Category: English

A year into our marriage, and my husband had never touched me. Just as I was about to find a man to cheat with, comments started scrolling across my vision. 【The side character is so clueless! Does she have any idea what kind of a beast the male lead is keeping leashed in his pants? He doesn’t touch her because he’s afraid she can’t handle it!】 【He’s terrified she’ll hate him, so he’s bottling it up until he’s about to explode, and what happens? His wife runs off with some other guy. LMAO.】 【Hehe, if she doesn’t mess up, how can the female lead come and save him? Our girl gets treated so well later on, it’s non-stop action, day and night.】 1 The comments left me frozen. The side character… was me? And the male lead… was that my husband-in-name-only, Jack? Before I could process it, a man’s voice pulled me back. “Rosalind? Did you need something from me?” The man before me wore a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, his features handsome and scholarly. His name was Arthur. He was one of the few men in our small town with a college education. He was also the man I was planning to sleep with. His gaze shifted to the eggs I was holding out. “Are those for me?” he asked, his eyes betraying a flicker of excitement beneath a veneer of modesty. They were. Or, they were supposed to be. A year of marriage, and my husband wouldn’t lay a finger on me. The other young wives who got hitched around the same time were already pregnant with their second, while I hadn’t even had a wedding night. I can’t count the number of times the neighbors have whispered behind my back, calling me a barren hen. I’m not a woman with thick skin. And at this point, does it matter who the father is? So I’d set my sights on the bookish Arthur. I just needed a donor. But now… Remembering the strange words that had floated past my eyes, I hesitated. The comments appeared again: 【This girl’s got terrible taste. She’s got a man with broad shoulders and a lean waist, a top-tier body, and she’s chasing after this skinny beanpole.】 【All she has to do is crook her finger and the ML would go at it with her till dawn. But no, she picks the guy who’s done in ten minutes. The contrast is just painful.】 Holy crap. Why didn’t you guys say so earlier? “Nothing! Just passing by!” I snatched the eggs back and sprinted away. 2 I ran all the way home. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the chimney. Jack was standing at the stove, focused on cooking. He must have just gotten off work; he hadn’t even changed. Sweat soaked his shirt, clinging to his body and outlining the powerful, tight muscles beneath. His back was a solid wall of strength, his waist lean and powerful. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tanned, sinewy forearms. I swallowed hard. Jack looked like he had endless stamina. It was one of the main reasons I’d agreed to marry him in the first place. The comments flickered to life again: 【Look at that build! Six-foot-three of pure, rugged male lead. An athlete’s waist! This guy is a certified weapon!】 【She almost got to taste the good stuff. You give her the opportunity and she still fumbles it. What a beautiful idiot.】 【Good thing she’s a fool. Our sweet female lead would never want a man another woman’s already used.】 I gritted my teeth. Calling me a fool was one thing, but telling me my husband had to stay celibate for some so-called “female lead”? The hell with that. Tonight, Jack was mine. 3 Jack hadn’t said a word since I’d stormed in. He just kept working silently at the stove. A sliver of doubt crept in. Were these comments just messing with me? His cold demeanor didn’t exactly scream “I’m in love with you.” I pulled out the eggs, about to put them back in the kitchen. Just then, a deep, magnetic voice sounded right next to my ear. “Did you go to the chicken coop?” My heart leaped, and I spun around, relieved. I was overthinking it; he did care about me. But his brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with disapproval. “Didn’t I tell you not to do that kind of work?” His tone was scolding. I was stunned. He was yelling at me. And for what? For getting eggs from our own coop. This is what the comments called love? A wave of anger washed over me, and I was about to snap back with a sarcastic remark. Just then, new comments flew by. 【See? You’re jumping to conclusions again. He’s not mad at you. The coop is filthy, and he doesn’t want you going in there. He quietly takes care of all the dirty, tiring chores himself.】 【It breaks my heart to see the ML being so good to her when I know our sweet FL is waiting. Can this side character just get written out of the story already? I’m so over her.】 【Who cares about that? As a romance connoisseur, I just want to know if he’s bigger than an egg down there.】 【Much bigger.】 The anger vanished as I read. But when my eyes caught the last two audacious comments, I nearly choked. A large, warm hand landed on my back, patting it gently. Jack’s expression was full of concern. “What’s wrong?” My gaze drifted downward. Even his loose trousers couldn’t hide the impressive bulge at his crotch. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Nothing. Just wondering which is bigger, you or the egg.” Jack froze. Then his handsome face flushed a deep crimson. “You’re a lady, you can’t say things like that. Do you… Do you want an egg? I can cook another one for you.” With that, he practically fled, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. The comments erupted in laughter. 【She’s lying. In his mind, he’s already got her screaming his name.】 【Based on my extensive reading experience, he’s probably imagined them going at it so hard they’re both drenched.】 【Doesn’t even take that long.】 My cheeks burned. These people were so bold! I was still an innocent young woman, I couldn’t listen to this stuff. But… My eyes drifted back to Jack’s lean, powerful waist. Could you really work up that much of a sweat doing… that? 4 While Jack finished cooking, I finally pieced together the whole story from the stream of comments. It turns out I was the villainous ex-wife in a historical romance novel. I was beautiful and thought the world of myself, always dreaming of marrying some rich man and moving to the city to live a life of luxury. But one day, I accidentally fell into the river and was saved by the male lead, Jack. My body had been seen, and the town gossip forced me to marry him. But how could a rough country farmer compare to a well-read scholar? I was filled with resentment. I constantly berated and hit Jack, and shamelessly carried on with Arthur. When the affair was exposed, I demanded a divorce, only to be swindled out of all my money by my lover and eventually starve to death on the streets. I clutched my chest. That was a close call. I’d almost reached the “run away with another man” part of the plot. Looking back on the past year, I really had been awful to Jack. How could I fix this? I agonized over it until I glanced up and saw my reflection in the mirror. Even with a frown, my face lost none of its charm. Every expression was captivating. The comments confirmed it: 【The side character may be an idiot, but damn, she’s gorgeous.】 【Honestly, with that face and body, if she wasn’t so stupid, the ML would have taken care of her for the rest of his life.】 【Just the sight of her back has him completely mesmerized right now.】 My eyes darted to the side. Sure enough, in the corner of the mirror, I could see Jack leaning against the doorframe, his gaze locked on my back, as if he couldn’t bear to even blink. I’ve never been shy about using my looks to my advantage. And of course, I was more than a little curious to see just how “dangerous” Jack really was. After all, his powerful physique was a big part of why I’d married him. A year of being a widow with a living husband had left me… frustrated. Today I was wearing a form-fitting top and a pair of dark blue trousers. A simple, common outfit, but on me, it was undeniably sexy. Big bust, tiny waist, and round hips. I stood up. In the mirror, Jack’s eyes followed my every move. The look he cast on my back was hot, obsessive. Then, I casually swayed my hips. Gulp. A loud, distinct swallow echoed through the quiet room. A smirk played on my lips. Hook, line, and sinker. I turned to face him. Jack looked flustered, the tips of his ears bright red. The sound of his own gulp had startled him, and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind to cover his embarrassment. “Honey, the… the food’s ready.” The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize his mistake. His face went pale. 5 A comment promptly appeared. 【Seriously, this girl is so ungrateful. If the ML hadn’t jumped in the river to save her, she would have drowned. And she has the nerve to blame him for ruining her dream of marrying into wealth?】 【She’s been a tyrant since they married. She hits him, screams at him, and won’t even let him call her ‘honey.’】 【Our FL is so much better. She only ever thinks about the ML. Not like this spoiled, lazy brat.】 Remembering my own vicious behavior, the affection in Jack’s eyes faded. He lowered his head, his lips pressed into a tight line, bracing himself for the usual storm of insults and blows. But the next moment, a soft warmth pressed against his arm. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his strong bicep, my voice a playful purr. “Darling… I love it when you call me that. Say it again for me?” Jack froze. Then, as if he’d been burned, he yanked his arm away. He strode toward the dinner table, his movements stiff, his ears glowing red. “I’ll get your plate.” I smiled, undeterred. So I’d been a monster in the past. I could change. A man just needs a little sweet-talking. The comments weren’t so sure: 【Hold on, hold on. Why the sudden personality transplant?】 【Women with big chests are always the most desperate. I bet she’s just after his body!】 【Nooo! The ML is still totally into her right now! If he’s not a virgin anymore, what about our sweet FL?】 My smile widened. Congratulations, you guessed right. And I don’t just want to do it once. I want to do it every day. 6 He said he was getting the food, but Jack was nowhere to be found in the kitchen. I didn’t think much of it. While I waited, I went back to the room to touch up my makeup. Bold red lips, and eyes that were both sharp and innocently alluring. Like a rose in full, breathtaking bloom. He wouldn’t stand a chance. When I came out, Jack was back. But… he looked different. His expression seemed even colder than before. My confusion vanished, however, when I saw the dinner table. There were three dishes and two bowls of rice. One bowl was piled high with rice and meat, forming a small mountain. The other held a meager half-bowl of rice with only a few scattered vegetables. Seeing me, Jack pushed the overflowing bowl in my direction. I looked at his own pathetic portion, and a pang of guilt hit me. After we married, Jack never touched me, but he never let me go hungry either. Yet I had been completely dissatisfied with the marriage. I demanded meat at every meal. If I didn’t get it, I’d slap him, hit him, and curse him for ruining my chance to marry rich. To give me a good life, he worked from dawn till dusk, and every cent he earned was spent on me. I thought to myself, I really was a monster. “I washed my hands.” His voice, suddenly near my ear, pulled me from my thoughts. Jack’s large, well-defined hands were clenched nervously, his tone cautious. “I washed them many times. They’re not dirty.” I paused. My gaze fell on his sweat-drenched shirt. The work was hard. Every time he came back, he was covered in sweat. He wouldn’t even rest before heading straight to the kitchen to cook for me. Especially now, with the heat. Sweat beaded on his skin, but it didn’t smell bad. On his tanned skin, it just made him look more masculine. But… In my memories, I would knock the bowl from his hands with a look of pure disgust. “It’s filthy! I’m not eating anything your dirty hands have touched!” My eyes instantly welled up, and tears began to stream down my face. Jack panicked. He stood up, wanting to wipe my tears away but not daring to. The next second, he pulled a small pouch from his pocket and offered it to me, his handsome face a mask of helplessness. “This is the money from the hunt today. Go buy yourself a nice meal at a restaurant. It’s all my fault. Please, just don’t cry, okay?” I pushed the money away, my voice choked with emotion. “I’m not disgusted. I’m heartbroken for you.” 7 Jack stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. I wiped away my tears and scooped two-thirds of the meat and rice from my bowl into his. “It breaks my heart that you work so hard every day and eat so little.” Lifting my gaze to his handsome face, I couldn’t resist leaning in and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m just at home all day, I don’t get tired. I don’t need to eat this much. You need to eat more so you can be strong and take good care of me.” His fingers tightened into a fist, his face flushing a deep red. I hid a triumphant smile. See? A little affection was all it took. I leaned in, ready to kiss him again. But the next moment, he pushed me away, sending me tumbling to the floor. I looked up and saw that a vein was throbbing at his temple. His face was dark, terrifyingly grim. He turned his head away, his voice heavy with despair. “To think you’d lower yourself to sweet-talk me like this… and all for him. “Rosalind, my heart isn’t made of stone. “Did it ever occur to you that I can feel pain, too?” Huh? I was completely lost. What other man? What was he talking about? The comments filled me in: 【Don’t worry, guys, the ML just thinks he’s about to be cuckolded.】 【Our FL needs to show up soon! I feel so bad for the ML. He works himself to the bone to support his family, and his wife not only doesn’t love him but is also cheating on him.】 【When he first heard the rumors in the village, he told himself people were just jealous of his beautiful wife. But now that she’s suddenly being nice to him, his heart is completely shattered.】 My face went pale. Jack found out I was planning to cheat on him? This was a total misunderstanding! I mean, I had the idea, but I didn’t actually do anything! There was no time to think. Jack had his head turned away, the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief. He looked angrier than I’d ever seen him. The comments were no help, just a chorus of glee that he was finally seeing my “true colors” and would divorce me to be with the female lead. Panic set in. Then, a sharp sting shot through my calf. I realized I’d scraped my leg when I fell. Looking up, I saw Jack’s gaze was also fixed on my injury. Tears instantly started to fall. I looked at him with wide, wounded eyes. “Honey, it hurts.” 8 The chair crashed to the floor as Jack shot up, the coldness in his expression vanishing in an instant. He rushed over and knelt beside me, his voice tight with anxiety as he examined the injury. The angry red scrape stood out starkly against my fair, delicate skin. “It’s all my fault. I’m a monster.” He was so frantic he didn’t know what to do. In his panic, he raised his hand and slapped himself hard across the face. “Rosie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Please, hit me, okay?” I studied his expression carefully. His eyes were filled with nothing but regret and guilt. The earlier fury was completely gone. My confidence returned. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest, letting out small, hiccuping sobs. “My leg hurts.” I looked up at him, then pointed to my heart. “But this hurts more. “I know I’ve done things wrong in the past, but I’ve seen the error of my ways. I truly want to build a life with you. “And you don’t even believe me.” My eyes were red, my expression a mixture of stubborn pride and heartbreak. The key to a man’s heart? His guilt. And just as I’d predicted, my accusation left him completely flustered. Beads of sweat formed on his handsome face as he desperately tried to explain. “That’s not what I meant. I was just… I was so angry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again.” But I wasn’t listening. I pushed myself out of his arms and limped towards the door. “If you don’t trust me, then maybe we should just get a divorce!” The word sent the comments into a frenzy. 【YES! She’s finally letting the ML go!】 【I support this divorce 1000%!】 My face darkened, and I almost choked on my fake sobs. Screw you guys! Can’t you say something nice for once? But in the next moment, my expression cleared. Divorce? Not in this lifetime. Not in the next. Jack would never divorce me. I hadn’t taken two steps before I was swept into a searingly hot embrace. Jack held me tight from behind. “No. “I don’t want a divorce.” Something warm and wet fell onto my neck. I froze. He was crying. The comments went wild again: 【Holy crap, I get it now. She’s playing him! The vicious beauty vs. the loyal, rugged hero. I ship it so hard!】 【This is some gourmet-level drama. This is how you do it.】 【What is wrong with you people? Why are you happy she’s into him now? If he’s not a virgin, what about our sweet FL?!】 【It’s fine. An experienced man is better.】 【I’ve been wanting to say this for a while: she’s already lusting after the ML before he’s even divorced. How is that any different from being a homewrecker?!】 Reading that, I let a small smile grace my lips. See? There were some sane people in this world. When I didn’t respond, the arms around my waist tightened. Jack’s breathing was shaky. “Rosie, don’t leave me.” I let out a haughty little sniff. “We’ll see how you behave from now on.” After dinner, once he had cleaned and bandaged my wound, Jack dove back into the kitchen to diligently wash the dishes. I finally had a moment to think. The town gossip was mostly just people saying I was a pretty face who couldn’t handle hard work and would eventually leave Jack. There were no specific rumors about me and another man. My eyes narrowed dangerously. So, which one of these gossips had the nerve to start this particular lie about me? 9 The comments provided the answer: 【Our FL is so kind-hearted. She specially came to tell the ML that his wife was cheating on him. But he’s so lovesick, a few sweet words from the side character and he’s completely hooked again. Why did the author write it this way?! I’m so mad!】 【Don’t worry, the FL has another plan up her sleeve. The side character only has a few more days to be smug before she’s packing her bags in misery.】 Excuse me? Sifting through the endless stream of FL-worship, I finally found her name. Lily. I quickly wracked my brain for any information about this “female lead.” A moment later, a cold sneer formed on my lips. This is what you people call a female lead? She was Jack’s neighbor. A fragile, delicate-looking girl, the picture of innocence. They were childhood friends, and a matchmaker had even tried to set them up. But Lily’s family had rejected the proposal outright. Why? Because Jack’s family had a bad reputation back then, and they were afraid of being associated with him. If someone like Lily could be the female lead, then why couldn’t I? All I want is a piece of the good stuff. What’s so wrong with that? I checked the time. It was the afternoon work shift. I rolled up my sleeves and marched out, ready to go have a little chat with Lily. I’m no pushover. If you’re going to spread rumors, you’d better be prepared for the consequences. But as I walked, the villagers I passed all gave me strange looks. A few of the older women who despised me the most huddled together, whispering and giggling as they watched me. Words like “slut” and “tramp” drifted to my ears. My face darkened. I strode over to them and raised an eyebrow. “Talking about something interesting? Let me in on it.” My voice was dripping with mockery. The women jumped. The one in the lead quickly composed herself. “Rosalind, you little hussy, don’t you get too smug. Your good days are over. You think just because you have a pretty face you can bully young Jack and flirt with every man in town? Well, you’ve finally messed up.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but I wasn’t about to lose a war of words. “It’s called being a femme fatale. You’re just an ugly old hag making trouble.” Their faces turned purple with rage, but I still felt a sense of unease. The smug, gloating looks they gave me as I left suggested they were certain some disaster was about to befall me. When I reached the fields, I spotted Lily in the crowd immediately. A pale, pretty face with no makeup. The picture of innocence. In the words of the comments, she was the ideal wife: hardworking, frugal, and devoted. Completely the opposite of my spoiled, lazy self. I scoffed. If you love to suffer, you’ll never run out of suffering to do. She could have it. I was about to march over and give Lily a taste of the maternal discipline she clearly missed out on as a child when I noticed two well-dressed strangers standing beside her. They looked like officials from the county. Lily was crying, her tears like a spring shower, and the people around her looked indignant. What was going on? Just then, Lily lifted her head, and her finger shot out, pointing directly at me. Her beautiful face was a mask of accusation.

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In my third year as Isabelle’s paid companion, her family decided it was time for her to win over the man she was arranged to marry. Isabelle, bored and annoyed, just tossed me her phone with a burner account logged in. “You chat with him,” she’d ordered, a sharp warning in her voice. “If you mess this up, you’re done.” So, I gritted my teeth and dove in. Every day, I wracked my brain for sweet nothings and clever compliments. I spent three months weaving a web of digital romance with Nathaniel Northwood, the heir to the Northwood fortune. And it worked. He became more and more attentive, more engaged. Until one day, he messaged my personal number. He’d gotten it from Isabelle to coordinate something. He asked me to grab a gift he’d left and bring it up to her. Without thinking, I typed back: [Got it, thanks babe!] The other end went silent. 1 I sent the message and immediately got out of bed to wash up. It wasn’t until the cold water shocked my senses that I remembered Nathaniel’s text. I grabbed my phone, intending to double-check where he’d left the gift. But when the screen lit up, my blood ran cold. There, in our chat history, was my reply. After it, Nathaniel hadn’t responded with his usual warm patience. Just a single, cold question mark: [?] His original message read: [I left a gift for Isabelle at the front desk of her dorm. Make sure she gets it.] A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I backed out of the chat, my thumb trembling, and clicked back in. I did this several times, praying the screen would change. Finally, I had to accept the horrifying truth. I was logged into my own account. Not the burner Isabelle had given me. And my “thanks babe” was well past the time limit for unsending a message. My mind raced, scrambling for a way to fix this. I sifted through a dozen bad excuses until I landed on the most plausible one: [So sorry, wrong person. That was meant for a friend.] [I’ll get the gift to Isabelle right away.] I sent it and waited, my heart hammering against my ribs. After a few agonizing moments, he replied. He didn’t press the issue, thank God. His response was clipped and detached. [Right. Thanks.] I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Then, I switched over to the burner account Isabelle had given me. A new message from Nathaniel popped up instantly, his tone a world away from the coldness he’d just shown me: [Babe, I’m coming home.] [When I get back, let’s talk about our engagement, okay?] The breath I’d just released hitched in my throat. 2 I started working for Isabelle my freshman year of college. I needed the money for my grandmother’s medical bills, and she needed someone to manage her life. I became her shadow. Then, three months ago, her family’s company hit a wall. A cash flow crisis. Suddenly, the engagement to Nathaniel Northwood, the heir to a massive fortune, went from a vague future plan to an urgent necessity. Isabelle had to charm him, and fast. The problem was, Nathaniel was still overseas. Their only connection was through their phones. She tried for three days, sending polite, lukewarm messages. He remained distant, almost indifferent. Isabelle had never been ignored in her life. It drove her crazy. Luckily, the account she was using wasn’t her main one. In a fit of pique, she shoved the phone at me. “You do it,” she’d said. “If you blow it, you’re fired.” So, with my job on the line, I took over. My world began to revolve around him. I’d wake up and immediately start composing romantic messages. I scoured his social media, learning his passions, his pet peeves, his favorite bands, anything to find common ground. Slowly, it started to work. His replies grew longer. He started initiating conversations. He became warmer, more personal. Three months flew by like that. And now, he was coming home to discuss their wedding. I knew my mission was finally coming to an end. 3 I immediately started compiling a document. A complete dossier on Nathaniel Northwood. Every preference I’d learned, every inside joke we’d shared over the last three months, every little detail—it all went in. Then I went downstairs, picked up the gift he’d left, and headed to Isabelle’s lavish off-campus apartment. When I walked in, she was lounging on a velvet sofa, surrounded by a mountain of shopping bags and gift boxes. I handed her the package and explained what it was. Isabelle tore it open. Inside was a small, exquisitely crafted plush bunny. A limited edition. She examined it for a moment, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “That’s it? A stupid stuffed animal?” I kept my eyes lowered. “I think… I mentioned once that I thought rabbits were cute. He must have remembered.” Isabelle rolled her eyes and tossed the bunny at me. “Whatever. You can have it.” Her voice sharpened. “Next time, make sure you mention how much I love diamonds and designer bags. Got it?” My fingers tightened around the rejected gift. “Yes,” I said quietly. I had to remind her. “He said he’s coming back. You two will be meeting in person soon.” I tried to hand the reins back. “Maybe… you should take over the texting from now on.” But Isabelle just shook her head, waving her own phone at me. The screen was a dizzying list of chats. “Look at this. I’ve got my hands full with all these guys. You just keep handling Nathaniel.” I fell silent, then nodded again, defeated. I sent her the file I’d prepared. “Here are his likes and dislikes. You should probably read this before you meet him.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said, already bored. “Stop nagging.” I said no more. A few days later, Nathaniel was back. Isabelle dressed to the nines for his welcome-home party, and I trailed behind her, carrying her purse. As we reached the door to the private room, her phone buzzed. It was one of her other admirers. She waved me forward. “You go in first. I need to take this.” I nodded and pushed the heavy door open. Before my eyes could even adjust to the dim light, the purse was lifted from my hand. A second later, a pair of strong, long-fingered hands laced through mine. A warm, woody scent enveloped me. A voice, lazy and laced with a smile, washed over me. “Look at you, being so good today. You even brought the bag I sent you.” It was the same voice I’d imagined a thousand times through a speaker, now real and resonating right beside my ear. My face flushed with heat as I looked up. At that exact moment, Nathaniel’s eyes focused on my face. He froze. His hand dropped mine as if it were on fire. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath. “Sorry,” he said, his voice flat. “Wrong person.” 4 Just then, Isabelle breezed in from her call. “What are you two doing just standing here?” Nathaniel’s composure snapped back into place instantly. He smoothly took Isabelle’s hand, his smile returning. “Waiting for you.” The awkward moment was forgotten, or at least ignored. Isabelle was a natural, mingling and laughing with everyone in the room within minutes. I found a quiet corner seat next to her and tried to make myself invisible, which suited me just fine. After a while, Isabelle peeled a shrimp, a playful look on her face, and held it up to Nathaniel’s lips. The room fell silent for a beat. Isabelle looked around, confused. My heart leaped into my throat. She hadn’t read my notes. I knew she hadn’t. Nathaniel was allergic to shellfish. I’d even bolded and highlighted it in the document. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at the shrimp she offered. Disaster was seconds away. I leaned in and whispered urgently, “He’s allergic to seafood.” Isabelle’s recovery was seamless. She popped the shrimp into her own mouth, winked playfully at Nathaniel, and said, “I know you can’t have any, silly. I just wanted to let you smell it.” A low chuckle escaped Nathaniel’s lips. The crisis was averted. I finally breathed again. After dinner, the party shifted to a game of Truth or Dare. Midway through, Isabelle announced she needed to touch up her makeup and asked Nathaniel to pass her purse. My own bag was sitting right next to hers. As he reached for it, he accidentally knocked mine over. Its contents spilled across the floor. And there, under the warm lights of the restaurant, lay the limited-edition plush bunny. Panic seized me. I dropped to my knees, desperate to snatch it up before anyone noticed. But it was too late. Nathaniel’s voice, cool and laced with something I couldn’t decipher, cut through the air. “That bunny. Why do you have it?” 5 A thousand excuses flashed through my mind. I was holding it for Isabelle. I happened to have the exact same one. But every lie sounded flimsy and pathetic. The truth was, I loved rabbits. When Isabelle had tossed the toy at me with such disdain, I’d held onto it, eventually tucking it away safely in the deepest pocket of my bag. I’d been in such a rush today, I’d forgotten it was even there. My brain went blank. Before I could stammer out a single word, Isabelle, panicked and cornered, pointed a finger at me. “Zoe!” she cried, her voice ringing with false accusation. “How could you steal from me?” Tears welled in her eyes, perfectly timed. “I’ve been so good to you! You knew how much I loved that gift, why would you take it?” Every eye in the room swiveled to me. Whispers erupted like wildfire. “Isn’t that her little assistant? So ungrateful.” “Wow, she’s got some nerve. Stealing a gift from Nathan to his girlfriend.” “Who knows what else she’s stolen? Better check my wallet.” I opened my mouth to deny it, to tell them the truth. But Isabelle leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “You say one word and you’re finished.” She sweetened the deal. “Play along, and I’ll give you five thousand dollars after this.” The words died on my tongue. Five thousand dollars. That was months of my grandmother’s medication. Her surgery was just around the corner, and I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not now. My nails dug into my palms. Under the weight of a dozen judgmental stares, I heard my own voice, raw and shaky. “…I’m sorry. I stole it.” 6 Isabelle wiped a tear from her eye, playing the part of the magnanimous victim. “It’s okay. As long as you learn from your mistakes.” She turned to Nathaniel, forcing a smile and tugging on his sleeve. “Come on, don’t be angry. Zoe didn’t mean it. Her family… they have it really tough.” Nathaniel said nothing, but I could feel his gaze on me, sharp and full of contempt. The whispers in the room shifted. “Isabelle is too nice. I wouldn’t forgive that.” “Whatever, it’s Nathan’s welcome home party. Let’s not ruin the mood.” Isabelle offered the room a sweet, innocent smile. Five minutes later, the game of Truth or Dare resumed. And of course, my luck held. The next dare landed on me. The one holding the power, the “king,” was Nathaniel. He had been silent until now, but as he looked at me, a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips. “A dare, huh?” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “Okay… Feed a piece of food to a guy of your choice.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air before adding the final twist. “Without using your hands.” The room went dead quiet. The malice was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was a direct, personal attack, and everyone knew it. But no one dared to challenge him. I stood there, frozen in humiliation. I didn’t know anyone here well enough to ask them to participate in my punishment. Finally, one of Isabelle’s hangers-on, a guy named Rick, stood up. A leering, predatory grin spread across his face. “Hey. I’ll do it with you.” His eyes crawled over me like snakes, slick and unsettling. I swallowed down a wave of nausea, determined to just get it over with. Rick produced a long, thin biscuit stick, gesturing for me to bite down on one end. Then, his greasy face began to move closer, and closer. My hands, hanging limp at my sides, started to tremble. I couldn’t do it. I was about to shove him away, consequences be damned. “Okay, that’s enough,” Isabelle finally called out, her voice feigning boredom. “It doesn’t have to be that literal.” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow but nodded, ending the spectacle. The game continued as if nothing had happened. After the party, I drove Isabelle home in silence. When we arrived, she tapped on her phone, and a notification for a five-thousand-dollar transfer popped up on my screen. She got out of the car and walked into her mansion without a backward glance. As if that sum meant nothing to her at all. I clutched my phone, a small, hopeful thought flickering in the darkness. Tomorrow, I can buy some good ribs. I can make Grandma a nice meal. As I was thinking this, a notification appeared on the burner phone. It was from Nathaniel. The same Nathaniel who had just watched me be humiliated. Now, clueless, he was back in character. [Babe, I took care of it for you. Don’t be sad anymore, okay?] [That bunny got dirty. I’ll get you a new one.] 7 The next day, I was back at my part-time job at a local bakery. Grandma’s surgery was still tens of thousands of dollars away. The money from Isabelle wasn’t nearly enough. I was on my lunch break when the bell over the door chimed. It was Rick, the guy from the party. He picked out a few pastries and brought them to the counter. I boxed them up. “That’ll be twenty-seven dollars.” He took the box, but instead of letting go, his fingers slid over mine, his touch lingering and unwelcome. “A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be working in a place like this. Why don’t you just come with me?” My stomach lurched. “There are cameras in here,” I said, my voice ice. “Let go, or I’m calling the police.” His grip only tightened. He leaned in, unafraid. “Don’t be like that. I just want to be friends.” He lowered his voice. “Whatever Isabelle’s paying you, I’ll double it. How about it?” I looked up at him and forced a smile. In the split second he was distracted, I snatched a pen from the counter and jabbed it hard into the back of his hand. He yelped in pain, his hand flying back. I used the opening to bolt for the back room. He recovered quickly, shouting curses as he chased after me. He was just about to grab the collar of my shirt when a loud, pained cry echoed through the shop. I spun around, startled. Rick was sprawled on the floor. Standing over him, looking down with an air of cold authority, was Nathaniel. After he’d sent Rick scrambling out the door, a heavy silence fell between us. Nathaniel didn’t look at me. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said, his tone casual. “Isabelle happens to like you as her little assistant.” He finally glanced over. “If you ran off with Rick, she’d be upset.” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “I understand,” I said, my voice formal. “Thank you for your help.” Just then, my coworker arrived for her shift. I gathered my things, desperate to escape. But Nathaniel followed me out the door. He checked his watch. “I was just on my way to see Isabelle anyway. I can give you a ride.” 8 The truth is, this wasn’t the first time I’d met Nathaniel. Years ago, back in high school, my parents got divorced. Neither of them wanted me. They just… left me. On the street. I was alone, with no money, huddled on a curb. I wasn’t sad, not really. I was just trying to figure out how I was going to get the ten dollars I needed for school books the next day. I walked down the main street, going from restaurant to restaurant, asking if they needed any help. They all took one look at how young I was and shook their heads, saying they didn’t hire kids. The last shop owner was impatient. “I told you, no kids! Go on, get out of here. You’re bad for business.” I stood there, lost, when a voice came from behind me. “How much do you need?” He couldn’t have been much older than me, but he carried himself with an air of wealth and confidence. I sniffled. “Ten dollars.” He seemed to be in a hurry. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a twenty. “Wait here,” I said quickly. I ran into the convenience store next door and got change, then ran back to give him the other ten. He took it without a word, ready to leave. It was clear he was just doing a random act of charity. In a moment of panic, I grabbed his sleeve. “What’s your name? I’ll pay you back.” He paused, then finally spoke two words. “Nathaniel Northwood.” I didn’t know how to spell it, didn’t know who he was. But I never forgot the name. I tucked it away, a secret treasure in the back of my mind. Then, three months ago, Isabelle sent me his picture. I stared at it for a long, long time. After all these years, I finally knew who he was. And now, here we were, standing outside the bakery in an awkward silence. He clearly had no memory of me. While we waited for his driver, he pulled out his phone and started texting. A moment later, my pocket buzzed. It was the burner phone. A message from him. [What are you doing, babe? Why aren’t you answering me?] My hands fumbled as I quickly silenced the notification. Nathaniel, completely oblivious, didn’t look up. He waited another moment, and when he still got no reply, he pursed his lips and just decided to call. In the next second, my purse started to ring.

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Five-year-old Chloe stood on the coffee table in front of the whole family and proudly declared that she had been reincarnated. She pointed at me and said, “Two minutes from now, Mommy is going to hand me over to human traffickers, and they’re going to gouge my eyes out.” Everyone thought she was just talking nonsense. But two minutes later, my daughter vanished into thin air. When we finally found her, her eyes were nothing but a bloody, ruined mess. I held my little girl in my arms, rushing her to the hospital in an ambulance, but she whispered, “In a second, Mommy is going to fake a car crash to kill me for good, because she thinks I’m not her real daughter.” Sure enough, the very next second, a massive semi-truck plowed into our ambulance, flipping it over. After that, the entire family believed that my daughter truly was reincarnated and could predict the future. I desperately crawled out of the wreckage. I just wanted to save my daughter, but my husband grabbed me by the hair, furiously beat me to a pulp, and threw me to the side of the road, leaving me to bleed out. Chloe was saved. From her hospital bed, she told them, “Mommy was the other woman. she deliberately got pregnant with me just to steal Daddy away from Vivian. She never loved me.” My husband’s family was heartbroken for her. My husband immediately filed for divorce and kicked me out of the house. I was left homeless on the streets. Eventually, my wounds got heavily infected, and I died in a filthy alleyway by a dumpster. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day my daughter claimed she had lived a past life. “I’ve been reincarnated. I can predict the future!” My five-year-old daughter’s childish voice rang in my ears. I opened my eyes and found her standing on the living room table, her hands proudly planted on her hips. The whole family was sitting around. They treated it as the innocent, imaginative babble of a toddler. No one took her seriously. But a severe chill ran down my spine. In my previous life, it was this exact sentence that led to my gruesome death on the side of the road. I instinctively touched my body where my wounds used to be. The phantom pain was still fresh in my memory. My mother-in-law, Brenda, played along. “Yes, yes, of course! Our little Chloe is a psychic. You’re going to do great things when you grow up.” But Brenda’s dismissive tone upset Chloe. She yelled at the top of her lungs. “I really am reincarnated! In my last life, Mommy was the one who killed me! She handed me over to human traffickers!” “They scooped my eyes out and made me blind!” Chloe glared at me angrily, as if every word were the absolute truth. Her outbursts finally annoyed my father-in-law, Arthur. “Hey, what kind of nonsense are you spouting? Have you been watching too many scary cartoons?” Hearing her grandpa scold her, Chloe looked incredibly wronged and threw herself into Brenda’s arms. “Grandma, I’m not lying! Mommy is a bad person! I don’t want to die!” Brenda glared at Arthur. “She’s just a kid with an active imagination, why are you being so mean to her?” Seeing Brenda coddle her like that, I couldn’t help but let out a cold, internal sneer. Active imagination. If I hadn’t literally died because of this kid’s mouth in my last life, I might have actually believed it. After scolding her husband, Brenda turned to look at me. “Evelyn, don’t just stand there staring. I think we’re out of milk in the fridge. Go down to the corner store and grab a gallon.” I nodded. My mind was already racing, trying to figure out how to deal with Chloe. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. Right at that moment, Chloe looked at me in absolute terror. “Ah! Mommy is going outside to call the kidnappers! Don’t let Mommy take me away!” Chloe’s sudden, extreme reaction worried Brenda, who hugged her tighter. “Oh my goodness, what is wrong with this child today? Why does she keep saying these crazy things?” I stopped at the front door. I looked at my daughter curled up in her grandmother’s arms, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was exactly one minute away from the time Chloe predicted I would hand her over to the traffickers. In my past life, because I was worried that Chloe was having some kind of panic attack, I didn’t go to the store. I asked Brenda to go instead. While Brenda was gone, Chloe told me her stomach hurt and she needed to use the bathroom. I took her to the downstairs half-bath. And then… she just vanished. To this day, the memory of her disappearing from a windowless room felt completely bizarre. It wasn’t until the kidnappers called demanding a ransom that we knew she had actually been abducted. The police even sent a forensics team to inspect the bathroom, but they couldn’t figure out how a five-year-old was transported miles away in under an hour. I hesitated for half a second. I closed the front door, pulled out my cell phone, and called my husband, Marcus. “Hey, when you get off work, remember to pick up a gallon of milk. Chloe is throwing a massive tantrum at home, I think she might be coming down with something.” Marcus’s impatient voice blared through the speaker. “Are you kidding me? I’m in the middle of a client meeting! What do you even do at home all day? Go buy it yourself!” He hung up on me. I didn’t get angry. I simply turned around and walked back into the living room. “Brenda, I think Chloe really is terrified of something. Let’s just stay in the living room with her for now.” “I’ll book an in-home child psychologist to come take a look at her later.” Brenda immediately frowned. “Isn’t that a bit of an overreaction? Kids are just mischievous sometimes.” “Mental health is just as important as physical health, Brenda. I’m her mother, it’s my job to worry.” I put on a highly convincing mask of maternal concern, walked over, and gently touched Chloe’s cheek. Then, I stood up and pushed open the door to the downstairs bathroom. “By the way, Brenda, I noticed some roaches scurrying around the baseboards in here. I just bought some industrial-strength bug bomb spray. I’m going to fumigate the bathroom right now. Nobody use this bathroom for the next three hours, okay? It’s highly toxic.” My little maneuver clearly threw a wrench in Chloe’s plans. Her expression instantly panicked. Let’s see how your ‘prophecy’ comes true now, I thought. The two-minute mark quickly passed. Chloe’s prediction of being handed to traffickers fell apart. The rest of the family still didn’t think much of it. But right on cue, Chloe suddenly yelled out. “No! I have to poop! I’m going to poop my pants!” Brenda immediately panicked. “Oh no, what do we do? Evelyn, can we use the bathroom yet?” I had noticed Chloe’s eyes darting around nervously for the past few minutes. She was clearly scheming. Looking at her, I calmly pulled out a plastic training potty I had grabbed from the garage. “Use this. The bathroom is strictly off-limits right now.” “I want to use the real toilet! I don’t want to use the plastic pot! If you don’t let me, I’ll poop in my pants!” My five-year-old daughter was actually trying to threaten me. I just sneered. “Then do it. The bathroom is toxic right now. If you ruin your clothes, I’ll just buy you new ones.” My response completely blindsided her. She started screaming, “Mommy is a bad guy! Grandma, call 911 and arrest Mommy, or else she’s going to kill me!” “Fine. Grandma can call the police right now. When the cops get here, I’ll just tell them you pooped your pants.” Seeing that I was completely unmoved, Chloe puffed out her cheeks, held her breath, and turned her face beet red in defiance. “Oh my god, Chloe, what are you doing?! Open your mouth!” Brenda was terrified the kid was going to suffocate herself and frantically pried Chloe’s mouth open. Watching her throw this massive tantrum, I felt absolutely no anxiety. I had always thought I raised her well. Whatever she asked for, as long as it was reasonable, I gave it to her. I tried with every fiber of my being to raise an honest, loving child. I couldn’t comprehend why she turned out this way. Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, Chloe actually forced herself to soil her pants right there in the living room. A foul stench filled the air. Brenda pinched her nose and scolded, “You little brat! You actually did it!” Brenda immediately got up to fetch a basin of warm water and some wipes from the upstairs closet to clean her up. I didn’t stop her. I calmly stood up and walked into the master bedroom to grab a fresh pair of pants for Chloe. However, when I stepped out of the bedroom with the clean clothes, I froze. Brenda was standing in the living room holding a basin of water, looking at me in absolute bewilderment. Chloe was gone. The living room was completely empty. Arthur had fallen asleep on the sofa at some point, and Chloe’s soiled pants were just lying on the floor. Brenda started to panic. We searched the entire house, inside and out, but Chloe was nowhere to be found. There was no sound of a door opening. No footsteps. A five-year-old child had vanished into thin air, again. “How is this possible?” I was even more frantic than Brenda. I knew exactly what was coming next. Is fate really impossible to change? I gritted my teeth, tearing the room apart looking for clues, but found absolutely nothing. Panic set in. I instinctively made the exact same choice I did in my past life: I dialed 911. While waiting for the police, I didn’t sit still. I ran through the entire neighborhood, scouring every street, but there was no sign of her. Refusing to give up, I begged the HOA security to let me check the neighborhood surveillance cameras, but there wasn’t a single frame of Chloe leaving the house. When the police arrived, everything played out almost exactly like my past life. They found no valuable leads, told us to be patient, and left to file the report. It wasn’t until I received the video on my phone—the horrifying video of my daughter’s eyes being mutilated—that despair truly set in. What was meant to happen, happened. The kidnappers called the house, demanding a one-million-dollar ransom. When Brenda saw the state Chloe was in, she cried until she had no tears left. Marcus rushed home from work. The second he saw the torture video, he backhanded me across the face so hard I tasted blood, screaming in pure rage. “I leave you at home to take care of our kid, and this is how you do it?!” “If anything happens to Chloe, I’ll make you pay with your life!” If the police hadn’t been in the room, I honestly think Marcus would have killed me right then and there. Later, when the police asked about any strange behavior before the disappearance, Arthur suddenly slapped his thigh as if he just remembered something. “Wait! I remember Chloe saying that her mother was going to hand her over to human traffickers, and that they were going to gouge her eyes out!” The prophecy came true. Brenda suddenly gasped, acting like she just had a revelation. “Yes! I was actually recording a video for my Facebook page right when she said it!” Brenda pulled out her phone and played a video she took earlier that day. In the background, Chloe was standing on the table, screaming the exact words that had dragged me into hell. I was dumbfounded. From start to finish, I never even noticed Brenda recording anything. Before I could fully process it, Marcus lunged at me like a madman, grabbing me by the collar. “That’s your own flesh and blood! How could you be so sick? Are you a monster?!” Before the cops could pull him off, he delivered a brutal kick directly to my chest. I collapsed onto the floor. The searing physical pain suddenly snapped my brain into sharp focus. Wait. Something isn’t right here. My mind raced at lightning speed. Looking at Marcus’s twisted, furious face, I suddenly had an epiphany. “You’re going to believe the random babble of a five-year-old?” I wheezed. “Your parents were both in the house with me! Why don’t you accuse them of doing it?” Seeing my piercing glare, Brenda looked slightly guilty. “She’s right, Marcus. Evelyn was in the living room with us the whole time. It couldn’t have been her.” “Then how do you explain this?!” Marcus looked like he wanted to kick me again. Finally, the lead detective intervened. “Enough! Finding the child is the priority. Stop fighting over a toddler’s words.” The officer’s warning forced Marcus to back down, but he continued to glare daggers at me. The police asked me to call the kidnappers back so they could trace the location. But a passing comment from Brenda made everything click in my head. “I don’t know where she learned to say those things… could she really be reincarnated?” I froze. If Chloe was really a rebirther who had lived a past life, and she had been confronting me this whole time… wouldn’t she have realized that I was acting differently too? Wouldn’t she realize I was also reincarnated? Someone was coaching my daughter to lie. “We don’t need to trace the call. I know exactly where they want to make the drop.” The detectives looked at me in confusion. To prevent Marcus from doing anything crazy, I pulled the lead detective into a separate room and gave him an exact address. The detective was skeptical at first. But ten minutes later, a text came through from the kidnappers. The address was identical to the one I had just given him. Though shocked, the police agreed to follow my lead to save the hostage. I told the detective to only deploy a small tactical team to the drop-off location for the arrest. Meanwhile, I begged him to heavily patrol the route between the drop-off site and the nearest trauma hospital, and to intercept any suspicious vehicles. “I can’t do that,” the detective frowned. “That’s tactically unsound. I have to prioritize the hostage at the primary location.” “But what if the people at the drop-off are just pawns? What if the real killers are waiting on the road to ambush the ambulance and finish the job?!” I was borderline hysterical. “I refuse to watch my family die!” The detective noticed how desperate I was. Eventually, he agreed to a compromise, stating they would have units on standby along the route, but would adjust dynamically if things went sideways. I had a very good reason for doing this. In my past life, after the police raided the drop-off site, they interrogated the “kidnappers”—only to find out they were just broke college kids looking for acting gigs. Someone had hired them online to “play a prank” for a hidden camera show. They had no idea it was a real kidnapping. I arrived at the drop-off with the duffel bag of cash. Just like in my previous life, the raid went perfectly. The college kids were arrested without a fight, and Chloe was rescued. Because her injuries were severe, she was immediately loaded into an ambulance. I rode in the back with her. She looked miserable, crying in pain. The wounds where her eyes used to be were already showing signs of severe infection. She was only five years old. She was my flesh and blood. Seeing her like this shattered my heart. This time, I didn’t wait for her to speak first. I leaned in and asked the burning question in my mind. “Chloe… tell Mommy the truth. Did Daddy tell you to do all this?” I never expected her reaction. The second the words left my mouth, she started screaming in sheer terror. “Ahhh! Mommy, don’t kill me! I’m sorry! I won’t ever say those things again!” But at the exact same moment she was screaming, she secretly pressed something hard into the palm of my hand. A smartwatch. CRASH! A deafening roar ripped through the air as a fully-loaded semi-truck slammed directly into the side of our ambulance without warning. Our vehicle flipped violently. In the end, what was meant to happen, happened anyway. I crawled out of the shattered side window of the ambulance, incredibly dizzy and fighting the urge to vomit. I saw Marcus, Brenda, and Arthur rushing out of trailing police cruisers, frantically running toward the wreckage. But when the paramedics pulled Chloe from the crushed metal… she was gone. She wasn’t breathing. Half of the ambulance had been flattened. One of the EMTs had also died on impact. Police officers dragged the truck driver out of his cab and pinned him to the asphalt. “My baby! My little girl!” Still dazed, Marcus’s agonizing wails pierced my ears. I turned my head and saw him clutching Chloe’s lifeless body, sobbing in absolute despair. That raw, visceral grief… it wasn’t fake. He was genuinely broken. “It was you! You killed my granddaughter! I heard her on the radio! She begged you not to kill her!” “Give me back my granddaughter! Give her back…” Brenda ran over, slapped me hard across the face, and then collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The sting of the slap grounded me. I looked over at the truck driver pinned to the ground. I had never seen his face before in my life. No. This is wrong. Why is my daughter dead? In the last timeline, she survived the crash. What changed? What did I miss? Before I could piece it together, Marcus suddenly pulled a pocket knife from his jacket and lunged at me. I couldn’t react in time. He stabbed me multiple times in the abdomen. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he wanted to eat me alive. “Why?! Why did you orchestrate her kidnapping?! Hasn’t she suffered enough beatings from you?!” “She’s just a little girl! Even if she found out your dirty secrets, why did you have to silence her?! You animal! You don’t deserve to be a mother! You don’t deserve…” Marcus kept screaming things that made absolutely no sense to me. I wanted to open my mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but my body suddenly felt weightless. I collapsed. The police tackled Marcus to the ground. The crash site was absolute chaos. I had so many unanswered questions, but there was no one left to answer them. “Ms. Evelyn, I regret to inform you that your daughter has passed away. Furthermore, the police are currently investigating you as the primary suspect in her murder.” “Your husband, Marcus, asked me to deliver this to you.” A lawyer stood beside my hospital bed and handed me a stack of divorce papers. “Mr. Marcus has already signed it. He instructed me to tell you that he wants a clean break. He is leaving all joint assets and the house to you.” “However, he will be pressing civil and criminal charges against you for the murder of your biological daughter. We will notify you of the court dates.” With that, the lawyer turned on his heel and walked out. I stared at the divorce papers in my hands, gripping them until my knuckles turned white. “Why me?” I muttered to myself. Even though things played out slightly differently than my past life, the end result was the same. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong, or where the glitch in the timeline was. I had suspected Marcus, but looking at his raw grief and his willingness to walk away from all our money… he didn’t seem to have any motive to orchestrate this. Then why did my daughter turn into a monster who constantly claimed I was going to kill her? What kind of environment forces a five-year-old to do that? I thought about it for hours until I suddenly remembered the crazy things Marcus screamed while he was stabbing me. He definitely knows something I don’t. But in his current state, there was no way he would sit down and have a rational conversation with me. Suddenly, it hit me. The moment I was discharged from the hospital, I went straight to the police precinct. Because I was a person of interest, they were keeping close tabs on me anyway. I asked the detectives for permission to see my daughter’s body in the morgue. They allowed it, but with a strict time limit. When the coroner pulled back the sheet, I stared at the dark, mottled bruises covering her tiny body. I was completely paralyzed. The medical examiner told me those kinds of marks only appear in cases of extreme, prolonged physical abuse. “And those bruises are layered. New injuries over old ones. If you claim you didn’t do this to your daughter, then someone else in that house absolutely did.” The detectives also informed me that the truck driver who hit us had no clear motive for murder. The initial ruling was that he lost control of his brakes. Combined with the things my daughter yelled in the ambulance right before the crash, all the evidence pointed directly back to me. “By the way,” one of the detectives noted, “during the autopsy, we noticed a tan line on her wrist consistent with a kid’s smartwatch. Your husband mentioned she always wore one, but we didn’t recover it from the scene. Do you know where it is?” The detective’s words struck me like a bolt of lightning. I played dumb, shook my head, and quickly left the precinct. Once I was safely locked in my car, I pulled out the smartwatch Chloe had secretly shoved into my hand in the ambulance. I powered it on, and a digital notepad app popped up on the tiny screen. As I read the little lines of text, tears began streaming down my face. I finally understood why my daughter had turned out that way. Because the cause of Chloe’s death was still under investigation, Marcus’s family refused to bury her yet. I had no choice but to go back to our house. The moment I unlocked the front door, I heard laughter and cheerful voices echoing from the living room. “Oh, Vivian, honey, don’t you worry. Marcus is finalizing the divorce with that monster. You’re the only woman I acknowledge as my daughter-in-law.” “Brenda, please, you shouldn’t say that. I know Marcus is grieving right now. We should wait.” “Yes, yes, we should wait. Oh, it’s such a tragedy about little Chloe. My poor, sweet granddaughter.” The sound of the front door closing caused the entire living room to go dead silent. All eyes snapped toward me. A heavily made-up, glamorous woman was sitting cozily between Brenda and Marcus. The second Brenda made eye contact with me, she started screaming. “You murderous bitch! What are you doing back here?! Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” She marched up to me and started violently shoving my shoulders, trying to push me back out the door. Arthur stood up, his face dark with rage. “You murderer. Stop disgusting us with your presence. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll beat you to a pulp.” Watching my normally “loving” in-laws drop their masks so quickly filled me with a cold, dark amusement. Before I could speak, Vivian casually strolled up to me, looking me up and down with utter contempt. “So, you’re Chloe’s biological mother? To do that to your own flesh and blood… you’re worse than an animal.”

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Seven years. That’s how long we’d been doing the long-distance dance between Seattle and San Francisco. I finally decided to end the miles. I quit my job, packed my life into a few suitcases, and caught a flight south without telling her. I wanted to surprise her. I wanted to give her a ring. I wanted to finally start the life we’d been dreaming of since our sophomore year of college. But when I stood in the glass-and-steel lobby of her office building, the receptionist’s gaze was… complicated. “You’re here to see Madeline?” she asked, her eyes tracing the worn straps of my backpack. “Ms. Vance—sorry, Ms. Starling—is in a board meeting. You’ll have to wait.” I frowned. Madeline had never mentioned a promotion, let alone a title change. Last week, over FaceTime, she’d been complaining about the glass ceiling and how her boss was making her life a living hell. I turned toward the seating area, but the hushed whispers of the receptionists followed me like a cold draft. “Is that him? The one she keeps on the side?” “God, he’s bold, showing up at the office like this.” “Does she really think she can keep a side piece in Seattle while she’s married to a guy like Harrison? If he finds out, he’ll burn this whole city down.” My heart did a slow, sickening roll in my chest. I wanted to turn around and tell them they had it wrong. Madeline wasn’t married. I was her boyfriend of ten years. We were the real deal. But before I could speak, the revolving doors hissed open. A man stepped in, wearing a suit that cost more than my car. The receptionists snapped their mouths shut, their spines straightening. “Mr. Starling,” they said in unison, their voices dripping with practiced respect. The man was on his phone, his voice a deep, commanding rumble. “Sweetheart, I’m downstairs. You’re not getting out of the prenatal appointment today. I don’t care how long the meeting goes.” There was a pause, and then a voice crackled through his speaker—sweet, melodic, and unmistakable. “I know, honey. I’m almost done. Go up to the VIP lounge and wait for me.” I’d listened to that voice every night for a decade. It was the voice that told me she loved me, the voice that promised me forever. It was Madeline. … 1 My backpack hit the marble floor with a dull thud. As I bent down to retrieve it, a slip of paper fluttered out from the side pocket of a folder the man—Harrison—was carrying. I reflexively grabbed it. It was a lab report. Twelve weeks pregnant. Patient Name: Madeline Starling. Twelve weeks. Three months ago, Madeline told me she was too exhausted to fly up for our anniversary. She’d said she was buried in paperwork, barely sleeping. When we finally did a video call, I saw a faint, dark mark on the curve of her neck. “A bug bite,” she’d laughed, pulling her hair forward. “Silas, babe, after all these years, do you really think there’s anyone else? You’re my only one.” I’d believed her. I’d actually apologized for being paranoid. And now, I was standing in the shadow of her husband. Harrison took the lab report from my hand, offering a polite, distracted smile. “Thanks, man.” He paused, looking at me properly for the first time. “You here for Madeline, too?” I managed a stiff nod. “Come on up, then. My wife tends to lose track of time when she’s running meetings. Might as well wait in the comfort of the lounge.” The word wife felt like a jagged piece of glass twisting in my heart. In the lounge, Harrison introduced himself. Harrison Starling. The CEO of Starling Holdings. One of the most powerful names in the Bay Area. “Maddy is stubborn,” he said, looking down at the sonogram tucked into the report with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion. “She says she wants to earn enough for the ‘baby fund’—as if she doesn’t own half this company. She just loves the grind.” I gripped the strap of my bag until my knuckles turned white. Madeline had told me she was a junior analyst. She told me she was being bullied by her superiors. She told me the distance was the only thing keeping us from getting a marriage license. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. A group of executives walked past, nodding to Harrison. “Waiting for the boss lady again, Mr. Starling?” Then, she walked in. The room seemed to shrink. One of her colleagues nudged her, teasing, “Madeline, your husband is here to check up on you again!” Harrison stepped forward, sliding his arm around her waist with the ease of long-standing possession. “You’re late, Mrs. Starling.” “Just a few minutes, honey. I’m all yours now.” She leaned up and kissed his jaw. Then, her eyes shifted. She saw me. For a fraction of a second, her mask crumbled. Her face went deathly pale. But before I could even draw a breath, she regained her composure. Her expression turned into something cool, professional, and entirely detached. “Silas?” she said, her voice flat. “What are you doing here?” Harrison looked between us. “Sweetheart, who’s this?” The colleagues exchanged knowing looks. “Oh, you know Madeline,” one laughed. “She’s always helping out old school friends. This must be one of them.” Madeline stepped forward, physically placing herself between me and Harrison. “He’s an old classmate from college. A long time ago.” She turned to her assistant, her voice turning sharp. “Sarah, please show this gentleman out. We have a private appointment.” I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for her to tell them it was all a joke. But her eyes were already back on Harrison. “Let’s go, honey,” she whispered, taking his hand. “We have to see the doctor.” Harrison leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You’re so obedient today.” As they walked past me, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Maddy, it’s a bit rude to leave your friend standing there, isn’t it?” Madeline didn’t turn around. “He’s just an old acquaintance, Harrison. Nowhere near as important as you.” The tears started then, hot and humiliating. The employees watched me with a mix of pity and mockery as I stood there, broken in the middle of her empire. Ten years of history. Seven years of distance. A thousand miles traveled. All reduced to “an old acquaintance.” I pulled out my phone. Three days ago, she’d texted me: Silas, just give me a little more time. Once my career stabilizes, we’ll get married. I promise. I’d quit my life for that promise. I had no idea I was just a character in a story she’d already finished writing. 2 My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Madeline. Go back with the assistant. I’ll explain everything later. I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn’t stop myself. I typed back: Why did you lie to me? Her reply was instantaneous and cold: Just go. Be smart, Silas. Don’t make a scene in front of the building and embarrass yourself. I looked up. People were whispering, pointing their phones at me. “Look at him. Does he really think he can just show up and claim her?” “Pathetic. Some guys will do anything for a payout from a woman like her.” I pulled my jacket hood over my head, my voice thick with a sob. “I’m not a payout. She lied to me… we were together for ten years…” Their response was a wave of cynical laughter. The assistant guided me toward a waiting town car. She wasn’t gentle. She practically shoved me into the backseat and threw my luggage into the trunk. Thirty minutes later, the car pulled up to a sprawling estate in Pacific Heights. Madeline had told me she lived in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment with three roommates to save money. I’d been sending her half my paycheck every month for three years, terrified she wasn’t eating well. The assistant pushed me into the house and I heard the heavy thud of the door locking behind me. “Wait here for Ms. Starling.” The air in the house smelled like expensive sandalwood and masculine cologne. I turned around and froze. Dominating the living room wall was a massive, framed wedding portrait. Harrison in a tuxedo, holding a radiant Madeline in a custom Vera Wang. The date in the corner of the plaque felt like a physical blow to the stomach. They had married on my birthday. That was the first birthday she’d ever missed. She’d told me she was stuck in an airport due to a blizzard, crying over the phone about how much she missed me. I lost it. I ran through the house, throwing open doors. Photos of them were everywhere. In the bedroom, her silk slips hung next to his tailored shirts. On the vanity, thousands of dollars worth of skincare products sat where I thought she was using drugstore brands. The final thread of hope snapped when I saw the box of condoms on the nightstand, nearly empty. “Busy.” She was always “busy.” She was busy building a life with a king while keeping a peasant on a leash in Seattle. I collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor, buried my face in my hands, and screamed. I grew up with nothing. My parents were farmers in a small town who put every cent they had into my education. I worked three jobs in college just to keep up. That’s how I met Madeline. I was the scholarship kid from the middle of nowhere. She was the “rebellious” daughter of a fallen dynasty—or so she told me. We were the “starving artist” couple of the year. We were so poor back then. But every birthday, Madeline would scrimp and save to buy me something special. She’d skip meals for a week just to get me a pair of limited-edition sneakers because “every guy should feel like a king sometimes.” She’d promised me that no matter how hard life got, she’d never let me down. After graduation, I stayed in Seattle. She moved to San Francisco. I lived in a $900-a-month studio that smelled like damp wood. She’d visit every other weekend. We’d tangle ourselves in the sheets of my cheap bed, the springs creaking under the weight of our promises. She’d kiss my eyes and whisper, “Silas, just wait for me. Once I’m stable, we’re getting married.” I worked myself to the bone for that dream. I pulled eighteen-hour shifts, ending up in the ER once from sheer exhaustion and dehydration. When Madeline found out, she flew to Seattle immediately. She yelled at me for being stupid, then held my hand and cried until her eyes were swollen. She stayed for a week, taking the heat from her “boss” over the phone, groveling just to stay by my side. I watched her swallow her pride for me, her eyes filled with a desperate, fierce love. In that moment, I would have died for her. I believed in us. That belief carried me through seven years of silence and distance. 3 When Madeline finally walked through the door, I was a ghost of myself. She rushed to me, trying to pull me into her arms, her eyes shimmering with what looked like genuine guilt. “Silas, I’m so sorry.” “Sorry?” I pushed her away, the strength of my anger surprising both of us. “You’re sorry you got caught? Or sorry you’ve been living a double life for seven years?” She stood up, smoothing her skirt, her face returning to that polished, marble-calm. “Silas, look at where I am. When my father died, the estate was in shambles. I had to come back. I had to take over. My family would never have let me marry a guy from a farm in Washington.” “So you married a billionaire instead? What was I, Madeline? A hobby? A souvenir from your ‘poor’ years?” She looked down at me, her gaze steady. “I am a Starling now. I have responsibilities. My marriage to Harrison is a merger—it’s good for both families. Harrison knows about you. He said as long as you stay quiet and stay in your place, he’ll look the other way. You can stay here. I’ll take care of you.” I stared at her, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. She reached out, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Silas, we’ve been together for a decade. I’m not going to throw that away. I’ll make you my executive assistant. You’ll have a salary, a life here. We don’t have to be long-distance anymore.” I didn’t say a word. I stood up, grabbed my suitcase, and slapped her across the face. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room. Before she could recover from the shock, I was out the door. As the Uber pulled away, my phone chimed. A voice memo from Madeline. Silas, don’t be a child. You won’t find a better offer than this. I’m giving you three days to think about it before I stop being nice. Then, a notification: Madeline Starling has sent you $15,000. She used to send me $50 for “coffee” to maintain the lie. Now, she was throwing thousands at me to buy my silence. I didn’t reply. I sent the money back. I checked into a cheap motel and opened my phone. The internet had already exploded. Someone had filmed the encounter at the office. The video was everywhere. The headlines were brutal: Socialite Madeline Starling’s Secret ‘Boyfriend’ Causes Scene at Corporate HQ. I was the villain. I was the “homewrecker,” the “gold-digger,” the “delusional ex.” I tried to fight back. I posted our old photos, our chat logs, the timestamps of our ten-year history. I wanted the world to see that I was the one who was betrayed. The tide started to turn. People began calling her out. But then, Harrison Starling fought back. He posted their marriage license on Instagram with a caption about “unshakable love” and “obsessive fans who can’t let go.” The Starling PR team released a statement claiming my “evidence” was digitally altered and threatened a multi-million dollar defamation suit. The trolls descended. Look at this loser trying to clout-chase off a pregnant woman. Get a job, you pathetic leach. Within an hour, my post was deleted. My account was banned. I realized then that truth has no currency when you’re fighting a dynasty. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered anyway. It wasn’t Madeline. “Mr. Thorne,” the voice said—smooth, mocking, and dangerous. It was Harrison. “Let’s have a chat.” 4 We met at a secluded coffee shop the next morning. Harrison looked at me without a shred of surprise. “Silas. I knew about you the day I proposed to Madeline. In our world, a wife having a little something on the side isn’t a scandal—it’s a Tuesday. Madeline was actually quite disciplined; she only had you.” “I wasn’t ‘something on the side,’” I spat. “What you were is irrelevant,” Harrison said, sliding a new medical report across the table. Twelve weeks had become thirteen. “Madeline is carrying the Starling heir. I won’t have your little temper tantrums staining my child’s name. I had to clean up your mess on social media.” He pushed a non-disclosure agreement and a blank check toward me. “Sign this. Film a video admitting you fabricated the whole thing for clout. Leave the city in forty-eight hours. Fill in whatever number makes you feel like a man again.” I pushed the check back and stood up to leave. “Silas,” Harrison called out, his voice chillingly calm. “You won’t survive in this city. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He was right. By noon, I’d been rejected by four different firms. The HR managers looked at my resume, then at their screens, and shook their heads. “Character issues,” one said. “We can’t have our brand associated with… well, your situation.” Someone took a photo of me leaving an interview and tagged Madeline. Seconds later, she called. “How much more of a fool are you going to make of yourself, Silas? I offered you a job, and you’d rather go out and be a laughingstock? Stop this. Now.” “Is that all I am to you, Madeline? A joke?” The wind in the city was biting, cutting through my thin jacket. Madeline was silent for a long beat. “Silas, I—” I hung up. Minutes later, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was my mother. Her voice was a ragged, sobbing mess. “Silas! What have you done? People are saying you’ve been someone’s kept man for seven years! Your father… he saw it on the news. He had a heart attack, Silas. The surgery is fifty thousand dollars… we don’t have it…” A snowball hit the side of my head, thrown by a couple of teenagers across the street. “Hey, look! It’s the gold-digger!” they yelled, laughing as they ran off. I fell to my knees in the slush, my tears hot against the cold screen of my phone. I took a breath and dialed the number I had vowed to forget. Harrison answered on the first ring, his voice dripping with amusement. “Decided to be a realist?” “I’ll do it,” I whispered. 5 The apology was broadcast live on a local digital network. I sat under the harsh studio lights, reading from a script like a lobotomized doll. “My name is Silas Thorne. I am here to clarify the recent rumors. The photos and messages I shared were fabrications intended to gain followers… Madeline Starling and I were nothing more than casual acquaintances from years ago…” The live comments were a bloodbath. I watched the words Loser, Snake, and Scum scroll by until my eyes blurred. When the cameras cut, Harrison walked over. He took several stacks of cash out of an envelope and tossed them onto the floor. “Oops,” he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “My hand slipped. Pick it up, Silas.” The red-banded bills fluttered like falling leaves. “Harrison, don’t do this,” I whispered. I moved to stand up, but his security guards shoved me back down. A boot hit the back of my knee, forcing me to the floor. Someone grabbed the back of my head and slammed my face into the carpet. In front of the entire crew, I was forced to bow at Harrison’s feet. Laughter erupted around me. Phone cameras flashed. Harrison gripped my hair, pulling my face up to his. “Take the money and vanish, Silas. Don’t ever think you can play in my league again.” He turned away and dialed his phone. “Hey, babe. All handled. Tell me I’m your hero.” I could hear Madeline’s voice over the line, playful and warm. “You’re the best, honey. Hurry home.” I stayed on the floor, picking up the bills one by one. This was my father’s life. This was the price of my dignity. When the room finally emptied, a pair of red Louboutins appeared in my field of vision. “Are you that desperate, Silas? You’d really crawl on the floor for cash?” Madeline grabbed my arm, hauling me toward the exit. She shoved a credit card into my hand. “If you need money, ask me. Don’t humiliate yourself like this.” She drove me back to my motel herself. Her tone had softened, now that I had been sufficiently broken. “I bought you a penthouse overlooking the Bay. You’re moving in tomorrow.” “No more long distance, Silas. Once the baby is born and things settle down, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” I didn’t answer. I just sat there, counting the cash in my lap. When she pulled over, she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I know these last few years have been hard. I promise, I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” “Harrison’s a bit of a prick,” she added with a shrug. “Just ignore him.” Two hours later, I was at San Francisco International. A news alert popped up on my phone: The Starling Power Couple Attends Charity Gala; A Model of Modern Romance. And I was still the “kept man” the world loved to hate. Just as I reached the gate, Madeline texted me the address of the penthouse. I typed back four words: We’re done, Madeline. Goodbye. I blocked her number before she could reply. No more questions. No more screaming matches. As the plane lifted off, I looked out at the glittering lights of the city below. Somewhere down there, Madeline was playing her part. But I was finally stepping out of the script.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391513”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The air in the principal’s office was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the sour tang of Principal Henderson’s panic. On the mahogany desk lay a sheet of construction paper—a fifth-grader’s drawing of a geometric shape that defied the laws of physics. Henderson was sweating, his finger tracing the collar of his shirt as if it were a noose. When I stepped inside, he turned toward me with the desperation of a drowning man. “Mr. Miller,” the man sitting opposite him barked. This was Charles Whitmore. He didn’t just own half the real estate in this city; he owned the air we breathed. He held up his son’s drawing like it was a holy relic. “Did you tell my son that the sum of the angles in a triangle must be 180 degrees?” I leaned against the doorframe, my voice steady. “I did. It’s a fundamental axiom of Euclidean geometry, Mr. Whitmore.” “An axiom?” He let out a sharp, mocking bark of a laugh. He pointed a manicured finger at the jagged shape on the paper. “My son drew a triangle with 270 degrees. It’s bold. It’s postmodern. It’s an exercise in deconstructive creativity, and you’re trying to smother his imagination with your rigid, dead-end answers!” I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t come. “This has caused him significant emotional distress,” Whitmore continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low vibrato. “I expect a formal apology. To my son. In front of his entire class. Immediately.” Beside him, Henderson was practically vibrating, his eyes screaming at me to just say the words. Just nod, Miles. Just swallow your pride. I looked at Whitmore’s arrogant, untouchable face, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat—sharp and involuntary. I turned to the principal. “Sir, if I admit a triangle can have 270 degrees just to keep my paycheck,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “what’s next? Do I tell the kids that bleach is a health tonic if a donor asks me to?” … The silence that followed was absolute. The smirk on Charles Whitmore’s face didn’t just fade; it curdled. Henderson looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Fine,” Whitmore said. The word was a scalpel. He stood up, adjusted his charcoal suit jacket, and walked to the door. He paused, looking back at me with a gaze that promised nothing but ruins. “Mr. Miller, you’re going to learn exactly what it costs to be right.” “Charles—Mr. Whitmore! Please, wait!” Henderson practically lunged across the room, his face the color of parchment. Sweat soaked his sideburns as he trailed after the billionaire like a beaten dog. “Don’t worry, sir. The school will handle this. We’ll make it right, I promise!” The heavy oak door slammed shut, cutting off Henderson’s groveling. A second later, he whirled around, storming toward me until we were inches apart. “Miles! Have you lost your goddamn mind?!” He was shaking so hard his glasses were sliding down his nose. His spit hit my cheek. “Do you have any idea who that is? That’s Charles Whitmore! You don’t talk to him about ‘facts.’ You just humiliated me, and you’ve probably tanked our endowment for the next decade. Get out. Pack your things. You’re suspended, effective immediately.” I gripped the edge of a bookshelf, my knuckles white, my chin tilted up. I felt a strange, cold clarity. “I. Was. Right.” “GET OUT!” He pointed a trembling finger toward the exit. I grabbed my lesson plans from the desk and slammed them onto the floor. Paper exploded upward like white birds caught in a windstorm. I turned and walked out without looking back. By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were shaking so violently I couldn’t fit the key into the lock. When the door finally swung open, the world tilted. I collapsed in the entryway, my back against the door, sliding down until I was curled on the cold hardwood. The silence of the apartment felt deafening, a physical weight on my chest. I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark. The frantic buzzing of the doorbell finally jerked me back to reality. I crawled to my feet and pulled it open. The hallway light framed Tess. Seeing her face—the one person I thought was my anchor—sent a sob tearing through my throat. “Tess…” She stepped inside, her hands catching my face, her thumbs brushing away the tears. “Miles, I heard. Are you okay? What happened?” I clung to her, burying my face in her shoulder, my voice breaking. “Whitmore… he told me I’d pay for this. And the principal, he suspended me… he treated me like a criminal for telling the truth…” Her body stiffened. The warmth in her hands seemed to evaporate. “Miles,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. She gently but firmly pushed me back so she could look me in the eye. “I have to ask… did you really make a scene? Did you humiliate him in front of the principal?” My sobbing hitched. I looked at her, confused. “I was stating a fact, Tess. A triangle is 180 degrees. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” “The truth?” Tess’s voice rose, sharp and jagged. “Miles, when are you going to grow up? Nobody in the real world cares about your ‘facts’! Relationships, connections, politics—those are a thousand times more important than a math problem! You threw away your career over a fucking triangle. Was it worth it?” The air left my lungs. I felt like I was looking at a stranger. “It’s not about the triangle,” I argued, my voice trembling. “It’s about being a teacher. It’s about the line between right and wrong. If I compromise on the most basic reality just to please a bully, how can I ever stand in front of my students again? How can I tell them to be people of integrity?” “Stop being so naive, Miles!” Tess took a step back, out into the hallway. “Go back there. Apologize. It’s the only way you’re keeping your life.” The door clicked shut. I stood in the foyer, frozen in the exact position where she had pushed me away. I don’t know how many hours I spent on that floor. I was woken by a courier knocking. He handed me an envelope embossed with the school district’s seal. He wouldn’t meet my eyes; he looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. I tore it open. The words “Termination of Employment” screamed at me. Under the reason for dismissal: Professional misconduct, aggressive instructional methods, and causing severe psychological harm to a minor. “Professional misconduct.” The phrase felt like a ghost’s laugh. I gripped the paper until it wrinkled, my nails digging into the heavy stock. I knew they’d fire me, but the speed of it—the sheer efficiency of Whitmore’s malice—was breathtaking. “I’m a senior educator,” I whispered to the empty room. “If they don’t want me, it’s their loss. I’m right. I’ll just find another school.” I threw the letter on the table and opened my laptop. I typed “Teaching Positions” into the search bar, my heart hammering. I took a deep breath and started making calls. “Hello, Mr. Miller. Your resume is incredibly impressive. When can you come in for an interview?” “Anytime. Tomorrow?” I put on my best suit, polished my shoes, and spent the next three days pounding the pavement. At the first school, the recruiter was all smiles—until he typed my social security number into the system. His face went flat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. We’ve decided to move in a different direction.” The second school. The third. The tenth. My heels were blistered, my spirit fraying. After the twelfth rejection, I collapsed on the concrete steps of a charter school downtown, burying my face in my knees. An HR director slipped out the side door. She hesitated, then set a bottle of water down beside me. “Mr. Miller,” she whispered, her voice low and hurried. “Don’t waste your breath. Your name is on a blacklist that goes all the way to the state board. Nobody is going to touch you.” I looked up, the water bottle clattering to the pavement. A wave of pure, unadulterated injustice washed over me. I had held the line for the truth. Why was the world burning me for it? I dragged myself home and scrolled through my contacts. My thumb hovered over Tess’s name. I needed her. I needed her to tell me she was wrong, that she was on my side. I clicked on her social media first. A new post popped up. A moody selfie, her eyes looking wistfully into the distance. The caption made my heart stop. You only realize you’ve reached a crossroads when it’s time to choose between holding on and letting go. Passion is noble, but when it starts collateralizing the lives of those around you, it loses its meaning. Wish you well. This is where we end. The words looped in my head like a death knell. Was I wrong? Was I really the villain here? My phone rang—a blocked number. I answered, expecting a recruiter. Instead, a woman’s scream erupted from the receiver. I flinched, pulling the phone away from my ear. It was Tess’s mother. “Miles Miller! You selfish, pathetic curse of a man! How dare you still show your face? I hope you’re happy! Because of your little stunt, our family’s contract with Whitmore Group is being ‘re-evaluated.’ Tess and her father have been groveling for three days just to keep our house from going under! My daughter wasted years on a loser who can’t even play the game. Stay away from her. If I see you near my house, I’ll make sure the police finish what the school board started. And don’t even think about that engagement ring deposit—consider it a down payment on the damages you’ve caused us!” She was still screaming when I pressed ‘end.’ I curled into a ball on the sofa, clutching my knees, motionless. Eventually, the screen lit up again. A friend had sent me a screenshot. It was a photo of Tess standing next to a young man at a high-end gala. He was handsome, polished, and had his arm draped possessively over her waist. The man in the center of the photo, beaming like a proud patriarch, was Charles Whitmore. The caption read: Celebrating new beginnings for my nephew and the lovely Tess. Onward and upward. “Oh,” I whispered to the shadows. “So that’s how it is.” The rats leave the sinking ship, but in my case, they’d been invited onto a yacht. I pressed my palm to my chest. It felt hollow, like a cavity where my life used to be. I wanted to cry, but I was too dry, too tired. In the dark, I whispered a mantra to myself, over and over: “I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t wrong.” Hours later, the landline rang. It rang ten, fifteen times before I finally forced my stiff neck to turn. I stumbled to the wall and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” My voice sounded like crushed glass. “Miles? Miles, is that you?” It was my father. He sounded terrified. “Why is your cell off? I saw the news. Are you okay? Don’t move, son. I’m coming over. I’m driving down now.” “News?” I hung up and fumbled for the remote. I flicked on the local station. My face was plastered across the screen. Beneath it, a red ticker scrolled: Local teacher fired for ‘mental instability’ after abusing students. Education board issues permanent ban. The remote slipped from my fingers. I sank to the floor, a broken sound escaping my throat. I spiraled into a fever that night. I don’t remember my father let himself in with the spare key. When I finally opened my eyes, I was in my own bed, a cold compress on my forehead. My father sat in the chair beside me, his eyes bloodshot, his face aged a decade in a day. When he saw me awake, he forced a smile that looked like a scar. “Hey. You’re back with me. Hungry? I made some soup.” He held a spoonful to my lips. I looked at his white hair, his shaking hands, and the sheer effort he was making not to fall apart. My lip trembled. “Dad…” The word broke the dam. Tears flooded my eyes. “Cry,” he whispered, setting the bowl down and rubbing my back with his calloused hand. “Let it out. I know who you are, Miles. I raised you. If the whole world says the sun is black, I’ll still believe you when you say it’s gold. I’m right here.” I sobbed until I was empty, then drifted back into a heavy, drug-induced sleep. A sharp cramp in my stomach woke me hours later. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “Dad?” I croaked. No answer. The soup on the nightstand was cold. A note sat next to it: Miles, ran out of Tylenol. Going to the pharmacy at the corner. Back in ten. Drink some water. I checked my phone. He’d been gone for two hours. I called him, but it went straight to voicemail. A cold spike of dread shot through my chest. I threw on a jacket and ran out the door in my slippers. I didn’t have to go far. At the edge of our complex, a crowd had gathered, a circle of people whispering and pointing. My heart stopped. I shoved through them with a strength I didn’t know I had. I hit the pavement hard, my knees buckling. My father was lying on the cold concrete, eyes closed, his face a terrifying shade of blue-gray. There was a gash on his temple. Scattered around him were the broken medicine boxes and a dozen shattered eggs. The yellow slime was matted into his white hair. “Dad!” I screamed, reaching for him, my hands hovering, terrified to touch him. “Call an ambulance! Someone call 911! Please!” I fumbled for my pockets, but I had left my phone upstairs. I looked up at the circle of faces, pleading. They were cold. They were filming. “It’s him,” a woman holding a toddler said, pointing at me. “That’s the teacher from the news. The one who hurts kids. His dad was in the pharmacy acting like a lunatic, screaming that his son was a saint. This is karma.” The crowd stirred, a low growl of agreement. “Like father, like son,” someone spat. “You ruin children’s lives, and God takes your father. Sounds fair to me.” “Why should we help people like you? You’re poison.” The insults pelted me like stones. I stayed on the ground, shielding my father’s body with my own. “No… please… I didn’t hurt anyone…” Suddenly, an egg exploded against my temple. Thick yolk ran into my eye, stinging. Then came a rain of trash—half-eaten fruit, crumpled cups, spit. I stopped trying to fight. I just curled around my father, burying my face in his chest, letting out a low, keening wail. The world had gone mad, and it was going to bury us both in the dirt. A heavy black trash bag flew toward my face. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. It never came. I opened my eyes to see a pair of expensive leather boots. A tall, elegant silhouette stood between me and the mob. I wiped the filth from my eyes and looked up. My heart skipped a beat. “Jordan…” It was her. Jordan Vance. The girl who had left five years ago because I chose a quiet life as a teacher while she chased a career in international law. The girl I thought I’d never see again. “Enough,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it had the ring of cold steel. The crowd went silent. Jordan looked at the woman who had started the “karma” chant. “Did you throw that?” The woman flinched but squared her shoulders. “What if I did? He’s a monster. His father got what he deserved.” “Karma?” Jordan stepped toward her, and the woman recoiled as if Jordan were a physical flame. “You’re a legal illiterate if you think ‘justice’ involves assault. I’ve recorded everything. Public harassment, aggravated battery, and failure to render aid. I promise you, you’ll have a lot of time to reflect on your ‘morals’ in a holding cell.” Jordan pulled out her phone and made a single call. “Send the team to 4th and Main. I want every face in this crowd identified. File for a multi-party civil suit and criminal injunctions. Now.” The “righteous” crowd evaporated. People turned their heads, scurrying away like roaches when the light hits. The sirens of an ambulance wailed in the distance. Jordan turned to me. She shed her designer trench coat and wrapped it around my shivering shoulders. She knelt down and pressed two fingers to my father’s neck. “He has a pulse,” she whispered, her eyes meeting mine. They were fierce, blazing with a protective fire I hadn’t seen in years. “Miles, look at me. I’m here. You’re not alone.” I let her lead me into the ambulance. I gripped the railing of the gurney, watching the paramedics work on my father. “Dad… I did this to you… I’m so sorry…” Jordan didn’t offer empty platitudes. She just sat beside me, her hand gripping mine so hard it bruised. At the hospital, I sat in a plastic chair, covered in filth and Jordan’s coat, staring at the red “Surgery in Progress” sign. The surgeon eventually stepped out, pulling off his mask. He looked exhausted. “His heart is stable, but he has a massive subcortical hemorrhage.” My stomach dropped. “The impact on his head, combined with extreme acute stress… the bleed is significant,” the doctor said. “Even if he survives the night, the best-case scenario is a persistent vegetative state. He’s in a deep coma, Miles.” A vegetative state. The floor seemed to vanish. I felt Jordan catch me as the world went black.

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I’ve been married to my best friend’s brother for six months, and we still haven’t consummated our marriage. Furious, I called my best friend. “I can’t take it anymore! I’m divorcing your brother.” To my shock, my best friend started wailing on the other end of the line: “I can’t take it anymore either! I’m divorcing your brother tomorrow!” 1 Hearing her say that, I froze. I almost forgot—my best friend and I had married each other’s brothers. Thinking about it, her situation was actually a little more tragic than mine. They’d been married for six months, and she hadn’t even had the chance to look at her man’s body, let alone touch it. Unlike me. At least I’d gotten a peek. I sighed, speaking with the solidarity of two women trapped in the same miserable boat. “Babe, meet me at the club.” “Let’s go find some hot male models and actually feel something.” … I arrived before she did, secured a table, ordered some snacks, and started eating pistachios while waiting. Five minutes later, my best friend, Mia, swaggered in, wearing killer stiletto heels and sultry “feline” makeup. Without a word, she raised her hand and ordered a round of shots. I leaned in, desperate for the gossip. “What happened with you and my brother?” We were best friends for a reason. The moment I asked, she raised an eyebrow and shot the question right back. “What about you? What happened with my brother?” It was a classic standoff. Neither of us wanted to break first. I let out a heavy sigh. “He won’t sleep with me!” Mia and I got married exactly one day apart. Initially, I only knew she had a brother who was a doctor, but I had no idea what he looked like. Until one day, a toxic client stressed me out so badly I developed a painful lump in my breast and had to go to the hospital. Terrified I’d get some creepy old male doctor, Mia specifically called in her “young, handsome” brother to examine me. I was skeptical about how handsome he could really be, but the reality hit me like a truck. The moment I saw Liam’s face, my heart went into overdrive. It was the first time in my life I actually experienced love at first sight. Even with a surgical mask covering half his face, leaving only a pair of stunning, aloof eyes visible… I knew perfectly well that every single inch of him hiding under that white coat was exactly my type. After the appointment, I immediately demanded Mia give me his number. She warned me he was pretty cold and distant. I confidently declared that no man could resist my flawless, aggressive charm. And then, I was brutally humbled. While pursuing him, I sent a cute, flirty text: [Dr. Liam, did you have anything delicious today? ✨] He replied a full day later: [I had a salad.] Me: […] Frustrated, I decided to take the offensive in person. I forced Mia to set up a movie date for us. We went to a horror movie. While Liam watched the screen with absolute stoicism, I let out a dramatic gasp and “accidentally” shrank back into his chest, trembling in fear. When he looked down at me, I blinked innocently, delivering the line I had rehearsed: “My chest still hurts a little… Dr. Liam, could you examine it again?” I thought my tone was perfectly calibrated—the ultimate, helpless damsel in distress. But instead of falling for it, he just stared at me heavily. Behind his silver-rimmed glasses, his eyes were like deep whirlpools, pulling me in and making my heart flutter wildly. The atmosphere was so intense, I was absolutely certain he was going to kiss me. But the next second, he rigidly pushed me away. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Ms. Davis, please focus on the movie, or you’re wasting the ticket price.” “…” 2 How can I even describe the look on my face at that moment? It was utterly humiliating. I had totally played myself! “I can’t take it anymore, I seriously can’t! Your brother is either completely asexual, or his plumbing is broken!” I lost my appetite for the pistachios. I grabbed the bottle of tequila, determined to drink until I forgot my name. Mia groaned in frustration and clinked her glass against mine. “I can’t take it with your brother either! What a waste of a gorgeous face! His mouth must be infected with venom, it’s so toxic!” “Remember that dress I bought a few days ago? The one you said looked amazing? I took a picture and sent it to him, and he literally replied that it was so tight it looked like it was tailored for a praying mantis! Has he ever seen a praying mantis with curves like this?!” I burst out laughing. Mia was just as superficial as I was. She fell in love with my brother, Ethan, at first sight too. We both basically forced our way into their lives and manipulated our way down the aisle. We thought married life was going to be a non-stop, steamy romance novel. Instead, it was drier than a monastery. “And I don’t get it! Your brother is a lawyer—does he really have that many cases?! He practically lives in his home office! The only place we ever talk is on iMessage! I’m starting to suspect he has a side chick!” As Mia’s accusations grew louder, I stared at the swirling liquor in my glass and nodded in aggressive agreement. “I think your brother has someone else too! I literally paraded around in front of him wearing lingerie, and he managed to resist pouncing on me! Just the other day, I asked him what flavor of condoms he liked, and he completely deadpanned, ‘There’s no rush’! “You know what they say: if a man has no desire for a woman, it means he has zero interest! It’s infuriating! We’re married and I haven’t even gotten a taste of the goods!” “They’re both absolute dogs.” Mia patted my shoulder with profound, shared hatred. “Let’s divorce them. I’ll file tomorrow, you file the day after. We’ll take half their assets and go live our best lives.” That sounded exactly like my plan. 3 Mia and I were women of action. The very next day, we went back to get our marriage certificates and essential documents. Since she was divorcing first, I went with her to the Vance family estate. The estate was in the neighboring city, and we arrived completely unannounced. We assumed the massive mansion would be empty except for the staff. But when we walked in and saw a group of wealthy socialites playing Mahjong, we froze. I leaned in and whispered to Mia, “Didn’t you say your mom was out of the country on vacation?” She looked just as panicked. “She posted vacation photos on Instagram yesterday! We’re screwed. What if she figures out what we’re doing?” Me: “Keep a low profile. Do you know where the documents are?” “I know exactly where they are!” she declared confidently. Mia’s mom noticed us and her eyes lit up. “Oh my goodness! What a wonderful surprise!” Mia, sweating bullets, muttered a vague greeting and immediately dragged me toward the elevator. However, after tearing her old room apart, we couldn’t find the documents anywhere. I couldn’t just sit on the bed waiting, so I got up to help her search. Right then, Liam sent me a text. [Mom told me you went to the estate?] I thought for a second, then sent back a cute, nodding cartoon bunny sticker. Liam: [Have fun. I’ll come pick you up after work. I’ll ask the chef to make your favorite sweet and sour spare ribs.] I stared at that text for a solid minute. What was going on? Was Liam in an exceptionally good mood today? But last night, he had literally rejected me again… Thinking about it just made me angry. Last night, after Mia and I got blackout drunk, both our husbands showed up to drag us home. One for each. Mia threw a massive, drunken tantrum, while I was dead quiet. I had originally planned to demand a divorce right then and there, but I accidentally passed out in the car. When I woke up, Liam was carefully taking my makeup off with a wipe. In my eyes, his face was an absolute 10/10. The alcohol was fully in my system, and I was completely mesmerized by his long, elegant fingers. I grabbed his hand, pressed it against my chest, and drunkenly tried my old trick again. “Dr. Liam, my heart beats so fast when I see you. Could you soothe it for me?” I mumbled, leaning heavily against his chest. His breathing hitched. He told me to lie still and quickly finished wiping my face. When he spoke, his warm breath brushed against my ear, making my entire heart tingle. So, I started taking my clothes off. I pulled off my sweater, leaving only a thin silk slip, exposing my bare, pale shoulders. Drops of water from a damp cloth trailed down my collarbone, soaking into the silk. I was completely oblivious, feeling totally liberated, and lunged at him with hazy, seductive eyes. “Dr. Liam, we still haven’t consummated our marriage, have we?” We were inches apart. The tension was thick enough to finally cross the finish line. Liam was sitting on the rug, and I straddled his lap. I thought we were finally going all the way. But he just pinched the bridge of his nose, and his large hands gently but firmly stopped me from unbuttoning his shirt. “Elena, you’re drunk. Be a good girl and stay here. I’m going to make you some hangover soup, okay?” I froze instantly. I completely missed the gentleness in his tone. All I saw was that his deep, dark eyes were completely devoid of lust. Liam really, truly had zero sexual attraction to me. I burst into tears on the spot. “…” Remembering that humiliating scene, and now looking at his text, I frustratingly locked my screen and ignored him. Just then, the bedroom door opened slightly, and Mia’s mom poked her head in. “What are you girls looking for?” Mia’s brow was deeply furrowed. She was so frustrated from searching that she blurted it out without thinking. “We’re looking for my marriage documents!” “…” 4 Chaos erupted. The entire house went into lockdown. The Mahjong ladies were immediately ushered out. In the living room. Mia’s mom forced us to sit on the sofa, glaring at Mia with extreme suspicion. “You’re getting a divorce?!” Knowing she couldn’t hide it, Mia nodded with the grim resolve of a martyr. “Yes. I’m done. It’s pointless.” Mia’s mom ground her teeth, furiously scolding her for being an idiot. “You were the one crying and screaming that you had to marry Ethan! Didn’t you say you couldn’t live without him?! Now what kind of stunt are you pulling?!” I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. To be fair, I had used every trick in the book to seduce Liam, too. But how was I supposed to know he was practically a monk?! I wished I had been born a man, then I could have just married my best friend! “Mom, you can’t force a square peg into a round hole,” Mia whined defensively. “Ethan doesn’t love me at all.” “I’m staying in the city. The city is full of hot male models! I can grab a random guy off the street and he’d be better than that cold-blooded bastard Ethan!” As soon as she finished her sentence, a tall, imposing figure walked into the room. My brother, Ethan, had rushed over. The usually immaculate, perfectly styled elite lawyer looked exhausted, his tie slightly askew, his face tight with anxiety. “Mia.” He walked over to her, his tone stiff. “You want a divorce?” “Everything was fine. Why do you suddenly want a divorce?” Mia had sent a message to the family group chat, and everyone rushed over in a panic. Seeing Liam striding into the room, I pressed my lips together tightly. He radiated a cold, aloof energy. He walked over to me, and I subtly took a step back. “Not feeling well?” Seeing my pale face, he leaned in to ask. I didn’t answer. I’m feeling sick because I’m looking at you! The atmosphere was incredibly tense. Ethan frowned deeply. He reached out to hug Mia, but she violently shoved him away. “Save your breath. I’ve already made up my mind.” She glared at him with pure venom. “You can spend the rest of your life married to your court cases! Toxic lawyer!” With that, she grabbed my arm and tried to drag me out of the room. Liam quickly caught my wrist, his tone deep and serious. He finally spoke up. “Mia, marriage isn’t a game.” “And don’t drag Elena into your mess.” Mia looked at her brother like he had lost his mind. “Why are you trying to lecture me? You’re getting divorced too.” “…” The moment the words left her mouth, every single eye in the room snapped directly to me. …

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The day the mistress my fiancé had been keeping outside finally gave birth, he brought the newborn baby to me. He presented the child as my birthday gift. In front of everyone we knew, Carter Sterling looked me in the eye and asked if this baby was enough to finally make me give up on him. At that exact moment, I realized with absolute certainty that there was no future for us. So, after chasing him for seven long years, I chose to walk away. Seeing my surrender, Carter didn’t even spare a glance at the infant. He reached out, his touch intoxicatingly gentle, and brushed his fingers through my hair. “Chloe, it doesn’t matter who you fall for next. Your Carter will help you win his heart.” Later, when I ended up with his closest friend, the usually aloof and untouchable heir lost his mind, desperately trying to destroy the wedding everyone else was blessing. Someone told me that the girl Carter had been hiding away was pregnant. I didn’t believe it. But late that night, I still found myself knocking on Carter’s bedroom door after he got home. The sound of the shower echoed from inside. A minute later, Carter opened the door, a towel slung low around his waist. “Come in.” I instinctively clenched my hands into fists, looking at the fiancé I had secretly loved for seven years. I stepped slowly into his room. With his damp hair messy and falling into his eyes, he lounged lazily on the sofa, casually pouring himself a glass of red wine. He looked at me standing near the door with a playful, teasing glint in his eye. “What do you need?” I stared at the tips of my toes, unsure of how to even ask the question. I had always known. Carter didn’t like me. I was five years younger than him, just a fiancée forced upon him by his family. But I liked him. I liked him so much. I liked him so much that even though there was a constant, revolving door of women by his side, I never once questioned him about it. But today, after hearing that the girlfriend he had been keeping for months was pregnant, I lost my composure for the first time. I had to confront him. While I was lost in my thoughts, Carter had already walked over to me, wine glass in hand. His large, heavy hand clamped down on my chin, lifting my face with an unyielding grip. He brought the half-empty glass of wine to my lips. “Be a good girl, Chloe. Drink.” A low, unexplainably excited laugh rumbled in his chest. “Tomorrow is your birthday. I prepared a special gift for you. You’re going to love it.” That night, I completely forgot the reason I had gone to his room in the first place. I lay in bed, my cheeks burning, listening to my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to arrive. Chapter 2 Carter threw an incredibly lavish birthday party for me this year, inviting practically everyone in our elite social circle. It was massive. But as the party dragged on and eventually drew to a close, the man who promised me a gift never showed up. I stood by the grand entrance, staring out into the driveway with stubborn hope. But the warm, flickering flame that had burned in my chest all night felt like it was slowly freezing into solid ice. Carter had always loathed our arranged engagement. He actively resisted it. Why would he suddenly change his personality overnight? Just as I turned around, utterly disappointed, a smooth, magnetic voice called out from the distance. “Chloe!” Dressed in a bespoke, immaculate black tuxedo, he had finally arrived. Trailing behind him was a middle-aged woman dressed like a nanny. She was holding something bundled in her arms. Carter looked at me, his eyes burning with intensity. “Did I keep you waiting? I had to go pick up your gift.” Under my anxious, expectant gaze, the nanny pulled back a corner of the blanket, revealing a tiny, sleeping infant. “My newborn son, Chloe. I’m giving him to you.” The smile on Carter’s face vanished instantly. He stared dead at me. In the fraction of a second our eyes locked, I suddenly understood exactly what the look in his eyes meant. Before anyone in the stunned crowd could react, Carter spoke again. “Chloe, is one bastard child enough to make you finally give up on me?” “If it’s not, give me a year. I’ll have another one for you.” I can’t even describe what I felt in that moment. It was as if every emotion had been drained out of my body. I felt like a marionette with its strings brutally severed. I just stood there, completely numb. Until the sharp, echoing crack of a slap shattered the deafening silence of the ballroom. Chapter 3 Muffled groans of pain seeped through the heavy oak doors of the study. Two solid wooden canes had already been broken across his back. But Carter refused to lower his head or admit he was wrong. When I knocked and pushed the door open, Carter was kneeling on the floor, his back perfectly straight. He shot me a look of pure, chilling indifference. As if he were making sure I heard him clearly, his lips parted. “I won’t marry Chloe. I’d rather die.” “If you try to force me down the aisle with her again, I’ll father an entire army of bastards for her to raise.” Grandpa Sterling’s eyes bulged with fury. He raised his heavy walking cane high into the air, ready to strike again. “How is Chloe inferior to any of those trashy women you parade around?! What exactly do you dislike about her?!” Carter turned his head. His detached, apathetic gaze landed heavily on me. Just that one look made my blood run freezing cold. We had been by each other’s sides for over a decade, yet he hadn’t developed even a microscopic shred of affection for me. In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that there was no future for us. We were a dead end. “Grandpa Sterling, please cancel the engagement.” I looked up, meeting the old man’s heartbroken, pitying eyes, and slowly slid the heirloom jade bangle off my wrist. “I don’t believe I’m inferior to anyone. If he doesn’t love me, someone else will.” Under my unwavering insistence, we formally returned our engagement tokens. The engagement that had tied us together for over ten years was finally, exactly as he wanted, severed. It would no longer chain him down. Carter slowly, painfully pushed himself up from the floor. A flicker of genuine shock flashed through his eyes. He never expected me to give up on him, and he definitely didn’t expect me to do it so decisively. “Chloe, can you really stop yourself from clinging to me?” I nodded. Carter’s gaze lingered on me, seemingly still doubting the weight of my promise. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Carter… I don’t love you anymore.” His eyelashes fluttered. He stood in silence for a long moment before letting out a soft, almost imperceptible, “Mm.” When the nanny rushed in holding the screaming, crying newborn, Carter didn’t even spare his son a single glance. Instead, he closed the distance between us, destroying any path of retreat. He reached out, his touch intoxicatingly gentle, and brushed his fingers through my hair. “Chloe, it doesn’t matter who you fall for next. Your Carter will help you win his heart.” I didn’t answer him that day. Because starting from that exact moment, I had permanently evicted him from my universe. Chapter 4 The day I moved out of the Sterling estate, I didn’t take a single thing that had to do with Carter. I politely refused Grandpa Sterling’s desperate pleas for me to stay. Carrying nothing but a single, medium-sized suitcase, I walked away from the house I had lived in for over ten years. But just as I reached the front gates, a young woman sprinted toward me, blocking my path. The second she looked up, I recognized her. She was the woman who had stayed by Carter’s side the longest. She was the biological mother of his son. She recognized me too. She bit her bottom lip hard, helpless tears spilling over her cheeks. “Miss Davis… please, I’m begging you, don’t take my baby away.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, painting a perfect picture of maternal agony. “I know you hate that I’m with Carter. As long as you give my baby back… I swear I’ll leave him.” My heart gave a sharp, painful throb. After all the years I spent chasing Carter, in the eyes of his women, I was just the vicious, manipulative, desperate fiancée who wouldn’t let go. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and was just about to speak. But Carter stepped out of a sleek black car that had just pulled into the driveway. “Don’t worry. No one is taking our child.” With his long strides, he closed the distance and was at the woman’s side in seconds. It was as if she had instantly found her savior. She leaned weakly against his chest, tears streaming continuously down her face. Carter wrapped his arm securely around her waist and shot me a dark, warning glare. “Chloe, don’t forget the promise you made.” I tapped the handle of my suitcase. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten.” Carter’s eyes drifted down. When they landed on my suitcase, his expression turned noticeably colder. “Hmph. Moving out the exact second the engagement is broken. People are going to think the Sterling Corporation went bankrupt and we can’t afford to feed you.” “Chloe, I forbid you to leave.” Chapter 5 My grip on the suitcase handle tightened slightly as I met Carter’s icy, hostile stare. “The engagement is over. If I stay here, that’s when people will really start gossiping.” With that, I stepped toward the edge of the stairs to leave. But Carter’s hand shot out, wrapping around my arm in a vice grip. “I said, I forbid you to leave.” To my memory, this was the first time Carter had ever truly lost his temper with me. When you don’t care about someone, even giving them a passing glance feels like a waste of energy. Right now, I found myself completely unable to read the man standing in front of me. But it didn’t matter what he said. I wasn’t staying. I violently wrenched my arm out of his grasp and looked pointedly at the young woman behind him, who had miraculously stopped crying. “Miss Vance is right here. You should really start paying attention to boundaries, Carter.” “Once you marry Miss Vance, it would be highly inappropriate for me to be living under your roof.” That hit a nerve. Carter was genuinely furious now. He shoved my suitcase backward. It tumbled down the concrete steps with a loud clatter, cracking the hard shell. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes dark and menacing. He stared at me for a long time. And then, he suddenly laughed. “Right. I almost forgot. Mia and my son are moving in today. Having you around would definitely be an eyesore.” “In fact, your old bedroom will make the perfect nursery for my boy. Even if you begged to stay today, I’d throw you out. Get lost, Chloe.” With that, he didn’t spare me a second glance. He grabbed the hand of a visibly thrilled Mia Vance, and without looking back, walked into the mansion. SLAM. The heavy front doors shut firmly behind them. I stood alone in the driveway and slowly walked down the steps to pick up my broken suitcase. I didn’t feel heartbroken. Instead, I felt a profound sense of relief. Relief that after seven years of loving Carter Sterling, I had finally, completely stopped. I straightened my spine and walked out of the gates, my steps steady, resolute, and unwavering. Chapter 6 Living on my own wasn’t nearly as lonely or cold as I had imagined. My childhood friends—my core group of girls—found out I had moved out of the Sterling estate. They started making up wildly creative excuses to crash at my new place every single night. In the dead of night, the apartment was quiet. Two of my friends were sharing the bed with me, while two others were sprawled out on makeshift pallets on the floor. I don’t remember who asked the question first. “Chloe… are you really, truly done with Carter?” I lay with my hands behind my head, staring blankly at the ceiling, my voice perfectly calm. “Yeah. I’m done.” “My brother told me that ever since you moved out, Carter has been a dark, brooding mess. He hasn’t even cracked a smile around his frat brothers.” “Do you think he just realized he actually loves you, and now he’s regretting everything?” I burst out laughing, sitting straight up in bed. That was easily the funniest joke I had heard all year. Realizing he loved me after over a decade? Carter’s emotional processing speed would have to be slower than dial-up internet. When I finally stopped laughing, I lay back down and closed my eyes. “A daydream is more realistic than him actually loving me. Go to sleep!” One of the girls, feeling suffocated after being cooped up in my apartment for days, suggested we go out and blow off some steam. She picked the ultra-exclusive VIP club Carter frequented. I had only been there once, and I was brutally thrown out halfway through the night. Carter had literally dragged me by the collar to the club manager, forcing him to assemble the entire staff just so they could memorize my face. “This person right here. Never let her through these doors again.” That night, under the scorching, judgmental stares of dozens of strangers, I was so humiliated I couldn’t even lift my head. In front of outsiders, Carter had never, ever protected my dignity as his fiancée. After that incident, whenever I knew Carter was going to be somewhere, I subconsciously avoided it. But now? I wasn’t living under his roof anymore. I wasn’t his fiancée anymore. And most importantly, he no longer occupied any space in my heart. I could go wherever I wanted and do whatever I pleased. Seeing me nod in agreement, my friends exchanged excited glances and immediately dragged me to the vanity to do my makeup. Chapter 7 I looked at the stranger staring back at me in the mirror. She was wearing a sleek, strapless black dress and heavy, dramatic makeup. It felt incredibly foreign. For the past seven years, to get Carter to look at me for even a second longer… I had constantly, meticulously modeled myself after the girls he dated. Every single one of Carter’s exes fit the “pure, innocent, and fragile” archetype. Mia Vance, the woman who had lasted the longest, was the textbook definition of it. We breezed past the bouncers and walked right into the VIP suite. But halfway through the party, the heavy doors were pushed open without warning, and a group of men swaggered in. The man walking at the very back, his face a mask of dark thunder, was Carter Sterling. The second he walked in, his eyes locked onto me like radar. His dark gaze swept over every inch of my body, taking in the dress and the makeup. Then, radiating an intense, suffocating pressure, he marched straight up to me. “Who gave you permission to be here?” This time, I didn’t drop my head. I stood up, tall and confident. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. “We don’t have any ties to each other anymore. Why can’t I be here?” “Carter, you’re stepping way out of your jurisdiction.” Carter clearly hadn’t expected the girl who had always been as meek and obedient as a bunny to suddenly bare her claws at him. For some inexplicable reason, it felt like something had lightly scratched at his heart. The dark, brooding anger instantly dissipated. He let out a low scoff, physically shoved the guy sitting next to me out of the way, and claimed the seat right beside me. But barely a few minutes after sitting down, Carter’s leg kept “accidentally” brushing against mine. Every time I shifted away, the corner of his mouth would curl up into a smirk, and he’d close the gap again. Finally, I hit my breaking point. I practically shot up from the sofa. While the entire room watched in dead silence, I marched straight to an empty seat in the far corner of the massive booth. But the second I sat down, one of my friends leaned in and frantically whispered in my ear. “Look to your left. That’s Julian Vance!” Julian Vance was the eldest son of the Vance dynasty. He finished his Ivy League degrees by age twenty and returned home to take absolute control of the Vance conglomerate. He was ruthless, cold-blooded, and entirely devoid of human empathy. And above all else, he was a massive germaphobe. No one was allowed within a three-foot radius of him. And I had just blindly thrown myself directly into his restricted zone. From across the room, Carter let out a sharp, mocking laugh, clearly anticipating my brutal, imminent humiliation. The laugh dripped with pure schadenfreude. I gingerly started to stand up, my back not even fully straightened yet. But the man sitting next to me slowly opened his closed eyes. His gaze landed on my awkward, half-standing posture. His voice was like crushed ice, yet carried a trace of lazy indifference. “You don’t need to leave. Sit down.”

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For eight years after being found by the Fox family, my brother finally decided to host a formal reunion party for me, who had been living separately. But three days before the party, I learned he had changed the invitations to his adopted sister’s birthday celebration. His friend teased, “Just because Clara was jealous, you changed Serenity’s long-awaited reunion party, after eight years, into Clara’s birthday?” “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Serenity is your biological sister, living away for eight years without even stepping foot into the Fox family mansion. Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out and disown you as her brother?” My brother smiled with immense confidence, “How could she? Serenity nearly died from a knife wound from kidnappers, all for me. She’d even throw her life away for me. Would she ever abandon me, her only family?” “I left the invitation in the most obvious place. She cares so much about this reunion. She’ll definitely see it, and then she’ll obediently pick out a birthday gift for Clara and attend.” I lowered my gaze, shedding no tears, making no fuss, and finally left quietly. On the day of the party, my brother, after waiting long for my appearance, frantically called. “Serenity, your room at the mansion has been decorated just how you like it. Why aren’t you home yet?” I looked at my adopted brother outside the station, waving energetically at me. “I’m already home.” 1 The reunion party was promised by my brother six months ago. At that time, he was kidnapped by a business rival, who, cornered, demanded his life, not money. In a moment of urgency, I pushed him aside, taking a fatal knife thrust for him. It missed my heart by barely an inch. Blood streamed, dripping all the way. Between life and death, my brother’s heart-wrenching sobs echoed in my ears. “Serenity, don’t leave me, brother only has you.” “As soon as you’re out of surgery, I’ll bring you back to the mansion, as the Fox family’s only cherished daughter, with all due honor.” I think I smiled. After eight years, my brother finally acknowledged me. But now, his indifferent, casual voice, shattered that fresh promise, simply because of Clara’s plea, “I want to be your only sister, brother.” I stood by the door, numb, my fingers slightly cold. My brother’s friend, Ethan, frowned, trying to persuade him, “Everyone in the city knows the only Fox daughter is Clara. You just changed the invitation, and you’re not even telling Serenity. When she shows up, only to find the main character replaced, how do you expect her to handle it?” “Besides, Serenity is your biological sister, whom you finally found. She’s waited so many years for this reunion, and you personally promised her. Aren’t you afraid of hurting her feelings?” A flicker of struggle crossed Julian’s face, then he sighed. “Serenity is sensible and strong. I just casually found a fortune teller as an excuse, saying she ‘clashes with relatives’ and couldn’t return to the mansion to acknowledge her family. She obediently lived away for eight years. Clara is different; she was adopted by the Fox family as a child and never experienced hardship. If Serenity truly moved into the mansion, Clara would feel her affection and attention were divided, surely feeling insecure. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Ethan wanted to say that affection and attention originally belonged to me. Before he could speak, Julian impatiently waved his hand. “At worst, I’ll just keep saying that. She accepted eight years of ‘clashing with relatives,’ so another year won’t hurt.” “Anyway, she trusts me so much. She listens to whatever I say. She’ll definitely agree obediently. It’s just living outside. As long as I know she’s my sister, does a reunion party really matter that much?” Someone nearby chimed in, laughing, “Exactly. Clara is gentle, generous, and well-mannered. She’s truly like a real young lady from a prestigious family. Who would want a country bumpkin sister like Serenity? She’s so unrefined, it’s embarrassing to even mention her.” “If I were Julian, I wouldn’t want everyone in the city to know I had such an unsophisticated biological sister. Wouldn’t that just give people reason to criticize me?” Julian’s face darkened with displeasure. “Everyone shut up! Who are you to gossip about Serenity? Remember this: even if she never steps foot into the Fox family mansion in this life, she is still my Fox family’s eldest daughter, my biological sister, Julian Fox. If anyone dares to slander her one more word, don’t blame me for turning against you.” Everyone fell silent, sulking. Just then, Julian’s phone rang in his pocket. Seeing the caller ID flash ‘My Little Princess,’ his gloomy expression instantly softened. He answered the call. Clara’s voice was cheerful and surprised. “Brother, are you really giving me Master Daniel’s last crown? Wasn’t that custom-made for Serenity?” “Yes, it’s yours. It’ll arrive tomorrow. My little princess isn’t worried about her brother’s affection being stolen now, is she?” Clara feigned concern. “Will Serenity be upset if she finds out?” “Silly girl, you are my only precious sister. Your happiness comes first; nothing else matters.” Clara happily cooed, “Thank you, brother! I knew you loved me best! At my birthday party, I want you to personally put the crown on my head.” “Okay, whatever you want.” The call ended, and the crowd immediately began to tease, “Julian Fox, the ultimate doting brother, no one dares to claim second place.” “That’s Master Daniel’s last crown! I heard it’s worth a hundred million. Who’s the real sister here? That’s an insane amount of money to spend!” Julian’s lips curved into a doting smile. “Clara has always been pampered by me since she was little. I can’t bear for her to suffer any hardship, so of course, the best must go to her. Serenity is different; she’s used to simplicity. She’s not suited for such expensive jewelry. I’ve already had a silver set prepared for her; five hundred dollars is already very valuable to her.” 2 Wind poured in through the window, carrying a briny, acrid smell that stung my eyes. So my brother never intended to bring me home. Eight years of “clashing with relatives” was merely an excuse to keep me out. All to prevent me from stealing the affection of his only beloved sister. How foolish I was, never doubting him, always fearing my misfortune would bring disaster upon him. He could have just told me he didn’t want me as a sister. I would have left. But why use eight years of lies, trapping me in his superficial concern? Making me believe, with all my heart, that he loved me. Footsteps approached from inside. I swallowed hard, suppressing the burning moisture in my eyes. Before I could leave, my brother had already opened the door. The moment he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Serenity, how long have you been here?” My fingers clenched into my palm, the force pushing out whitened knuckles. I looked at him calmly, reminding him, “Just arrived. It’s the fifteenth.” The fifteenth! It was the only day each month my brother promised to have dinner with me. For eight years, living apart, my brother always told me, even if I couldn’t return to the Fox family for now, I would always be the Fox family’s eldest daughter, his only precious sister. On the fifteenth of every month, when the moon was full, people reunited. For eight years, he had never missed that day. My brother smiled suddenly, gently ruffling my head. “Hmm, let’s go. Brother will take you to dinner.” Just as I took a bite of food, the doorbell rang. Clara, uninvited, appeared. “Brother, I specifically came to have dinner with Serenity.” Just as I was about to refuse, she squeezed through the door. “Wow, so much delicious food, all seafood! Brother is so good to Serenity. I never get this treatment, eating food brother made himself.” She picked up her chopsticks, about to serve herself, but I raised my hand to block her. “I didn’t invite you. Please leave.” She froze, her lips trembling slightly, her face full of grievance. “Brother, I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to have dinner with you both.” I looked at her, my voice very faint. “You eat with brother twenty-nine days a month. I only have this one day.” Julian frowned, his step forward abruptly halting. Clara’s tears suddenly fell. “I… I understand.” “You’re biological siblings. I, an outsider, am the extra one. I’ll go now.” She finished, choking back sobs, then turned and ran out. She accidentally knocked over a potted plant by the door and fell. My brother’s hand, resting on the shoe cabinet, tightened sharply. He angrily rushed forward to help her up. “Clara, there’s a limit to being dramatic. Today was supposed to be my dinner with Serenity. Who asked you to come?” “Don’t think that just because Serenity can’t come home yet, you’ve really become the Fox family’s eldest daughter.” “If you hurt yourself, go to the hospital on your own. I’m not taking you.” Clara bit her lip, tears brimming in her eyes for a long time, finally bursting into sobs and running away. My brother stared fixedly at her retreating figure, then harshly shut the door and sat down. “Serenity, don’t mind her. I spoiled her with bad habits. Today, no matter what, brother will stay with you.” I looked at the chopsticks he held reversed in his hand, calmly lowering my gaze. Within ten minutes, he checked his phone over twenty times. Later, he took a call, then told me apologetically, “Serenity, brother’s company has an urgent matter. Brother will pick you up tomorrow for your dress fitting.” Before I could respond, he had already rushed out. I put down my chopsticks, scratching the constantly erupting red bumps on my arm. Opening the drawer, my allergy medicine was finished. I had no choice but to put on my coat and go to the hospital. At the hospital stairwell, as I came out with my medicine, I saw a sobbing, aggrieved Clara and my brother gently comforting her. 3 I stood on the steps, seeing through the bustling crowd. Watching my heavily germ-phobic brother kneel on one knee, gently massaging Clara’s foot. Clara was draped in his expensive suit jacket, eating small bites of seafood from the meal box in her hand. My brother glanced at her, then, without a trace of discomfort, used his sleeve to wipe a smudge of oil from the corner of her mouth. Clara pouted, huffing, “Didn’t brother say I wasn’t the Fox family’s eldest daughter? Then what are you doing here looking for me! Go be with your biological sister!” My brother was caught off guard, pushed to the ground. Yet, there was no anger on his face, only a trace of helpless, doting indulgence. “My little princess, who do you think I say these things for?” “Not letting you stay for dinner was because that seafood was just some ready-made food I had someone buy casually. This one in your hand is what brother personally selected and cooked.” “I know you love seafood most, so brother picked the best and freshest ones. Much better than what Serenity ate.” The stinging pain from my seafood allergy seemed to amplify, making me unsteady on my feet. Clara broke into a satisfied smile through her tears. “Silly girl, Serenity is different from you.” “She got lost as a child, passed through several hands, unloved and uncared for, suffered so much. If I just give her a little sweetness, she’ll be eternally grateful.” “A few cheap ready-made dishes are enough to make her happy. If she’s happy, she won’t challenge your position. Why don’t you understand brother’s good intentions?” “Don’t go to her place on the fifteenth anymore. Her place is small and inconvenient. If you suffer any grievance, brother will be the one hurting.” Clara sniffed, discontentedly. “I just don’t want to see her monopolize brother, not for a single day. Brother is mine alone! What is she? She got lost! Why did she even come back? Couldn’t she just have died out there?!” My brother dotingly tweaked her nose. “Alright, alright, from now on, brother will make excuses, and won’t go on the fifteenth either. I’ll only spend every day with my little princess, okay?” “Hmph, that’s more like it.” A surge of sharp pain rushed through my heart. I leaned against the wall, feeling somewhat drained. So, that’s what my brother had always thought. Because I had suffered much, I should be more content. A little kindness was enough to make me willingly remain outside. To be the unacknowledged Fox daughter for a lifetime. He put himself through such trouble for his beloved sister. Even having to dedicate one day each month to appease me, so I wouldn’t covet his sister’s position. Yet, before I was five, He had said I was his only beloved little princess in this world. He said he wished his sister a life of happiness, free from worries. Hence, my name, Serenity. I thought he remembered, surely he remembered. But it turned out, only I remembered. Tears fell without warning, scalding my cheeks. The old wound in my heart suddenly throbbed intensely. I remembered the doctor saying emotional fluctuations could cause a relapse. I desperately tilted my head back, the suppressed tears flowing into my throat, bitter and astringent. No longer looking at the laughing pair, I silently turned, merged into the crowd, and left alone. Perhaps, I should have left much earlier. After all, there was someone who truly loved me, waiting far away. Julian seemed to sense something, looking up hastily, but found nothing. He clutched his slightly uncomfortable chest, pulling out his phone to send a message to his assistant. The assistant quickly replied, “Mr. Fox, I personally handed the invitation to Miss Serenity. She looked at it, put it in her bag, and showed no extreme reaction.” Julian finally breathed a sigh of relief. He knew I cared for him so much that whatever decision he made, I would silently accept it.

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A fire broke out at the hospital where my mom worked. My dad and I rushed there immediately to help with the rescue. We managed to get my mom out safely, but my dad was severely injured in the process. The only person in the country who could perform the complex surgery to save him was my mom—a top-tier surgeon. I begged her to operate on him, but she scoffed and refused: “My time is valuable. Do you know how many lives I can save in the time it would take to deal with him?” “Putting aside the fact that you two are my husband and son, putting out fires is his job. He was just doing what he’s supposed to do!” Desperate, I called in every favor I had and finally managed to get a renowned foreign specialist to fly in for my dad. When my mom found out, she intercepted the doctor and sent him right back to the airport: “Dr. Chen is a leading expert in the medical field! If he finds out your father is faking his injuries just to get attention, how am I supposed to show my face in the medical community ever again?” “I’ve spoiled you two too much. If your dad keeps pulling these stunts, I’m divorcing him!” She hung up the phone, cutting off my last shred of hope. Denied timely treatment, I watched my dad die in my arms. While I was arranging his funeral, I saw a post from my mom’s “first love”: “It was just a minor cold, but she stayed by my side for three days and three nights. Truly the people’s good doctor!” The attached photo showed my mom in a VIP hospital suite, gently feeding him porridge, her eyes brimming with love and concern. I stared at it in silence for a long time, then liked the post and commented: “A cheater and a homewrecker. You two deserve each other forever.” 1 When I walked out of the funeral home, I felt like a walking corpse. I wandered aimlessly down the street. I had already cried until I had no tears left. My phone rang abruptly. The name “Chloe” flashed on the screen. I hesitated for a moment but finally answered. “Liam! What kind of nonsense are you posting online?!” “Do you know that Ethan is having chest pains and can barely breathe because of your vicious comments?!” “Apologize to him right now!” Her furious voice blasted through the speaker. I instinctively held the phone away from my ear. When I finally spoke, I realized my voice was completely hoarse. “Apologize? Did I say a single word that wasn’t true?” “You left your critically ill husband to die, but you ran around waiting on another man for a minor cold! Have you ever treated my dad like a husband? Have you ever treated me like a son?!” My mom exploded with anger on the other end of the line: “How dare you! Is this how you speak to your elders?!” “Your father ruined you! Put him on the phone! I want to ask him how he raised such an ungrateful son!” I tilted my head back, trying desperately to stop the tears from falling again. But my throat felt completely blocked, and I couldn’t make a sound. After a long while, over the sound of her angry breathing, I finally forced the words out: “Dad… haha… he’s dead. You killed him. You’re never going to get another phone call from him.” “You cold-blooded murderer! You’re going to rot in hell!” After a brief, stunned silence, her furious roaring assaulted my eardrums again. I couldn’t bear to listen anymore. Exhausted, I hung up, curled into a ball on the sidewalk, covered my face, and cried. Boom! Boom! Boom! Suddenly, several loud explosions startled me out of my daze. I looked up. Countless fireworks were bursting in the night sky, their brilliant colors instantly illuminating the entire city. “Wow, those fireworks are gorgeous!” “Yeah, so romantic!” I heard the amazed gasps of pedestrians around me. I stared blankly at the sky. The dazzling fireworks shifted shapes until they finally formed the outline of a man’s face. A face I knew all too well. It was Ethan. The fireworks danced around his image before spelling out a massive, glowing sentence: [Happy Birthday, Ethan!] I stared at the name, the rage surging back into my heart. Before I could even process what was happening, I heard people talking nearby: “Wow, who is that guy? He’s so handsome!” “Is he a movie star? Or some rich heir?” “Don’t you know? That’s Dr. Chloe Sterling’s first love. He just got back from overseas.” “Wait, Dr. Sterling? The famous surgeon? My friend’s mom was in a horrible car crash, and several hospitals basically told them to prepare for the worst, but Dr. Sterling managed to pull her back from the brink of death.” “Yeah, she’s a legend in the medical field. I heard she’s drop-dead gorgeous too. But the craziest part is how devoted she is! Her first love went abroad for over a decade, and she waited for him the whole time. Never even dated anyone else.” “Yes! I heard about that! Last week, her boyfriend caught a minor cold, and she booked him a VIP suite and stayed up for three days and three nights taking care of him. She’s so deeply in love with him.” “She set off fireworks across the whole city just for his birthday! And all those billboards have pictures of them together.” “Oh my god! That is so sweet! How can a woman be that perfect?” “I’m so jealous. It’s like a romance novel come to life right in front of us!” Their words pierced my ears one by one, making me physically sick. I turned around in a daze and looked at the massive LED screen in the center of the plaza. Two familiar, smiling faces were displayed on it. My mom looked incredibly gentle, her eyes filled with love as she looked at Ethan. I had never seen her look like that. Around my dad and me, she always had a cold, stern face. She was always indifferent and heartless. Watching the slideshow of their happy photos, my mind went completely blank. Until a voice broke through: “Young man, are you okay? Are you in trouble? Do you need some help?” I snapped back to reality and realized my eyes were blurry with tears. I shook my head vigorously. It took a long time to find my voice: “No… I just… I miss my dad…” I looked down at the urn in my hands and muttered: “But I… I don’t have a dad anymore…” The stranger paused, then handed me the small cake they had just bought. “Every hardship passes eventually. Your dad will watch over you from heaven.” “Stay strong and keep living. Things will get better.” Before I could even try to hand the cake back, they quickly said goodbye and disappeared into the crowd. Looking at the cake in my hands, the tears flowed uncontrollably again. Even a complete stranger could show me this much kindness. Why was my own mother so cruel to her husband and son? 2 For as long as I can remember, my mom was rarely around. Whether it was parent-teacher conferences or the times I ended up in the hospital sick, it was always my dad running around, taking care of everything. My mom never came to keep me company. She was absent for almost my entire childhood. And my dad wasted over twenty years of his life by her side. On countless long, quiet nights, my dad would hold me and tell me the story of how he and my mom met. When she was twenty-three, my mom suffered the double blow of losing both her parents and going through a terrible breakup. She fell into a deep depression. One night, in the middle of a breakdown, she started a fire in her bedroom, intending to burn herself and the house to ashes. It was my dad’s very first dispatch as a firefighter. He literally had to drag her out of the burning building by force. Learning about the immense tragedy she had endured, my dad was overwhelmed with compassion and sympathy. He volunteered to visit her in the hospital, constantly encouraging and comforting her, helping her get through the darkest period of her life. Perhaps moved by his kindness, my mom confessed her feelings to him the day she was discharged. A young man experiencing his first crush is an easy target for a woman’s gentle trap. Especially since my mom was stunningly beautiful and incredibly elegant back then. Within a month, my dad was hopelessly in love. After dating for two years, they walked down the aisle. For the first few years, they had a beautiful, happy life together. Then my mom got pregnant. To take better care of her, my dad agreed to her request to quit his job as a firefighter. When I was born, my mom barely gave me a passing glance before tossing me to my dad like an afterthought. Simply because she felt I was delaying her career progress. Later on, as her career took off, she became increasingly busy, often not coming home at all. She started despising my dad for being “useless” and constantly belittled him. My dad developed severe depression. Then, one night, my dad accidentally discovered that my mom had reconnected with her first love. All the suppressed emotions exploded. He started becoming intensely paranoid about her whereabouts. They fought constantly. But every time she threatened him with divorce, his anger would instantly extinguish. The trivialities of marriage exposed her true nature. She increasingly viewed him as a lazy good-for-nothing, a failure in every aspect. She grew colder and colder, eventually cutting off his access to the household finances entirely. With no source of income, my dad had to go back to the fire department and take a low-paying logistics job. He was single-handedly supporting all our household expenses, so he lived incredibly frugally. He washed the same clothes over and over until the cuffs were frayed, and he still wouldn’t throw them away. He didn’t own a single decent suit or a good pair of shoes. I tried to convince him to get a divorce more times than I can count. But he foolishly held onto the belief that she still loved us, that she was just too busy. He believed that one day, she would remember our little family. I knew he was just using the beautiful memories of their past to numb himself to the reality. That’s why, when he heard a fire had broken out at her hospital, he completely ignored everyone trying to stop him. Even though he had long since been reassigned to logistics, he charged into the inferno without a second thought. He risked his life to pull her out, but he was engulfed by the flames himself, suffering severe, disfiguring burns. Yet, when I thought my mom would finally feel a shred of gratitude or sympathy for him… She looked at him, wrapped entirely in bandages, frowned in disgust, and told him to get away from her. In that moment, she felt like a complete stranger. My dad’s injuries were critical; he was hovering between life and death. My mom was the only surgeon in the country with the skill to perform the complex procedure he needed. I swallowed all my pride, knelt in front of her, and begged her to save him. To save her own husband. But she remained completely unmoved. She even cruelly turned away the renowned specialist I had gone through hell to fly in from overseas, completely cutting off my dad’s last chance at survival. I will never forget how he looked in his final moments. He lay weakly in the hospital bed, covered in cold, sterile tubes. He struggled to open his eyes, looked at me, and used the last of his strength to say: “Leo… don’t hate your mother… You have to… live a good life…” Before he even finished the sentence, those eyes, which were always so full of resilience, dimmed forever. Even as he was dying, he was still defending her, telling me not to blame her. But Dad, not only did she kill you with her own hands, she’s flaunting her love for another man while your body isn’t even cold. She’s a monster. I can’t let go of my hatred for her, and I can’t let them live happily ever after. I swear, I will drag that cheating pair straight to hell myself! 3 The moment I pushed open the front door, a blast of warm air hit me, accompanied by piercing laughter and chatter. Under the crystal chandelier, the living room was packed with people. My mom and Ethan sat in the center of the sofa, acting exactly like the lady and master of the house. On a makeshift stage, a hired entertainment troupe was performing enthusiastically. I had barely stepped inside when one of my mom’s business partners grabbed my arm: “There’s our little butler! Just in time! Come on, do a trick for Mr. Ethan!” Ethan, who had his arm around my mom, immediately perked up and whispered in her ear: “Yeah, yeah! Let Leo do a performance!” My mom glanced at me, frowning slightly, but said indifferently: “Fine. Do your best trick.” Before I could even process what was happening, I was shoved onto the stage by a few drunk guests. Someone yelled from the crowd: “Get his dad up here too! I heard the father-son duo spent days preparing for Ethan’s birthday party!” A man named Mr. Lee, standing next to my mom, smiled and patted her shoulder: “You’re so lucky, Chloe. Finding a father-son butler team this capable—they clean the house, handle the clients, and now they even do tricks! Impressive!” He turned to me and shouted: “Don’t just stand there! Get started! Let us see what you can do!” I froze, feeling the blood turn to ice in my veins. A father-son butler team? Is that how she introduced us to the world?! I looked at her in sheer disbelief. She was looking down, pretending to adjust her dress. She looked a tiny bit embarrassed, but she never opened her mouth to deny it. A raging inferno ignited in my chest. I grabbed a champagne flute from the table, smashed it violently against the floor, and pointed straight at Ethan, roaring: “You shameless parasite! You think you’re worthy of having me and my dad perform for you?!” “And you bunch of snobs! Sucking up to a kept man, is it fun?! My dad is the legitimate husband and master of this house! Who the hell gave any of you the right to order us around?!” My sudden outburst silenced the room for a few seconds. Then, those so-called “business elites” finally reacted, pointing at me and hurling insults. “A butler’s son, throwing a tantrum in front of us?! Have you lost your mind?!” “Ungrateful trash! The father and son must be desperate to climb into her bed!” They clamored, demanding my mom fire us and throw us out immediately. Everyone was bullying me, insulting my dad. And it was all because of one lie my mom told. My eyes were red as I stared directly at her: “Tell them! Am I your son, or am I your servant?!” Her expression shifted rapidly, but she ultimately said coldly: “A servant.” She glanced at her business partners, who were still shouting, and added: “Alright, he’s just a kid who doesn’t know his place. Let it go.” Then she waved dismissively at the nanny. “Lock him in his room. Don’t let him out to ruin Ethan’s birthday party.” Mrs. Zhang, our nanny, hesitated. She looked at my red, swollen eyes, sighed, and whispered gently: “Don’t be sad. Madam is just angry right now. Let me help you to your room to rest.” Inside my room, I could still hear the noise from the party through the walls, as if my outburst had never happened. Separated by a single wall, my face was covered in tears. From now on, there was no one left to comfort me. 4 After the party ended and the guests trickled out, the massive mansion fell silent again. When Mrs. Zhang opened my door, I was curled up in the corner, my eyes completely swollen. My mom was standing at the top of the stairs, her face ice-cold: “You made Uncle Ethan angry today. Locking you up was to teach you a lesson.” She frowned and asked: “Where is your dad? Ethan drank too much today, and his stomach is hurting. “Call him and tell him to get back here and make some hangover soup.” She spoke with such entitlement, as if my dad truly was just her butler. Because my dad worried about how hard she worked and how much she had to drink at business dinners, he always prepared hangover soup for her, no matter how late or how busy he was. And now she wanted to use that to pamper Ethan! I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. The anger and grief boiling in my chest finally erupted: “My dad isn’t your butler! Why should he?!” “You already killed him! He’s dead, and you still won’t let him rest!” Slap! I stumbled backward, clutching my burning cheek. My mom’s hand hung in the air. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. At that moment, Ethan slowly walked down the stairs. His eyes were slightly red, one hand gripping the banister tightly. “Leo, even if you don’t like me, you shouldn’t curse your own father like that. “I know Arthur must have stayed away because he hates me too. “Maybe… I should just leave…” He took a step, pretending he was actually going to walk out the door. I glared coldly at his pathetic, fake-vulnerable performance. My stomach churned with nausea. My wonderful mother, predictably, grabbed his hand immediately. “This is my house. I make the rules. You stay here.” When she turned back to me, her eyes were freezing again. “If your dad doesn’t want to come back, fine. Let’s see how long he wants to drag this tantrum out. “I’m not going looking for him. You pass a message along for me: tell him to stop throwing these fits. If he keeps this up, we’re getting a divorce!” With that, she linked her arm through Ethan’s and turned to head upstairs.

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My younger brother and sister both got accepted into college at the same time. Since my family’s financial situation was tight, my parents sat me down for a “discussion.” They would pay for my brother’s education, and I was expected to pay for my sister’s. I agreed to give my sister $200 a month for living expenses. Later, my sister graduated, passed the civil service exam, and became the pride of the entire family. Meanwhile, I overworked myself into a severe illness. When I reached out to her for help, she blocked my number. “Back then, you gave our brother $350 a month, but you only gave me $200! Do you have any idea how I survived those four years of college?!” I died in agonizing pain and complete despair. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the time they were both starting college. This time, facing my parents’ demands, I said: “If she can’t afford to go to school, then she shouldn’t go. Tell her to get a job.” 1 I woke up and found myself back in the year I graduated college. My younger brother, Tyler, and my younger sister, Mia, had both just been accepted into college. My mom grabbed my hand, sighing heavily, and poured her heart out about how hard things were for the family. The factory she worked at wasn’t doing well; she hadn’t been paid in months. Supporting two kids in college at the same time was just too difficult. She hoped I would start working immediately so I could help share the burden. “You don’t need to worry about your brother’s expenses. And we’ve already covered your sister’s tuition. All you have to do is send her monthly living expenses.” “Of course, we aren’t making you pay for everything. You’ll be the primary provider, and I’ll supplement it. If you’re ever really short on cash, Mom will help you out.” Her mouth moved as she spoke, her exhausted face perfectly aligning with my memories from my past life. Every tear, every look was designed to tell me how difficult things were for the family, and how incredibly selfish and immature I was being for wanting to go to grad school. In my past life, it was on this exact day. I gave up my acceptance letter to a top-tier university’s graduate program and frantically started submitting job applications. My undergraduate degree was in a foundational science, making it incredibly hard to find a job in my field. After bouncing around, I finally landed a job with a miserable salary of $600 a month. After sending Mia $200 every month and paying my rent, my bank account was basically at zero. For those few years, I worked a second job every night after my main job. I had no time to cook, surviving on cheap, $1 fast-food delivery meals to fill my stomach. No matter how hard or exhausting it was, every time I transferred money to my sister, I felt a massive sense of accomplishment. Because when I was in college, my parents didn’t give me a single cent. I survived entirely on part-time jobs. I had to pinch pennies just to eat, and I often couldn’t even afford basic necessities like sanitary pads. Because I had walked through the rain, I wanted to hold an umbrella for my sister. And eventually, my sister didn’t disappoint. Right after graduation, she passed the highly competitive civil service exam and became the most successful child in our family. Aside from my parents, I was the happiest person for her. However, ever since she graduated, her attitude towards me became incredibly cold. I couldn’t understand why. My parents consoled me: “Your sister is grown up now, you can’t expect her to be stuck to you like when you were kids. Working in the government is stressful, you need to be more understanding.” Even though it hurt, and I didn’t understand what happened, I obediently stopped bothering her. Until two years later, when I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Due to chronic overwork, staying up late, eating cheap takeout, and having a highly irregular diet, I developed cancer at a very young age. The surgery cost $12,000. I only had $3,000 in savings. My coworkers, taking pity on me, pooled together another $3,000 to lend me. I was still short $6,000. I went to my parents for help. Looking distressed, they told me that my brother was getting married soon, the family was in debt, and they simply didn’t have any money to give me. Desperate, I turned to my sister for help, only to discover she had blocked my number. I couldn’t fathom why she would do that. When I finally managed to contact her from a different number, I heard her freezing, hateful voice: “Back then, you gave our brother $350 a month, but you only gave me $200! Do you have any idea how I survived those four years of college?!” “My living allowance was the lowest in my entire dorm! When my roommates went out to eat, I didn’t dare go. When I saw clothes I liked, if they cost more than $30, I couldn’t buy them. If I wanted to get my hair done, I had to calculate my bank balance first. For four whole years, I couldn’t even go on a single trip!” “I’m a girl too! I deserve nice clothes! I deserve expensive skincare products! I deserve to travel and see the world! But the pathetic amount of money you gave me was constantly telling me that I didn’t deserve any of that, that just not starving was good enough for me!” I was left completely speechless. I had no idea she thought like that. I had clearly done the absolute best I could. When I was barely surviving at the poverty line myself, how was I supposed to afford all those luxuries for her? I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out. In the end, my mid-stage cancer dragged on until it became terminal, and I died alone in my rented apartment. And that very day happened to be my sister’s wedding day. She walked down the aisle holding my father’s arm, marrying the son of a wealthy entrepreneur, looking absolutely radiant and happy. Later, relying on the connections of his sister’s new in-laws, my brother also secured a respectable, high-paying job. The family’s life kept getting better and better. Only once a year, during the Tomb Sweeping Festival, would my mom occasionally remember her eldest daughter and sigh: “I guess she just had bad luck.” 2 “Ava? Ava?” Seeing me zone out, my mom called my name several times. I snapped back to reality and glanced around the room. My brother, Tyler, had his bedroom door firmly shut as he played video games. He hadn’t stepped out of his room for the entire summer break, except to eat. My sister, Mia, was lying on the sofa, scrolling through short videos and reading web novels, completely oblivious to everything happening around her. Meeting my mom’s expectant gaze, I suddenly felt like my past life had been a massive, pathetic joke. “Mom, the job market is terrible right now. If I don’t go to grad school and just start working, I’ll only make a few hundred dollars a month. How am I supposed to support Mia on that?” My mom’s face stiffened. “…But what about your sister? You know how things are with the family. Your dad’s health is bad, we’ve spent a lot on his medical bills, and we still have the mortgage…” She kept rambling, her voice choking with tears. If this were my past life, hearing these words would have filled me with overwhelming guilt, and I would have eagerly handed over whatever money I had. But now, I just smiled: “Mom, of course I know things are hard for you and Dad. But Tyler and Mia are both adults now. If we need to share the burden, it shouldn’t just fall on me. College students can take out student loans or get part-time jobs. That’s exactly what I did when I was in school. Since the family can’t afford it, they need to figure out their own solutions.” Hearing this, Mia, who had been completely engrossed in her phone, suddenly regained her hearing. She jumped off the sofa. “Sis, what do you mean by that? Just because your life sucks, you want to rob me of my freedom during college?!” Huh? How am I robbing you of your freedom? She tilted her chin up, her eyes full of disdain. “Girls are supposed to be raised with abundance! College is the best time of your life, it should be used for self-improvement and enjoying your youth! Working part-time just wastes time on meaningless, low-end labor. People like you who just love to suffer needlessly have such a narrow, pathetic worldview.” She spouted off a long, dramatic speech she had clearly memorized from some toxic internet influencer. I was utterly speechless. Suppressing my inner urge to laugh in her face, I smiled. “Don’t falsely accuse me. Who said you had to get a part-time job? Mom said that she and Dad can fully afford to support one of you. Since you can’t handle a little hardship, then I guess Tyler will just have to be the one to suffer.” As I spoke, I shot my mom a look. “Mom, I already saw the transfer you sent Tyler. $350 for the month, right? Since Mia says girls are supposed to be raised with abundance, that money should definitely go to her instead!” Hearing this, Mia looked utterly shocked. “Mom! Didn’t you tell me yesterday that we didn’t have any money?! Why did you give Tyler so much?! Don’t play favorites like that!” My mom’s face instantly turned ugly, and her voice grew sharp. “How am I playing favorites?! Boys naturally eat more! And things are expensive at his school! How is he supposed to survive without at least $300 or $400 a month? You’re his older sister, and instead of feeling bad for your brother, you’re trying to steal his food money?! I wasted my time raising you!” Mia exploded: “And you still say you aren’t playing favorites?! I finally realized today that you guys never loved me at all! I don’t care! Whatever you give him, you have to give me the exact same amount…” She started crying and throwing a tantrum, while my mom slammed her hand on the table and yelled at her. They were arguing loudly, creating quite a scene. Amidst their screaming match, I sneered and silently walked out the front door. In my past life, six months into her freshman year, Mia accidentally found out how much Tyler’s allowance was and threw a massive fit at my parents. But back then, my mom told her: “We’re only responsible for your brother. You are your sister’s responsibility. If she isn’t giving you enough, that’s her problem.” That one sentence made her resent me for years. In this life, I ripped off that hypocritical band-aid early. Let them tear each other apart. 3 I decisively went back to my university and began my graduate studies. I heard Mia threw tantrums for days until my parents finally agreed to give her $150 a month. She kept screaming that it wasn’t enough. My mom placated her: “It’s really not that Mom is playing favorites. Originally, when your sister graduated, we hoped she would help the family out and cover your living expenses. Who knew she would be so selfish and only care about herself?” “If she had just started working earlier, you wouldn’t be struggling like this.” With a few perfectly calculated words, she completely shifted all the blame and resentment back onto me. 4 Consequently, half a month into the semester, I received a link in my messages. “Sis, Mom and Dad are already paying for my living expenses. Buying me a new phone isn’t asking too much, right?” It was for an iPhone 16 Pro, costing nearly $1,500. Just like in my past life, whenever she wanted something, she demanded it from me as if it were her absolute birthright. Back then, I was broke and couldn’t possibly afford it. I gritted my teeth, sent her $400, and urged her to buy a cheaper Android phone instead. “You’re still a student. You don’t need such an expensive phone. The Android ones have a much better price-to-performance ratio.” However, that incident became the definitive “proof” of how I supposedly destroyed her self-esteem. Much later, I heard her say: “Back then, all my friends were using the newest iPhones, but you forced me to use a cheap, embarrassing Android phone. Do you have any idea how insecure and humiliated that made me feel?!” Well. Since an Android phone made her feel so humiliated, I definitely wasn’t going to buy her one in this life. That should solve her self-esteem issues, right? I typed back: “You’re a student, and I’m a student too. Where am I supposed to get the money for that?” Mia: “Don’t grad students get a stipend?” The grad student stipend was barely $150 a month. I was getting a little annoyed. “That stipend isn’t even enough to cover my food. I have no money.” She got angry: “Then you should go out and get a job! If you don’t have money, why are you even in grad school?! You know the family is struggling, but you refuse to help Mom and Dad out! You’re so selfish!” I laughed: “Then why don’t you go get a job? If you don’t have money, why are you in college? You know the family is struggling, why haven’t you dropped out to work? Aren’t you being selfish?” She sent a voice memo, her voice piercingly shrill: “How can you even compare us?! As the oldest sister, you’re practically a mother to me. This is your responsibility!” “Besides, someone with a miserable fate like yours is destined to end up working in a factory anyway! Reading more books is just a complete waste on you! It would be better to invest those resources into someone with actual value!” It took me two lifetimes to finally realize the truth. The sister I had always loved and spoiled had never, ever respected me. Perhaps it was because I had been so deeply conditioned by my parents since childhood, taking on so many responsibilities that were never mine to bear… That the brother and sister I practically raised single-handedly subconsciously viewed me as nothing more than their personal servant. I calmed myself down and replied, “You’re right. So why is someone as incredibly valuable as you having to beg for a phone like a homeless person?” It was like I stepped on her tail. She exploded: “You’re nothing special! I can buy it myself without you!” I locked my screen and didn’t bother replying again. 5 Two months later. I saw the newest iPhone model on Mia’s social media feed anyway. She had gotten expensive manicures, posted beautiful vacation photos, and looked incredibly comfortable and bourgeois. Based on the allowance my parents gave her, there was absolutely no way she could afford that lifestyle. And given her personality, there was zero chance she had earned that money working a part-time job. I thought about it for a moment. I opened her university’s official website. Sure enough, on the list of students receiving financial aid grants, I saw her name. 6 Honestly, our family’s financial situation wasn’t exactly wealthy, but we definitely weren’t living in actual poverty either. My parents owned the house they lived in and another apartment they rented out. Their combined monthly income was over $1,500. They simply didn’t want to spend too much money on their daughters. Because of this, even though I had struggled financially, I never applied for financial aid, refusing to steal resources from families who were genuinely poor. Mia clearly didn’t share that moral compass. 7 After thinking it over for a few minutes. I found the contact information for her university’s anonymous “Confessions/Gossip” page. And submitted an anonymous tip. 8 Very quickly, a post exposing a “financial aid student” buying luxury goods and taking vacations appeared on the page. The school forum erupted in controversy. Facing questioning from her classmates, Mia stubbornly defended herself: “I only use the financial aid money for food! The money I use for my phone and vacations is my own money!” Her arrogant, unapologetic attitude enraged the student body. Students started reporting her to the academic affairs office en masse. Her financial aid status was quickly revoked. And she was given a formal disciplinary warning on her record. She was so furious she started posting unhinged rants on her social media. “I don’t know which jealous, ugly bitch reported me, but who says poor students can’t travel or buy iPhones?! The money was given to me, so it’s mine! How I spend it is none of your business! Why are you acting like the morality police?!” Watching her impotent rage… I casually swiped past the post, enjoying the monkey show from a civilized distance. Without my financial support and with her financial aid revoked… Mia’s life became significantly harder than it had been in my past life. Ultimately, she had no choice but to resort to the “meaningless, low-end labor” she so deeply despised. But her personality meant she couldn’t handle the hardship. She thought washing dishes was disgusting, shaking bubble tea was exhausting, and she didn’t have the patience to deal with bratty kids as a tutor. She bounced around and ended up making basically no money. She spent every day exhausted, running around, filled with resentment and complaints. 9 Meanwhile, I buried myself in my research, leading projects and working closely with my advisor. I traveled all over the country attending academic conferences. I was busy, but deeply fulfilled. Having earned this chance at grad school after two lifetimes, I cherished it more than anything. Watching my data sets slowly come together, the deep wounds from my past life slowly began to heal. Three years flew by in the blink of an eye. As graduation approached, I started looking at campus recruitment opportunities. With the prestige of a top-tier university backing me… The opportunities in this life were infinitely better than my last. I successfully passed the interviews for a technical engineering role at a massive, state-owned enterprise. The job was located in a southern city, over a thousand miles away from home. The salary and benefits also far exceeded my expectations.

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