Category: English

The fifth time I received an intimate video sent to me by Owen’s executive assistant—his little bit on the side—a profound weariness just washed over me. I forwarded it to Owen. My text: This posture looks physically uncomfortable for the woman. Owen sent a flurry of voice notes and a wire transfer of ten thousand dollars almost instantly. “Willow, she’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better. I’ll make sure she’s more careful next time.” Next time? There wouldn’t be a next time. After all, I was going to die very soon. I accepted the transfer and booked an extreme travel package to the Arctic Circle. Counting the accumulated payments Owen had sent over the years to apologize for his secretary’s “mistakes,” I had just enough to spend the rest of my dwindling life in the Far North. 1 Owen didn’t get home until the third day. When he walked in, I was sitting on the hardwood floor, surrounded by the debris of ripped-open cardboard boxes. He raised an eyebrow at the collection of gear piled around me—tents, high-altitude oxygen tanks, and mountaineering boots. “Going on a hike?” I didn’t look up, replying casually. “Mmhmm. Thought I’d take a trip.” Owen looked genuinely surprised. In his mind, I was the woman with no life of her own. I never went out, never socialized. The thing I loved doing most was staring at my phone, compulsively checking his location and monitoring his social media footprint. “Good,” he said, nodding as he walked further into the house, eyes still glued to his phone. “Good for you. Get out there and clear your head.” The framed, brightly lit cancer diagnosis report was sitting on the hall table, but he walked right past it without a glance. Then again, why would he look? Two weeks ago, when my nosebleeds started, he told me to drink more water. A week and a half ago, when my hair began falling out in clumps and my complexion had turned the color of parchment, he asked if I was catching a cold and suggested I call an Uber to the clinic. A week ago, I passed out in the hallway. In the last fragmented moment of consciousness, I managed to dial his number—my emergency contact. His voice, tired and exasperated, came through the phone. “Willow, do you have nothing better to do than fake an illness? I’m busy. Stop bothering me.” The call disconnected, but not before I heard Reese’s syrupy, playful whisper: “Tell me, Owen, am I better than she is? Say it…” Just as I finished packing up the shipping material, Owen walked back out of the bedroom, a look of sudden remorse on his face. “Willow, listen. I’ve got a massive deal that just came up this month. I won’t be able to come with you on your trip…” His voice trailed off when he finally noticed the one-person nature of the entire expedition kit. Owen froze, his voice cracking with shock. “You’re… going alone?” “Of course,” I said, giving him a sincere nod. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I should find something to do with myself.” He looked like I’d just punched him in the throat. The shock quickly morphed into a furious annoyance. “What is with the attitude? Why are you being so deliberately cryptic? I already apologized, didn’t I?” The apology he referred to was the ten thousand dollars. He used to buy me designer bags or diamond necklaces whenever his assistant caused a scene. Eventually, he couldn’t even be bothered with the shopping; he just wired the money for me to buy my own silence. If I really thought about it, this was a profitable exchange. Getting to escape him in the last days of my life, doing what I wanted, and having enough money to fund it all. It was a steal. I smiled, a genuine, easy smile I hadn’t worn in years. “Don’t worry,” I said honestly. “I won’t bring it up again.” 2 Owen’s expression didn’t soften; it grew darker, more ominous. He gritted out a terse, “Whatever,” and stormed into the master bedroom. The slam of the door vibrated through the entire house. A second later, I was on my knees. Blood poured from my nose, hitting the hardwood floor and blooming into a dark, vivid flower. I felt a strange, detached annoyance. Will I be too pasty and bruised to be photogenic by the time I get to the Arctic? Carrying that absurd thought, I gathered my gear and went to the guest room. The chemotherapy had left a searing, relentless pain across my body. I slept poorly. I dreamed of Reese sending me photos of her and Owen, and in the dream, I watched the videos over and over again like a form of self-inflicted torture. I watched the man I loved on top of another woman. I listened to them exchange sickeningly sweet nothings and vulgar private jokes. I watched the mole on Owen’s shoulder—the one I used to trace—tremble slightly in the dim light. I cried and laughed like a hysteric, then smashed everything in the house like a madwoman. I grabbed Owen’s collar, weeping. “Why?” He didn’t answer. He just pulled my hands away and asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted his love. Owen’s face was etched with weary frustration. “I do love you, Willow.” I shook my head, tears streaming. “I want you to love only me.” He sighed, a painful, bitter sound. “Don’t be greedy, Willow.” He was right. I was terribly greedy. I married the wealthy Owen with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I dared to demand all his love, his focus, his soul. Maybe that’s why fate was punishing me, leaving me less than a month to live. A sharp jolt of pain woke me up. My body was covered in a thousand pinpricks of fire. A chilling gaze fixed on me. Owen was leaning against the guest room doorframe, looking down. Half-awake, I had a brief, comforting flash of memory: years ago, when I was sick, he’d stood guard at my door all night long. He’d helped me put on a jacket later, sighing, “Your health is terrible. You need to eat more. I’m looking up some of those nutrition plans they talk about online…” Owen’s cold voice cut through the memory, dragging me back to the present. “Do you know what time it is?” A sudden chill made me shiver, clearing my mind completely. “Mr. Song, breakfast is ready.” A bright, chirpy voice followed. I looked up and saw Reese step out from behind Owen. She was resting her hand casually on his shoulder, giving me a soft, pitying smile. “Mrs. Song, I made yours too. I just hope it’s to your liking.” I shook my head, politely declining. It didn’t matter if it was to my liking. I hadn’t been able to keep anything down for two weeks. As I got ready to leave for the pharmacy, I saw Reese put a perfect, sunny-side-up egg onto Owen’s plate. The familiar sting of the gesture—an action that once would have sent me into a full-blown hysterical breakdown—still made my heart clench with a dull ache. But thankfully, none of this will concern me soon. 3 After my tests and picking up my medication, I stopped at a law firm. I consulted with a lawyer and had him draft a settlement agreement. As I left the office, a friend request popped up on my phone from someone named Delilah—a member of my Arctic travel group. She’d seen my IP address was local and asked if we could meet up beforehand. I agreed and sent her my location. Delilah was a burst of sunshine, a young, intensely lively girl. She talked my ear off, sharing funny stories and showing me photos of the magnificent places she’d visited. I felt a sudden, sharp envy. Envy of her youth, of her solitude, and of the vast, open future she had, filled with yet-to-be-seen landscapes. My own future was a narrow sliver of time. My past, save for the consuming love I had for Owen, was utterly empty. I let out a long, quiet breath. We talked until late into the night, sitting in a park, enjoying the warm summer breeze. She looked at me earnestly. “Willow, why did you suddenly decide on the Arctic?” I smiled. “Because I’m sick. I’m going to die soon.” Delilah’s smile dissolved instantly. She looked stricken. “I’m so sorry…” I waved it off. She was silent for a long moment, then cautiously gestured to my ring finger. “Will your family be okay with you going somewhere so remote alone?” “I don’t have a family.” “My parents died a long time ago.” She stared at the diamond on my left hand, then back at me, clearly unsure what to say. I smiled, pulled the wedding band from my finger, and tossed it into the nearest public trash can. “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.” Delilah didn’t know what to do, so after a moment of silence, she just wrapped me in a tight hug. “You have to be happy, Willow.” I nodded. I would be happy. I was walking away from a toxic relationship and a corrupted home. For the few days left to me, I had nothing to worry about. My only task was to figure out how to please myself. I was already happy. We talked until three in the morning before she insisted, citing my fragile health, that she take me home. I was surprised when I pushed the door open. The living room lights were on. Owen, who always went to bed at twelve on the dot, was sitting on the sofa. He saw me and shot to his feet, his face thunderous. He immediately cornered me. “Why weren’t you answering my texts?!” I was momentarily stunned. I took out my phone. He hadn’t just texted; he had called multiple times. I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Delilah that I hadn’t even noticed. He stood up and strode toward me. “Where have you been? Why are you just getting home now?” The intense, high-energy conversation had exhausted me, and I was suddenly hit by overwhelming fatigue. I ignored him and started walking toward the guest room. He yanked my wrist. Owen’s voice went up an octave. “Willow, I’m talking to you!” I turned to face him, looking up at the man whose face was etched with raw, sudden anxiety. I calmly peeled his fingers off my wrist. “Since you made it clear you don’t want me asking about your life, you don’t get to ask about mine.” Without giving him a chance to respond to his rapidly changing expression, I went into the guest room and collapsed into sleep. 4 Thanks to the drugs, I slept until late the next afternoon. When I woke up, Owen was standing by the bed. He was watching me. “You look thinner,” he said abruptly. Chemotherapy, medication, and a body that was rapidly failing—I hadn’t managed a decent meal in weeks. I pushed myself up to sit against the headboard. Owen suddenly held out a thick jacket. I looked at him, confused. He frowned. “You didn’t forget what day it is, did you?” I truly couldn’t remember. He looked annoyed. “Even I remembered it’s our anniversary. You slept until now. When did you start sleeping in so late?” I frowned back. Why was Owen so easily agitated these last two days? He took my hand and pulled me toward the door, heading for the most exclusive, Michelin-starred spot downtown. I had to stop him mid-drive to detour to the law firm to pick up the final divorce papers. When we arrived at the restaurant, the maître d’ immediately recognized Owen. “Mr. Song, your usual private table is ready.” The man’s eyes flickered to me, a flash of surprise in them. After all, the woman who usually joined Owen for late-night trysts in that very place was his executive assistant. Owen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. I didn’t say anything. I simply took the divorce papers and a pen out of my bag and handed them across the table. He started to flip the pages, then paused, a strange look of realization crossing his face as he looked at my bare ring finger. Something was missing. He was distracted. He flipped to the signature page of the agreement, signing it without even glancing at the financial terms. “I’ve thought about it,” he said, sliding the papers back to me. “The Arctic is too dangerous. I’ll come with you…” Boom. Boom. Boom. Fireworks exploded in the sky above the city. I looked up suddenly. A continuous, brilliant chain of fireworks bloomed, gradually forming two names spelled out in light, connected and intertwined: OWEN and WILLOW. Owen watched me carefully, his eyes searching mine. “Do you like it?” I couldn’t help the slow smile that curved my lips. I loved fireworks. I loved the vibrant colors, the celebratory sound, the simple, dramatic romance of it all. It would be better, of course, if Owen’s name could just be removed. My smile seemed to mesmerize him for a moment. He smiled back, taking out a small, exquisite gift box. “Happy Anniversary, Willow. From now on, I’ll be here for every single one.” “Open the gift.” “No need,” I said, holding up the signed divorce papers. I was still smiling. “I’ve already received the best gift I could ask for.” “After all, I really don’t want to be called Mrs. Owen after I’m dead.”

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My boyfriend had an hourly rate. Well, technically, a per-service rate. A hand-hold cost me eight hundred dollars. A hug, fifteen hundred. Dinner together, three thousand. Anything beyond that, seven thousand five hundred. In the five years we’d been together, I’d spent well into eight figures. My circle laughed at me, calling me an idiot, an open wallet. I didn’t care. Money? I had plenty of it. That changed when the Van Derlyn family’s long-lost biological daughter was finally found and welcomed home. My parents—who had raised me since birth—were afraid their real daughter would feel awkward seeing me, so a single relocation notice sent me to the furthest possible posting: the London branch of our company. It was only the sight of Zane’s face I really couldn’t bear to leave. I hesitated outside his apartment door, about to push it open, when I heard the low murmur of his friends inside, setting a trap. “So, Sloane’s out of cash now, right? How long till you dump the liability?” “Seriously, man, you’ve got her trained. She’s completely compliant. Future wife material for whoever ends up with her.” My heart, which had been dangling high above my ribcage, clenched. Then, I heard Zane’s voice, cold and detached. “It was just a bit of fun. Who said anything about marrying her?” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. A genuine, heart-deep sense of relief washed over me. Thank God. If he’d actually wanted to marry me, that would have complicated everything. 1 I was smart enough not to push the door open. I turned to walk away, and just as I did, I heard his phone’s special ringtone—the one he only used for important calls. He shushed his friends. When he spoke, his voice was warm, a texture I’d rarely experienced. “Wait there. I’m coming right now.” He moved quickly, too quickly for me to duck out of sight. Zane saw me and froze. Then, he quickly recovered, assuming I was there to drag him home, as I was notoriously clingy. “I’ll be home early tonight, I promise.” I didn’t say anything, just nodded. We walked in the same direction toward the elevators. His suit jacket was slung over his arm, and his brows were knit with a restless impatience. “Willow’s gotten lost outside the city, and her phone’s dying. I need to go pick her up. You grab an Uber.” His car sped off. He’d said it so earnestly. Which I found hilarious. In all five years, I had never once been allowed to ride in his car. Willow was a junior from his alma mater, and I was losing count of how many times Zane had “rescued” her. When my Uber dropped me off at the house, Willow was already sitting in the living room. She was holding a plate with a cake I had baked myself, her face smeared with chocolate frosting. Zane smiled with a helpless fondness, reaching out to gently wipe the cream off her cheek. I set my expensive leather bag down. I walked over and snatched the porcelain plate from her hands. Then, without a word, I scraped the remains of the cake—my cake—straight into the bin. Willow gasped, clearly terrified, and retreated behind Zane. Zane was instantly displeased. “What is your problem? She hasn’t eaten all day. It’s just cake. And it’s not like she didn’t leave you a slice.” Willow’s voice trembled as she apologized to me, promising to buy a replacement immediately. Then she burst through the front door and disappeared into the rain. Zane’s expression darkened. “A little girl, late at night, in the rain. How dangerous. Do you feel good about yourself, Sloane? Forcing her out like that?” His accusations were relentless. He stormed out after her, never noticing that my hair was still dripping from the sudden downpour I’d walked through. I looked at the discarded cake. I reached out, scooped a bit of frosting onto my finger, and put it in my mouth. It was rich, dark chocolate, exactly the way Logan used to like it. I called the cleaning service to tidy up the mess, then fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. Around three in the morning, the other side of the mattress dipped. I felt the familiar heat of his body drawing near. Zane mumbled softly. “You are so dramatic. Upsetting someone like that, but you sleep like a baby.” He sighed, moving closer. “I know that cake was for our five-year anniversary, but seriously, that useless formality vs. feeding a starving person? Which is more important?” As he spoke, a large hand settled heavily on my waist. The image of him gently wiping the frosting off Willow’s face flashed in my mind. Instinctively, I frowned, moving his arm. I spoke, my voice flat and cold. “My parents froze my bank accounts. I can’t afford your rate anymore.” The air immediately turned heavy, thick with silence. I heard the rustle of clothes, the snap of buttons. Zane slammed the door as he left. He used to pull this trick often. Whenever he was mad, he knew I would always grovel and chase him down, begging for him to smile again. Everyone called me spineless and a disgrace to the Van Derlyns. Only I knew the truth: I liked it when Zane was happy. Because when he smiled, he looked so much like the one I dreamt of, the one I knew I could never see again. I woke up the next morning feeling entirely rested. To my surprise, Zane was downstairs. He acted as if the drama of the previous night had never happened. When I sat down, he put his phone away and closed the news app. He glanced at me. “Willow is graduating soon. I’m arranging for her to intern in your department.” This was Zane’s attempt at an olive branch—but it wasn’t extended for my benefit. I considered it. “She can send her résumé to HR. If it checks out, she can interview and come onboard after the approval process.” Zane was instantly annoyed. “Are you kidding? We’re not taking interns right now. Where do you expect her to interview?” So he knew. He wanted to be the generous hero, and he wanted Willow to benefit from special treatment, leaving me to be the one abusing power. “Then tell her to graduate, build a substantive résumé, and apply then.” I rarely went against him. He picked up and set down his fork with a noticeable clang, but I didn’t look up. Willow still showed up three days later. I had clearly underestimated his liking for her. That Friday night was the mandatory company social mixer. As the department head, I had no choice but to attend. My colleague, Beth, leaned over, concerned. “Is your stomach okay?” I waved her off, signaling I was fine. A disturbance across the table drew my attention. They were playing the usual post-dinner game: Truth or Dare. Willow had drawn a Dare: Kiss the fifth person to her right on the cheek. Everyone counted: “One, two, three, four…” The fifth person was Zane. He was sprawled back in the sofa, silent. Everyone knew our arrangement, and the room fell quiet. Someone tried to smooth things over. “Let’s not pressure the intern. Next round!” Willow suddenly spoke up. “No, I can’t break the rules just for me. I’ll take the penalty…” She looked back at Zane, then picked up her glass, her eyes wide and watery. “I’m allergic to alcohol, but I’ll drink this anyway. To show I accept the consequences.” Before the words were out, Zane slammed his glass down, turned, grabbed Willow’s chin, and pulled her into his arms. He shielded her face with his body and kissed her hard on the cheek, right next to her mouth. He took his seat next to mine, pulling Willow close. His eyes flickered over me without concern. “Continue,” he said. No one dared to breathe. Beth, ever the peacekeeper, tried to salvage the mood by asking me a Truth: Who was my first love? Everyone knew Zane was my first love, judging by the obscene amount of money I spent on him without blinking. Judging by how I, a girl who never cooked, had once burned my hands trying to make his favorite meal. I lowered my eyes. “I’ll drink.” Beth pressed down on my hand, smiling tightly. “Zane, help her out. She’s been struggling with her stomach.” Zane swirled the wine in his glass, his voice laced with faint mockery. “Sloane is more than capable. It’s just one drink.” A sudden, sharp cramp twisted in my gut, but I lifted the glass and forced the liquid down. Beth was the first to realize something was wrong with me. Just as she was about to speak, Willow’s voice cut in, trembling with vulnerability. “Senior, I think I’m having an allergic reaction from just that sip. I can’t breathe.” Zane immediately stood up, draped his jacket over her, and pulled her close. Beth stood up, too. “Zane, could you give Sloane a ride? She…” Zane saw me leaning over, head down, clearly in pain. His face was grim. “You can’t distinguish between minor and major emergencies? Find someone else to take her.” Everyone dispersed quickly. I waited until the severe stomach pain subsided before catching a cab home. Zane was sitting on the living room sofa, lost in thought. It was rare for him to wait up for me; I found it unsettling. “Sloane Van Derlyn, how old are you? Targeting a girl like that? Where is your decency?” I was bewildered. It took me a moment to realize he thought I had deliberately set up the dare to embarrass Willow. “Is that honestly what you think of me?” I had given Zane so much—when I was obsessed with him, I nearly ripped my heart out and served it to him on a plate. Zane didn’t get a chance to answer. A female voice chirped. “Senior, does this look okay?” I turned. Willow was standing in the doorway of the master suite, wringing her hands, wearing my favorite silk nightgown. She looked entirely innocent, as if someone had forced the garment on her. Zane’s expression shifted instantly. He strode over in three steps. “Why are you wearing this? Didn’t I buy you new ones?” Willow looked even more victimized, her voice a whisper. “The new ones are too nice. I just grabbed one of these—the others felt… old-fashioned.” She finally sought my permission. “Can I wear it, Sloane? I promise I’ll wash it for you.” I walked toward them slowly. The old me would have slapped her, told her Zane was mine, and warned her that if she touched him again, I’d take out her eyes. Zane tensed, subtly positioning himself in front of her. I smiled. “You can wear it. You can even sleep in the master bedroom. I find things other people have touched… dirty.” I walked past them and pushed open the door to the guest suite. Zane tried to grab my arm. He missed. It was late when the door handle turned again. Zane came in and settled onto the bed. He immediately launched into an explanation. “I only found out today when I took her to the clinic that her mother passed away, and her father abandoned her. She can’t even afford rent.” “She reminds me of myself, you know? I started with nothing, too. I just want to help. She’ll only be staying for a little while, until she gets her first paycheck.” He softened his tone. “She’s a little scatterbrained, a little innocent, very naive. She even apologizes when she’s bumped into. So stop targeting her, okay?” I took in his speech. According to him, I was the wicked queen, and Willow was the pure, innocent princess waiting for her prince to descend. I just mumbled, “Okay,” and let the matter drop. To my surprise, Zane was clearly unhappy with my compliance. He wanted a fight, a reaction. He turned to embrace me, but before his lips could touch my neck, an instinct flared up, and I kicked him hard, sending him sprawling off the bed. He was furious. He punched the mattress. “What is wrong with you? Are you still mad about that cake? When I’m not so busy, I’ll make it up to you…” “It’s not that.” The cake wasn’t for him anyway. Why would I be angry? “You don’t want me clinging to you, right? I’m letting go. You’re free.” I thought that would be the end of it. But Zane asked, “Why?” I pressed my fingers to my temples. I needed a reason he would understand—a financial one. “Because I’m out of money. The Van Derlyn’s real daughter is back, and I’ve been cut off. I can’t pay your rate anymore.” Knock. Knock. Knock. Willow’s voice was small outside the door. “Senior? I hear noises outside the window. I’m scared.” Zane stood up without hesitation. His voice was exquisitely gentle. “Don’t be scared. I’m coming to stay with you.” Outside, I heard their soft murmurs. “Why are you barefoot? It’s cold.” “There are no ghosts. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.” I got up early. When I opened the door, I saw Willow putting on a pair of shoes. They were the red high-heeled pumps Zane had bought me—my first real gift from him. They had been slightly too big for me, but at the time, I’d been ecstatic. Willow walked a few steps in them. “Sloane, Senior said these were too big for you, but they fit me perfectly. They really suit me.” Zane took her old shoes to put them away. “Wear them for now. We’re short on time. I’ll take you to buy a new pair when I’m free.” I ignored their boundary-less exchange and walked past them. As I did, I glanced at the necklace around her neck. It looked incredibly familiar. When I focused, I saw the small object hanging from the chain, and a rush of pure, unadulterated rage hit me. I reached out and violently grabbed the chain on her neck. Willow screamed, covering her throat and scrambling back behind Zane. Zane shoved me. My lower back hit the corner of a nearby table. The sharp pain brought me a chilling clarity. I held out my hand. “Give me the ring.” Zane’s face was cold. “You said you wouldn’t cling to me anymore. Who I give a necklace to is my business, isn’t it?” “Keep the chain,” I bit out. “But the ring on that necklace belongs to me. Give it back. Otherwise, I swear, I will make sure your little academic darling vanishes from Manhattan’s corporate scene for good!” “Even without my family’s backing, the Van Derlyns would grant me that small request to save face.” A small, silvery sound echoed as the ring dropped. The tiny ring bounced once or twice before settling against the table leg. Willow jutted out her chin, her face a mask of wronged virtue. “Fine. Take it.” I carefully picked up the ring, blew the dust off, and slipped it into my pocket. I went into the guest room, threw some essentials into my suitcase, and walked straight out. Zane started toward me, but Willow grabbed his arm. “Senior, Sloane’s just angry. Let her have some space.” Zane was momentarily lost. I was the one who was supposed to cling to him, not walk away like this. Willow ran into the bedroom and came back with a stack of photos. They were all pictures of Zane, some blurry, some clear, all secretly taken. “See? Sloane is obsessed with you. She’s just trying to scare you. She won’t leave.” Zane ran his thumb over the pictures. He chuckled softly. “She never used to be like this.” Willow clenched her teeth. “That was before. I’m a woman, I know how she thinks. Before, you were struggling, so she felt secure. But now that she’s no longer the Van Derlyn heir and you’ve become successful, she’s insecure and panicking.” Zane considered this. It made sense—I had only grown distant after the biological daughter showed up. “Keep talking.” “If you go chasing after her now, it shows you’re desperate. She’ll own you forever. You have to assert your position.” Willow pulled a small container of folded paper stars out of the stack of photos. Tucked inside were meticulous notes detailing my dream wedding ceremony, the exact style of dress I wanted, and dense pages of hopeful plans for the future. Zane studied the detailed plans, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. “See? Sloane is playing a game. She’s trying to manipulate you. She’ll be back. We just need to give her a little shock, make her feel the crisis.” I finished my company handover and picked up the flight information my parents had booked for me. My social media feed was now a high-profile parade of Zane and Willow’s love. Daily “soulmate” breakfasts. Romantic candlelight kisses. The ‘Forever Ring’ on her finger. Just as I was about to power down my phone, an unfamiliar number called. It was Zane. “When are you coming back?” He cleared his throat, trying to sound authoritative. “If you come home and are obedient, I might consider a long-term future with you.” “But don’t even think about engagement or marriage. That will depend on your behavior.” My eyebrows knit tightly in distaste. I could hear his friends in the background, cheering and clapping. “Sloane, congrats! You finally earned the promotion!” “Hurry back! Zane’s about to be snatched up!” The silence from my end was prolonged. Someone on the other end wondered, “Did Sloane pass out from happiness?” I was definitely stunned. I was looking at the familiar face in front of me, my throat choked with a sudden, suffocating emotion. I couldn’t form a word. The man in front of me parted his lips. His voice felt distant, as if traveling across half a world, yet it hit my heart with the force of a physical blow. “Sloane. I’ve missed you.”

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After the department dinner, Helen from HR dropped a payment request in the group chat. [Last night’s dinner came out to $850. Please send me $45 each.] Then, she specifically tagged me. [@Laura, that includes you, don’t forget!] I thought she’d made a mistake. After all, I hadn’t even been there. I sent a polite reminder, but Helen completely lost it. [We booked your spot. You think you don’t have to pay just because you didn’t show up?] [If you don’t pay up, your colleagues will have to cover your share!] I quietly posted the real receipt from their dinner at my family’s restaurant. “After the discount, the total was two hundred and fifty dollars. Helen, are you trying to rip everyone off?” 1 I wasn’t feeling well, so I skipped the department dinner last night. The moment I got to the office this morning, I saw the message from Helen in the group chat. [Last night’s dinner came out to $850. Please send me $45 each.] Helen was in charge of HR for our department, and rumor had it her husband was a company shareholder. Naturally, no one dared to cross her. The payment notifications started popping up one by one. I figured it had nothing to do with me and was about to put my phone away when it buzzed again. Helen had tagged me. [@Laura, you too, don’t forget!] ? I wasn’t even there. Thinking she’d simply forgotten, I replied in the chat to gently remind her. I never expected her to explode. She launched into a full-blown tirade right there in the group chat. [What’s that supposed to mean?] [The dinner was priced per head. I booked everything in advance.] [It’s your problem that you didn’t show up, but that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from paying!] [Are you really so broke you’d try to skip out on forty-five bucks?] 2 Helen’s words were utterly merciless. My face flushed hot with embarrassment. I had messaged her privately yesterday to explain I couldn’t make it. She’d told me it was no problem, that the restaurant charged by the dish, not per person. What changed overnight? A colleague sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, “Laura, you’re new to this department. You really don’t want to get on Helen’s bad side.” But this wasn’t my fault. And more than that, what she said was just plain nasty. I took a screenshot of our conversation from the day before and posted it in the group. I tagged her directly. [Helen, yesterday you said it was fine. Why the change of heart today?] [If you had told me upfront, I would have just paid it.] [Are you that hard up for my forty-five bucks?] The moment the message went out, I could hear a collective gasp ripple through the open-plan office. Several people gave me subtle thumbs-ups. Honestly, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but she started it. And I was holding back my harsher thoughts. I’d seen a video from the dinner last night—a few simple, family-style dishes on the table, not even a single bottle of wine. How on earth did that cost over eight hundred dollars? The chat went silent. I ignored it, tossed my phone aside, and focused on my work. I wasn’t worried about getting fired for pissing her off. I expected Helen to stomp over to my desk any minute. But it wasn’t until the lunch break that she finally appeared, stilettos clicking, designer bag swinging, her face a mask of fury. “Who do you think you are?” she hissed. “When did I ever say you didn’t have to pay? Who knows if that screenshot is Photoshopped? And even if I did say it, it was only because I felt sorry for the new girl! Now the entire department has paid except for you. What makes you so special? You think you’re better than everyone else?” 3 Looking at her perfectly made-up face and designer outfit, I realized something. No wonder it was so quiet this morning. She hadn’t even been in the office yet. Her outburst startled everyone from their lunch break. They saw who it was and immediately went back to staring at their screens, fuming but silent. A few shot me resentful glances. Seeing that I wasn’t responding, Helen assumed I was scared. She planted her hands on her hips, looming over me. “Pay me the dinner fee right now, and then you will apologize to me in front of the entire department! Otherwise, I’ll make sure your life in this office is a living hell!” It was a blatant threat. A fresh-faced rookie might have buckled immediately. But I wasn’t a rookie. I’d been with this company for ten years. Most of my old colleagues had either been laid off or transferred. As a long-term employee with a permanent contract and a documented workplace injury on my record, I was practically untouchable. The company couldn’t fire me without a massive headache. I wasn’t scared at all. In fact, the thought of what was coming thrilled me. “Fine, I’ll pay,” I said. A smirk spread across Helen’s face. “That’s more like it—” I cut her off. “On one condition. You have to admit, right here and now, that you can’t survive without my forty-five dollars. The second you say it, I’ll transfer the money. Deal?” The smirk on Helen’s face froze. When she finally processed what I’d said, she slammed her hand on my desk. “Laura! How dare you mock me?!” Her voice was so shrill it almost cracked. She was genuinely furious now. Then, a cunning look crossed her face as an idea seemed to strike her. She calmed down and turned to address the rest of the office. “Since Laura refuses to pay for the dinner, her share will be split among the rest of you.” “Everyone, please send me an extra ten dollars.” 4 My face hardened. She was clearly trying to strong-arm me into paying. Ten dollars wasn’t much, but I knew it would make my colleagues resent me. Over time, that resentment would turn into isolation and ostracism. But if I gave in this time, there would be a next time, and a time after that. Working my butt off for peanuts was hard enough; was I supposed to use my own salary to line the pockets of some power-tripping manager? I couldn’t swallow this insult. I sent a direct message to the top boss. [Mr. Roberts, I have a question. Is it company policy to charge employees for department events they didn’t attend?] [When was this rule implemented?] He didn’t reply, probably in a meeting. But my colleagues couldn’t hold back any longer. Murmurs of complaint filled the air. “Why should we have to? It’s not our fault she didn’t pay.” “Exactly! What are we, her personal piggy bank?” Even the colleague who had warned me earlier physically shifted her chair away from me. Seeing that her plan had worked, Helen shot me a smug, satisfied look. It was a look that said, You’re way out of your league, kid. Then she gave me her ultimatum: transfer the money by the end of the day. This time, I said nothing. But something about all this felt very wrong. Later that afternoon, still fuming, I went to the fire stairwell to cool off. Just as I was about to leave, I heard the sound of high heels approaching. On a whim, I ducked around the corner of the landing. It was Helen. She stopped just out of sight, talking on her phone, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Just you wait. She’ll be packing her bags within a month!” 5 Her conversation continued. “Report me? Who’d dare? Those idiots would rather lick my boots!” “And that restaurant last night was a great find. Cheap and good. The whole thing was just over a thousand bucks.” She hung up, then scoffed into the empty air, her voice full of contempt. “Trying to fight me? She really needs to take a look in the mirror.” I stayed hidden in the corner until long after she had left. So, this was never about the forty-five dollars. It was about forcing me to quit. That settled it. There was no way I was letting this go. Her last comment sparked an idea. If she wanted to turn my colleagues against me, let’s see who was better at playing that game. I refused to believe everyone in this office was born without a spine. Back at my desk, I pulled up the video of the dinner again, trying to spot the restaurant’s name. I went through it frame by frame. Whether by design or chance, there were no logos or signs visible. Just as I was about to give up, my eyes landed on the dinnerware. Wait a second. Those plates… why did they look so familiar? They looked just like… I quickly opened my photo album and found the design for the custom plates I’d ordered for my parents’ restaurant. It was a perfect match. So, the restaurant where they had their dinner… was mine? 6 I immediately called my mom to confirm. “Oh, right! A group of about a dozen people came in yesterday, said it was a company dinner.” “Their boss was so cheap! So many people, and they only ordered the least expensive dishes. Then she insisted on a twenty percent discount before she’d pay. The total only came to two hundred and fifty dollars! And they packed up every last scrap of leftover food!” “Oh, and she called today asking me to issue a fake receipt for eight hundred and fifty. Your father told her to get lost.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Good for Dad. Just to be sure, I had my mom pull the restaurant’s security footage. It was them, my colleagues, without a doubt. I told my mom what had happened today. She was furious and immediately sent me a copy of the itemized bill from last night. “You go get ’em, sweetheart! Don’t you worry! If things go south, you can always come home. Mom and Dad will take care of you!” Her words warmed my heart, but quitting was out of the question. This was now a battle between me and Helen. As the workday was ending, she popped up in the group chat again. This time, she posted a picture of an invoice and tagged me. [@Laura, here’s the restaurant invoice, just so you can’t claim I overcharged you.] [But if you can really live with yourself while your colleagues cover for you, then be my guest!] 7 The moment her message appeared, every eye in the office turned to me. Some were curious, some were angry, some were contemptuous. Then, she added one more line. [And don’t even think about running to Mr. Roberts. He has no time for employees who refuse to be team players!] It all clicked. That’s why I never got a reply to my message at noon. But I was more curious about something else. Who was Helen on the phone with in the stairwell? Who wanted me gone badly enough to resort to these tactics? There were only a few possibilities. I shook the thought from my head as my colleagues started complaining again. “Laura, your fight with Helen is your business. Can you please not drag the rest of us into it?” “Yeah, you can tell she wasn’t from our department originally. She’s clearly not one of us.” “Don’t be so selfish. We’re not obligated to pay your share.” This time, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I opened the main company group chat. The one with all several hundred employees. I forwarded every single message from Helen, along with a picture of the real, itemized bill from the restaurant, and a picture of her forged invoice. Then I tagged all the senior managers. [To management: I’d like to ask if you are aware that a member of our HR department is using team dinners to skim money off the top and is also creating fraudulent invoices?]

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After being reborn, I submitted my resignation, left the medical examiner’s office, and broke away from the Foster family who raised me, bearing the infamy of being an ingrate. Why? Because in my past life, Julian Foster, the police chief’s only son, lost the love of his life, Bella Han—a woman supposedly born with “Yin-Yang Eyes”—in an accident while chasing a suspect. I married him and became the chief’s daughter-in-law. For twenty years, Julian and I fought side by side. I deciphered the dead’s last words; he quelled their grievances. Together, we solved every cold case in Cloud City from the last fifty years. But at my award ceremony, Julian, the man I thought was my soulmate, publicly denounced me for fraud. He claimed all the key clues in the cases I solved came from the notes Bella left behind using her “Yin-Yang Eyes.” “Elara Lin, you stole the life that belonged to Bella.” Even the son I raised looked at me with disdain. “Mom, I can’t believe a medical examiner like you got ahead using superstition.” Under their scornful gazes, I collapsed at the station entrance. Every case I handled was investigated. He found “negligence” everywhere, sending me to prison. There, criminals I helped catch tortured me until I was eventually hanged. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the department was selecting a medical examiner for the Major Crimes Unit. 1 Chief Foster sat in his office, expression grave. “Julian, for the Major Crimes Unit ME spot… Elara or Bella?” Colleagues chimed in teasingly: “Is that even a question? Julian and Elara are childhood sweethearts. Who else but her?” I grew up in the Foster household. I was their designated daughter-in-law, so naturally, this position was mine to lose. But this time, Julian interrupted anxiously. “Dad, let’s keep personal matters private. Selection should be fair. It’s not my call.” I realized instantly: He was reborn too. Since he was still hung up on his unrequited love for Bella, I decided to grant his wish. “Uncle Foster, I know I’m not capable enough. I don’t deserve Julian or the Major Crimes Unit.” I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled “Resignation Letter” in bold letters. Seeing this, Julian turned and ran out without a word. In our past life, right at this moment, Bella was surrounded by angry family members refusing an autopsy. In the chaos, a frantic relative injured Julian’s wrist, ending his surgical career as he tried to protect her. Reborn, he naturally rushed to take that hit for her again. Chief Foster was furious, pushing my resignation letter back. “Elara Lin, what nonsense is this!” “I taught you everything hand-in-hand, and now you want to quit?” Uncle Foster, who raised me like a father, looked at me with pure disappointment. I met his gaze, wanting to explain, but instead bowed deeply. “Uncle Foster, I’m sorry. I will leave the Foster family. I’ll find a way to repay your kindness later.” “Julian has someone else in his heart. Forced love isn’t sweet. Please let them be. He and I aren’t meant to be.” Chief Foster wanted to argue, but remembering the rumors about his son and Bella, he swallowed his words. I packed my things and moved out of the Foster home completely. The day I left, Julian stood in the yard, glancing at me from afar. Twenty years of past life bonds ended there. Once the handover was done, I’d never have to see them again. News of their engagement spread through the station. Red invitations sat on every desk, piercing my eyes. People whispered in the hallways, glancing at me. Everyone knew I had chased Julian for over a decade. From a teen crush to a forensic expert, everyone thought I’d be the one in the wedding dress. But I just glanced indifferently at the gold-stamped invitations and buried my head in case files. Bella loved to brag in the office lately, voice raised just enough for me to hear. “Julian bought me another necklace yesterday, to match my wedding dress.” “He says after our honeymoon, he’ll let me handle even bigger cases.” I ignored her showing off, focusing entirely on autopsy reports. Until that day, I heard arguing from the Chief’s office. “Dad, Bella should lead the Serial Killer case. You’ve seen her ability.” Chief Foster sounded displeased: “Julian, Elara has been on this case for a long time. Switching now is risky. Bella is new; she lacks experience.” Julian persisted, “But Bella has her unique gift! She can crack this! Dad, you can’t favor Elara just because of personal feelings!” I remembered this case clearly. In my past life, I pieced together tiny clues from the bodies to solve this city-shaking serial murder. The whole department got credit, and I became famous as the “Beauty ME,” my career skyrocketing. Reborn Julian knew this. He just wanted Bella to steal that glory in this life. Thinking this, I pushed open the office door and handed over all the files. “Uncle Foster, here are all the materials and reports.” Chief Foster looked at my calm face, eyes complicated, before hesitantly taking the files. “Elara, the Foster family has wronged you.” My voice was steady. “It’s fine, Uncle. You raised me. Consider this repayment.” Chief Foster looked up, eyes full of guilt. He raised me like a daughter. But I couldn’t compare to his own son. The scale tipped to Julian. 2 Julian’s face flashed with shock when I voluntarily handed over the reports. He probably expected me to fight, to cry. He didn’t expect me to let go so cleanly. These files were my blood and sweat, nights of work. Every page held my expertise. “Elara, don’t think playing hard to get will catch my attention.” Julian quickly recovered his cold mask, tone disdainful. “You’ll never compare to Bella. You should have realized that long ago.” Right. He always believed Bella’s “Yin-Yang Eyes” nonsense. I died never knowing what was in that notebook that made him so sure I rode her coattails. Julian shoved the thick report into Bella’s hands. Bella took it, flipping through eagerly, but her face soured. “Julian, these are just procedure logs. Where are the conclusions?” she asked, panicked. I chuckled, a hint of sarcasm in my voice: “Conclusions? Shouldn’t be hard for Bella, right? With your unique gift and all.” Hearing my tone, both scoffed and left. I watched them go, shaking my head with a smile. Bella was a rookie who hadn’t even done an independent autopsy. How could she analyze complex clues? I waited to see how Julian would make his beloved famous now. At the joint autopsy, as expected, Bella humiliated herself. “ME Han, scalpel for cartilage, please.” Bella handed a cranial saw to my old partner, Dave. “Not that! ME Han, can you not tell a saw from a scalpel? That’s basic!” Bella’s voice trembled: “I… I’m just not familiar with the layout here.” Julian immediately jumped to her defense: “Dave, watch your tone! Bella just took over. You’re all Elara’s old colleagues, biased against her. You haven’t seen her true ability.” Dave sneered like he heard a joke. “Ability? What ability? Is Captain Foster saying she solves cases with superstition? Yin-Yang Eyes? I’ll believe it when she summons my dead mother for a chat!” Other MEs whispered, faces skeptical. Seeing the tension, I walked in, interrupting coolly. “Dave, I’m here to pack my things.” The room went silent. All eyes on me. I packed my desk items one by one. Bella watched, face darkening. When I picked up the photo of me and the Fosters, she knocked the box out of my hands. “Elara, are you proud of yourself now?!” Crash. The box hit the floor. The photo shattered. The ceramic doll Julian gave me for my 18th birthday broke into pieces. A sharp edge cut Bella’s finger. Blood welled up. Julian’s face paled instantly. He blew on it carefully, voice aching: “Bella, are you okay? Let me see! Don’t move, I’ll treat it!” “Elara Lin, face reality! You have nothing to do with the Foster family or the station anymore!” 3 I looked at the shards of my youth on the floor. The last bit of bitterness in my heart vanished. Good riddance. As I turned to leave with my few belongings, Bella grabbed me. “Since you’re not a Foster anymore, shouldn’t you leave Julian’s things behind?” “Julian, isn’t that right?” I looked at the couple. Bella gloating, Julian defending her before I could speak. “Bella is right. Leave the things our family gave you.” I laughed at their shamelessness. Everything I wore was indeed bought by Mrs. Foster. “Julian, what do you want me to leave? Do you plan for me to walk out of here naked today?” Chief Foster rushed over and slapped him. “Bastard! Even if she’s not your wife, she’s your sister! Is this how you treat her?!” Seeing Julian’s gaze full of disgust, I smiled. “Uncle Foster, they’re right. We should settle accounts.” I raised my hand, pointing at Julian from head to toe. “That watch, I bought it with my first bonus. Remember? You said you liked it.” “Your cufflinks, limited edition from Germany. I hunted them down for you.” “Those shoes, I ran across the city to order that color.” “From head to toe, what isn’t bought with my salary?” Julian’s face turned ugly. He gritted his teeth. He actually started unbuttoning his shirt, taking off the watch, kicking off the shoes. Threw them all on the floor. Bella pointed at me triumphantly: “Then return what the Fosters gave you! That necklace, those earrings, your clothes—didn’t the Fosters pay for them?” I ignored her barking, not even looking down. My eyes stayed on Julian, voice calm but heavy. “Three years ago, the West City dismemberment case. I spent ten sleepless days piecing together the victim from a pile of rotten meat. Uncle Foster got promoted to Chief because of that.” “Two years ago, if I hadn’t come back early from my trip, Mrs. Foster would have died from that gas leak…” I stepped closer, staring him down. “Julian, I saved your mother’s life. I paved your father’s career. How do you repay that?” “And now, you want me to strip off these so-called ‘Foster things’?” Julian retreated, eyes darting, unable to meet my gaze. Finally, he squeezed out: “One thing doesn’t cancel another.” I laughed loudly. Laughing at the Fosters’ so-called grace, laughing at my past stupidity. “From now on, I owe the Foster family nothing. We are strangers.” Bella jumped in: “Stop your smooth talk! Take off the clothes!” I started removing the necklace, earrings, bracelet. They hit the floor with crisp clinks, like my once-broken heart. I placed them neatly on the desk, changing into my old, yellowing lab coat. I thought living two lives made me tough. But looking at his familiar face, tears still fell. I wiped them dry and walked to the door without looking back. Whispers followed me out: “Heard she wasn’t resignation, but fired.” “Tsk, head ME falling this low.” “Chief’s son is ruthless, didn’t even spare his childhood friend.” I paused but didn’t stop. Just as I was about to exit the gate, Julian called out: “Elara.” I stopped, not turning. “I’ve made calls. No place in Cloud City will hire you as a medical examiner.” So, not just ruining my name, but cutting off my livelihood. Cruel, Julian. I strode forward, vanishing from his sight. Around the corner, I saw a police car. I opened the door and got in. “Chief Chen, congratulations on finally getting what you wanted.” She turned, shaking my hand with a smile. “Elara Lin, happy cooperation.” 4 I moved to the Capital quickly, joining their ME team as the lead. The office was decorated with a banner: “Warm Welcome to Team Leader Elara Lin.” The whole team gathered, faces excited. “Dr. Lin… is it really you? I read your paper on the West City case. Textbook reconstruction!” “Leader Lin, we’re your soldiers now!” “Been waiting for you!” Chief Chen walked over with tea, smiling satisfied. “Elara, regret it now? Should have come earlier instead of wasting your youth in that backwater Cloud City.” I looked at her, smiling with relief. “You joke, Chief. Better late than never. Now is the perfect time.” In this life, it’s time to live for myself. Soon, I saw news about Bella. She was eloquent in front of the camera. The headline screamed: “Genius ME Emerges, Cloud City Forensics Reaches New Heights.” Talking about her predecessor (me), she hinted heavily that I was “fired” for major errors. “Bullshit!” Chief Chen snatched the phone, furious. “Who does she think she is? Stepping on you isn’t enough, she has to ruin your name? Julian Foster is blind; that woman will ruin him.” I laughed at her anger, taking the phone back and closing the video. “Chief, don’t be mad. Let her be.” “How can I? She’s destroying you!” I shook my head, eyes cold: “She won’t last long. Some people just love digging their own graves.” Sure enough, two days later, comments on Bella’s interview turned. The families of victims I helped became my strongest shield. “Genius ME? Without Dr. Lin’s attention to detail, my daughter’s killer would still be free! What does this Bella know?” “Exactly! Dr. Lin solved my brother’s case! Our family owes her everything! Who is this Han to slander her?” “Heard about the ‘511 Serial Murders’ in Cloud City? The killer is brutal, yet this ‘Genius’ has done nothing? Can she only buy trending topics?” Public opinion backfired. The tricky 511 case pressed on Bella like a mountain. Julian sat in his office, brow furrowed over the 511 files. He desperately tried to recall memories from his past life, but the names escaped him. Bella entered, pale. “Julian, any progress?” Julian put all hope on her. “Bella, your Yin-Yang Eyes…” “Julian, I’m… not in good condition lately. The Eyes need a special trigger. I can’t see the victims’ memories right now…” Chief Foster barged in with a group of leaders. “Five dead! The city is in panic! And you tell me you’re waiting for a trigger? Julian, is this the talent you fought to keep??” Julian’s face shifted colors under his father’s scolding. He knew his dad meant he was blind to drive away Elara, the one who could actually read clues. Under the pitying or mocking gazes of colleagues, Julian stood up, looking his father in the eye. “I take full responsibility.” “If I don’t catch the killer in three days, I, Julian Foster, will strip off this uniform and never be a cop again!” Bella opened her mouth but couldn’t say a word.

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A text came through at 4:00 AM. A wedding invite, out of the blue, from a classmate I hadn’t spoken to in years. I work for the Defense Intelligence Agency, and the leave approval process is a bureaucratic nightmare. I politely declined the invitation. The very next second, he sent a follow-up, his tone demanding. “You don’t have to come, but you can gift us a house, and I’ll forgive you for skipping!” I was stunned, thinking he was joking. “I’ll wire you eight thousand dollars later. Happy wedding.” His voice instantly went cold. “Are you trying to insult me? A handout?” “My fiancée is Park Avenue Royalty. Our guests are the city’s elite. I invited you—a house is the least you can do! Don’t push your luck!” As he spoke, he smugly sent an electronic invitation. I clicked it open and was instantly staggered. The photo showed my wife, Sienna Reed—the woman who claimed to have severe germophobia and acted like a frigid saint—locked in a passionate, completely unrestrained kiss with Blake Shaw. I gave a cold, short laugh. “I’ll be there on time, and I’ll send you a house.” A custom-made replica mansion. That still counts as a house, doesn’t it? 1 Blake Shaw couldn’t sense the malice in my tone. He screamed excitedly. “That’s my best brother! I knew you wouldn’t let me down! I don’t need much, just a townhome in Tribeca! If you can’t afford it, sell a kidney, man! I won’t judge!” Sell a kidney? The audacity! I kept my voice calm. “I heard Sienna Reed is already married. You haven’t been conned, have you?” From the phone, I heard the unmistakable, muffled, wet sounds of their activity. “Honey, someone says you’re already married!” Blake yelled away from the receiver. “It was just a fake marriage. The ceremony was fake, the certificate was fake, and the husband… he was fake, too.” Sienna’s voice shifted instantly, dismissive, yet still husky with a deep, sated exhaustion. It clearly drove Blake wild. He ended the call abruptly, yet he was too eager to notice the line was still connected. The intimate sounds of their continued passion filled my empty, sterile bedroom, grating against my sanity. “We’ve been at it all night, why are you starting again… Blake, I love you.” The woman’s cooing voice made me physically nauseous. I hung up, rage building, and pulled the marriage certificate from my drawer. The official stamp was indeed flawed. A fake. Sleep was impossible. Did Sienna forget? The moment she married me, Leo North, she became the actual “Manhattan Royalty.” Defrauding a federal intelligence officer? That was a fast-track ticket to a maximum-security prison. I called my aide, Sergeant Miller. “Arrange an immediate deep audit of Reed Corp’s accounts. Contact my lawyer and the Police Chief. I’m filing charges. Also, call the city’s most reputable funeral director and order a large, custom-made replica mansion.” I drove home that same night to pick up my daughter, only to find that Sienna had sent her to a children’s home. Without a word, I drove straight there and brought her out. In the passenger seat, my timid little Lulu was curled up, her hair tangled, her cheek bruised and swollen. I reached out to touch her head, but she flinched and ducked away in pure panic. “Don’t hit Lulu, I’ll be good. I won’t eat or drink or use the bathroom again.” A dull ache filled my chest. I pulled her gently into my arms, stroking her tiny, frail shoulders, comforting her again and again. From Lulu’s halting, broken sentences, I finally understood the truth: for all these years, she had been living in that facility. Sienna only retrieved her for a few days when she knew I was coming home, staging a performance of a loving family. And Blake Shaw wasn’t just aware; he was one of her frequent abusers. He had beaten her until she lost control, then, disgusted that she’d soiled herself, he’d locked her in a closet without food or water. I gritted my teeth until I thought they would shatter. My work kept me away for long periods, and on my occasional calls, Lulu had always seemed perfectly normal. My blind trust and deep devotion to Sienna had been repaid with this catastrophic, brutal betrayal. If that was how she wanted to play, I would prepare a very special wedding gift. When I finally arrived back at my house, the sun was fully up. The wall of the master bedroom still held the large, smiling photo of Sienna and me on our wedding day. The image was insulting, pathetic. I had bought the house after we were married. It should have been shared property, but with the knowledge that the certificate was fake, I quietly and quickly processed the sale, clearing every single one of Sienna’s possessions and transferring the title for a fraction of its value. Just then, Sienna’s text arrived. “Honey, the IRS is suddenly auditing the company! Reed Corp is in trouble!” “I can’t handle this. Take some emergency leave and get back here immediately!” The demanding, entitled tone was exactly as it had always been. I ignored the text. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove Lulu straight to the wedding venue. When we arrived, only Blake was greeting guests; Sienna was nowhere in sight. The welcome poster was a blown-up, explicit photo of Sienna being grabbed by Blake. My chest seized up. Sienna, who was so unrestrained and open with Blake, had always presented herself as a pure, devout Madonna to me. Six years ago, wearing plainclothes, I took several knife wounds rescuing her from a dark alley where she was being violently assaulted. Later, when we met, she told me about her severe “spiritual contamination complex”—she couldn’t stand to be touched by anyone. She insisted our daughter was a result of a one-time accident when we were drunk. Now, I realized her contamination complex was intermittent: she was only repulsed by me, and she extended that disgust to my daughter. My jaw was aching from clenching my teeth. I told Lulu to wait in the car, and I walked slowly, deliberately, into the venue. Inside, the dozen-strong groom’s party included many men who were once my close friends. Blake spotted me and immediately smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, look who it is! My best pal, Leo North! Guys, he promised me a Tribeca townhouse. Where’s the deed, Leo?” I answered mildly. “A townhouse isn’t something you pick up at the corner store, Blake. It takes a little time.” Gary Wexler, a former friend, flashed his gold Rolex and sneered. “Stop acting like a big shot, North. Everyone knows you went straight into some forgotten satellite office after college. How many years have you been filing papers? You can’t afford a decent apartment, let alone Tribeca. Don’t puff out your chest here.” The others chuckled and joined the mockery. “Leo, our guy Blake is marrying Sienna Reed—Manhattan Royalty. A nobody like you shouldn’t even show his face. Can you even afford the cash gift? Want us to pool some money for you, for old times’ sake?” It was clear they were jockeying to impress Blake, eager to join the sycophantic crowd. Blake played the consoling friend, draping an arm over my shoulder. “Leo, you were smart, good-looking, always a step ahead of me in school. But what did it get you? Should’ve found a rich wife. Listen, after the wedding, I’ll introduce you to Sienna’s great-aunt. She’s almost seventy, two hundred pounds, but she’s got a ten thousand dollar IRA and a good pension. You’ll fit right in! She’ll save you a few years of struggle!” I sneered internally. His “rich wife” was about to be penniless and disgraced. Just then, a brass band started playing a loud, mournful tune. Behind them, a procession of men carried the massive, paper-mâché replica of a mansion. Blake’s face turned the color of iron. “What in the hell is this supposed to be?” The lead musician was very polite. “The mock-up house is delivered, sir. The funeral band is a complimentary gift. You’re welcome!” Blake was furious and lunged, but I smoothly blocked him. “My wedding gift is here, Blake. Please sign for it.” “Leo North, you’re dead!” Blake swung a punch, which I easily caught. No civilian has ever won a fight against me. The others instantly rushed in to defend Blake, kicking and stomping the replica house until it was nothing but crushed paper and wood. “Low-class trash! How envious can you be? Gifting something like this at a wedding? You deserve to be hit by a car on the way out!” Gary Wexler grabbed an iron stand and swung it hard at my head. I sidestepped, and he stumbled, eating concrete. Blake pointed at me, roaring. “The Reed family runs this city! You destroy a Reed wedding, and I promise you will not walk out of here alive!” I mocked him silently. We’ll see who leaves in a body bag. “What are you waiting for? Take this scumbag down!” As soon as Blake spoke, his hired security guards rushed me. Two or three were nothing to me. In moments, I had them all sprawled on the ground. Blake panicked and screamed at Gary and the others. “Help me! Unless you want to lose your contracts with Reed Corp!” The security guards and the dozen groomsmen finally overwhelmed me, forcing me down onto the floor. Blake’s eyes were filled with venom. He grabbed a nearby dining chair, raised it high over his head, and smashed it down on my back. I gasped, the pain sharp and blinding. My back was on fire. He walked closer, his polished leather shoe driving into my kidney, again and again. “That’s what you get for being arrogant! I’m going to end you!” Blake paused to admire my anguish, then pulled out his phone and made a dramatically wronged call. “Honey, someone crashed our wedding and brought a funeral gift. He’s the guy who always envied me in school… what was his name…” Sienna didn’t let him finish, erupting in a fury. “Dare to touch my man in this city? They have a death wish!” “Baby, whatever you want—kill him, beat him senseless—it’s up to you. I’m just finishing up with the company stuff, I’ll be there soon to back you up!” The surrounding groomsmen were full of envy. “Blake, you’re the man! She’s crazy about you!” “A simple rich girl? Please. Back in the day, I was the one running the neighborhood. Anyone I wanted, I dragged them into an alley. Being chosen by me? That was her blessing.” Blake was drunk on his own ego. He grabbed a cake knife from a nearby table and plunged it deep into my side. “Hear that, Leo? My wife just gave me permission to kill you. Hahaha.” Lulu, who had witnessed the entire, brutal escalation, was crying hysterically in the car. Ignoring her terror, she burst out and rushed the crowd, throwing herself over my body. “Please! Don’t kill my daddy! Please!” Lulu’s desperate plea made Blake pause for a split second. “That little bitch? Why hasn’t the children’s home managed to get rid of her yet?” That one phrase—that little bitch—ignited a firestorm in my blood. I shoved everyone off me like a madman and delivered a single, brutal punch to Blake’s face, knocking out three teeth immediately. “You pig! You animal! To hurt a child that small!” Blake wiped the blood from his mouth, a chilling, triumphant smile crossing his face. “Leo North, did you enjoy the sex show last night?” “Your wife is young, hungry, and wild. So stimulating.” My heart jerked. “You… you knew about the fake marriage?!” “Why else would I work so hard? I fulfilled her all night long. Thank you for the six years of dry spell. I was happy to take your place, soldier.” I was shaking with blind, total fury. I slammed Blake hard into the concrete. “We were friends for a decade! You stab me in the back like this?” “Ten years ago, my family was broke, I depended on your charity, and Gary and the others treated me like dirt! Now I’m rich and powerful, and I want you to beg me, look up to me! I want your kid to be bullied like a dog under my foot!” As he spoke, Blake unlocked his phone and shoved a video in my face: Lulu being tormented. In that moment, I would have dragged Blake to hell with me, even if it meant my death. But before my next punch could land, a sharp slap cracked across my face. Sienna. The moment her eyes focused on my face, her expression froze solid. “What… why are you here?” She was so shocked she nearly lost her balance. I reached out instinctively to steady her, and she reacted by slapping me hard with the back of her hand. Her face was contorted by raw, pure loathing. “Leo North, how many times do I have to tell you—don’t touch me! You’re filthy!” As she said it, she turned and pressed herself tightly against Blake. My heart felt like it had been pierced by a needle. I lived a life of rigorous discipline and integrity, yet she called me filthy. She embraced the felon. Her words sparked a new wave of derision from the onlookers. “I knew why Leo was so bitter! His unattainable crush is getting married!” Lulu’s small body began to tremble when she saw Sienna. Her already bowed head sank lower. “Lulu wants to leave. Lulu is scared…” I gripped her tiny hand tightly. No. They will watch their evil brought down. Sienna looked at Lulu as if she were a piece of garbage, frowning at Blake. “Why is this girl here? The sight of her makes me sick.” Blake slid his hand under Sienna’s dress, gripping her breast hard, his smile predatory. “Then I’ll make them both disappear, my love. They won’t bother you again.” He waved his hand at the security detail. “Pin him down!” Protecting Lulu, I couldn’t fight at full capacity. After a few skirmishes, I was pinned down hard. I struggled, raising my head to glare at Sienna. “You dare do this to me?” Sienna’s eyes were bloodshot. She grabbed a wine bottle from the table and smashed it violently over my skull. Hot, thick blood immediately streamed down my face. The pain was excruciating. She took a few steps forward and jammed her stiletto heel down onto my hand, grinding it viciously. “Hitting you? What of it? Your General Harrison is a thousand miles away!” I couldn’t help but scoff internally. I had secretly helped the Reed family, pushing all the credit to my supposed “Uncle,” General Harrison. I never thought my humility would make Sienna dismiss me so completely. Lulu was sobbing uncontrollably. “Mommy, don’t hit Daddy! Please don’t hit Daddy!” Sienna acted as if she couldn’t hear, pressing her heel down harder. Blake taunted her. “Honey, he’s your husband, after all. Take it easy.” Sienna frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Our marriage certificate is fake. He’s not my husband.” Lulu wrapped her small arms around Sienna’s leg, pleading. Sienna simply kicked her away. Blake, grinning cruelly, grabbed Lulu’s small, tear-stained face. “Your dad knocked out three of my teeth. You can pay me back with six of yours.” I screamed a protest, but Sienna kicked me hard in the head, blinding me with fresh blood. Blake gestured for a wrench. He forced Lulu’s mouth open with the tool, gripping her teeth, preparing to yank them out. “STOP!” I roared with the last of my breath. “I am the Commanding Officer of the Defense Intelligence Agency! Let her go!” Blake roared with insane laughter. “You’re the Commander? And I’m the President!” He shook his head at his cronies. “Make this fake commander beg! Slam his head against the floor one thousand times!” My head was hammered repeatedly against the hard tile floor. Lulu was crying, fighting with all her might, but Blake pulled her hair and slapped her several times. Dizzy, my mouth full of the taste of blood, I looked up at the stone-faced woman who was my wife. “Sienna, Lulu is your daughter! How can you be so heartless?” “Shut up!” Sienna screamed, cutting me off. “If I hadn’t gotten drunk and made a mistake, giving birth to this little mistake, I would have been with Blake years ago, repaying my debt for him saving my life!” My heart stopped. The long-healed scar on my side—from the knife I’d taken for her—suddenly burned with sharp agony. “Repaying what debt? It was me…” Blake interrupted me, pulling Lulu’s hair back to keep her small face exposed. “Enough talk about the past. This little bastard needs to pay for my teeth.” The blood-stained pliers were about to come down when a single gunshot echoed through the venue.

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It had been seven years since I cut ties with my mother, and we ran into each other in a high-end department store. I was the mistress—the “other woman”—getting slapped and nearly stripped in public. She was the wealthy socialite I desperately grabbed, clinging to her like a lifeline. “Call the police for me. I don’t know her husband…” I fought to keep the last scrap of fabric covering me, pleading with her for help. The response was a stinging slap that landed harder than any the original wife had delivered, followed by her icy accusation: “Sienna Reed. Seven years ago, you seduced your best friend’s boyfriend, and now you’re throwing yourself at a married man for money? Are you really this irredeemable?” She turned and marched into a nearby boutique, emerging with ten designer bags, which she tossed onto me. “Apologize to this woman, the wife. Swear you’ll never sleep with another married man! Then I’ll let you be a Sinclair again!” I looked up, meeting her gaze, filled with undisguised disgust and disappointment. I swallowed the metallic tang of bile rising in my throat and articulated every word carefully: “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Not seven years ago, and certainly not today. As for the Sinclair name, I hadn’t wanted it for a long time… 1 My defiance earned me another blow. It was heavier, more vicious than the slaps from the woman claiming to be the wife. My ears rang, and my mouth filled with the taste of rust and blood. Yet, I heard my mother’s voice, sharp with frost: “You don’t apologize because you think being a homewrecker is honorable? How could I have given birth to a daughter as utterly shameless as you?” “I should have stayed home today. Running into you is truly bad luck.” My former best friend, Willow Stone, who had been watching the spectacle, stepped forward just in time, gently holding my mother, Eleanor Sinclair, and patting her chest to calm her. “Tori, maybe Sienna was in a desperate situation that led her to this… unsavory business. Don’t let it upset you, it’s not worth jeopardizing your health!” Then, she turned to the furious wife. “Ma’am, please rest assured, with my godmother and me here, she will never bother your husband again. Pick any bag in this store, and I’ll buy it for you as an apology on her behalf…” I cut her off, my voice raw. “I am not the mistress, and I don’t need your fake apology, Willow!” Willow’s eyes instantly welled up, and she looked seconds from tears. “Sienna, you can’t possibly still believe that the person who wasn’t truly loved is the one who loses the moral high ground, can you?” “If I had known you were so obsessed, maybe I should have reluctantly stepped aside back then and let you have Dean…” Bringing up the old affair was like lighting a fuse. My mother’s voice became shrill. “Are all the men in the world dead? Do you have to go after a married one?” The two of them, in just a few sentences, ripped my sordid past open for everyone to see. “Wait, so she’s a repeat offender? She stole her best friend’s man seven years ago? That is sick!” “Even her own mother can’t stand her. How does she have the gall to live like this?” “Someone should post this repeat offender online! Who knows how many families she’s already ruined!” A crime can always be pinned on a person if a reason is needed. With my own mother confirming my guilt, the label of “mistress” was cemented. The onlookers pulled out their phones, snapping photos of my exposed body and my bruised face. Some who had already filmed the beating prepared to upload the content. Willow suddenly knelt, a soundless cry tearing from her, begging the crowd to stop filming. “Please, everyone, give my friend another chance! My godmother and I will take her home and educate her. We guarantee she won’t do this again!” “The internet is brutal now. If she’s exposed like this, she’ll never be able to hold her head up again…” The enraged wife instantly flared up. “If she knew what ‘holding her head up’ meant, she wouldn’t have tried to sleep with my husband!” “Are you two in this together? Dressed so provocatively—maybe you’re all in the same line of work to afford shopping here!” My mother and Willow were collateral damage. The look they gave me suggested they wanted to tear me to shreds. At her limit, my mother turned and handed the wife a business card and a platinum credit card. “Please delete any photos and videos that show me or Willow. The one you caught in the act… we’ll see how she behaves later.” The wife, initially disdainful, saw the words ‘Eleanor Sinclair, CEO, Sinclair Group’ on the card, and her entire expression changed. “The formidable Eleanor Sinclair! The Iron Lady! This… this must be a misunderstanding, I…” The wife couldn’t afford to offend the Sinclair Group, and she certainly couldn’t figure out why Eleanor’s own daughter was involved in this mess. Confused, she moved to help me up. But my mother stopped her. 2 The wife froze, bewildered. “Ms. Sinclair, didn’t you put on this whole show just now so I would forgive her? I believe that with your strict supervision, she definitely won’t offend again…” My mother sneered, cementing my guilt without a moment of inquiry, just as she had seven years ago. “The first time she tried to steal a man, I kicked her out. I thought years of hardship would teach her a lesson and show her the error of her ways. Unfortunately…” The crowd and the wife understood instantly. Eager to flatter my mother, the wife handed back the credit card and offered her phone for inspection. “Ms. Sinclair, please take a look.” My mother clicked on the video of me being beaten before she arrived. I caught a fleeting glimpse of something in her eyes—a flicker of pain. I shook my head, quickly dismissing the delusion. Sure enough, the next second, she looked down on me and commanded again: “This is the last time I will clean up your mess. Apologize to this wife, swear you’ll never do this again, and these photos and videos won’t see the light of day.” My mother’s power could certainly stop any organized release of the content. But there were countless onlookers. How could she seal every single person’s lips? The moment she publicly condemned me, I was branded—a mistress everyone spat upon. Even knowing she wouldn’t believe me, I stood firm, speaking every word slowly: “I am not the mistress, and I won’t apologize to anyone!” The next second, she handed the phone back to the wife. “Since she is so stubborn, don’t hold back. She’s yours to deal with.” The wife looked uncertainly at my mother. “You want me to post the videos?” “Post them! She must pay the price for her behavior!” The wife obeyed. In minutes, people online had already dug up my information. My mother shoved the screen full of hateful messages in my face. “Sienna Reed, do you know what you did wrong?” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Seeing my refusal to admit guilt, my mother trembled with fury, clutching her chest, her face pale. Willow, ever prepared, smoothly took a pill bottle from her bag and gave my mother the medication. She then motioned to the bodyguards nearby. “Take Tori home first. I’ll stay behind and handle Sienna.” My mother left without looking back. Willow then created a group chat on the spot, sending a large cash payment to every onlooker as an apology. “I apologize for the scene today, everyone! Please, be merciful with your words. Give my best friend a chance to turn her life around!” Having taken the money, the crowd praised Willow for her kindness and beauty, though they reminded her to be cautious, especially with “people like me.” After the crowd dispersed, I wrapped myself tightly in the coat my mother had left behind and stumbled toward the exit. Willow grabbed my arm. “Sienna, come home with me. You don’t know how worried Tori has been about you all these years…” I wrenched myself free, sneering. “Willow Stone, the audience is gone. You can stop acting.” 3 Ten years ago, after Willow’s mother and my father both passed away from illness, Willow and I became inseparable best friends through our shared grief. My mother, out of sympathy, doted on Willow like her own daughter. As our two families grew closer, my mother unexpectedly fell for Willow’s father, Richard. But Richard was still grieving his late wife and kept my mother at arm’s length. Frustrated by unrequited love, my mother poured more attention into Willow, almost granting her every wish. I, however, disagreed with her pursuit, telling her she couldn’t force affection, and a rift grew between us. Even with Willow’s mediation, my mother and I never regained our former closeness. It was during that period that I met my first love, Dean Campbell. Unwilling to let my mother know I was dating, I kept the relationship a secret, telling only Willow. I treated her like a sister, sharing my romantic joy and every little gift Dean gave me. I never imagined that while she offered me congratulations, she was secretly seducing Dean. On Dean’s birthday, I secretly prepared a surprise for him. When I pushed open his apartment door, I saw two bodies tangled together on the sofa. Willow grabbed a shirt in a panic to cover herself. And Dean, the man who swore he loved me, averted his gaze. “Sienna, let me explain…” I didn’t cry or scream. I just quietly asked Willow: “You already have all of my mother’s love, and you have my friendship. Why did you need to steal my boyfriend, too?” She wept, kneeling to beg for my forgiveness, but then she leaned closer and whispered: “Who told your mother to obsess over my dad?” In that moment, I swore I would get my mother back from her. I ran home, desperate to tell my mother that Willow was a horrible person—the kind of homewrecker she despised. But I never expected Willow and Dean to beat me to it. Willow was already clutching my mother, tears streaming down her face. “Tori, I know Sienna has always hated that you care for me so much, but how could she… how could she try to steal my boyfriend?” I argued my case, but my mother didn’t believe me. She was infatuated with Richard. Willow was the most important link to maintaining a relationship with him. My words were lighter than Willow’s tears. Without hearing me out, she forced me to apologize to Willow. “Sienna Reed, apologize to Willow! Promise you won’t harass Dean again!” Watching her protect Willow, seeing Willow’s triumphant, challenging look from behind my mother—my youthful pride overcame my pain and grief. “I didn’t do anything wrong! She stole my boyfriend!” “Irremediable! Get out! Don’t come back until you realize your mistake!” 4 I slammed the door, left, and by working multiple jobs and relying on student loans, I not only completed my degree but graduated with honors. By then, my mother, who had moved closer to marrying Richard, was in a good mood and personally invited me home. She even threw a celebration dinner for me. Dean was there, too—as Willow’s fiancé. After all those years, he was still greedy for me. He followed me into the backyard when I went out for some fresh air. He grabbed me from behind. “Sienna, I can’t forget you. Willow can’t compare to you… Let’s get back together…” Disgusted, I struggled violently and slapped him hard. The commotion brought everyone running. Dean instantly changed his tune, pointing to the red mark on his face, feigning deep sorrow. “Eleanor, Sienna tried to seduce me again, and when I refused, she hit me…” I was shaking with rage, pointing at Dean. “That’s a lie! You tried to force yourself on me!” I then turned to Willow. “Control your trash!” Willow, who knew exactly what kind of man Dean was, still chose to slander me. My mother looked utterly devastated and slapped me for the first time. “Sienna Reed, do you have to try and take everything Willow likes?” “Get out! I never want to see you again! I don’t have a daughter like you!” That moment, my heart turned to ash. I didn’t argue another word. I just turned and left. After cutting ties, I lived a quiet, ordinary life on my own. But fate was not done with me. A routine physical revealed hereditary liver cancer. It was the same disease that had taken my father. To raise the massive surgical fees, I worked several jobs after my shift. My presence at the luxury store that day was for a courier job—delivering a reserved bag to a client’s significant other. I never expected to be caught up in such a horrifying ordeal. The ring of my phone broke my memory. I answered, hearing the impatient voice of a man. “Why aren’t you here yet?” “I’m on my way.” I hung up and looked up to meet Willow’s excited, malevolent eyes. “I knew it. After years of luxury, you couldn’t possibly survive on your own! So you did become a cheap mistress, didn’t you?” 5 Ignoring Willow’s taunt, I quickly bought a new set of decent clothes, changed, and rushed to the delivery address. The cramping in my stomach was relentless, coming in sharp, agonizing waves. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. But I couldn’t stop. This courier fee was for next week’s medication. The moment the client opened the door, my body went rigid. It was Dean Campbell. “Sienna. Long time no see.” I recoiled violently, turning to run. But he grabbed my wrist and yanked me into the apartment. “Why run? Didn’t you come here to deliver the bag?” I realized with a jolt that I hadn’t recognized Dean’s voice on the phone. Otherwise, I would have died before accepting this delivery. The door slammed shut, and Dean’s hungry eyes raked over my body. He reached out to touch my face. “Sienna, you’re so thin…” I slapped his hand away, furious. “Dean! You are marrying Willow Stone! What did you trick me into here for?” Dean forced a helpless look, stepping forward to hug me. “Sienna, if you hadn’t blown things up back then, you would be the one I was marrying! I’ll take care of you now, give you a grand a month, you don’t have to work so hard…” “I just wanted to help you! This bag is for you. Do you like it?” Like it? Absolutely not! If I hadn’t gone to pick up that damn bag, why would I have been wrongfully beaten and called a mistress? The anger surged, and I mustered all my strength, delivering a vicious slap to his face. “I would rather die poor, or die sick, than touch a single penny of your filthy money!” Dean clutched his face, his eyes instantly turning dark and menacing. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Sienna!” He lunged, pinning me tightly against the sofa. I struggled desperately, my hand finding a heavy, hard object in the confusion. I slammed it against his head! Dean cried out in pain, his grip loosening. I seized the chance, scrambling up, stumbling, and flinging the door open to escape. As soon as the door opened, a sharp slap sent a wave of blood into my mouth. “Sienna Reed! Do you love stealing other people’s husbands this much?” Willow’s voice was wild, full of insane fury. Time, horrifyingly, was seven years ago again. I was disheveled, my hair a mess, blood dripping from my lip. Inside, Dean was clutching his bleeding forehead, his silk robe hanging open. To anyone looking, it was the perfect picture of an illicit entanglement. My mother’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She didn’t have a word left for me. She simply tilted her head slightly and spoke two words to the bodyguard behind her: “Tie her up.”

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I was scrolling through Reddit when I hit a trending post on r/jobs: [My son is interviewing for a summer internship at a corporate firm. What questions should I ask on his behalf?] The comments section was already tearing the OP apart. [u/JobHuntWarrior]: Wait, is it your interview or his? Does he not have a mouth? [u/CorporateDrone]: If he’s still attached to the umbilical cord, maybe he should stay home. A grown man should know what to ask. [u/HiringManager]: If these are my competitors, I’m feeling pretty good about my chances. The original poster (OP) got triggered immediately and started clapping back in the edits: [Edit: There are so many scammers out there! How can I rest easy if I don’t go with him? You people are just jealous because you clearly don’t have mothers who love you.] [Edit 2: Any legitimate company allows parents to sit in. We’ve accompanied our son to several interviews already.] I just laughed, shook my head, and locked my phone. At that exact moment, our receptionist, Jenny, rushed into my office looking like she’d seen a ghost. “Sarah, the 2:00 PM candidate is here early.” She paused, her eyes wide. “And… he brought a whole tribe with him.” 1 That Reddit post flashed through my mind. I looked at Jenny, skeptical. “You mean, like, his parents drove him and are waiting in the car?” Jenny shook her head, looking traumatized. “No. I mean the parents, the grandparents, the sister-in-law, and a toddler. Even the grandma is on a walker. They’re all in the lobby.” My stomach dropped. I’ve been in HR for years. I’ve seen helicopter parents drop their kids off. Usually, they sit in the Starbucks across the street or wait in the car. But a full-on invasion? That was a first. I frowned, checking my watch. “It’s noon. Lunchtime. Put them in the guest lounge for now. Why are they two hours early?” Jenny looked like she was about to explode. “They showed up demanding service immediately! I tried to get him to fill out the application, but his mom kept interrupting me.” “First she complained that he shouldn’t have to give personal info before he’s hired. Then she screamed about why we weren’t providing lunch since they traveled ‘all this way’ during noon.” Jenny’s voice cracked. “Then she asked if I had a boyfriend. She said that even though being a receptionist is a ‘low-tier job,’ she’d ‘reluctantly accept’ me as a daughter-in-law.” “With that short, potato-looking son of hers? The audacity!” I sighed, rubbing my temples. I hate dealing with these “failure-to-launch” cases. “I’ll handle it. If they’re this unhinged, I’m cancelling the interview.” I stood up, but Jenny grabbed my arm. “Sarah, be careful. They aren’t normal. They started recording video the second they walked in.” “I told them it’s against policy, but they refused to put the phones away.” I nodded. understood. There are people who do this for clout—baiting companies into ‘discriminating’ against them to go viral on TikTok. I decided to play it cool. Ten minutes. In and out. Kill them with kindness, then show them the door. I walked into the guest lounge. The family was huddled around a young man, barking instructions as he tried to fill out the form. “Don’t put your real number there,” the dad said. “Put a fake one. What if they sell your data to scammers?” “And height? Why did you write 5’7? You have good posture. With shoes on, you’re basically 5’10. Write 5’10.” “Don’t leave the experience section blank,” the sister-in-law chimed in. “You watched your brother’s kid last summer. That’s ‘Childcare Management.’” The guy, Liam, was sweating bullets. He looked like he wanted to disappear but didn’t dare speak up. Meanwhile, the toddler was using the sofa as a trampoline. He knocked over a glass of water, soaking the application form. Chaos ensued. “Watch where you’re going!” “I was busy helping Liam! It’s fine, it’s just water. They can still read it.” “Liam, you’re so careless! Why didn’t you move the cup?” “Honestly, what would you do without us?” Liam buried his head lower, accepting the verbal beatdown like a statue. I stepped in to stop the suffocation. “Liam Patterson? I’m Sarah from HR. Let’s head to the conference room.” Liam looked at me with pure gratitude and shot up from his chair. But before we could take a step, his mother blocked my path. 2 “You must be the manager.” She grabbed my hand, shaking it aggressively. “Our Liam just graduated. He doesn’t have much experience, so don’t ask him any tricky questions, okay?” The grandma, leaning on her walker, shouted from the couch. “My grandson is a genius! Ivy League Master’s degree! Handsome, too! Honestly, you should just skip the interview and let’s talk numbers.” The dad nodded. “Right. I have a number in mind. You can just set up the direct deposit to go to my bank account.” The sister-in-law (SIL) scoffed, crossing her arms. “Liam’s brother is a VP at a major corporation. He knows all the dirty tricks you HR people pull. Liam has a Master’s. If the offer is anything less than $100k, don’t waste our breath.” Wow. Where did they assemble this Avengers team of red flags? It didn’t matter how talented Liam was. Hiring him would mean hiring them. He had zero independence. They gave me an out, so I took it. “Unfortunately, the budget for this entry-level role doesn’t reach $100k. If that’s a dealbreaker, I won’t waste your time.” The room went silent. “So… no interview?” the mom asked, stunned. I looked at Liam. “Since we can’t meet the salary requirement, I wish you the best of luck in your search.” Liam understood immediately. His eyes reddened. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, defeated. But his SIL wasn’t having it. “A company this big can’t afford $100k? Why did you make us come down here? You’re wasting our time on purpose!” “We took an Uber! That was fifty bucks! Are you going to reimburse us?” Grandma slammed her walker on the floor. “Fifty? What about my health? It’s hot outside, I almost had a stroke getting here. You need to pay my medical bills!” I kept my face neutral. “I discussed the salary range on the phone during the screening. You accepted the interview based on those numbers. My time is also valuable. I’m not the one wasting it.” “Please see yourselves out.” They didn’t budge. The SIL realized I wasn’t going to be bullied, so she pulled the “Do you know who I am?” card. “Your company works with Sterling Corp, right? My husband is a senior executive there.” “We were going to just ask him to get Liam a job, but we wanted Liam to do it on his own merit. We’re giving you face by being here.” The mom puffed up her chest. “That’s right! My older son manages all their contracts. Aren’t you guys bidding on a new project with them?” “One word from him, and your contract is dead.” 3 I hesitated. Sterling Corp was our biggest strategic partner. We were in the middle of a massive bid that would double our profit margins. If this was true, it was a problem. I turned slightly and texted our Marketing Director. He replied instantly: “Sterling Corp? No one named Patterson in executive leadership. Procurement doesn’t have anyone by that name either.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Total bluff. “Are you the decision-maker or not?” The grandma banged her walker again. Thump. Thump. “Stop stalling! Call your boss!” I kept my voice calm. “We have a strict compensation structure. Since Liam is ‘overqualified’ and has such powerful connections, he shouldn’t settle for us. Please leave.” The SIL stepped in front of the grandma. “We came all this way. And you’re kicking us out before even asking a question?” “Fine. We’ll go. But you need to pay us $1,000. For the Uber, the emotional distress, Grandma’s health risk, and the cost of printing the resume.” “That’s the ‘friends and family’ discount because of my husband’s connection. Otherwise, I’m putting you on blast online.” She tapped the phone hanging around her neck. “I’ve been recording since we walked in. I have footage of you discriminating against young talent and exploiting workers.” The mom nodded smugly. “My older son taught her well. Pay up, or we ruin your reputation. Your new project with Sterling? Consider it toasted.” I was done. I pulled out my phone to call security. Suddenly, a raw, guttural scream tore through the room. “ENOUGH!” It was Liam. “Do you want me to be unemployed forever?!” The family froze. Liam walked past them, trembling, and stood in front of me. “Sarah… Ms. Manager. I am so sorry.” His voice broke. He took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “I really want to join this company.” “Please. Just give me a chance to interview.” 4 I looked at him, feeling a mix of pity and frustration. His resume was actually impressive. Ivy League, high GPA, difficult certifications. I had been excited about him. But this baggage? Seeing my silence, tears started rolling down Liam’s face. “Ms. Manager, since I graduated… I haven’t had a single real interview. They ruin it every time.” “Just one chance. If I fail, I fail.” His dad recovered from the shock first. “You spineless worm! Begging for a job? Have some dignity!” The SIL sneered. “Just let your brother make a call. Stop acting like a beggar.” His mom started crying. “My baby, don’t be upset! We don’t need this trash job anyway!” Liam ignored them, staring at me with desperate, pleading eyes. I sighed. I’m too soft for this job sometimes. “Fine. But the interview happens in the conference room. Alone. No family allowed.” Liam’s face lit up. He frantically wiped the water off his resume and followed me. Behind us, the family stood there, jaws on the floor. “How can he go alone? What if she bullies him?” “Yeah, we need to be there to make sure it’s fair.” “Liam is getting rebellious. I bet he has a crush on that manager.” “Hmph. She’s cold. The receptionist was cuter.” I ignored the commentary. Inside the conference room, Liam calmed down. I was right about him. He was sharp. Once the initial panic faded, he answered technical questions with confidence. His eyes actually started to shine. Then, a phone rang. Loudly. I keep my phone on silent. It was his. Panic returned to Liam’s face. He fumbled to decline the call. Immediately, it rang again. Like a siren. “You can silence it,” I said gently. Liam, flustered, just powered the phone off completely. Bam. The conference room door flew open. The mom charged in. “We agreed to keep the line open! We were listening! Why did you hang up?” “Why is the phone off now?!” 5 The whole clown car emptied into the room. “Yeah, if we can’t hear, how do we know she isn’t tricking you?” “You can’t handle this alone!” “Did she make you turn it off? I knew it! Sketchy!” I looked at these people—these “experts” on life—and felt a headache coming on. “Get out,” I said, “or the interview is over.” Grandma shook her walker at me. “Why can’t we watch? You made him turn off the phone! Are you trying to seduce him?” “Is that the only way to get a job here? Doing something dirty?” The mom sneered. “Desperate single women… always trying to trap young men. Is that standard HR protocol?” I looked at Liam. He had reverted to his “quail” mode—head down, silent. “Liam,” I said sharply. “If you can’t manage your own interview, you can’t manage a job here.” He looked up, a flash of shame in his eyes, but then he slumped. “It’s no use… it’s no use…” he muttered. I sighed. “Okay. Interview over.” The SIL jumped in, phone camera pointed at my face. “I’m recording! Since you’re done, give us a tour. We have rights.” “Refuse, and I’ll post this. ‘HR Manager Kicks Out Family, Refuses Transparency.’” I almost laughed. I glanced up at the corner of the room. Our new 4K security camera with high-fidelity audio recording. You want to post online? I have terabytes of content right here. “Sure,” I said, voice dangerously calm. “What do you want to know?” Thinking I had folded, they puffed up again. “That’s better. Give us a good offer, and we might even say nice things about you online.” “Right. The commute is too far. Does the company have a shuttle? Actually, just send a driver for him.” “And food. Liam only eats organic, gluten-free, non-GMO meals. Don’t feed him cafeteria slop.” “And he’s an introvert. He needs a private office. Corner suite preferably.” Grandpa grunted. “Stop blabbering! Ask about the money!”

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It only took one game of Truth or Dare for me to decide to divorce Liam. During the game, he blurted out that he loved resting his head on a pregnant belly to listen to the baby. The room went dead silent. Everyone’s eyes were on me. There was no shock in their gazes, only pity and the panic of a secret being exposed. I realized then: they all knew Liam had a child with another woman. But they all helped him hide it from me. Because they knew I was Liam’s everything. If I found out, I would leave him. And he would go crazy. So, to make sure he completely lost his mind… I did three things. First, I melted down the wedding ring he designed for me. Second, I saved the video of Chloe taunting me onto a USB drive. Third, I applied to join a top-secret research team. My departure date was set for our seventh wedding anniversary. That day, I would vanish from his life without a trace. And he would receive only one package from me. Inside: a USB drive, signed divorce papers, and the receipt for my abortion. 1 I swallowed the bitter red wine in my mouth, trying to look calm. My voice was barely audible, but I still asked the question: “How many months?” Liam seemed to wake from a dream, the wine glass in his hand suddenly shattering under his grip. Shards of glass pierced his palm, blood dripping instantly. But he didn’t care. He rushed to me, hugging me tightly, his voice trembling uncontrollably: “Sarah, it’s not what you think. The child was an accident!” Hearing those words, I felt my soul crack. Suppressing the lump in my throat, I enunciated every word in disbelief: “So you… really… got another woman pregnant?” Liam fell silent, giving me no answer. I closed my eyes, two tears sliding down from the corners. Thinking he had held another woman like this, I pushed him away in disgust and turned to flee. Liam chased me to the door, but his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, he picked up immediately. I heard a soft, coquettish female voice on the other end: “Liam~ Your little baby keeps kicking your big baby, it’s torturing me~” A sharp pain stabbed my heart, and I quickened my pace to escape. He didn’t chase after me. I smiled bitterly, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Taking out my phone, I made an international call. “Professor, I agree to join the AMP research team.” The person on the other end seemed surprised. “Really? That’s great! Our team needs someone like you.” “But this research group is highly classified. Once you join, your family won’t be able to contact you.” “Your husband cares about you so much, he’d probably call the police if you disappeared for a second. Does he agree?” My eyes dimmed, and I said hoarsely, “I’m preparing to divorce him.” The person on the other end paused for a moment, didn’t ask further, and just said: “Okay, I’ll process the paperwork for you. You join in three days.” The moment I hung up, the big screen on the mall behind me started playing Liam’s exclusive interview. The host sharply noticed his small movements and asked with a smile: “Mr. Foster, I noticed you’ve been touching your ring. But… it seems like just an ordinary silver ring. Is there anything special about it?” Liam smiled tenderly, holding up his hand to show her: “This is my wedding ring.” “Huh? Sorry, I thought with your current net worth, the wedding ring would definitely be a huge diamond.” Liam said: “I made my wedding ring by hand seven years ago, polishing it bit by bit, and engraved my wife’s and my initials on the inner band.” “Wow, there really are two sets of letters. LF and…?” Liam said: “SS. My wife’s name is Sarah Sterling.” “Wow, I really envy your wife. She must have saved the galaxy in her past life to marry you, Mr. Foster.” Liam smiled gently and said: “Actually, I saved the galaxy in my past life to marry her.” “This year is the seventh year of my marriage to my wife. Seven years ago, when I had nothing, she firmly supported me. She even lost our first child to save me…” “Sarah Sterling is the only love of my life. In three days, on our seventh wedding anniversary, I will hold a wedding of the century for her, letting everyone witness my love for her.” The passersby around were full of envy, praising him as a wife-doting maniac. Yes, everyone thought Liam loved me more than life itself. Even I thought so before today. Looking at the wedding ring on my hand that I had worn for seven years and Liam never let me take off, I walked into a jewelry processing store. “Please melt this ring down for me, thanks.” The clerk looked at the ring in surprise, then at me in astonishment, asking hesitantly: “Are you… Sarah Sterling?” Another clerk rolled her eyes at her, disagreeing: “Please, just because this silver ring happens to have LF and SS engraved on it? Mr. Foster loves Mrs. Foster so much, how could she possibly melt the ring?” Listening to their conversation, I mocked myself with a smile, paid, and left silently. I walked aimlessly and suddenly saw Liam’s car by the roadside. The car was parked there quietly, as if waiting for something. Standing in the cold wind, looking at the car, I had mixed feelings. My steps involuntarily slowed down, a complex emotion rising in my heart. I hated myself for still having expectations. What was I expecting? Expecting that he parked here waiting for me? I didn’t know whether to face him or continue to escape. Taking a deep breath, I slowly walked towards the car, every step feeling like I was stepping on my own heart. He suddenly got out of the car and quickly walked to open the passenger door. A young girl, gently stroking her belly, was carefully helped out by him. 2 The girl kissed his cheek coquettishly, lifting her left hand to admire it back and forth. I saw a silver ring on the ring finger of her left hand. “Liam, the ring you made yourself is so beautiful. If the baby knows his daddy loves mommy so much, he’ll look forward to coming into this world too.” Liam lovingly took off his coat and draped it over her, then bent down to stroke the girl’s bulging belly gently. “Daddy is also looking forward to him coming to me soon.” Watching this scene, I smiled, but as I smiled, tears flowed down. For seven years of loving each other, Liam kept a distance of three meters from any woman other than me. For a time, people thought he had a phobia of women. He didn’t care, only saying this was the sense of propriety a married man should keep towards the opposite sex. Later, he even bought a book called “The Standard of Male Virtue” and studied it every day. I laughed at him for being childish, but he only said he wanted to give me a full sense of security. He said his love was only for me. But now, he shared a portion of his love with the woman pregnant with his child. I watched quietly until Liam felt my burning gaze, and our eyes met. He instantly straightened up, the girl in his arms suddenly becoming a hot potato. Liam let go of the hand around the woman’s waist and ran straight to me. He nervously cupped my face with both hands, then held my hands, his face full of heartache. “Sarah, why are you so cold? Why are you crying? Don’t scare me.” The concern in his eyes was absolutely genuine, making my heart soften for a moment. But the girl with the huge pregnant belly behind him was constantly reminding me that his concern was just a joke. The girl was fearless, holding her belly with one hand and stroking it gently with the other, raising her head proudly and staring straight at me. I threw off Liam’s hands, took two steps back, and asked him weakly, as if using my last breath: “Who is she? Is the child in her belly… yours?” In this moment, I bet our seven years together and all my courage on this thin line. A desperate gamble. As long as he denied it, as long as he said himself that the child wasn’t his, I would be willing to believe him, willing to forget all this pain and betrayal. However, the girl’s low, clear sobbing from not far away, like fate’s mockery, shattered my last fantasy. A flash of guilt passed through Liam’s eyes. He closed his eyes painfully, and after opening them again, he pursed his lips and said the destructive words: “It’s mine.” I lost all strength instantly and fell heavily to the ground. Supporting myself, I scraped the skin off my palms. Liam hurriedly knelt in front of me, his eyes full of heartache and anxiety: “Sarah, you can hit me or scold me, but don’t hurt yourself like this.” His voice was almost pleading. He held my hands, wiping the wounds for me. Suddenly, he paused, his voice losing composure: “Sarah, where is your wedding ring?” I pulled my hand back, smiled mockingly, and signaled with my eyes, “Isn’t it on her hand? One ring of the same kind is enough.” Hearing this, his eyes panicked, his mouth opened and closed several times, but he couldn’t say anything. Suddenly, he raised his hand and slapped himself hard twice. The force was so great that red swollen palm prints immediately appeared on his cheeks. At this moment, the girl quickly stepped forward, shielding Liam behind her. Although her voice trembled, it carried a firmness. “Ms. Sterling, I am Chloe, Liam and I are both victims, please don’t blame him!” There were tears in her eyes, yet she still tried to protect Liam. Liam’s face sank, his voice hard and cold as ice. “Sarah is my wife, you should call her Mrs. Foster!” His words revealed unquestionable authority. Chloe shrank slightly and spoke firmly: “Mrs. Foster, believe me, I’m only 23. If it weren’t for Liam’s mother… I wouldn’t have kept this child at all!” As soon as her words fell, Liam’s unfocused eyes suddenly looked at her, subconsciously blurting out: “No!” In this moment, I understood that between us, there was no future anymore. 3 I didn’t question him further, just letting Liam drive me home. In the car, he explained the ins and outs of that accident to me: Nine months ago, he was on a business trip and was drugged by a competitor, mistakenly entering Chloe’s room. After that accident, he gave her a sum of compensation and told her to disappear from Bay City. But he didn’t expect her to get pregnant. And when my mother-in-law found out, she brought her back from abroad and was determined to keep the child. I knew deeply my mother-in-law’s obsession with children. Seven years ago, Liam and I were on a cruise for our honeymoon, but the ship hit an iceberg and lost buoyancy instantly. While falling into the sea, Liam’s leg was broken by a falling heavy object to protect me. He used his last strength to throw the lifebuoy to me, urging me to escape first. But how could I bear to abandon him? I chose to stay. Holding him up, preventing him from sinking into the sea. When the rescue team finally arrived, I had been soaked in the biting cold seawater for a day and a night. Liam recovered soon after, but I lost our child in that accident, and the road to fertility became extremely difficult from then on. Since then, Liam’s feelings for me deepened. He said we shared life and death, swearing no matter what happened, he would never separate from me. However, my mother-in-law was extremely dissatisfied with me being unable to bear children. Now, facing this sudden grandson, it’s not hard to imagine how she would defend him with all her might. In the car, Liam held my hand guiltily, his voice low: “Sarah, this really was an accident…” I looked straight into his eyes, suppressing the bitterness, and asked him: “The child or me, who do you choose?” He fell into silence. But I got the answer. Pulling back the hand he held tightly, I turned to look at the bustling night view outside the window. My relationship with Liam was the same. Prosperous for seven years, it was finally coming to an end. After arriving home, Liam gently pulled me. He found the first aid kit and wanted to apply medicine to my palms: “Promise me, don’t hurt yourself in the future, it hurts me to death.” I didn’t respond to him, just pulled my hand back, went to the room, and locked the door. Soon, a gentle knock sounded. Liam’s coaxing voice came from outside: “Sarah, please say something to me, okay? I’m very worried about you.” I covered my head directly with the quilt to sleep. Waking up the next day, I wore all black, looking at the photo of me and my parents on the bedside table, my eyes wet. Five years ago, they died in a car accident, and today was the anniversary of their death. I still remember that day, watching them being covered with white cloth, crying silently. It was Liam who held me, comforting: “Sarah, don’t be afraid, you still have me.” It was also him who knelt before my parents’ graves and promised, He would love me for a lifetime, and he would accompany me to pay respects every year, letting them see how well I was taken care of by him. The door suddenly opened, and Liam walked in looking haggard, eyes bloodshot. “You have the key, why didn’t you come in last night?” I asked coldly. He squatted down to help me put on slippers, “Consider it my punishment. I’m healthy, not sleeping for a night doesn’t matter. If I came in, you wouldn’t sleep well. Put on slippers, don’t catch a cold.” My nose soured, and I blurted out: “Do you remember what day it is today?” Liam looked at me seriously, “Of course, the anniversary of Mom and Dad’s death, how could I forget.” He got up and actively prepared things for the offering. Suddenly he glanced at a message on my phone placed on the table. Seeing the content, he paused abruptly, picked up the phone and asked me: “You booked a flight ticket?” My expression didn’t change, calmly explaining: “I originally wanted to travel with you, but felt the time wasn’t right, so I canceled it.” He opened his mouth to ask more, but his phone rang. “Liam! I fell and my stomach hurts so much! Seems like I’m bleeding! What should I do!” Liam became visibly nervous, completely forgetting about the ticket. He held my hand, pleading in his eyes. “Sarah, I’ll just go take a look, I swear I’ll come back!” He turned and ran into the car, stepped on the gas, and disappeared around the corner. Tears dripped onto the ground. I raised my hand to wipe them away, but found I couldn’t finish wiping them. I went to the cemetery alone, waited until dark, and talked to my parents all day. Returning home, I started packing my luggage. Liam didn’t rush back until midnight. He hugged me tightly, constantly saying sorry. I let him hug me, speechless. This night, our world seemed to be split in half. His embrace was warm and familiar, but my heart felt an unprecedented distance. 4 The next morning, Liam was gone from the bedside. Only a note he left: [Urgent matter at the company, I went first. Made breakfast for you, remember to eat.] He didn’t know, this morning, at the crack of dawn, I heard the call Chloe made to him. It was Chloe who called him away. Looking at the breakfast on the table, I suddenly felt nauseous. A thought rose in my heart, and I took a taxi to the hospital. Looking at the pregnancy test report, I laughed until I cried. The doctor looked at me with sympathy and asked softly: “Are you a single mother? Do you want to keep the child? With your constitution, if you abort this child, you won’t be able to conceive again.” Leaving the hospital, I took a taxi to the villa worth a hundred million that Liam gave me. Looking at the two words “Sarah’s Garden” carved on the big rock in front of the villa, And the line of words written by Liam himself below: [Holding Sarah’s hand, destined for a hundred years of harmony.] I only felt irony. This was given to me by Liam, our exclusive “love nest”. Except for servants, no other woman was ever allowed to enter. But at this moment, I saw Chloe appearing in front of the villa. She looked at me proudly and provoked: “The legendary Sarah’s Garden is nothing special, I got in easily anyway.” “Heard this is your love nest? But Mrs. Foster said this place is best for nurturing the baby, so Liam let me move in. You’re not angry, right?” “Afraid I’d bump or hurt myself, Liam changed all the furniture. It’s all my favorite style~” I looked around this villa that was unrecognizable, the bitterness surging in my heart almost suffocating me. Memories flooded back like a tide, clearly emerging before my eyes. On our third wedding anniversary, Liam knelt on one knee and handed the key to this villa to me. “Sarah, I won’t let anyone step in here. This place has the mark of our love, it’s a world exclusively for the two of us.” This place was once the sanctuary of our love, but now he personally gave it to another woman. I felt all my strength drained, almost unable to stand. Chloe stared at me with jealousy and hatred. And I could only lean weakly against the door, my heart filled with endless sorrow and despair. This place once full of love has now become the witness of my heartbreak. “So how long are you going to occupy the position of Mrs. Foster? Can’t you see Liam’s preference and bias for me and the child?” Chloe’s words were full of provocation. Occupy? I smiled bitterly, a sense of powerlessness rising in my heart. Suddenly, my gaze fell on a corner of the empty living room, where my parents’ memorial photos were originally placed, but now they were gone. “Where are my parents’ photos?!” My volume suddenly increased, voice trembling, eyes full of disbelief. “Such unlucky things were of course thrown away by Liam~” Chloe smiled faintly, speaking contemptuously, as if discussing something trivial. I glared at her, and she reluctantly took out the photos. Then, right in front of me, the corners of her mouth raised in a smile, and she lit the photos with a lighter. I pounced violently trying to extinguish the fire. Chloe took the opportunity to fall to the ground, then cried out in pain. I couldn’t hear her screams clearly, only focused on putting out the fire. But Liam’s incredulous roar suddenly sounded in my ear: “Sarah, why did you push her?!” Ignoring the fire burning my hands, I extinguished it. Looking up, I found Liam didn’t look at me once, instead panicking to pick up Chloe and leave. Looking at my hands red and blistered from the burns, I felt this seven-year marriage was really just a joke. After rinsing the burns with cold water, I started cleaning up the mess here. My mother-in-law suddenly appeared and slapped me hard. “You hen that can’t lay eggs, a jinx! If anything happens to my grandson, I won’t let you off!” Liam, who returned, hurried over to stop her. He finally ran to me, grabbed my hands, and applied ointment painfully. Seeing his mother still wanting to make a scene, Liam said: “She’s giving birth over there.” His mother left immediately. After she left, Liam carefully observed my expression, finally choosing his words carefully: “Sarah, Chloe is young, she made you unhappy, but you shouldn’t have pushed her.” “I pushed her?” My voice was full of disbelief. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I apologized to her for you, she won’t blame you.” One sentence convicted me. Fatigue and powerlessness hit me, I didn’t want to explain anymore. Liam had already chosen to believe Chloe between us. Seven years of marriage couldn’t compare to a new love known for less than a year. Watching Liam carefully blowing on my wound but obviously distracted, thinking of the fleeting smile in his eyes when he said she was giving birth just now. I touched my belly. He made the decision about the child for me.

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It was one in the morning when the neighbor from upstairs hammered on my door, claiming a burst pipe was flooding their apartment and he wanted to check if we were affected. I reached for the knob, but before my fingers closed around it, the text exploded across my vision. [DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR! THAT’S NOT YOUR NEIGHBOR!] [Didn’t the old guy upstairs go to Malaysia last week to find his second spring? NO ONE is up there!] I snatched my hand back from the cool brass of the doorknob. Just then, the emergency alert pinged from the building’s official text message service. [ALERT: Unit 1307 has experienced a major plumbing failure. Property management will inspect the entire line. Unit 1207: Please open your door so we can check your ceiling for seepage.] My unit. The Scrolling Feed rolled across my sight again. [Who does plumbing checks at 1 AM?! They’re working together!] [Be a good girl, Liz, hide and wait! Your True Love Hero will descend from the heavens to save you!!] I gave a curt nod, as if acknowledging the voices. Then I turned, grabbed my emergency climbing rope, and, to the digital screams of the Feed, I shot out the balcony window. I was reborn. Last lifetime, I’d listened to these idiotic voices and lived a miserable life. This time, I’d rather fall to my death than become a baby factory. 1 I hung suspended nearly a hundred feet in the air, my fingers locked white on the window ledge. The heavy, frantic thudding against the front door was a drumbeat against my ribs, shocking me into a cold sweat. [Why isn’t Liz waiting in the room for the Male Lead? Why is she being so reckless?] [If Liz dies, who will the Male Lead have his sweet romance with? Go back inside! He will protect you!] I gritted my teeth, rage boiling in my chest at the sheer, blinding stupidity of the comments. Last life, I had hidden, waiting for a savior. The result? Mitch—the man outside my door now—had smashed his way in, slashed my face, broken my legs, and brutalized me. Only when I was half-dead did the so-called savior, Owen Parker, finally arrive. He heroically subdued Mitch for the police, rushed me to the hospital, and was the image of the attentive, caring man. He married me in my dazed, traumatized state. Everyone called me lucky. So lucky to have a good man like Owen marry me, even after what had happened. I married him and birthed three children in quick succession, living what appeared to be a perfectly happy, complete life. But the sweet romance was a lie. Owen had strong-armed me into marriage, seized my massive inheritance from my deceased parents, and imprisoned me in that house, using me as a human incubator. The truth slipped out one night when he was blackout drunk: he had hired Mitch. He knew I was alone with a fortune. The assault, the rescue—it was all a grotesque plot to acquire my wealth. Discovering the truth, I set the house on fire, taking him with me. But God, or fate, gave me a second chance. A rebirth. In this life, Owen Parker would never succeed. The cold air whipped past, extinguishing the fury and restoring a sharp, cold logic. I analyzed the building’s exterior—narrow window ledges, barely palm-width. My only path was to traverse them, reach the stairwell window, and crawl inside. I focused, mapping the route in my mind like a complex climbing pitch. The massive CRASH of the door giving way sent a fresh surge of adrenaline through me, signaling that time was up. Go, Eliza, go. I bit down hard on my inner cheek and began to edge sideways. My fingers ached, but the two-meter span felt like a mile. Just as Owen opened the window to peer out, I flipped over the ledge and tumbled into the pitch-black stairwell. I collapsed onto the cold concrete landing, gasping, weak-limbed, but an electrifying joy shot through me. The Feed, however, was in chaos. [Liz is so brave! She actually ran away! What about the Male Lead?] [Don’t worry. Our Liz is a damsel in distress. That was just a fluke escape. The Male Lead will still have his hero moment!] I scoffed at the idiotic comments. They called me “Liz,” but their loyalty was entirely to the “Male Lead,” not caring if I lived or died. The pure, unadulterated cult of the savior. Taking a deep breath, I kept low and moved quickly down the stairs while Mitch was still searching my apartment. I reached the ground floor and my heart sank. The exterior security door was bolted shut. That monster had locked the entire building, trapping me inside. The irritating Feed scrolled across my eyes again: [Liz, stop running! Find a place to hide and wait for the Male Lead to rescue you.] [Why is a girl so strong-willed? Isn’t it better to be a small, cherished wife in a man’s arms? All you need to do is have babies to be happy.] [The Male Lead is going to be a future investment magnate, he won’t mistreat you!] I felt a surge of bile. With my parents’ money and connections, any idiot could become an investment magnate! That wicked, criminal sociopath, a “Male Lead”? The Feed’s moral compass was utterly broken. The windows on the lower five floors were barred with heavy security grates—no jumping out there. Mitch would be coming back down. I had to run. Where? I forced my gaze away from the Feed and focused on escape. Think, Eliza, think. An idea sparked: the old climbing adage, “The darkest place is under the lamp.” Mitch would search for me away from my apartment. He wouldn’t expect me to double back. I started moving immediately, carefully ascending the stairs. I was breathless in the darkness, every step cautious, terrified of running right into Mitch. Reaching the fifteenth floor, I heard frantic footsteps above—he was descending. I pressed myself against the doorframe, praying Mitch wouldn’t pause on the landing. Clang! The motion-sensor light clicked on. Heavy footsteps approached from above. A thick shadow stopped on the landing, then started toward the door leading to the residential hallway. I watched the shadow stretch toward me and felt a cold despair. My body trembled. Was this it? Was I caught already? 2 The flimsy door was flung open, but Mitch only gave a cursory glance at the empty landing before turning to continue his search down the stairs. Hanging in a wide-legged straddle above the door frame, my lips were bloodless, my limbs shaking. He didn’t look up. I let out a silent, shaky sigh of relief and slowly dropped to the ground. Thank God for my climbing obsession; my upper body strength had saved me. I waited until the landing light went out, then crept upward toward my floor. I reached my front door—or what was left of it—and slipped inside, running straight for the master bedroom. I locked the door and scrambled into the walk-in closet, curling up amongst the coats. Only in that tight, dark space did a sliver of safety return. I pulled out my phone to dial 911, only to find I had no signal. Damn it. My heart sank. I immediately regretted moving into this brand-new development where few units were occupied. No neighbors to call on. As I frantically tried to think of a next step, the sickening comments reappeared: [Oh good, Liz is using her phone! She doesn’t know the Male Lead installed a tracker/trigger app! One call to the police and it alerts him!] [She can’t escape now! Get ready for the hero’s rescue and the start of a beautiful, redemptive, forced romance!] A cold jolt ran through me, and I nearly dropped the phone. But I forced myself to hold on. I needed the Feed for intel. They could not know I could see them. I climbed out, feigning panic, and quickly changed into my most athletic gear. I deliberately left the phone nestled under a pile of scarves in the closet. Heavy footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door. I scanned the room and snatched up a heavy brass lamp from the bedside table, taking position behind the door. The footsteps stopped. Mitch’s harsh, raspy voice sliced through the silence. “Don’t hide, Eliza Reed. I know you’re in there.” “Come out now, and it’ll be less painful…” I stood rigid, lamp in hand, waiting to launch my attack. BAM! BAM! BAM! Mitch began slamming against the door. His voice grew furious, laced with a familiar, toxic resentment. “Women are supposed to get married, have kids, and serve their men!” “You non-marrying, non-birthing gold-diggers are a plague on society! I’m doing a public service, I’m going to teach you how to be a good, proper wife and mother…” I listened to his vile sermon, the ice in my eyes hardening. The thin door quickly splintered. It was about to give. I carefully released the deadbolt. When Mitch slammed against the door one last time, I pulled it open and flung myself to the ground. I timed it perfectly. As he stumbled forward, I swung the lamp with all my remaining strength at the back of his head. A flicker of triumph died immediately. The staggering Mitch somehow twisted, raising the claw hammer he held to block the blow. His yellowed teeth split into a sickening smile. “Eliza Reed, you should just lie down and wait for me.” He lunged. My jumping heart stalled for a second, then kicked back into overdrive. I lifted my foot and drove it hard between his legs, then spun around and ran. “Aargh! You little bitch! I’ll kill you!” Mitch shrieked, doubled over, staring at me with pure venom. He swung the hammer wildly, catching me as I scrambled away. I tripped and landed hard on my left shoulder. Excruciating pain shot down my arm. Fractured. My face was contorted with agony, but I didn’t waste a second. I crawled up and bolted for the door. The Feed was screaming: [Liz, stop struggling! You can’t fight a man! Just surrender to the Male Lead’s embrace!] [He’s waiting on the thirteenth floor! Just knock, and he’ll open! Don’t waste time!] 3 The sight of the Feed, directing me straight to Owen, stiffened my resolve: I would die before I went to the thirteenth floor. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I stumbled toward the elevator, stabbing at the down button. “You bitch! Where are you going to run?” Mitch’s bellow echoed behind me. I nervously swallowed as I watched the elevator indicator slowly descend. Too slow. I spun around and staggered toward the fire exit stairwell. I slammed the heavy steel door shut, twisted the deadbolt, and ran down. I ran and ran, my mind racing. The entire unit was locked down. My only chance was to reach the second unit—Unit B—and try to escape that side of the building. To do that, I had to lose Mitch. A plan flashed into my newly clear mind. I spotted a stack of flattened moving boxes and cardboard debris piled near the utility closet. I have to take the risk. I sucked in a breath and charged back to the elevator, hammering the ‘Open’ button, my eyes fixed on the descending floor number. Mitch was close. The elevator doors opened. I ripped off my jacket and tossed it inside, then slammed the button for the lobby. I pulled my hand back just as the doors closed. I quickly pulled off my hair tie, dropped it conspicuously near the elevator, and dove into the pile of cardboard boxes, folding myself into a tight ball. Seconds later, rapid footsteps arrived, getting closer. Through a small gap in the boxes, I saw the thick shadow stop right in front of my hiding place. My heart hammered against my ribs. I froze, praying, Don’t look down, don’t look down. Mitch paused, then moved toward the elevator doors, which had just opened on the ground floor. He let out a scoff of contempt, then turned and ran back toward the stairwell, pounding down the flights. When the sound of his footsteps completely faded, I sagged against the floor. Time was critical. Dragging my aching body, I reached the corridor connecting the two building units. The door was locked. I used my good arm to smash the glass windowpane next to the door, carefully climbed through the jagged opening, and found myself in Unit B. I sprinted down to the ground floor. My stomach twisted with fresh despair. That door, too, was secured with a thick, heavy steel chain. I bit my lip. No escape at the ground floor. I ran back up to the sixth floor, intending to use the narrow ledge and my climbing skills to jump to the ground-level landscaping. As I reached the sixth floor, a door opened. A man in flashy loungewear and heavy eyeliner, clutching a bag of recycling, was heading toward the stairs. I saw a lifeline and grabbed his arm, the words spilling out, laced with a desperate sob. “Someone is trying to kill me! Please, you have to let me hide in your apartment!” The young man was startled, but he quickly ushered me inside, throwing his recycling down. He spoke in a bright, concerned voice. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ll call the police right now.” He pulled out his phone, frowning. “Damn. No signal?” Exhausted, I collapsed onto his sofa. “The man… he’s using a signal jammer to block calls.” The young man muttered, “That’s messed up. Hey, don’t worry, my door is solid steel. They aren’t getting in here. You just stay here until daylight, and I’ll take you to the station myself.” I forced a grateful smile. “Thank you. Where’s the bathroom?” He pointed. As I entered the restroom, washed my hands with cold water, the Feed returned. [The Male Lead is so smart! He anticipated Liz’s movements and was waiting in this unit!] [Liz finally walked into the trap, teehee! The Male Lead prepared a special dark room for her! The exciting, sweet, forced romance is about to begin!] I stared at the comments, an icy dread creeping up my spine. My teeth ground together. 4 I started to re-examine the man. His face was obscured by thick makeup. He’d casually mentioned he was a streamer, but there was no camera, ring light, or even a decent PC setup in the living room. I was too trusting. “Sis, you alright in there?” His voice, muffled through the door, carried a faint edge of doubt. I watched the shadow on the bathroom door. He was holding something long—a rope. In a panic, I cranked the shower handle, letting the water blast out. I shouted back, “Hey, sorry! I think I need a quick shower. I’ll be a minute!” The voice outside chuckled. “Take your time, sis.” The shadow disappeared. I wiped a stray tear from my eye and frantically searched for a new escape. My eyes fell on the window’s blackout curtains. The rushing water masked the sound of my efforts. I yanked the curtains down and tore them into long strips, tying them together. I tested the knots, then climbed out the window. The makeshift rope was not long enough. It stopped just above the third floor. Dangling in the dark, I looked down at the lawn, took a deep breath, and let go. I landed hard on the soft grass, rolling several times and slamming into a decorative garden bench before I stopped. My entire body screamed with pain. I managed a quiet sob, pulled myself up, and began to limp away. [Why is Liz so stubborn? Isn’t it better to just enjoy being the Male Lead’s pet?] [It’s fine. When she gets to the gate, she’ll find out the guard is paid off. She can’t escape the complex.] The Feed had given me my next direction. I immediately changed course and headed for the underground parking garage. I stared at the empty, echoing space with despair. Those monsters would find me here. Five hours until dawn. Where could I possibly hide? Heavy footsteps echoed in the garage. I saw only a few cars scattered across the vast space. Desperate, I dove under the nearest large SUV. I saw four legs approaching. Mitch’s foul cursing reached my ears: “That little bitch can really run. I’m going to have so much fun with her when I catch her.” “Hold on, Mitch. No fun until the wedding. What you’re doing is a felony right now. Once she’s my wife, you can do whatever you want.” Owen’s cultured voice was soft, but the icy malice in it made me tremble violently. “The little fool hurt her shoulder and leg. She can’t be far. Let’s search the cars.” I was flat on the concrete, watching their shoes as they started their meticulous search, even peering under the vehicles. As they began to approach the SUV I was under, the blackness of utter despair welled up in my heart. Was I really going to be caught?

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Chapter 1: The Girl Who Didn’t Cry Pain is the world’s most primal language. It’s the universal alarm system, the scream that says, “Stop, you are dying.” I was born deaf to that scream. My name is Nora Vance. In the sprawling, manicured estate of the Vance political dynasty in Upstate New York, I was known simply as “The Spare.” Or, if the servants thought I couldn’t hear them, “The Ghost.” My twin sister, Nova, was the masterpiece. She was the vibrant oil painting—full of color, passion, and fire. I was the rough sketch, discarded in the trash bin. Nova was the daughter who would inherit my father’s Senate seat. I was the daughter who had to be watched constantly, not because I was precious, but because I would chew through my own lip until it bled and not even notice. I remember sitting in the rose garden when I was six. I was fascinated by the thorns. They looked like little shark teeth. I grabbed a stem and squeezed. I watched, with a detached, scientific curiosity, as the blood welled up between my fingers, thick and crimson. It didn’t hurt. It felt like… warm water. Nothing more. My mother found me. She didn’t hug me. She screamed. Not in fear for me, but in horror of me. “She’s doing it again!” she shrieked to the nanny. “Fix her! Bandage her! God, she’s like a monster.” Monster. That was the label that stuck. While Nova was learning piano and ballet, I was undergoing tests in sterile white rooms. The doctors called it CIPA—Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis. “She can’t feel pain, heat, or cold,” the neurologist told my father, Senator Vance. “She lacks the nerves to protect herself. She is a danger to herself.” My father looked at me with the same expression he wore when he looked at a polling chart that was trending downward. Disappointment. Liability. “Keep her alive,” he ordered. “But keep her out of sight. We have an image to maintain.” So, I grew up in the shadows. I learned to fake it. I learned that when you fall down, you are supposed to cry. I learned that when you touch a hot stove, you are supposed to jerk your hand back, even if your brain registers zero sensation. I became an actress in my own life, performing humanity for an audience that wished I didn’t exist. Until the day the Thorne Family came calling. Chapter 2: The Deal with the Devil The summons came on a Tuesday. I was in the library, reading a book on anatomy—trying to understand intellectually what I couldn’t feel physically—when my father walked in. He didn’t knock. He never knocked for me. “Nora,” he said. He was wearing his campaign smile, the one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Put the book down. We need to talk.” I placed a bookmark on page 42. “Yes, sir.” “You know the Thorne family,” he started, pacing the room. “They control the shipping lanes. The unions. The… darker side of the city’s infrastructure.” “The Mafia,” I corrected calmly. “We call them ‘strategic partners,’” he snapped. “The Thornes and the Vances have been at each other’s throats for a decade. A truce has been negotiated. A merger.” He stopped pacing and looked at me. “A marriage.” I blinked. “Nova is dating the Governor’s son. You wouldn’t break that engagement.” “Not Nova,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You.” I stared at him. “Me?” “Declan Thorne,” he said. The name landed in the room like a grenade. Declan Thorne. The youngest son of the Thorne patriarch. The “Mad Dog.” Rumor had it he was cursed. Unstable. Violent. “He’s a widower,” I said. “Three times over.” “Unfortunate accidents,” my father waved his hand dismissively. “Heart failure. Car crash. Suicide. The police never found evidence of foul play.” “The tabloids call him ‘The Bluebeard of Brooklyn,’” I pointed out. “They say he kills them when he gets bored.” “He is powerful,” my father stepped closer, looming over me. “And he requested a Vance daughter. He didn’t specify which one.” I understood then. The realization washed over me, cold and logical. Nova was the asset. I was the expendable currency. If Declan Thorne killed his fourth wife, the Vances would lose nothing but a liability. In fact, my death would probably garner my father sympathy votes in the next election. “He is dangerous,” my father said, looking at my hands—scarred from years of accidental burns and cuts. “But you… you’re tough, Nora. You don’t break like normal girls. You don’t feel things.” He touched my cheek. His hand was cold, but I assumed it was supposed to feel warm. “Do this for the family. Do this, and you’ll finally have a purpose.” A purpose. To be a sacrificial lamb. “Okay,” I said. My voice didn’t tremble. Why would it? I couldn’t feel the sting of betrayal any more than I could feel a knife cut. “Okay,” I repeated. “I’ll marry the monster.” Chapter 3: The Fortress of Solitude The wedding was a private affair. No press. No white dress. Just a signature on a prenup that was thicker than a bible, and a black car ride to Declan Thorne’s estate. He didn’t live in a house. He lived in a fortress. A brutalist concrete mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the Hudson River, surrounded by electric fences and guards with assault rifles. I was ushered into the master bedroom by a silent maid. “Wait here,” she said. “Mr. Thorne will be up shortly.” I sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were black silk. Everything in the room was sharp edges and chrome. It felt like an operating theater. The door opened. Declan Thorne walked in. He was not what I expected. The tabloids usually showed blurry photos of a man in a suit, looking angry. In person, he was… overwhelming. He was tall, over six-three, with broad shoulders that strained against his white dress shirt. His hair was dark, cropped short. But it was his eyes that caught me. They weren’t dead, like I expected from a serial killer. They were frantic. Alert. Paranoiac. He scanned the room as he entered, checking corners, checking the window locks. He looked at me. His gaze was physical, a heavy weight pressing down. “So,” he said. His voice was deep, gravelly—the sound of tires on a dirt road. “You’re the sacrifice.” “I’m Nora,” I said, standing up. “Nora. Nova. Whatever,” he scoffed. He locked the door behind him. “Did your father give you the speech? Duty? Honor? Family?” “He told me to survive.” “Optimistic of him,” Declan laughed, a dry, humorless bark. He walked toward me. I didn’t flinch. I stood perfectly still, my hands clasped in front of me. He stopped inches from my face. He smelled of whiskey and gun oil. “Strip,” he ordered. I blinked. “Excuse me?” “You heard me. Take it off. The dress. The shoes. Everything.” I hesitated. Was this it? The abuse? “Why?” I asked. “Because,” he snarled, reaching out and grabbing my arm. His grip was bruisingly tight. “The last wife tried to bring a wire into the bedroom. The one before that had a ceramic knife taped to her inner thigh. I’m not getting killed in my sleep by a politician’s daughter.” He wasn’t a predator. He was prey. He was terrified. “I’m not an assassin,” I said. “That’s exactly what an assassin would say.” He spun me around. He patted me down. Rough, efficient hands. He checked the hem of my dress. He checked my hair. Then, he reached into the pocket of my blazer. He pulled out a small, silver object. “Aha,” he said triumphantly. “What is this? Poison? A dart gun?” I looked at it. “It’s an EpiPen. I’m allergic to peanuts.” He stared at it. He uncapped it, sniffed it, and then tossed it onto the bed. He reached into the other pocket. He pulled out a Swiss Army Knife. “And this?” he raised an eyebrow. “For peeling apples, I assume?” “Self-defense,” I said honestly. “The city is dangerous.” “You bring a two-inch blade to kill me?” He laughed again, tossing the knife across the room. It clattered against the wall. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Who sent you? Your father? The Russians? The Board?” “No one,” I said. My head rattled, but I kept my eyes focused on his tie. “I’m just the spare daughter, Declan. I’m here because Nova was too valuable to waste on you.” He froze. He looked at my face, searching for fear. He didn’t find any. “You’re not scared,” he whispered, suspicious. “Why aren’t you scared? I’m hurting you.” He squeezed harder. His nails dug into my skin. I knew, logically, that it should hurt. I knew my skin was bruising. “You’re wrinkling my dress,” I said flatly. He let go of me as if I had burned him. He stepped back, looking at me with total confusion. “You’re a freak,” he muttered. “A robot.” He walked to the closet and pulled out a pillow and a blanket. He threw them onto the floor. “Sleep there,” he commanded. “If you move toward the bed, I shoot you. If you get up to use the bathroom, you announce it. Clear?” I looked at the floor. It was polished concrete. Hard. Cold. “Clear,” I said. I lay down on the floor, pulling the thin blanket over me. I closed my eyes. The floor was uncomfortable, I assumed. But to me, it was just a surface. I fell asleep to the sound of Declan Thorne checking the safety on his handgun, over and over again. Click. Click. Click. Chapter 4: The Tea Ceremony The next morning, I woke up because a boot nudged my ribs. “Get up,” Declan said. “We have to go to the Ancestral House. The Chairman wants to see the new merchandise.” The Chairman was Declan’s grandfather. The Emperor of the underworld. We drove in silence. Declan drove like a maniac, weaving through traffic, constantly checking his mirrors. The Ancestral House was an old Victorian mansion in the middle of the city, an island of gothic architecture amidst skyscrapers. Inside, the air was thick with incense and tension. We were led to a tea room. An old man sat on a tatami mat. He looked frail, like a dried leaf, but his eyes were black holes. The Chairman. “Grandfather,” Declan bowed stiffly. “Declan,” the old man wheezed. “And the Vance girl.” I bowed. “Sir.” “Sit,” the Chairman ordered. We sat. A servant poured tea. The steam rising from the cups was thick. “Your father,” the Chairman said to me, “is a snake. But snakes have their uses.” He picked up his cup. “Drink. It is a tradition. A toast to the union.” I picked up the cup. It was porcelain, thin and delicate. It was also boiling hot. The servant had poured it straight from the kettle. I could see the heat radiating from the ceramic. Normal people would wait. They would blow on it. But the Chairman was watching me. Testing me. If I hesitated, I showed weakness. If I showed weakness, I shamed Declan. If I shamed Declan, the alliance might crumble. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted the cup. My fingers didn’t send warning signals. I brought it to my lips. I drank. The liquid was scalding. It must have been near boiling point. I felt the texture of the liquid sliding down my throat, but not the burn. I didn’t wince. I didn’t tear up. I set the cup down. “Excellent tea,” I said politely. The room went silent. The Chairman stared at me. He looked at my lips, which were turning a bright, angry red. He looked at my hands, which were blistering where I held the cup. “You…” the Chairman narrowed his eyes. “You have iron skin, girl?” Declan was staring at me too. His jaw was unclenched for the first time. He looked… horrified. “She’s burned,” Declan said abruptly. He grabbed my hand. “Look at her skin. It’s peeling.” “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just tea.” “It’s boiling water!” Declan snapped. He turned to his grandfather. “Is this a test? Or did you just try to melt her throat?” “She drank it,” the Chairman chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “She drank it without blinking. The Vances breed them tough. Good. Maybe this one will survive you, Declan.” Declan stood up, pulling me with him. “We’re leaving,” he growled. He dragged me out of the room, ignoring the Chairman’s laughter. Chapter 5: Ointment and Lies Back in the car, Declan didn’t start the engine immediately. He turned on the dome light and grabbed my face. “Open your mouth,” he ordered. “Why?” “Open it!” I opened my mouth. He peered inside. “Christ,” he hissed. “Your tongue is blistered. Your palate is… s**t, Nora. Does it hurt?” “No,” I said. He froze. He looked into my eyes, searching for the lie. “What do you mean, no? You have third-degree burns inside your mouth.” “I have a high pain tolerance,” I lied. It was the standard Vance Family Lie. “Tolerance isn’t immunity,” he argued. He looked down at my hand. The blisters were rising, white and fluid-filled. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a first-aid kit. He took out a tube of burn gel. “Give me your hand.” He applied the gel. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who threw knives at walls. His fingers were calloused, warm against my skin. “Why did you drink it?” he asked quietly, not looking at me. “He was testing us,” I said. “If I flinched, he would think I was weak. If I was weak, he would think you married a liability.” Declan stopped moving. He held my hand, staring at the blisters. “You burned yourself… for my reputation?” “I am your wife,” I recited the lines my father taught me. “Your reputation is my safety.” Declan let out a long, shaky breath. He looked at me, and for the first time, the paranoia in his eyes cracked. Behind it, I saw something else. Confusion. And maybe, just a flicker of respect. “You’re not a spy,” he murmured. “Spies don’t damage the merchandise.” “I told you,” I said. “I’m just the spare.” He finished bandaging my hand. He started the car. “We’re going home,” he said. “And you’re not sleeping on the floor tonight.” “The bed?” “The couch,” he corrected. “I still don’t trust you. But… I don’t think you’re going to kill me.” “Why not?” “Because,” he glanced at my bandaged hand as he merged onto the highway. “You’re too busy killing yourself.” Chapter 6: The Leftovers Life in the fortress settled into a strange rhythm. Declan was gone during the day, “managing the family business,” which I assumed involved shouting at union leaders and intimidating rivals. I stayed in the house. I explored. The house was cold. The kitchen was stocked with gourmet food, but the staff was terrified of Declan. They cooked elaborate meals that he never ate. One evening, Declan came home late. He found me in the kitchen. I was sitting at the island, eating cold lasagna straight from the Tupperware container. He stopped in the doorway, loosening his tie. He looked exhausted. There was a smear of blood on his shirt cuff—not his, I assumed. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Eating dinner,” I said, swallowing a bite. “That’s yesterday’s lasagna,” he said. “It’s cold.” “I know.” “Why aren’t you eating the fresh meal the chef prepared? There’s a steak in the warmer.” I shrugged. “I’m used to leftovers.” “Used to them?” He walked over, frowning. “You’re a Vance. You grew up in a mansion.” “I grew up in the West Wing,” I corrected. “My meals were sent up after Nova and my parents finished. Sometimes the trays sat in the hall for an hour. Cold food is… consistent. It doesn’t surprise you.” Declan stared at me. He looked at the cold, congealed cheese on my fork. He suddenly snatched the fork from my hand. “Hey,” I said. He took the Tupperware container and threw it into the trash. Clang. “We don’t eat garbage in this house,” he growled. He walked to the oven and pulled out the steak. He plated it. He poured a glass of red wine. He set it in front of me. “Eat,” he ordered. “Hot food.” “I can’t tell the difference in temperature,” I said, without thinking. He paused. “What?” I froze. I had slipped. “I mean… I don’t mind the temperature,” I corrected quickly. Declan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. He was studying me again, with that intense, laser-like focus. “You didn’t flinch when I grabbed your arm on the wedding night,” he listed. “You drank boiling tea. You eat cold food. You walk around this house like a ghost.” He stepped closer. “And I saw you yesterday. In the garden.” My heart—which functioned perfectly well even if my nerves didn’t—skipped a beat. “I was pruning the roses,” I said. “I saw you catch a thorn,” he said. “It went deep. Into your thumb. You pulled it out and kept working. You didn’t even suck the wound.” He grabbed my hand again, ripping the bandage off my thumb. The cut was there, angry and red. “Why didn’t you react, Nora?” “I have a high tolerance,” I repeated the lie. “Bull****,” he whispered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. A silver Zippo. He flicked it on. The flame danced, blue and yellow. “Put your hand over the flame,” he said. “Declan, don’t be crazy.” “Do it. If you have a high tolerance, you’ll still feel the heat. You’ll pull away before it burns. It’s instinct.” He moved the flame closer to my hand. I watched the fire. It was beautiful. Hypnotic. I felt the pressure of the heat wave, the displacement of air. But I felt no pain. My brain knew I should pull away. Act. Perform. But I was tired. I was so tired of pretending. And Declan… he was the first person who actually looked at me closely enough to notice the glitches in my performance. The flame touched my skin. I smelled the singed hair. The skin began to blister instantly. I didn’t move. I didn’t flinch. I watched it like I was watching a science experiment. Declan snapped the lighter shut. He shoved my hand away. He looked pale. He looked terrified. “You don’t feel it,” he whispered. The horror in his voice was genuine. “You don’t feel anything.” “CIPA,” I said quietly. “Congenital Insensitivity to Pain.” Silence stretched between us, heavy and thick. “You’re a monster,” he breathed. But the word lacked the venom my mother used. It sounded more like… recognition. “I know,” I said. “That’s why they gave me to you. The monster bride for the monster groom.” Declan looked at my burned hand. Then he looked at my face. “Does it apply to everything?” he asked. “Heartbreak? Fear? loneliness?” “Just physical pain,” I said. “The rest… the rest I feel just fine.” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Well,” he said, turning to the drawer to get the burn ointment again. “That makes two of us. I feel too much of everything else, and you feel nothing of the one thing that keeps people alive.” He sat down next to me and started applying the salve. “You’re going to die if I don’t watch you,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Probably,” I agreed. “Not on my watch,” he grumbled. “Three dead wives is a pattern. Four is a statistic. I hate statistics.” He finished bandaging me. He didn’t let go of my hand. “Eat your steak,” he said. “Before it gets cold. I know you don’t care, but I do.” I picked up the knife and fork. I took a bite. It was warm. Or at least, I imagined it was. And for the first time in my life, the warmth didn’t just stop at my skin. It seeped in, just a little bit deeper.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387611”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel