Category: English

I was bleeding out, a casualty of a demanding job and a marriage that ran me ragged, yet I couldn’t get my husband, Alex Harding, on the phone. His text finally dropped as I was wheeled into recovery, post-procedure: Swamped. Will get there later. I tried to swallow the familiar wave of disappointment, convincing myself that he must be dealing with a crisis—a merger, a regulatory filing, something truly urgent. Then I saw the update. Sierra Miller, his intern, had posted a story. “Accidentally sliced my finger while filing, was just going to slap on a Band-Aid, but the Boss insisted on driving me straight to Urgent Care. How do I ever thank him?” The accompanying selfie was a perfect soft-focus shot of her looking fragile and fetching, with Alex’s chiseled jaw and expensive suit just visible in the background. The comments section was already a bonfire, full of giddy emojis from Alex’s long-term employees: “I’m screaming,” “Ship it, 99%.” The old me—the girl I had been for the last three years—would have started screaming and crying, demanding a full accounting and an immediate explanation. The new me, however, just tapped out a single, calm reply. Suggest you take the opportunity. A classic “thank you” dinner is so passé. Less than ten seconds later, Alex, the man I couldn’t reach for an emergency, launched a full-scale assault of frantic calls. 1 In the past, if Alex Harding called, no matter how important the meeting or how delicate the conversation, I dropped everything. But this time, I set my phone to silent. I just watched the screen light up repeatedly, then fade to black, a mesmerizing pattern of digital desperation. Finally, he switched to voicemails—a barrage of sixty-second clips, full of his signature corporate fury. “Amelia, did you honestly think before posting that comment? Do you realize the damage you’re causing?” “You’ve twisted a completely professional colleague helping an intern into something filthy! Your mind is diseased!” “Sia is hysterically crying, threatening to quit out of shame. You have one minute to delete that comment and post a public apology. Tell them you were overcome by jealousy and made a baseless accusation. You need to fix this and make it up to her.” Listening to his voice, I could picture the rigid set of his jaw, the hard glint in his eyes. For years, a mere furrow in his brow was enough to make me apologize unconditionally, tearfully begging for his forgiveness. We were college sweethearts. I fell for him first—the reserved, brilliant “iceberg” of the campus—and it took three years of relentless effort to finally thaw him, to claim my spot next to him. Before and after the wedding, I lived by the creed of ceaseless, selfless devotion. Even when his affection remained distant and cool, I convinced myself that dedication would eventually lead to the golden dawn of his true love. When the pregnancy test was positive, I was euphoric. I foolishly believed this child would be the catalyst, the moment his shallow affection would deepen into real connection. But then Sierra Miller arrived, and all my wishful thinking shattered. She’d been at the company for less than three months—still just an intern—yet she’d already become his inseparable shadow. He offered her genuine smiles. He checked if she was cold or tired. He remembered details about her life. When she twisted an ankle, he canceled a five-thousand-person video conference, scooping her up and carrying her himself to get ice and a massage. I had never seen this version of Alex Harding. Yet, even when riddled with pain from his neglect, I clung to the hope that the baby’s birth might salvage just a fraction of his attention and love. Now, even that last, desperate hope was gone, destroyed entirely by his carelessness. Listening to his rage now, all I felt was a dull, aching numbness, a complete absence of the frantic need to please him. I picked up the phone. My fingers didn’t tremble. “Alex Harding, we’re getting divorced.” I didn’t wait for his inevitable explosion. I just powered the phone off. 2 Back at the penthouse, I didn’t fall into my old routine, waiting on the sofa like a lost soul staring out to sea. I took the prescribed painkillers, followed the doctor’s orders, and climbed into bed early. The heavy, prescribed sleep quickly claimed me. I’d expected Alex to do what he always did when we fought: vanish for days, refusing to answer my calls—a corporate-level ghosting. But that night, he came home early. Through the fog of my sleep, I felt his presence—a cautious, hesitant weight standing at the foot of the bed. Perhaps he saw the pharmacy haul—the stack of medication on my nightstand. In the end, he didn’t wake me. The next morning, when I finally woke up, Alex was surprisingly attentive, almost solicitous. He walked over, holding a mug of warm milk, his voice laced with an unfamiliar guilt. “I thought your emergency was just some trivial work issue—I got back to the office and only then learned you’d been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance because of stress. You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. The baby… is it okay?” I didn’t reach for the mug. I just looked at him. “I’m lactose intolerant, Alex. I can’t drink milk.” He froze, his hand suspended in mid-air, a look of genuine surprise on his face. He genuinely didn’t remember. I was hospitalized the second year of our marriage after drinking dairy, and since then, I hadn’t seen a carton of whole milk in the house. Yet here it was, in my hands, a silent testament to his blindness. “Oh. Right.” He lowered the mug, turning awkwardly toward the refrigerator. “Well… I brought back some mango mousse from the office yesterday. Want to try that?” When he held the delicate pastry box out, I could smell the sickly sweet, tropical scent of mango even through the packaging. My stomach immediately twisted with a deep, physiological revulsion. I turned my head away. “I’m allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that too?” The forced pleasantness vanished from Alex’s face. The guilt was replaced by an irritated impatience. He angrily tossed the mousse into the stainless-steel trash can. “Everyone else can manage. Why do you have to be so difficult about absolutely everything?” I stared at the discarded mango mousse. It looked painfully familiar. I remembered Sia Miller’s post from two days ago. She was holding an identical box, the caption reading: “Boss got me this mango mousse. Sweeter than my first crush. My absolute favorite.” Alex hadn’t spontaneously remembered to prepare me breakfast. He’d simply grabbed the leftovers of what he bought for Sia and offered it to me as a thoughtless pacifier. For years, I’d chased him, meticulously memorizing his every preference. Yet, he’d erased every detail about me, while engraving a complete stranger’s tastes into his memory. I was profoundly, utterly tired. I skipped the polite dance. “Alex, what’s your decision? About the divorce I asked for last night?” His face went instantly dark. “Amelia Rose. You know my Grandmother’s eightieth birthday is tomorrow. You’re doing this now to spite me?” He looked at me with smug certainty. “Besides, everyone knows you’re obsessed with me. You were pregnant with my child. You’d never leave.” Watching his unshakeable confidence, I felt a detached, cold amusement. Before I could reply, a gentle knock came at the door. “Mr. Harding? It’s me. I came to apologize to Mrs. Harding.” Sia Miller’s voice, a delicate, practiced coo. Alex, without asking, immediately opened the door. “Mrs. Harding, I am so sorry about my post yesterday. I truly only meant to show how supportive Mr. Harding is of his staff. I never intended for you to misunderstand.” She placed a gift box near me, smiling with the calculated innocence of a choir girl. “These gifts are a small token of my regret. Please accept them, Mrs. Harding.” I looked into the box: Unpasteurized Soft Cheeses, a bottle of high-end Merlot, a health supplement that promised to “boost circulation,” and a container of raw oysters. Every single item was a flashing red warning for a pregnant woman. 3 I stared at the lavish gift box, the nausea in my gut intensifying—not from the morning, but from sheer disgust. Alex stood next to Sia, his brow slightly furrowed, clearly sensing the tension, but I spoke before he could. “Ms. Miller,” I said, my voice cutting through the manufactured sweetness. “Are these a gift, or are they meant to be my final send-off?” Sia’s innocent smile instantly crumbled. She instinctively retreated, tucking herself close to Alex’s side. “Mrs. Harding, I—what are you saying? I spent my entire three months of savings on these rare, expensive health supplements. How can you misinterpret my good intentions like this?” “Misinterpret?” I gave a dry, humorless laugh, pushing the box back toward her. “Unpasteurized cheeses carry a high risk of Listeria. Merlot is an absolute no-go. Those oysters are an immediate food poisoning risk. And that ‘circulation booster’ supplement? Saffron, Red Ginseng—all are blood thinners, designed to stimulate the uterus. Every single item here is either dangerous or potentially abortifacient.” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You graduated from a top-tier university. Are you really telling me you don’t know basic prenatal common sense? Or were you operating with full intent, coming here under the guise of an apology to ensure I never carry a child to term again?” Sia’s eyes welled up instantly, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She grabbed Alex’s sleeve and began to sob, a perfect performance.

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When we were kids, my arch-nemesis always mocked me: “With grades like yours, you’ll grow up to be a septic tank cleaner.” I didn’t believe in curses until I became a proctologist. And he? The untouchable, icy movie star. Clutching his butt, he registered for my clinic. I slowly pulled on my gloves: “Pants down, bend over.” He looked like he wanted to die of shame: “Can you perform the surgery…” I smiled: “Sure. Call me Daddy first.” 1 I’m Dr. Layla Liang. The youngest proctologist in the hospital. Three years in the game, I’ve seen countless anuses and every hemorrhoid under the sun. 4 PM. The quietest time at the clinic. I pressed the button for the last patient: [Patient No. 250, Julian Gu, please proceed to Exam Room 3.] My pen froze. A punchable face instantly popped into my mind. No way… Isn’t that guy currently filming some “Most Handsome Ancient Costume Drama Ever,” riding a majestic steed and acting cool? Could it be… karma? The clinic door creaked open a crack. A sneaky figure slipped in and immediately locked the door behind him. “Layla…” The visitor lowered his voice, taking off his sunglasses to reveal a pair of familiar peach-blossom eyes. Good lord. Mask, hat, sunglasses. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was here to rob the place. “Julian Gu?” I almost jumped out of my chair. “It really is you.” “Shh! Quiet! Don’t say my name!” He rushed over to cover my mouth. “There might be paparazzi outside.” I pried his hand away and deliberately raised my voice: “Oh, so it’s ‘The Reddest Butt on Monkey Mountain’!” I called out his ridiculously flamboyant gaming ID directly. “Layla, shut up!” Shutting up was impossible. Back in the day, he always mocked my poor grades, saying I’d grow up to shovel sh*t. As a result, my college application got adjusted to medicine, and I was assigned to proctology. He laughed at me for ages. Now, he’s in my hands. If I didn’t roast him now, I’d be letting down our twenty years of rivalry! “Well, well, isn’t this the icy, abstinent movie star? Abstaining all the way to the proctology department? That’s wild!” Julian choked on his words. He hesitated for three seconds before whispering: “Um… I’m a little uncomfortable…” “Where?” I asked knowingly. He stammered: “Just… it hurts back there…” “Where is ‘back there’? Waist? Buttocks? Or a little further down? Be precise, we doctors need accuracy.” I spun my pen quickly, secretly delighted. Julian gritted his teeth, face flushing red: “My butthole hurts! Happy now?!” “Why didn’t you just say so?” I typed away on the keyboard. “How long has it been hurting?” “Since last month, filming that period drama. Riding horses all the time…” I raised an eyebrow meaningfully, my eyes gleaming with gossip: “Riding horses or riding people? Don’t lie to your doctor.” Everyone knows Julian Gu has been scandal-free for seven years. He keeps his distance from female stars. The only name linked to his is the young actor he starred with in that BL drama. “Layla, do you have any medical ethics? I’m straight as a pole!” Ooh, he’s mad. “Ethics? For others, yes. For you…” I stood up slowly. Opened the cabinet and took out a pair of disposable gloves: “Pants off. Lie on your side on the table. Knees to chest.” 2 Julian froze. Under the baseball cap, his handsome face turned blood red. Who would have thought? The nemesis who always one-upped me… Now has to take off his pants and present his ass to me! Hahahaha!!! He struggled: “Do you have to look? Can’t you just prescribe medicine? Money is no object…” “Dear, you can’t take medicine blindly. We need a diagnosis.” I put on the gloves, snapping them loudly. “Relax. In a doctor’s eyes, all beings are equal. Anuses possess no rank. It’s just tissue.” He closed his eyes in resignation. Took a deep breath, and with the air of a martyr going to the gallows… Began to unbuckle his belt slowly and awkwardly. Finally, he slid down his grey boxer briefs. I glanced at his tight waist and hip line, maintained by years of fitness. Tsk. Nice body. Shame about the tiny appendage. He dawdled getting onto the bed, his voice fragile: “Can you… be gentle…” I almost forgot, this screen tough guy is actually a wimp when it comes to pain. As a kid, he’d hit a high C getting a vaccination. “Relax. I’ve seen thousands of chrysanthemums. My technique is professional.” While comforting him, I urged him on: “Hurry up. Standard posture.” He glared at me resentfully and lay flat. Tsk tsk… If his 80 million “wives” (fans) saw this submissive expression, they’d have a collective heart attack. Walking to the exam table, my gaze swept over the exposed area. I couldn’t help shaking my head: “Tsk, Julian lives up to his name. The real-life ‘Reddest Butt on Monkey Mountain’.” “Layla, you…” Before he could finish. “OWWW!!!” A pig-slaughtering scream echoed through the clinic. “Layla, you’re taking personal revenge!” I was speechless: “I haven’t even gone in yet. What are you screaming for?” “Relax. I need to do a deep examination.” He let out a despairing whimper, burying his face in his arms, leaving only a blood-red ear tip exposed. “Relax, how can I go in if you’re like this?” Julian buried his face deeper, his muffled voice filled with immense shame: “I… I can’t control it…” “Control it anyway! Deep breaths! Exhale, inhale.” Like a ruthless repeater, I directed his breathing. While secretly applying force with my hand. “Oww oww oww! It hurts!” So troublesome. More work than ten constipated grandpas combined. Just as my finger finally struggled to begin exploring the internal situation… Suddenly. A certain indescribable part perked up spiritedly! 3 My movements paused. Julian’s body stiffened. Before, he was just burying his face. Now he wished he could stuff his entire head into the crack of the exam table. Dead silence. I haven’t been in the industry long, but in proctology, I’ve seen what I should and shouldn’t see. Local reflex caused by stimulation during examination—it’s in the textbooks. It happens occasionally, totally normal. But… Theory is theory. When this “normal category” happens between two arch-enemies in this situation… It feels completely different! “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, trying to maintain calm. Even putting on a bit of… Well, the numbness of seeing it all. “Normal physiological phenomenon. I’ve seen it plenty.” “You… you’ve seen plenty?” Julian suddenly snapped. “Even if you’ve seen plenty, there’s a quality gap!” “Mine, at the very least, is a premium grade!” He stiffened his neck, his shame mixed with a bizarre sense of… Defiance? I withdrew my finger expressionlessly: “Average.” Just one word. Light as a feather. Smashing onto Julian’s crumbling self-esteem. “What?” He exploded. Almost jumped off the exam table, forgetting the pain. “What do you mean average? Are your eyes covered in cow dung!” “I’m clearly 7 inch—” “What 7 inches? I meant the severity of the hemorrhoids is average.” I rolled my eyes. “What is in that brain of yours? Playing too hard? Restrain yourself, Teacher Gu.” He pulled up his pants frantically. “I… I wasn’t thinking anything!” I tossed him a pack of disinfectant wipes with disdain. “Based on the exam, Stage II mixed hemorrhoids. Surgery recommended. Minimally invasive, quick recovery.” “Surgery?” Julian’s face turned green. “No! I have a schedule next week!” “Then see you on the trending topics.” I shrugged indifferently. “#Shocking! Top Movie Star Rushed to ER for Exploding Hemorrhoids#. How’s that for a headline?” “Or #High-Mountain Flower Image Collapse? Behind Julian Gu’s Ruptured Hemorrhoid: The Untold Story with a Mystery Man#.” 4 Julian stood frozen, as if previewing his social death. I was secretly thrilled. Rare to see him eat humble pie. I hate Julian Gu. Because he’s been hacking life since childhood. Face sculpted by gods, top grades without trying, scouted at 17, top tier by 20. The whole world praises his perfection. But only I know. As a kid, he blew up cow dung and sent the principal’s wig flying. Stole watermelons and fell into a cesspit; I fished him out with a branch. Got diarrhea on a field trip without TP, crying and begging me to find him leaves. Every item could make his 80 million fans run for the hills overnight. The entertainment industry’s famous icy flower, the abstinent top actor in fans’ eyes. ID: “The Reddest Butt on Monkey Mountain.” Fans beg for content, he plays dead. In reality, he’s trash-talking in League of Legends daily. Terrible but addicted. Bombarding me on WeChat: [Layla! Log on! I’ll carry you!] [Laylaaaaa~ Look at my new skin, handsome right? Like your long-lost Jungler Daddy?] Me: [Busy, don’t @ me] Or just ignore him. Then I get a 60-second voice message phalanx. Click open, all lame dad jokes: “Do you know why sharks can’t beat octopuses? Because they have too many hands! Hahahaha!” So annoying. Why hasn’t he been cancelled yet! And right now. My lifelong nemesis, clutching his butt, is experiencing his darkest hour: “Surgery is fine, but you must be the lead surgeon!” I smiled: “Sure. Call me Daddy first.” Julian: “!!!” “Lay! La! In! Your! Dreams!!!” “I’d rather die than yield!” 5 “Oh?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Forget it then. We have plenty of experts here. I’ll help you contact…” “Wait!” Julian panicked. “Anything else! Anything but calling you Daddy!” That’s the sentence I was waiting for. “Okay then. Get me a signed autograph from Keke. Addressed ‘To my dearest Layla’.” The air went still. Next second: “Layla, you stan my rival?!” He spun around in anger. “When did you go blind? Him? That national school hunk with painted-on abs, three layers of insoles, and plastic surgery his mom wouldn’t recognize! You stan him? Am I not ten thousand times better? Face! Body! Talent! Acting! Box office appeal!!” I dug my ear with my pinky: “So loud. He’s gentle, loves his fans, and…” “Gentle? Loves fans?” Julian jumped in anger. “That’s a persona! A persona, do you understand! Privately he…” “Cut the crap.” I interrupted him ruthlessly. “Doing it or not? One word. If not, I’m booking Director Wang. He loves celebrity cases.” I reached for the phone. “Don’t!” “Da… Daddy…” Me: “???” I didn’t react for a moment. Wait… bro? What happened to ‘rather die than yield’? This flexibility. I’m speechless. Julian, red-faced and exasperated: “Happy now… hurry up! Surgery!” I suppressed a smile, walked over slowly, and patted his head: “Good boy. That’s right. Don’t worry, leave your little chrysanthemum to Daddy. Guaranteed clean cut.” I paused, leaning close to his red ear. “Don’t scream like a pig on the operating table later and embarrass Daddy.” Julian ground his molars: “Tch! Just a small surgery! When has Big Bro ever been scared? One shot of anesthesia, sleep, done!” Ten minutes later. “Holy sh*t! Layla! Layla!!!” Heart-wrenching screams came from the bathroom. Accompanied by the sound effects of “explosive artillery fire.” “I feel like my intestines are coming out! What the hell is this stuff! Murder! Absolute murder!” I sat outside, leisurely recording on my phone: “Ooh, isn’t this our icy, abstinent top actor? Why does taking a dump sound like a symphony orchestra?” “Layla! Get the hell away from me!!” His roar carried a despairing whimper. “Wuwuwu… life is too hard… just let me die…”

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After I forgot to text him “goodnight,” he broke up with me. Again. “All you care about is that stupid internship!” “Quinn, believe it or not, one word from me and you’re done in this city!” I’d been pulling overtime for three months straight, just trying to secure a full-time offer. Exhausted, I hung up the phone. Suddenly, a stream of comments—like a live chat or “bullet screen”—floated across my vision: [What is wrong with our Baby Girl? She didn’t apologize and hung up first! That’s too much!] [The Male Lead stayed up 30 minutes past his bedtime waiting for her ‘goodnight’! He acts tough, but he was just waiting like a puppy.] [He’s just a tsundere! He even swallowed his pride and called his dad for her sake.] [Our avoidant king is just insecure. He needs reassurance!] While I hesitated, a message from HR popped up: [Ms. Quinn, our headcount for the Shanghai office is full. Would you consider transferring to Shenzhen?] 1 Shenzhen? Before I could process it, harsh messages flooded my screen: [Internship is more important than me?] [Quinn, we’re done!] [No, YOU’RE done!] [Wait for your termination notice.] I typed out an explanation and hit send. Red exclamation mark. Luke had blocked me. I couldn’t even count how many times he’d done this. The floating comments, however, were overwhelmingly on his side: [Tsundere King blocked Baby Girl again. He did it himself, but now he’s regretting it. Gonna stare at his phone all night. So cute!] [Baby Girl, go add him back! He’s about to cry! So angsty, hug him!] [He just has a sharp tongue. He loves her to death. His mom hates that she’s an out-of-towner, but he insists on being with her. If that’s not love, what is?] I couldn’t be bothered to read anymore. This wasn’t the first time. Last time, we were traveling abroad. He wanted to see a local show. Due to traffic and weather, we were five minutes late. Luke threw a massive tantrum, blaming me for not leaving earlier: “If you reminded me three hours ago, we wouldn’t be late!” “Why didn’t you check the weather? Why didn’t you plan better?” “You don’t care about what I want at all!” “Let’s break up!” Late at night, on a foreign street. He left me there. He took all our cash. Unfamiliar place, language barrier, and news of missing female tourists everywhere. Terrified, I sent him message after message, apologizing, begging him to come back. Halfway through, he blocked me. At that moment, several local men started walking toward me. My face went pale. Luckily, two Chinese tourists passed by and helped me. When I got back to the hotel, Luke was sound asleep. I knocked; he didn’t answer. I knew if I got the front desk to open the door, he’d make a scene. Too exhausted to fight, I curled up on the lobby sofa and slept. The next day, Luke found me. Seeing my haggard face, he apologized profusely. “I was just mad last night. The breakup was just talk.” “Quinn, I won’t do it again. I’m just insecure. Forgive me, okay?” “Babe, as long as you look at me, I’ll always bow down to you.” But later, it was me bowing down countless times, racking my brains to coax him. He’d just say, “Apologies need sincerity. I don’t see you reflecting.” He practically wanted me to kneel. Four years. We were about to graduate. Many couples split up around this time. Maybe it was time for us, too. 2 A few days later. The overtime crunch eased up. I went back to campus. Downstairs at the dorms, I saw Luke. I wasn’t narcissistic enough to think he was there for me. Sure enough, a moment later, my roommate, Chloe, came flying down the stairs. She “tripped” midway and fell right into Luke’s arms. The comments arrived on cue: [Male Lead is pulling this stunt again to make Baby Girl jealous.] [He only sees the Female Rival as a fellow villager. Zero feelings.] In front of me, Luke scooped Chloe up princess-style, saying he’d take her to the infirmary. Chloe blushed, pouting, “I don’t need the infirmary. Didn’t we say we’d go to the amusement park?” “Luke, are you backing out?” Luke glanced at me from the corner of his eye, then said, “No backing out.” [He asked her out in a fit of anger and now he regrets it, but he’s riding the tiger and can’t get off! LOL so funny.] [He’s dying for Baby Girl to stop him! One word from her, and he’ll dump the rival and become Baby Girl’s puppy!] [Chloe is just a tool!] Freshman orientation night. Chloe had set her sights on Luke when he breakdanced on stage. Even after we started dating, she didn’t give up. She always spoke to him in their hometown dialect. She didn’t know I understood it. Luke used to say, “If you can’t understand my family, how can we have a future?” I learned it for him. My major didn’t require me to stay in Shanghai. I fought to stay for a future with him. I told him all this, but he seemed to have forgotten. Hours later, I saw Chloe’s WeChat Moments. Amusement park photos. Intimate, blindingly bright photos. Someone commented: [Isn’t Luke’s girlfriend Quinn?] Chloe replied: [She’s just Luke’s simp. Since when did Luke admit to dating her?] [Ask him if you don’t believe me!] Seconds later, Luke replied: [Yeah.] My breath hitched. So all my compromises, in his eyes, were just me being a simp. Maybe that wasn’t enough. That night, Chloe sent me a video. It was in a hotel. Chloe asked Luke, “Have you ever taken Quinn to the amusement park?” Luke, in a bathrobe, walked toward the camera. He sneered, “Why bring up that country bumpkin on our date?” I had asked Luke to go. He said amusement parks were scams for little girls, tickets overpriced. But today, he showed me he could accommodate others. Just not me. Luke glanced at the camera. He knew what Chloe was doing. He laughed and pulled Chloe by the waist. Video cut. Simultaneously, a text from Luke arrived: [The half-box of 001s from last time, I bought them. Bring them over.] 3 Luke sent the hotel address. After thinking it over, I decided to go. To put a period on this four-year relationship. Comments flew across my vision: [Video cut as soon as he pulled her! He pushed her away!] [He doesn’t want to sleep with her! His brain is full of Baby Girl, waiting for her to come!] [Guarantee: the moment Baby Girl arrives, he kicks the rival out. Those condoms are for Baby Girl!] I knocked for a long time. No one opened. Through the door, I heard giggling and playing. The comments said it was all an act for me. In the class group chat, Chloe dropped a livestream link. Title: “Simp Delivery Service.” The camera was pointed at the hotel door. Before I could react, the door swung open. Chloe’s face appeared. My face appeared on the livestream. Chloe aimed the phone at me: “Look everyone, it’s the 21st century, and we still have live-in maids—” Blatant humiliation. I slapped the phone out of her hand. Luke, silent until now, grabbed my wrist. “What are you doing! You hit people now?” “Apologize to Chloe!” [He’s sulking again! He was clearly happy to see her!] [He’s just stimulating her, forcing her to soften up.] Luke gripped my hand tight, strength overwhelming. While I was immobilized, Chloe slapped me across the face. Slap! The sound echoed in the corridor. Luke looked stunned for a second. Chloe giggled. “Okay, I forgive you.” “That was the latest model phone. You got off easy.” Her phone had landed on soft carpet. Not a scratch. Luke let go, looking uncomfortable. “You started it.” In that moment, I lost all strength. Arguing was meaningless. My pursuit of a dignified ending was a joke. I silently pulled the half-box of condoms from my pocket and handed them over. Luke’s face went black. “Quinn, what is this?” I smiled. “Didn’t you ask me to bring them?” His expression was terrifyingly dark. Next moment, he pulled Chloe into his arms right in front of me. Chloe poked his chest. “Little Luke, I’m not part of your flirtation games.” Luke scoffed. “Flirtation? Does she deserve it?” “Looking at her makes me sick.” I watched expressionlessly. A flash of panic crossed Luke’s eyes. “Fine!” “Quinn, don’t you dare regret this!” He squeezed the words through his teeth. The door slammed in my face. The comments exploded: [What is wrong with her! Wasn’t she here to make peace?!] [Male Lead is really mad now! To make her bow, he’s sacrificing his body!] [Nooo, stay pure! It’s all because she won’t apologize!] [It’s definitely fake! Even if they do it, it’s just practice to serve Baby Girl better later. Skip if you don’t like!] My stomach churned. Disgusting. If love requires infinite retreat and loyalty tests, I don’t want it. I had no reason to stay. I pulled out my phone and emailed HR: [I accept the offer. I look forward to the position in Shenzhen.] 4 Jobs were hard to find. Aside from Chloe, my other roommates were prepping for grad school or civil service. My internship was at a top industry firm. HR said the Shenzhen branch desperately needed a fresh grad with my project experience. But when I went back to the office… Chloe was sitting at my desk. A colleague whispered that Luke’s dad, CEO Lu, personally approved her. “Heard she didn’t even interview. Lu just signed off!” The comments told me CEO Lu was Luke’s divorced father. I went through three rounds of interviews. I performed poorly once and almost cried. At a dinner, Luke had comforted me: “Who cares about that company! Forget them!” His friend said, “Luke, didn’t you say you knew someone inside? Help Quinn out.” I had paused, hopeful. Luke said righteously, “Don’t pull that crap!” “Asking me to use connections? I’m not that shameless!” “If she gets in, it’s on merit. Otherwise, no one will respect her!” I nodded, agreeing. Even felt ashamed for hoping. Luckily, I passed. Now, Chloe sat there. A slap in my face. Colleagues gossiped: “Heard Lu’s estranged son reached out. Said if his girlfriend gets the internship, he’d go to his dad’s birthday party…” Seating was assigned by management. I found an empty desk. Even with my retreat, Luke’s revenge followed like a rabid dog. He texted: [Lost your desk?] [I’m petty. Offend me, and you won’t have a good time.] [Believe it or not, I can kill your full-time offer too?] Soon after. CEO Lu walked over. “Little Qin, hand over your project to Chloe.” The project was in wrap-up. I had worked overtime constantly, no weekends. I helped colleagues too. No complaints. I learned a lot. This was my capital for the Shenzhen transfer. I stood up. “Mr. Lu, I’ve been on this project from the start. I don’t want to hand it over.” Chloe looked at me, feigning shock. “Quinn, you’re just an intern. How much did you really do? Don’t take credit for everyone’s work.” Lu frowned. “Interns don’t get a say!” “If you don’t like it, leave!” The comments appeared again: [Just bow your head, and everything is yours!] [The project, the father-in-law’s favor… Luke is his only son!] [Stop being dramatic, or you’ll lose everything!] 5 The night I resigned. Luke’s friend called. “Quinn, why haven’t you made up with Luke?” “Small fights are fun, but this is dragging on.” “You know how much he likes you.” “Men need to save face. You gotta give him an out…” I hung up. [Why is she so stubborn?] [I feel like the Male Lead is a bit much…] [Fair point: besides being tsundere, he has no flaws. She’s punching above her weight and acting high and mighty.] Punching above my weight? Where? Height? That’s it. I laughed bitterly at the comments. I used to think his “tsundere” side was cute. Before we dated. He took the last chicken leg in the cafeteria. Seeing my disappointment, he gave it to me, claiming he hated it. His roommates cheered. They said he fell for me at first sight and gave me the leg. Another time, English speech contest. Luke’s English was great. The counselor wanted to give him the spot. He insisted on giving it to me. I said let’s compete fairly. He went on stage and sang a song, forfeiting. Everyone praised his chivalry. Giving up glory for me. I was moved. To honor his sacrifice, I practiced non-stop. Didn’t eat. During that time, Luke argued with me. “You care more about the contest than me.” “Did you forget who gave you the spot?” I coaxed him constantly. Worked myself into a fever. Later, I found out— He really hated chicken legs. And his English? Great at written tests. Terrible speaking. I stopped going to the internship. Word got to Luke. He scoffed. “Who cares. Don’t tell me.” “Probably got caught slacking and fired for incompetence.” A roommate told me this. I said, “Thanks, but don’t tell me about him either.” My roommates were worried. Graduation was looming, I had no job, no boyfriend. I said, “It’s fine. Gold always shines.” Leaving the company meant the internal transfer to Shenzhen was void. But I contacted the Shenzhen manager directly. Started the interview process from scratch. I was nervous, but I had to try. Couldn’t put all eggs in one basket. I applied everywhere. Colleagues referred me. While I hustled, Luke and Chloe were inseparable on campus. Chloe bragged, “Luke is chasing me. Haven’t said yes yet!” I turned around whenever I saw them. I know, I’m weak. I couldn’t just walk past them indifferently. Four years. Breaking the habit was hard. But I had to adapt. To life without Luke. Days blurred into interviews and tests. I thought of Luke less and less. Once, reciting interview points while walking, I bumped into them and didn’t even notice. When I realized it, I hadn’t thought of him in ages. Hearing his name didn’t sting anymore. Just as I was healing, Luke called late one night. “Are you serious?”

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The engagement party was in full swing, and when I walked into the yacht’s main salon after a short nap, the first thing I saw was my fiancé, Rhys, playing a stripping game with my best friend, Piper. Piper was down to a silk chemise—barely there—and was sitting brazenly on Rhys’s lap. I frowned, the heat rising in my chest. When I questioned him, Rhys was utterly dismissive. “Standard Texas Hold’em is a snooze, Scarlett. We decided to spice things up.” Piper offered a syrupy, sweet smile, her eyes glittering. “We’re just playing regular Hold’em, babe, with one little addition: the loser sheds a piece of clothing. It’s just game rules, darling. You don’t mind, do you?” I was about to respond, but Rhys cut me off, his expression suddenly icy. “Haven’t even walked down the aisle, and you’re already trying to manage me? Don’t start acting like the wife yet, Scarlett.” So, I simply nodded and walked toward the table, settling into an empty seat under the gaze of our entire social circle. “A card game, is it?” I said, shifting my gaze from Rhys. “Perfect. I’ve been looking for something to do.” Rhys furrowed his brow and stared at me. I met his eyes calmly. “Since I’m already here, I might as well play a hand or two.” 1 A brief, awkward silence fell over the salon. Everyone’s attention was fixed on me. Rhys offered a strained, almost tender smile. “Be a good girl, Scarlett. This isn’t the kind of game for you. Go back to your cabin.” “I’ll have Declan arrange a stop at the duty-free shop tomorrow. I’ll buy you that bag you wanted.” In the past, that gentle tone would have been enough to melt me. I’d have instantly forgotten my anger and done exactly what he said. But today, I simply offered a faint smile and stayed put. Piper blinked, trying to diffuse the growing tension. “Oh, darling, if you don’t like this game, we can definitely switch.” Yet, she made no effort to move from Rhys’s lap. Rhys let out a cold laugh, his face darkening as he looked at me. “Scarlett, the engagement party isn’t even over, and you’re already throwing a tantrum and trying to put me in check? Are you really that naive?” Everyone in our circle knew that Rhys Vance, the scion of the Vance empire, was a notorious player. But I was the only woman he had ever publicly acknowledged. I had followed him tirelessly for ten years, believing he would eventually tire of his games and finally settle down. This engagement was supposed to be my reward. Yet here he was, at our own celebration, publicly humiliating me. A bitter laugh caught in my throat, but I managed to meet his eyes and keep my composure. “It’s a game, Rhys. I can afford to play.” Piper leaned toward me conspiratorially. “That’s the spirit, babe! It’s all just for fun. Rhys is always saying I’m going to corrupt you because you’re usually so straight-laced.” I gave a cold inward smirk. Piper’s family was a nobody, a minor name in this social labyrinth. But she was sweet-talking, manipulative, and knew how to grovel, which had earned her a precarious spot among the ‘It Girls.’ I had tossed her scraps over the years—a friend for appearances. I just hadn’t expected her to have the gall to come after the main course. I offered her a soft, brittle smile, using the same fake sisterly tone we always used. “Don’t be silly, Piper. You think too much.” A few onlookers finally stirred, trying to smooth things over. Declan, a close friend of Rhys’s, spoke up. “Come on, it’s a long night. We might as well play a few hands.” He quickly glanced at me. “Scarlett, we didn’t know you played Hold’em. Good thing we have Rhys as the pro.” He winked at Rhys. “Tonight, you two can’t team up to clean us out.” Rhys didn’t humor him. He kept his hand firmly on Piper’s waist and shot me a chilling look. “Once you’re at the table, it’s all fair game. Either go back to bed now, or when you lose, don’t throw a childish fit.” The words were a physical blow to my heart. I forced a weak smile. Piper, sensing her advantage, giggled. She exchanged a look with Rhys that was far too intimate. “Hey, let’s raise the stakes! Besides the basic ante and the stripping rule, the winner of each hand gets to designate any one person at the table to do anything they want.” She paused, then added sweetly, “But let’s be gentle with Scarlett. She’s a newbie. Don’t be too mean to my baby.” The salon erupted in noisy agreement. “Perfect! If I win, I’ll make Rhys sign over that West Side property to me, haha!” “Dream on, man. No one beats Rhys.” “If I win, can I get a little quality time with the beautiful Miss Vance here?” Amidst the crude remarks, I slowly straightened my posture, reached for the rack beside me, and pushed a stack of chips into the pot. “Deal the cards.” The air in the cabin was thick with tension. Declan nervously volunteered to be the dealer. He pushed the chips to the center. “Bets are on.” Rhys, leaning back lazily with Piper still draped across him, threw out a chip without even looking at his cards. “Raise.” Piper followed with a flirtatious giggle, practically melting into his chest. I peeked at my cards. Nothing spectacular. When the action reached me, I pushed out the equivalent stack without hesitation. “Ooh, Scarlett’s serious tonight!” someone cheered. I gave a slight tug at my lips. “Just having a little fun.” The first three community cards came out, but the board remained unthreatening. After a few more rounds of betting, the chips piled up. Rhys seemed bored. He started increasing his bets with a calculated, arrogant pace, clearly intending to dominate. Piper kept pace with him, throwing me a look of pure challenge. “Keep up, darling? Or should you fold now and save yourself the trouble?” I squeezed the two cards in my hand until my knuckles were white. I knew I was behind; Rhys likely had a strong hand. He was waiting for me to back down, to show the weakness he had always expected, so he could ‘graciously’ forgive my ‘misbehavior.’ My heart felt like a frozen, barren landscape. I watched the pair across from me—the intimacy in their posture, the casual way Rhys’s hand rested on Piper’s exposed thigh. “Call.” My voice was flat and steady as I pushed another stack forward. Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. The fourth community card didn’t change my position. My heart sank further. “All in,” Rhys said, his voice level, sweeping his entire stack of chips into the center. A collective gasp swept through the room. The pressure instantly shifted to me. I had only a handful of chips left. To call meant putting absolutely everything on the line. Piper covered her mouth, a false note of concern in her laugh. “Babe, don’t. Rhys is just being nice. He doesn’t want you to lose too badly.” All eyes were on me. The whispers were deafening. “What is Scarlett thinking? Why is she trying to embarrass Rhys?” “She’s loved him forever. Now that she has the ring, she thinks she can finally put him on a leash. Idiot.” “Rhys Vance will never be domesticated.” I clenched my right fist. Since Rhys had rescued me from a group of street thugs when I was fourteen, I had walked his path. I ignored the sneers and the gossip. All I cared about was Rhys. But tonight, at my own engagement party, why did I suddenly feel like I couldn’t play his game anymore? “I call.” I cleared the rest of my chips. Showdown. Rhys revealed two pair. I had nothing but scattered cards. “Hmph,” he scoffed softly, his expression unreadable. Piper let out a delighted shriek. “I have a small straight! I win!” She looked at me, a wolf beneath a lamb’s wool. “A bet’s a bet, darling. Strip one piece.” The salon fell silent, save for the hum of the engine and the splash of waves. Rhys merely glanced at me, completely silent. My face was pale. Without a word, I slipped off my blazer. Declan breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, let’s keep going, everyone!” “Wait a minute,” Piper interjected. She drew out the words slowly, like a cat toying with a mouse. “If I remember correctly, I was the winner of that pot. And according to the rules, I get to designate someone to do anything I want, right?” No one spoke. The atmosphere was turning poisonous. “Then I designate Scarlett…” Piper’s voice was low, but clear enough for everyone to hear. “That’s right. Grant, in the corner, said he wanted to finally get to know our stunning Scarlett. So, Scarlett, I designate you to give Grant a kiss.” She pointed a finger at a corner where a known social parasite, Grant, sat—a man who’d been trying to get close to me for years, but always kept his distance out of respect for Rhys. I snapped my head up and looked at Rhys. His face was thunderous, but he said nothing. The salon was dead quiet. Even Grant looked stunned. Declan frantically tried to signal Piper. “Haha, maybe we’ve all had a bit too much to drink tonight, huh?” Piper ignored him, a mocking smile playing on her lips. “What? We all play these kinds of games, don’t we? Scarlett’s always been such a good girl. But she’s engaged now! What’s she afraid of?” The tension solidified until Rhys’s voice cut through the air. “A deal is a deal. Scarlett, you played the game. Now pay the price.” His simple sentence was a poison-tipped dagger plunged directly into my heart. He could tolerate Piper sitting on his lap. He could watch impassively as I was forced to shed my clothes. And now, he was actively pushing me into another man’s arms, forcing me to endure this violation. A terrible, cold clarity washed over me. I looked at his handsome, yet utterly indifferent face, and it was the face of a stranger. Numbly, like a marionette, I walked toward Grant and, under the collective, scrutinizing gaze of the room, pressed a brief, cold kiss onto his slick cheek. The silence was so absolute I could hear the sea slapping against the hull. I straightened up, my eyes burning but refusing to spill a single tear. “Satisfied?” Piper hesitated for a fraction of a second, then gave a delighted laugh. “Of course! My baby always plays fair.” Declan immediately jumped in. “Alright, alright, Scarlett, you look tired. Why don’t you head back to your room?” I took a deep breath. I didn’t move. I slowly returned to the poker table and sat down. “No. I’m playing another round.” My gaze swept over Rhys and finally locked onto Piper. I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. I had sheltered a treacherous animal. “That last hand,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Piper won the pot and exercised her right to set a challenge. Correct?” I leaned forward. “Now, I have a proposition for you, Piper. Just the two of us. Are you willing to play one final, high-stakes game?” Piper looked confused, then burst into a condescending laugh. “You? Play me? What stakes could possibly interest me?” “Texas Hold’em, head-to-head. But we raise the ante.” “You’ve always coveted my boutique resort, haven’t you? The one near Aspen? If you win, it’s yours. Deed signed over immediately.” I paused, looking directly at her, emphasizing every word. “If you lose, you strip to your skin, you get off this table, and you get the hell off Rhys’s lap.” The salon erupted. Piper’s face instantly lost its color. She instinctively glanced at Rhys for protection. Rhys was frowning deeply. He finally addressed me, his tone laced with a severe warning. “Scarlett, stop this nonsense!” But Piper, fueled by greed and my provocation, snapped back. “Fine! I’ll take that bet! But just leaving the table is too easy. If I lose, I’ll stay at least ten feet away from Rhys for the rest of the night. But if you lose, the Aspen resort is mine, and you will personally apologize and pour me a drink.” “Agreed,” I said, without missing a beat. Declan tried to interject one last time, but seeing the venomous glare between us, he reluctantly dealt the cards. The table was cleared; only Piper and I remained in the game. Rhys watched, his expression cold and furious, but he did not participate. The first three community cards were dealt. The board was innocuous. Piper’s eyes glittered with open contempt—the wary submissiveness she once showed me was completely gone. She was certain of her victory. When the fourth community card came out, she pushed all her chips to the center. “All in, Scarlett. Call, or forfeit and pour the drink now!” Rhys spoke up, a final trace of impatience in his voice. “Scarlett, enough is enough…” “I call.” I cut him off smoothly, pushing my remaining chips into the pot. Showdown. Piper flipped her cards: a pair of Kings. Combined with the board, she had a strong Three of a Kind. A smug, triumphant smile spread across her face. Declan hesitantly flipped my cards. His voice was laced with pity. “Scarlett, you have an Ace and a Queen…” “A high-card hand…” The sneers from the onlookers were immediate and loud. “Scarlett is insane. I’d be mortified.” “First time I’ve ever seen someone try to mark her territory only to humiliate herself further.” Piper covered her mouth with her hand, a gleeful look in her eyes. “Betting like that is a rookie mistake, darling. Now, a bet is a bet.” She kicked a bottle of champagne on the table with her high-heeled shoe, the gesture heavy with scorn. “It’ll be an honor to drink a toast poured by the great Scarlett Vance herself.” I took a deep, steadying breath. “I understand. A bet is a bet.” I stood up, walked to the bar under their mocking stares, and began pouring the drinks. Rhys, who had been silent for what felt like an eternity, finally spoke, his voice heavy with contempt. “Scarlett, are you not done humiliating yourself yet?” For the next hour, everyone on the yacht knew. Scarlett, the future Mrs. Vance, had tried to assert herself on the night of her engagement party. A novice gambler, she had played like a stubborn addict and lost everything she had bet. Most people around the table had shed a few layers. I was down to the final piece of clothing: a form-fitting, scarlet dress. It had been my secret, tender choice for the night—the dress I had hoped Rhys would gently take off me at the peak of our happiness. That day would never come. My hand, holding the liquor bottle, trembled slightly. My eyes burned, but I held back the tears. Ten years, from the age of fourteen until now. I finally had my closure. And he had given it to me in the most brutal, humiliating way possible. “Rhys,” I said, my voice regaining its clarity. “I still don’t think the stakes are high enough. Since we are in international waters, why don’t we try one last, truly spectacular game?” He frowned. “What new disaster are you planning now?” I met his gaze, my eyes devoid of emotion. “I have only this one dress left. So, I will bet my last hand. And I will bet every remaining asset under my name.” The words caused a shockwave. Rhys’s eyes instantly sharpened. He straightened up, finally giving me his full attention. “Scarlett. Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I gave him a faint, chilling smile. “Perfectly clear.” “If I win, you will agree to one thing. And you and her…” I pointed at Piper and then to the smooth, black expanse of the ocean visible from the deck. “You will jump off my yacht and swim the rest of the way home.” A stunned silence. The yacht had been cruising for hours. To jump into the freezing, deep sea now was potentially fatal. Piper shrieked, “You’re crazy!” I stood my ground. “Are you afraid, Piper? That’s a fortune you’ll never see again.” Piper swallowed hard, her eyes flickering with lust for the money. Rhys gave a humorless laugh. “Whatever assets you can put up, I’ll match. But if you lose, you swim home. Scarlett, I gave you too many chances. You forced your way to this.” The dealer began to deal. This time, neither Rhys nor I looked at our cards. We kept raising, matching each other’s escalating bets. Piper eventually folded after three rounds, unable to handle the pressure. It was just Rhys and me. Declan’s voice was dry as he read out the final river card. The board was set. Rhys stared me down. “Scarlett, concede now. I’ll pretend you were drunk and throwing a fit. I’ll take your assets and manage them for you, but we’ll forget the jump.” I said nothing. I only reached out and slowly, deliberately, flipped over my two hole cards. The Ten of Diamonds, and the Jack of Diamonds. The community cards revealed: The Ace of Diamonds, the King of Hearts, the Queen of Spades, the Eight of Clubs, and the final, decisive card—The Queen of Diamonds. When that final card was revealed, Declan gasped, his eyes wide. The cold smile on Rhys’s face froze solid. He shot up from his seat. “That’s impossible!”

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I’d been blind for three months following the accident. The first time it happened, the words appeared in my mind like a rogue newsfeed—a scrolling, golden banner flashing across the black canvas behind my eyelids. —WAIT ‘TILL DECLAN COMES BACK IN A MONTH, DISCOVERS HIS WIFE HAS BEEN SWIPED, HE’S GONNA BE A SAD PUPPY. Wait. Declan wasn’t back yet. Then who, exactly, was the man sharing my bed? 1 “What’s wrong? Is my arm too stiff? Not comfortable enough to pillow your head on?” The man beside me held me closer, his chin resting against the curve of my neck. “My baby is so soft, and you smell incredible.” The familiar, searing heat of his body settled my panic. I’d thought I was going crazy, or maybe even miraculously regaining my sight when the words first started. The golden text kept rolling: —MC IS EATING WAY TOO WELL, LOL. —LOOK AT THE DAMAGE. LAST NIGHT MUST HAVE BEEN INSANE. —CAN’T WAIT FOR DECLAN TO COME HOME AND CRY HIS EYES OUT. —POOR DUDE. COMES BACK FROM A BUSINESS TRIP, AND HIS SPOT IN BED IS STOLEN. My entire body locked up. What were they talking about? My fiancé was right here. He had been. I couldn’t have cheated. That was impossible. “Did I hurt you? Was I too rough last night?” The chest and abs beneath my cheek felt exactly the same as Declan’s—perfectly chiseled and hard. “Stay still. Let me rub the ointment on.” He rose, the sound of his clothes shifting against the sheets filling the quiet room. I let him take the tube, letting him massage the salve onto my body. His movements were feather-light, his fingertips cool, as if he was afraid of causing me any pain. “Don’t tense up,” his voice murmured from above my head, a slight, teasing laugh woven into the sound. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed his hand. The bones were clearly defined, the structure didn’t feel any different. “Don’t tempt me, baby. I won’t be able to resist.” “Mmm.” I mumbled a reply and nuzzled my face into his palm. He chuckled softly. “So needy today?” The voice was as warm and familiar as always. It had to be Declan. I must be having hallucinations from the stress. I didn’t want to believe otherwise. I reached up and felt the side of his neck. Yes, the small, specific mole was still right there. “Are you that eager?” His voice had gone husky. I slapped a hand over my own face. It wasn’t like I meant to graze his Adam’s apple. He was always twisting things. —OH, THE WAY THAT ADAM’S APPLE BOBBED. I WANNA SLIDE DOWN IT. —LMAO. THE VILLAIN BURNED A MOLE ONTO HIS NECK WITH A CIGARETTE TO IMITATE THE ML. DUDE IS TOO DOWN BAD. I froze again. 2 A self-inflicted mole? Was this some kind of sick joke? A shudder ran down my spine, raising the hairs on my arms. I reached out and touched his Adam’s apple again. Now that the Feed mentioned it, the mole did feel… larger. More raised. A little messy around the edges. A sudden, paralyzing coldness washed over me. What the hell was happening? The Feed kept scrolling relentlessly. Piece by disjointed piece, the golden text painted a horrifying picture of my reality. I was living inside a trashy Billionaire Redemption Saga. The Male Lead, Declan, discovers his cheating girlfriend—me, Anya—and uses the betrayal as fuel to climb the corporate ladder, becoming a ruthless, globally successful CEO. His catchphrase? Women only slow down the speed of my success. He remains single, tormented by the betrayal. And me? I’m the cannon fodder, the stumbling block he crushes under his Italian leather shoe. The story ends with me having a miserable life, eventually picking up scraps for a living. Wait, how can a blind woman pick up scraps for a living? That made absolutely no sense. The Feed insisted Declan would eventually hate me so much that he’d drive by me in his Maybach, watching me scavenge. A Maybach? Doesn’t that leak when it rains? And couldn’t I find literally any other kind of job? “Baby, want another apple?” The man’s hand was beginning to wander again. “Just eat, eat, eat! That’s all you do!” I snapped, slapping his hand away in a burst of frustration. He paused, then flashed a wickedly charming smile. “Harder, baby. You smell delicious when you’re mad.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it. Oh God, I turned him on? Why hadn’t I noticed that he wasn’t Declan? Who was he? A psychopath? Should I pretend I knew, or keep playing along? 3 The Feed quickly gave me the name I dreaded: —PIERCE!!! Pierce. I flashed back to the high-society gala Declan and I had attended. The man everyone was desperate to impress. The one who always looked untouchable, coldly reserved. Now, my body was rigid in Pierce’s forced embrace, the golden text in my mind screaming: —HELP! IS CEO PIERCE GOING TO KEEP UP THE POOR-BOY ACT FOREVER? —LMAO. THROWS A FIT AT EVERY BOARD MEETING, BUT IN BED, IT’S “MY BABY.” —PIERCE: SHE’S CUTEST WHEN SHE CAN’T SEE ME. His fingertips were slowly tracing the curve of my waist. “What are you thinking about?” I vividly recalled the night. He was standing under a huge crystal chandelier in a bespoke suit. I’d approached him with a champagne flute, ready to make polite conversation, and he hadn’t even given me a glance. He’d completely blown me off. I remembered the girl next to me snickering: “Who is that? Doesn’t she know him?” “Don’t bother. Pierce hates attention-seekers.” Declan had quickly come to my rescue, wrapping an arm around me and announcing, “This is my fiancée, Anya.” The other guests’ looks of envy and jealousy had been sweet. Declan came from a powerful, old-money family in this city. I distinctly remembered Pierce’s stare as he looked over at us—it was laced with a chilling mix of disdain and mockery. After that, I kept my distance from Declan’s powerful friend. But by some cursed coincidence, he always seemed to be around. Whenever Declan and I were having fun, Pierce would sit quietly in the corner, reading documents, never joining in. I remember telling Declan, “Your friend is such a poser. Critiquing quarterly reports in a karaoke bar?” Declan just laughed. Knowing the tension between us, he never forced us to interact more than necessary. Everyone knew the city’s prince, Pierce, seemed to despise me. Someone had once asked him why. I heard he’d coldly said I was “too much of a siren” and “looked unstable, like a fox trying to sneak into the henhouse.” Later, everyone assumed he only liked ‘pure’ women, sending him a parade of ingenues, all of whom he promptly sent packing. Declan had recounted the story to me like a funny anecdote. 4 I never thought that man would turn out to be a home-wrecker. A modern-day Icarus, flying too close to the flame of another man’s marriage. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. A siren? Unstable? When had I ever been anything but polite and proper? Just because I wore a dress and smiled at a party, I was a fox? In a fit of indignant rage, I kicked him clean off the bed. Caught completely off guard, Pierce landed on the floor with a muffled grunt. He sounded genuinely surprised. “Baby, was my performance… not up to standard?” “It was awful!” I snapped back, thoroughly annoyed. —MC’S LEGS ARE SO HOT. THE VILLAIN HAS HAD TWO MONTHS OF THIS. WHAT A SCORE! —NOT EVEN FOOT MODELS HAVE FEET THAT NICE. Wait a minute—two months.

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I woke up to find my husband had suddenly turned into his seventeen-year-old self. He refused to believe he was married, his face flushing red as he gritted his teeth: “I would rather die than marry a… loose woman like you.” But before he could finish, a man who looked exactly like him walked through the door, his face dark as a thundercloud. I said softly, “Honey, hug.” 1 I woke up feeling some strange movement beside me. After being tossed around all night, I was still sleepy, so I just murmured discontentedly. I hugged the person next to me out of habit, burrowing clingily into his chest: “Honey, let’s sleep a little longer.” Unexpectedly, my usually gentle and considerate husband pushed my hand away and shoved me aside. “Honey?” I opened my eyes in confusion. Only to find the person beside me wasn’t Adrian. No, he was Adrian. Just a shrunken, carbon-copy version of him. Sunlight fell on his messy hair. Unlike his usual sharp coolness, his youthful, fair face was flushed with the rosiness of just waking up. He frowned, radiating low pressure. Meeting my gaze, a flicker of darkness passed through his cold eyes, his voice raspy: “Who are you?” “Why are you dressed like that… in my bed?” I didn’t speak, rubbing my sleepy eyes. Am I still dreaming? The Adrian in front of me was at least ten years younger. He looked like an innocent high school student. I pulled the blanket tighter around my chest, leaning in curiously to examine him. “Honey, you seem to have shrunk.” Hearing my address. His long eyelashes trembled slightly. He pursed his lips and dodged my touch as if I were a virus. Then, he looked at me with cold eyes and said, “Don’t talk to me in that disgusting tone. I’m not your honey.” Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I propped up my weak body and got up slowly, habitually reaching out my arms for a hug like I always did. My oversized T-shirt slipped off one shoulder, revealing a patch of white skin. Even though he’d seen similar scenes countless times, Adrian reacted like it was his first. He jerked back as if electrocuted, his back hitting the wall with a thud. The tips of his ears turned red instantly, but his eyes stared straight at me. His face was cold, but his eyes clearly showed panic and shyness, along with a hint of curiosity he didn’t even notice himself. It was completely different from the mature and steady image in my memory. “Indecent!” “Stay away from me!” I was a bit confused. I vaguely remembered him putting the shirt on me himself last night when I was half-asleep, saying something about wrapping me in his scent. He was fine then, so why is he acting like a different person today? Before I could speak. He sneered, his eyes turning colder, “The old man sent you, didn’t he?” “Kicking me out of the house wasn’t enough? He wants to ruin my reputation too?” He paused, hot hatred surging from his trembling fingertips, then said with hatred, word by word, “You people are disgusting.” Adrian never talked to me like this. He never looked at me with such cold eyes. He looked exactly like Adrian, but the ruthlessness and despair seeping from his bones made me realize clearly—this was absolutely not the man I had spent five years redeeming with all my might. My sleepiness vanished instantly. 2 My mission in this world was to save the villain, Adrian. In the original book, he was the most vicious and gloomy villain. Abused by his family since childhood, his personality became extremely twisted. In adulthood, he would turn “black” for various reasons, kidnapping the heroine, destroying the hero’s career, and orchestrating a car accident to cripple him. And I was the wealthy fiancée forced to marry him. To prevent him from turning evil, the System tasked me with teaching him what love is. But all I knew was acting cute, spending money, and being clingy. Since coming to this world. I followed him around calling him “Hubby” all day. Our families had arranged our marriage since we were kids, so calling him “Hubby” seemed justified. But he always reacted strongly, covering my mouth as if he couldn’t stand it, “Don’t call me Hubby.” “Just say what you want.” I blinked and smartly changed my tune: “Adrian, I want to buy a bag.” He gave me a supplementary card without hesitation, his attitude extremely impatient: “Don’t appear in front of me in the future. I don’t like mercenary women like you.” I agreed readily, then turned around and moved into his house. Not only did I move in with my luggage, but I also went on shopping sprees with his card, dressing myself up like a little cupcake and barging into his black-and-white world every day. He was gloomy and dull; I was lively and cheerful. If he resisted me, I cried. The System mocked me ruthlessly: “The villain is naturally cold. He was indifferent even when his own mother died. He’s an emotionless monster.” “You don’t think a few crocodile tears will move him, do you?” Really? Then what was poking me in the back when he was drunk? And what was stealing kisses while I was asleep? I said nothing, just cried. Tears flowed from my big, watery eyes. I didn’t make a sound, just looked at him with a pouting, aggrieved expression. One second. Two seconds. He sighed helplessly, resignedly picking up a tissue to wipe my tears, coaxing in a low voice, “Why are you crying again?” “So delicate.” “Didn’t you like that new bag at Ginza? Ask Uncle Li to take you to buy it. And those mochi things you were crying for yesterday, I bought them and put them in the fridge. Ask Auntie Qiu to thaw them for you later.” “Stop crying, okay? You’ll blame me if your eyes hurt later.” The System was dumbfounded. “Wasn’t he supposed to be a gloomy villain? How did you train him into a daddy boyfriend?” Who knows? Maybe spoiled women have the best lives. Two years passed. Not only was I not kicked out of the Fu family, but I also married Adrian and became his courage to live in this world. After the System announced his “blackening value” was zero and he wouldn’t disturb the protagonists’ lives anymore, it disappeared. Now I had to call the System again. “System, what’s going on?” It arrived late, reacting sluggishly: “Sorry Host, something went wrong with the villain in the previous timeline, causing him to turn evil prematurely. If left unchecked, the whole world will collapse, so I had to temporarily send him to this timeline.” “You are looking at seventeen-year-old Adrian. His blackening value has reached 99%.” “Please save him again, if possible.” 3 I transmigrated to this world five years ago. At that time, Adrian had already become the tyrannical CEO feared by everyone in the capital. This Little Adrian in front of me had the makings of a villain but was obviously much more immature. He didn’t believe me, even sneering: “Married? Me and you?” His gaze swept over me, his expression changing from unnatural to extremely unnatural. He still didn’t dare look at the crucial parts but forced himself to maintain his momentum and snorted coldly, “I would rather die than marry a frivolous woman like you!” Before he could finish, the door was violently kicked open. A man who looked exactly like him strode into the room, a gloomy pressure instantly sweeping over us. It was the real Adrian. System: “Uh oh, forgot your husband was still here.” Surprised and delighted, I called out sweetly in my usual soft tone: “Hubby!” Seventeen-year-old Adrian’s ears turned red instantly. Blushing, he retorted impatiently in a low voice, “I told you I’m not your hubby!” “She was calling me.” Adrian picked me up with a dark face, his low rasp carrying an undeniable aura and unconcealable anger. “Who called you? Flattering yourself.” In the shadows, his gaze clashed with the teenage Adrian’s, invisible sparks flying. I obediently wrapped my legs around his waist, buried my face in his neck, and hooked my arms around him, but I could feel two scorching gazes clashing. The smell of gunpowder in the air made breathing tense. “Babe, go to the next room and get dressed.” Adrian patted my butt gently, planted a tender kiss on my forehead, then looked at Little Adrian with a flash of hostility. “We need to talk.” 4 I don’t know what Adrian said to him. When he came out, the boy looked unhappy, but the strange scene forced him to believe he had really traveled ten years into the future. After all, there was no second person in the world who looked exactly like him. And I, this “frivolous” woman, really was his wife. I looked at my two husbands, one big and one small. I quietly poked the big one. Then whispered, thinking I was quiet: “Hubby, he’s so small. Still a baby.” But I underestimated the sensitivity of a teenager. The already low-pressure boy exploded instantly, his face terrifyingly dark, writing “I’m very upset, apologize now” all over his face. His displeasure lasted until lunch. While eating, he frowned and tutted, slamming his chopsticks on the table irritably, “Enough already. Do you have to be like this even when eating?” “Disgusting.” Adrian was deboning fish for me. Ever since I got a fishbone stuck in my throat, he never let me eat fish myself. Seeing this, he glanced at him indifferently. “If you don’t like it, get out.” So he really got out. His face was blacker than the bottom of a pot as he slammed the door and left. Once he was gone, I sighed with relief: “Hubby, you had such a bad temper at seventeen.” Adrian put the deboned fish in my bowl, “Don’t think of him as me.” I wanted to say more but was silenced by his mouth. “Mmph…” After a long while, he stopped. His eyes were dark, rubbing my lips hard, “Babe, shouldn’t you explain to me?” I wanted to cry. How could I explain? It’s all the System’s fault! Adrian knew about the System. I never planned to hide it from him and confessed everything after we got married. Seeing my expression, he guessed most of it. He paused, “Is it the System?” I nodded quickly, hugging him and chattering my grievances. Hearing the word “redemption,” he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll figure this out. Don’t listen to the System.” When mentioning others, Adrian always looked indifferent. Including himself. I hesitated: “But, that’s you after all…” “No, babe.” “I can’t let you take risks. Besides, I know very well that only pain makes people strong. How can he take revenge without experiencing this? He’s not that fragile.” “I’m going abroad for business soon, for at least a month. During this time, ensure your own safety first, can you do that?” I nodded. Adrian smiled with satisfaction. He reached into my clothes, felt my slightly bulging belly, and picked me up to carry me to the room. I hooked my arms around his neck, trying to salvage the situation, “But honey, he looks really pitiful.” His eyes were obscure as he lowered his head and bit my shoulder, “I’m more pitiful than him. Touch me if you don’t believe it.” Me: … I knew this man had no good intentions. Turning every topic into something dirty. “Adrian! Didn’t we just… yesterday!” I grabbed his hair, speaking urgently, “Don’t bite!” A chuckle. It was as if he had turned back into that villain with a bad personality. He raised his head slowly, his lazy voice laced with huskiness and a low trailing note, making my heart tingle. “Why keep mentioning him? This is punishment for a disobedient baby.” I wanted to cry. How can someone be jealous of themselves?

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

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

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

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

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