Category: English

I was reborn, waiting in line in the Underworld, to pick a new mother. The Fate Official, his face expressionless, presented me with three options. Card A: Gentle and Loving Mother; Card B: Wealthy but Single Mother; Card C: Random Blind Box. He asked, “What did your last mother do to you, that you’d rather risk your soul dissolving than be tied to her again?” When my father was home, she would always make me wear a metal muzzle. She’d say, “Your voice is too seductive, it will steal men’s souls.” The first lipstick my father ever bought me, she broke it in front of me, then brutally smeared it all over my face, accusing me of mimicking her to entice men. When my father praised my good grades at the dinner table, she would immediately report me to the school for cheating, forcing me to read a public apology in front of the entire student body. The Fate Official listened in silence. I looked at the words “Gentle and Loving” on Card A and bowed deeply to him. “Sir, please, I just want to be the daughter of an ordinary person.” But to my dismay, when I opened my eyes again, I saw my mother. Are you serious?! … 1 They said I was getting a new reincarnation, but instead, I was back in my ten-year-old self. The crystal chandelier in the living room cast fragmented light. My father, Mr. Harrison, pushed a delicate velvet box towards me. “Stella, happy birthday.” I opened it. Inside was a music box shaped like a ballerina, with a warm, white jade base. My father smiled and said, “My daughter is so beautiful; she’ll surely shine on stage like this someday.” Phoebe Frost, my mother, walked over, wrapped her arm around my father’s, and smiled, her beauty graceful and moving. “Of course our Stella is the best. Darling, you have such good taste, this gift suits our daughter perfectly.” Her fingernail brushed lightly against my shoulder, and my whole body tensed. That night, I placed the music box by my bedside and wound it up. Clear music flowed out, the ballerina spun under the lamp, her skirt twirling. I watched it until I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I was startled awake. Phoebe Frost stood by my bed, holding the music box. In front of me, with a chilling smile, she slowly twisted the winding key until it snapped. The crisp music abruptly ceased. Then, as if breaking a dry twig, she easily snapped off the ballerina’s head. She tossed the fragments at my feet, looking down at me, her voice cold and piercing: “Do you deserve something like this?” “Don’t think just because your father gives you a few nice things you can become some princess. Dream on! You low-born trash, you only deserve garbage!” At the dinner table the next day, my father asked about the music box. Before I could speak, Phoebe casually said, “It broke. Kids are clumsy.” My father frowned. “How could you be so careless?” Phoebe glanced at me, the warning in her eyes chilling me to the bone. I could only lower my head, swallowing all my words. My father didn’t press further, just told me to be more careful next time. But as he looked at Phoebe, a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes. A few days later, my father returned from a business trip and brought me a delicate silver bracelet. As soon as I put it on, Phoebe walked over. She glanced at it, a sneer curling her lips. In front of me, she unclasped the bracelet, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it with her high heel until the silver chain broke and deformed. She dug her nails hard into my arm, warning, “Don’t tell your father.” Then she said contemptuously, “Cheap junk, just like you. You only bring me shame. You’re worthless!” Phoebe’s ways of being “good” to me were always unique. She never hit me, never yelled at me. She simply, with the gentlest demeanor, pushed me little by little into an abyss. The school was holding an arts performance, and the teacher chose me to be the lead reciter. I brought the notice home, and my father was overjoyed, saying that night he would buy me a new dress. Phoebe smiled and said, “Our Stella is so impressive, Mother is proud of you.” The day before the performance, she brought in a cup of hot milk. First, she scoffed at me, “A toad trying to eat swan meat. Someone as low-class as you doesn’t deserve to be the lead reciter.” Then she pinched my arm hard, leaving an almost imperceptible bruise. She handed me the milk, saying in a grim tone, “Drink this, and you won’t have to make a fool of yourself.” I looked at the cup of milk, smelling the familiar, slightly bitter almond scent. In my previous life, I drank this milk and developed a high fever the next day, missing the performance. I smiled and took the milk. “Thank you, Mother.” The moment she turned away, I poured all the milk into the potted plant by my bed. The next day, the leaves of that expensive orchid turned yellow. On the morning of the performance, I discovered my speech was missing. I frantically searched my entire room, sweating profusely. Phoebe walked in, pretending to help me search. She stroked my head, sighing, “Stella, are you too tired? You can’t even remember where you put things.” “How about you just don’t go? Mother feels bad for you.” I stood in the center of the stage, wearing the beautiful new dress my father bought me. Phoebe and my father sat in the front row. The lights came up, and I clearly saw the gentle smile on her face instantly freeze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be able to stand here safe and sound, without even needing the speech manuscript. I didn’t look at any notes, delivering the recitation in the loudest, clearest voice. The audience erupted in applause. My father excitedly stood up, proudly introducing me to those around him, “That’s my daughter!” Phoebe also stood and clapped, but the smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. On the way home, she kept praising me. “Our Stella was amazing today, like a little star.” The moment we entered the house, the smile on her face vanished. She walked into my room and closed the door. She stared at me sinisterly, her voice slithering into my ears like a venomous snake: “You’re very smug, aren’t you? Don’t forget, everything you have belongs to the Harrison family, including your life.” 2 I needed an opportunity to escape. An opportunity my father couldn’t refuse, and Phoebe couldn’t openly obstruct. I began to “obsess” over painting. I spent all my allowance on art supplies, shutting myself in my room every day after school. My academic grades plummeted. The teacher called my parents. When my father came home, he lost his temper with me for the first time. He threw a stack of failing test papers in front of me. “Stella Harrison, what on earth are you doing?” Phoebe quickly stepped in to mediate. She hugged me and said to my father, “Don’t scare the child. Stella might just be under too much pressure lately.” She turned to me, gently asking, “Stella, tell Mother, why aren’t you studying well?” I lowered my head and pulled a drawing from my art portfolio. It was a charcoal portrait of my father that I had worked on for an entire week. In the drawing, he wore a suit, looking spirited and bright-eyed. It was him at his most handsome, as I remembered him in his youth. My father was stunned. He picked up the drawing, his fingers gently tracing the image. His anger visibly dissipated. “This… you drew this?” I nodded. Phoebe’s face changed. I continued to pull out more drawings from my portfolio. I had drawn him working, playing chess, and telling stories. Every single one was him. My father looked through them one by one, his eyes slowly reddening. “Darling, look how much Stella loves you,” Phoebe’s voice was strained. I seized the opportunity and whispered, “Father, I want to learn to paint.” Phoebe immediately objected, “What’s the use of learning to paint? Can you eat it? The most important thing for you right now is to improve your studies!” But my father carefully collected the stack of drawings and put them in a drawer in his study. He came out and said to Phoebe, “Let her go.” “This child has talent.” “Hire the best teachers, go to the best art studio.” Phoebe’s lips moved, but she ultimately failed to voice her objections. After my father left, the facade on Phoebe’s face instantly shattered. She grabbed my arm, her nails almost digging into my flesh, hissing in a low voice, “You think just because you have some talent for painting, you can fly? You’re useless! What else can you do besides paint? You don’t deserve your father’s love!” The art studio my father found for me was called “River Bend.” It was the most famous art center in the city. In my previous life, I was only recommended here by my school psychologist when I was on the verge of a breakdown. Here, I met Professor Hayes. She was the Card A I had drawn. She was the only light in both my lives. In this life, I arrived five years early. Pushing open the studio door, the warm scent of paint washed over me. Sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on easels and plaster casts. Children sat quietly in front of their easels, only the soft rustle of brushes on paper to be heard. A woman in a linen dress was bending over, teaching a child how to mix colors, hand-over-hand. Her profile was gentle, her voice soft. “See, add a little more blue, and it’s like the evening sky.” It was her. Professor Hayes. I stood at the doorway, my heart pounding. How could I get back to her side? She seemed to notice my gaze, looked up, and met my eyes. Her gaze was clear and warm, with an inquiring kindness. I gripped the drawing board in my hand and walked towards her. “Professor, hello, I’m a new student, my name is Stella Harrison.” She gave me a gentle smile. “Welcome, Stella. What a beautiful name.” She pointed to an empty easel. “Your spot is over there. Go ahead and put your things down.” That afternoon, I painted a sunflower. Vast fields of golden sunflowers, reaching for the sun, growing wild. Professor Hayes walked behind me and watched for a long time. She didn’t comment on my technique, but just asked softly, “You seem to really like the sun?” I nodded vigorously. She ran her hand through my hair, a natural and intimate gesture. “It’s beautifully painted, full of vitality.” When my father came to pick me up, Professor Hayes chatted with him for a few minutes. She praised me, saying I was “spirited, talented, a child born to walk this path.” My father was overjoyed, smiling all the way home. Phoebe Frost’s face, however, grew darker and darker. That night, she walked into my room and picked up my sunflower painting. “Not bad.” She placed the painting on the table, her fingertip aggressively slashing across the golden paint. A glaring scratch appeared right in the center of the sun. She then picked up a paintbrush, savagely poking at my painting, muttering, “So ugly, no talent at all.” She looked at me, a sinister smile playing on her lips. “You think you’re good at painting? It’s just Mr. Harrison’s charity. You are nothing, and you’ll never escape my grasp!” 3 My time at the “River Bend” art studio was the most peaceful period of my ten years. Professor Hayes never stinted on her praise. She would hang my paintings in the most prominent spots, and recommend my works to gallery owners who came to visit. With her encouragement, I grew more confident, and my painting skills improved by leaps and bounds. Phoebe’s need for control, however, grew with my “unruliness.” She began to appear frequently at the studio. Sometimes bringing afternoon tea, sometimes picking me up after school. Each time she came, she would intimately link arms with Professor Hayes, addressing her as “Professor Hayes” over and over again. “Our Stella really owes it all to you.” “This child has been shy since she was little, doesn’t like to talk. Only you have the patience.” She handed Professor Hayes a beautifully wrapped box. “Just a small token of my appreciation, please don’t refuse.” Professor Hayes couldn’t decline, so she accepted it. After Phoebe left, Professor Hayes opened the box. Inside was a scarf, gaudily colored and old-fashioned. Most importantly, the price tag hadn’t been removed. A glaring number highlighted its cheapness. Professor Hayes looked at the scarf, her expression becoming complex. I walked over and whispered, “Professor, my mother, she…” But Professor Hayes shook her head at me. She put away the scarf and gave me a gentle smile. “Your mother loves you very much.” I knew she saw through it. But she couldn’t say anything. Phoebe was too cunning. She disguised herself as an ordinary mother who loved her daughter dearly but was not good at expressing it. Any questioning of her would be interpreted as a provocation against a mother. Phoebe’s tactics didn’t stop there. She started trying to isolate me. She would bring exquisite pastries to the studio, distributing them to all the children, except me. She would smile and explain, “Stella is a bit prone to heat lately, she should eat less sweets.” The children, eating their desserts, looked at me with a mix of pity and a hint of distance. She would also, in front of Professor Hayes and other parents, “accidentally” bring up some of my “embarrassing moments.” “This child is particularly timid; she can’t sleep alone at night.” “And she’s a picky eater, won’t touch a single green vegetable. She worries me sick.” With these trivial, seemingly harmless details, she wove a web. Inside that web, I was a troublesome child, disobedient, needing constant “care.” And she was the great mother, worrying herself sick over me. Professor Hayes noticed my low spirits. That day, she kept me back alone. She didn’t ask me anything, but simply pulled out a photo album. Inside were her paintings from childhood to adulthood. The first one was a wobbly stick figure. “This is what I drew when I was five. My mother said it was the handsomest prince she’d ever seen.” The last one was a mature oil painting that had won an international award. She closed the album and looked at me. “Stella, art doesn’t lie.” “Your paintings tell me you are a child with a volcano inside.” “Don’t let anyone extinguish your flame.” I looked into her clear eyes, and the ice that had frozen in my heart for so long cracked open. That evening, I didn’t go straight home. I used the studio phone to call my father. I said I missed him, and wanted to wait for him at the studio after work so we could go home together. On the other end of the line, my father was pleasantly surprised. Half an hour later, he appeared at the studio door. Phoebe had come along, her face grim. “Stella, why are you so thoughtless, bothering your father’s work so late?” But my father scooped me up. “My daughter wanting me is never a bother, no matter the time.” He looked at Phoebe, his brow slightly furrowed. “Don’t always criticize the child.” This was the first time my father had openly contradicted Phoebe because of me. Phoebe’s body stiffened. I rested my head on my father’s shoulder, looking at her ashen face, my heart completely calm. This was just the beginning. 4 The city was holding a Youth Art Competition. The first-place prize was a full scholarship to an art summer camp in France. For two months. This was a perfect opportunity for me to escape Phoebe’s control. I poured all my time and energy into preparing my competition piece. I would paint the best painting. A painting that would allow everyone to see my light, and also her shadow. I chose the theme “Caged Bird.” On the canvas, a magnificently plumed golden bird was trapped in an exquisitely beautiful cage. Outside the cage, spring bloomed brightly, with flowers everywhere. Inside the cage, there was only a small dish of clear water and a few grains of rice. The bird’s eyes stared out the window, filled with a longing for freedom. When Professor Hayes saw my rough sketch, she was silent for a long time. She only said one thing: “Stella, paint what you want, paint boldly.” I could feel Phoebe growing more anxious. She would come to the studio every day, ostensibly to visit, but truly to supervise. She would stand behind me, watching me construct that elaborate cage stroke by stroke. Her voice was faint and eerie. “Stella, the cage is so beautifully drawn.” “The bird stays inside, safe from wind and rain, so secure.” I ignored her, continuing to paint. I didn’t touch the afternoon tea she brought. I didn’t listen to a single word of her “jokes.” In my world, there was only the canvas, and that bird longing to fly. The night before the submission deadline, I finally completed the painting. I carefully rolled it up and placed it in an art tube. I knew Phoebe would act. I waited for her. Phoebe came, as expected. She carried a cup of warm milk, her smile as gentle as ever. “Stella, when you’re done painting, get some rest. You have the competition tomorrow.” I took the milk and meekly said, “Thank you, Mother.” She watched with satisfaction as I drank the “milk,” then tucked me into bed and turned off the light. I lay in bed, listening to her footsteps fade away. Then, I immediately got out of bed, rushed to the bathroom, and spat out all the plain water I had just drunk. I had already poured out that cup of milk. I returned to my room, pulled an identical art tube from under my bed. Inside was a rough draft I had hastily copied in two days. I placed this art tube in the most obvious spot. The real “Caged Bird” was hidden in the deepest part of my closet. Having done all this, I lay back in bed and closed my eyes. At three in the morning, my bedroom door quietly opened. A dark figure tiptoed in and took the art tube from the table. In the darkness, I opened my eyes, perfectly clear. The next day, Phoebe drove me to the competition venue. She encouraged me all the way. “Stella, don’t be nervous, just do your best. Winning or not isn’t important; Mother will always be proud of you.” Her performance was, as always, flawless. At the venue, staff began to receive submissions. I handed over the art tube. Phoebe stood beside me, her face a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The staff member opened the art tube and pulled out the rolled canvas. The moment the painting unfurled, everyone gasped. The canvas was haphazardly smeared with black oil paint. The golden bird was completely covered by heavy black, revealing only one desperate eye. The entire painting was utterly destroyed. Phoebe immediately rushed forward, her reaction even faster than mine. She embraced me, her voice trembling with “shock.” “Oh my goodness! Who did this? How could this happen?” Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at me, full of feigned distress. “My Stella, you spent so long painting… what will we do now…” Her acting was worthy of an Oscar. The surrounding parents and contestants gathered, pointing and whispering about the ruined painting. I stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. I looked at Phoebe, at her face etched with “grief” and “anger.” She thought she had won again.

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Everyone knew I was Alexander Clark’s favorite trophy girlfriend. Beautiful and compliant, gentle and considerate. As long as the money was right, I’d endure his endless whims. Even when he humiliated me for the sake of his true love, I never showed the slightest complaint. Everyone assumed I would never leave. But no one knew that when the contract expired, I would marry another man and completely sever ties with that relationship. The ping of my phone broke the silence as I sorted through research documents for my return home. The words “500,000 credits deposited” flickered on the screen. I casually placed my phone on the corner of the table and continued verifying the files. That was my monthly allowance. My best friend, Sophia, looked worried. “Alexander knows you’re getting married. He won’t come back and make trouble, will he?” My fingers paused. My voice was calm. “He won’t. He’s always generous with ex-lovers. He’ll just find a new trophy girlfriend.” My contract would expire in a month. Then I could change my name, move to a new city, and forget everything about this foggy city. The rain started falling again in this foggy city. I returned to my apartment. As I reached the door, a custom black umbrella caught my eye—it was Alexander’s. My steps involuntarily halted, and my heart tightened slightly, as if entangled by fine threads of rain. He was here. Pushing open the door, in the warm orange glow, his back was silhouetted in the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, a perfectly calibrated tone of complaint in my voice. “You haven’t been back in twenty days. Before, it was never more than fifteen.” This was the dynamic I had painstakingly learned: an occasional complaint from the trophy girlfriend made the benefactor feel depended upon. In the past, he would always ask if I needed money. But this time, he simply plated a steak, his voice cool. “Eat, then take a shower.” I glimpsed a bite mark beneath his cuff, thick with a scab. I resisted asking questions, quietly heading into the bathroom. The woody scent from the shower was identical to the first time I met him four years ago. My thoughts drifted back to that moment, echoing the rhythm of the rain. That year, during my university entrance exams, my mother slipped notes into my stationery, and I was caught cheating, my scores invalidated. I, who could have attended an Ivy League, ended up branded a ‘cheating student,’ mocked by everyone. She then cried and knelt, forcing me to give up my re-take to work and support my sister’s art college tuition. I fled to this foggy city, but on my way home one night, I was mugged, all my money gone. I didn’t even have enough for next month’s rent. Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to be met with, “It’s your own choice.” In the international student community, for a poor student like me, apart from scholarships, the only way to make money was to find a rich “boyfriend.” That day, with my last bit of cash, I dressed myself provocatively. I went to a midnight party and immediately saw Alexander Clark in the center of the crowd. I forgot how I ended up kneeling before him, allowing his hand to easily touch my most vulnerable neck. I only remembered him smiling faintly, his eyes slightly narrowed under the dazzling lights. A clap of thunder pulled me from my memories. I walked out of the bathroom. Alexander stood by the window, surrounded as if by deep winter’s ice and snow. “Come here.” His voice was indifferent. As I approached, he pulled me onto the bed. His movements were rough, and I bit my lip, daring not to make a sound. “Not going to ask about the bite mark? Or why I’m angry?” He curled his lip. I forced a smile, leaning in to kiss him. “As long as you’re happy, nothing else matters.” Maintaining boundaries, that’s how a trophy girlfriend avoids getting hurt. Initially, I couldn’t distinguish love from desire, mistaking his indulgence for affection. Until the first time he treated me roughly, and I said he was out of line. He coldly replied, “If you don’t like it, get out.” Afterward, I learned my lesson, understanding I was merely a pet. But I am still a person, so when the contract ends, the trophy girlfriend should leave. The next day, Alexander was already gone. Due to his company’s international business, Alexander spent half of each month in Capital City and the other half in this foggy city. I opened my phone. The international student group chat had exploded, hundreds of messages flooding in, half of them tagging me. A secretly filmed video went viral: Alexander holding a woman’s hand. The woman bit his wrist, yet he didn’t let go, instead forcefully kissing her. The sadness and deep affection in his eyes were something I had never seen before. Sophia messaged me, asking if I was okay. I replied, “I’m fine,” but stared at the video for a long time until my eyes ached. I had always accepted my fate; a trophy girlfriend should live in her cage, not peek into her benefactor’s life. As graduation approached, I was busy with wrapping things up. Returning home on a stormy day, I heard piano music as I reached the door. Pushing it open, I saw a woman with delicate features sitting at the piano. Her profile was identical to the woman in the video. “So you’re the little trinket Alexander keeps in this foggy city?” Her tone was dismissive. I clenched my hands, responding politely, “Hello, I’m Stella Taylor.” She didn’t introduce herself, merely saying casually, “This piano still sounds perfectly in tune. Alexander must have it tuned regularly, doesn’t he?” I remembered when I first moved in, thinking Alexander liked piano, I had specifically studied for a year. But when I played for him, he angrily pulled me away, scolding, “What right do you have to touch this piano?” Now, the one with the right had finally arrived. The door opened. Alexander saw the woman and his body stiffened. After a long moment, he spoke coldly, “Fighting with my brother again? Sister-in-law?” I froze. So, she was Alexander’s sister-in-law, Victoria Lin. Victoria’s voice was low. “Alexander, must you speak to me like that?” Alexander’s jaw tightened, and he softened his tone. “Haven’t eaten?” “I was waiting for you,” Victoria murmured. Alexander took off his suit and walked towards the kitchen. “The usual? Filet mignon with Merlot, alright?” My heart clenched—this was the dinner he often made for me. I had once thought it was a unique gesture, only to realize it was merely a continuation of someone else’s preference. Victoria suddenly asked what I wanted to eat. Alexander finally looked at me, his voice icy. “You, go out.” I feigned composure. “Okay, I’ll come back later.” He flatly refused. “No need. Stay in a hotel these next few days. I’ll call you when it’s time to come back.” The door slammed shut behind me, rain lashing against my face. It felt as cold as it did three years ago when the landlord kicked me out. I thought I was clear-headed enough, but subconsciously, I had still considered this place “home.” Sophia called, reminding me that the contract expired on March 14th, asking if I wanted to book a flight for the 16th, avoiding Alexander’s birthday on March 15th. I took a deep breath. “Book it for the 14th. End it on the day it’s meant to end.” The next morning, Alexander messaged, “Come back.” I obeyed, taking a taxi back, only to see workers moving things out. “All this is being thrown out just because one woman doesn’t like it. Rich people are so capricious.” The worker’s words stopped me in my tracks. Another worker held up a cartoon plushie, carefully asking Alexander, “Not this one either?” That was a gift Alexander had given me. I had once mentioned wanting it as a child but never getting it, and he had specially postponed three days of his schedule to return home to find it. That was the first time I had forgotten my place, hugging him and crying uncontrollably. But now, Alexander said coldly, “Throw it away.” The plushie dropped into the garbage truck, buried beneath trash. I wanted to step forward, but Alexander called out, “What are you doing?” I forced myself to be calm, linking my arm through his. “I got your message. I was back in ten minutes, wasn’t I quick?” He made no comment, merely stating, “Live here from now on. Don’t leave anything behind.” I looked at the garbage truck, where all my belongings lay. After a long moment, I gently nodded. “Okay.” Alexander didn’t stay that night. The next day, his assistant delivered a dozen limited-edition Chanel bags. Along with a 7-million-credit black card and a property deed for an apartment in the city center. “This is Mr. Clark’s graduation gift to you.” I knew it was his way of placating me after he’d discarded my belongings. “Will he be coming back these next few days?” I asked. The assistant replied, “Mr. Clark postponed his business trip for Ms. Victoria Lin’s concert. He’ll return after it’s over, probably next month.” But I couldn’t wait until next month. I bought a ticket to the concert. Sophia scoffed, “A third-rate musician built on capital, what’s there to see?” But this was my last chance to see Alexander. The concert had already begun. The hall was dim, yet I instantly spotted Alexander in the first row. He gazed at Victoria Lin on stage, his eyes a deep ocean blue, a tenderness I had never witnessed. Victoria spoke, “I want to thank my husband. He gave me this piano, and I brought it. He’s always by my side.” The host mentioned Alexander, and Victoria smiled, saying, “Besides being family, we’re also very good friends.” Alexander abruptly stood up and walked out, bumping right into me. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me into a car. The driver, sensing the tension, discreetly left. His kiss was filled with icy rage; I couldn’t breathe, my wrist ached from his grip. “Mr. Clark, not here…” “Shut up!” he barked, yet his movements gradually softened. Finally, he whispered in my ear, “I love you…” My heart skipped a beat, but the next second I heard him call out, “Victoria Lin.” Under the starlit ceiling, I froze. His ‘love,’ it turned out, was never for me. Tears fell uncontrollably. Alexander asked what was wrong. I hugged him tightly. “Nothing, I just wanted to hold you.” It started raining outside. He suddenly asked, “Why did you come looking for me?” I softly said, “I wanted to see you.” He looked down at me, a slight upturn to his lips. “Such a good girl. What do you want? I’ll have Liam send it over.” For the first time, I refused. “No, thank you, Mr. Clark.” He froze, but his phone rang. Victoria’s voice was tearful. “Alexander, the hotel I’m staying in is blocked by the police. I’m so scared…” “I’ll be right there.” Alexander hung up, glanced at me, his voice icy. “Get out!” The heavy rain instantly soaked me. He shoved an umbrella into my hand, his voice detached. “I have something to do. Go back by yourself.” The Rolls-Royce’s headlights vanished into the rainy night. I held the umbrella, but the wind broke its ribs. I boarded a bus. The cold air made me shiver. Then, a jacket was draped over my head. I looked up, only seeing a handsome profile. He quickly got off the bus, disappearing into the rain. Back at the apartment, I washed and put away the jacket. I opened my phone. In a pushed news interview, a reporter asked if the woman Alexander had taken away was his girlfriend. Victoria smiled and said, “Just an irrelevant person who stumbled in. Alexander took her out because he was afraid of affecting me.” Alexander merely responded, “Yes.” I exited the video and opened my email. Two emails lay side by side: one was an invitation to a top domestic research project. The other was an offer for a million-dollar annual salary from a top 100 global conglomerate. On March 12th, I took a deep breath and replied to the research project email: “I am honored to join.” The next day, I returned home. The kitchen light was on, and Alexander was cooking. I walked over, only to see oxtail clear soup on the table—my favorite—instead of his usual steak. “Why this today?” I asked softly. He said casually, “I won’t be making steak anymore. You try this.” I glimpsed Victoria’s message on his phone: “I don’t want to be like everyone else.” My heart clenched, and I sat down in silence. “Tomorrow, Victoria and I are going to Germany. Don’t contact me these next few days,” he said coldly, pushing the bowl of soup towards me. I knew he was going to celebrate Victoria’s birthday with her, as he had for the past two years. “Okay,” I forced a smile. He promised, “I’ll bring you a gift from France.” “No need,” I looked up at him. “Mr. Clark, happy birthday.” He stood up and walked over to me, his tall figure eclipsing the light. His kiss was as hot as a volcano, and he lifted me, carrying me towards the bedroom. This was the most intense time in three years. I eventually passed out. He held me while cleaning, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. When I woke up, he was already gone. Sophia messaged, “3 PM flight. I’ll pick you up.” I scanned the apartment; all traces of me had long been thrown away. Packing my last few items of clothing, I placed the property deed and bank card on the study desk. “Honestly, I’ve always been grateful to you for helping me when I was at my lowest.” I took one last look at the apartment. “Thank you, Alexander Clark.” At 3 PM, Alexander’s plane landed in Germany, and my plane took off. 12 hours later, he was at a birthday party in Germany. I landed in Capital City. Taking the new phone handed to me by the staff, I headed to the research base. Two days later, Alexander returned to the foggy city early. His assistant smiled, “Mr. Clark, don’t worry, I’ll deliver the gift to Miss Taylor.” “It’s for her,” Alexander said flatly, then added, “Draft the renewal contract again, increase it from 500,000 to 700,000 credits. Send it tomorrow.” He returned to the apartment, made dinner, and waited for me from dusk until deep into the night. I didn’t come back. He took out his phone to call, but only heard an automated voice: “Hello, the number you have dialed is no longer in service…” Alexander dialed again, still getting the same message. He rushed upstairs; the bedroom, balcony, and study were all empty. Only the card and property deed remained on the desk, with a note tucked underneath: “Alexander Clark, thank you for these three years.” He called his assistant, his voice icy. “Find out where she is.” The assistant, bewildered, replied, “Isn’t Miss Taylor with you, Mr. Clark?” “Find her,” Alexander cut him off. Victoria messaged, “Alexander, I want to see you.” In the restaurant, Victoria cried, “Your brother found another woman. Help me get rid of her. You’re already keeping a little trinket in the foggy city, so keeping another one in Capital City won’t matter.” “Victoria Lin,” Alexander interrupted her. “Her name is Stella Taylor.” Victoria froze. Alexander continued, “This was your choice, back then.” Victoria tried to speak, but Alexander pulled his arm away. “I’m leaving.” Standing in the long corridor, looking at the city lights, Alexander suddenly thought of me. He took out his phone. “Find her location. Bring her back tonight.” The assistant hesitated. “Mr. Clark, someone has deliberately hidden Miss Taylor’s information. We can’t find her.” Capital City, Seventh Aerospace Research Institute. The academician patted my shoulder. “We have a new member joining. You both studied abroad in the foggy city, so you can pick him up.” “He’s a genius in physics, a rare talent in a century. He earned two bachelor’s degrees at 15, a doctorate at 17, and now holds two doctorates.” I turned, curious, and the young man at the door turned towards me—it was the same person who gave me his jacket on that rainy night in the foggy city. “It’s you.” My heart skipped a beat. “You remember?” he asked. “You’re not someone easily forgotten.” I extended my hand. “Thank you for that day. Welcome aboard. My name is Stella Taylor.” “Jasper Harris,” he said, shaking my hand, his voice cool and clear. In the foggy city apartment, Alexander looked at his assistant. “You’re telling me that with all of Clark Holdings’ connections, you can’t find a single Stella Taylor?” The assistant wiped sweat from his brow. “Top hackers, both domestic and international, have tried, but they can’t breach that firewall. It’s likely a state-level secret.” Alexander dismissed his assistant. The room instantly became a mess. He leaned over his desk, emotions surging in his chest, threatening to drown his reason—something had utterly slipped from his control. Alexander went to the club, walking directly towards Sophia. “Where is Stella Taylor?” Sophia feigned ignorance. “Stella Taylor? I don’t understand.” “On the afternoon of the 14th, you drove her to the airport. I’m asking you one last time, where is she?” His eyes were icy cold. Sophia’s heart turned cold. “She went back to the country. Said she wanted to go home to get married.” “Married?” Alexander was almost too angry to laugh. Sophia mustered her courage. “If you don’t like her, then let her go. She only came to you because she was desperate, treating herself like a commodity. But she’s a human being, with flesh and blood.” “Humiliation?” Alexander frowned. “You think I was humiliating her?” Sophia opened her phone. The screenshot showed the trending topic “A certain female international student, shameless, selling her body to climb the ladder.” It also showed photos of me trying to please Alexander. Suddenly, Alexander’s fingers froze—the zipper of the plushie in the screenshot was open, revealing a note inside the cotton. “I love you, Alexander Clark.” It was the plushie he himself had said he’d thrown away. Alexander gripped his phone tightly, Victoria Lin’s face flashing in his mind. “I didn’t know,” his voice was hoarse. Sophia said, “She paid to suppress the news that night, saying she didn’t want to trouble you. But what did you do?” Alexander remembered that day. Victoria had said she didn’t like the things in the apartment, so he, in front of me, had thrown away all my belongings. Standing under the eaves, Alexander called Victoria. Victoria exclaimed with delight, “Alexander, did you agree to what I asked? I knew it…” Alexander gently interrupted her. “That night in the apartment, what did you do?” Victoria froze. “I didn’t do anything. I was so tired that day; I went to bed early.” “Victoria Lin!” Alexander said coldly. “That day, what did you see in my room?” Victoria was silent for a moment. “If you’re asking me this way, do I still need to say it? Haven’t you already figured it out?” Alexander said in disbelief, “How could you be like this?” “Isn’t it because your brother and you forced me? One cheated, the other didn’t help me, always hiding out with his little mistress in the foggy city. When I needed support, there was no one behind me. I just wanted to drive her away, to make sure your attention was only on me. What did I do wrong?” Victoria gritted her teeth and yelled, “And anyway, weren’t you the one who actually threw her things away?” Alexander was completely stunned. Yes, he was the one who threw away my things, who lost me. It had always been him. He weakly hung up the phone with Victoria, looking at the dark night sky. A strange fear spread from his bones. He sent me a message: “I’m back.” “I, I’m back.” But there was no reply. Rain poured down. The assistant rushed over with an umbrella. “Mr. Clark…” The rest of his words caught in his throat. He watched Alexander stand silently in the rain, water soaking his hair, tracing his eyelids, leaving streaks on his face. The rain in this foggy city seemed to never cease. Two years later, the project ended. I called Sophia.

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Chapter 1 Every time my husband went to visit his terminally ill childhood friend, he would hint at getting a divorce. Because his childhood friend’s greatest dying wish was to have a legitimate title. Today, he hinted at it again. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t make a scene. I just calmly said, “Okay.” Because this exact conversation had already happened ninety-nine times. And today was the one-hundredth time. I had finally found the definitive reason to convince myself to divorce him. I had miscarried our baby. Now, the only thing tying us together was two thin pieces of paper—our marriage certificate. … Seven days after my miscarriage, I ran into Liam at the mall. He was carrying bags full of shopping, his eyes overflowing with tenderness as he looked at Olivia. But the moment he saw me, he frowned instantly. “What are you doing here? Didn’t we agree to get the divorce finalized first? Are you backing out now?” He looked at me defensively, his icy stare piercing straight through to my heart. Olivia playfully swatted his arm and looked at me apologetically: “Serena, please don’t misunderstand. Liam is just too eager to marry me.” Saying that, she covertly glanced at my stomach, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Our wedding is set for next week. We’d love it if you and the baby came to watch.” I instinctively touched my flat stomach. Before I could speak, Liam cut me off: “How can she come to a wedding when she’s pregnant? What if her condition brings you bad luck? It’s bad energy.” My hand froze on my stomach. Once again, I was stunned by Liam’s absolute callousness. Olivia has a terminal illness, and you don’t think that’s bad luck? You spend every day running around a hospital, and you don’t think that’s bad luck? But because I was carrying your flesh and blood, you think I’m bad luck. It was truly ironic. But then again, I wasn’t Olivia. Why would I deserve your concern? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have completely vanished while knowing I was in the hospital trying to save my pregnancy. If you had just asked me a single question, you would have known. Our baby was already gone. Seeing me stay silent, Liam didn’t care. He just lowered his head and went back to discussing wedding details with Olivia, completely ignoring me. I watched them silently, countless memories flashing through my mind. Ever since Olivia was diagnosed with her terminal illness, Liam became a completely different person. He stopped caring about our baby, and he stopped coming home. Disappearing without a trace became a regular occurrence. At first, he said: “Serena, Olivia is very sick. I can’t just leave her side.” “Don’t worry, I just feel sorry for her. There’s nothing else going on.” Later, he said: “Serena, Olivia’s greatest dying wish is to marry me. I don’t want her to die with any regrets.” I knew exactly what he was implying, but I refused to understand. He dropped that hint ninety-nine times. And I found ninety-nine different excuses to reject him, ninety-nine times. Until the one-hundredth time, when he stopped hinting. That day, right after I received my 32nd progesterone injection to save the pregnancy, I walked out of the hospital and received a text from Liam. No concern, no comfort. Just a cold, hard notification. [The day after tomorrow, 9:00 AM, meet me outside the courthouse. We’re getting a divorce.] A single sentence, just a few words, completely shattered me. That day, lying on the cold concrete of the parking garage, I called Liam countless times. But in the end, the only call that went through was to 911. The doctor told me they couldn’t save the baby. I lay in my hospital bed from dusk till dawn, waiting, only to receive a single text from him. [Stop calling me so much. The ringing is annoying.] Staring at the message on my screen, I bit my lip until it bled. Liam, I agree. From now on, we will never have anything to do with each other again. I wish you… happiness. My memories stopped there. Liam nudged me, reminding me coldly: “Don’t forget, we’re going to get the divorce finalized tomorrow. Don’t try to fake being sick again.” I was stunned for a moment, then I remembered. On the third day after my miscarriage, Liam had called me. It was the only call he made, while he was waiting outside the courthouse. At the time, I had just finished an IV drip that lasted all night, and I was in terrible shape. When I answered the call, I accidentally hit the speakerphone button, and Liam’s impatient, accusing voice echoed through the entire hospital room. “Serena, is this fun for you?” “We agreed on 9:00 AM for the divorce, and it’s already noon. What excuse are you going to use this time?” Under the strange looks from the nurses, it took all my strength to stop trembling. I replied softly: “I’m in the hospital.” The breathing on the other end of the line hitched for a second, then quickly returned to normal. I heard Liam’s disdainful chuckle: “Enough. Stop making excuses. I’ll give you one last chance.” “Next Wednesday, I’ll see you at the courthouse.” The call ended. The nurses didn’t say anything, they just quietly walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, my remaining dignity was utterly destroyed. That was when I realized that the most painful thing wasn’t the harm inflicted by the person you love. It was the pity from bystanders while the person you love is hurting you. Closing my eyes, I pulled myself out of the mud of my memories: “Okay.” Liam raised an eyebrow and continued: “After the divorce, just stay home and focus on your pregnancy. Don’t contact me unless it’s an absolute emergency.” “Okay.” Perhaps because I agreed too readily, Liam was actually taken aback. He loosened his grip on Olivia and his gaze fell on my stomach. “How’s the baby? Is he behaving?” The moment he spoke, my eyes instantly turned red. I used every ounce of my strength to swallow the sob rising in my throat. “He’s behaving. Very well-behaved.” So well-behaved that even when he left, he couldn’t bear to let me suffer for too long. Terrified that I would lose control of my emotions, I didn’t dare say another word and simply turned to leave. As we brushed past each other, I noticed a lipstick stain on Liam’s collar. It was the exact same shade as the lipstick on Olivia’s lips. And the exact same color as the blood on the parking garage floor that day. Walking past a maternity store, a salesperson enthusiastically stopped me. “Ms. Davis, the clothes you ordered last time have arrived.” “Is it convenient for you to pick them up today?” I was about to say I didn’t need them anymore, but my eyes uncontrollably locked onto the baby in the poster. If my baby had been born safely, he probably would have been just as cute. While I was distracted, the salesperson efficiently bagged the clothes and handed them to me. It was a pastel yellow baby onesie. Liam’s favorite color was yellow. I stared blankly at the tiny clothes in the bag and fled the mall in a panic. The moment I closed my car door, the dam broke. How muffled and agonizing can the cries of a mother who just lost her child be? In that moment, I finally knew. By the time I got home, it was late at night. The moment I opened the fridge, I saw the papayas inside. I couldn’t eat them while I was pregnant, and every time I saw them, my mouth would water. Now that I could eat them, seeing them only made me want to cry. Going back to the kitchen, I made two dishes. Papaya stewed in milk, and a bowl of chicken congee. Just as I was about to eat, I heard the sound of keys turning in the front door. Liam walked in, pulling a suitcase behind him. I found it strange; he hadn’t been home in a long time since Olivia’s condition worsened. “Why are you back? Don’t you need to stay with Olivia?” Liam dragged his suitcase straight toward the bedroom, answering casually: “Since Olivia and I are getting married, I came back specifically to pack my things.” “Saves me the trouble later.” I gave a noncommittal “hmm,” but my mind uncontrollably flashed back to Olivia’s words. [Our wedding is set for next week. We’d love it if you and the baby came to watch.] Right, it was only a few days away. If he didn’t move his things now, he might catch my ‘bad luck’ in a few days, and then he wouldn’t be able to shake it off. My tears fell into my bowl, vanishing without a trace, just like Liam’s love for me. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He used to anticipate this baby’s arrival, too. We had been so happy for so long. I lowered my head, about to eat my congee, when Liam, having finished packing, suddenly spoke up: “You made chicken congee?” “What a coincidence, Olivia didn’t have dinner. This will be perfect to tide her over.” With that, he naturally walked over and snatched the bowl right out of my hands. I stared at my empty hands, forgetting to react for a moment. It wasn’t until he had already found a clean thermos to pack the congee that I finally spoke: “That’s my dinner.” Liam didn’t even look up as he packed the thermos. “Aren’t there other things on the table? Just eat that.” My gaze fell on the bowl of papaya stewed in milk. I twitched my lips and said softly: “Pregnant women shouldn’t eat papaya.” Liam froze for a second, setting down the thermos: “Then… maybe just eat a little less?” “You’ve had so many prenatal checkups and everything is fine. A little bit shouldn’t hurt, right?” My nose stung. I lifted my head, refusing to let the tears fall. “It’s fine.” The baby was already gone, so nothing mattered anymore. Perhaps sensing my sadness, Liam sighed and pulled me into a hug. “Serena, just hold on a little longer, okay?” “Once the wedding is over, I promise I’ll spend quality time with you. Just bear with it for a bit, alright?” I gave an “mhm,” but my mind uncontrollably drifted to the past. [Serena, Olivia can’t be left alone right now. Once she’s feeling better, I’ll go with you to your prenatal checkup.] [Serena, Olivia has a fever. I’ll call you after her tests are done.] [Serena, Olivia won’t let me leave. I’ll come home to you after she falls asleep.] Liam, when will you realize that I truly can’t wait anymore? I pulled out of his embrace and handed him the thermos. “Go.” Don’t look back. The moment he was about to close the door, I called out to him. “Liam, do you remember what number you were on when you asked me for a divorce that day?” Liam’s back stiffened. Before he could speak, I continued: “One hundred.” “Today is one hundred and one.” “Tomorrow, outside the courthouse. Be there.” With that, I stepped forward and slowly, but firmly, closed the door. Leaning against the door, I heard Liam’s rapid breathing on the other side. He didn’t leave, and I didn’t move. The physical distance between us was just a four-inch thick door. But our hearts were separated by an entire world. The next second, Liam used his key to open the door. He didn’t step inside, just looked at me for a long time. Finally, he pulled a palm-sized baby rattle from his pocket and handed it to me. “I saw this at the mall today. Our baby should like it.” That one sentence shattered all the strength I had forced myself to build. Taking the rattle, I immediately closed and locked the door, collapsing to the floor, sobbing silently. I didn’t understand why people only recognize love after they’ve lost it. Why must he give me a glimmer of hope right after I had finalized my decision? The rattle fell to the floor with a sharp, crisp clink. I sat there on the floor, withered, for the entire night. The next morning, I left on time. As soon as I got in the car, I received a call from the hospital, asking me to pick up the miscarriage report I had left behind. I hadn’t had the courage to open it back then, burying my head in the sand and leaving it at the hospital. I thought that as long as I didn’t look at it, I could pretend nothing had happened. Now, it was time to wake up. At 9:00 AM, Liam was late. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night either, his eyes bloodshot. When he saw me, a flash of disappointment crossed his eyes. “I thought… you wouldn’t come today.” I didn’t say anything, just walked into the courthouse ahead of him. How could I not come? We had both waited too long for this day. Right before signing, Liam suddenly hesitated. His black pen hovered over the paper for a long time, refusing to move. Seeing this, the clerk kindly suggested: “Since the gentleman hasn’t fully made up his mind, maybe you should reconsider.” I smiled, finding it ironic. If he truly hadn’t made up his mind, why would he have insisted on it a hundred times? Liam turned to look at me and whispered: “Serena, as soon as Olivia and my wedding is over, we’ll remarry.” I gave another “mhm,” remaining silent. I figured, he had lied to me so many times, it was my turn to lie to him. Holding the divorce certificate, Liam’s heart beat erratically. He felt an intense, inexplicable unease, as if he had missed something crucial. Walking out the front doors, Olivia had also arrived. She was wearing a yellow sundress, looking absolutely healthy in the sunlight, without a trace of illness. I tilted my head, gesturing to Liam: “Olivia is waiting for you.” Liam gave an unnatural “mhm,” his face devoid of joy. Olivia walked over, pulled an invitation from her purse, and handed it to me with a smile: “Serena, Liam and I talked about it, and we still want to welcome you and the baby to our wedding.” “Here is your invitation.” My first instinct was to tell her I didn’t have a baby anymore, and I wouldn’t be going to the wedding. But then I caught a glimpse of Liam’s tense expression. Forget it, we’re divorced anyway. What’s the point of saying it now? Shaking my head, I stepped around them, ready to leave. A couple walking toward me bumped into me. Smack! My purse fell, its contents spilling all over the ground. Liam’s pupils contracted. He immediately rushed to help me up, asking with urgent concern: “Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt? Our ba—” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. The man’s gaze was locked onto the miscarriage report lying on the ground.

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I liked my wife. I liked that she was a Bishop, I liked that our merger solidified the market share for both our conglomerates, but mostly, I liked that she was clinically, obsessively fastidious. Camilla had germaphobia. She treated physical contact with the grim necessity of a surgeon scrubbing in. Her boundaries were electric fences. So, when I watched her peel a jumbo shrimp at the company gala—stripping the shell with bare, manicured fingers—and drop the pink meat onto her male assistant’s plate, I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t say a word. I simply went home, stopped by the fish market on the wharf, and bought ten pounds of raw, unpeeled shrimp. When she arrived at the penthouse, I dumped the icy, grey pile onto the marble dining table. “Peel them,” I said, my voice smooth as aged scotch. “Since you enjoy the labor so much.” A woman without boundaries is like a bad investment: if she can’t be corrected, you liquidate the asset and move on. After all, I have my own compulsions about cleanliness. 1 When I walked into the private dining room at Le Bernardin, a boy I didn’t recognize was already sitting there, using his own fork to spear a piece of sea cucumber from Camilla’s plate. Not a serving spoon. His fork. I smiled, nodding to the board members, but my eyes locked on the boy who hadn’t bothered to stand up. The sales director next to him looked nervous. “This is Mr. Montgomery. Our President’s husband.” The boy finally stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He had that soft, artfully messy hair that Gen Z seems to favor. “Hello, sir. I’m Rory, the new executive assistant. First time meeting you. Please take care of me.” I looked down, hiding a smirk, and didn’t take the bait. I just took the nearest seat. I went through the motions—the small talk, the corporate pleasantries—but my attention was a laser focused across the table. I watched Camilla eat the sea cucumber Rory had contaminated. Then, I watched Rory stare helplessly at a large langoustine on the seafood tower. He bit his lip, his eyes wide and pleading as they drifted to Camilla. Camilla frowned, just slightly. Then, she pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, cracked the shell with efficient grace, and tossed the meat into Rory’s bowl. I narrowed my eyes, pulled out my phone, and texted Arthur, our house manager. Buy ten pounds of shrimp. Boil them. Leave them on the dining table. Just as I hit send, Rory, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke up. “Mr. Montgomery, I honestly envy you. You have such a good life. You married a powerhouse like Ms. Bishop, and now you just get to stay home and enjoy the fortune. Unlike us corporate cattle, slaving away just to survive.” I looked up. My gaze lingered on his young, symmetrical face. “You’re definitely new,” I said, my tone dry. “Your manners are nonexistent.” Rory froze. He clearly hadn’t expected the trophy husband to bite back. Immediately, his face crumbled into a look of practiced vulnerability. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just unfiltered—I speak from the heart. Please don’t hold it against me.” His eyes dropped explicitly to my Patek Philippe and my custom Armani suit. “It’s just… seeing you so well-dressed, spending so freely… it makes my heart ache for Ms. Bishop. She sacrificed so much to get the company to where it is today.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I propped my chin on my hand and just looked at him. The rest of the table, however, looked terrified. The Product Director slammed his glass down. “What the hell are you saying? Do you think Mr. Montgomery is some idle socialite? In this room, we call him Mr. Montgomery out of respect, but out there, he is CEO Montgomery.” Rory blinked, looking genuinely lost. The sales manager next to him whispered harshly, “Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Bishop are a merger of two dynasties. He is the sole heir to the Montgomery Group. Stop talking before you get us all fired. Apologize!” Rory’s face went pale. He bit his lip, and his large, doe eyes filled with instant, misty tears. He looked at Camilla for rescue. Camilla met my amused gaze. She shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “Apologize to him, Rory. Watch your words in the future. Learn the hierarchy. If you don’t know, ask.” Rory turned to me, his voice trembling. “Sir… I’m sorry.” I stood up, not bothering to look at him. “I have another engagement. Enjoy the rest of the meal.” It was 10:00 PM when I finished my own meetings. Camilla was waiting for me in the underground garage, leaning against the hood of her Maybach. She opened the passenger door for me, same as always. The drive to our estate in the Hamptons was quiet, the air conditioning humming a steady rhythm. When we got home, she went to shower. When she came out, wrapped in white silk, I dumped Arthur’s ten pounds of shrimp onto the table. They were cooked perfectly, piled high in crystal bowls, stretching the length of the table. A grotesque buffet of pink. Camilla looked at the mountain of shellfish, then at me. I smiled, warm and terrifying. “Honey. Peel them for me.” 2 “Did you not eat enough at dinner?” Camilla asked, bewildered. “Why buy so much? You can’t possibly eat all this.” She reached for the bell to summon Arthur. “Stop,” I said softly. “I want you to peel them. With your own hands.” Camilla paused. A flicker of annoyance crossed her perfect features. “Declan, you know I have germaphobia.” “Do you?” I leaned back, loosening my tie. “Because tonight, I watched you peel shrimp for your little assistant with remarkable dexterity.” She froze, then let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, is that what this is? You’re jealous?” She sat beside me, draping an arm over my shoulders, the scent of her expensive body wash filling the space between us. “I rarely see you possessive. I thought the great Declan Montgomery was always unflappable.” She kissed my forehead, patronizing and sweet. “He’s just an intern, Declan. He’s fresh out of college, knows nothing about the world. He speaks without thinking. I just saw a kid struggling and helped him out. If it bothers you, I promise I won’t do it again.” I looked at her face. We had been married three years. She was thirty now, and time hadn’t touched her; it had only refined her, like polishing a diamond. I reached up and touched her cheek. “Camilla, do you know why I chose you out of every eligible heiress in New York?” She tilted her head. “Because you were clean,” I said. “Your parents told me you hated physical contact with strangers. That you were obsessive about your boundaries.” “It was perfect. Because I’m the same way.” I held her gaze until her smile faltered. “Our marriage is a binding contract between the Montgomery and Bishop empires. We have a good partnership. But I expect this marriage to remain sterile. Efficient. Clean. Whether it’s you and me, or our companies, I need things to run without contamination. Don’t disappoint me.” I stood up, bent down, and kissed her lips. “Peel the shrimp. Consider it penance for letting another man breach your perimeter. Be a good girl.” I went to bed early. I don’t know when she came to sleep. The next morning, the dining table was covered in bowls of perfectly peeled shrimp meat. Camilla was gone—an emergency board meeting, Arthur said. Arthur stood silently by the table. “You have a big family, Arthur?” I asked. “Yes, sir.” “Take these home. My wife peeled them by hand. They should be very clean. Don’t let them go to waste.” Life returned to normal. The incident felt like a blip, a dash of vinegar in an otherwise bland dish. If anything, she was more attentive. I didn’t have the time to track who she interacted with. I was running the Montgomery Group; I had acquisitions to finalize. A month later, she came to pick me up for a family dinner at the Bishop estate. As the car pulled up and the window rolled down, I didn’t see an empty seat. I saw Rory’s smiling face in the passenger seat. I frowned. 3 “Hi, sir! You look dashing today!” Rory seemed oblivious to the temperature drop in the air. He beamed, radiating that toxic mix of naivety and entitlement. Camilla’s expression was neutral. She didn’t see the problem. I didn’t smile. I walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and stared at him. “Get out.” Rory’s smile froze. “Sir… Ms. Bishop was just giving me a ride home. It was on the way. I get carsick in the back.” He turned, casting a desperate look at Camilla. Camilla looked at me, saw the set of my jaw, and decided this wasn’t the hill to die on. She stayed silent. “Get out,” I repeated. “Let Mr. Montgomery sit,” Camilla finally said. Rory bit his lip, eyes glistening, and climbed out with dramatic slowness. He reached for the back door handle. “Who said you could get back in?” I asked. Rory stopped. I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. “Can’t afford an Uber? Life is tough. Here. This covers it. Go home. Safe travels.” Camilla looked uncomfortable. “Declan…” I turned to her, smiling brightly. “Camilla, this reflects poorly on you. If your staff is so destitute they can’t afford a ride, that’s a failure of leadership. Starting tomorrow, raise the travel stipend for all level-three employees by 10%. Bill it to the Montgomery Group.” Rory’s eyes were now brimming with tears. He had the ‘brave victim’ look down to a science. “Sir,” his voice trembled. “I may be poor, but I have dignity. You can’t just use your money to humiliate me because you’re the CEO!” I laughed. I actually laughed. “You’re too poor for a cab, so you mooch off your boss, but me paying for your ride is an insult? Does your dignity require the CEO personally chauffeuring you to remain intact? That’s some expensive dignity. In the time we’ve wasted here, your boss and I have made millions. How do you plan to reimburse us? With your personality?” I scoffed, ignored his flushed face, and got into the car. Slam. Camilla started the engine in silence. In the side mirror, I saw Rory standing on the curb, biting his lip, looking like a discarded puppy. The silence in the car was heavy. I let it sit there. “He rents an apartment near the estate,” Camilla said eventually. “It really wasn’t out of the way…” “Camilla.” I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I told you I liked your cleanliness. Because I have boundaries too.” “Peeling shrimp for another man? Strike one. Putting him in my seat? Strike two.” “I give everyone around me three chances. You have used two.” “My standards aren’t high. Keep your distance from other men. Maintain the perimeter. It isn’t hard.” “Don’t disappoint me again.” 4 She didn’t speak again. I didn’t care if she was sulking. I grew up an only child in a dynasty; I never learned to walk on eggshells. We arrived at the Bishop estate. I took her hand as we walked in, looking every bit the power couple. “You know this marriage is bigger than us,” I murmured as we approached the door. “If you don’t want the stock prices to tank tomorrow, smile. We’re adults. Don’t be childish.” I was smiling, but my voice was ice. Camilla forced a tight, camera-ready smile, and we walked in. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Bishop, greeted me with a hug. “Declan! You get more handsome every time I see you. Sit next to me.” The dinner was loud and lively. The Bishop clan was large. Eleanor kept piling food onto my plate. “The joint venture is moving fast,” she said. “You’re doing incredible work, Declan.” “We’re family, Eleanor. It’s what we do.” Eleanor’s expression shifted. She turned to Camilla, who had been pushing food around her plate. “What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you talking? Take care of your husband.” “You two were talking shop,” Camilla muttered. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Eleanor tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear. “I heard you hired a new assistant. A troublemaker?” Camilla’s fork hit the china with a clink. She looked from her mother to me. Eleanor continued, casual as a shark. “I called HR. He’s fired. An intern with no skills and no sense of place? Useless. I gave him three months’ severance to go away.” Camilla slammed her fork down. “Mother! I run the company now. If you want to fire my staff, you go through me!” Eleanor calmly placed a prawn in my bowl. “You’re good at strategy, Camilla, but you have a blind spot for strays. You’re young. You’re soft.” She looked at her daughter with steel in her eyes. “The Bishop-Montgomery alliance is the bedrock of our future. When we chose you as heir, it was because you were rational. You knew how to assess value. Don’t lose your edge.” I ate my dinner, smiling pleasantly, saying nothing. The ride home was tense. The moment we stepped into our foyer, Camilla spun around. “We need to talk.” Her voice vibrated with suppressed rage. 5 I walked to the powder room to wash my hands. “Talk.” “Did we have to involve my mother in our marriage?” I dried my hands on a fresh towel and looked at her. “You think I went crying to your mommy?” Camilla’s eyes were dark, colder than I’d ever seen them. “Didn’t you? Declan, I can tolerate your arrogance, but bullying a kid? Getting him fired? You’re pathologically jealous.” I narrowed my eyes. I was starting to realize that perhaps my assessment of her intellect had been generous. “You went too far,” she continued. “You humiliated him, and you undermined my authority in my own company. You know I hate interference!” “Are you finished?” I cut in. “Are you angry because your mother overstepped, or are you angry because your pet boy got his feelings hurt?” “I’m angry because you refuse to admit you’re wrong!” she shouted. “Wrong?” I stepped into her space. “Wrong for not applauding when you blurred the lines with a subordinate? Wrong for not stopping your mother when she saw a leech and salted it?” “Or was I wrong for not divorcing you the moment you peeled that first shrimp?” Camilla flinched. I stepped back, looking her up and down with genuine disappointment. “Camilla, I told you. Three strikes. You just struck out.” She stormed out that night, slamming the door. The cold war began. I didn’t chase her. The Montgomery Group was expanding into Europe; I didn’t have time for tantrums. A week later, I saw the photo in the Post. Camilla, attending a high-profile charity gala. On her arm was Rory. He was wearing a tuxedo that cost more than his student loans, a diamond brooch sparkling on his lapel. They looked like a couple. A power couple. I stared at the photo. I nodded. Then I called my legal team. “Draft the papers. Full separation.” The merger was complex, so the divorce would be a surgical extraction. We were deep in the clauses when Eleanor called. 6 “Declan, what is this nonsense in the papers?” Eleanor sounded frantic. “It looks like a fight,” I said, flipping through the draft agreement. “It looks like Camilla isn’t clean anymore.” “She lost her head,” Eleanor pleaded. “I will make her apologize. I will fix this.” “No need, Mrs. Bishop,” I said. “The divorce papers are being couriered to your estate. Review them.” “You can’t be serious!” “I am.” “Declan! Over a trifle? Over an assistant?” “It’s not a trifle. I gave her three chances. She failed. I don’t make exceptions.” “Think about the stock prices! Think about the scandal! You are a son of the Bishop family by marriage—you can’t just walk away because of some boy! Think of your father!” I laughed, a low, dark sound. “Mrs. Bishop, let’s be clear. Outside this house, people call you ‘Mrs. Bishop.’ But they call me ‘Mr. Montgomery.’ I am the head of my house. I don’t answer to anyone.” “You chose to live in your husband’s shadow. I chose to own the sun. I don’t need to explain myself to you, or my father, or the shareholders. I will manage the risk.” I hung up. I took the papers and drove to the Bishop Tower.

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The year-end performance bonus had finally hit my account, so Gary and I went to celebrate at that high-end Omakase place downtown I’d been dying to try. I hadn’t even finished my first piece of toro when his mother called. She was hyperventilating on the other end, her voice a jagged edge of panic. “Gary… your father… he’s at the hospital.” Gary practically knocked his chair over as he scrambled to his feet. “What happened? What did the doctor say? Mom, breathe—stop crying and tell me what’s going on.” My mother-in-law began one of her trademark long-winded sagas. It started three days ago when his father bit down on a piece of hard sourdough and cracked a tooth, and meandered through a twenty-minute critique of how “cold and dismissive” the ER nurses were. Finally, she got to the point. “The specialist says his case is complicated. He needs a full set of dental implants.” Gary let out a breath he’d been holding. “Mom, you scared me. I thought it was a heart attack. If he needs implants, he needs them. Just get it done.” There was a pregnant pause. “It’s… it’s expensive, Gary.” “How expensive can it be?” “Twelve thousand dollars.” Gary went silent. I sat there, calmly savoring the delicate sweetness of the sea urchin. For weeks, I’d been living with a tight knot of anxiety in my chest, wondering when the other shoe would drop. Now, finally, the knot unraveled. I felt a strange, cold sense of peace. 1 “Gary? Gary, are you there?” His mother’s voice was so shrill I could hear it from across the table. Gary glanced at me, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m here. Look, I’m out at dinner. I’ll call you back in a bit.” I felt a ghost of a smirk pull at my lips. I’d bet my entire bonus she wouldn’t let him hang up. This was the routine. Every time Arthur and Evelyn needed a infusion of cash, they followed the same playbook. Evelyn would lead the charge with the tears. If Gary folded immediately, the call ended there. If he hesitated, Arthur would take the handoff. Evelyn did the crying; Arthur did the shaming. They’d start piling on the “guilt crowns”: You’re so ungrateful. We sacrificed everything for you. Why are we even alive if we’re just a burden? In the end, Gary always broke. Tonight was no different. I counted down in my head. Three, two, one. “Here, talk to your father,” Evelyn snapped. Gary sighed, his shoulders slumping. In that light, he looked exactly like his father—a man defeated by his own drama. On the other end, Arthur’s voice was a low, martyr-like groan. “Look, Gary, I know I’m putting you in a spot. It’s my fault. I’m the one who didn’t save enough when I was younger. I’m an old man; if my teeth rot out, I guess I’ve lived long enough anyway. Forget it. Go back to your fancy dinner with Nora. Don’t ruin your night over me.” Gary panicked. “Dad, don’t talk like that—” The line went dead. Arthur had hung up. Gary stared at me. I stared at the Omakase chef’s hands. They were precise, elegant, moving with a grace that Gary had lost long ago. I could have eaten thirty more pieces of that yellowtail. It was fresh, melting on my tongue like a dream. But I only got one. Because Gary suddenly slammed his hand on the table. “My father is literally suicidal over his health, and you’re just sitting there eating?” 2 We’ve been married for three years, and I’ve heard variations of that accusation more times than I can count. The first time was three months after our wedding. His parents were walking home from a community gala when it started to pour. Instead of calling an Uber or waiting under an awning, they decided to “tough it out” and walk the two miles in the rain. Predictably, they both ended up with nasty chest colds and took to their beds like they were on their deathbeds. As Arthur put it: “Gary needs to know how we’re suffering.” When I heard, I sent a polite message to the family group chat, telling them to drink plenty of fluids and rest up. The chat stayed silent. No one acknowledged me. That evening, I was excitedly unboxing a new dress I’d ordered for a work event, checking myself out in the mirror. I asked Gary if he liked the color. He exploded. “My parents are bedridden, and you’re playing dress-up? How can you be so selfish? So cold?” The vitriol in his voice stunned me. He stormed out and didn’t come home that night. Back then, I was still deeply in love with him. Being called “cold” by the person I adored felt like a knife to the gut. I spent the night agonizing over it. Was I a bad person? Did I lack empathy? They had colds, for God’s sake. Was I supposed to drive three hours to hold a thermometer? I ended up sending them each a $500 “get well” check, telling them to treat themselves to some nice takeout and whatever they needed. Arthur cashed it instantly and called me “his favorite daughter.” Evelyn followed suit, praising my “good heart.” I didn’t say anything, but a hollow feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach. The next morning, Gary was in the kitchen making me breakfast, wearing his “I’m sorry” face. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, flipping a pancake. “My parents told me I overreacted. It’s just a cold. But—” his tone shifted, “we have to look at the big picture. Why did they get wet? Because they don’t have a reliable car. If they had a decent SUV, this wouldn’t have happened, right?” I stayed quiet. “I found a used RAV4,” he continued. “It’s only eight grand. It would give them so much independence.” Eight thousand. It wasn’t a sixty-thousand-dollar luxury car. It seemed… reasonable? I nodded. Gary hugged me, promising the money would come out of his personal savings and I wouldn’t have to worry. But for the next six months, he didn’t contribute a dime to the mortgage or our shared bills. I was annoyed, but every time I tried to bring it up, I felt like I was being “petty” about money. I told myself he was just a “good son.” Marriage is about support, right? He was broke; I had a good career. It was only natural for me to carry the load. Except the “emergencies” never stopped. 3 A year later, Gary closed a big deal at work. A $45,000 commission. I was ecstatic. I made a spreadsheet showing how we could pay down a huge chunk of our mortgage. Cutting that monthly interest would change our lives. Gary was all in. He kissed me, calling me his “brilliant, practical wife.” But the very next day, a neighbor from his hometown called. Apparently, Arthur had climbed onto the roof to fix a shingle and “fell,” breaking his leg. Evelyn, in her rush to help him, had “thrown out her back.” Now, they were both “incapacitated.” We rushed down to their house. Arthur was lying in bed with a pristine white cast, looking like he was auditioning for a Victorian tragedy. Evelyn was clutching her waist, sobbing rhythmically. The relatives were already there, circling like vultures. “It’s a disgrace,” one aunt hissed. “Leaving your parents in this old, drafty house while you two live it up in the city.” “If a neighbor hadn’t checked in, God knows how long they would have lied here,” a cousin added. “Gary, don’t let a woman turn you into a man who forgets his own flesh and blood.” “And Nora… I don’t know how you sleep at night, living so far away when they’re in this state. You’re part of this family now, aren’t you?” I felt the heat rising in my face, the shame heavy and suffocating. Gary kept his head down, his eyes red, promising over and over that it would never happen again. Arthur waved a weak hand, coughing for effect. “Now, now, don’t blame Gary. He’s busy. He can’t just take time off work for his old man…” Evelyn wiped her eyes. “He’s right. We’re fine. If something happens… well, I guess that’s just our fate.” They clung to each other, weeping silently. It was a masterclass in emotional blackmail. Gary dropped to his knees by the bed. “Mom, Dad, come live with us in the city. I’m not letting you stay here.” He looked at me, his jaw set. “It’s settled.” I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat. How do you say ‘no’ to a man kneeling in front of his “dying” parents? 4 Our three-bedroom house suddenly felt like a cage. Arthur and Evelyn insisted on having their own rooms. Arthur took the master bedroom because the “natural light” was better for his recovery. Evelyn took the second bedroom because of the “airflow.” As for Gary and me? Arthur had a suggestion. “If you knock down the wall between the living room and the office, you could make a very nice, large sleeping area.” It was absurd. I fought with Gary that night, our voices echoing through the thin walls. I didn’t care if they heard. I wanted them to live with us, sure—but I didn’t want to be a guest in my own home. By morning, the guest rooms were empty. They’d left a note saying they were heading back to the “village” because they didn’t want to be a “burden.” But of course, they got “lost” on the way to the bus station. The police called Gary at 2 AM. The three of them had a tearful reunion at the precinct. Gary begged them to stay. He tried to pull me down to my knees with him. I just stared at him like he’d lost his mind. As I turned to walk away, Arthur spoke up. “Look, Gary, we really do want to go home. Your place… it’s just too small. We can’t breathe. But… if you had a little extra cash, maybe we could just renovate the old house? Make it safe?” Gary agreed on the spot. He wired them forty thousand dollars that night. When I confronted him, he turned on me with a cold, sharp edge. “Nora, I know you have thoughts, but shut up. Just this once. Was that your money? No. It was my commission. Stop being so possessive over things that aren’t yours. It’s my money, and I’m taking care of my parents. What is wrong with that?” I was speechless. He softened his tone then, sensing he’d gone too far. “The house is a death trap, Nora. You saw it. Once it’s fixed, I can finally focus on us. Just forgive me this once. I’ll find another way to cover the mortgage.” He was usually so good to me. He did the laundry. He cooked. When my own mother was in the hospital, he was there every night, bringing her favorite soup without me even asking. He was a perfect husband—unless his parents were in the room. I forgave him. Again. 5 They didn’t renovate the house. They took that forty thousand dollars and used it as a down payment on a three-bedroom condo in the suburbs, with a fifteen-hundred-dollar monthly mortgage. “The medical facilities are better here,” they explained. Gary was blindsided. “Who’s paying the mortgage?” he asked. Evelyn looked at him like he was thick. “You are, honey. We’re old. How much longer do we have? Eventually, the condo goes to you anyway. You’re just investing in your own future.” So, we bit the bullet. Again. After that, things were quiet for a while. But it was the silence of a predator waiting in the tall grass. Soon, the “micro-transactions” started. They needed a part-time housekeeper because Evelyn’s back was acting up (500 a month). They found a “miracle” supplement that promised to add ten years to their lives (800 a bottle). They needed a specialized orthopedic mattress ($3,000). Every time, Gary hit ‘send’ on Venmo. “They worked hard their whole lives,” he’d say. “They deserve a little comfort. Since I can’t be there to take care of them, the least I can do is provide.” I wanted to point out that they were only fifty-five. I wanted to point out they’d never saved a dime in their lives. I wanted to tell him to stop subsidizing a lifestyle we couldn’t afford. I said nothing. Gary was like a programmed machine. Mention his parents, and he’d glitch into this unrecognizable, irrational version of himself. He makes $120k. I make $100k. We eat at the office cafeteria. We buy clothes on clearance. We spend our vacations at my mom’s house to save money. We should be thriving. But after three years of marriage, our joint savings account had less than five thousand dollars in it. Arthur and Evelyn were like leeches attached to our jugular. Every time we gained a little ground, they’d suck us dry. And Gary wasn’t just letting them do it—he was holding the straw. I was working sixty-hour weeks, enduring a toxic boss, all to build a life that he was dismantling behind my back. He was an anchor, dragging me into the depths of his family’s dysfunction. The clarity hit me in a single, sharp moment. One second I was texting Gary to complain about his mom’s latest request, and the next, the exhaustion just… evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, hard realization. This marriage was over.

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Right before I was wheeled into the delivery room, Ethan received news that his ex-girlfriend had been in a car accident. Without a second thought, he let go of my hand. “I’m going to check on Chloe. You stay here and listen to the doctors.” I grabbed his arm, begging him not to leave. He looked down at me, his eyes turning cold, though his tone remained pleading: “You know she was my first love, and she might be dying.” “Just let me see her one last time. Please?” Later, Chloe survived. And I died in the delivery room. That brief exchange was the last time Ethan and I ever saw each other. 1 My baby was in a breech position, so I had to undergo a C-section. Just before I was wheeled into the operating room, Ethan received news that his ex-girlfriend had been in a car accident. Her condition was critical. A second ago, he had been patiently comforting me, but now, it was like a switch flipped. He was desperate to leave. He tried to pull his hand away, but I gripped it tightly. Ignoring the stares of the medical staff, I asked the nurses to stop the gurney. Enduring the agonizing contractions, I pleaded with Ethan: “When I come out of surgery, you’re the first person I want to see. Can you please stay?” He hesitated. Sensing my grip slipping, I placed a hand on my swollen belly. “Your baby needs you too.” Ethan looked down at me, his brow furrowing as his expression turned cold, though his words were phrased as a plea: “You know she was my first love, and she might be dying.” “Just let me see her one last time. Please?” Before I could even respond, he forcefully pulled his hand from mine, taking the last shred of warmth with him. He told the doctors to hurry up, then turned and strode away. I desperately propped myself up on my elbows, calling his name several times as he walked away. He walked so fast his light gray trench coat billowed behind him like water. He never looked back once. His retreating figure suddenly felt incredibly unfamiliar. I never imagined that Chloe’s place in his heart was so absolute. Even my life, combined with the life of our unborn child, couldn’t outweigh her. 2 Before the anesthesia took hold, my mind kept flashing to images of Ethan anxiously pacing outside the operating room. The picture-perfect moment of happiness I had fantasized about so many times. All of it amounted to nothing. I stared at the blinding white surgical lights. In a haze, after a sharp sting in my lower back, everything went dark. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating near the ceiling. The ‘me’ on the operating table was covered in blood. I was dead, and my baby died with me. Two dark figures materialized, ready to escort my soul away. But I wanted to stay. I couldn’t accept this. Ethan and I had been deeply in love for years. Why, in the most critical moment of my life, did he abandon me? I looked down at the tiny, motionless baby in the doctor’s arms and felt an overwhelming, crushing grief. I begged the figures to let me stay. Fearing I would wander off and become a lost soul, they tethered my spirit to Ethan. 3 When I was transported to Ethan’s side, he wasn’t at the hospital. He was at our house. I watched him rush into his study and unlock the built-in wall safe. The safe had two shelves, both packed with corporate documents. He crouched down, reaching past the mountains of files on the bottom shelf, and pulled out a small, black velvet ring box. Inside was a silver ring. It was the ring Chloe gave him back in college. He had been hiding it from me this entire time. Ethan hastily pulled off his wedding band and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. He delicately picked up the silver ring. It was a little dusty, so he pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and carefully polished it. He blew on it softly. Then, he slipped it onto his ring finger with a look of deep satisfaction. He stared at his hand, a look of profound emotion crossing his normally stoic face as he smiled. It was as if he was silently declaring: Chloe and I are married. 4 On the drive to the hospital, Ethan sped recklessly. He was frantic to see Chloe. While waiting outside her operating room, he paced back and forth, consumed by anxiety. I never got to see him act like this when I was in the delivery room. Was this his way of fulfilling my final wish? As the minutes ticked by, Ethan’s expression grew increasingly tense. Finally, the operating room doors swung open. A still-unconscious Chloe was wheeled out. She was perfectly fine. The tight knot between Ethan’s brows instantly smoothed out. He let out a massive sigh of relief, a radiant smile breaking across his face as his eyes welled up with tears. Tears of pure joy. I couldn’t help but wonder. If my baby and I had survived the surgery, would he have cried for us too? Of course he would have. Even if not for me, then for his child. 5 The “critical condition” Ethan was so terrified of turned out to be nothing more than a few stitches on Chloe’s arm. It was just a convenient excuse to come see her. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Just how insignificant was I to him? Unlike with Chloe. For her, Ethan was willing to abandon his wife and child, sitting vigil by her hospital bed, waiting patiently for her to wake up. His gaze was filled with absolute devotion, never leaving her face for a second. It felt like all the tenderness and patience he used to show me had actually belonged to her all along. … “I wonder how Mia is doing.” In a rare moment of distraction, he finally remembered I existed. He noticed his phone was dead. After some effort, Ethan managed to borrow a charger and turned his phone back on. He casually scrolled through his contacts until he found the number saved as “Wife.” His finger hovered over the screen. He hesitated for a long time. But he never hit the call button. Instead, he muttered to himself, “She should be out of surgery by now.” “God, I hope it’s not a girl. If it is, we’ll have to have another one.” He frowned slightly, looking genuinely annoyed. Then, he let out a soft sigh: “If I didn’t need to secure my position in the Harrison family, I really wouldn’t want to have a kid with her.” Hearing those words, I froze completely. My mind spiraled into absolute chaos. Every memory of Ethan treating me well flashed before my eyes like a fast-forwarded movie. The warm glass of milk he would hand me right when I walked through the door after a long day of shopping. The way he tightly gripped my hand when crossing the street, terrified I wasn’t paying attention because I was looking at my phone. And finally, the memory of him burying his face in my chest and crying tears of joy when he found out I was pregnant. “I love you!” He had cupped my face and said those three words with absolute, solemn sincerity. It felt like just yesterday that those tear-filled, earnest eyes had looked deeply into mine. He told me that, as a man, his absolute priority was protecting our family. That I, and our unborn child, were his entire world. But now, every single one of those memories had turned into a sick, twisted joke. 6 Once the anesthesia wore off, Chloe woke up quickly. The doctors gave a few simple instructions and left. The moment the hospital room door clicked shut, Ethan and Chloe exchanged a deeply synchronized, knowing smile. The next second, Ethan leaned over the bed, and they cupped each other’s faces, crashing their lips together. Their tongues intertwined, mixing their saliva, producing soft, wet sounds. It was quiet, but to me, it was deafeningly loud. After a long time, Chloe pulled away, panting in deep satisfaction. Her tone was careful: “Ethan, you running out here to see me like this… is Mia going to be okay with it?” Ethan let out a cold, mocking scoff: “Mia is probably half-dead from the surgery right now. I just used the excuse of seeing you one last time. Like she could stop me?” “Besides, she just had my kid. Even if she finds out, she’s trapped. She can’t leave me now.” Chloe smiled brightly, raising her arm to give him a thumbs-up, praising his brilliance. So… Just how deeply did Ethan love this woman? So deeply that he had been carrying on an illicit affair with her behind my back, completely disregarding his marriage and his family. Serving her drinks, fluffing her pillows, acting like her devoted servant. He even periodically massaged her legs to keep her comfortable. Disciplined, polite, and flawlessly gentlemanly—that was the Ethan I thought I knew. But in front of Chloe, he discarded every boundary and shred of decency, driven entirely by his own selfish desires. It seemed this was the real Ethan. His large hand, with its pale, elegant fingers, slowly trailed up her leg, creeping suggestively toward her thigh. Chloe gently swatted the back of his hand, giggling shyly: “That tickles, stop it.” Ethan couldn’t help but laugh along with her: “I just missed you too much.” “This isn’t the place for that,” Chloe scolded playfully, gently pushing him away. She followed it up with a breathy, upward-inflected promise: “Don’t be so impatient. We’ll have plenty of opportunities later.” 7 Ethan played the role of the “perfect” husband, meticulously caring for Chloe in the hospital room. Every extra ounce of care was a completely voluntary, heartfelt gesture on his part. Going all the way downstairs to buy her a specific brand of nutritional porridge was just one example. However, Chloe called him back: “Ethan, I’m not hungry.” “Just stay here and keep me company, okay?” Her voice was pure, sickly-sweet whining. Ethan turned around and looked at her. Looking down at her from above, his eyes were overflowing with tenderness. “Of course.” … Ethan sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand as they reminisced about their beautiful past. The shy, awkward confession under the shade of a tree. The ambiguous, thrilling moment their pinky fingers first linked. The flushed cheeks after their first alcohol-fueled kiss. These were all their most precious, treasured memories. When discussing how they couldn’t stand next to each other in their graduation photos, Chloe’s voice choked with emotion: “When will we finally be able to be together? When can we become a real family?” Ethan’s hand rested on Chloe’s arm, his thumb gently stroking her skin to soothe her: “A good relationship allows both people to achieve their goals and grow together.” “Our relationship is doing exactly that. It’s just that our path has significantly more thorns than everyone else’s.” “But you have to remember, waiting at the end of the darkness is our truest, most authentic love.” The depth of his devotion was nauseating. In that moment, Chloe’s eyes completely melted; her gaze was filled with nothing but Ethan. It was his patience, his unwavering persistence. It was his constant encouragement and companionship throughout the years. “Faking your entire personality, kissing up to the Harrison family… you’ve suffered so much these past few years.” Chloe opened her palm, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile: “If you want, you can rest your head in my hand for a while.” Ethan froze for a second, his eyes lighting up as he softly replied, “Okay.” He crouched next to Chloe, gently rested his head in her open palm, and closed his eyes. The sunlight spilled across his pale profile, casting an aura of total peace. It was like a falling leaf returning to its roots, a tired bird returning to the forest. It was as if his exhausted soul had finally found its true sanctuary. Chloe gazed adoringly at the man she loved, her eyes brimming with absolute devotion. But suddenly, her pupils dilated in shock. “Ethan, you’re wearing the ring I gave you back then?” Ethan lifted his head, waving the back of his hand toward Chloe, and smiled: “Yeah.” The silver ring had been preserved flawlessly; it hadn’t oxidized or dulled in the slightest. “It’s always stayed this bright, just like my feelings for you. They’ve never faded!” How many people could actually withstand such devastatingly romantic, heartfelt words? Chloe froze, then quickly turned her head away. Her eyes filled with tears. Noticing her reaction, Ethan asked what was wrong. She shook her head and said it was nothing. “I just… I was thinking about when we first got together.” “I got a little emotional.” Years ago, I was the one who ruthlessly stole Ethan from Chloe.

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

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

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

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391726”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

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

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391742”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel