My best friend and I transmigrated into a book with a mission: save the brooding second male lead and the gentle third male lead. Just when we were both pregnant and waiting for our happily ever after, the sky fell. The moody Billionaire Heir she married had been keeping a sugar baby on the side. The serene Zen Master I married was secretly pining for his “White Moonlight”—his first love. To make matters worse, the sugar baby and the first love teamed up to livestream a smear campaign against us right on our doorstep. Bestie: “Are we throwing hands?” Me: “If you throw hands, I throw hands!” Impulsive violence felt great in the moment, but by midnight, regret was clawing at the walls. Terrified of retaliation, we chose to fake our deaths and escape the book world, taking a massive payout to live a life of debauchery and luxury. But we didn’t even make it two years. She was caught lounging on a male model’s abs by the Billionaire Heir. And I was cornered against a wall by the Zen Master. Me and Bestie: “System, are you kidding me right now?!” 1 Inside the ultra-luxury mansion, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. My best friend, Chloe, and I were huddled in front of the security monitors, watching the mob outside and roasting each other. Chloe: “Liv, you absolute noob!” “Five years of攻略 (conquering) and you still haven’t eliminated the White Moonlight in the Zen Master’s heart? You’re an embarrassment to transmigrators everywhere.” I wasn’t taking that lying down. “And you aren’t?” “Your Billionaire Heir’s sugar baby is practically taking a dump on your head! And you’re laughing?” We were spitting facts, exposing each other’s failures. “So, what now?” Chloe slumped on the floor, messing up her hair in frustration. I facepalmed. What a disaster! We originally transmigrated to save the second and third male leads. Five years of hard labor. She took the unloved, isolated Damien White and turned him back into the revered heir of the White empire. I saved the suicidal, sickly boy, Sebastian Shen, and held down the fort at the Shen family estate so he could be the worry-free Zen Master. We were both pregnant, waiting for the mission complete notification. Who knew Damien would get exposed for keeping a mistress, and Sebastian’s unrequited love would suddenly return from abroad? Knowing they were about to go full “yandere” (obsessive-crazy) for these other women, we panicked. Mission status: FAILED. I tried to demand an explanation from the System, but the damn thing flickered twice and went black! I stomped my foot in rage! Zero stars! Review: Would not recommend! Suddenly, the keypad lock beeped open. Led by the White Moonlight and the Sugar Baby, a crowd swarmed in and surrounded us. Livestream cameras were shoved right into our faces. The Sugar Baby sobbed, “Sister, Damien and I have been through so much. Please, don’t tear us apart.” Meanwhile, the White Moonlight was screaming, “If you’re that desperate for love, go die! Stop rubbing your cheap self all over my man!” Chloe and I exchanged looks. We kept a low profile, sure, but were we invisible? Who gave these clowns the audacity to bark at the main wives? “Here’s my marriage certificate with Sebastian…” I tried to pull out my phone, but the White Moonlight slapped it out of my hand. “You slept your way into my boyfriend’s life with your trashy body, and now you’re photoshopping pics? Shameless!” I stumbled back from her shove and fell to the floor. Chloe tried to help me but was tackled by the Sugar Baby. The livestream chat was vile. 【Eww, what a slut! Disgusting!】 【Homewreckers deserve to die!】 … The White Moonlight looked around and started smashing everything related to Sebastian and me. The Sugar Baby took the opportunity to rip the jewelry off Chloe’s body. The place was a wreck. Chloe looked at me, eyes burning. “Fighting?” I looked back. “You fight, I fight!” 2 Chloe delivered an elbow strike that sent the Sugar Baby stumbling back. Not to be outdone, I marched up to the White Moonlight and slapped her across the face. “Are those eyes just for decoration? I said I’m married to Sebastian! Married! Do you not speak English?” I grabbed my phone and stood by the door. “You think just anyone can walk into the Shen ancestral home?” Chloe shoved her phone into the Sugar Baby’s face. “You know exactly who the mistress is here!” The internet sleuths quickly analyzed our complex relationships and concluded: These two were running a scam. Public opinion flipped instantly. Bruised and battered, the two intruders fled. Chloe and I sat on the floor, gasping for air, when the door was kicked open again. Damien stormed in and slapped Chloe. “Who gave you permission to touch her!” I rushed over, slapped him back, and shielded Chloe. “Damien White, you dare?” “If it wasn’t for her pulling strings for you all these years, you’d still be rotting in the White family’s basement!” Damien’s voice was cold. “I never asked for her help.” He glared at us. “Touch my person again, and I’ll end you.” Before leaving, he glanced at me. “Good luck. You think Sebastian Shen is going to let this slide?” I shivered. Sebastian played with prayer beads and acted harmless, but he was ruthless behind the scenes. Last time someone insulted his White Moonlight, he broke their legs. This time I slapped her. He was going to skin me alive. Chloe looked at her pregnancy test and smiled bitterly. “I was going to surprise him.” I touched my stomach, eyes stinging. We were both orphans. When we read the book, we saw ourselves in these broken characters. So when Chloe threw herself into saving Damien, I wasn’t surprised. I also wanted to protect the fragile boy who had been kidnapped and abused. We healed ourselves by healing them. But fake is fake. Chloe wiped her face. “I’m done playing. Death?” I made up my mind. “You die, I die.” “What about the baby?” I asked. “The father doesn’t want it, why should I care?” She waved her hand dismissively. We agreed immediately: find the System and execute the “Death Escape” protocol. Unexpectedly, while we were at the hospital arranging our “final affairs,” we ran into Damien. He was supporting the Sugar Baby and sneered, “Stalking me?” 3 “Did you find out my baby is sick and decide to get sick too to win me back?” The Sugar Baby hid behind Damien, acting coy. “Yesterday Damien was too rough, I couldn’t handle the pain so I came to the hospital.” “Sister, don’t copy me, okay?” Chloe rolled her eyes and tried to walk around them, but he grabbed her. “Apologize to her!” “For what?” Chloe screeched, like a cat with its tail stepped on. “Get it straight, she hit me first!” She tried to reason with him. Damien was arrogant. “You’ve enjoyed the title of Mrs. White in her place long enough. So what if she slapped you a few times?” As soon as he finished speaking, Chloe turned red. The next second, she slapped the Sugar Baby and kicked Damien! “You’re both animals! Don’t pretend to be human!” Damien stood between them to protect the Sugar Baby and shoved Chloe. Chloe tumbled down the stairs. Blood spread across the floor from under her dress. I screamed as I ran to her, “Doctor! Doctor! Help! She’s miscarrying!” “She’s pregnant?” Damien asked. The Sugar Baby panicked. “Impossible! Sister hit me so hard, she must be faking it.” “Let’s go, my tummy hurts.” She dragged Damien away. I didn’t have time to think, I rushed to the ER. The doctor told me the baby was gone, and multi-organ failure from cancer meant she could only be kept alive by machines. It would be painful. This was the System’s custom death scenario. I relaxed a bit, thinking the System had a pain blocker. But then I saw her curled up, sweating profusely, biting her lip until it bled. “System! What’s happening?” I yelled in panic. The System’s voice crackled, barely alive. “Host… she transferred all her pain blocking points to you.” “So right now, she feels the same pain as a real cancer patient.” My eyes burned. “Chloe, are you plotting against me?” Chloe weakly lifted her hand to pat my head. “I’m dying. What if they bully you when I’m gone?” “Leaving you a bit extra is always good.” I was touched to tears, but then she added, “I’m not losing out. You gave me your reward points.” “I die first, I enjoy first.” Fine! She has a conscience, but not much. I went to find a doctor, hoping to ease her pain. But the top specialist had been summoned by Damien. I called him. “Damien, send the doctor back. Chloe has cancer, she’s in agony.” He scoffed. “Chloe is as healthy as a horse. She took a knife for me and was jumping around the next day. Now she’s dying because I haven’t seen her for a few days? Who are you kidding?” 4 Damien was impatient. “My baby having a stomach ache isn’t a small matter. You can’t have the doctor. If Chloe wants to die, let her die.” My voice was heavy. “Just help me this once, for Sebastian’s sake. Help her ease the pain.” Before I finished, the phone changed hands. A familiar, cool voice spoke. “Liv, from the moment she returned, we were done.” It was Sebastian. He didn’t even bother settling the score with me; he was already with his White Moonlight. Sebastian paused. “A is always A, but B can be anyone.” “Consider this a lesson. Learn your place.” He cut ties with me in three sentences, kicking me aside like trash, disregarding all our history. The laughter from the other end of the line wove a net that suffocated me. Screw them all! Not a single good man among them! The days dragged on. I gossiped with Chloe, watching the headlines about Damien taking his Sugar Baby to events. People joked that the Prince finally revealed his protected rose. Sebastian also showed off occasionally, giving his personal prayer beads—a symbol of his status—to the White Moonlight. The internet swooned, saying the Zen Master fell from grace for his goddess. Chloe was covered in tubes, laughing heartlessly. “Mix some glitter in my ashes. Even dead, I gotta sparkle.” “And burn some paper effigies of hot guys for me…” My nose stung, but I cursed her. “You dog, I gave you the money, find real hot guys!” No response. She stopped breathing in my arms. Chloe donated all her organs for cancer research. I took her ashes home. Damien wanted to annul the marriage but couldn’t find Chloe, so he barged into the villa. “Where the hell is Chloe? Get out here!” Damien shouted. I pointed to the urn on the table. “She’s right there.” He froze, then knocked the urn over. “You guys are really committed to the act, huh? Faking death to hide from me? That’s low.” The ashes scattered in the wind. Actually, the glitter did look nice. I threw the death certificate and the organ donation certificate at him. Everything was clear. No faking. He read them and tore them to shreds, refusing to believe it. He asked around, confirmed the truth, turned pale, and mumbled about how it was impossible. I smirked, mocking him. “When you hid your Sugar Baby and used Chloe as a human shield, did you ask if she would die?” “When you pushed her down the stairs, knowing she was pregnant and had cancer, but hogged the doctor, did you ask if she would die?” “Now you’re happy? You scattered her ashes yourself.” Damien knelt on the ground, trying to gather the powder, but he couldn’t pick it up. Tears fell on the floor. He sobbed uncontrollably. He frantically looked for anything Chloe left behind, trying to grasp something. But he found nothing. Right. He originally had nothing. Damien went mad, hugging the urn and threatening suicide. Sebastian clearly looked relieved when he saw I was alive. “Liv, the position of Mrs. Shen will always be open for you.” Sebastian was unusually gentle. “But… you are not qualified to bear my child.” “She saved my life. I love her.”

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To surprise my boyfriend for Christmas, I custom-ordered a scandalous, three-piece Santa-themed lingerie set. I planned to gift myself to him on Christmas Eve. But the day the package arrived, I received a text from his “one who got away.” It was a mirror selfie. She was wearing the lingerie I bought, wrapped tightly in Lucas’s arms. “Hey sis, sorry I messed up your place. You don’t mind cleaning up, do you?” That night, when I got home, Lucas pulled out a velvet box, dropped to one knee, and looked at me with eyes full of devotion. “Chloe, you are the only woman I have ever loved. Will you marry me?” I accepted the ring with a smile full of joy. Once he fell asleep, I summoned the System. “In seven days, send me back to the real world.” 1 The System was surprised, its mechanical voice tinged with mockery. [Didn’t you just throw a tantrum about staying in this world to marry Lucas? If you change your mind now, you’ll take the penalty for nothing.] I gave a bitter laugh. I didn’t have the energy to explain. The System sighed, compromising. [Fine. The extraction process takes a minimum of seven days. Use this week to say your goodbyes.] Goodbyes? I looked at Lucas, sleeping peacefully with his arms locked around me like a vice. Subconsciously, I reached out and brushed his eyelashes. Sensing my touch, he woke up. His deep voice was thick with concern. “Chloe? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick? I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” I interrupted him, shaking my head as I turned over. “Lucas, let’s move the wedding up. Let’s do it on Christmas Day.” He pressed against my back, wrapping me up again. His warm breath tickled my neck as he chuckled. “Christmas is only seven days away. You’re that eager to be Mrs. Miller? Alright. Whenever you say. I’m stuck with you for life anyway.” Lines I had heard a thousand times suddenly tasted like ash. A wave of nausea hit me. I cut off his whispering. “Did you see my package? I bought some clothes. The tracking said delivered, but I can’t find it.” Lucas stiffened. He instinctively loosened his grip. “I didn’t see it. If it’s lost, just buy another set. Your husband is rich now; don’t be afraid to spend money.” He tried to deflect with a joke, but I was done playing along. “But the concierge said you signed for it personally. Maybe it’s just misplaced. I’ll check the security cameras tomorrow.” “Don’t!” As expected, he panicked. He climbed over me, nuzzling his face into my collarbone like a puppy. “Okay, Chloe, look… I saw the package. I threw it away.” “I promised you. You are so pure, so perfect. I swore I wouldn’t touch you until we were married.” “Besides, your health has been fragile. The priority is getting you healthy, then we can do… other things. Be a good girl, okay?” I nodded blindly, but my mind was stuck on that photo. In the picture, Lucas’s eyes were heavy with lust. One hand gripped Bella’s bare waist, the other choked her neck. It looked intense. Once upon a time, I loved Lucas to the point of madness. I took the System’s punishment, accepting a body riddled with chronic illness just to stay in this fictional world with him. But in just a few days, he had cheated, brought a woman into our home, let her wear my clothes, and lied to my face. Earlier today, I had secretly gone for a treatment. While at the hospital, I received that explicit photo from Bella. The shock and grief nearly killed me right there on the table. Now, looking into his “deeply affectionate” eyes, I kind of wished I had just died on that table. Six days left. The first thing I did was go to the company to liquidate my assets. As a “Player” in this world, I had the advantage of future knowledge. In just five years, I had turned Luxe Inc. into the city’s leading conglomerate. I had made Lucas a king. Originally, Lucas was just a tragic background character. I chose him. I saved him. I gave him luck, strategy, and power. My love had nothing to do with the System’s mission. I just wanted him to be happy. But now? He didn’t deserve it. I drafted a donation agreement. The moment I left this world, every cent of the company’s assets would be donated to local orphanages and nursing homes. Nothing would be left. As I was signing the papers, Lucas appeared at my office window, briefcase in hand. When our eyes met, his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. He walked in and kissed my forehead naturally. I smirked, a little maliciously, and handed him the contract. “Don’t you want to see what I came in to sign?” He didn’t even glance at the text. He flipped to the last page, put the pen in my hand, and wrapped his fingers around mine to guide the signature. “Chloe, you’re my lucky star. With you by my side, I can’t fail. I trust you.” He was right. I was his lucky star. I was willing to do anything for him. But that era was ending. He held my hand as we walked through the building. Employees whispered about what a perfect power couple we were. If this were yesterday, I would have believed them. Then, Lucas’s phone buzzed. I saw the screen. It was Bella. Two words: “You coming?” Lucas kissed my cheek and grabbed his jacket. “Chloe, finish up here. I have to go home to prepare a surprise for you. I’ll send the driver to pick you up later.” Thirty minutes later, I accessed the hidden cameras in our villa. Some surprise. Bella and Lucas were tangled together on the balcony, naked, indulging in the thrill of being caught. “Lucas, who do you like better? Me or Chloe?” He didn’t answer, just covered her mouth roughly. Bella broke free, turned around, and lit a cigarette, leaning against the railing. “If you won’t say you like me, we’re done.” Lucas glared at her. Then, Bella transformed into a clingy bunny, rubbing against him. “Break up with her. Marry me. I’ll do whatever you want. Chloe is practically an invalid; can she even handle you?” Slap. Lucas struck her across the face. “Shut up. You don’t deserve to say her name.” Yet, even as he defended my honor, he flipped her over and pressed against her again. I watched the whole thing as the sky turned dark. When cars started passing on the road below, Lucas finally got dressed. There was a fresh burn mark on Bella’s lower back. Lucas had pressed her lit cigarette into her skin. He said, “Chloe hates the smell of smoke. Don’t smoke here again.” Bella laughed, triumphant. “Lucas, I’m your first love. Your white moonlight. I’ll get rid of her eventually.” He didn’t look back. “You’re a rotter, Bella. Black to the core. You’re no moonlight.” As he kicked her out of the villa, naked, he warned her: “If you let Chloe know about this, I will make you beg for death.” A second later, I received a photo from Bella. A close-up of the cigarette burn. “Sis, your fiancé is so rough. It hurts~ But you probably wouldn’t understand. It’s a kink. You should try it sometime.” I took a screenshot, saved it to a hidden folder, and went back to watching the feed. The maid cleaned up the mess. Lucas showered, put on an apron, and started making a stew for me. When I got home, his text arrived: “Babe, come home for dinner.” It was the first time he’d ever cooked for me. I had once mentioned wanting a domestic husband, so he learned. The table was full. But I couldn’t eat. Bella texted again. “Sis, Lucas’s cooking is delicious. We’re having the same dinner tonight!” He had sent a portion to her. The woman he called a “rotter” was eating the same meal prepared by his hands. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to get out of here. When Lucas came out of the kitchen, he saw me standing there with a suitcase. Panic flooded his eyes. “Chloe? Where are you going?” I stared at him. “My mom misses me. I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days.” It wasn’t a lie. I was going home. He hugged me. He smelled like soap. His hands were shaking. “I’ve never met your parents. We’re getting married… let me come with you.” I pushed him away. “Luxe Inc. shares are tanking. You need to stay here and fix it.” Without me, the business was crumbling. He couldn’t leave. On Christmas Eve, there was a crucial negotiation. He had to be there, or the company would go under. He hesitated, but eventually let go. “Okay. Come back soon. I’ll be waiting at the altar, wifey.” That last word dripped with deep affection. I felt nothing. I checked into the Presidential Suite at a five-star hotel nearby. It was the same hotel where our wedding was scheduled in six days. Lucas had rented out the entire top floor for a week. The Christmas decorations were already up. It was beautiful. What a waste. I blocked Lucas. Christmas Eve arrived. The city was glowing with red and green lights. By now, Lucas should be at the negotiation table. I lay in the bathtub by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the fictional skyline one last time. My phone buzzed. It was Bella. “Chloe. Before you leave, let’s talk.” I frowned. She set the meeting at a noisy bar near the hotel. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Lucas at the business dinner?” I asked as I sat down. My assistant had told me Lucas brought Bella to the event. They looked like a power couple. But without my intel, Lucas was eaten alive. He was kicked out of the deal in the first round. Bella smirked. “You don’t care about that. I’ll tell you the truth if you drink with me.” It turned out Bella was a Player too. This was a high-freedom sandbox world. She had chosen Lucas, a target I had already “conquered,” because she was lazy. “I know you cancelled your residency here,” she said, her eyes full of ambition. “But why leave him empty-handed? The company is tanking. He can’t run it.” “You leave, I step in. I run the business, I get the guy, and you… well, your body is failing anyway. Why not let us be happy?” I realized why she was desperate. If Lucas failed, she got no rewards from her System. She was a leech, and her host was dying. She stood up, pointing a manicured finger at me. “It’s your fault! You’re ruining him! You can’t just leave!” I was about to laugh at her delusion when the world spun. Drugged. Before I blacked out, I felt her heel crushing my hand. “You think you’ve won, Chloe?” “I have one chance left. If Lucas chooses to save me over you today, your mission fails. You get wiped from existence.” “The extraction portal takes seven days. It’s only day six. You’re not going anywhere.” I woke up in the hotel penthouse. I was naked, bound with rope, with a black bag over my head. Two small holes were cut for my eyes. In front of me was a massive screen showing a video call. On one side was Bella, also naked and masked. On the third screen was Lucas. He looked haggard, sitting in a bar, drinking alone. A digitally altered voice boomed. “Lucas Miller. Sign over Luxe Inc., or one of these women dies tonight.” Lucas didn’t hesitate. “Impossible. That company is Chloe’s legacy. I won’t give it up.” Then he squinted. “Why are you torturing women? Let them go.” Suddenly, seven or eight men rushed into my room. A hand choked me. Pain exploded all over my body. “Mr. Miller, we heard you have high stamina. So we prepared a show. Two women. One is your fiancée. One is your mistress. Fate is funny, isn’t it?” Lucas scoffed. “My Chloe is a saint. She never goes to bars. She’s with her parents. You grabbed the wrong girl.” The voice continued. “They are in the penthouse suites. Room 888 and Room 999. In two minutes, the bombs strapped to them will detonate. Pick one.” Lucas frowned. “I’m calling the police.” “Lucas! Help me!” Bella screamed on her feed. “It’s real! I don’t want to die!” Lucas looked away from her and stared intently at my screen. “Chloe? Is that you?” He had never seen my naked body. He didn’t know it was me. I tried to scream for help. “Lucas…” But my voice was a ruined, guttural rasp. The drug had burned my vocal cords. Lucas sighed in relief. “I knew it. Chloe wouldn’t be here. She’s safe.” I struggled violently, biting at the bag, trying to rip it off. Just as I managed to tear the mask, Lucas’s phone dinged. Someone had used my stolen phone to text him: “Babe, wait for me. I’m coming home for Christmas Eve.” Lucas looked down at his phone with a smile, missing the moment my face was revealed. By the time he looked up, the bag was back over my head. Beep. Beep. Beep. One minute left. “Lucas! I’m in 999! Save me!” Bella shrieked. Lucas finally realized this wasn’t a prank. He started running up the stairs. On screen, I saw him torn. He hesitated between the floors. But then, the signal jammers kicked in. He realized he couldn’t call for help. I lay in the dark, listening to the countdown. My System was silent. I used the last of my strength to croak out, “Lucas… help…” Lucas stopped in the hallway outside my door. He tried to kick it open. It held. “Miss,” he shouted through the door. “I am sorry you got dragged into my business war. If you die, I promise I will take care of your family.” Lucas, you are my only family here. “Bella is… she’s my woman. I have a duty to save her. I’m sorry.” Footsteps faded. Then, a crash on the screen as he broke into Room 999. Bella threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Three seconds left. Bella looked at the camera and mouthed: I win. The kidnapper ripped the bag off my head. In the final second, I looked into the camera. I saw Lucas’s eyes widen in absolute horror as he recognized me on the screen. He screamed, a sound of pure agony, and sprinted back toward my room. 3… 2… 1. The Christmas bells rang. Fireworks exploded outside the window. A wave of heat swallowed me. Darkness took over.

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I was born a human polygraph machine. No one, not even the most seasoned manipulator, could stand before me and successfully lie. I was eight years old when the head of the group home—a man named Mr. Thompson—stood on stage, weeping into the microphone. “Funding is tight, children,” he choked out, his voice thick with fake despair. “We all need to tighten our belts. We can only afford meat once every three months from now on.” I immediately pointed a finger at his blotchy face. “That’s a load of crap!” I yelled. “You just bought your mistress a brand-new, six-figure SUV last month using the foundation’s charity funds! Did you think we wouldn’t notice?” The man’s face went from ashen to a deep, toxic purple. He was arrested for embezzlement a week later. When I was twelve, a seemingly perfect, well-dressed couple came to adopt. All the other girls were frantically pasting on their sweetest smiles, trying to look perfectly obedient. I just stared at the man. Then, I grabbed the closest thing—a broom—and slammed it down on his polished wingtip shoes. “The woman next to you isn’t your wife! She’s a paid actress!” “You’re not married, but you’re here to adopt a little girl? What kind of sick predator are you? Get out, you pervert!” The man scurried out of there, practically wetting himself. He was later apprehended and booked for a series of sickening crimes. After that, no one dared to pull any fast ones in front of me. Eventually, my birth parents, the Caldwells, came to take me back to their sprawling estate. The girl who had stolen my identity for the last two decades, Lila Reed, rushed up to me, tears welling in her impossibly wide, beautiful eyes. “Rhia, you’re finally home! This is wonderful!” she cried, clutching my hand. “We’re a family now. We have to promise to get along. No drama, okay?” I only needed one look at her face before I spoke, my voice cold and flat. “Your pupils just blew wide, your heart rate spiked—I’d guess a frantic 150—and that tiny, involuntary tremor in your right pinky? That’s pure adrenaline signaling deceit.” “Every single part of that was a lie.” “You’re happy to see me?” “Stop the theatrics, Lila. You’re trying to con a con artist.” 1 Lila’s porcelain face flushed white, then crimson, then a dangerous, angry red. “Rhia… how could you say that?” she stammered, her expression dissolving into fragile misery. “I truly am happy to have you back.” My mother immediately stepped in, wrapping an arm protectively around Lila’s shoulders, shooting me a look of deep disapproval. “Rhiannon, your language is awful! Lila is making an effort here, and you’re just being difficult and overly sensitive!” My father’s face was set in a deep scowl. “It was a nurse’s mistake twenty years ago, Rhia. Lila had nothing to do with it.” “She has been a kind, obedient, and devoted daughter to us all these years. She is a Caldwell in every way that matters.” “You were born to us; she was raised by us. We won’t choose sides. Now that you’re home, we won’t just send her away. We expect you to be the bigger person. Show some grace.” I scoffed, my eyes raking over the two strangers who were biologically my parents. “Of course Lila isn’t happy I’m back! That’s just human nature! No one likes to have their life interrupted, their title revoked.” “Unsolicited kindness is usually a cover for malice. Don’t try to play this fake, sweet-family drama in front of me. It’s making me sick.” My parents’ faces tightened with visible displeasure, their eyes betraying a carefully concealed layer of disgust. They clearly saw their biological daughter as coarse, wild, and utterly lacking in the polish of the upper class—like some street urchin they’d scraped off the curb. The House Manager, a slick man named Franklin, approached me, his demeanor overly deferential. “Miss Rhiannon, your room is ready. Everything is brand new. I assure you, you will be very comfortable.” I didn’t move. I simply watched him for two slow seconds before walking past him and into the opulent bedroom. When I re-emerged, I was holding a discreetly placed listening device and a tiny pinhole camera. “Is this what you meant by ‘comfortable,’ Franklin? Talk. Who told you to bug my room?” Franklin dropped instantly to his knees, his eyes wide with terror, then shot a desperate look toward Lila. “Miss Lila, you have to say something! You told me to—” “You’re lying!” Lila shrieked, cutting him off instantly. “Mom! Dad! He’s trying to blame me!” “How could I possibly do something like this the moment my sister gets home?” My mother was already moving to comfort Lila. My father frowned deeply, addressing me. “Rhiannon, maybe Franklin was concerned for your safety and wanted to keep an eye out for you?” “He’s served this family for twenty years. He’s earned our loyalty. This is a small thing. Don’t make a scene.” “A small thing?” I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Invading my privacy is a ‘small thing’? We can either fire him, or we can call the police. You choose.” My parents, unwilling to risk a media scandal, had Franklin pack his bags and disappear by the morning. After that, everyone in the Caldwell house treated me with hushed caution. No one dared to be two-faced again. But my parents’ expressions were even more distant, more annoyed. “You’re internally cursing me right now, aren’t you? You think I’m an absolute nightmare, a disruptive force?” I simply smiled, completely uncaring. “Good. That’s who I am. Get used to it.” 2 That evening, Preston Mills, the man I was promised to since birth, arrived at the house. The Caldwell and Mills families were old money, long-time associates. But while the Caldwells had flourished, the Mills fortune had shrunk. Fortunately, my parents weren’t completely mercenary; they hadn’t broken the engagement, and Dad had even given Preston a seat as an independent director at the Caldwell Group. Preston was handsome and polished, his face fixed in a flawlessly charming, gentle smile. “Rhia, welcome home. When should we set the date?” he said, stepping forward. “I promise you, I will make you the happiest woman in the world.” I crossed my arms and slowly appraised him. “Your cadence is steady, like an AI narrator—completely devoid of real emotion. You subtly adjusted your cufflink before shaking hands, a classic sign of over-compensating for internal anxiety.” “Preston, the deception level of those few sentences is hovering at about 99%. I think the only thing that wasn’t a lie was the period at the end.” I wasn’t in the mood to spar. “There’s no need to force this. A strong marriage needs more than a family contract. You can’t squeeze juice from a rock.” I glanced at Lila, who was conspicuously listening in, her ears practically perked up. “You and Lila are clearly more familiar with each other. I won’t steal your thunder. I’m giving the engagement to her.” A sudden, brilliant flicker of naked desire and hope flashed in Lila’s eyes as she turned expectantly toward Preston. Preston’s face tightened for a fraction of a second, but then he quickly shifted his gaze back to me, his tone suddenly resolute, utterly sincere. “Rhia, you misunderstand! I meant every word I just said! They came straight from the heart.” “Lila is like a sister to me, nothing more. I have never felt anything romantic for her. It’s you I’m falling for. We were betrothed at birth—this is fate!” He grew more animated, even reaching out to grab my hand. “To be honest, before you even came home, I used to dream about a girl. Her face, her profile… it was exactly like yours! This is destiny, Rhia…” I dodged his clammy reach and picked up the hot cup of Earl Grey tea on the side table. Without a second thought, I tossed the contents right in his face. “Shut up! Those cheesy lines are so old I nearly choked on my own spit!” “Stop using your canned, manipulative lines on me. I don’t buy the fantasy.” Preston, spluttering and soaked, immediately backed away, his suave performance shattered. Lila glared at me, her eyes burning with a hateful, poisonous jealousy. Yet, despite my blatant rejection and hostility, Preston still insisted on marrying me. This man was persistent, and behind that persistence, there was clearly something rotten. Luckily, I had a contingency plan. Why didn’t I call the police on Franklin the House Manager? Not out of mercy, but because I needed him. Though he was gone, I knew he had allies in the staff. I’d given him a hefty payment to have his contacts discreetly plant a micro-camera and a listening device in Lila’s room. This was an eye for an eye. Sure enough, that night, a shifty-eyed Preston snuck into Lila’s bedroom. The couple immediately fell into a furious tangle, the massive bed shaking violently. Afterward, the dogs started plotting. “Preston, baby, you don’t love me anymore, do you? Why are you still trying to marry that freak?” Preston chuckled, a cold, snake-like sound. “Of course I love you.” “But Rhiannon is the official heir to the Caldwell fortune. I have to marry her first, get the family’s assets firmly in my grasp!” “Once I have the papers signed, I’ll dump her instantly! Then, the entire Caldwell empire, and you, will be mine!” “Lila, you won’t feel guilty, will you? Once it’s done, not only will Rhiannon be out, but I’ll make sure your adoptive parents are dealt with too!” “Total cleanup. No loose ends.” Lila nestled against his chest, her voice laced with greed and venom. “Of course not! I hate those old fools!” “This was all supposed to be mine! Who is Rhiannon to come back and steal it? They never should have found her! I hate every single person in this family!” I listened to their vicious planning, a cold smile forming on my lips. Trying to run a con on a human lie detector? Game on.

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Before the SATs, the tech billionaire heir was dumped by the school’s Prom Queen in the harshest way possible. I was sitting nearby, gnawing on dry ramen, and leaned in toward him while he stared blankly at his textbooks. “I look like her. Want to date me instead to make her jealous?” He was silent for a moment, then handed me the bouquet of roses meant for her. I took his money with a clear conscience. I demanded a hundred thousand a month. He didn’t say a word. He wired me two hundred thousand. After we got married, he fulfilled his marital duties four times a week like clockwork—punctual, efficient, excellent service. Everyone said Julian Thorne had found true love. Until one day, his assistant whispered to me: “That new secretary Julian hired? Rumor has it she was the Prom Queen back in the day. “Ma’am, Mr. Thorne seems very fond of her. He even gave her your favorite lounge…” 1 I went after Julian Thorne for one reason: money. He was a hopeless romantic, the kind who showered his girlfriends with cash. While I was starving and surviving on instant noodles, I envied the Prom Queen, Sarah, who wore $200,000 diamond earrings before she even graduated high school. I couldn’t understand why she dumped a billionaire like Julian to run off with some broke scholarship kid. So when Sarah slapped Julian and stormed off, I blocked her path at the classroom door. “Did you guys really break up?” She looked at my worn-out thrift store clothes with disdain and shook off my hand. “Yeah. We’re done.” “Can I chase him then?” She looked me up and down, laughing out loud. “Sure, go ahead. If you actually land him, I’ll give you these earrings.” I stared at the $200,000 earrings Julian had given her and nodded. But at the post-graduation party, when she saw Julian walk in with me on his arm, her smile froze. When Julian went to the restroom, she requested a song for me. The lyrics were all about “cheating sluts.” The room went silent, everyone staring at me. “Bunny, you’re pathetic,” Sarah sneered. I knew exactly what Julian saw me as. But I still popped a bottle of champagne and poured the entire thing over Sarah’s head. Then I snatched the earrings off her. “A bet is a bet. If you didn’t want me to date him, you shouldn’t have gotten engaged to that broke guy.” “Bunny Lin!” Sarah screamed and lunged at me, but a strong hand pulled me behind a broad back. Julian took the slap meant for me. He dragged me out of the club and didn’t say a word all night. I figured his heart still ached for her. I knew my place perfectly. I quietly followed Sarah’s Instagram. Every time she posted a new outfit, I bought the same one. I’d wear it on the nights we had sex. Every time he saw me wearing Sarah’s style, the emotion in his eyes was unreadable. I knew he secretly checked her Instagram too. Looking at me was like looking at a ghost of his past love. My best friend, Chloe, was furious for me. “You’re his wife! Not her shadow!” But I thought it was fine. I asked for $100k a month; he sent $200k. I got greedy and asked for $300k. He sent $500k. Who cares about love when you live like this? I came from a home with no love and no money. If there was a chance to get rich, I’d grab it, dignity be damned. While Julian was still interested, I had to play my part well. On our first anniversary, Sarah updated her Instagram. She got a butterfly tattoo on her neck. I cried from the pain but spent ten hours getting the exact same tattoo. When Julian walked out of the shower and saw the tattoo peeking out from my purple lace slip, he froze while drying his hair. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” “Don’t do that again.” He showed no interest in my butterfly. “And throw away all your purple clothes.” My heart sank. Purple was Sarah’s favorite color. Did he get tired of me cosplaying his “one that got away”? Was my job as a substitute ending? “I mean, it hurts,” he said, flicking my forehead. “Even if you don’t copy her, I’ll still give you money.” The next day, the maid took away all my purple clothes. I hated purple anyway. The maid filled my closet with elegant black dresses. I touched the expensive fabric— Wait, did Julian know I liked black? But if I didn’t imitate Sarah, how would I keep my job? So, I tested the waters and asked Julian for $800k. He gave me a black card. No limit. Customized with “Mrs. Thorne.” While shopping with Chloe, she asked curiously, “Didn’t you say you’d do five years, grab the cash, and run? The five years are almost up. When are you divorcing him?” I stared at a baby outfit in the window and fell silent. 2 I had been Julian’s substitute for five years. I didn’t know what loving someone was supposed to look like. I only remembered that before my mom left with another man, the thing she did that made me happiest was knitting me a scarf. Now my fingers were covered in band-aids, and the scarf was finished. But Julian didn’t seem to need it anymore. Because today was our scheduled “couple’s night,” and he was thirty minutes late. I fell asleep waiting on the couch. I was kissed awake. “Sorry, the partners added some last-minute clauses. I’m late.” Julian unbuttoned his shirt, his breath hot but controlled. For the first time, I pushed him away. “When are you planning to divorce me?” His breath hitched. “What are you talking about?” I looked up at him. “I know she’s back. You even gave her my favorite lounge at the office. “I checked. My access card doesn’t work for that room anymore.” His muscles tensed. “Julian, don’t overthink it. I won’t cling to you. I don’t want a huge settlement, just give me…” He was already on his phone, his tone colder than I’d ever heard. “Secretary? What secretary? “And what about the lounge? “Do personnel changes happen without my approval now?” On the other end, the HR director’s voice trembled. “Mr. Thorne, she showed us photos of you two dating in high school. She said the Madam stole her man… “Mrs. Thorne does look like Ms. Sarah, and those photos were definitely of you, sir. We thought it was your instruction…” Julian’s expression was icy. “Blacklist Sarah from the entire industry. I want Mrs. Thorne’s access to the lounge restored in one hour. “And you—go to finance and pick up your severance check.” The HR director tried to explain, but Julian hung up. I looked at him in shock. He turned and hugged me, kissing me hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I haven’t been at headquarters these past few days…” I believed him. He was always flying around the world. But no matter how far he went, he never missed our four nights a week. I was still unsure, gripping his shirt tight. “Blacklisting your ‘one that got away’? Aren’t you afraid she’ll be heartbroken?” “What ‘one that got away’?” His kisses made me breathless. “I only have you.” “Are you… confessing?” “Yes.” “Then, Julian.” I hugged him back fiercely. “Who am I to you?” He paused, then kissed me even deeper. “My wife. The boss.” My body trembled. “Then I’m really going to act like the boss from now on.” “You always should have.” That night, neither of us slept. 3 My knitting skills improved. I unraveled the old scarf and made a bigger, warmer one. But Chloe sent me a video. In the clip, Julian was leaving a mansion in the Hamptons after a meeting. He walked past Sarah, holding a black umbrella. Since being blacklisted, she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t even pay rent. She was soaked, her purple dress clinging to her skin, outlining her curves. She looked at him through teary eyes in the wind. “Julian…” Sarah’s voice trembled. Julian paused for a split second. Then he walked past her without looking back. “Julian! Have you forgotten everything we had?!” Sarah screamed, but Julian didn’t turn around. I breathed a sigh of relief. He knew his duty. But I underestimated Sarah’s resolve. The storm raged all night. She stood downstairs all night. Until she collapsed. A black umbrella appeared in my view. Sarah struggled to open her eyes, looking up at the person holding the umbrella. Julian was dry, his pale face emotionless. But the umbrella tilted gently toward Sarah. Julian flew back to New York the next day as planned. But he gave that Hamptons mansion to Sarah. “Bunny, what do we do? Julian never spends money on anyone but his woman!” I thought for a moment. “Since he says I’m his wife, I’ll handle this the way his wife should.” That same day, Sarah was kicked out of the mansion. And that day, Julian didn’t come home. It was the first time since our marriage that he missed our night. I called him a dozen times. He didn’t answer. The next day, he came home looking exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot. “Did you order Sarah to be kicked out?” I didn’t dodge. “Yes.” “Who gave you the right to be unreasonable?” I was shocked by the accusation in his tone. I looked up. “You mean, as your wife, I should tolerate your ex-girlfriend living in our property?” Julian didn’t speak. He just threw his phone at me with a video playing. On the screen, Sarah was being dragged into an alley by a group of men, her purple dress torn to shreds. Julian’s voice trembled. “If I hadn’t arrived in time, Sarah would have been raped!” I looked at the video coldly. “What do you want me to do?” “Go to the hospital. Apologize to Sarah.” “Julian.” I pushed the phone back. “I will not apologize to a mistress.” “Mistress?” Julian seemed surprised I used that word. A sneer I’d never seen before curled his lips. “If we’re really keeping score, you’re the mistress, aren’t you?” My breath stopped. He ignored my shock and stormed out. The door slammed for the first time. I sat alone on the couch until late at night. Messages from friends kept popping up on my phone: [Bunny! What’s going on? Why is Julian skipping meetings to stay at the hospital with another woman?] [They say she’s Julian’s first love. Is it true?] [Bunny, get to the hospital! Your husband is slipping away!] I didn’t reply to any of them. Instead, I packed my bags and waited for Julian to return three days later. He saw my suitcase and chuckled lightly. “What’s this? Playing the runaway wife?” I handed him the divorce papers. “Let’s divorce. I don’t want the settlement money.” His hand, holding a tea cup, froze. 4 He flipped through the agreement page by page, his expression serious. His hands were trembling slightly. “Divorce? Who’s going to give you that kind of money?” “Thanks to you, Mr. Thorne, I won’t starve.” He paused. “Fine. Divorce. But you have to return every cent I spent on you.” I froze. Five years as a substitute… I had spent a decent amount. Seeing me hesitate, Julian’s smile relaxed a bit. “It’s okay if you can’t pay it back. As long as we don’t divorce…” “Done.” He blinked. I am someone deeply insecure about money. No matter how much I had, I never spent recklessly. Even with nine figures in my account, when Julian wasn’t around, I ate ramen with two eggs. Five years. Income: hundreds of millions. Expenses: two million. I handed him my bank card, then felt around and took off the $200,000 earrings. That covered the rest. “I won these earrings from Sarah in a bet, so they’re technically mine. Here. That settles it.” I took Julian’s hand and placed the earrings in his palm. As I turned to leave, he dropped the earrings and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go!” “I didn’t really mean for you to pay me back!” The eloquent CEO was suddenly speechless. “Julian, stop blocking me…” I was impatient, but when I turned around, I froze. A tear hit the back of my hand. I stared at him in disbelief. “You… are crying?” “I’m sorry.” His eyes were red. “Don’t do this to me.” I had never seen a man like him cry. If the paparazzi caught this, Thorne Corp’s stock would plummet. So I sat down and listened to his explanation. Turns out, he hadn’t been at the hospital these past few days. He asked his friends to send those provoking messages because he thought I had arranged for those men to assault Sarah. He couldn’t accept that I would do something like that. I could kick her out, but I couldn’t be ruthless enough to have a gang of men violate another woman. But he still took Sarah to the hospital and visited her. Because he didn’t want me to get sued. “Calling you a mistress… I was just angry. I’m sorry.” Julian’s eyes were red. I was silent for a moment. “Julian, you really hurt me this time.” Pain flashed in his eyes. “But I can give you one chance.” His eyes lit up. “Julian, I want you to cut all ties with Sarah. Send her away. Far away.” “Okay…” He gripped my hand tight, like he was holding onto a lost treasure. “I promise.”

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