Category: English

My boyfriend lost a game of Truth or Dare and had to kiss a girl in the room. Before he could even lean toward me, Sarah violently shoved me aside and planted her lips on his. “Stop fooling around. Today is your sister-in-law’s birthday.” Carter pinched her cheek with a doting smile. Everyone stared at me, sprawled awkwardly on the sofa, too afraid to breathe. Sarah giggled. “Don’t be mad, Chloe. Carter has never even seen me as a girl anyway.” Carter also chimed in, trying to placate me. “It was just a game. Don’t be such a sore loser.” Everyone expected me to throw a massive, hysterical fit. But instead, I just quietly took off my engagement ring and gently slid it onto his childhood best friend’s finger. “Let me know when the wedding invitations go out.” 1 “Carter, you taste so sweet! What did you eat?!” Sarah’s coquettish voice echoed through the private karaoke room. Carter had been gazing at her with absolute fondness. It wasn’t until he noticed the dead silence in the room that he finally looked over and saw me shoved onto the sofa. He let go of Sarah’s cheek and lightly patted the back of her head. “Stop fooling around. Today is your sister-in-law’s birthday.” Sarah pouted. “Aw… Chloe wouldn’t be that petty, right? It was just a dare~” With that one sentence, nobody in the room dared to make a sound. This wasn’t some silly little punishment like a slap on the wrist or a flick to the forehead. This was a kiss. A few people were already shrinking back into their seats, because usually, this was the exact moment I would explode into a screaming match. However, I simply, slowly took off my engagement ring, walked over to Sarah, and gently slid it onto her finger. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly. I smiled. “Let me know when the wedding invitations go out.” Everyone was completely dumbfounded, including Sarah. “Chloe Vance, it was just a game. Do you really have to do this?” Carter’s voice was freezing cold. “I know it was,” I replied with a soft smile. “I’m just helping you guys have more fun.” Carter’s face visibly darkened into a thunderous scowl. Sarah tugged on his sleeve. “It’s okay, Carter. It’s my fault. I didn’t know Chloe was such a sore loser.” Saying that, she pulled the ring off and threw it at me. “Here. Stop being mad. Have your ring back. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The ring hit me square in the face with a sharp sting, then clattered onto the floor with a metallic clink. Everyone in the room stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. But I just calmly picked the ring back up. “Since you don’t want it, it doesn’t have any use anymore.” With that, I tossed the ring straight into the trash can. “Chloe, are you crazy?! That’s your engagement ring!” “Quick, quick, quick! Get it out!” “Where did it go?! Why can’t I find it?!” Everyone scrambled frantically, digging through the trash can. But it was already full of watermelon rinds, banana peels, and even some vomit. Finding a tiny ring in that mess was impossible. Sarah panicked too. She gripped Carter’s hand tightly, her eyes turning red. “Carter, how did this happen? Why is Chloe overreacting so much?! Did I really cross a line? But we grew up together, we’ve never had boundaries…” The very next second, Carter stepped in front of her, shielding her behind his back. “Stop looking for it!” Everyone froze, standing around the trash can, staring at Carter. His eyes were freezing cold, glaring at me like he wanted to bore a hole through my skull. “If you can’t handle a game, why play? “Now you’ve ruined the mood for everyone. Are you happy?” A suffocating knot formed in my chest. Sarah was the one who kissed my boyfriend. I stepped aside to accommodate them. How did I become the one ruining things for everyone else? If this were the past, I would have definitely started screaming and crying, furiously pointing out that Sarah was the one in the wrong. But now, I couldn’t muster even a single ounce of interest in arguing. Instead, I turned around and grabbed my purse. “I’m leaving then. Have fun, guys.” 2 As the door closed behind me, I heard someone speak up tentatively. “Um… today is Chloe’s birthday. Is it really okay that she just left?” Carter’s voice was laced with deep irritation. “Just ignore her. It’s about time she learned to fix that temper of hers. Actually, Sarah was just hired as a lecturer at my university. Let’s have Sarah blow out the candles instead.” The room quickly livened back up. The voices that were supposed to be wishing me a happy birthday were now shouting, “Congratulations on the new job, Sarah!” My face felt cold. I wiped my cheek. I didn’t even realize when I started crying. But I wasn’t sad. I just felt absolutely nothing inside. 3 Growing up in the faculty housing complex of a university, I had admired Carter, the resident academic genius, since I was a kid. Unfortunately, I was always quiet and awkward. I never fit in with their group. I would always sit by my window, enviously watching Carter and Sarah chase each other and play. I studied like my life depended on it. Every time I saw our names ranked next to each other on the school’s honor roll, I would be incredibly happy. But I wasn’t as bubbly and cute as Sarah. Between Carter and me, we were always just polite strangers. It wasn’t until we both got into the same university, and Sarah went to a lower-tier college where she started dating someone else, that I finally gathered the courage to confess my feelings to him. Heaven smiled on me. He said yes. From that day on, every single decision I made revolved around him. When he decided to stay at the university to teach, I gave up a prestigious opportunity to study abroad. My advisor pleaded with me countless times. She brought up my older peers who had returned from abroad to secure million-dollar salaries, become distinguished scholars, and achieve full professorships at incredibly young ages. But I just blushed and told her: “As long as I can have a stable, peaceful life with him, that’s enough for me.” I poured absolutely everything I had into him. All I wanted was him. Yet he had never once considered me. Standing in the freezing winter wind, I let out a long, heavy breath and called my former Ph.D. advisor. “Professor? Excuse me, but… is that project you mentioned before still looking for people?” My professor paused for a split second before her voice exploded with excitement. “My dear girl, you finally figured it out?! “Of course we need you! This project practically has your name on it! Your junior colleague was begging and crying to join, but I still refused her! When do you plan on coming over? I’ll personally pick you up from the airport!” I smiled. “Give me about two weeks, Professor. I’ll head over as soon as I tie up loose ends here.” 4 Even though I wasn’t leaving immediately, I asked for all the detailed documentation on the project. Ireland has a significant time difference. By the time I hung up the phone, it was already getting dark for my professor. And for me, it was the middle of the night. My head was throbbing and heavy. I ran a hot bath, and as I sank into the water, the tension in my muscles finally started to ease. Exhaustion completely consumed me. Listening to the soft music playing, I drifted into a deep sleep. When I opened my eyes again, it was because of the sound of the front door opening. “Chloe?” It was Carter’s voice. His voice echoed through every room in the apartment, growing increasingly frantic. Until the bathroom door was pushed open, and his voice dropped low. “Chloe.” His gaze carried a hint of blame. I couldn’t fathom what he was angry about. Was he mad that I wasn’t sitting in the living room waiting for him like I usually did, ready to start a massive fight and interrogate him about his relationship with Sarah? “Oh, you’re back. Sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t hear you.” Gripping the edge of the tub, I turned my head. “Could you please step out?” My attitude was polite but incredibly distant. He frowned. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “I didn’t come back earlier because Sarah had too much to drink. Her ex-boyfriend was harassing her, and I couldn’t just leave a girl alone…” “I know. Safety first, right?” He froze. I gave a soft chuckle. “You’re… not mad?” I laughed out loud. “What is there to be mad about? You guys grew up together. What’s wrong with walking your childhood friend home? Especially since she lives alone.” For a split second, the look Carter gave me was one of pure disbelief. I waited for a moment, and when he didn’t move, I just stood up to grab a towel. We lived together anyway. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything before. It was just that I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Wrapping the towel around myself, I turned to leave. He grabbed my wrist forcefully. “Chloe, can you just say what’s actually on your mind?” I paused. “What am I supposed to say?” He hesitated. “Don’t you… normally have a lot to say?” I thought about it for a second. It was true. In the past, every time we fought over Sarah, I was always the one relentlessly arguing, refusing to let it go. But I’ve realized that people only lose control and go crazy when their hearts are completely full of love. I didn’t feel anything anymore. Naturally, I had nothing left to say. So, I gently pushed his hand away. “Stop fooling around. It’s past 2 AM, and I have experiments to run tomorrow.” His hand, which I had pushed away, hung frozen in mid-air. I yawned. “Don’t stay up too late either. I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.” With that, I actually got into bed and closed my eyes. There was no sound from outside the door for a while. And then. SLAM! A deafening crash jolted me right as I was about to fall asleep. It was Carter. He slammed the door and left. I knew exactly why he was mad. He had finally, rarely, offered me an olive branch. And I actually refused to take it. 5 I slept incredibly well that night. The next morning, yawning, I ordered delivery. When I opened the door, there was already a birthday cake sitting on the dining table. Carter was sitting behind the cake. “A belated happy birthday, Chloe.” I froze in place, my food delivery app still open on the payment screen. “I know what happened yesterday upset you. We really couldn’t find the ring.” His long, pale fingers gently slid his phone across the table toward me. “That style didn’t really suit you anyway. Pick out a new one. Sarah can be a bit childish, so please don’t hold it against her. Kissing is a huge deal to us, but she’s always been careless and impulsive since we were kids. You…” “You actually got a custom cake made for me? Thank you so much!” My sudden exclamation cut off whatever else he was going to say. He stared at me, completely dumbfounded. “Chloe?” I leaned over the cake, reading the inscription aloud. “Wishing my baby is eighteen forever.” “What a sweet message. Thank you, I really love it!” He frowned. “Chloe…” I was busy pulling out plates and forks, but looked up when he spoke. “Yeah?” He lowered his eyes. “It’s nothing.” My voice was full of genuine delight. “This place has the best buttercream in the whole city. I can almost never get a reservation. You really put a lot of thought into this.” He gave a soft “Mhm,” his tone quiet and unreadable. “Chloe, the ring…” “Here, this is the biggest piece! You can’t let it go to waste!” I placed the largest slice of cake directly in front of him. Then, picking up a smaller piece for myself, I took a bite. “Is this a new flavor? It’s really good.” “Chloe.” He frowned deeply. “Can you please look at what I’m showing you?” I looked down. On his phone screen was the official website for Darry Ring (DR). The diamond ring brand famous for the rule that a man can only customize one ring in his entire lifetime. My hand trembled slightly. I couldn’t even imagine how ecstatic I would have been if he had shown me this screen just one day earlier. But now, I just continued enjoying my favorite cake. “No thanks. Those are just marketing gimmicks. It’s too much of a hassle.” “Chloe?” Carter looked at me like I was being completely unreasonable. I smiled. “Really, I don’t care about that kind of stuff anymore. Don’t waste your money. Getting me this cake already makes me very happy.” Finishing my piece, I placed the empty plate on the table. “I have a meeting today, so I have to leave early. Remember to put the plates in the dishwasher.” Then, I turned and went into the bedroom to change. Scraaape. The sound of a chair being pushed back sharply. I turned around. Carter was putting his phone away. “Suit yourself. I’ll order one for Sarah. She likes this kind of stuff.” With that, he truly slammed the door and left. He hadn’t touched a single bite of the cake. For the next few days, I didn’t see him at the university at all.

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I was infamous throughout Riverton as a jealous and vicious woman, quick to lash out at my husband, Jackson Byers, if anything displeased me. Every woman who came near Jackson, even those who merely spoke a word to him, I personally dealt with. Everyone advised him to divorce me, yet he’d repeatedly endure bruises, defending me against criticism and disputes. Everyone assumed he was terrified by my ruthless methods. All the lawyers in Riverton banded together to sue for his divorce from me. But he withdrew the suit every single time: “I love Phoebe, and my life only has one option: being widowed. I kindly ask all other women to automatically keep their distance from me.” It wasn’t until the night he withdrew the suit for the hundredth time that another man, a stranger, pressed a gun to my forehead: “Jackson loves you so much; he would never cheat. My sister was innocent! All those girls were innocent! Why couldn’t you just leave them alone?” I didn’t even open my eyes, just curled my lips and turned over: “If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t be flirting with other women!” I added, “Tomorrow, I have six more ‘packages’ to handle. If you want to know the truth, you’ll have to find a way to follow me.” … I woke up to find a bodyguard in the house. Before I could speak, Jackson proactively introduced him: “Phoebe, this is the bodyguard I specifically hired for you, Michael King.” The man who had pointed a gun at my head last night bowed respectfully: “Madam, your safety will be my responsibility from now on.” I pushed Jackson away, scoffing, “This scrawny dog? Can he swing a club or wield a knife?” Seeing my dissatisfaction with Michael, Jackson immediately moved to fire him. Michael suddenly looked up, his eyes burning with anger at my mockery. Catching sight of his fist clenching in his pocket, I finally spoke: “So, do you want to protect me, the universally reviled vixen? Or do you want to seize the opportunity to kill me?” Without waiting for his answer, I lightly patted Jackson’s shoulder. “Don’t wait for me for dinner tonight, I have plans with a friend!” I gave Michael a meaningful look, then grabbed my bag and got into the car. Just as the car door was about to close, a pair of hands gripped the handle. The next second, Michael King dropped to his knees, pleading with me: “Madam, I cannot lose this job!” I finally looked at him squarely. As expected of a man who could break into my room in the middle of the night—flexible and adaptable, capable of great things. I averted my gaze, closing my eyes to rest. Jackson sternly ordered Michael: “Protect my wife. If she loses even a single hair, I’ll personally chop you into pieces!” I raised my hand, and Michael started the car. “Madam, where to first?” “Deep Glen Hotel.” Before opening the door, I calmly told Michael, “Inside is the first one I need to handle today. You can learn from it.” I pushed the door open, and the young model who had found Jackson’s car keys yesterday shrieked in terror. “Mrs. Byers… I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again…” The model was tied up, frantically shrinking into the corner of the wall in fright. I hadn’t even done anything, and she was already streaming tears. The next second, I pushed her down, straddling her, and unleashed a barrage of actions. “Mrs. Byers, I’m sorry, please let me go. I really didn’t know those were Mr. Byers’s keys when I picked them up…” After fumbling around her abdomen for a bit, I was quite disappointed. But I took the opportunity to force a handful of pills into her mouth, then pulled out my phone to snap pictures of her disheveled state. “Get out of Riverton. Don’t let me see you again.” My voice held no tremor. The young model, as if pardoned, clutched her throat and scrambled away, practically rolling. I unhurriedly cleaned my hands with disinfectant, then looked at Michael: “Did you learn anything? There are five more to go. Your turn or mine?” Michael gritted his teeth, demanding, “Why? She never intended to seduce Mr. Byers. She was innocent with him. Why are you so cruel to people?” “Cruel? This is just the beginning!” The next second, I posted the young model’s photos online. Moments later, the comment section was, as usual, inundated with insults. “So, you let me follow you, to personally watch you inflict abuse, because you’re certain I wouldn’t dare kill you?” A gun was pressed to my forehead again. I brushed the gun aside, smiling faintly. “Kill me, and you’ll never know the truth.” Michael put away his gun and accompanied me to deal with the second woman. This was a college student, Sarah Greene, who had accidentally rear-ended Jackson’s car. Sarah had just gotten her driver’s license, and on her first day with her new car, she hit Jackson’s Porsche. She cried, kowtowing to me: “Mrs. Byers, I really didn’t mean to rear-end Mr. Byers. I’ll pay whatever it costs. Please don’t hurt me, I don’t want to die…” I pulled out a self-defense baton, aiming for her bulging abdomen: “According to custom, as long as you see the error of your ways, I’ll know what to do.” Before the baton could fall, she wet herself in fear, frantically kowtowing to me: “Mrs. Byers, I don’t want to die. My mother raised me with such hardship; if I die, she won’t survive alone. Please let me go…” The stench from the mess beneath her made me immediately throw the baton to Michael: “You do it!” Michael clutched the self-defense baton, his eyes bloodshot. I ignored him, simply tossing him a box of pills with no packaging or instructions. “If you can’t bring yourself to hit her, then feed her these, and then you both go to the bathroom!” With that, I turned to my bag to retrieve my frantically vibrating phone. Ignoring the malicious insults, I routinely opened the camera. Unexpectedly, I accidentally touched a live stream that popped up on my phone. The familiar sight made me turn around in surprise. My voice trembling, I excitedly asked Michael, “Are you filming me? And live-streaming?” But he asked me, aghast, “You gave her drugs, and you want me to… to do that to her?” I lunged at Michael like a madwoman, patting him down. Seizing the opportunity, I whispered, “Quickly feed her the medicine, then take her to the restroom! Let’s be quick!” But the next second, Michael slammed the baton heavily onto my head. “You want me to take advantage and assault Sarah, then spread malicious rumors about her to control her? How can there be such a disgusting vixen like you?!” Warm blood instantly gushed out, and my vision turned red. After I fell to the ground, the live stream chat erupted in cheers: [Well done! Brother, you did what we’ve long wanted to do!] [That vixen deserves a lesson! She really thought she had supernatural powers, but she’s just flesh and blood!] [Brother, quickly rescue this student! She can’t end up tragically dead like that young model!] …That young model died? Was I too late? Lost in thought, Michael kicked me again, then left with Sarah. Sarah, however, dared not go with him, insisting on leaving alone. I desperately clutched Michael’s leg: “She can’t leave! Quickly give her the medicine! I’m doing this for her own good!” Meeting my pleading gaze, Michael hesitated. Thousands of viewers in the live stream furiously scrolled messages: [Brother, don’t be swayed by her! Giving someone drugs is called ‘doing good’?] [That vixen’s medicine is definitely not good news. Absolutely don’t give it to the girl! It could be deadly!] Seeing Sarah seizing the chance to run, I pulled out a dagger from my bag and forcefully threw it at her. Thankfully, it struck her right leg. I chased after her, intending to force the medicine down Sarah’s throat, but Michael blocked me at every turn. “What kind of medicine is this?” he demanded. “A laxative. If you want to know the truth, quickly give it to her! Any later and it might be too late…” Michael raised his hand and slapped my face. “I don’t believe it! There’s definitely something wrong with this medicine!” I was knocked to the ground by his slap. In desperation, I picked up the dagger and again stabbed Sarah, who was trying to escape. The entire internet was shocked by my ruthlessness and madness, with some netizens suggesting calling the police to arrest me. But more netizens rejected the idea. [Can’t call the police, otherwise Jackson, that love-struck fool, will surely protect her with his life!] Millions of netizens quickly signed an electronic petition, clamoring: [Phoebe Stone, go to hell!] [I bet some of the hundreds of women she ‘dealt with’ before died just like Anya Zhao!] [Since the law can’t punish her, then let justice punish her!] [Those who can go to the scene, quickly unite to eliminate this cancer! She must confess her crimes before Jackson finds out!] [Yes! The law doesn’t punish the masses! Let’s move!] I looked at these comments, brimming with anticipation. Michael also saw the public screen. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at me, waiting for more righteous people to judge me. Sarah gasped in pain, cursing me: “Mrs. Byers, you are so domineering and venomous, you’ll get your comeuppance sooner or later!” Hearing the screech of tires outside the warehouse, I smiled, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and whispered, “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you all; Jackson won’t let anything happen to me!” The next second, Mrs. Byers’s mother and a crowd of people surged into the abandoned warehouse. She also brought a restraining order. It was a court order strictly prohibiting me from approaching Jackson, and strictly prohibiting me from leaving the house. “You wretch, let’s see how you bully my son this time!” But I merely smiled. I looked past her, coldly speaking: “Jackson Byers, is this what you so boastfully call your love for me?” Mrs. Byers’s mother, accompanied by a team of lawyers, surrounded the arriving Jackson, fearing I might lose control and hurt someone. Then, in an effort to curry favor, she handed the restraining order to Jackson: “Son, look, even the court can’t stand it anymore. You can finally get rid of this vixen!” But Jackson took the restraining order, glanced at it, and tore it to shreds: “Mother, if you force me to divorce Phoebe again, we’ll cut ties!” The surrounding lawyers were so enraged they wanted to open his head and look inside right there. “Mr. Byers, you have money, you have good looks. Why are you so fixated on this vixen?” “Even in a matriarchal society, no one is as arrogant as her!” “Besides, she committed murder an hour ago! She just stabbed this young girl. You, a great philanthropist, can you bear for that young model to die so mysteriously?” He pressed, “You need to think clearly. If you continue to shield her, to clean up her messes, then you are also a murderer, an accomplice!” Jackson, however, merely elegantly tossed the shredded pieces into the air and called his assistant: “Liam, Phoebe has been wronged again today. Go hurry customs to clear the shipment; I want that Bugatti in the garage tonight!” Mr. Davies, the lead lawyer, was so angry his chest heaved violently. He had been practicing for thirty years and had never seen anyone so pathetic and masochistic—every time they met, Jackson was bruised, and his first words were either to withdraw a lawsuit or to wholeheartedly clean up his abusive wife’s messes. At this moment, half of Jackson’s face was still a terrible purple, yet his lips curved upwards, his gaze at me utterly doting. Mr. Davies quickly pinched his philtrum, then pulled out a divorce agreement and handed it to Jackson: “Mr. Byers, life is short. Can’t you live for yourself? I know you love her, but she’s a murderer, she’s going to prison soon. Why hold onto this marriage? I’m begging you, divorce her, alright?” He pressed, “Or do you love her so much that you’ve lost all sense of right and wrong, insisting on spending the rest of your life with a murderer?” Jackson’s usual gentle smile froze instantly, his eyes losing some of their warmth. “I said, I will never divorce Phoebe in this lifetime. The only way we part is if one of us dies!” Everyone present was so frustrated they felt like smashing the walls. “What spell has Phoebe Stone cast on you that makes you want to give her your life?” “Last week she pushed a college student who brushed past you down the stairs. Yesterday she knocked a filing intern into the hospital. Today she brazenly killed someone, and your face—how many days a month is it normal? Can’t you be strong just once?” Mr. Davies’ roar made the windows tremble, but it only elicited Jackson’s cold reply. “Even if Phoebe beats me to death, I will gladly accept it!” He continued, “Besides, Phoebe is just a bit quick-tempered, not a vixen. I will compensate all those people for the mistakes she made when she lost control. They have no complaints, so why are you more anxious than the emperor?” Mr. Davies was beyond furious, pointing at me and roaring, “Jackson Byers! That young model was killed by her! Wake up, will you? Even if you love her madly, can you at least have some moral compass?!” Someone, unable to stand it anymore, tried to call the police to arrest me. But Jackson’s people stopped them. “If Phoebe is truly guilty, I will atone for her sins!” A crowd of people, unable to persuade Jackson, could only glare at me with resentment: “Phoebe Stone, you are narrow-minded and vicious. You’ll get your comeuppance sooner or later!” They continued, “If you have any conscience left, actively divorce and turn yourself in!” Jackson’s sword-like gaze swept over those people: “If you want to make trouble for Phoebe, you’ll have to step over my dead body!” With that, he stepped forward with an apologetic expression, forcefully picking me up. “Phoebe, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault for making you suffer…” He then instructed his assistant to hand Sarah a check for one million dollars. “This is a small apology on behalf of my wife. Do you choose to forgive her, or pursue further action?” Everyone shouted: “Young lady, don’t be swayed by money! Let’s all work together to remove this blight from society!” Sarah hesitated, then ultimately accepted the check. “Actually, Mrs. Byers just loves Mr. Byers too much. I was the one who hit Mr. Byers’s car; I was at fault first…” Everyone was stunned, and even their perception of Jackson changed.

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After chasing the cold, aloof campus idol for a month with no success, I tried a different approach and threw money at him instead. I didn’t expect him to get even colder, to the point where his only responses were “Mm” and “Ah.” Me: “Liam, I want to eat an apple. Peel it for me, but the stem can’t fall off.” Liam gave a simple “Mm” and silently picked up a paring knife. Ten minutes later, I picked up a gleaming, freshly peeled apple from the plate for the third time. With one light bite, the stem snapped off again. Liam violently stabbed the knife into the rolling apple, a rare look of impatience crossing his face. My heart skipped a beat. I was just about to tell him to stop when I suddenly saw strange lines of text appear in the air: [Ahhhhh! I’m witnessing an iconic scene! The devoted second male lead is furiously peeling apples!] [Chloe, do NOT tell him to stop! Let him peel! Let him peel for his life! Let him peel his feelings away! What he hates are the fragile apples and his own clumsy hands!] [Yes, yes, yes! And absolutely do NOT ignore him, or he will literally cry himself to sleep under the covers!] I froze, swallowing the words “Forget it, I don’t want it anymore” right back down my throat. Right now, Liam was crouching on the floor, his shoulders trembling slightly. For the first time, I felt a flicker of doubt: Was this 6-foot tall, notoriously cold and silent campus idol not actually angry, but… feeling wronged? I instinctively walked over and patted his shoulder. Liam slowly turned his head, his face wearing its usual “stay a thousand miles away” icy expression. “Do you want me to keep peeling?” I don’t know if I was influenced by the floating text, but I actually noticed the corners of his eyes were red, and a faint glimmer of tears shone in his eyes. A trace of guilt welled up inside me uncontrollably. I carefully chose my words for a compromise. “It’s too late today. Can we peel more tomorrow?” Liam’s expression froze, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the apple. I lowered my eyes and softened my voice. “Actually, I didn’t even want to eat an apple that badly. I just wanted…” Before I could finish the words “you to keep me company,” Liam stood up abruptly. He slammed the dusty apple onto the table with a loud smack and ground his teeth: “Chloe, do you think I’m incompetent? Are you disgusted by me?” Huh? The floating text also paused for a second. [Are my eyes playing tricks on me? In the original text, didn’t Chloe just get mad and go back to her room? Why is she coaxing the second male lead?] [Serves old Liam right for not having a wife. His girl is showing weakness, and he’s just pushing her away!] [Emm… Did you guys forget? The first time the second male lead used a coffee machine, Chloe mocked him, threatened to dock his pay, and was incredibly arrogant. It’s actually pretty normal for him to react this way.] [I remember that too! When Liam made breakfast and did laundry for Chloe, she complained relentlessly about it.] Uh, I think that actually happened. Feeling incredibly guilty, I looked away. A month ago, an accident resulted in Liam and me forming an unhealthy “sugar baby/sugar mommy” relationship. Wanting some privacy for the two of us, I specifically rented a luxurious, 3,000-square-foot villa not far from campus. But Liam became even colder than when I was pursuing him. My highly experienced friend gave me some advice: “You can’t spoil a man, babe. First, you have to let him know who’s boss. “Trust me, you have to do the exact opposite of what a wild horse expects. Break him in enough, and he’ll behave!” To “break” Liam in, I truly did go out of my way to maliciously make things difficult for him. The text was still scrolling: [Putting myself in his shoes, it really would be hard to feel any good intentions from her. I know I couldn’t.] [Sigh, I really don’t want my favorite ship to end in tragedy T~T] [Chloe, don’t give up! Actually, if you just tell him you like him, he’d go through fire and water for you! He’s just stubborn!] [Yes, yes, yes, I think so too.] Perhaps completely brainwashed by the floating text, I bit my lip, silently turned around, and pulled out a wet wipe. Then, mustering all my courage, I took Liam’s hand. The moment we touched, a jolt of electricity shot straight to my brain. Liam’s fingers trembled violently. But in the end, he didn’t pull away, letting me wipe his hand. “I’m not disgusted by you, Liam. “I never was. On the contrary, I… I really like you.” My ears were burning hot, but I couldn’t resist taking a quick peek at Liam. His expression was frozen, but my reflection filled his pupils. The text went wild: [Chloe is doing great!] [Say more, say more! He absolutely loves hearing it!] Feeling incredibly encouraged, and egged on by the text. With a deafening heartbeat, I pushed forward. “Let’s… let’s get along from now on. I won’t make things difficult for you anymore, okay? “But you have to be nicer to me too. Don’t always wear that stone-cold face.” After saying that, I quickly lowered my eyes. My heart was pounding like a trapped deer, waiting for Liam’s response. One second. Two seconds. Time seemed to stretch infinitely. As I was growing confused, a soft chuckle suddenly hit my ears. Liam forcefully shook off my hand, took a step back, and mocked me coldly: “A slap in the face, followed by a piece of candy. “Chloe, are you trying to play me to death?” [Uh, what?!! Feeling bad for Chloe for a minute!] [All I can say is old Liam is single through his own sheer effort. What a waste of that peerless face.] [I’m just waiting for Mr. Regret to regret this. Some people don’t even deserve a redemption arc.] Being repeatedly misunderstood completely evaporated the courage I had so painstakingly gathered. All that was left was grievance, humiliation, and rapidly erupting anger. “Yes! I am trying to play you to death!” I viciously threw the wet wipe at Liam, my expression and tone turning icy. “Other people who keep a campus idol as a sugar baby would have devoured them completely by now! What kind of idiot just occasionally teases you and then has to tiptoe around your bad moods like I do?!” Liam shook his head in self-mockery, wearing an “I knew it” expression. He raised his hand and unbuttoned his white dress shirt. Revealing smooth, defined chest muscles and tight, firm abs. “Isn’t this what you want?” I bit my lip. This was a scene I had eagerly anticipated in my dreams. But in this moment, I only felt utterly humiliated. Liam took off his shirt and, leaving no room for refusal, picked me up and set me on the back of the sofa. He grabbed my hand and forcefully pressed it against his heart. Looking me dead in the eye, he was incredibly aggressive: “Take it. Why bother with all those high-sounding words?” I had long since lost the mood to pay attention to the floating text. I struggled wildly, kicking and scratching. “Let go, you bastard!” Soon, several red scratch marks appeared on Liam’s chest. But the difference in physical strength between men and women is vast. From beginning to end, I was firmly trapped in his arms. He even managed to free one hand to pinch my chin. “Just because you’re different from other rich girls, and only occasionally make things difficult for me, I’m supposed to be eternally grateful to you?” Tears were forced to my eyes, but I stubbornly refused to let them fall. “I am different from other people! I genuinely wanted a future with you! “But not anymore. You… you’re just a bastard!” Liam let out a laugh, but it looked worse than crying. “See? When I act like a condescending bastard just once, you feel this terrible. “But when you use ‘genuine feelings’ as an excuse to trample me underfoot and act like a bastard in every possible way, you still expect me to be grateful. Based on what? “Chloe, I feel pain too.” His words were like a sharp knife plunging into my heart, completely destroying the sense of superiority my money had given me. I suddenly felt like a clown—pathetic and ridiculous. The dam broke, and tears poured out uncontrollably. I violently shoved Liam away. In a fit of rage, I used all my strength to slap him across the face, shouting the question that had always lingered in my mind. “Then why did you accept my money in the first place?! Taking my money and giving me the cold shoulder every single day—how high and mighty does that make you?!” After saying that, I didn’t dare look at his reaction. I fled, rushing into my room. [The sky is falling, my ship has completely sunk. The plot is back to square one. It seems our girl ultimately can’t escape the tragic female lead storyline.] [They both have mouths! Why can’t they just communicate clearly?!] [I feel like they did communicate clearly. They’re just both too stubborn for their own good. Sigh, the romance is dead, blame shared equally, let’s all go home.] [Wait, why is Liam gripping the paring knife with his left hand? He’s bleeding so much, and Chloe just wiped that hand for him.] [Holy shit, he made Chloe cry, and now he knows he messed up! If he doesn’t actually like her, I will livestream myself eating shit!] The text was scrolling furiously with discussion. But right now, I had buried myself in a soft pillow, sobbing uncontrollably. I completely missed the message about Liam’s finger bleeding. I don’t know how much time passed, but I felt utterly exhausted. Yet, every time I closed my eyes, Liam’s mocking expression became even clearer. Unable to resist, I checked the floating text. [Sigh, it’s 2 AM. Why is Mr. Regret still peeling apples?] [Just caught up on the thread. @IfOldLiamDoesn’tLikeChloeIWillEatShit, don’t worry, bro, you won’t have to eat shit. Old Liam loves Chloe to death. Later, when Chloe is imprisoned and killed by the male lead, it’s Liam who remembers her kindness, avenges her, and dies in a fire.] [@BetterLateThanNever, sis, don’t worry. I have self-awareness. Old Liam is like me—raised by a grandmother because our parents were awful. For people like us, who lack love, even a little bit of warmth will make us devote our entire lives to someone. Chloe accidentally helped Liam’s critically ill grandmother. Liam is definitely eternally grateful to her. He’s just too stubborn and can’t get past the ‘sugar baby’ hurdle.] [Sigh, I feel like they’re in a dead knot that’s hard to untie. Chloe thinks Liam is naturally cold, so she acts tough and makes things difficult for him. Liam thinks the rich girl Chloe just wants to play with him, so even if he likes her, he’ll always wear a cold face. It’s an endless loop.] Reading the text, I fell silent. I inexplicably remembered the night before I “bought” Liam. My friend, seeing right through me, whispered in my ear: “He’s a tough nut to crack. Even an experienced player like me couldn’t get anywhere. “I heard his family situation isn’t great. His grandmother is seriously ill and they need money badly. But he looks down on our kind of money.” I froze, then slapped myself hard. Why had I never thought to learn more about his family situation? He was barely 20 years old, yet life had forced him to fight in underground boxing rings and work as a restaurant server. And in his moments of absolute despair, I had to repeatedly shatter his pride in the most frivolous ways imaginable. Thinking about the tragic ending for both of us mentioned in the text, my emotions were incredibly complicated. Barefoot, I quietly walked to the door of Liam’s room. Right now, he was sitting in front of his computer. His left hand was wrapped in gauze, and he held a paring knife in his right. His long fingers moved deftly, quietly and intently peeling an apple. My heart suddenly began to ache. Due to insomnia, I woke up very late the next morning. Liam was sitting at the dining table, seemingly having waited for me for a long time. Breakfast was as extravagant as always. Next to the toast sat three crystal-clear, peeled apples, complete with their stems. There also seemed to be two large jars of freshly made apple jam. I opened my mouth, but the apology ultimately didn’t come out. After eating in silence, Liam slid a document across the table. Along with the keys to the villa. “Ms. Vance, as of today, it’s exactly been one month.” His voice remained flat and emotionless. “After today, I will not be coming over anymore. Please understand.” An awkward atmosphere spread through the silent space. My chest felt like something was suddenly blocking it, making it hard to breathe. I didn’t have the courage to look at the contract he returned. Nor did I have the courage to ask him to forgive my absurdity and ignorance. I stood up and nodded calmly. “That’s for the best.” Liam clenched his fists. A moment later, he started clearing the dishes from the table. Watching his long fingers gently and skillfully handle everything. I felt incredibly sad. “Today is my birthday.” “I know.” [Waaah, what a tragic morning.] [@IfOldLiamDoesn’tLikeChloeIWillEatShit, come out and eat your shit. Absolute nonsense. You’re probably the only one who thinks this heartless man likes Chloe.] I sighed softly in my heart. It seemed he was determined to leave. “My family is throwing a birthday party for me tonight. There will be a lot of people there. Come back with me just this once. After today, everything from the past month will be wiped clean.” Liam paused, then said softly, “Okay.” The birthday party was held at the Vance family estate. Before Liam and I even walked through the door, we heard people gossiping. My rival, Sarah, was sitting in the middle of a crowd, looking arrogant as she spoke passionately: “I really don’t know what our Chloe is thinking. So many people like her, but she insists on chasing that campus idol.” “Which campus idol?” “Liam from University A, obviously. The one who looks all cold and noble, like he’s above mortal desires. But I heard a little rumor.” Everyone’s curiosity was piqued, but Sarah stopped talking. Once everyone gathered around, she smiled mysteriously and lowered her voice, though just enough so everyone could still hear: “I heard that campus idol Liam is a huge fake. He looks proper, but he actually loves money to death. A month ago, he was bought by a rich older woman in our circle for a huge sum! “And the craziest part is, that rich woman plays hard. On his very first day, Liam was covered in injuries and limping.” A collective gasp echoed through the living room. Then, the discussion became even more intense. I sharply noticed that Liam’s knuckles were white, and his face was turning a sickly shade of pale green. I was both sad and furious. The Liam I knew was a warrior who could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in a boxing ring just to support his family. He was a saint who would rather go hungry himself to save a stray cat. He was a young man who, despite growing up in the mud, remained completely untainted, filial, and kind. Even though I acted foolishly, I had never physically harmed him. And the only way he would get injured was if he was hurt by an opponent in an underground boxing ring. I never thought that a whim while I was drunk would bring him so many vicious rumors. I strode over to Sarah and grabbed her by the hair. “How did you sneak in here? I don’t recall inviting you.” Sarah looked panicked for a second, then pointed at my sister, Mia, and screamed for help. “Let go of me! Mia invited me!” I looked at my twin sister, dressed in a Lolita dress, sporting twin ponytails, her face a little pale. She shrank back, looking incredibly innocent. “Sister, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t like Sarah.” The floating text suddenly scrolled wildly. [Chloe, don’t believe this wicked witch! She’s the psycho male lead’s accomplice!] [Same face, but why does it look bright and beautiful on Chloe, but so hypocritical on the evil supporting character?!] I froze for a moment, and Sarah broke free from my grip. “Why are you glaring at Mia?” She smirked triumphantly, looking down her nose at me. “You probably don’t know this yet, but that campus god you’ve been chasing around school has already been bought by someone else.” People around us started whispering. The looks they gave me instantly carried a subtle hint of strangeness. I raised my hand and slapped Sarah with all my might. I had gotten my nails done specifically before coming here, and five red marks quickly appeared on Sarah’s face. I sneered, “Do you not have a brain? You just believe whatever people tell you?” I looked coldly around the room. “Listen up. Liam is my boyfriend. If I hear any of you gossiping behind our backs again, we don’t need to be friends anymore.” Sarah held her cheek, laughing out of pure anger: “Boyfriend? “Keep dreaming! Does Liam even know you’re a couple? Today is your birthday, so where is this ‘boyfriend’ of yours?!” “You…!” I instinctively looked behind me, only to realize Liam hadn’t followed me inside. In an instant, I felt my momentum deflate. Of course. I had brought him nothing but pain and humiliation. Why would he get involved in this? Seeing me hesitate, my rival became even more arrogant: “Chloe, there has to be a limit to how much you’re willing to humiliate yourself! He’s probably acting like a lapdog in some rich woman’s bed right now!” I bit my lip hard, my chest heaving with anger. I immediately started looking for the butler, wanting him to throw her out. Just then, a large, slightly calloused hand suddenly engulfed mine, pulling me behind him. Liam’s undeniable, icy voice rang out through the hall. “Miss, you might be mistaken. I was the one who pursued Chloe. “Today is Chloe’s birthday, and I want her to have a wonderful day.” His voice was slow and deliberate, but filled with overwhelming authority. “If anyone spreads rumors again, I wouldn’t mind getting the police involved.” Intimidated, Sarah stood rooted to the spot, not daring to say a word. The butler finally appeared with the security guards, and I instructed him to escort Sarah out. In front of everyone, I took Liam’s hand and led him upstairs. As Sarah was forcibly dragged out, she had a hysterical realization, struggling wildly: “Chloe! Were you the one who bought Liam?!” The text mocked her relentlessly: [The young couple literally just announced their relationship publicly, and she’s still talking about ‘buying’. Respect, okay?!] [How pathetic. She’s being dragged out with no escape, and she’s still struggling!] [Inexplicably feel like Sarah is kind of cute. If she knew she actually guessed right, I wonder how she’d react. Hahahaha.] [Newbie here asking a weak question: Am I remembering it wrong? I don’t think this scene was in the book. Wasn’t the original plot that Chloe and Liam had a falling out, and she gets imprisoned after her birthday?] [But I prefer this version of Chloe! I want her to be with someone where the feelings are mutual. Being imprisoned is not a good look for women!] Holding Liam’s hand, I had no time to read the text. Only I knew that from the moment he appeared, my heart rate had been skyrocketing. I had never wished for the staircase leading to my bedroom to be longer, just a little longer, as much as I did right now. But reality is reality. Soon, Liam and I arrived at the bedroom. As soon as the door locked. He proactively let go of my hand and took two steps back. After a moment of silence. “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.” We spoke in unison. He politely waited for me to speak first. “Just now… that was just a tactical move. Once this blows over, I’ll tell everyone we broke up. “You don’t need to feel pressured.” Liam looked at me quietly. The resistance and rejection from before had completely vanished. He really doesn’t like me. I smiled bitterly in self-mockery. “I didn’t think things through before. I never thought it would bring you so many nasty rumors.” Liam shook his head. “Chloe, you don’t need to apologize.” He frowned, seemingly struggling internally. Two seconds later, he turned his head away. “You weren’t the only one with selfish motives. A month ago, my grandmother, who I depend on for survival, was critically ill. I desperately needed that money to save her life. “And also, I really do… for you…” His tone was more candid and relieved than ever before, carrying a trace of gentleness. Hm? I pricked up my ears, waiting for the rest. But there was no more. Liam suddenly strode toward the TV. “Chloe! Come here, quick!” I approached curiously and leaned in. Liam pointed at an object the size of a thumb. “It’s a micro-camera. Why is this in your bedroom?” He looked at me as he spoke. The next second, he pulled my frozen, trembling body into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Buried in Liam’s chest, my body shook slightly. I closed my eyes, my mind full of the text that appeared the moment Liam pointed at the camera: [Oh boy, the countdown to the thrilling imprisonment plot officially begins!] [Our cute little Chloe probably doesn’t even know her adopted brother is the male lead yet. Because of his unrequited love, he’s rushing over with his ‘tools’ right now!] [Poor baby. I really don’t want to see a trash man abuse the female lead.] I understood every word written there, but strung together, it was unbelievable. My adopted brother, Arthur, was always gentle and refined, highly valued by our parents. It was hard to imagine him liking me, let alone wanting to imprison me. But remembering the look in his eyes when we were alone… Belatedly, goosebumps covered my entire body. “Liam, will you still protect me?” I grabbed the hem of Liam’s shirt, my voice muffled. He would definitely say no, right?

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Late at night, bored out of my mind, I secretly used an AI tool to generate a video of me kissing my massive crush to use as a substitute for the real thing. But somehow, I accidentally sent the video directly to him. After watching it, he grabbed me, pulled out his phone, and pointed the camera at us. “AI kisses are boring. “Come on, let’s film a real one.” 1 Late at night. I was scrolling through TikTok, bored out of my mind, when I suddenly saw something very interesting. A creator had used an AI software to blend photos of herself and her crush, generating a highly realistic video of them kissing. It looked incredibly real. ! Has AI technology really advanced this far?! A spark of inspiration hit me. I immediately dove deep into my phone’s camera roll and dug up a bunch of photos. They were all of my crush, Liam. His serious profile during a lecture, his lazy, smiling face while joking with friends, his incredible abs exposed when he casually lifted his jersey to wipe his sweat… Just looking at them made me drool. I had begged, borrowed, and stolen these high-quality photos from all sorts of places. I fed all the photos of Liam and myself into the AI software. After a flurry of complex operations, it exported a video of about ten seconds. In it, “I” and “Liam” looked into each other’s eyes. Then “I” looked up, “he” looked down, and “we” shared a sweet, romantic kiss. “My” hand was even resting on his chest. And “his” hand was cupping the back of my neck. Tsk. The kiss I couldn’t get in real life, I managed to get first through AI. I lay in my dorm bed, holding my phone, my heart fluttering. The smile on my face never dropped the entire time. I probably watched this fake kissing video over a hundred times on loop. But gradually, something started to feel a bit off. I felt like even though the AI “Liam” looked like the real Liam, his body proportions were slightly wrong. His shoulders weren’t that narrow, and his smile looked weird. His arms shouldn’t be that scrawny either. It wasn’t perfect. It was probably because I hadn’t fed the AI enough reference material, so the guy in the video didn’t completely match Liam’s actual physique. After thinking about it, I opened a chat with a specific friend on my phone. 2 This friend was an absolute legend at our university. I forgot how I even added her, and I’d never met her in person, but I just knew she was incredibly well-connected. Because she always had a massive stash of photos of Liam for sale. And they were never duplicates. Some of them were even selfies taken from Liam’s own perspective. I had asked her out of curiosity where she got these pictures, and she claimed she tracked down a little-known social media account Liam had on a foreign app. That account was full of photos Liam posted himself. So her “inventory” was fully stocked. A dollar a picture—cheap, affordable, and high-quality. It perfectly satisfied the needs of a secret admirer like me. Of course, she never told me the actual username of the account. [You there, babe?] My friend, whose profile picture was Hello Kitty, replied instantly: [Yeah.] [Got any more pics of Liam?] [Yeah, why are you buying more? Didn’t you just buy a dozen the day before yesterday?] I answered vaguely: [I already drew them all. I need more reference material for my art assignments.] I had never revealed to anyone that I liked Liam. Liam was notoriously hard to pursue. Since freshman year, no one had succeeded, and rumor had it he still harbored feelings for his first love. I was naturally introverted and struggled with low self-esteem. I didn’t want to humiliate myself by getting rejected; the thought of it just made me feel awkward and embarrassed. So, with this internet friend, my excuse for buying Liam’s photos was always that I needed references for my art classes. Other students from the art department also frequently drew Liam. After all, his facial features were striking and highly defined, and his body lines were excellent. He was the absolute perfect candidate for a model. Because the final products were so pleasing to the eye, the professors naturally tended to give higher grades. So my excuse of buying photos to draw Liam wasn’t suspicious at all; it was actually quite common. [But this time I don’t want his selfies. I want to buy some pictures of his body. Abs, chest—shots that show off his physique well.] [My figure drawing assignment this time is a bit tricky, sell me a few with good angles.] She replied slowly: [Alright, I’ll go find some for you.] My internet friend went to work. I waited, my imagination running wild. [Image] [Image] [Image] Soon, she sent over a few photos. They were all high-definition mirror selfies of a shirtless Liam. An eight-pack, a prominent V-line, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. His muscle lines were smooth and flawless from every angle. Paired with that incredibly handsome face, the sheer testosterone and youthful energy radiating from the photos had me completely hooked. Saved the pictures, and transferred the money immediately. [Thanks! Got any clear shots of his face looking straight ahead?] Otherwise, in the AI video, the guy’s face gets a little distorted. She accepted the money. A few seconds later, she sent a high-definition selfie of Liam. He seemed to have taken it in the bathroom of the boys’ dorm. His expression was lazy. A truly authoritative, universally acknowledged handsome face. [Yeah. We’re having a promotion today: buy five, get one free. This one’s on the house.] I was deeply moved. What an absolute god-tier internet friend. 3 Using the excuse of working on my assignment, I quickly fed these new photos into the AI software. The AI generated a brand new video. This time, it felt right. The “Liam” in this video matched his actual expressions and body type 99%. The plot seemed richer, and the video was longer. A subway train kiss. Tsk. Looks like the AI had a preference for J-drama tropes. I dragged the progress bar, continuing to watch. In a crowded subway car, “Liam” pinned “me” against the wall. He whispered in “my” ear first, then lowered his head and kissed “me.” This kind of public display of affection carried a strange mix of thrill and shyness. Hiding quietly behind my bed curtains, I felt like a furnace had been placed right next to me. I felt so hot that my cheeks and ears were burning, and my throat felt a little dry. I watched it over and over again, endlessly. I’m not joking. Even when I’m dead and nailed into a coffin, I’m taking this fake digital sustenance with me to enjoy in the afterlife. It wasn’t until I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore that I reluctantly closed the video and went to sleep. For the next few days, I was completely addicted to this AI kissing video. So much so that I temporarily stopped hitting up my god-tier internet friend for pictures. Then one day, she reached out to me first. [Why haven’t you bought any pictures of Liam lately?] I replied: [Babe, I don’t need any for now.] Hearing this, she immediately fired off a barrage of messages. [? [Don’t need them? [Did you not finish drawing the old ones? [Or are you planning to draw someone else instead of Liam? [Who is it? Does he have a better body than Liam? Is he handsomer than Liam? [His body was built from playing sports; you can’t compare those scrawny guys to him. [What’s wrong with him? Tell me, I’ll fix it.] She recalled one of her messages. [What’s wrong with him? Tell me, and next time I’ll find you some better pictures.] ? Why was she suddenly getting so defensive and anxious? 4 I was confused, but I assumed she was just worried about losing her most loyal customer. [I’m not planning on drawing anyone else. No one else has a physique that can beat his.] She seemed to be in a good mood again. [Oh, then why did you stop buying his photos?] [I saw him post some pictures on his social media, and his body seems to have gotten even better lately. [Are you sure you don’t want to buy some more for reference?] I replied mysteriously: [I don’t need static photos right now, mainly because I’ve been enjoying something much better lately.] [What something better? Let me see.] [No, it’s my secret.] If this shameless AI kissing video accidentally leaked and caused trouble for Liam’s reputation and life, what would I do? I might be thirsty. But I can’t cause trouble for Liam. That’s the fundamental rule of having a secret crush. Afraid this internet friend would keep pestering me, I brushed her off casually and stopped replying. She sent a few more messages before finally going quiet. Just as I was getting ready to resume enjoying my digital sustenance, the person pinned to the very top of my chat list sent me a message. Liam: [You there?] !! I excitedly rubbed my eyes. Holy crap. Liam had actually initiated a conversation with me! [I’m here, I’m here. What’s up?] What did he want? Was he inviting me out? Did he want me to bring him water at the basketball court? Asking me out to dinner? In just a few seconds, countless romantic scenarios bubbled up in my brain. Then, Liam just dropped a garbled link into the chat. And said: [Can you click this Temu link for me? Thanks.] …….? 5 The romantic bubbles burst mercilessly. But I didn’t dare delay. Whatever my crush does is right. So what if a guy who wears a different pair of limited-edition sneakers every day uses Temu? It just proves he knows when to spend and when to save. He is wise. I hurriedly clicked the link to help Liam secure his discount. Just watching the animation took me several minutes, only to arrive at the conclusion that I was the “luckiest person of the day.” Not bad. A perfect conclusion. I tapped the screen frantically. [Done. Check and see if it worked.] [Yeah, it did.] [That’s good.] And then the conversation died. I stared at the chat interface, racking my brain trying to find a topic to keep the conversation going. But I genuinely didn’t know what to say. After all, in Liam’s mind, I was probably just an underclassman in the same club as him. After agonizing over it, I sent him a link too. [Can you click mine too?] Liam paused for a moment: [Sure.] Then, he sent me another link. [Click this one for me too.] ? Another one? Just how frugal has my crush become lately? I was confused, but I still clicked it. Then I immediately shot another link back at him, absolutely refusing to let this conversation end. [Then click this one for me too.] And so, that night, the two of us clicked hundreds of links for each other. Eventually, Temu couldn’t take it anymore and sent us both, two absolute broke college students, a massive discount coupon. We struck gold. A massive payday. 6 After spending an entire night having this bizarre alternative “chat” with my crush, I was full of energy the next day, despite having massive dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t expect that as soon as I walked into the classroom, I’d get even more good news. The professor had specifically invited over a dozen guys from the basketball team to be our live figure models. When these guys, all over six feet tall, walked in, the usually spacious and quiet art studio suddenly felt a bit cramped. The smell of vibrant, youthful energy mixed with the scent of oil paint. My eyes instantly landed on Liam, who was standing toward the back. The campus idol had actually been dragged here to be a model too. The eyes of every girl in the studio lit up. My heart raced, and I secretly bowed to the heavens. Oh merciful gods, your devoted follower has given up vegetarianism for life; you MUST let Liam be my model! The professor told the slightly embarrassed guys to just take a seat in order. I craned my neck and quickly counted heads. Crap. Liam was going to be the model for the student sitting right behind me. But that was okay; just being able to catch glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye was enough to satisfy me. One by one, they sat down. When the guy in front of Liam was about to sit next to me, Liam suddenly patted his shoulder and said calmly: “Big Mike, I think you left your bag in the bathroom in the academic building.” The guy called Big Mike froze. “Holy shit, I knew my hands felt empty! Thanks, Liam.” “No problem. Go find it before it’s gone.” “Yeah, yeah.” Big Mike lifted his butt from the chair and rushed out of the studio in a panic. And then Liam, amidst my bewildered and ecstatic gaze, casually took the seat right next to me. “Chloe, I’ll be your model.” 7 My heart was beating like a drum. I nodded, pretending to be calm. “Sorry for the trouble.” “It’s no trouble. Do you need me to strike a specific pose?” “No, just sit however is comfortable for you.” Liam leaned back in the chair, his long legs stretched out casually. His gaze frequently landed on me. This scene felt exactly like the beginning of that AI kissing video. We were sitting on the subway, and he was seducing me with his eyes. In this moment, I was terrified that if I made eye contact with him, I would instinctively blush and expose my overly indecent inner thoughts. So I kept my neck stiff and didn’t dare look at him too much. Fortunately, I had long since memorized the proportions of Liam’s face, so I could roughly sketch it out blindly based on feeling. Liam sat quietly beside me, not saying much. But his presence was incredibly strong. Especially because of whatever laundry detergent he used; it smelled amazing. I made a mental note to buy the same brand later. Just as my mind was wandering and my sketching was becoming chaotic, the boy suddenly leaned his face closer, as if curious about my progress. ! My hand holding the pencil jerked. I ended up drawing his eyelashes way too long in one stroke. It looked a bit comical. Liam said lazily: “Chloe, that’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” “Sorry.” But Liam didn’t seem to have any intention of letting me off the hook. He raised his hand and, highly amused, lightly tapped the drawing of himself on my sketchpad. “By the way, why is the bridge of my nose so flat, and why does my mouth look so stiff? It looks like I had too much Botox.” Being criticized by the actual model, I frustratingly and sheepishly grabbed my eraser. I planned to quickly erase the garbage drawing caused by my wandering mind. “I’m sorry, I’ll fix it right now.” I couldn’t afford to get distracted again. Stay focused. But Liam said: “Don’t rush to fix it. You don’t seem to be in the zone. Why don’t you get a feel for your model first?” “Get a feel for you? How?” I turned to look at him in confusion. I heard the boy speak in a coaxing tone: “Chloe, why don’t you touch my face?” My eyes shot wide open. ! T-touch him?! Did I just hit the jackpot?!

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On New Year’s Eve, my husband’s “one who got away” showed up at our house and turned on the gas valves. I didn’t rush downstairs to call him for help. Because in my previous life, Mark saved me and our son, but his first love, Jolene, died because she wasn’t treated in time. On the surface, he said it didn’t matter. He was unnervingly patient, taking care of me with a tenderness I’d never seen before. But on the day I was discharged from the hospital, he drugged my parents and our son with sleeping pills. Then, he turned on the gas, letting the fumes take them all while they slept. Before I drifted into that final, dark sleep, I heard his hysterical laughter. “You and that brat are the reason Jolene is dead. Your parents are just as guilty for bringing a curse like you into this world. Your whole bloodline deserves to end!” “I’ve finally avenged her! I’m going to make sure you feel every ounce of the agony she suffered!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve. … A pungent, acrid smell flooded my nostrils. My vision blurred, and my head spun so violently I could barely keep my footing. A small, choked sob pulled me back to reality. “Mommy, I’m scared.” I looked down to see my son, Toby, gripping my leggings with trembling hands. That’s when I knew. I had really come back. I dragged my leaden limbs toward the door, intending to shut off the gas valve in the kitchen. The bedroom door was locked from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. In my last life, the door had been fine. What changed? I pounded on the wood with everything I had. From the other side, Jolene’s voice came through, muffled but dripping with malice. “Save your breath, Claire. No one is coming for you.” “Jolene! Open this door!” I screamed, my throat already raw from the fumes. “This is murder!” Outside, she let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “It’s a tragic accident, honey. You forgot to turn off the stove while cooking. What does that have to do with me?” Same old Jolene. Always the victim, always shifting the blame. And Mark? He always swallowed her lies like they were gospel. I used to wonder why. It wasn’t until I checked the GPS on Toby’s smart-watch in my past life that I realized they had been sleeping together behind my back for months. I had planned to wait until after the holidays to file for divorce. I never expected Jolene to be this psychotic—she couldn’t even wait for the new year. She broke in while we were sleeping and turned our home into a gas chamber. But I was awake now. And I would not let her touch my son. “Jolene, do you really think you’re going to walk away from this?” I yelled. “If I die, they’ll find you. They’ll trace everything!” “Open the damn door!” There was a flicker of hesitation in her silence. But it was gone in a second. “I checked,” she said, her voice dropping to a smug whisper. “The cameras in the hallway are ‘malfunctioning.’ I wore a mask and a hoodie. No one saw me. I’m not making the same mistakes I made last time.” My blood ran cold. Last time? She remembered too. Jolene had also come back. That’s why the door was locked. She was making sure there was no escape. “Just die already,” she spat. Then, I heard her footsteps retreating. A moment later, the heavy thud of the front door shaking echoed through the apartment. Then came a frantic rattling. She was trying to leave, but she couldn’t. Our neighbor’s kid had a sensory habit of mashing the buttons on our smart lock. If you hit too many wrong codes, the deadbolt engaged into a hard-lock mode that could only be opened with a physical backup key. That brat’s annoying habit had just trapped Jolene in this poison-filled apartment with us. And the backup key? It was right here, in my bedroom nightstand. “Jolene, open this door right now. It’s the only way we both survive!” “In your dreams! I am never letting you out to take Mark away from me again!” It was pathetic. Even with her lungs filling with gas, her only thought was her obsession with my husband. The air was getting thicker, shimmering with invisible lethality. Toby’s breathing was becoming shallow, his little face turning a terrifying shade of pale. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. I crawled toward the window on my hands and knees. I didn’t have the strength to heave it open, so I grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from my desk and smashed it against the pane. The crash was loud enough to alert the neighbor who usually watered his balcony plants around this time. Within minutes, I heard the sound of the front door being kicked. I thought it was help. Then I heard Mark’s voice, along with a few of his low-life friends. “Jolene? Oh my god, Jolene! Are you okay?” Mark roared, his voice thick with panic. Jolene let out a weak, performative whimper. “It’s… it’s Claire… she tried to…” “I’m getting you to the ER! Hang on!” “Mark, wait! Your wife is still in the bedroom!” That was Nate, the neighbor’s son. His voice was frantic. “The door is locked and the gas is everywhere! You have to get her out!” I waited for the sound of the lock turning. Instead, I heard my husband’s cold, mocking sneer. “She’s fine. She’s faking it.” “She’s done this a dozen times, Nate. Anything for a little attention. But taking it this far? Putting Jolene in danger? I’m done with her games.” Mark’s “bros” chimed in, their voices echoing in the hallway. “Seriously, Claire is a piece of work. Remember how she trapped Mark into that marriage? She’s finally getting what’s coming to her.” “She’s the queen of playing the victim. If Jolene hadn’t come back from London, Mark would still be under that psycho’s thumb. Let her stew in there for a minute.” My lungs were burning. Toby had gone limp in my arms. I didn’t care about their insults. I just wanted my son to live. I used the last of my strength to crawl to the door and hammered on it once, hard. A final signal. A heavy silence fell over the hallway. Nate spoke up, his voice stern. “Even if she’s ‘faking,’ you can’t just leave her in a gas-filled room, Mark. That’s insane.” Mark groaned, his impatience palpable. “I told you, it’s an act! You’re so worried about her—what, you two got something going on? Is that kid even mine, or is he some neighborly side-project?” “You… you prick! That’s your wife! How can you joke about her life?” The words cut deeper than the lack of oxygen. In my last life, he had at least pretended to care. Now, he had convinced himself I was a monster just to justify his own betrayal. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to breathe, let alone explain. My only hope was Nate. I heard his footsteps rushing toward the door. But then, the sound of a scuffle. Mark’s friends were holding him back. “Take it easy, Nate. You really want to catch a charge for ‘saving’ a woman who’s clearly just trying to ruin her husband’s New Year?” One of them kicked the door back, laughing. “Hey, Claire! Nice try with the gas! But maybe next time, don’t lock yourself in the one room that isn’t getting any airflow! You’re a terrible actress!” They all thought I was the villain. Every single one of them. The gas was starting to win. My brain felt like it was being wrapped in wet cotton. I looked down at Toby. He wasn’t moving. No. Not again. I wouldn’t let him die. Not for these people. I dragged my body up and slammed my fist against the door. Again. And again. A rhythmic, desperate plea. “Does that sound like acting to you?” I heard one of the friends mutter, his voice losing its edge. “She’s been at it a long time. Maybe she’s actually stuck?” “Please,” Mark snapped. “You remember the time she called me crying saying Toby was in the hospital just to get me to bail on a client meeting? It was a head cold. She’s a liar.” “The ambulance is downstairs for Jolene. I’m taking her now. Claire can sit in there and think about what she’s done. I’m done being her puppet.” No. Don’t go. Save Toby. My throat was a desert. I couldn’t make a sound. I just kept hitting the door, praying he had one shred of humanity left for his son. The footsteps approached the door. A glimmer of hope. Then, through the wood, Mark’s voice boomed—not with concern, but with pure, unadulterated rage. “Claire, stop it! Stop the damn banging! It’s New Year’s Eve—can’t you give me one night of peace without a mental breakdown? I don’t believe you anymore! I’m done!” I knew he wasn’t the man I married anymore. But five years… surely five years earned us a look through the door? I reached for the handle, but he delivered a violent kick to the other side. The force sent me sprawling backward. I gasped in shock, and a lungful of concentrated gas rushed into my system. My nerves went numb. My mind was sharp, screaming, but my body was a statue. “Go ahead, Mark,” I heard one of them say. “We’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t follow you to harass Jolene at the hospital.” The distant wail of the ambulance siren grew louder, then began to fade. No. Please. Toby was five. If he survived the hypoxia, the brain damage could be permanent. He’d be a shell of himself. With a final, agonizing surge of will, I lifted my hand and slapped the door frame. “Save… him…” It was a raspy, broken croak. Nate must have heard me. He started shouting at the others. “Get out of my way! I’m breaking the door down!” “You touch that door and it’s trespassing, kid! You’ll go to jail!” “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!” A woman’s scream pierced through the chaos. My mother. “What are you doing to my daughter? Why are you blocking her door?!” Tears finally stung my eyes. They were here. I tapped the door one last time and the world went black. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my mother’s heartbroken cry. “Claire! My baby girl!” And my father’s roar of command. “Get the paramedics up here now! Move!” I drifted through a long, feverish dream of the life I’d lived with Mark. We met in college. He was the golden boy, the one everyone wanted. I was the one who actually got him. When he accepted my confession, I thought I’d won the lottery. Five years of marriage, a beautiful son—I thought I was living the dream. Until the day I followed Toby’s watch to a cat cafe. Mark was inside, laughing with Jolene, while our son played outside alone. I had been ready to confront him, to demand a divorce. But then New Year’s Eve happened. In my first life, Mark had played the hero. He saved us, but Jolene died of smoke inhalation because he was “too late” for her. He spent the rest of his life punishing us for her death. In this life, he didn’t even try to save me. He blocked my rescue. He accused me of being a whore. Every sacrifice I made for five years—the career I paused, the nights I stayed up—meant nothing. He traded it all for Jolene’s whispers. My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. I jolted awake. My parents were by my side, their faces etched with exhaustion and relief. “She’s awake,” my mom whispered, clutching my hand. I was alive. The moment I could sit up, I demanded to see Toby. He was still unconscious, but the doctors said we got to him just in time. The damage wasn’t permanent. A miracle. On my way back from the pediatric wing, I ran into Mark’s parents. They tried to push past my parents to see Toby. “Get out!” my father barked. “Your son disowned that boy the second he let him rot in a gas-filled room. You don’t get to play grandparents now!” My mother-in-law looked distraught. “He’s our grandson! Mark was just… he was confused!” My father-in-law tried a different tactic when he saw me. “Claire, stop this. Whatever Mark did, I’ll make it right. You’re stressed, taking care of the house alone… Mark is under a lot of pressure at the firm. You have to be the bigger person.” Just then, Mark appeared, supporting Jolene as they walked out of another room. He must have caught the tail end of the conversation. “She’s the ‘bigger person’? Please. This whole thing was her own damn fault.” His parents turned on Jolene, their faces souring. “Mark, what is this? This woman has brought nothing but trouble to our family!” Mark stood his ground, his chin tilted defiantly. “Jolene and I are just friends. We have nothing to hide. Unlike Claire, who probably had Nate over the second I left for work.” I almost laughed. The audacity. To stand there in a hospital hallway and claim “innocence” while his wife and son were nearly killed by his negligence. Jolene, ever the actress, let out a soft, dainty cough. “I never thought Claire would misunderstand us so much… she invited me over just to… to do that to me…” She started to cry. “It’s all my fault. Claire, I’m so sorry. I just got back to the States and I had no one else to turn to but Mark…” Mark cut her off, pulling her closer. “You did nothing wrong. It was Claire’s jealousy. Her sick, twisted mind did this to you.” It was a revelation. Mark, the cold, stoic businessman, was capable of such fierce protection—it just was never for me. He didn’t even care about his own flesh and blood anymore. The last flickering spark of affection I had for him died right then and there. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady and cold as ice. “I want a divorce.” Mark froze. For a second, he looked stunned. But the mask of rage returned quickly. “Is this another performance? You almost killed our son to get a reaction, and now you’re threatening me with divorce? Fine. You want out? Leave. But Toby stays with me. And you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “You will never take my son from me.” “I raised him while you were out ‘working’ or playing house with her. You think you can just claim him now? Not a chance.” Jolene’s eyes darted between us. “But Claire, Mark is his father. A boy needs his father, doesn’t he?” She was poking the bear. Mark’s jaw tightened. “The boy stays.” My mother-in-law chimed in, suddenly emboldened. “Claire, you’re clearly unstable. You can’t take our grandson. You’ve been a housewife for five years—how are you going to support him?” Jolene nodded sympathetically. “Exactly. You have no income, Claire. Toby would suffer with you.” I turned my gaze to Jolene. It was a look that would have withered a normal person. “I’ve handled his schooling, his therapy, his nutrition, and every single milestone for five years. Mark doesn’t even know the name of his pediatrician. You think I’m the one who can’t raise him?” “And as for money? Don’t you worry about his lifestyle. You won’t be part of it.” My father-in-law stepped in my way. “You aren’t taking that boy out of this city, Claire. I have friends in the DA’s office. I’ll make sure of it.” The masks were all off now. The “supportive” in-laws who praised me for being a devoted mother were now ready to crush me the moment I demanded my rights. “I know you have connections,” I said, leaning in. “But we live in a world of social media and public records now. Let’s see how your ‘connections’ handle the video of your son leaving his family to die in a gas leak.” They sputtered, losing ground. Mark stepped forward, looking like he was about to explode. “You want to play hardball, Claire? Fine. Don’t blame me when I take everything you’ve ever cared about.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger. “I’m coming for you, Mark. And you, Jolene. Neither of you is getting away with this.” Jolene flinched, hiding behind Mark’s sleeve. She deliberately stepped into my path as I tried to walk away. I reached out to brush her aside, barely touching the fabric of her coat. Jolene suddenly shrieked and threw herself backward, as if I’d shoved her with all my might. Mark caught her instantly. His eyes were red with fury. “You dare lay a hand on her? Right in front of me?!” He raised his hand, his palm flat and swinging toward my face.

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I returned from a grueling business trip in the dead of night, only to find a complete stranger in my apartment. He was in nothing but a pair of low-slung gym shorts, mid-pushup in the center of my living room. His shoulders were broad, his waist tapered into that lethal V-line, and the deep groove of his spine looked sculpted. He was radiating heat, drenched in sweat, his skin glistening under the dim amber lamps. He looked like a surge of raw testosterone with nowhere to go. My flight-or-fight response short-circuited. Naturally, I chose “police.” I called 911 and had him hauled away in handcuffs. “In all my years, I never thought I’d be the one bailing someone out of a precinct at 2:00 AM!” My best friend, Maddie, was practically wailing as we stepped out of the station into the biting winter air. “Technically, you weren’t bailing me out.” The wind sliced through my parka. I didn’t stop walking toward the curb. “Gia, I’m the only one with your spare key! Couldn’t you have just texted me first?” she groaned, jogging to catch up. I pulled out my phone, opened Uber, and punched in my home address. Once the ride was confirmed, I turned to her with a sugary, dangerous smile. “And did you happen to ‘text me first’ before you rented out my guest room to a stranger?” “It was supposed to be a surprise…” Maddie gave me a playful, albeit guilty, wink. “You’ve been complaining for months that the mortgage on that two-bedroom is eating you alive. I thought I was helping.” “Surprise? Maddie, it was a horror movie intro.” I glanced over my shoulder. Standing a few feet behind her was the man in question. He was easily a head taller than me, possessing the kind of physical presence that felt like a localized weather system. If he had actually been a home intruder, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Maddie looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. “Gia, seriously. Have you lived alone so long that you’ve developed a full-blown persecution complex?” 1 “Have you ever seen that movie 3-Iron?” I asked, stopping at the edge of the sidewa She blinked, confused. “The Korean one? No, what’s it about?” “To summarize: it’s about a creep who breaks into people’s houses while they’re away. He lives in their space, eats their food, uses their shower, and sifts through their closets.” I tilted my chin up, looking past her at the man. “He sleeps in their bed, uses their mug, and stares at their photos. It’s a violation.” Maddie’s eyes went wide. “We live in a civilized society, Gia! People don’t just do that.” “Don’t they?” I gestured vaguely behind her. “Ask him. He’s the world traveler. He’s seen it all, hasn’t he?” Maddie turned slowly toward him. “Is that… a real thing? Do people do that?” “They do,” Brooks Miller said, nodding solemnly. He raised his right hand, a boyish, slightly mocking grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I swear on my life, I’m not a ‘creep.’” “The jury’s still out on that,” I muttered. My Uber pulled up. I checked the plates and gave Maddie a curt wave. “I’m going home.” “Be nice to him!” Maddie hissed in my ear as she leaned in for a quick goodbye. “I picked him specifically based on your ‘type.’ He’s gorgeous, right? Consider him my late Christmas present to you.” My jaw tightened. I didn’t even know how to respond to that level of delusion. “Just go home, Maddie. I’ll call you if I’m murdered.” I climbed into the back seat, ready to sink into the upholstery. But before the door could click shut, the front passenger door swung open. Brooks slid inside like he owned the car. 2 “Get out,” I snapped. “We’re going to the same place.” He buckled his seatbelt with practiced ease. “And I’m paying for the ride.” I thought about my $4,000 monthly mortgage payment. I thought about the twenty-minute drive ahead. My pride wavered. Before I could protest further, the driver engaged the child locks and pulled out into traffic. “Lovers’ quarrel?” the driver chuckled, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. “It’s a cold night to be fighting, folks. The man apologized by paying for the ride; give him a break, sweetheart.” “He is not my boyfriend,” I said, my voice flat. “Sure, sure. I get it,” the driver said with a knowing wink. He clearly did not get it. But the heater was blasting, and the bone-deep exhaustion of a two-week business trip finally hit me. I didn’t have the energy to argue with a stranger about my non-existent love life. I closed my eyes and drifted. When we arrived, Brooks handled the payment without a word. Inside the lobby, the silence between us was heavy. I hung my coat in the entryway, feeling like a ghost in my own home, and stumbled toward the bathroom. “We need to talk,” Brooks said. His long stride easily cut me off. My reflexes were shot. I tried to stop, but my momentum carried me straight into his chest. As I started to lose my balance, his hand shot out, catching me firmly by the waist. The scent of him—something like cedarwood and cold rain—hit me instantly. I looked up, startled. I saw the sharp line of his jaw, the slight pulse in his throat, and then his eyes—deep, dark, and currently reflecting a very disheveled version of me. My heart did a sudden, traitorous trip-wire skip. “Sorry.” He let go immediately, stepping back to give me air. “It’s fine,” I said, waving a hand as if I could brush away the tension. “I’m just… I’m dead on my feet. Can this wait?” I had been traveling for fifteen days. I had spent the last three hours in a police station. I was done. “Fine.” A faint, almost tender smile touched his lips. “Get some sleep, Gia.” Tender? Was I so starved for affection that I was hallucinating subtext? I shook my head, walked into the bathroom, and locked the door. I scrubbed my face, took the fastest shower in history, and collapsed onto my pillows. I fell asleep instantly, only to dream of a warm, shirtless man holding me close. In the dream, I didn’t call the police. In the dream, I leaned in and kissed him. I was startled awake by a series of muffled thuds and high-pitched shouting from the unit next door. I checked my phone: 1:15 AM. The “Night Owls” were back. My neighbors were a couple who seemingly lived to argue and rearrange furniture between the hours of midnight and 4:00 AM. Even with my noise-canceling earplugs, the vibration of their voices bled through the drywall. Unable to get back to sleep, I wandered into the living room for a glass of water, only to nearly jump out of my skin when I saw a shadow on the couch. 3 “What are you doing out here?” I exhaled, my heart hammering. The remnants of that dream flashed in my mind, making my cheeks heat up in the dark. He held up a glass. “Still adjusting to the climate here. My throat’s like a desert.” “You’ll get used to it,” I said, heading for the kitchen. “By the way,” he gestured toward the wall shared with the neighbors. “Is this a regular thing, or a special occasion?” “How long have you been here?” I asked. He thought for a second. “Four days.” “And how many nights has it been quiet?” He went silent. The answer was zero. “They run some kind of wholesale business,” I explained, leaning against the counter with my lukewarm water. “They get home at 1:00 AM, screaming at each other, then they start cleaning and moving boxes until 4:00. I have spare earplugs if you want them.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you just… accept this?” “What choice do I have?” I looked around my beautiful, expensive prison. “I bought this place. I spent a fortune on the renovations. I’m locked into a thirty-year mortgage. You can’t just ‘not accept’ a neighbor in a high-rise.” I didn’t mention the other sounds they made—the ones that were even more awkward to overhear. Brooks frowned. “Have you called the cops?” “Of course. And the HOA, at least a dozen times.” I shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of helplessness. “It doesn’t matter. In a building with three hundred units, the management doesn’t care about one noisy couple.” His expression shifted into something unreadable. “Let me try.” He set his glass down and started for the door. “Wait—” I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt. Because of the angle, my eyes landed directly on his abs—perfectly defined, even in the shadows. I yanked my hand back like I’d touched a hot stove. “They aren’t… they aren’t nice people, Brooks.” He looked at me, waiting for more. “See that dent in the bottom of my door?” I whispered, my hand trembling slightly. “The husband did that. He kicked it because I asked them to keep it down once. They’re bullies.” Brooks’s eyes darkened. “Stay inside. Don’t come out until I’m back.” He reached out and briefly, gently, ruffled my hair. Before I could process the “head pat” or the weirdly protective surge it gave me, he was out the door. 4 Brooks knocked on their door. Not a frantic pounding, but a steady, rhythmic, polite thrum. The muffled shouting inside continued, ignoring him. Brooks didn’t lose his temper. He just kept knocking. Three beats, a pause. Three beats, a pause. It was relentless. “It’s the middle of the night! What the hell do you want?” The neighbor’s door flew open. I knew that man—he was a wall of aggressive muscle with a temper like a live wire. Panic flared in my chest. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept under my bed and crept toward my front door, ready to intervene. “Hey, man. I’m the guy from next door,” Brooks said. His voice was incredibly calm, almost conversational. “You the owner of this unit?” “Yeah—so what?” the neighbor barked. “Look, I get it,” Brooks said smoothly. “You and the wife work hard. Long hours, late nights. It’s a grind, and I respect that.” I blinked. What was he doing? “But here’s the thing,” Brooks continued, his tone softening but gaining a razor-sharp edge. “We’re corporate types. We need our sleep to keep the paychecks coming. Any chance you could dial the volume down a bit?” “I pay my taxes! I can talk however I want in my own damn house!” the man yelled. I could hear his wife chiming in with some choice insults from the background. “You absolutely have the right to speak,” Brooks agreed. “But rights have limits. Between 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM, anything over forty-five decibels is a city ordinance violation. I can call the precinct—the one I was just at tonight, actually. I’m on a first-name basis with the sergeant.” “Call ’em! I don’t give a damn about the cops!” “I figured you might say that,” Brooks said, his voice dropping an octave. “But you’re a business owner, right? Public records make it very easy to find your LLC and your tax filings. If the cops don’t work, I’ll just go through the City Council and the Better Business Bureau. I’ll make sure there’s a formal noise and nuisance investigation tied to your business address. Constant city inspections are a real pain for wholesale operations, aren’t they?” There was a long, pregnant silence. “Listen, man… let’s not get crazy,” the neighbor muttered, his bravado springing a leak. “I’m not being crazy. I’m being neighborly,” Brooks replied cheerfully. “I’d hate to see your reputation suffer over something as simple as a loud conversation. So, are we good? Or do I need to start filing paperwork?” “We’re good. We’ll keep it down,” the neighbor grumbled. The door slammed shut. I leaned against my door, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding. For years, I had lived in fear of that man’s temper. Brooks had dismantled him in three minutes with nothing but a calm voice and a subtle threat to his wallet. For the first time since moving in, I felt safe. Truly safe. I looked at the door. Maddie’s “gift” was looking better by the second. Now I just had to figure out how to handle him.

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When I was suffering from severe morning sickness and incontinence, Arthur was at a party playing a cherry-stem-tying kissing game with his female assistant. Even as I vomited until my stomach bled, he remained tangled up with her, deeply entwined and refusing to separate. On my way home, I was in a car accident. Just as I was lifted onto a stretcher, Arthur coldly dragged me off: “You’re tough. Stop wasting medical resources.” With that, he carried his crying female assistant onto the stretcher instead. When we arrived at the hospital, everyone rushed the assistant to the emergency room. I was the only one who walked quietly to the gynecology desk: “Hello. I’d like to schedule an abortion.” “I don’t want the baby in my stomach anymore.” … A second after I changed into the hospital gown, Arthur stormed into the room, furious. He threw a red string right at my face: “Chloe, who gave you permission to force this unlucky junk on me?!” Arthur didn’t believe in gods or spirits. Even the peace amulet I had acquired by climbing a thousand steps and bowing with each one was sneered at and tossed into the fire. I picked up the “marriage thread” that had fallen on me and said calmly: “I didn’t give this to you.” Hearing this, Arthur immediately snatched the red string back, hastily tying it around his wrist. I knew the red string was a gift from his assistant, Mia. It was a plea for a lifetime of monogamous love with Arthur. Thinking of this, I grabbed his hand. Ignoring his disgusted, defensive glare, I took the loose knot and pulled it tight. The icy chill of my fingertips made Arthur momentarily zone out. He asked me why I was wearing a hospital gown. I answered lightly: “I’m having a minor procedure later.” Arthur’s brow furrowed. He was just about to accuse me of faking an illness for attention. But the next second, a nurse walked in to draw my blood. Arthur opened his mouth, about to ask the nurse what was wrong with me, but his phone rang at the exact right moment. It was a video call from Mia. The girl whined coquettishly, complaining about how scary the hospital was at night. Hearing her, Arthur didn’t even spare me a glance as he strode out of the room. He bumped into the nurse on his way out, causing the needle to slip and blood to well up. He didn’t turn back when he heard my groan of pain. At that moment, the doctor walked in with the surgical consent form. Ignoring all the risk warnings, I signed my name without blinking. Half an hour later, the surgery was a success. As soon as I got off the operating table, I received a text from Arthur: [Wait for me at the hospital entrance.] It was snowing heavily outside. Dressed in thin clothes, I sat on a plastic chair and waited for two whole hours. He never showed up. Two nurses walked past me, laughing and gossiping about what they saw in the ER: “I’ve been working here for years, and I’ve never seen a man dote on his wife like that.” “Right? He held her and coaxed her through the entire examination. She just had a red mark on her leg, and he immediately mobilized a helicopter to transfer her to a top-tier hospital.” Hearing this, I opened our chat window and noticed Arthur had changed his profile picture. It was Nick Wilde from Zootopia wearing sunglasses. A perfect matching pair with Mia’s Judy Hopps. I exited WeChat and opened a ticketing app. Due to the weather, the earliest flight back to my hometown wasn’t for two days. I placed the order, paid, and confirmed the ticket. I walked out of the hospital and went home alone. At 3:00 AM, Arthur returned late, pushed open the bedroom door, and lay down beside me. In the pitch black, he reached out, wanting to touch my pregnant belly. I simply rolled over, giving him my back. Arthur clicked his tongue impatiently, got up, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut with a loud BANG. In our nine years together, whenever he showed even the slightest hint of displeasure… I would be consumed with anxiety, chasing after him, lowering my head, and begging for peace. But tonight, when Arthur came out of the shower, he found me still lying in bed, completely unmoving. “Stop faking it.” Dropping those words, Arthur left the master bedroom with a cold face and didn’t return. The next morning, I found a wine glass stained with lipstick on the living room coffee table. I didn’t wake Arthur up and hysterically interrogate him about everything and nothing, like I would have in the past. I leisurely finished frying some egg rolls and sat down at the dining table just as Arthur woke up and said: “Don’t wait for me for dinner tonight. I have a business dinner.” He opened the fridge, chugged two mouthfuls of ice water, and… Suddenly found it strange that I neither nagged him about cold water hurting his stomach nor asked who was attending the dinner. Through the glass kitchen door, Arthur frowned at me: “Chloe, are you even listening to me?” Swallowing my food cleanly, I gave a noncommittal “Mhm” and continued eating. Seeing this, he tossed his black overcoat at me. “Your birthday present.” The coat, reeking of sweet, cloying perfume, perfectly covered my now-flat stomach. Under his gaze, I fished a gift box out of the coat pocket. I opened the box. Inside was a diamond ring. Before I could say a word, Arthur’s face darkened, and he snatched the ring back. He said: “You grabbed the wrong one. Yours is in the other pocket.” The other pocket held an emerald brooch. I just took one look at it before pushing it back toward him. Then I said politely: “The brooch is beautiful, but it’s a pity I don’t have any clothes that match it. Besides, my birthday was three months ago. You might as well give this to Mia, too.” He was speechless for a good while. Arthur said reluctantly: “There’s a jewelry auction in a couple of days. You can come with me.” This was the first time he had asked me to be his plus-one in a long while. For the past six months, Mia had been the one accompanying him to all his social gatherings. Even during yacht vacations with his childhood friends, the two of them appeared arm-in-arm in the group photos. Recalling this, I felt utterly bored with it all. “No need. I don’t need anything.” “Are you sure?” I nodded: “It’s best if you have Mia accompany you.” My genuine words were met with an instantly blackened expression from Arthur: “Chloe, go to the bathroom and look in the mirror right now. Take a good look at how pathetic your jealous, bitter face is.” In the past, if he said that, I would definitely have gotten into a massive fight with him. But now, I couldn’t be bothered to argue a single syllable. Just as I was about to get up and go back to my room, Arthur’s phone rang. It was a custom ringtone for Mia. The girl was crying hysterically, saying she forgot her keys when she took out the trash. What should I do, Arthur? “You little dummy. Be a good girl, stay right there, and don’t run around. I’m coming over to bring you the spare key now.” Hanging up, Arthur immediately turned to leave. But I called out to stop him. “That scarf you asked me to knit last week is finished and hanging on the coat rack. Don’t forget to take it to her.” Arthur’s expression shifted slightly. His mouth moved as if he were about to say something. But then Mia sent another voice message. She meowed like a little cat, begging her “master” to bring her a bubble tea on his way. Because of this, Arthur emptied the shopping bag hanging on the rack, stuffed the scarf inside, and left with a smirk on his face. I glanced at the baby clothes discarded on the floor, stood up, and walked into the study. Ignoring the framed photo of Arthur and Mia on the mahogany desk. I moved with clear purpose toward the safe. I tried Arthur’s birthday, then mine. Incorrect. I tried our anniversary. Still incorrect. It wasn’t until I entered Mia’s birthday… The lock finally clicked open. As I took out my ID and passport, two movie tickets were dragged out with them. They were the ticket stubs from my very first date with Arthur. I tore the memories to shreds and tossed them in the trash. I returned to the bedroom and started packing my personal belongings. Towards evening, Arthur called and told me to hire a courier to deliver a document for him. A blizzard was raging outside. I wrapped myself in a mink coat and went out to deliver it personally. Pushing open the restaurant door, I walked right in as Arthur and Mia were drinking cross-armed, like a newlywed couple. Because of my sudden appearance, the cheering and jeering in the restaurant abruptly stopped. Arthur glared at me, his face full of annoyance. The others watched with amusement, waiting for me to scream and throw a fit. But to everyone’s surprise, I wasn’t angry at all. I handed the document to Arthur and simply said: “Can I borrow your car keys for a second? I left something in your car.” Hearing this, Mia pulled a set of Porsche keys out of her bag, stuck her tongue out at me, and said: “I’m so sorry, Sis~ Because I love sleeping in, I’m always late for work. So Arthur just gave me his car to drive.” “Who’s your ‘Sis’? Don’t call people that, you little dummy.” Arthur’s eyes were full of indulgence as he wiped a drop of wine from the corner of Mia’s mouth. I played along with his words and said: “Mr. Sterling and I are not married. Please don’t misunderstand, Ms. Mia.” With that, I took the keys, turned to leave, but Arthur suddenly grabbed me, his expression bizarre: “Chloe, ever since you got pregnant, you’ve wanted to throw up at the mere smell of alcohol. Why are you…” I was just about to respond when Mia suddenly lost all color in her face and hugged Arthur’s arm: “Arthur, is Chloe trying to find that pearl necklace in the car? “Um… but that necklace was lost by this clumsy little me! What should we do?” The necklace Mia was talking about was an heirloom left to me by my grandmother. I heard Arthur softly comfort Mia, saying it was just a cheap necklace, lost is lost, she shouldn’t worry about it. I set the car keys down and looked at Mia without joy or anger: “He’s right. It’s just a cheap necklace I’ve worn for nine years. Since you like it so much, consider it a gift.” Walking out of the restaurant, I was about to hail a cab when Arthur chased after me. He shoved a takeout container of nourishing fish porridge into my hands, speaking with a tone of charity: “Your prenatal checkup is tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” I lied casually: “You remembered the date wrong. The checkup is the day after tomorrow.” Arthur wanted to argue, but then he saw Mia standing at the restaurant entrance. He immediately turned back, took her hands, and blew on them to keep her warm. I watched them go back inside. I, who never ate fish, fed the porridge to a stray cat and went home. That night, Arthur never came home. And I didn’t call him even once. At 5:00 PM the next day, I had just put on my coat when Arthur suddenly came home and dragged me into his car. Inside the Sterling family estate, Arthur pulled me in front of his parents: “Mom, Dad, this is Chloe.” After years of a long-distance, drawn-out relationship, Arthur was finally bringing me to meet his parents. But my reaction left him sorely disappointed. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, something urgent has come up. Please excuse me, I must leave.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Arthur clamped his hand around my wrist, applying silent, crushing pressure. “Mom, Dad, she’s just joking with you. You go prepare dinner; I’ll show her around and get her familiar with the place first.” I was forcefully dragged to a top-floor bedroom to begin the so-called “tour.” My constant checking of the time on my phone quickly drew Arthur’s ire: “Chloe, you’ve always begged to see the room I grew up in. Now that you’re here, why are you suddenly acting mute?” “Hmm? It’s very nice.” My evasive answer made Arthur’s brow furrow deeply. “You keep looking at your phone. Is there something interesting on it?” “No.” Even with my denial, his face remained tight. He snatched my phone and held it up to his face. The screen repeatedly showed “Face ID Failed.” Arthur asked in surprise why it couldn’t recognize him. I was just about to answer when a crisp sound echoed from the window sill behind me. The tall Arthur saw something, dropped my phone without a word, and simply vanished. Ten minutes later, following a string of silvery, girlish giggles, I found Mia in the estate’s back garden, wearing fresh flowers in her hair. She was being carefully supported by Arthur, playing a childish game of walking on tiptoes across a wooden plank. “Arthur, you have to hold me steady… Ah! Arthur, save me!” While playing, Mia’s foot slipped, and with a flushed face, she fell right into Arthur’s chest. They both froze for a second, then exchanged a flawlessly synchronized, knowing smile. The smile in Arthur’s eyes vanished completely the moment he noticed me. “Huh? Chloe, why are you here?” Mia looked at me with pure innocence, blinked a few times, and then began weakly pounding Arthur’s chest with her delicate fists: “Oh, I know! You bad boy, you finally decided to bring your ugly duckling wife home to meet the parents!” “Congratulations, Chloe!” While her mouth offered congratulations, her voice was tinged with a sob, eliciting Arthur’s pained sympathy: “It’s just one dinner, what’s there to congratulate, you silly little fool.” After comforting Mia, the look Arthur gave me was absolute ice: “Is dinner ready?” Before I could speak, dozens of long snakes suddenly dropped from the tree branches above us. As I fell to the ground in terror, Mia let out an ear-piercing scream. Seeing this, Arthur didn’t even spare me a glance; he grabbed Mia tight and fled frantically. It wasn’t until animal control arrived to catch the snakes that Arthur finally remembered me. He returned to the tree, searching high and low, only to be finally told by the front gate security guard that I had left long ago. Late at night, in the airport departure lounge. Waiting to board, my phone vibrated non-stop. It wasn’t until the very last minute before takeoff that I finally answered the call. As soon as the call connected, Arthur frantically demanded to know where I was. He had clearly gone home and found it empty. I didn’t answer him directly, only saying: “None of your business.” He froze for a second, his voice tinged with anger: “A pregnant woman throwing a tantrum is bad for the baby. Stop being so willful. Give me your address, I’m coming to pick you up right now…” Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a wet, sticky kiss on a cheek came through the phone. Followed by Mia’s soft giggle. Arthur cleared his throat. His tone abruptly shifted, stating coldly: “Something came up at the company. Take a cab home yourself.” After saying that, he couldn’t help but add: “Text me when you get home.” After he hung up. I opened our chat and, exactly as he requested, sent a message: [Arthur, let’s break up. I sincerely wish you and Mia a long, happy life together.] The moment the message showed as “Read,” I blocked all his contact info and turned off my phone… “Auntie Chloe, here! Over here!” As soon as I got off the plane, I spotted my little niece enthusiastically waving her hand in the crowd. I scooped her up with a beaming smile and said to my sister: “It’s the middle of the night. I told you guys you didn’t need to pick me up.” “You think I wanted to? It’s this precious niece of yours who wouldn’t stop crying to see her silly auntie.” My sister reached out and hugged me. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of my flat stomach, her eyes filling with heartache. Just as I was about to comfort her, she preemptively pinched my cheek, fiercely complaining that I was as skinny as a rail. “Starting tomorrow, a bowl of fish maw and pork trotter soup every single day. Even if you hate it, you have to drink it. Non-negotiable.” “Okay, okay, whatever you say. You are my one and only sister, after all.” I sniffled, holding my niece, got into my sister’s car, and the three of us drove home, laughing and chatting. Even though it was 4:00 AM, my parents were still waiting in the living room. Only after confirming my sister and I were safely home, and watching me drink my favorite childhood honey iced tea, did they finally smile and go back to their room to sleep. After washing up, I lay in bed. Despite my usual insomnia, I fell asleep deeply within minutes. No pain, no more hesitation. Because I had finally returned to my true home. On my third day back, my parents booked a private room at a restaurant and invited all our relatives to welcome me home. Just as my welcome-home dinner was in full swing, filled with laughter and joy, a delivery driver arrived at the door and called out my name. My niece, who often fetches takeout for her mom, trotted over, grabbed the package, and skipped back to me. Having already learned how to read, she said in her sweet, babyish voice: “Auntie, it’s from a Mr. Sterling…” After thinking for a long while, I finally opened the box. Inside was a brand new smartphone. Just as I was thoroughly confused by this, the phone suddenly rang. Faced with the concerned looks from my family, I instinctively picked up the phone and walked to a quiet corner. I hesitated for a good while before pressing answer. Arthur’s voice was as cold as ever: “Chloe, why didn’t you tell me you went back to your parents’ house?” I asked him back: “Why should I tell you?” After a moment of silence, Arthur deliberately softened his tone and said: “I tried calling you from several different numbers, but your phone was always off… I was worried about you.” Having specifically set my phone to reject all unknown numbers, I blinked: “Just because of that, you used illegal methods to track me down, and even had a cheap phone delivered right in front of my family?” I couldn’t help but ask: “Arthur, are you mentally ill?” In all our years together, he had never received a single word of criticism or insult from me. Even through the phone, I could imagine just how ugly his expression must be right now. But despite that, he didn’t hang up. “Chloe, you know my personality. My patience is limited. You’d better know when to quit while you’re ahead…” Interrupting his nonsense, I asked impatiently what exactly he wanted to say. Taking a deep breath, Arthur said in a low voice: “For the sake of the baby, I won’t hold this little runaway stunt against you. I’ve already bought you a ticket back for next week. Mia and I will pick you up at the airport.” Hearing this, I almost burst out laughing: “What baby? The baby in my stomach has been gone for a long time.” I heard the sound of something shattering on the floor from Arthur’s end: “Chloe! How dare you joke about our child like that?!” Lowering my eyes, I pulled at the corner of my mouth and said: “I’m not joking. The baby is really gone. And I truly want to break up with you…” Before I could finish, Arthur sneered with utter disdain: “What do you mean the baby is gone? What do you mean you ‘truly’ want to break up? You just want to force me to admit I was wrong, don’t you? Fine, I was wrong. I was wrong to let you take a cab home alone just because something came up at work. Ms. Vance, I apologize to you. Are you satisfied now?” Faced with his passive-aggressive sarcasm, I felt absolutely nothing inside, only a profound sense of boredom: “I don’t need your apology. You just need to understand one thing: we are broken up.” With that, I hung up immediately, popped out the SIM card, and threw both the phone and the card into the trash. It was already 11:00 PM by the time the dinner ended. A close high school friend I hadn’t seen in years texted me, inviting me out for a late-night drink. I immediately went home, changed into a very form-fitting long dress, and happily went to meet her.

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My diary detailing my romance with my childhood sweetheart was found by the most popular girl in school. In a packed classroom, she read its contents aloud. [Mr. X looks so good in a white button-down. Not wearing one… looks even better.] The room erupted in roars of laughter. Everyone called me a delusional fangirl obsessed with Liam. But the truth was, Liam and I had been secretly dating for a year. Standing nearby, Liam looked at me with utter disgust. He told me to stop writing that garbage and disgusting his girlfriend. I was just about to step forward and confront him. When the next second. Someone pulled me into a tight embrace. The school’s most notoriously reckless bad boy suddenly appeared behind me. He glared fiercely at the popular girl. “Is Liam the only guy in this whole school whose name starts with an L?” “You stupid bitch, who gave you the right to read my girlfriend’s diary?” 1. Before I even walked into the classroom. I could hear the constant roars of laughter coming from inside. The school’s most popular girl, Chloe, was standing at the podium, holding a pink diary. She was reading its contents with exaggerated flair. [Today, Mr. L confessed his feelings to me. When he blushed and told me he liked me, it felt like a dream.] [Mr. L looks so good in a white button-down. Of course… not wearing one looks even better.] The class erupted in laughter. “Wearing a white button-down? This ‘Mr. L’ has to be Liam, right? Haha, Liam loves wearing white button-downs.” “So gross, I’m gonna throw up. Everyone knows Liam is Chloe’s boyfriend.” “Where did this delusional fangirl come from? A toad dreaming of swan meat.” Chloe ignored them and continued reading the next entry. [While Mr. L was sleeping, I secretly kissed him. Hehe, he won’t know, right?] The class laughed even louder. “Holy shit, that’s so creepy. Dreaming about kissing Liam? I’m literally gagging.” “I already threw up.” “Who exactly is having wet dreams about someone else’s boyfriend?” After the laughter died down, someone asked. “Chloe, whose diary is it?” 2. Chloe’s gaze cut through the crowd and landed right on me as I walked into the classroom. It was filled with mockery and provocation. But she quickly looked away. “Oh, stop asking. I just accidentally found someone’s diary. If I hadn’t seen ‘Mr. L’ written in it, I would never have been so rude as to read the contents.” “Reading other people’s private things is so wrong.” Someone chimed in to comfort her. “Chloe, you’re too nice. Someone is literally fantasizing about your boyfriend, and you’re still defending her.” “Why shouldn’t she read it? If you write something that disgusting, you obviously want people to see it.” “Just tell us who it is! I’m dying of curiosity. I want to make a PowerPoint out of her.” Just then. Liam, who had been silent the whole time, took the diary. He didn’t even glance at it. He threw it straight into the trash can. “If it’s disgusting, don’t read it. Reading garbage like this will only dirty your eyes.” He definitely recognized that notebook. It was the diary I bought with him at the bookstore right after we started dating. But even knowing it was mine. He still chose to stand behind Chloe. From beginning to end, he didn’t spare me a single glance. As if I, standing at the classroom door, was nothing but a stranger. Even though just a few days ago, he was holding me, whispering things that made me blush and my heart race. Now, it seemed. He was desperately trying to sever all ties with me. Suddenly, everything made sense. 3. I realized that Liam had started dating Chloe while still secretly dating me. When Chloe first transferred to our class. She was glamorous, outgoing, like a stunning rose. The boys swarmed around her, desperately trying to win her favor. Towards all of this. Liam always scoffed. “Trophy wife,” were the two words he initially used to describe Chloe. Later. I asked him privately why he didn’t like girls like Chloe. And instead liked a plain, boring girl like me. He affectionately tapped my nose. “Girls like that look like they play around a lot.” “Who knows how many guys she’s secretly dated. It’s disgusting. I would never like someone like her.” 4. Indeed, no one knew Liam and I were dating. A year ago. Liam said he wanted to keep things low-key. So we started a secret, underground relationship. And I had only just found out. The very first day he started dating Chloe, he made a highly public post on Instagram announcing their relationship. Of course, he blocked me from seeing that post. Up until this moment, I finally understood. A real relationship isn’t hidden away. If it’s hidden, it’s called an affair. 5. Chloe’s gaze swept the room again before landing on me. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, looking as if she were about to cry. Across the crowded classroom, she shouted at me. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I accidentally found your diary. I had no idea you wrote… those kinds of things…” “I only opened it because I saw Liam’s initial. I’m so sorry.” An uproar swept through the classroom. Every single eye turned to me. “Holy crap, it’s Sarah? I never would have guessed.” “Yeah, she always looks so innocent. Who knew she was so dirty.” “Now that you mention it, I think she really does secretly buy a lot of the same stuff Liam wears.” “I heard she and Liam are neighbors, they’ve known each other since they were kids. Doesn’t that mean… she’s been creeping on him for a long time?” “Last time, someone saw Sarah and Liam walk into the alley north of the school, one after the other. Holy shit, Sarah was stalking him! So gross.” Mockery and accusations flew at me from all sides. I looked at Liam, who was standing to the side, watching with cold indifference. “Don’t you have anything you want to say?” 6. Liam frowned, shielding Chloe behind him, increasing the distance between us. “Sarah, if I’ve ever done anything to give you the wrong idea, I apologize.” “Even though we’ve known each other since childhood, I’ve always just seen you as a little sister.” “Please, stop writing that garbage. It upsets my girlfriend.” He paused to think for a moment, then continued. “I’ll say this one last time: I will never like you. The person I like has always been Chloe.” With that, he put his arm around Chloe. The two of them looked like the picture-perfect, devoted couple. As if I truly were the monster trying to destroy their beautiful romance. I was utterly, completely disappointed. My stomach churned with nausea. Just as I was about to take a step forward and confront him. Someone suddenly lunged from behind me. That person pulled me into a tight embrace. My back hit a solid, muscular chest. The person was tall, and smelled of a wonderful, woody pine scent. The crowd around us gasped in surprise. I turned my head. The person standing behind me was actually the notoriously unpredictable bad boy of our school, Lucas. 7. Standing behind me, Lucas smirked. His eyes were full of pure defiance. “Are you insane? Is Liam the only guy in this entire school whose name starts with an L?” Someone in the crowd gasped. “Oh my god, yeah… Lucas’s name starts with an L too.” Lucas finished speaking and glared at Chloe. “You stupid bitch, who gave you the right to read my girlfriend’s diary?” “Seems like you’re all very interested in my daily life with my girlfriend? What? Do you want to hide under our bed tonight and listen?” He shot a glance at Liam. Continuing his sarcastic tirade. “I didn’t see any delusional fangirls, but I definitely see a delusional fanboy right here. Sees the initial ‘L’ and instantly starts fantasizing that my girlfriend has a crush on him. I think you’re the one daydreaming, buddy. Take a piss and look at your own reflection, you pretentious prick.” Liam was rendered completely speechless. His eyes fell on Lucas’s hand resting on my waist. He bit his lip hard. It took a long time before he squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth. “When did you start dating him?” That question. I wasn’t sure if he was asking Lucas or me. But I answered first. “Whenever the first page of that diary was written, that’s when.” “So… the guy you wrote about secretly kissing… was him?” I nodded. “Yep. And now I don’t have to kiss him in secret anymore.” After I said that. Liam’s face grew even darker. A few minutes passed before he muttered. “Impossible. There’s no way you two are together.” 8. Lucas looked completely exasperated. “What? Do I need to prove it to you?” I secretly tugged at Lucas’s shirt. Signaling him to stop talking. Because I knew there was no way to prove it. If he kept talking, our cover would be blown. But he just rubbed my back comfortingly. Looking perfectly calm and collected. “Remember the first page you guys read earlier? Where Mr. L confessed his feelings?” With one arm around me, he reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a love letter. The letter was folded neatly. The handwriting was bold and messy. It was definitely Lucas’s handwriting. “See this? This is the exact letter I used to confess my feelings. Sarah said she wanted to keep it as a memento, so I never threw it away.” His tone suddenly shifted, his gaze turning sharp. “Or does Liam want to hear the contents of our love letter?” Liam’s fingernails dug into his palms until they turned red. “Impossible. Back then, she clearly…” Beside him, Chloe was completely confused. She whined, “Liam, clearly what? Did you really date Sarah?” Liam looked like a deflated balloon. “How is that possible? How could I ever have dated her?” “It was a misunderstanding on my part.” After saying that, he grabbed Chloe’s hand, ready to leave. “Stop right there.” Lucas raised a finger, pointing right at him. “Did I fucking say you could leave?” 9. Liam asked irritably, “What else do you want?” Lucas’s face was stone cold. “Apologize to my girlfriend.” Chloe let out an incredulous laugh. “Apologize? Yeah right. She wrote a vague diary entry about some ‘Mr. L,’ who the hell knows who that is.” “I found it by accident, a misunderstanding happened. What does that have to do with me?” Lucas shot back, “Did you ‘find’ it or did you steal it? Don’t you know the answer to that yourself?” Lucas pointed to the security camera on the ceiling. “If you don’t want this to blow up, apologize right now.” Lucas had a terrible reputation at our school. Rebellious, domineering, and his word was law. His family also had ties to the school board. If he said he could check the cameras, he wasn’t joking. Liam thought about it for a moment. He picked my diary out of the trash can. “Chloe didn’t mean it. Is this really necessary?” I looked at him coldly. “It’s absolutely necessary.” “Sarah, don’t push it.” Lucas stood protectively in front of me. “Say one more word about my girlfriend, I dare you.” Liam finally gritted his teeth. He bowed a full ninety degrees and apologized to me. “I’ve apologized. Now leave Chloe alone.” 10. In the deserted equipment room. I gently pushed Lucas away. “I’m sorry… I caused so much trouble for you. Thank you for getting me out of that.” Just now… to help me, he even lied along with me, taking some random love letter and claiming he wrote it for me. He really… was too kind. Not at all like the terrifying rumors made him out to be. Lucas was much taller than me. I didn’t dare look up at his face. Right in front of my eyes was his long neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. And that woody pine scent wrapped around me. Time seemed to freeze in that moment. I didn’t know why, but my heart suddenly started racing like a panicked rabbit. I just wanted to run away. “I… I’ll post on Instagram in a few days saying you dumped me, so people won’t keep misunderstanding our relationship.” “Anyway, thank you so much for today, and I’m so sorry I made you lie for me. I really caused a lot of trouble for you.” “Lie?” Lucas took a step forward. Pinning me into the corner. “I never lie.”

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When our parents divorced, my sister chose to live with our wealthy father. I moved into my mom’s cramped rental apartment. Years later, my dad squandered the family fortune on booze, women, and gambling. Meanwhile, my mom started an influencer agency and became a famous female entrepreneur. My sister’s life was turned upside down, and she came to me crying for help. But when I wasn’t looking, she poisoned my drink. “We have the same parents! Why do you get to live so well while I’m homeless on the streets?!” “It’s my turn to live the good life!” When I opened my eyes again, we were back on the day of the divorce. This time, she beat me to it and threw her arms around our mom: “I want to live with Mom! I don’t care how hard it gets, I’m willing to endure it.” But she didn’t know… Mom was far more terrifying than Dad. 1 My sister, Chloe, always had a sweet mouth and knew exactly how to charm people. She was always the favorite. Because of this, when our parents decided to divorce, they asked her first who she wanted to live with. Dad, Richard Sterling, was a trust-fund baby. His family was incredibly wealthy. Mom was a stay-at-home wife. After the divorce, she’d have nothing and would have to scrape by to survive. So, without a second thought, Chloe obediently threw her arms around Dad. “I love Daddy the most! I can’t live without you. I want to grow up with you.” Dad beamed with joy, lifting Chloe high into the air. “Good girl! You’ll stay with Daddy and be a little princess for the rest of your life!” Chloe smiled sweetly. In a blind spot where our parents couldn’t see, she shot me a smug, triumphant glance. Yes, she had been like this since we were little. Always trying to one-up me. As long as she could “defeat” me, she was perfectly willing to do things that didn’t even benefit her. Dad and Chloe laughed happily together. Mom stood off to the side, looking heartbroken and gloomy. I stayed silent for a moment, then walked over and took Mom’s hand. “Mom, I’m willing to live with you.” She gave me a long, deep look, but said nothing. 2 Years later, through a stroke of luck, Mom’s live-streaming and influencer business took off like wildfire. We moved from the run-down rental into a nice condo. Then from the condo into a luxury mansion. Mom’s secondhand e-bike was replaced with a Mercedes. Then, it was upgraded to a Porsche. One day, Mom was driving me out to run errands. On the road, we happened upon a traffic accident. A man riding a scooter the wrong way down the street had crashed into a luxury car. The owner of the luxury car was screaming curses, while the scooter rider bowed and apologized submissively. His daughter stood off to the side, wailing loudly. Annoyed that she was embarrassing him, the man turned and kicked her. Heartbroken, the girl turned her head—and locked eyes with me through the tinted window of the Porsche. It was my sister, Chloe. And that pathetic, apologizing man on the scooter was our dad! Chloe recognized Mom and me. Her eyes lit up, and she began chasing our car like a madwoman. But Mom simply pressed the gas pedal and drove forward, acting as if nothing had happened. I hesitated before speaking: “Mom, that was Chloe.” Mom replied coldly, “I saw. What, you want to help her?” I didn’t dare make a sound. Mom sneered. “She was so cute when she was little. Now that she’s grown, she’s as ugly as her father. Ungrateful little brat. This is karma.” I completely shut my mouth. Not long after, Chloe managed to find my contact info. She asked me to meet her. In the cafe, she cried a river of tears. “Serena, you have no idea. Dad is—” According to Chloe, Dad was an absolute fool. He was incompetent, yet infinitely greedy. A few years ago, he listened to the nonsense of some “friends” and, ignoring Grandpa’s warnings, invested in a startup. But the company was a pre-planned trap, and tens of millions of dollars vanished into thin air. Grandpa was furious and banished him from the family estate. “I thought Dad would learn his lesson, but all he knew how to do was drink, party, and gamble.” After being kicked out, Dad partied every night. Encouraged by his various girlfriends, he went to underground casinos and threw money around like dirt. Within a few months, his millions in savings were wiped out. He even racked up six million dollars in gambling debt. Grandpa was completely done with him and refused to give him a single cent. Desperate, Dad had to start doing food delivery to make ends meet. But he was a man used to a life of luxury. He used to have a chauffeur everywhere he went; he didn’t even know the traffic laws. Not long after he started delivering, he drove the wrong way and hit a luxury car— Which was exactly the scene I had witnessed a few days prior. In the cafe, Chloe threw herself into my arms, sobbing pitifully. “Serena, I saw Mom driving a Porsche and wearing Chanel. Your bag is Dior. You guys must be living so well.” “Serena, can you go back and talk to Mom? I’m her daughter too. I don’t want to live with Dad anymore. I want to live with her.” “She must miss me, right? During those first few years after the divorce, she used to call me all the time, begging me to come back.” Her eyes were filled with desperate hope. But the moment I thought of Mom, an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. Finally, I said, “It’s best if you don’t live with Mom. But… I can give you a little money.” Chloe’s head snapped up, a flash of pure, venomous resentment darting across her eyes. But just as quickly, a grateful smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Serena. I always knew you treated me the best.” 3 The next day, I transferred fifty thousand dollars to Chloe. She insisted on inviting me to her cramped apartment for a home-cooked meal to thank me. Inside the dingy rental, Chloe handed me a cup of tea. “Serena, I remember you loved Jasmine tea when we were kids. I picked these leaves out just for you. Taste it and tell me what you think.” My guard was down, and I drank it. But soon, the room started spinning. The last thing I saw was Chloe coming at my face with a knife, slashing it open. “Serena Sterling, we have the exact same parents! Why do you get to live in luxury while I sleep on the streets?!” “You have so much money, yet you only give me this pathetic amount, and you won’t even let me go back to Mom! You selfish, greedy bitch!” An endless darkness washed over me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our parents’ divorce. Facing Dad’s question. This time, without a second thought, Chloe spun around and hugged Mom. “I can’t live without Mom! I want to live with Mom! I don’t care how hard it gets, I’m not afraid!” Mom, moved to tears, hugged Chloe tightly. Buried in Mom’s embrace, Chloe wore a sly, wicked smile. In a blind spot where no one else could see. Chloe silently mouthed the words to me. Sister, this time, it’s my turn to fly high. So, she had been reborn too. But what she didn’t know was that Mom was far more terrifying than Dad. 4 Chloe marched off happily toward the run-down rental apartment. While I stayed behind in the sprawling Sterling mansion. Dad was just as unreliable as always. Having just finalized his divorce, he was already prepping for a wild night out at the club. On the phone, some mistress’s voice was disgustingly sweet and whiny. But it put Dad in a fantastic mood. He grabbed his coat, ready to head out. Just as he was about to step through the door, I stopped him. I asked, “Dad, who’s going to eat dinner with me?” He replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “We have a nanny, don’t we? Have her eat with you.” I bit my lip and said, “I haven’t seen Grandpa in a long time, and I miss him. Dad, can you drop me off at his house?” Dad hesitated for a moment. Seeing this, I added, “I heard Auntie’s son went to see Grandpa a couple of days ago. I don’t know what he said, but Grandpa bought Auntie another new car. Did you know about that, Dad?” Hearing this, Dad’s hesitation vanished instantly. “That family does nothing but leech off my side of the family, spit!” “Serena, I’ll have the driver take you right now. Remember, you have to say good things about me to Grandpa, you hear?” With that, he practically shoved me into the back of a luxury SUV. Grandpa Arthur Sterling lived in a secluded, massive lakefront estate. In his eyes, my mother was a scheming gold-digger. He believed she had used every dirty trick in the book to climb the social ladder and marry my dad, and that she was deeply manipulative and malicious. Because of this, he had always despised Mom, and by extension, he didn’t like Chloe or me. In our past life, after the divorce, Chloe also tried to suck up to Grandpa. But she had always been a spoiled, pampered little princess at home. Her head was empty; her only skills were acting cute and pretending to be innocent. But at Grandpa’s house, none of her little tricks worked. No matter how much she cried or threw tantrums, all she got was his cold indifference. Her situation was the exact opposite of Auntie’s son, Ethan Vance, who was Grandpa’s golden boy. No matter what Ethan said or did, he always earned Grandpa’s praise. Over time, Chloe grew deeply resentful. During a family banquet, she deliberately shattered an antique vase. And she framed Ethan for it. She thought this would send Ethan’s status plummeting. But what she got instead was hidden security camera footage. Ethan’s position remained utterly unshaken. Chloe, however, faced the full wrath of the family’s discipline. Grandpa scolded her, calling her “scheming and vicious, willing to use any dirty trick for personal gain, exactly like your mother.” He strictly forbade Dad from ever bringing her to the estate again. From that day on, Chloe held a deep grudge against Grandpa. On his 80th birthday, Chloe even posted a vicious comic on social media. The comic was a malicious curse, depicting the Grim Reaper using various methods to harvest an old man’s life. Grandpa saw it, of course, but he simply ignored her. Later, when Dad went bankrupt and Chloe’s living conditions plummeted, she finally remembered Grandpa. She knelt at the gates of the estate, begging him to forgive her and take her in. Grandpa didn’t even show his face; the security guards just dragged her away. This time, time had rewound. Chloe had run off to chase the new life of her dreams. And the one standing outside the lakefront estate, about to visit Grandpa, was me. I took a few deep breaths and pressed the doorbell. 5 Even though Dad had called ahead to say I wanted to visit him, Grandpa’s expression in the study remained ice-cold. After I politely greeted him, he showed absolutely no intention of acknowledging me. I didn’t get upset. I simply found a quiet corner and sat down. During the years I lived with my mother in my past life, I endured humiliations a hundred, a thousand times worse than this. This was nothing. In the study, Grandpa was quizzing Ethan on his coursework. Ethan was seventeen this year, academically exceptional, and a genuine prodigy with a deep passion for finance and economics. Grandpa was a self-made billionaire, but sadly, his own children were all mediocre failures. Therefore, he genuinely admired this driven, grounded grandson. He frequently pulled Ethan aside to lecture him on famous domestic and international business case studies. Grandpa’s questions were highly advanced. Ethan managed to answer the first few perfectly. But this current question was different. Ethan sank into a long, contemplative silence. Grandpa wasn’t in a rush; he waited patiently for his answer. I tentatively raised my hand. “Grandpa, may I share my thoughts?” Grandpa glanced at me, his expression full of doubt. “You? You haven’t even finished middle school. What could you possibly say?” “If you can’t sit still, go outside. Stop trying to play these little games.” I didn’t get angry. I just smiled and said, “If my answer displeases you, I’ll go stand in the corner outside as punishment. Is that fair?” Grandpa scoffed. But Ethan interjected, “Grandpa, why not let Serena try?” Grandpa said nothing, which meant tacit approval. I shot Ethan a grateful smile and immediately began: “This particular wave of early entrepreneurs had questionable startup capital. In the early days, they acted as middlemen, helping foreign tech companies break into the domestic market. They relied heavily on information asymmetry to reap massive profits.” Grandpa looked at me in surprise and pressed further: “Then tell me, what was their natural advantage, and what was their fatal flaw?” I thought for a moment and replied, “They established close ties with foreign enterprises early on and adapted quickly to the market—that was their advantage. But those who live by the sword die by the sword. Their fatal flaw was an over-reliance on the first-mover advantage provided by those foreign firms. They never developed their own core competencies. Therefore, once the market matured and became regulated, their competitive edge vanished completely.” Grandpa stared at me fixedly for a long time. His expression was complex. There was doubt. There was scrutiny. The only thing missing was contempt. After a while, he asked, “You’re only fourteen. Where did you hear all of this?” I replied, “There are a lot of books in the city library. I love reading.” But that wasn’t true. Among the “clients” my mother entertained, a large portion were the exact beneficiaries of that middleman era. They had exploited loopholes, amassing wealth through nepotism and information gaps, yet attributed all their success to their own supposed brilliance. And on many drunken afternoons, while groping the young girls in their arms, they couldn’t wait to brag about their past conquests. Thinking of this, I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I was still in Grandpa’s solemn, antique study. Not in a dimly lit, pink-tinted bedroom reeking of alcohol and sleaze. Clap, clap, clap. Ethan was clapping softly. He said, “Serena is only fourteen, yet her reading comprehension and critical thinking are incredibly sharp. She deserves praise.” He looked at me, his expression warm and genuine: “I bow to your insight.” I quickly shook my head. “It was just a lucky guess. I don’t know any of the advanced finance and economic concepts you were talking about earlier. I still have so much to learn.” After a brief silence, Ethan asked, “Serena, do you want to study with me?” 6 At Ethan’s suggestion, Grandpa allowed me to audit their sessions. But he was still suspicious of me. He suspected this was just another unorthodox scheme to con money out of him. So, he ordered Ethan to give him regular reports on my behavior. In truth, there was no need for Ethan to monitor me, nor did anyone need to force me to work. I attended classes religiously. Every weekend, I was either practicing the piano or buried in the library. This was the life I had desperately begged for but never received in my past life. How could I not cherish it? Several months passed. In Grandpa’s study, I was no longer just a listener. Often, over a specific scenario Grandpa posed, Ethan and I would debate until we were red in the face. Until Grandpa finally called a halt. I don’t know exactly when it happened. But Grandpa stopped looking at me with guarded eyes. And Ethan stopped giving Grandpa reports on my behavior. Because he complained that keeping an eye on me wasted too much of his time, which was why he had actually lost to me on a recent pop quiz. Grandpa just threw his head back and laughed heartily at that. I pretended not to know any of this and just quietly kept doing my practice tests. At school, my relentless studying yielded rich rewards. I won first place in a state math competition. The teacher said they were going to formally commend me at the upcoming parent-teacher conference. But Dad was as unreliable as ever. He had promised to attend, but half an hour before it started, he called to say he couldn’t make it. “Serena, Daddy has a very important meeting to run. Have the nanny go to the conference for you, okay? Be a good girl.” But I could clearly hear the giggling of several women in the background. I didn’t expose his lie; I just calmly hung up the phone. Then, I took a picture of the honors list posted on the classroom bulletin board and texted it to Grandpa. On the list, my name and Ethan’s name sat firmly at the top of the middle school and high school divisions respectively. Our matching last names gleamed brightly in the sunlight. I added a message: [Grandpa, Dad had an emergency and can’t make it to my conference. But the teachers really want to talk to my guardian about my future academic track. Could you come?] Grandpa came to the school personally. This was a treatment not even Ethan had ever received. My homeroom teacher was terrified, and the Principal rushed over to host him personally. Grandpa sat regally in the center seat of the Principal’s office and asked, “How are my granddaughter’s studies? Is there anything she needs to improve?” He knew the answer already. The homeroom teacher immediately poured on the praise, confirming that I was an absolutely flawless, top-tier student in every possible regard. Only then did Grandpa nod in satisfaction. After the conference, he hesitated for a moment before actually ordering his driver to take us to the mall. He said, “I noticed all the little girls in your class dressing so brightly. Why are you dressed so plainly? Is your father neglecting you?” In the end, he custom-ordered six or seven tailored outfits for me. And bought me several designer bags. Looking at the numbers on the receipts, I felt a rush of panic. “Grandpa, aren’t you worried I’m just after your money anymore?” He let out a booming laugh. “Go ahead and be after it! I’d be more worried if you weren’t!” I froze for a second, then joined in his laughter. Chloe thought that to win Grandpa over, she needed to be cute, provide emotional value, and act like a spoiled, innocent child. But she didn’t understand that Grandpa was a self-made billionaire. He had seen countless sugar-coated bullets and witnessed the darkest depths of human nature. He didn’t need, nor did he respect, flattery and whining from useless people. What an aging patriarch wanted to see more than anything was a vibrant, capable successor. And me? As long as I continuously proved my competence, it was only a matter of time before I became the second Ethan. Grandpa’s golden child.

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After my terminal cancer diagnosis. In the hospital room, the weather was beautiful one day. For once, I took the time to put on some makeup. I snapped a close-up selfie. “Do I look pretty today?” Many strangers left likes and kind comments. Then, Liam Kensington’s younger sister jumped into the comment section. “Ugly as hell. Did you really think putting on makeup would make my brother change his mind? You don’t deserve him.” After a while, I replied anyway. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” 1 The attending physician let out a heavy sigh. “Where is your family?” I shook my head. “I don’t have any family.” “None? How is that possible?” “They’re very busy. They don’t have time to worry about me. Doctor, I’m heading back to my room.” Leaving the doctor sighing heavily behind me, I returned to the ward. The older woman in the bed next to mine—Martha—kindly checked on me. “How did it go, honey? Any improvement?” I shook my head. “It’s getting worse.” But I wasn’t too sad about it. Martha and the family member of the patient by the window both froze. I could see the pity welling up in their eyes. It was almost time for dinner. Suddenly, I didn’t want to eat the cafeteria food today. The man Martha was caring for—her husband—also complained that the hospital food was bland. I pulled two fifty-dollar bills from my wallet. “Martha, when you go home to cook later, could you buy some extra beef? I’d really love some homemade beef stew.” She was stunned for a second. “Okay. I’ll make a massive pot of it today. Don’t buy anything from the cafeteria, honey. I’ll make enough for all of us to share.” Martha went home to cook. 2 By noon, our hospital room was filled with the rich, savory aroma of beef stew and carrots. The meat was braised until it was meltingly tender. As I ate, tears began to drop silently into my bowl. I simply raised the bowl higher to hide my face. “Slow down, there’s plenty more. I brought the whole slow cooker,” Martha said gently. I didn’t lower my bowl until my eyes were completely dry. In the end, I didn’t have a second serving. In my memories, whenever I refused to eat as a little girl, my mom would make me beef stew. The carrots my mom picked out were always incredibly sweet. Since she passed away, I had never tasted anything like it again. Today, Martha’s cooking brought back a flavor I hadn’t experienced in years. She refused to take the hundred dollars. So, I used a delivery app to order a huge basket of fresh fruit for the room, sharing it with everyone. Our room was unofficially known as the “Death Ward.” All three of us had been diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. While massaging her husband’s legs, Martha suddenly sighed. “Honey, you should ask for a room transfer.” I looked at her, confused. “That bed of yours… it’s bad luck. The last person…” I understood. The last person in this bed didn’t leave the hospital alive. I heard she was a successful female executive in her early thirties. I shook my head. “I don’t believe in superstitions.” Actually, there were VIP suites available, and the doctor had recommended one to me. But I had gone to look at them. They had every amenity you could ask for, but the private rooms were too cold and desolate. I preferred this shared room. Living here, I could listen to people chat every day. It felt grounded, full of ordinary, everyday life. After guarding an empty, massive estate for three years, I was thoroughly sick of the loneliness. I yearned for the warmth of human connection. 3 When Liam Kensington called, I was sleeping. “You’re not home?” I opened my eyes, my voice thick with sleep. “Yeah,” I replied flatly. “I brought Seraphina over. Don’t cause trouble for her.” I didn’t argue. I just said, “Okay.” “You’re agreeing that easily this time?” “Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” “Hanging up?” he scoffed. “Evelyn Monroe, if you try to play nice to my face and stab her in the back again, I swear I won’t let you get away with it.” I didn’t bother listening to the rest. I hung up. I stared at the muted TV screen. Seraphina was Liam’s mistress. A woman he kept on the side. She was presented to him at a corporate gala. In the past, there had been similar setups, but Liam had never taken the bait. Yet, Seraphina—with her elegant, Southern-belle charm—succeeded. Rumor had it she performed a captivating contemporary ballet routine at the charity ball, winning over everyone in the room. And she successfully climbed into Liam’s bed. I didn’t understand. Why? Liam hadn’t even been drinking that night. How did they just end up together? Since I was a kid, people always told me I was a bit slow to catch on. Before all this, I never once doubted Liam’s love for me. We were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. When we were just kids, he promised he would marry me. By the time I found out he had been keeping Seraphina for a while, I was trembling. Disbelieving. It felt like my entire world had collapsed. I threw fits. I screamed. We fought. But the more I fought, the more impatient and disgusted his gazes became. Eventually, he gave all his gentleness to Seraphina. I thought maybe I was just getting old. But I was only twenty-six. Liam forbade me from seeing Seraphina. He didn’t even allow the staff to mention her name around me. But eventually, I did see her. And after that meeting, Seraphina had a miscarriage. Word was, it had been a baby boy. Liam was the first to slap me. Then, his mother, Mrs. Kensington, slapped me ten times across the face. Even though I swore I didn’t do it, not a single person believed me. If this were the medieval era, I would have been banished to the dungeon. After that, I was never invited to the Kensington family dinners again. I was left entirely alone in a massive, empty estate. Liam never came home. During those cold, lonely days, I would occasionally dream. I dreamed of my late parents. I dreamed of when Liam and I were young, of the sunny afternoon we first met. He had said, “Evelyn Monroe. Your name sounds really pretty.” I would wake up with my face soaked in tears. I’d slowly pull back the curtains and waste another day away. At first, I couldn’t handle it. I demanded a divorce. I wanted to move to Europe and start a new life. But facing the massive corporate assets my family still held, the Kensington family refused to agree to the divorce. They ignored my legal papers. They just dragged it out, draining my youth. To them, giving me a house and a monthly allowance was a microscopic price to pay to keep me trapped. 4 Suddenly, there was a commotion out in the hallway. I poked my head out. “What’s going on?” Martha hurried in, shaking her head. “Don’t look.” A chorus of wailing erupted outside. A bed covered with a white sheet was wheeled past, surrounded by weeping family members. I froze. I became even quieter after that. It felt like someone left this ward every few days. Sometimes, two bodies were taken away in a single day. Just yesterday, this floor felt wrapped in a mundane, peaceful sort of happiness. So many people had come to ask for a bowl of Martha’s beef stew. There was laughter in the halls. Martha sighed as she wiped down the bedside table. “Thanksgiving is right around the corner. That family just wanted to hold on until the holidays. The universe is too cruel.” At that thought, Martha looked at her husband in the hospital bed. She turned away and wiped her eyes. When she turned back around, she was smiling again. “For Thanksgiving, what kind of pie does everyone want? I’ll go home and bake.” The older woman caring for the patient next door waved her hand. “You’re tired enough every day. Don’t wear yourself out.” “It’s no trouble, it makes me happy! And whoever eats a slice of my pie has to promise to live to be a hundred.” The room fell silent. Everyone lowered their heads. Her husband reached out and squeezed her hand. “You silly old woman.” 5 Thanksgiving arrived in the blink of an eye. Martha handed me a slice of homemade pumpkin pie. I unwrapped the foil. We were all eating in the room. But everyone was only taking tiny, hesitant bites. First, we had no appetite. Second, we had no energy. We were just going through the motions for the holiday. Finally, I couldn’t hold back my tears. “Mom, don’t give me pie, I don’t like it.” “Pie means the family is together, sweetie. Even if you don’t like it, you have to eat a little piece.” In my memory, my mom gently tapped my nose. I was so small back then. I took a massive bite of the pie. I filled my cheeks, chewed slowly, and forced it down. But then I choked. On the TV, they were broadcasting the Kensington family’s holiday gala. There was a massive dining table covered in an opulent, Michelin-star Thanksgiving feast. I bit my lip. In the center of the frame were Mr. and Mrs. Kensington. Next to them was Liam. The woman beside him in the elegant silk dress didn’t show her face; the camera only caught her pale, delicate wrist resting on the table. The left side of the screen stopped there. But on the right side, all the uncles, cousins, and relatives were shown clearly. I turned my head, my mouth full of pie, and looked out the window. In past years, the Kensington family events were always grand and strictly adhered to old-money rules. I never expected them to invite the media this time. The woman next to him was Seraphina. 6 Later on, I saw paparazzi photos of Liam and Seraphina floating around online multiple times. However, none of them ever captured Seraphina’s full face. Just a side profile. Or a silhouette from behind. It sparked a massive discussion online. “Who is the woman next to Liam Kensington?” “Is he keeping a mistress?” “Don’t talk nonsense, you can’t even see her face. It might be his wife.” “If it’s his wife, why hide her face? Plus, her silhouette doesn’t match Evelyn Monroe. This woman is a bit curvier.” “Men always prefer that type.” “Insider gossip: It’s definitely not his wife. But Liam has already brought her home to meet the parents.” “Meet the parents? Then what about the actual Mrs. Kensington?” “Who knows? But come to think of it, no one has seen Evelyn Monroe in the media for years.” I put down my phone. I raised my arm, looking at the limb that was now practically skin and bones. The doctor said I had to shave my head. I pressed my lips together in silence. I contacted my lawyer. Then, I asked the doctor for permission to go home for a few hours. From the taxi, I dialed Liam’s number. We hadn’t seen each other in six months. He sounded even colder than before. “What do you want?” “I’m coming home. We need to talk.” He paused. “You’re at the house?” “Yeah. Almost there.” “I’m in a meeting. I can’t leave.” “I’ll wait.” With that, I hung up. 7 I ended up waiting for four hours. Thankfully, the autumn air was incredibly crisp. I lingered outside, sometimes sitting on the porch steps, sometimes walking among the fallen golden leaves on the driveway. Autumn had arrived. Everything felt bleaker. I looked back at the massive estate. Even the house looked desolate. Liam’s car pulled into the driveway, sweeping up a cloud of dry leaves. He stepped out, looking at me sitting on the steps, and frowned. “Why are you sitting out here? Why didn’t you go inside?” I shook my head. “Forgot my key.” “Forgot it? More like you lost it while you were out messing around.” He turned back, grabbed his keys from the car, and unlocked the front door. As the door opened, a strong, musty smell hit us. He coughed. “Ugh.” His handsome face immediately darkened with anger. I stopped him. “Liam, let’s not go inside. Let’s just talk out here.” In the past, our fights had reached the ugliest extremes, but now, it just felt completely unnecessary. He turned around. His face wore a dark, confused expression. “Talk about what?” I unzipped my puffy jacket and pulled out a stack of documents. “Marry Seraphina. Let’s get a divorce.” He froze, looking at me in sheer disbelief. But then, the anger flared up again. “This time, I don’t want anything. I’m walking away with nothing.” His rising fury instantly morphed back into shock. If I could do it all over again, I would have asked for nothing from the very beginning. Just to fight him, I had traded my life. I trapped myself in this miserable marriage just to prove a point, demanding my 5% of the shares. Fighting for the youth I felt had been stolen. But in the end, what did I actually get? He clenched his fists. “Evelyn Monroe, what crazy game are you playing now?” We stood in silence. He didn’t take the papers. I stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and slapped the divorce agreement onto his palm. I looked up. A golden leaf fell between us. I turned around and walked down the steps. I paused for a second. “I’m leaving. Do whatever you want with this place.” With that, I walked away, accompanied only by the drifting autumn leaves. “Evelyn…” Someone seemed to call my name. But I didn’t want to answer. 8 It was almost time to shave my head. I couldn’t bear to part with my hair. The next day, the hospital barber suddenly had a family emergency and couldn’t make it. I had time to properly document myself one last time. I set up a small tray table on my bed and dumped out the bottles and compacts from my makeup bag. “You’re doing your makeup?” a young nurse asked, frowning. Another nurse quickly pulled her out of the room. That day, my makeup session drew a crowd of patients and their families. They didn’t look at me like I was a freak. They looked at me with encouragement. They told me I looked beautiful, that they had never seen a patient look so pretty. I smiled. “Believe it or not, I was Prom Queen once.” They nodded emphatically. Eventually, I was too exhausted to finish. I quickly curled my eyelashes and snapped a photo. Several patients came over to take group pictures, and I happily obliged. Finally, I picked a solo selfie and posted it to my social media account. #Do I look pretty today?# Suddenly, my notifications exploded with likes. It turned out another patient in the ward had shared my post with their network of survivor groups. “Gorgeous! Literally an angel.” “So pretty, especially your eyes. So big and round.” “I think her nose is the best feature. Perfect profile.” “Just one feature? Her whole face is beautiful! Oh my god, the prettiest girl on the internet.” I pressed my lips together. Their kindness deeply moved me. Suddenly, a comment with a verified yellow badge popped up. “Ugly as hell. Do you think putting on some makeup will make my brother change his mind?” “You don’t deserve him.” The profile picture was a girl in a pink hoodie, showing her side profile. It was Madison Kensington. She had never liked me. Some patients replied to her, telling her to have some basic decency. She fought back viciously in the replies. After a long silence, I picked up my phone. I replied to Madison. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” Then, I deleted the entire post.

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