Category: English

The day after we got our marriage license, I saw a trending post on a local subreddit. The poster, bragging with a photo of a marriage certificate, wrote: [Free gym membership acquired.] When users asked what he meant, he proudly shared his “wisdom”: [A marriage license is basically a free gym pass.] [Use the wife as a punching bag. Workout while you discipline. The more you hit her, the clingier she gets.] [You hit her, and her only request is ‘please stop hitting me.’ You don’t hit her, and she has a million demands.] [My biggest wish is to have a wife who won’t die no matter how hard I hit her. Bonus points if she makes good sounds when hit.] I was intrigued by his confidence. He gave off the vibe of someone who was begging for a beating. I created a burner account and DM’d him: [Bro, what kind of ‘hit sounds’ are good? Can you give us a demo?] He replied instantly: [Sure. I’m planning to practice on my new nurse wife tonight. I’ll record it for the boys!] After confirming the poster was my new husband, Mark, I had an epiphany. I crushed the thermos in my hand, cracked my knuckles, and got ready to go home for a “workout.” Chapter 1 In a short time, the post had accumulated 14,000 upvotes. It was hard to imagine so many people supporting such filth. There were even comments agreeing with him. [Agreed. Getting yelled at by the boss all day, nothing beats going home and smacking the wife around. Way better than boxing.] [Some women need to be taught a lesson. If you don’t hit them for a day, they think they run the place. They need to know who’s boss.] On my phone screen. The user “Master Wife Tamer” seemed to find his people and kept spewing nonsense. [Check out my taming tool. It’s a swing I customized for my wife.] [She doesn’t know it can be detached. I’ll tie her hands, hang her up, and she becomes the perfect punching bag.] [I calculated the rope length perfectly. Her toes will just barely touch the ground. It’s going to be great.] I stared at the photo, my blood running cold. The swing in the photo was identical to the one in Mark’s and my new apartment. The comments kept piling up. They even discussed the feasibility of beating a wife on the balcony. [OP, if you beat her on the balcony, won’t the neighbors hear and call the cops?] The poster replied smugly. [Way ahead of you. I installed blackout curtains and double-pane soundproof glass.] [Close the doors and windows, draw the curtains, and no matter how much she screams, no one outside will hear a thing.] I couldn’t believe I married such a thing. When I snapped back to reality, the thermos in my hand was crushed. After a brief moment of shock, I suddenly found it funny. I was born with abnormal strength and a touch of sociopathy. In elementary school, I crushed the testicles of a groper on the bus with one hand. It terrified the teachers and the police, and even made the local news. After that, my mom taught me that girls should be quiet and gentle. So I learned to camouflage. I went to nursing school and became a gentle nurse. “A marriage license is a free gym pass,” huh? “The more you hit her, the clingier she gets,” huh? Great. I don’t have to pretend anymore! I rolled my wrist, joints cracking lightly. Mark, since you want to play the taming game. I’ll play with you. Chapter 2 Immediately, I registered a male burner account named “Angry Little Man.” I used a meme as my profile picture. I messaged him: [Damn, bro! Honestly, my wife needs a lesson too, but I’ve been too scared to do it.] [Bro, can you teach me? I want to take back control of my house!] To show sincerity, I sent him a $200 digital red envelope and a fist-bump emoji. The fish took the bait. Mark took me for a fanboy and started sharing his “taming plan” without reservation. [Bro, the first time is crucial. You have to beat her into submission once and for all, and you need a ‘legitimate’ reason.] [I’m inviting my boys over for drinks in a couple of days.] [We’re going to throw sunflower seed shells, fruit peels, and cigarette butts all over the floor. Make a huge mess.] [When my friends leave, that woman will see the mess and definitely get angry.] [As long as she dares to complain, that’s disrespecting her man.] [Then, using the alcohol as an excuse, I’ll slap her silly and force her to clean it up.] Reading the text, I could almost see Mark’s smug face. Suppressing my disgust, I typed: [What about after? What if she makes a scene?] [Scene? Bro, you don’t understand women.] Mark replied: [After the beating, you act like you snapped out of it. Kneel in front of her and slap yourself.] [Say you love her so much, but you just lose control when you drink. Cry and beg for forgiveness.] [Then, a few days later, find an excuse to hit her again.] [Rinse and repeat. A slap and a sweet date. Slowly, you erode her boundaries until she gets used to being hit.] [Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome and Pavlov?] [Don’t be afraid she’ll run away.] [Beating a wife is like training a dog. The more you hit her, the more she can’t leave you.] [My dad beat my mom her whole life. Not only did she stay, but she served him hand and foot.] I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage in my chest. He spoke of gaslighting like it was a science. Turns out he learned it from his parents. I questioned: [Will this really work? What about the police…] [Don’t worry.] He was confident. [Haven’t you seen the news? In domestic abuse cases, the police rarely do anything until it’s too late.] [As long as you don’t cripple or kill her, it’s a ‘domestic dispute.’ Cops just mediate.] [Besides, I know where to hit. At most, it’ll be classified as a minor injury.] [I just love hearing women scream when they get hit.] [My biggest wish is to have a wife who won’t die, preferably one who makes good sounds.] Reading this, I couldn’t hold back a curse. I almost crushed my phone. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down. [Bro, I learned a lot! But I’m curious, what counts as a ‘good’ hit sound? Can you give us a demo first?] Then, I sent him another $200. Mark replied quickly. [Deal! My boys are coming over tonight to celebrate my wedding. I’ll record it for you guys!] Putting down the phone, my eyes went cold. Mark, I hope your bones are as hard as your talk. Chapter 3 At 5 PM, Mark texted me. [Wifey, a few of my buddies are coming over tonight.] [They’re jealous I have such a pretty, virtuous wife who can cook. They insisted on seeing you.] [Buy some groceries on your way back, lots of meat. Show them your skills.] [It might get a bit loud. You know I care about face, so please bear with it. Hubby will make it up to you later.] He sent a $520 red envelope and a “cute cat heart” sticker. I looked at the screen and sneered. Make it up to me? With a belt or a fist? I replied with a cute cat emoji: [Okay, Hubby.] After work, I went straight to the wholesale market and bought the cheapest pre-made meals. Braised pork, sweet and sour ribs, spicy chicken… All heat-and-eat junk. Since you want to act, I’ll play along. Back home, I dumped the food onto plates and microwaved them. Soon, the house smelled of MSG and grease. Around 8 PM, the doorbell rang. Mark walked in with four or five men. They looked like thugs—the kind of friends I usually avoided. As soon as they saw me, Mark’s buddy, Blackie, whistled. “Yo, this is Mark’s new wife? Looking fresh!” “Smells good. What did you make, sister-in-law?” Blackie actually lifted a lock of my hair and sniffed it. “Let me guess… sweet and sour ribs, braised pork… did I get it right?” Holding back vomit, I stepped back. Mark, walking in last, slapped the back of Blackie’s head. “Watch how you talk to your sister-in-law.” “Wifey, don’t mind him. He’s just like that, no bad intentions.” They walked in without taking off their shoes, stomping mud onto the carpet. I wiped my hands on my apron and brought out the food. “Come in, food’s ready. Sit anywhere.” Mark looked shocked that I was being so accommodating. He winked at the others, signaling them to provoke me further. “Eight dishes in one afternoon? Mark is lucky, marrying such a capable nurse!” “Nurse sister, come drink with us.” I didn’t get angry. I smiled and seated them. Once the food was served, I retreated to the kitchen. “It’s a guys’ night, I shouldn’t intrude.” Mark found it incredible. I used to complain about how sexist his friends were. Now, I was playing the perfect traditional wife. He came into the kitchen. “Wifey, come eat with us. Have a drink.” “Are you mad about their jokes?” I waved him off. “You guys eat. I’ll grab a bite in here.” Once the door closed, I pulled out the seafood feast I packed from a five-star hotel. Who eats pre-made slop when you can have lobster? But since I didn’t go out, he couldn’t pick a fight. Soon, Mark knocked again. “Wifey, I dropped my chopsticks. Get me a new pair.” I opened the door with chopsticks and saw the living room was a disaster zone. Sunflower seed shells, peanut skins, and cigarette ash covered the floor. Blackie threw a chicken bone on the carpet and stomped on it. “Oops, sorry sister-in-law, slipped.” He grinned at me, eyes full of provocation. They all knew the plan. They were trying to trigger me. If I showed even a hint of displeasure, Mark would explode. Unfortunately for them, I disappointed. Not only was I not mad, I smiled brighter. Mark was cleaning this up later anyway. The messier, the better. “No problem, have fun. The carpet needed washing anyway.” Blackie froze. He didn’t expect that reaction. Mark’s face stiffened. His prepared script was useless. For the next two hours, I played the perfect wife. Pouring tea, cutting fruit, handing out napkins. No matter how much they trashed the place—someone even poured beer on the sofa—I kept smiling. “It’s fine, we can use a slipcover.” “Oh, we were going to replace that rug anyway.” My performance was flawless. Mark couldn’t find an excuse to rage. Even his scumbag friends felt a little bad. “Mark, your wife is amazing! Such a good temper!” “Yeah, I’d give ten years of my life for a wife like this!” When they left, they patted Mark’s shoulder meaningfully. “Mark, don’t go too hard later. Just a little.” Mark stood at the door, smiling awkwardly. He wanted to beat me for embarrassing him in front of his friends. But now everyone was praising me. If he hit me, he’d be the asshole without a cause. He closed the door. The room went silent. Looking at the mess and Mark standing awkwardly in the middle of it. I decided to help him out. I claimed a stomachache and went to the bathroom. I messaged him from my burner account. [Bro, how’s it going? We’re waiting for the show!] I attached a $200 red envelope and a starry-eyed emoji. Mark loved his ego. I knew he wouldn’t let his big talk fall flat. Seconds later, he replied. [Wait for it.] Just three words, but I could feel the grit in his teeth. I smirked. Mark, you asked for this. Don’t cry too loud later. Chapter 4 I heard smashing from the living room, followed by Mark’s intentionally loud cursing. “F*ck! Look at this mess! Annoying!” I flushed the toilet and walked out, pretending to be startled. In the living room, Mark had flipped the dining table. Red oil and soup soaked the carpet. He stood in the middle of the debris, chugging a beer, face flushed. Seeing me, he finally found his target. He pointed at the trash on the floor and roared: “What are you staring at? Can’t you see this mess? Clean it up!” He was shouting, spit flying. I stood still, watching his performance. “Are you blind or deaf? I’m talking to you!” Seeing no reaction, Mark got angrier. He undid his belt, advancing on me step by step. “Lynn, why did you smile at Blackie just now?” “I hate cheaters. You were making eyes at him right in front of me. Do you think I’m dead?” I couldn’t help but laugh. What a pathetic excuse. Seeing me laugh, he raged harder, smashing a vase with his belt. Crash! “Today I’ll show you who’s the man of this house!” “Who’s in charge!” He raised the belt and lashed it towards my legs. Fast and vicious. No mercy. A normal girl would be screaming in pain. Too bad he met me. Watching the belt whistle towards me, I felt no fear. Only excitement. I sidestepped, my right hand shooting out like lightning, grabbing the belt and yanking back. Snap! The buckle whipped back and hit him in the face. Mark froze, his drunken haze clearing instantly. He touched the welt on his face, then looked at his wrist, caught in my iron grip. He instinctively tried to pull back. Immovable. He used both hands, pulling with all his might, face turning red. I stood like a statue. I stepped closer, smiling. Then, I pulled a rope from behind my back, tied his hands together. With one hand, I lifted him and hooked him onto the swing mount on the balcony ceiling. “Hubby, you’ve been naughty. I told you not to hang out with those losers. Why don’t you listen?” “Also, I’m curious who’s in charge of this house.” “You can tell me all about it.” Then, backhand, I whipped him with his own belt. Workout time.

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After binding with the “Word Editor System,” I immediately changed [Secret Crush] to [Secret Assassination]. The schoolgirls who were supposedly crushing on the Male Lead all raised knives from the shadows, ready to deliver a fatal blow. Then, I changed [Viral Hit] to [Viral Explosion]. The Male Lead’s school forum post didn’t just blow up the internet; his laptop literally exploded, sending him straight to the ICU. The Male Lead was confused. The System crashed. I smiled. “Today, this main character? He absolutely has to die.” 1 “Oh my god, Prince Julian! Please accept my love letter!” “Wow, Julian is so hot!” I rested my chin on my hand, sitting by the window, watching the Male Lead, Julian Ashford, walk into school bathed in admiring gazes. [Julian Ashford comes from a wealthy family. Handsome and rich, every girl in the academy has a secret crush on him.] The System popped up the plot text at the right moment, adding a slightly creepy reminder: [Unleash your imagination! Add some romantic scenes for yourself!] I scoffed. With a mental stroke, I changed [Secret Crush] to [Secret Assassination]. The girl who had just looked lovestruck suddenly pulled a dagger from her pink envelope and lunged at Julian. “Die, scum!” Julian’s eyes went wide with disbelief. He tried to dodge, but it was too late. The dagger plunged into his chest. He slowly collapsed. The System screamed in my head: [Are you crazy?! The Male Lead is dead!] 2 Because I had terminal cancer, the System dragged me into this cliché high school romance novel to be the heroine. The heroine, simply because she was poor, was targeted by the school’s “Prince,” the Male Lead. After a series of physical and emotional abuse, she eventually died from it. At the end of the story, the Male Lead stood in the rain holding her ashes, crying snot and tears: “I was wrong! Lori!” The System was moved: [What great love.] [As long as you obediently go through the plot of being bullied, kidnapped, imprisoned, and finally thrown into the ocean to feed the fish, you will get a healthy body in return.] Me: ??? Do you hear yourself right now? The System chuckled dryly: [To help you complete the mission, here is a cheat: ‘For every plot point, you can change one word.’ You can use this to start a beautiful romance with the Male Lead!] Screams erupted around us. Julian lay on the ground, unconscious. I thought darkly: Why is it always the heroine who dies in these angst fests? The Male Lead? Hmph! He can die! But Julian didn’t die. The school nurse said, “It’s a miracle! His heart is located near his belly button, so it was just a flesh wound.” The System sounded smug: [Good thing I was quick and patched the bug. You must have made a typo just now. Don’t do it again!] There were so many things wrong with that sentence, but before I could grind my teeth in response, the bell rang. 3 The teacher stood at the door, smiling encouragingly at me. “Come on, introduce yourself! You’re the only ‘commoner’ in the whole school!” As soon as she finished, whispers filled the classroom. “How did a charity case get into our elite academy?” “Probably did something shady~ This is going to be good.” Seeing I remained silent, the teacher’s eyes darted around, hatching an idea. “How about this, transfer student? You sit next to Julian Ashford. He’s the only one with an empty seat.” I looked around. The whole class was watching me like I was a circus act. In the original book, the heroine listened to the teacher, only to be dragged off the chair by her hair by Julian, who cursed, “What kind of trash dares to sit next to me?” Thinking of this, I smiled. “No thanks, Teach.” I didn’t stop walking. I dragged the desk and chair next to Julian all the way to the back of the classroom, starting a new row. “I’ll sit here.” Julian sneered, propping his legs up on his desk. “What? Does sitting next to me make you sick?” I cursed internally. This guy is a psycho. Before I could respond, the System released the next plot point. [Julian looked at this stubborn charity case and felt intrigued. He decided to show her who’s boss. He unilaterally issued a Red Card against her, making Lori’s life even harder.] The System hinted: [The more he bullies you, the more he loves you.] [You can change ‘Red’ to ‘Love.’ A Love Card, hehe~] Julian looked at me, holding a red Joker card between his fingers. “Charity case, I declare that against…” Holy crap! My hand moved so fast it left afterimages. I changed [Her] to [Him]. [He decided to show HIM who’s boss.] Julian’s words involuntarily twisted: “I declare a Red Card against… MYSELF! All students and staff can bully me at any time, in any place!” Gasps filled the room. The System was shocked: [What? That works too?] I couldn’t help but clap. “I didn’t know the Prince was a masochist! You can’t judge a book by its cover…” He glared at me. “I said bully ME!” Everyone looked at each other, unsure if they should approach. In the original book, as soon as Julian issued the Red Card, a mob descended on the heroine with punches and kicks. I sneered and charged forward, slapping him twice across the face. Rules are rules. Once the Red Card is issued, the target gets bullied. No exceptions. The class inhaled sharply. Julian shouted in humiliation, “Hit me! Hit me!” After a moment of hesitation, everyone swarmed him. One slap per person. The scene ended with the Male Lead bleeding. 4 Nobody helped the swollen-faced Julian. He limped back to his seat and gave me a vicious look. The System begged in my brain: [Stop your magic! Please, just fall in love!] I ignored it and stared Julian down. He twitched his lip. “Just you wait, charity case.” I replied to the System: [See? He’s not convinced yet!] Before Julian could make a move, his minions couldn’t wait. As soon as class ended, a group of girls dragged me out of my seat. “Newbie, we need to teach you some manners.” Julian saw this and gave me a provocative smile. The leader was a girl with dark skin and bright red lipstick. I remembered her name was Bella. She grabbed my hair and dragged me out the door. Once we were in the bathroom, she didn’t waste time. “Someone cut up her face.” A girl with glasses and black hair stepped forward, trembling. “Who… who told you to disrespect the Prince?” Just as the knife was about to touch my face, the plot text appeared. [Seeing the knife about to slice Lori’s face, Adrian wind caught some noise. He thought it was Julian’s business and didn’t want to interfere, but he still decided to SAVE her.] The System yelled excitedly: [It’s the Second Male Lead! The gentle one! He and the Male Lead are called the Twin Stars. Go develop feelings with him!] I frowned. I remembered this Adrian Wind was a hypocrite. After saving the heroine, he told her to endure it. Later, he even gave the heroine’s National Award to the Male Lead’s sister without asking. “Lori, you already have so many awards, but his sister has none. I think you should do something nice.” Thinking of this, I changed [Save] to [Substitute]. [He still decided to SUBSTITUTE for her.] The next second, Adrian kicked the door open, roaring, “Let her go! Slash MY face!”

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During Freshman Orientation Camp, the so-called “Campus King” tried to show off by opening a water bottle with his abs. He failed. My best friend happened to whisper a joke in my ear right at that moment, and I snorted out loud. The King’s sidekick thought I was mocking him and called me out. “What’s so funny? Put up or shut up.” So, I stood up, lifted my shirt to reveal a shredded six-pack, and popped the cap off a Dasani bottle using nothing but my core muscles. The girls screamed. The sidekick looked terrified. “Dude,” the sidekick whispered, “your nose is bleeding.” 1 During the break, my bestie, Chloe, dragged me under the shade of a massive oak tree. She shook a can of sunscreen spray like a bartender mixing a martini and unleashed a chemical fog on me. I swatted her hand away. “Chloe, stop. Save it for yourself. I’m a track athlete; I’m supposed to be tan.” Chloe smacked my hand back. “No way. I can’t let a goddess like you ruin her skin. Even if you don’t burn, we are not taking chances. I became your bestie for the eye candy, okay?” I rolled my eyes and let her marinate me in SPF 50. Nearby, a gaggle of girls from our dorm were whispering. They thought they were being subtle. They weren’t. “Omigod, Mason is so hot.” “I heard he was practically running his high school. A total alpha. See that skinny guy next to him? That’s his hype man, Leo.” “Look at those pecs. That waistline. I always thought these orientation uniforms looked like trash bags, but on him? With that tactical belt? It’s giving top gun energy.” Is he really that great? They were staring directly behind me. I was about to turn around when the Drill Instructor (DI) walked over, grinning like a shark. “You ladies and gentlemen bored?” “Yeeees,” the crowd groaned. DI Miller smirked. “Oh? How about we play a game?” A crisp, clear voice rang out from behind me. It sounded warm, like sun-baked pavement, but with a hint of arrogance. “Sarge, if your ‘game’ involves more burpees, we’re suddenly extremely entertained by sitting still.” A scrawny voice chimed in, “Yeah, we’re actually having a blast.” “Too late,” Miller snapped into authority mode. “You said you were bored. Form a circle. Sit down. We’re doing a talent showcase.” “Ughhhhh.” “I’m counting to three. Anyone not seated runs laps. One—” The shuffling was instant. Everyone hit the dirt. 2 I dragged Chloe to the back row and watched Miller. Miller was young, probably Gen Z like us. He was chill until he wasn’t. He definitely saw some TikTok trend and wanted to use us as lab rats. We sat there, blinking at him like baby birds. “Any volunteers? Show us a talent.” Silence. Miller put on his best disappointed-dad face. “Nothing? I thought Gen Z could do anything. Climb Everest, code an app, survive the apocalypse. I am disappointed.” The clear voice spoke up again. “Sarge, you’re Gen Z too. Can you do all that?” The skinny guy: “Yeah, exactly.” Miller adjusted his hat. “Nope. That’s why I’m disappointed in myself. And doubly disappointed in you.” I turned my head. The voice belonged to a guy with a buzz cut, sharp jawline, and high nose bridge. Mason. He was undeniably handsome. He was already bantering with the instructor, flashing a set of deep dimples. Chloe nudged me hard in the ribs. “Ooh, checking out Mason? The Campus King?” “That’s Mason?” I asked. Chloe looked scandalized. “Girl, are you blind? I spotted him day one. He’s the hottest guy on campus. How did you miss that?” I pulled her arm off me. “Probably because on day one, someone sprained her ankle, and I had to carry two sets of textbooks and piggyback you up six flights of stairs.” Chloe giggled guiltily. “Hey, you’re strong! I love you, Sloane!” I ignored her. Chloe, sensing danger, started cracking jokes to get back on my good side. As students started performing random talents in the circle, Chloe dropped a punchline that caught me off guard. I snorted. Loudly. The skinny guy, Leo, glared at me. “What are you laughing at? You think you’re tough? If you’re so cool, you do it.” Me: ? I looked up. Mason was standing in the center, shirt lifted, holding an unopened water bottle against his abs. There was a red mark on his skin. He had failed the trick. He looked at me, his eyes flickering with embarrassment. I looked away. Leo wasn’t letting it go. “Why aren’t you talking? Blah blah blah…” He was annoying. “Shut up,” I snapped. “I’ll do it.” 3 I walked up to Mason, took the water bottle from his hand, and turned to face the crowd. Without hesitation, I unzipped my jacket and lifted my olive-green tee. My abs were rock hard, defined, and tanned. I jammed the bottle cap against my oblique, twisted my core, and—Pop! The cap sent flying. Water splashed onto my camo pants. I didn’t care. I handed the bottle back to Mason and turned to leave. Leo’s jaw was on the floor. He looked like his brain had short-circuited. Mason stared at me, his pupils shaking. I scoffed. I was wearing a sports bra. No big deal. The crowd was stunned for two seconds before erupting. The girls were screaming louder than the guys. “Holy crap! I’m dead! Marry me!” “She’s ripped! She’s gorgeous and handsome at the same time!” “Ma’am! Gender is a construct, I am free this Friday!” DI Miller: “Whoa, keep it down! Don’t let the Commander hear you thirsting!” As I sat down, girls swarmed me. Chloe threw herself in front of me like a bodyguard. One girl asked shyly, “Hi, can we be friends?” Chloe barked, “No! You don’t want to be friends; you just want to touch her abs! Back off!” I recognized the girl. She was the one drooling over Mason earlier. The girl blushed. “Is it that obvious?” Chloe: “Yes! Sloane’s body is for my eyes only! I’m the only one allowed to touch the abs!” To prove her point, she reached under my jacket and slapped my stomach. My skin turned red. The girl’s eyes turned red with envy. Me: “…Stop it. Sit down.” “Okay.” Chloe sat. Just as I was about to scold her, I heard Leo scream in terror. “Holy sh*t, Mason! Your nose is bleeding!” Mason: “…Shut up.” 4 The downside of showing off is that the instructor remembers your name. Miller asked me if I had anything prepared for the Campfire Gala. He said, “This is a competition between the four platoons. We need to dominate. We need shock and awe.” I said, “I don’t know what kind of performance counts as ‘shock and awe.’” Miller waved his hand. “Just sing two songs. Then, for the grand finale, do the ab bottle opener thing. The guys in Platoon 3 will lose their minds when they see I have a student who can do that.” Me: “…Pass.” Miller gave me the sad puppy eyes. Me: “…Fine. Fine.” Miller: Happy noises. That night, I brought my guitar case to the field. Sixteen squads formed a massive circle. The Performing Arts squad did a choral rendition of “We Will Rock You” and a K-Pop dance cover. When a group of long-legged dancers made those baggy uniforms look like high fashion, the instructor of Platoon 3 was grinning so hard I thought his face would crack. He even came over to taunt us. “Hey Miller, your squad is looking a little low energy. You guys gotta step it up. My squad just… naturally excels.” Miller rolled his eyes. “Get lost.” He turned to me, handing me a water bottle. “Sloane, it’s all on you. Don’t let that guy win.” I nodded. “Got it.” The K-Pop dance ended, and the crowd started chanting for our squad. I was about to stand up when Mason walked past me. He snatched the water bottle out of my hand. He muttered, “Making a girl do the ab trick in front of everyone? Do us guys have no shame? What if… what if you have a wardrobe malfunction?” Me: “?” Mason walked to the center, put the water bottle on the ground, glanced at me, and nodded at Miller to hit the music. He started with a breakdance routine. The flashlights from the phones created a halo around him. He moved like water—sharp, fluid, mesmerizing. He was genuinely talented. The crowd went wild. Even Miller nodded. “Kid’s got moves.” We all thought that was it. But when Mason locked eyes with me, I knew he was up to something. Was he going to redeem his failed bottle trick? I underestimated him. The music switched abruptly. It wasn’t cool hip-hop anymore. It was… “Baby Shark” remix? No, something weirder. A viral TikTok meme song. Mason started twerking. He threw away all dignity. He shook his hips with a flexibility that put the K-Pop girls to shame. Me: “…” The Crowd: “HAHAHAHAHA!” Miller: “I take it back. That kid is a clown.” Finally, Mason grabbed the water bottle, successfully popped the cap with his abs (redemption!), and walked off to thunderous applause. He beamed at Miller. “Sarge, was that ‘shock and awe’ enough for you?” Miller: “It was shocking, alright. My colleagues are going to roast me for a year.” 5 Thanks to Mason warming up the crowd, the atmosphere was electric. I grabbed a fresh water bottle, slung my guitar over my shoulder, and walked to the center. I promised to open a bottle. Chloe ran over to set up the mic stand. The crowd was buzzing, but when I plugged the acoustic-electric in, the feedback hum silenced them. Then the whispers started. “She’s my new goddess.” “She has that ‘I could kill you but I won’t’ vibe.” “Is it true girls in Squad 1 have to bench press their body weight to join?” Someone shouted, “Hey Miller! Is having abs a requirement for your squad?” Miller beamed. “No, no. Sloane is just… standard. You know.” I tuned them out. Chloe ran back to her seat, holding her phone up to record. Strum. Just one chord, and the atmosphere shifted from “party” to “battlefield.” I didn’t play a pop song. I played a flamenco-metal fusion piece. Fast, aggressive, percussive. It sounded like arrows flying and swords clashing. “Whoa,” someone whispered. “I have goosebumps.”

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Six years ago, I was the head of Research and Development—a Chief Research Scientist—until I was busted for falsifying drug trial data, a scandal that killed countless patients. The entire internet crucified me, calling me the Butcher of the Lab. Before I was even sentenced, a group of victims’ families found me and carved their rage onto my skin—eighteen cuts, right on the street. When I got out, I vanished. I changed my name and hid, becoming a fishmonger at a downtown market, the stench of brine and blood clinging to me like cheap perfume. I was scrubbing down a fillet board when my billionaire ex-husband showed up. Harrison Shaw. He looked at me, his perfect face a mask of shock. “Sloane? What happened to you? Why didn’t you come find me after you were released?” I didn’t get a chance to answer. His assistant, sleek and terrified, leaned in from behind him. “Mr. Shaw, Ms. Wells is still waiting for the fish you promised to personally select for her broth. It won’t be fresh if we’re late.” I yanked off my surgical mask, exposing the jagged, half-scarred face I wore now, and let out a cold laugh. “That cut of salmon is twenty dollars. Pay up or get lost. You’re messing with my business.” He threw me to the wolves—Tatum Wells’ wolves—and let me take the fall, all so she could climb the corporate ladder. Now that Tatum was the replacement fiancée, he had the nerve to stand here? 1 I slammed my gutting knife down on the cutting board, splattering fish blood onto Harrison’s Italian leather shoes. He recoiled half a step, a flicker of pure disgust crossing his features. “Sloane, what are you doing to yourself? You know these hands weren’t meant for cleaning fish.” My body swayed, and my hands started to tremble uncontrollably. My fingers were chapped and swollen, the nail beds permanently stained with black dirt and fish guts. Six years ago, these hands handled million-dollar lab equipment. Now, they only gutted fish. “Mr. Shaw, don’t sully your pristine gaze. Are you buying this fish or not?” I reached into the tank, expertly snatched a thrashing trout, and brought the blunt back of the knife down hard on its head. Thunk. The fish went still. Harrison hadn’t spoken, but the old man behind him in line lost his patience. “Are you selling fish or holding a board meeting? I’m going to the stall down the row if you don’t hurry up!” “Selling, of course.” I pulled my gaze away, done with looking at Harrison, and prepared to weigh the trout for the customer. A large, controlling hand pressed down on my arm. Harrison placed a stack of cash on my counter. “Don’t sell anything else today.” “I’ll take the rest of your stock. Pack up and go home to rest.” I didn’t touch the money. I picked up my scaling tool and went back to work. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Shaw.” “But I run a small business. We don’t do exclusive buyouts. Now, if you’re not buying, please move. You’re blocking the line.” Just then, a saccharine voice chimed in. “Harrison, why are you still here? Miles and I have been waiting for you to come home to make the soup.” My hand, scaling a bass, paused. Tatum Wells stepped forward, linking her arm affectionately through Harrison’s, and then feigned shock when she saw me. “Oh, is that… Sloane? Sis, what are you doing here selling fish?” “Did you just get out and have nowhere to go? You should have told me! I’ll ask Harrison to find you a place to stay, or maybe a job!” She was immediately followed by a man who looked utterly ashamed to be there. It was Miles Harrington, my own brother. Six years ago, when I was sentenced, he not only cut ties and disowned me from the Harrington family, but he also triumphantly brought Tatum—my father’s illegitimate daughter from an outside affair—home to take my place. Our parents had made Miles and me swear on their deathbeds that we would never let Tatum Wells set foot in the Harrington home. They had warned us that Tatum’s mother had nearly destroyed our family years ago, and her daughter was no better. My own brother had forgotten our parents’ dying wish completely. Miles now spoke softly to Tatum. “Sweetheart, why talk to someone like this? Let’s go home. Harrison and I are making you a big dinner tonight.” He then glared at me. “Sloane is a disgrace who hasn’t learned her lesson. Six years in prison and she’s still covered in bad luck!” His loud voice drew the attention of everyone around. An older woman who frequently bought fish from me suddenly pointed a trembling finger. “Wait! I remember now! The news six years ago! The Butcher of the Lab! The one who killed all those people—that’s Sloane Harrington!” “Oh my God! I’ve been buying fish from a murderer!” Harrison immediately stepped forward to try and calm the enraged crowd. “Sloane, you can’t work here. Your hands belong in a lab, not a fish market.” “Tell me what you need. I can help you.” But the shouts and insults were growing louder. Rotten vegetables and eggs began to fly. Harrison spoke about helping me, but his body immediately shielded Tatum. He was terrified that the expensive designer dress she was wearing would be stained. I stood there, covered in the stench of fish and now the slimy mess of raw egg. Tatum peered out from Harrison’s protective embrace. “Sloane, you should apologize to everyone.” “Even though those patients died because of your fake data, if you just show genuine remorse, people will forgive you.” That single phrase, genuine remorse, sent the crowd over the edge. Someone shoved my entire fish stand over. The water tank burst. Over a dozen live fish flopped desperately in the dirty puddle on the ground, struggling for a final breath. Just like I did six years ago. I quietly gathered the remaining supplies and walked home. The next day, the market manager dismantled my stall. “We received complaints about unsanitary conditions and illegal operation. Your lease is terminated.” I looked at the empty space and gave a hollow laugh. They truly were determined to eliminate anything that reminded Tatum of me. They stopped at nothing. When I arrived back at my dilapidated basement apartment, all my luggage had been tossed out onto the street. The landlord had even refunded me three months’ rent—triple the deposit—just to ensure I left immediately. I sat on my pile of belongings, staring into space, when a pair of perfectly shined leather shoes stopped in front of me. “Sloane, Tatum’s research project has hit a crucial bottleneck. She’s only missing the final piece of data.” “You’re a genius in this field. If you agree to help her, I’ll give you enough money to disappear. You can start a new life somewhere no one knows your name.” Hearing those words made me sick. “Harrison, are you insane? You framed me for data fraud and put me in prison for years. Now you have the audacity to ask me to clean up the mess for that illegitimate daughter who killed those people?” Harrison’s face darkened. “Sloane, watch your tone. You’ve already paid for the mistakes of six years ago. Don’t try to throw dirt on Tatum.” “Tatum is highly gifted. She took over your disaster of a project and has practically ruined her health trying to perfect this drug. She’s the one who asked me to come to you, despite everything. Don’t be ungrateful!” I laughed again, a sound devoid of humor. “And what if I refuse?” Harrison spoke with his usual arrogance. “Then you’ll have to deal with the consequences yourself.” Harrison left, and I initially dismissed his threat. I found a new underground apartment and started looking for another job. Then, the caretaker of my parents’ memorial park called me. “Ms. Harrington, the Shaw family has acquired the land where your parents are buried. They plan to flatten the area and build a new sewage treatment facility.” “The Shaw representative said if you don’t accept their terms, they will scatter your parents’ ashes on the street.” My hand holding the phone trembled violently. Was this the man I had loved? He was using my dead parents as leverage, all for the sake of Tatum Wells? I looked at my half-ruined face in the mirror. For six years, for the sake of a misguided love and my family’s reputation, I had silently accepted the blame. I thought my sacrifice would protect Miles and the Harrington family, and that Harrison would remain untouched. What was the result? My brother elevated the illegitimate daughter to a princess, and Harrison cherished the murderer. Only I rotted in hell for six years. Harrison’s call came in. I answered on the first ring. “Have you thought it through? Sloane, stop being difficult. The past is over.” “If you just focus on helping Tatum, you still have a chance to restore your reputation. I’ll help you, alright?” I answered calmly. “I’ll do it.” “But first, I need the title to my parents’ burial plot transferred solely into my name, with a signed contract guaranteeing it will never be moved.” Harrison agreed.

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Part I: The Chokehold The first thing I felt was the cold. Not the kind of cold that comes from a drafty window, but the visceral, bone-deep freeze of fingers wrapped tight around my windpipe. My vision was swimming in black spots. My lungs were burning, screaming for oxygen that wasn’t coming. Above me, a face twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred hovered like a specter. “Say one more word about my father, Vivian,” the voice hissed. It was a low, jagged sound, like gravel grinding against glass. “One more word, and I will snap your neck like a twig.” I wheezed, clawing instinctively at the hands crushing my throat. My fingernails scraped against skin, but he didn’t flinch. I looked into his eyes. They were dark, endless pits of rage. But it was the rest of his face that jolted my memory awake. The left side was perfect—high cheekbone, sharp jawline, the kind of face that belonged on a Calvin Klein billboard. But the right side… the right side was a roadmap of tragedy. Burn scars, jagged and pink, twisted the skin from his temple down to his jaw. Liam Thorne. The name hit me harder than the lack of air. I wasn’t me anymore. I wasn’t the college student who fell asleep studying for finals. I was Vivian Vanderbuilt. The heiress. The queen bee of Crestwood Academy. And, most importantly, the “cannon fodder” villainess of the trashy young adult novel The Rest of Forever. And the boy strangling me? He was the villain. The future psychopath who would eventually burn half the city down. And I—Vivian—was the reason he turned into a monster. I was currently dying in the prologue. “I…” I choked out, my voice barely a squeak. “I’m… sorry.” The grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. Confusion flickered in his dark eyes. The Vivian he knew would have spat in his face. She would have threatened to have her daddy buy the trailer park he lived in and bulldoze it. She wouldn’t have apologized. “What did you say?” he growled. “I said…” I gasped, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, “I’m sorry, Liam. I won’t… say it again.” He stared at me for a long, agonizing second. Then, as if my neck had suddenly turned into a red-hot coal, he released me. I collapsed onto the dirty tile floor of the boys’ locker room, heaving in air. It tasted like sweat and bleach. I coughed, clutching my bruised throat, and looked up at him. He was wearing a faded, oversized hoodie that had clearly seen better decades, and sneakers that were held together by duct tape and prayer. His fists were clenched at his sides, trembling. “Get out,” he said. “Before I change my mind.” I didn’t need to be told twice. I scrambled to my feet, my legs feeling like jelly, and bolted. I ran past the rows of gray lockers, burst through the double doors, and didn’t stop until I was in the pristine, marble-floored hallway of the main building. I caught my reflection in a trophy case. The girl staring back was stunning. Platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, skin that looked like it had been airbrushed. I was wearing a designer skirt that probably cost more than Liam’s entire life savings. “Great,” I whispered to my reflection. “I’m the rich bitch who dies in Chapter Ten.” Part II: The Redemption Arc According to the plot of The Rest of Forever, Vivian Vanderbuilt was obsessed with the male lead, Chase Sterling—the captain of the football team, the golden boy, the sun around which Crestwood Academy orbited. To get Chase’s attention, Vivian bullied anyone who got close to him, especially the scholarship student, Grace Miller. And Liam? Liam was just Vivian’s punching bag. She used him to vent her frustrations. She mocked his scars, humiliated him publicly, and eventually pushed him too far. In the original book, Liam kills Vivian on the night of the Senior Prom, framing it as a suicide, which kicks off his career as a high-functioning sociopath. I had about six months until Prom. Tick tock. The next day, the cafeteria was a war zone of social hierarchy. I walked in, my tray trembling slightly in my hands. Usually, Vivian sat at the “Table of Gods” in the center, flanked by her minions. I looked over. Chase was there, laughing loudly, his arm draped over a chair. Grace Miller was walking past, and I saw Chase wink at her. The main plot was moving along nicely. I ignored them. I scanned the perimeter. The outcasts. The stoners. The kids who ate quickly so they could leave. There, in the far back corner, sitting alone near the trash cans, was Liam. He had his hood up. He was picking at a sandwich that looked like two pieces of stale bread and nothing else. I took a deep breath. Don’t die. Just be nice. I walked past my usual table. My “friends”—Jessica and Chloe—waved at me. “Viv! Over here!” Jessica squealed. “Not today,” I murmured, clutching my tray. The cafeteria went silent as I approached the back corner. It was like the parting of the Red Sea, if the sea was made of teenagers wearing Abercrombie and judgment. I slammed my tray down opposite Liam. He flinched. His hand instinctively went to his pocket—I knew he carried a box cutter there. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What game is this, Vanderbuilt? You want to pour milk on me again? Or maybe you brought your friends to film it this time?” His voice was tired. That was what broke my heart. He wasn’t even angry yet; he was just exhausted by the cruelty of his existence. “No game,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I opened my expensive bento box. Inside was sushi, fresh fruit, and a Godiva truffle. “I just… I don’t like the noise in the center.” Liam stared at me. He stared at the sushi. Then he looked back at me. “You’re out of your mind,” he muttered, and went back to staring at his empty bread. I pushed my tray toward him. “I’m allergic to crab.” “Liar,” he said. “I saw you eating crab cakes yesterday.” Crap. Vivian had no allergies. “I developed it overnight,” I lied smoothly. “Medical mystery. Look, just eat it. Or throw it away. I don’t care.” I pulled out my AP History textbook and pretended to read. For five minutes, he didn’t move. Then, I heard the subtle sound of chopsticks. I risked a glance. He was eating. Fast. Like someone who didn’t know when his next meal was coming. We sat in silence. The rest of the cafeteria was whispering, cell phones out, recording the downfall of the Queen Bee. But I didn’t care. I looked at the faint purple bruises on his wrist, peeking out from his sleeve. His father. The drunk who beat him every time he lost money at the track. I have to save him, I thought. Not just to save myself. But because nobody deserves this. Part III: The Umbrella It rained in Crestwood for three weeks straight in November. The kind of relentless, freezing rain that soaked through your soul. I was waiting for my driver, standing under the massive portico of the school entrance. My Mercedes pulled up. As I walked toward it, I saw a figure walking toward the bus stop. No umbrella. Just that soaking wet hoodie. Liam was limping slightly. “Stop the car,” I told the driver. “Miss Vivian?” “I said stop!” I grabbed the oversized golf umbrella from the backseat and jumped out. My Gucci loafers splashed into a puddle. “Liam!” I shouted over the roar of the rain. He didn’t stop. He kept walking, head down against the wind. I ran after him. I wasn’t built for running. I was out of breath by the time I caught up, shielding him with the umbrella. The sudden silence of the rain hitting the canopy made us both jump. He stopped and turned. Water was dripping from his nose, his scars standing out starkly against his pale skin. “What do you want?” he yelled. “Are you trying to see how pathetic I look? Is this funny to you?” “Get in the car, Liam,” I shouted back. “Go to hell.” “You’re limping! Just get in the damn car! I’ll drop you off!” “I’d rather walk on broken glass than get in a car with you.”

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My grandma refuses to listen to reason. On the day of my little brother’s SATs—the biggest exam of his life—the whole family was anxious. We begged her to watch the clock and remind him to grab his Admission Ticket. Instead, while he was brushing his teeth, she took the ticket, crumpled it up like trash, and flushed it down the toilet. Whoosh. Gone. My brother turned his backpack inside out but couldn’t find it. He missed the exam. His future was ruined before it even started. Then, it was my turn. I was up for a massive promotion at my company, a Director position. I warned her a thousand times not to talk to strangers about family business. What did she do? She went around telling everyone I was “vomiting in the middle of the night.” The company heard the rumors, assumed I was secretly pregnant and unmarried, and immediately scratched my name off the candidate list. My dad finally snapped. He decided to send Grandma back to her old house in the countryside. Before leaving, Grandma said she wanted to make a “peace offering” dinner—her famous meatloaf. The kitchen smelled amazing. She brought the steaming dish to the table, smiling like a saint. We were mid-chew when the neighbor started screaming from the window: “Where did my rat poison go?! That stuff is lethal!” Grandma slapped her thigh and yelled, “Oh snap! I thought that was seasoning!” Before she even finished the sentence, our stomachs cramped into knots. We collapsed, foaming at the mouth. We all died. Grandma didn’t shed a tear. She immediately moved her illegitimate son and her old lover into our house and lived happily ever after on our life insurance. But when I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the front door on the exact day Grandma was coming to stay. 1 “Son! Open up! It’s Mom!” The door banged loudly, shaking the frame. Inside, me, Dad, Mom, and my brother Josh all jumped. Josh’s face went pale. He grabbed Dad’s arm, his voice trembling. “Dad! Don’t let her in!” Mom reacted instantly. She ran to the kitchen, grabbed a cleaver, and stormed back. “David! If you let that woman in, I’m divorcing you right now!” Dad, usually a total mama’s boy, looked grim. “Don’t worry, Karen! I’m sending her away!” I realized it instantly—my whole family had reincarnated. In our past life, Grandma demanded to come stay to “help” with Josh’s exams. But the shrewd old woman suddenly acted like a senile fool. In the middle of a heatwave, she switched Josh’s AC to ‘Heat’ while he slept. He woke up with severe heatstroke and almost ended up in the ER. When Mom screamed at her, Grandma played innocent: “I thought he might get cold! I tried to turn it off, but I guess I hit the wrong button!” Dad couldn’t bring himself to kick her out. Then came the ticket flushing incident. Her excuse? “I wanted to sew it onto his jacket so he wouldn’t lose it, but my hand slipped!” Josh missed college. He became a shell of himself. Then she ruined my career with the pregnancy rumors. She even sabotaged Mom. Mom finally got a shot at hosting a prime-time TV slot. She set three alarms. Grandma deleted them all while Mom was showering. Mom missed the broadcast and was blacklisted by the station. Dad finally tried to kick her out, and she fed us poisoned meatloaf. We died in agony. She lived in luxury with her secret family. 2 Seeing Dad about to charge out, I blocked him. “Dad, if you kick her out now, she’ll throw a tantrum on the lawn. We’ll never have peace,” I said quickly. “The neighbors don’t know she’s a monster. They just see a poor old widow. If we leave her out there, she’ll ruin our reputation. Josh needs to focus on his exams; he can’t handle a scandal right now.” Mom’s hand was shaking on the cleaver. “That old witch is evil! I want to chop her up right now to protect you guys! But… going to jail isn’t worth it.” I clenched my fist. “Since we know her playbook, let her in. We’ll counter every move and expose her true colors to everyone.” The family agreed. We opened the door. Grandma, who was mid-fake-sob to the neighbors, froze. I plastered on a smile and grabbed her bags. “Grandma! Sorry, we were cleaning up for you! Mom made your favorite Pot Roast!” Mom forced a smile, tied her apron, and brought out the oily, glistening beef. The neighbors oohed and aahed. “David’s mom is so lucky! Karen is such a good cook!” Grandma’s face dropped. She spat, “She knows I hate fatty meat! She’s doing this on purpose!” Dad stepped up, his voice booming for the whole hallway to hear. “Mom! Stop lying! Whenever there’s a buffet in the village, you pile your plate with meat! You act like a beggar just to make us look bad!” The neighbors started whispering. “Yeah, like that rich lady in building 4 who digs through trash for attention. David and Karen are good people. Stop looking for trouble, old lady.” Defeated by public opinion, the neighbors dispersed. 3 Grandma walked in, fuming because her first scheme failed. The second she saw Josh, she put on a fake smile, reaching out to touch his head. “Since the big exam is coming up, I’ll sleep in Josh’s room! I’ll make sure he doesn’t kick the blankets off and cook him snacks!” I knew exactly what she was planning. I hugged her arm tightly. “Grandma! I missed you so much! Sleep with me instead!” She couldn’t refuse without breaking character. Before bed, she asked me how to use the AC remote. I knew the drill. I deliberately taught her the buttons backward—telling her the ‘Heat’ button was ‘Cool’ and vice versa. In the middle of the night, I cracked my eyes open. Grandma crept out of bed and sneaked into Josh’s room. I heard her muttering: “Josh, don’t blame Grandma. Your horoscope clashes with Zack’s. If you get into college, Zack loses his spot. Blame your mom for birthing you at the wrong time.” Zack was the illegitimate son she had at 40 with the village Handyman, Hank. Hank claimed he found Zack in a dumpster to cover it up. But Zack looked exactly like Hank. The whole village knew, but nobody suspected Grandma because she was “too old.” If we hadn’t died and seen them living together as a happy family in the afterlife, I never would have guessed that Zack—who was the same age as Josh—was actually my Dad’s half-brother. 4 I was lost in thought when Grandma turned around. She saw me standing there in the dark and screamed like a banshee. “AHHH! GHOST!” I didn’t say a word. I turned on a flashlight, pointed it under my chin, and slowly drifted around the living room. Mom and Dad rushed out. I winked. Dad immediately put on a worried face. “Mom, I forgot to tell you. Chloe has severe sleepwalking issues. Don’t wander around at night. She’s harmless with a flashlight, but sometimes she grabs a knife…” Grandma rubbed her twisted ankle, groaning. “She never had this before! You’re trying to scare me away!” She didn’t buy it. The next night, I saw her get up again, muttering, “Is the remote broken? I set it to ‘Heat’ but Josh is fine. I need a new plan.” She grabbed her cane and headed for Josh’s door. I threw off my covers, marched into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy cleaver, and started hacking at a cutting board. Thwack. Thwack. Grandma side-eyed me but kept going toward Josh’s room. The second her hand touched the knob, I charged at her, raising the cleaver. “Chloe! You little psycho! You trying to kill me?!” she shrieked. I stared blankly through her, pulled the knife back, and swung it wildly near her head. Grandma rolled on the floor, screaming for Dad. Dad came out, looking annoyed. “Mom! I told you not to wander! You can’t wake a sleepwalker! Do you want to die?” “I just need to pee!” she lied. “Sleepwalkers don’t care,” Dad said coldly. “Risk it if you want.” Seeing me still holding the knife, Grandma scrambled back to our room on all fours. For the next week, I “sleepwalked” every night, chopping meat in the kitchen. Grandma was too terrified to leave the bedroom. 5 But she was relentless. A few days later, I was waiting for Josh at the school gate. He didn’t come out. I ran to his classroom and found him passed out on his desk. I splashed cold water on his face to wake him up. “Josh! Did you pull an all-nighter?” I asked. He looked dazed. “No, Sis. I slept at 10:30. But the second I got to school, my eyelids felt like lead.” My heart sank. “Did you eat anything Grandma gave you?” “Just breakfast Mom made,” he said. “And a bottle of milk. But the seal was broken.” I asked Mom and Dad. Neither of them had opened it. I immediately bought micro-cameras and hid them in the kitchen. The next morning, the footage showed Grandma grinding sleeping pills into the milk. Mom watched the video, shaking with rage. “That monster! She brought sedatives from the village just to drug her own grandson for that bastard Zack!” We couldn’t kick her out yet. She was too slippery. Instead, we switched the milk. We gave the drugged bottle to Grandma. She slept all day, snoring like a chainsaw. When she woke up, she groggily asked Josh, “Were you tired at school today?” Josh yawned theatrically. “So tired! I almost fell asleep during the mock exam!” Grandma grinned, her wrinkles bunching up. She thought she’d won. We held back our laughter and kept playing along.

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In my past life, when my wife and her high school sweetheart—her “white moonlight”—were both rushed into the ER after a car accident, I saved my wife first. She survived without a scratch. Her lover, however, lost his legs because his treatment was delayed. He killed himself shortly after. My wife hated me to the bone. She screamed that I murdered him. To get revenge, she tampered with my car. When I drove our son to school, the brakes failed. We both died. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the ER. My wife was lying on a stretcher, struggling, screaming at me to save her lover first. I knew then: she was reborn too. Fine. Since she wants it so badly, I’ll grant her wish. But later, when she knelt before me begging for forgiveness… well, that’s another story. 1 “David! Don’t save me! Save Julian first! You have to save Julian!” My wife, Claire, stared at me with intense, desperate eyes. In that moment, I knew. She came back too. She was reborn to the night she snuck out to meet her lover and crashed the car. In my last life, when Claire and Julian were wheeled in simultaneously, I was devastated. If not for the accident, I wouldn’t have known my wife had been cheating on me for years. But even then, seeing her in pain, my duty as a doctor kicked in. I was the only attending trauma surgeon on shift at that ungodly hour. I chose to operate on Claire. Julian had to wait for another surgeon to arrive. He missed the golden window for reattachment. It seems in this life, she wants to rewrite the script. I remembered the venom in her eyes in our past life. I remembered how she took her anger out on our son, Leo, making him tremble in fear. I remembered the scream Leo let out when our car crashed, the pain that seared my soul. My chest felt heavy, like a beast was clawing to get out. Since she wants to save her lover so badly… I’ll grant her wish. I just hope she doesn’t regret it. I nodded at her. Her face lit up with hope. “Thank God! He’s saved! He’s saved!” 2 I saved Julian. His legs, lost in the previous timeline, were preserved. But my wife? Not so lucky. Because she missed the critical window, she lost an arm. When I walked into the recovery room, my in-laws’ faces were dark as thunderclouds. “David! Did a donkey kick you in the head? Claire is your wife! You left her to rot and saved some stranger?” My mother-in-law screamed, pointing a finger in my face. My father-in-law joined in, cursing me for being incompetent. I stared at them blankly. It was laughable. My family was well-off. I graduated from a top med school and was a rising star in the hospital. Claire’s family? Her dad was a gambler drowning in debt. Claire didn’t work. My mom raised our kid. For years, I subsidized her family so she could live like a princess. Yet her parents never respected me. They always made snide comments, implying that without me, Claire would have married Julian, the rich boy. Yeah, right. Did she not want to marry him? Or did Julian just think she wasn’t good enough? I didn’t try to placate them like I used to. I said coldly, “Claire demanded I save Julian first. Not my fault. Also, she was in the car with him at 2 AM. You figure it out.” My in-laws froze, awkward silence filling the room. Claire lay on the bed. Instead of grieving her lost arm, she was smiling. “Mom, Dad, I’m fine. I lost an arm, but I saved Julian’s life.” I sneered internally. True love, huh? She always complained I didn’t give her enough. But for him, she gave an arm. Before, this would have broken my heart. Now? I felt nothing. From the moment she killed me and Leo, she was dead to me. “Mom, Dad, David… since you’re all here, I have an announcement.” She looked at me, serious. “David, after Julian and I are discharged, let’s get a divorce.” 3 My in-laws were stunned. But I knew exactly what she was thinking. She wanted to chase her happiness properly this time. In her past life, she constantly whined that if she had been there for Julian, he wouldn’t have committed suicide. She thought she was his savior. His light. I looked at her, amused. In this life, she’s disabled. Will the rich playboy Julian still see her as his light? I chuckled and agreed immediately. “Sure.” I want to see if her fairytale comes true. My quick agreement caught her off guard. She looked annoyed. “David, you’re agreeing so fast because I lost an arm, right? You think I’m damaged goods? Julian isn’t cold-blooded like you. I knew divorcing you was the right choice!” I nodded. “I hope so.” I turned to leave. She shouted at my back, “Just wait and see! Julian stayed single all these years for me. Once I’m divorced, he’ll definitely marry me!” Her parents heard this and started laughing excitedly, asking if she was serious about marrying into money. A few days later, once Claire could move, she practically lived in Julian’s ward. I heard Julian was “deeply moved” and swore to treat her well forever. Claire cried tears of joy and even came to brag to me. My colleagues whispered about her shamelessness, but she didn’t care. 4 My parents urged me to reconsider for Leo’s sake. But I was firm. A woman who could kill her own child for a man? She doesn’t deserve to be a mother. On the day we went to the courthouse, Julian’s driver brought them. Claire leaned into Julian’s embrace, smiling like a newlywed. Julian carried her purse, acting the perfect gentleman. “David, see? I’m better off without you.” Her eyes were triumphant. She wanted to hurt me. I just smiled politely. My indifference enraged her. “David, if Julian hadn’t been blocked by his family back then, I wouldn’t have married you out of spite. Do you really think a toad like you deserves swan meat like me?” I frowned at her ugly expression. She was hideous now. Why did I ever love her? I felt pathetic for my past self. “Fine. Since you got what you wanted, congratulations.” I walked away, ignoring her. She probably thought I fled in shame. 5 Articles about Claire started popping up online. “High School Sweethearts Reunited by Tragedy.” “Woman Sacrifices Arm to Save First Love.” Netizens called it “God-tier Romance.” My intern, Lily, was furious. She almost threw her phone. “God-tier romance my ass! Not a word about her cheating on her husband!” She looked at me, embarrassed. “Sorry, Dr. Evans. I just got mad. I didn’t mean to bring it up.” I looked at Lily’s flushed face and shook my head. “It’s okay.” I knew Claire planted those articles. According to her, Julian’s parents were the only reason they didn’t marry before. She was using public opinion to pressure his family. She branded herself as his “Savior.” She figured the wealthy parents would be moved by her sacrifice. She figured Julian loved her enough to fight for her. I laughed at her naivety. She didn’t understand men like Julian. If he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have given up so easily back then. He didn’t marry her when she was whole and beautiful. Now she’s a divorcee with a kid and one arm. She wouldn’t even make the cut as a mistress, let alone a wife. And rich families? They don’t accept “damaged goods.” She lived two lives and still didn’t get it. Sure enough, a few days later, all the articles vanished. Scrubbed from the internet. 6 After the divorce, Claire kept sending me photos. Holding hands with Julian. Julian carrying her. She was trying to make me jealous. But after a month, the messages stopped. I guessed her “happiness” had expired.

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“$25,000?” I stared at Declan’s phone screen. The text was from the bank: “Your loan ending in 8888 is due for a monthly payment of $25,000. Please remit immediately.” He was in the shower. His phone was sitting on the coffee table. I read it again. Twenty-five thousand dollars a month? What loan? We had been married for eight years. I had no idea he had any debt of that magnitude. My finger instinctively slid across the glass, locating his bank app. I tapped it open. Loan Balance: $4.5 million. A silent, deafening explosion went off in my head. The sound of the shower stopping jolted me. I placed the phone down and settled back onto the sofa, my hands resting calmly on my lap. Declan walked out, towel-drying his hair. “What are you looking at?” “Nothing.” I offered a slight smile. “Just wondering about that bank text,” I continued, keeping my voice level. “It said the payment due was twenty-five thousand dollars?” His color immediately drained. “Five million dollars?” I looked him straight in the eye. “In the eight years we’ve been married, I’ve managed to save up two hundred thousand dollars, and you’ve managed to run up five million dollars in debt.” 1 Declan didn’t speak. He stood there, the towel still draped over his shoulder, a statue carved out of sudden dread. “Care to explain?” My voice was flat. “I… I have a loan,” he stammered, wetting his lips. “But it’s not what you think.” “What do I think?” “It was a company investment project,” he finally sat down. “Last year, there was a major opportunity, and I put some money into it, and it just…” “It crashed?” “Yes, it was a massive loss.” He watched me, his eyes pleading. “So, I took out a bridging loan. I thought I could turn it around.” “Five million dollars?” “It’s not that much,” he hedged, avoiding my gaze. “Maybe a million and a half. Two at the most.” I laughed—a sharp, mirthless sound. I pulled my own phone from my purse, opening the screenshot I’d just taken of the bank message. “Loan Balance: $4,500,000.” I pushed the screen towards him. “Did you just say a million and a half?” Declan’s face went utterly white. “When did you take this loan out?” I asked. “And why, in eight years of marriage, did you never mention it?” “Last year…” His voice was a whisper. “Last March.” “Two years ago?” I stood up. “You’ve been hiding this for two years?” “Harper, please, let me explain…” “You’ve been paying $25,000 a month,” I interrupted, the facts rolling off my tongue like cold steel. “That’s twenty-four months. You’ve already paid back six hundred thousand dollars.” He lowered his head. “Where did that six hundred thousand come from?” “The firm…” “Don’t say the firm.” I walked closer. “Your salary is eighty thousand a year, maybe sixty-five thousand after tax. You contribute forty-eight thousand a year to our joint account. What exactly was left over to cover six hundred thousand in payments?” Declan was silent. “Do you have an emergency fund? Other money you haven’t told me about?” He looked up, his eyes darting away from mine. “Tell me.” “I… I have some.” “How much?” “Not much. Just…” He gritted his teeth. “About two hundred thousand, maybe a bit more.” I nodded slowly. Two hundred thousand dollars. A personal stash. A secret savings account he’d never seen fit to mention. “Is that two hundred thousand enough to cover the balance?” I asked. “No,” his voice was even smaller. “It’s nowhere near enough.” “How much is left?” “Over four million…” I took a deep breath. $4.5 million remaining balance plus the $600,000 he’d already paid back… wait. “You said you’ve paid back six hundred thousand?” “Yes.” “Then why is the remaining balance four point five million?” Declan froze. “Five million dollars minus six hundred thousand dollars is four point four million.” I stared at him. “So your original loan was five million dollars, wasn’t it?” He nodded, defeated. “You’ve been paying $25,000 a month for twenty-four months.” I sat back down. “How did you cover those payments?” “I…” “Don’t mention your two hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand divided by twenty-five thousand is only eight months of payments.” I leaned in. “Where did the other sixteen months of payments come from?” Sweat beaded on Declan’s forehead. “Is there more money, Declan? Money you haven’t told me about?” He didn’t answer. “Declan, I’m asking you one last time,” I stood up again. “What is the real story behind this five million dollars?” “It was an investment gone bad…” “Stop lying.” “It was! It really was a bad investment!” He rose, his voice escalating. “I went in with a few partners, and we got scammed! The money’s all gone!” “Scammed?” “Yes! They promised a guaranteed return, but it was a total fraud!” I looked at him. His eyes were still shifting, unable to hold my gaze. “If you were scammed, why didn’t you file a police report?” “I did, but…” “You did?” I pulled out my phone. “Then there should be a case number. What is it?” Declan was speechless. I smiled, the expression cold on my face. “You can’t even keep your stories straight, can you?” “Harper…” “Don’t call me that.” I turned toward the bedroom. “I’m exhausted today, and I won’t fight. Tomorrow, I’m going to the bank. You’d better use the night to come up with the truth.” “Harper!” I closed the bedroom door. Leaning my back against the polished wood, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Five million dollars. The magnitude of the betrayal was only now sinking in. 2 I called out of work first thing the next morning. Declan was still asleep. I didn’t wake him. Taking my driver’s license and our marriage certificate, I drove to Summit Bank. “Hello, I need to check all loans under my husband’s name,” I said, sliding the documents to the teller. “Are you looking for a joint loan, or…” “All of them.” “Certainly, please wait a moment.” After several minutes of typing, the teller printed out a document. “Your husband has one active business line of credit. It was initiated on March 15, 2023, for $5 million. The term is five years. $600,000 has been paid back, leaving a principal balance of $4.4 million. The monthly payment is $25,000.” I took the paper. March 15, 2023. Exactly two years ago. “What was the stated purpose of this loan?” “It’s a business line of credit, so it was intended for corporate operations,” the teller checked his monitor. “At the time of application, he provided his company’s business license and financial statements.” “May I see the loan contract?” “Yes, please give me a moment to retrieve the file.” A few minutes later, the teller returned with a thick folder. I opened it. First page: Loan Amount: $5,000,000. Loan Purpose: Corporate Working Capital. Collateral: Real Estate Mortgage + Personal Guarantee. I kept turning the pages. Collateral Property: Unit 1003, Building A, The Riverwalk Residences. That was our home. Our primary residence. He used our house as collateral? “This property…” I pointed to the address. “It’s a joint marital asset. How could he mortgage it without my presence?” The teller looked surprised. “You didn’t sign the documents?” “No.” “When the mortgage was processed, he provided an authorized Power of Attorney form, signed by you.” My head began to swim. An authorized Power of Attorney? When had I ever given him that authority? “Can I see a copy of that POA?” “That will require a request to the archives. It might take a few days.” “Please, can you process that request for me?” “I will.” I walked out of the bank, clutching the loan contract. Standing by my car, I called my lawyer friend, Margot. “Margot, my husband secretly took out a $5 million loan using our house as collateral. What do I do?” “What?! Five million?” Margot’s voice was high with shock. “Were you aware of the loan?” “Completely oblivious.” “Then how did he put up the house?” “The bank said he provided a notarized Power of Attorney with my signature.” “A POA?” Margot paused. “Did you sign it?” “No.” “Then that POA is potentially fraudulent,” Margot said firmly. “You need to get the original document from the bank immediately. I’ll review it. If it’s proven to be a forgery, we can argue the loan is invalid, or at the very least, you have no joint liability.” “Okay.” I walked straight back into the bank lobby. “Hi again. I requested that Power of Attorney document. Can you expedite it? I need it now.” The teller looked at me hesitantly. “I don’t know if…” “Please,” I insisted, leaning in. “If that document is fake, my entire life savings and my home are at risk. I need to see it.” The teller hesitated, then nodded. “Wait here. I’ll talk to the manager.” Thirty minutes later, I was handed a photocopy of the POA. I stared at the signature. Harper Brooks. It was my name. But it wasn’t my handwriting. My signature is precise and controlled. The one on the POA was light, almost airy, clearly a rushed imitation. I snapped a picture and sent it to Margot. “Is that your signature?” “No.” “We’ve got him,” Margot confirmed. “Keep that copy. We’ll file for a handwriting analysis. If it’s a forgery, you walk away clean from the debt.” A wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a harder realization. Declan forged my signature to secure a $5 million loan. What, exactly, did he spend it on?

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My mother has always been incredibly careless. The thing is, she only ever seemed to lose my things. Not just a critical client file or my passport right before boarding a flight. Every time she left me scrambling and humiliated, she would weep and insist her intentions were pure—she was just trying to help. Yet, she had perfectly preserved every single baby tooth my younger brother, Leo, lost when he was six. This time, my company needed me to fly out of state for three days over the major holiday weekend. My mom volunteered to watch my cat. When I got back, the cat was, predictably, gone. She started her routine—crying, hysterics. Leo accused me of being dramatic. I stood there, hands in my pockets, and a sudden, sharp laugh escaped me. “It wasn’t even my cat,” I said. 1 The emergency project came up during the holiday rush. I had three days of required travel. Finding a pet sitter for my cat, a tabby named Rory, was nearly impossible, especially since he had just undergone a neuter surgery and needed careful attention. I was frantic when my mother stepped in, offering to cover the three days. I was deeply skeptical, but I meticulously went over the care instructions, provided all the necessary supplies, and even set up a pet camera. “You know how important Rory is to me, right?” I asked her one last time. I’d gone through a really dark period with depression years ago. It wasn’t until I adopted Rory that my life started to heal. To ensure both my mom and Leo were motivated, I specifically wired ten thousand dollars to each of them before I left, purely for taking good care of Rory while I was gone. The day after I landed in the neighboring state, the feed from the pet camera suddenly pointed straight at the wall. My messages went unread; neither Mom nor Leo answered their phones. Anxiety clawed at me. I sped up my work, finished my presentation half a day early, and dragged my suitcase straight to my mom’s house. I shouted Rory’s name, but there was only silence. The place didn’t look or smell like a home with a cat. My supplies and the camera were gone. “Where is my cat?” I stormed into the living room and yanked Leo away from his video game console. He looked up, dazed. “What cat?” It took him a moment, and then he grinned. “Oh! Did we have a cat here?” I instinctively raised my hand to strike him. He flinched and yelled for Mom. She finally emerged from her room. “The cat was too wild,” she said dismissively. “It ran off.” “Rory is a house cat. He’s terrified of the outdoors. There’s no way he just ‘ran off.’ I set up the cage, his bed, and even installed a mesh barrier on the windows. How did he run off? How many more of my things do you have to lose!” Rory was like family to me—my most treasured possession. I had stressed his importance again and again, yet they were both so nonchalant. “So he ran off!” My mom’s voice rose. She kicked my suitcase, sending it skidding across the floor. “He’s just an animal. Why are you yelling at your own mother?” Leo stepped in front of her, shielding her. He pointed a finger at me. “Mom raised us single-handedly, worked her fingers to the bone, and now you’re yelling at her over a cat?” he shouted. “She did you a favor, and now she’s the villain?” A furious pressure built in my chest. I’d worked three exhausting days, dragging my suitcase straight from the airport without even a change of clothes, and this was my welcome. I took a shaky breath, cutting off my mom’s theatrical sob. “Just tell me,” I ground out. “When did he go missing?” My mom, touched by the public display of maternal devotion from her son, leaned into Leo’s shoulder, weeping softly. She mumbled, “I don’t remember.” I almost collapsed. Ignoring Leo’s insults, I rushed out, searching every bush and every corner of the neighborhood, from daylight until the streetlights came on, my back aching. I even tried a ridiculous folk remedy I’d read about. I begged the building manager for access to the security footage. Nothing. The only thing I found was Rory’s carrier and feeding bowls, crammed into a dumpster behind the apartment complex. That night, alone in my small rental, I watched the recorded footage from the pet camera, tears blurring my vision. Suddenly, the screen switched to a black, shaky image. Then, a sickening sound—a thud of a foot connecting with flesh—followed by a terrible, high-pitched cat scream. Leo’s lazy voice cut through the dark. “My sister treats this thing like gold.” Thump. Another kick. “Is this why she’s supposed to spend all her money on me?” I shot up from the couch. 2 To my surprise, Leo admitted it right away. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a few faint scratch marks. “The little beast attacked me! So what if I kicked it a few times? Don’t be so ungrateful, treating an animal like some kind of trophy.” He made Mom show the back of her hand, which had a faint, thin scratch. I knew my cat. Rory was a domestic pet, not feral, and he’d just had surgery. He would only scratch if he was terrified or in pain, or if someone was deliberately provoking him. I was certain now: Rory hadn’t run away. I badgered my mother, my voice tight, demanding to know where they had dumped him. “Enough! It’s ‘cat, cat, cat’ all day long! You’re almost thirty and still not married, just obsessed with that animal. I’ve wanted to get rid of him for a long time!” “My marital status has nothing to do with this!” I retorted, shaking with rage. “Why would you get rid of my cat? Rory was the only thing my father left me seven years ago. I let you get away with losing my files, my passport, my paperwork—but how could you do this to Rory?” My mother’s chest heaved. “You are unbelievably selfish! If you don’t get married, how is your brother supposed to find a wife with a crazy spinster sister dragging down the family name? Are you trying to ruin us?” My not getting married would only ruin her chance to pocket a hefty wedding check. She launched into a tirade about how wonderful my most recent date had been. She claimed I was wasting my life and money on a mere ‘beast.’ “And you act so high and mighty with your fancy graduate degree! It was clearly a waste of money!” I let out a hysterical laugh. “If he was so great, why didn’t you marry him? Does being a widow at home somehow improve our feng shui?” The loss of Rory had completely consumed me. I was losing control of my tongue. I turned my fury toward Leo. “Ruined his life? He’s an unskilled dropout who can’t hold a job! I had to beg my company director to give him a dead-end maintenance job as a favor, and he’s still living rent-free in the condo I bought! I think my life is the one being ruined by the two of you!” It was a rare explosion of emotion. Everything—the ‘lost’ passport, the expense reports thrown into the washing machine—all the years of her casual, malicious sabotage flooded over me. Leo shifted, trying to play mediator, but I swept everything off the nearest table with a violent crash. My mom started to wind up for her performance, but I stopped her by smashing the ceramic ashtray against the tile floor. The white tile cracked, a deep divot marking my absolute fury. “Now. You will tell me exactly where you dumped him. Immediately. Or I swear, this isn’t over. If Rory isn’t found, you two are out of my house!” My eyes were burning as I delivered the ultimatum. “I mean it.” Finally, faced with my uncompromising fury, Mom and Leo confessed the truth. They hadn’t lost him. They had sold him to an illegal meat market. My head spun. I sank onto the sofa, the world tilting. 3 A gust of icy wind bit through my jacket. The winter snow felt warm compared to the freezing cold in my heart. When I was searching for Rory, seeing the falling snow, I kept thinking: My little Rory is so sensitive to the cold. He has no survival skills and just had surgery. How could he possibly live out there? My self-loathing had peaked. I hadn’t dared to stop searching in the freezing temperatures, afraid that if I left, I would miss him. But I never, ever imagined my mother and brother were capable of this. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Leo led us, a family procession of absolute horror, to the meat market, tucked into the darkest corner of the local farmer’s plaza, operating brazenly in the open. I still clung to a sliver of hope until I saw it: a small, yellow vest lying in the mud near a pile of crates—the New Year outfit I had dressed Rory in before I left. “Hey! What are you doing back? Once it’s sold, there are no refunds. It’s already been processed.” The butcher’s words were a knife twisting in my heart. My mom, ever the victim, complained to the butcher. “It’s my daughter. She’s upset about this.” She made me sound like an overdramatic child. The butcher gave me a strange look. “You didn’t get her permission? I asked if you were sure, and you said you had the final say. You even took an extra fifty bucks, said the meat was good.” I balled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I pointed a trembling finger at my mother and Leo. “You two are out of my house. Starting today.” These people, who could be so casually cruel, so indifferent to life—I should have cut them off long ago. I shouldn’t have clung to the faint hope of family connection, shouldn’t have given them the chance to hurt my Rory. A crushing, suffocating grief overwhelmed me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned to leave. But my mother grabbed my arm, her voice piercing. “You’re going to kick your mother and brother out for a cat?” The explosive statement caught the attention of everyone in the market. They gathered around curiously. My mom didn’t care. She sat down on the filthy ground and launched into her familiar, agonizing wail, slapping the pavement with her hand. This was the tactic she had used for years to force my father and me into submission. It worked when she insisted on a late-night drive for a craving, which led to my father’s fatal car accident, and it worked when she shredded my university application file, nearly costing me my education. She would cry, she would cause a scene, and the world would forgive her. Everyone would say, “Calm down, she didn’t mean it. No one wanted this to happen.” But my father and I were always the ones who paid the price. “Sweetheart,” a woman in the crowd said kindly. “I know young people love their pets, but a pet can’t be more important than your mother.” Leo stepped forward and helped my mom up. “Sis, just blame me. Don’t kick Mom out. She’s getting older. If you need to take it out on someone, kick me out.” I stood perfectly still, watching their disgusting performance, unmoved. Then, my mother suddenly shoved Leo away and bolted. She ran up the nearest exterior staircase toward the second-floor roof. She scrambled over the low wall, her feet dangling over the edge. “If you hate me that much,” she shrieked for the crowd’s benefit, “I’ll jump right now and pay for your cat!” 4 Half her body was hanging over the edge. But I knew she wouldn’t jump. After my father died in the car crash she caused, she’d threatened to join him out of fear of my grandparents’ wrath. She was still here, wasn’t she? “You always say it was an accident, an honest mistake, just ‘carelessness,’” I yelled up at her, my voice raw. “Would you be this ‘careless’ if it was Leo’s cat? Or if it was the CEO’s cat? You did this on purpose! You wanted to twist the knife, to hurt me! Who gives their daughter’s most cherished companion to a meat market? Who does that?” My sentence was cut short by her shrill scream. “You finally said it! You think I favor your brother! You’re using this cat as an excuse to destroy me!” My mother clutched the railing, sobbing to the crowd. “My daughter has a Master’s degree from a top university. My son only has a vocational certificate. Who am I really favoring? I’m the most unjustly accused person alive!” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. She was going to use my success against me? Every family resource had been channeled to Leo. Tens of thousands of dollars spent on tutors and school changes for him to barely squeak out a certificate. Meanwhile, I funded my entire education with scholarships and loans. I had to beg my teachers to vouch for me to keep her from marrying me off to an older man at seventeen. And now she was using my hard-won success as proof that she wasn’t prioritizing Leo? The surrounding onlookers bought it hook, line, and sinker. They gave me judgmental looks. “Young lady, you can’t just abandon your family once you’ve made it big.” “She made my son a janitor in her company!” my mother cried. “That’s because he wouldn’t learn basic office software! I did his work for him for the first month until his supervisor finally moved him to a job where he couldn’t cause trouble!” Leo walked out of the crowd, his face contorted in an expression of anguish. He slowly knelt on the ground in front of me. “Please, Sis, stop! I know I’m useless and a failure, but please don’t upset Mom. I don’t have Dad anymore, and I can’t lose her, too.” Several people started recording on their phones, their eyes blazing with righteous anger. “Look at this entitled person! For a cat, she makes her brother kneel and forces her mother to threaten suicide!” “Is a human life worth less than a cat’s now? Society is falling apart!” Trapped by the torrent of moral condemnation, I had no choice but to concede. I told my mother to come down, promising I wouldn’t press the issue for now. She instantly embraced Leo, and the two of them wept together, a touching scene of mother-son love for the cameras. As the crowd dispersed, I started to leave. Leo walked up to me, his expression suddenly shifting back to a smirk. “You know,” he said, his eyes glittering with malicious glee, “how loud your little cat screamed when I choked it and hung it up?” He mimicked the sickening sound, then looked at Mom, and they exchanged a smug glance. “How does the owner feel about that?” he taunted. The provocative, cruel smile danced on his face. I stopped, a sudden change sweeping over me. The gloom lifted. I smiled, too. I looked directly into his startled eyes. “Who told you,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm, “that was my cat?”

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A month after starting to date my childhood sweetheart, I stumbled across a post on Reddit. [My crush’s parents are obsessed with his childhood friend. Any tips on how to drive a wedge between them?] In the pinned comment, the OP justified herself: [We like each other, we just haven’t made it official yet.] [He even changed his college application to follow me to the same school, settling for a random major.] [He told me he only tried dating the childhood friend to see if it would work, but they have zero chemistry.] What sent a chill down my spine was the photo attached to the post. Two pairs of feet, close together. The hand-painted dragons on their sneakers were making a heart shape. I stared at the photo, and finally, it clicked. The “Crush” the OP was talking about was my boyfriend, Lucas. 1 The comments under the post were piling up. [Parents like that are the worst. They only care about their own social circle, not their kid’s happiness.] [I never date guys with female ‘besties.’ Who knows what kind of history they have?] [So jealous. My crush always sides with his childhood friend.] … The OP replied to each one, sounding smug. [His parents can want whatever they want. In the end, parents always cave to their kids. As long as he loves me, that’s all that matters.] [Calling her a ‘childhood friend’ is being generous. Frankly, she’s just the third wheel interfering in our relationship.] Someone questioned her: [If your crush is ‘trying it out’ with the childhood friend, doesn’t that mean they’re dating? Technically, you’re the side piece!] The OP replied with an eye-roll emoji. [No ring, no foul. Whoever gets the marriage certificate wins. Besides, he likes me more!] Finally, she posted a screenshot of a chat. StarChaser (Him): I didn’t want to go. It’s a dinner with the parents, I’m just there as a prop. DewCollector (Her): But my stomach hurts, and I’m sitting alone on a bench at the mall. StarChaser: Send location! Don’t worry, I’m coming right now. [See? One word from me, and he drops everything.] I stared at the familiar nickname, stunned. I never knew that to others, our relationship was just him “trying it out.” I zoned out for a long time until my phone vibrated. “Nina, something came up, I can’t make the dinner. Make up an excuse and cover for me with the parents.” I was silent for a few seconds. “What kind of excuse do you suggest?” Lucas hummed impatiently. “Just say the graduation gift I ordered for you had an issue, and I’m at the shop sorting it out.” When I didn’t respond, Lucas clicked his tongue. “Is lying that hard for you? I really have an emergency. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” He hung up. Surprisingly, I felt calm. I had crushed on him for years. After graduation, I spent two weeks planning my confession. When he said yes, I excitedly told my best friend. But she frowned, disapproving. “You even had to confess first? I don’t see him treating you special at all. If you didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t even know you guys were dating. Not even a social media post.” She opened Lucas’s Instagram. “Gaming, basketball, hanging with the boys… wait?” She pointed at a photo. “See this girl? That’s the transfer student, Bella. They were close in school. She’s in his photos, but you aren’t!” Thinking back, I laughed. “DewCollector” could only be Bella (White Dew). But Lucas… we grew up together. If you didn’t like me, you could have just said so. Why play me like this? 2 I wiped my tears aggressively, trying to compose myself. But pushing open the door to the private room, facing the expectant gazes of the adults, my nose still stung. I lowered my head to hide it and sat quietly next to my mom. Lucas’s mom, Auntie Lin, looked confused, glancing at the door. “Where’s Lucas? Didn’t he say he was coming with you?” My mom was also puzzled. “Yeah, Nina, where’s Lucas? Weren’t you together?” I spoke slowly. “He said he had an emergency and couldn’t come. Auntie, maybe you should call him. My phone is dying.” Auntie Lin didn’t think twice and dialed immediately. Call after call, no answer. Finally, it went straight to voicemail. I refreshed the Reddit post under the table. The latest update: [His mom keeps calling. Bet it’s the childhood friend’s doing! I turned his phone off.] I felt a wave of dizziness. Auntie Lin has anxiety. She needs to confirm her husband and son are safe multiple times a day. Because of this, Lucas never dared to turn off his phone. Even in school, teachers allowed him to keep his phone on because of his mom’s condition. Once, I borrowed his phone to play a game and drained the battery. Even though I charged it immediately, he yelled at me. Now, I watched Auntie Lin’s hands trembling as she dialed again and again. The cold robotic voice repeated: “The subscriber you have dialed is powered off…” I smiled bitterly. Lucas really treats people differently based on who they are. 3 Unable to get through, Auntie Lin started to panic. “No one answered before, now it’s off! Did something happen to Lucas?” Just then, our dads walked in with drinks. Seeing Auntie Lin’s distress, Uncle Yu froze. “What’s wrong?” Auntie Lin found her anchor, grabbing his hand, speaking rapidly. “Lucas isn’t answering, and now his phone is off! Was he in an accident? Is he hurt? We have to find him!” Everyone knew her condition. My dad quickly comforted her. “If it was an accident, someone else would answer. Probably just ran out of battery. Or maybe it got stolen! It’s fine, we were going to get him a new one for college anyway.” Dad’s theory calmed her down slightly. But half an hour later, still no Lucas. She couldn’t take it anymore. “You guys eat. I’m going home to check.” My mom lost her appetite too. “Let’s pack the food. You guys go get the car, we’ll go back together.” 4 We split up. I went to pay the bill, debating whether to tell the truth. But Auntie Lin’s mental state was fragile. In middle school, teachers assigned study partners. Auntie Lin went to the school. “Lucas and Nina are best friends. Why pair him with someone else?” Despite the teacher explaining it was about complementary subjects, Auntie Lin insisted. She told my mom, “I don’t trust anyone else. His own grandmother spilled boiling water on his foot. I can’t gamble on strangers.” Thinking of this, I didn’t dare speak. If she knew Lucas ditched us and turned off his phone for Bella… what would she do? Hesitating, we got into the car. Property management called back: Lucas wasn’t home. Security footage showed him leaving two hours ago. Uncle Yu hung up with the traffic police. “They said there were six minor accidents this afternoon, but no one named Lucas Yu.” I fingered the phone in my pocket, pulling it out, then pushing it back. Suddenly, Uncle Yu, who was driving, yelled “Fuck!” The car swerved violently. Auntie Lin and I were thrown to the right, crushing my mom. Then, a sickening crash. When my hearing returned, I opened my eyes to an inverted street and crowd. A stranger was shouting through the window. “Honey, don’t be scared! We’re getting you out!” 5 Scenes I’d seen countless times on TikTok were playing out in front of me. People rushing from all directions, shouting, trying to flip the car. But manpower vs. machine wasn’t enough. Someone took charge: “Smash the windows! Get the people out! That’s an EV over there, might catch fire!” My ringing ears cleared. I woke up fully and struggled with my seatbelt. Our moms were unconscious. I pushed Auntie Lin toward the rescuers first. I turned to my mom, but her seatbelt had locked tight. The more I panicked, the stucker it got. The stranger outside shouted instructions. “Slow down! Loosen the shoulder strap, then the waist. Loop it over her head and behind her back.” I forced myself to calm down and followed her steps. Freed my mom. We were pulled out one by one. They dragged us to the sidewalk. A scream came from the distance. A man stumbled out of the electric vehicle we hit. Smoke billowed from his car. “Run! The cars are too close, they’re gonna blow!” Minutes later, the fire jumped to Uncle Yu’s car. BOOM! Two explosions, heat waves hitting our faces. The stranger handed me water. “Don’t be scared. Everyone’s out. Ambulance is coming.” 6 At the hospital, our moms and I had minor injuries. We calmed down quickly. Only Uncle Yu, who took the brunt of the impact, was still in surgery. Auntie Lin was crying and calling. “Where is Lucas? Why isn’t his phone on?” I let go of my mom’s hand and took out my phone. Opened Reddit. The OP was still updating. [I confessed. He patted my head.] [I transferred here senior year and fell for him instantly. Before graduation, I felt the vibes.] [When filling out college apps, I asked if he wanted to go to Shanghai with me.] [He didn’t say yes explicitly, but I know he likes me!] I replied: [Tell Lucas to turn his phone on and call home immediately. His parents were in a car accident. His dad is in surgery.] The thread exploded. [Is this… the childhood friend?] [Real? Just confessed and now his parents are in a crash?] [Sister, let it go. A man who wavers isn’t worth it!] Bella posted a photo. Lucas, holding an orange, smiling at the camera. [Why play these mind games? If our parents didn’t force us, he wouldn’t even look at you.] [Cursing his parents? Are you trying to make him hate you?] Desperate, I took a photo and uploaded it. [It’s true. We are at City Hospital No. 1. Tell Lucas to come NOW!] I hit send. An error message popped up. [Message failed to send.] Bella blocked me.

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