Category: English

Dad’s secret family of eight years was finally discovered by Mom. She vowed to cut ties with him, even if it meant leaving with nothing. This time, I stopped her. Because I was reborn. Dad has a terminal illness and is about to die. As long as we outlast him, all his assets will belong to Mom and me. 1 “Joy, if Daddy and Mommy separate, do you want to live with Mommy?” When Mom asked me this question again, I finally didn’t hesitate. I told her firmly, “Mom, don’t divorce him.” Mom’s eyes reddened. “Do you know that your father’s illegitimate child is only six months younger than you? How can I swallow this? If we divorce, out of sight, out of mind. Come with Mommy, okay? Mommy only has you.” “Mom, no!” “Why?” she asked. Because I was reborn. In my last life, when Mom and Dad divorced, to fight for my custody, Mom left the marriage with nothing, giving up all the property. The house, money, and company that Mom and Dad built from scratch all fell into the hands of that mother and son. Two months after the divorce, Dad died of terminal stomach cancer. He let Mom know about their existence only because he was dying. He wanted to pave the way for his illegitimate son but couldn’t bear to let Mom take half the assets. He insisted on my custody, and Mom, to take me with her, had to give up the wealth they had built together for years. The moment he got the divorce certificate, he married the mistress. After his death, the mistress and her son legally inherited all his assets. As for Mom and me, the mistress drove us to extinction. Mom’s attempts at starting a business or finding a job were all ruined by them. Even when she set up a street stall, they hired thugs to target her. To raise me, Mom had to work as a hostess, eventually falling into the sex trade. The mistress tortured Mom for ten years. Finally, on my 18th birthday, Mom jumped from a 21-story building. After Mom died, the mistress didn’t let me go. She paid people to bully me at school, twisting the truth to say I was the illegitimate daughter and Mom was the homewrecker. Orphaned and isolated, I was hit by a speeding truck on a dazed night and died. The capital used to besiege Mom and me came from the assets the mistress inherited from Dad. In this life, I will protect Mom and not let that scum succeed. 2 “Mom, do you believe in dreams?” I recounted everything that happened in my past life to Mom. Mom murmured to herself, “I wouldn’t objectify myself to do such lowly things, nor would I leave you behind.” I know, but when backed into a corner, who can guarantee they won’t grab the only straw available, even if it’s covered in filth? Disheartened by Dad’s betrayal, Mom had neglected the company. Dad took advantage of this time to feign trying to keep Mom, making her think he still had feelings for her. Meanwhile, he consolidated control over the company while Mom was distracted. Mom was skeptical, but her love for me was bone-deep. Even if it was just a dream, she would verify it. Mom went back to the company. In the evening, she and Dad came back together. Dad’s face was tense and ugly. I approached him, “Dad, are you a dirty cucumber?” Dad was so angry his chest heaved, unable to catch his breath. “Netizens say a cheating man is like a dirty cucumber; you can’t use it no matter how much you like it.” Mom covered my mouth, “Stop surfing the web so much, don’t talk nonsense and learn those dirty things.” I nodded quickly. Mom let go, and I asked again, “Mom, Dad, will you still get a divorce?” Mom smiled, “Of course not. Mommy has forgiven Daddy. Our family of three will be fine.” Dad’s face turned green and purple. He scolded me a bit and went to his room without dinner. Mom’s phone pinged. She went to shower, and I expertly unlocked her phone. The mistress, Wanda, came to provoke Mom. She sent Mom photos of her and Dad being intimate. Her words goaded Mom to divorce Dad quickly. She called Mom a hen that couldn’t lay eggs, mocking Mom for not being as open as her and not pleasing Dad. She claimed she and Dad were true love, and if Grandpa hadn’t forced Dad to marry Mom, they would be the rightful family. I replied for Mom, “I don’t believe it. Your photos are photoshopped, right? I remember Old Yuan has a big mole on his left buttock, but your photos don’t show it.” Wanda actually sent a spicy video. To provoke Mom, it was a 360-degree HD video. The big mole on Dad’s left buttock was very clear. Disgusting. Fighting the urge to vomit, I downloaded the original photos and video, sent them to my account, and deleted the chat history. After dinner, I opened my laptop, imported the video and photos. I applied heavy mosaics to Dad and Wanda’s private parts and posted them on my Moments (social media feed). Caption: “Auntie says her technique is good, and Mom isn’t as open as her. Now Dad dislikes Mom and wants a divorce. What should I do? Joy doesn’t want to be a child without a father (Crying Emoji).” I’m not even nine yet. Posting this kind of stuff shouldn’t land me in juvie, right? 3 Dad played the emotional card with Mom, while Wanda provoked Mom to divorce quickly. Nice calculation. I knew Dad would be angry, but I didn’t expect him to be this furious. He slapped me so hard two of my teeth flew out. God, it hurt so much. But compared to the excruciating pain of being crushed by a truck, this slap was a drizzle. Mom pounced on him, scratching his face into a bloody mess. He ordered me to delete the video, and I obediently did. But deleting it was useless. After a night, who knows how many people saved their video? My Moments friends include several aunties who are always surfing the forefront of gossip. I believe their combat power won’t disappoint Dad. Dad scolded Mom, “Look at the good daughter you raised!” He slammed the door and left. My mouth was full of blood. Mom cried and wanted to take me to the hospital. I refused. “Mom, when in trouble, find the police uncle.” Mom felt sorry for me and wanted to take me to the hospital first, but I dragged her to the police station. Holding a mouthful of bloody water all the way, I finally spat it out inside the station. With blood in my mouth, I tremblingly extended my hand to a pretty police auntie, holding my two teeth. “Auntie, Joy wants to report a crime…” Dad had smooth sailing for so many years; this must be his first time in a police station. And for beating his own daughter. Successful and spirited as he was these years, he had never lost face like this. His face turned green and purple, changing colors. I lost two teeth, and my face was swollen like a soaked bun. The police auntie said my injuries warranted administrative detention. If Mom and I insisted, Dad could be detained for five days or fined. Locking Dad up was exactly what I wanted. It bought Mom five more days. Dad brought up my posting his private video. I quickly pulled out my kid’s phone, opened the video of Wanda and Dad, turned the brightness to max, and showed the uncles and aunties present. “This is the video Dad talked about. The auntie said Dad likes her technique, she gave birth to a son for Dad, and told Mom to divorce Dad quickly. Although Dad is a rotten cabbage, Joy doesn’t want Dad and Mom to divorce. Joy doesn’t want to be without a father. Joy just wanted to ask the family on Moments for advice…” Speaking of the sad part, my tears flowed like two rushing rivers, washing over my swollen cheeks. If there were a crack in the floor, I believe Dad would have buried his head in it immediately. After an awkward silence, the police uncles and aunties kindly explained that posting such dirty things on Moments is illegal. But because I was young and ignorant, and deleted it in time, they just gave me a verbal warning. Now everyone knew about Dad’s betrayal and despised him even more. Because Mom and I insisted, with the facts laid out, Dad had to sing the iron bars blues for five days. 4 Trading two teeth for five days of time for Mom felt worth it. Now wasn’t the time to pity me. After seeing the doctor, I persuaded Mom to go to the company. And told her that several key positions in the company were held by Wanda’s relatives. Mom didn’t dare delay. She asked a friend to find two strong female bodyguards to take care of me, then rushed to the company to handle things. Dad could be considered what the internet calls a “Phoenix Man”—rising from a poor background. He only had a widowed mother who worked hard to support his education. Mom’s family wasn’t particularly well-off either, but Grandpa’s work unit had allocated him an apartment. The apartment was in the city center, a decent location. After Mom and Dad graduated and married, Grandpa sold the apartment to give them capital. With this money, they grew a small mom-and-pop workshop into a factory now worth nearly a billion. Although Mom is very smart and handles company matters with ease and organization, she values relationships heavily. In my past life, Dad used himself and me to play the emotional card, coaxing her into leaving with nothing. Mom thought she could start over. But the world changes fast. With me as a burden and Wanda chasing her down, let alone starting a business, even feeding us was hard. Children always seem to be the weakness of most mothers. If not for me, how could Mom willingly give up the fruits of her years of hard work? I don’t want to repeat the tragedy of my past life. In this life, it’s my turn to protect Mom!

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My sophomore year of college, my grandfather called out of the blue. He wasn’t asking how I was—he was commanding me home to discuss his will. Honestly, the thought that I was even in the running for a piece of Arthur Kincaid’s estate had never once crossed my mind. My mother, Laurel, died when I was little, and my contact with her family was virtually non-existent; we exchanged a two-minute, obligatory phone call on Christmas Day, then hung up like strangers. I took an academic leave, enduring a grueling seven-hour train ride to Hickory Creek. A sea of relatives I didn’t recognize were already packed into the old Kincaid compound. When I walked in, Art looked mildly surprised. “You actually came?” “You told me to,” I said. “You said I had to be here today.” He pulled the woman next to him, who was wearing a crisp, expensive-looking linen dress, closer. “This is Avery Wells. Laurel’s girl.” He then addressed me. “This is your grandmother.” 1 I’d heard years ago that my grandfather had remarried, taking on a woman named Lilly Shaw. My father had considered bringing me down to meet her at the time, but when he called, Art said the wedding was done and dusted, no need to make the trip. My father had hung up and scoffed, “Didn’t even invite us. I guess we’re not family.” After that, my dad rarely mentioned Art. He made me the one to call on holidays. When I told him Art had summoned me home for the will, he only said, “Be careful on the road.” Lilly Shaw sized me up, her gaze lingering a little too long. “Came by train, I see? Did you remember to book your return ticket?” I was genuinely taken aback. What kind of relative, meeting a family member for the first time, asks about the way out? “Not yet,” I said. “Tickets are easy. Plenty of trains heading back to the city.” Lilly pointed to the corner. “Well, you can rest over there, then.” The Kincaid compound was huge—a sprawling, multi-structure home built on ancestral land, with front and back yards and a central Great Hall. I sat on a rough wooden bench in the front yard corner, watching the constant stream of people flowing past, none of whom felt remotely connected to me. As twilight settled, the front yard emptied, and a chill set in. The heavy oak door to the Great Hall was closed. After a long wait, I finally heard the noise of a celebration—shouting, laughter, and the clatter of silverware. I walked up and peered through the crack in the door. They were feasting. A huge table packed with people. Art and Lilly sat at the head, facing the door, their faces flushed with the pleasure of good food and company. It was a proper country feast, the wine flowing freely. I had been traveling all day and hadn’t eaten a thing, yet no one had bothered to call me inside for dinner. I pushed the heavy oak door open. “If there’s nothing else, Grandpa, I’ll head back to school.” Art’s wine glass froze mid-air. He looked genuinely embarrassed. Lilly Shaw, however, was the quickest to react, sliding over with a saccharine smile. “Oh, you silly goose, why didn’t you just come in? You can’t wait for an invitation! Arthur’s been so scatterbrained lately, he’s forgotten he needs my permission just to sit down. Have a seat, darling, and eat up.” She pulled out a chair for me. I picked up my chopsticks, ready to dig in, when Art slammed his palm on the table. “Stop! Did you even greet everyone? You just sit there like a bump on a log?” Except for Art, I didn’t know a single person at that table. “You never bother with us, and when we call you all the way back here, you act like a mute,” he shouted, pointing his chopsticks at me, as if my presence were some grievous offense. “No manners. Just like your mother.” I dropped my chopsticks. Hard. I stared straight at him. “Like whose mother?” The feasting stopped. The room went dead silent. No one gets to talk about my mother. That was my rock-bottom boundary. And of all people, Art Kincaid knew exactly why my mother died. I was hungry, but I wouldn’t eat this food. I grabbed my backpack and walked toward the door. “You stand right there!” Art roared. “You think you can just show up and walk out? You’re here to disrespect your elders? Apologize to your grandmother!” I turned back, speaking each word with cold precision. “I am not here by choice. You called me. If my presence is such an issue, why did you even bother? You said you had an estate to settle, Arthur. But you look healthy as a horse. Why did you really call me?” Unable to argue with me, he turned to the room. “Look at this! See what kind of daughter she raised!” “I’m going back to school. Consider this visit erased. You can divide the estate however you please.” I turned and walked out, fuming. I was exhausted, agitated, and I still had no idea what the purpose of my long, insulting journey had been. At the main gate, Lilly called out. “Avery, wait a minute.” She rushed up and grabbed my arm. “It’s dark. Where are you going to go? Come on, eat something, stay the night, and leave tomorrow. Your grandfather really did call you here for a reason. Don’t antagonize him. Come with me, let me introduce you properly.” Lilly was surprisingly strong; she pulled me back to the Great Hall. I had no choice but to follow. “These are the Kincaids,” she gestured, “your grandfather’s sons, their sons, and his brothers’ children. You’ll call them Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin.” She moved her hand. “And over here, the Shaws. My side. We’re all family now. You can just call them all Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin.” Before she finished, one of the Shaw men laughed. “So you’re Laurel Kincaid’s girl? Your mother was famous, you know. Gossip about her spread from Hickory Creek all the way to Shaw Settlement.” The man next to him snickered. “I heard your father cried himself to sleep every night.” Lilly shot them a hard look, then pushed me onto a chair and sat next to Art. “Before everyone gets too drunk, Arthur, tell them why they’re here.” Art nodded, placing his wine glass down. “Everyone quiet down. I’ve called you all here today to settle my affairs and Lilly’s, mainly to divide up the estate. We’ll have peace of mind, and you’ll stop worrying about it.” The table instantly became quiet and deferential, like students waiting for a lecture. “Lilly and I have sorted through everything: the land, the liquid assets, the business, the vehicles, and some smaller personal items. The business is primarily Lilly’s. I never understood it, and I wouldn’t dare touch her assets, but Lilly said that since we’re married, we’re family, and there’s no my or yours. It’s all Kincaid-Shaw, one big, happy family.” Everyone applauded enthusiastically. I felt like the alien in the room. “Lilly and I have decided on the following…” Art began to announce the division. “This house will go to the oldest boy, Art Jr., in exchange for him taking care of us until we pass. The new home down by the creek goes to the second boy, Ben. The condo we bought in the county seat goes to the third, Chad. “Lilly’s business, Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies, has always been run by her oldest boy, Robert. Lilly has already given him twenty percent of the shares and will transfer another thirty-one percent, giving him fifty-one percent control. The remaining forty-nine percent will be family shares, held by her two other children, and nine percent managed by Art Jr. “Lilly’s ancestral home, where her youngest boy is currently living, will be his to either live in or sell. “Lilly’s daughter, who is married and lives out of state, received a house and a car as a dowry when she married, so she will not receive any more property. “Our liquid assets and all other property will be used for our retirement. Any remaining balance will be split equally among the six children. Does anyone object?” The entire table shouted, “No objections, thank you, Dad! Thank you, Mom!” Art chuckled happily. “Good. Now eat.” So, that was it. I was never a factor. The entire point was for Art to put on a show of his immense wealth and the generosity of his new wife, while explicitly leaving out his own flesh-and-blood granddaughter. I felt nothing but a wave of relief. I had never wanted his money, and having to deal with it would have been a hassle. I grabbed my chopsticks and attacked the nearest platter of fried chicken and ribs. I had been humiliated for the better part of a day, and I wasn’t going to leave without at least recouping a decent meal. I caught several people watching me out of the corner of their eyes, waiting for my reaction. After tearing through a mountain of food, someone finally broke. “Avery,” Lilly asked with faux sweetness. “You don’t feel… slighted? You don’t mind that you received nothing?” Art banged the table again. “Stop eating! Your grandmother asked you a question!” I swallowed the piece of chicken I was chewing. “No, I don’t mind. It’s your money; divide it up however you want. I have no opinion.” “Don’t act so high and mighty,” I heard Lilly’s daughter whisper from across the table, rolling her eyes. Art was clearly unhappy with my lack of outrage. He needed me to play the part of the resentful, abandoned granddaughter. “You say you don’t mind, but you came running the minute I mentioned the will! You can’t even be bothered to call on Christmas, but you show up like a lapdog when money’s involved. You’re being dishonest!” I didn’t look up from my plate. “You said you were dividing the will. I thought you were dying.” Robert Shaw, Lilly’s oldest son, slammed his chopsticks down. He pointed at me. “Watch your mouth, you crass little animal! Who’s dying?” I didn’t know this man, so I didn’t waste any energy getting mad. I just looked at Art, then back at Robert. “He’s your step-father, not mine. If I’m an ‘animal,’ what does that make your mother’s husband?” “You little…” “Enough!” Lilly cut him off, her veneer of graceful, virtuous wife starting to crack. “Avery, it’s not that Arthur and I don’t want to give you anything. But you are a Wells, not a Kincaid, and not a Shaw. You’re an outsider. It wouldn’t look right, dividing Kincaid and Shaw assets with an outside name. People would talk.” “I already told you, you can divide your assets however you want. I truly don’t care,” I repeated. “But I’m confused. If this has nothing to do with me, why call me here in the first place?” “We invited you for two reasons. One, your grandfather and I missed you. Two, we wanted you to witness it. You’re a college student, studying in the city; you’re going to be successful. We want you to see that everything is settled.” I finally understood. Lilly Shaw was worried that a successful college-educated granddaughter might one day return to claim what was hers. This whole dinner was a calculated theater performance designed to have me witness my exclusion and hopefully, watch me throw a pathetic, futile fit. They were sorely disappointed. Based on the terms I heard, the total assets were worth a couple of million. No wonder everyone’s spine was so straight. “I’m full. Uncles, Aunts, Cousins, enjoy your meal.” I put down the bowl, grabbed my backpack, and walked out. “Where are you going? It’s dark! We need you for something tomorrow…” Lilly called out, but this time she didn’t follow. I gave a dismissive wave as a goodbye. It was dark. Dark in the country isn’t the same as dark in the city. In the city, there are always lights. In the country, when the sun goes down, it’s truly black. Working from a memory many years old, I stumbled around the village a few times until I found a wooden gate that looked familiar. “Open up! J-Rod! Open the door!” A figure stumbled out, fumbling with the latch, and stared at me in the dim yard light. “You’re… who is that?” I kicked the gate. “Don’t you recognize your Aunt Avery?” He pulled the porch light closer to my face. “Avery Wells? How did you find me?” “I remember you used to have a pickup, right? I need a ride to the county seat.” “Right now?” “Is there a problem? I’ll pay for gas.” Jesse “J-Rod” Rhodes looked back toward his house, then turned back to me. “The pickup’s long gone. I’ve got a beat-up old Chevy now. What’s the rush?” “Just tell me if you’ll take me. If not, I’ll find someone else.” As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. “Yes! I’ll take you! Wait, let me get my keys.” I hopped in the passenger seat, and J-Rod pulled the car onto the road leading out of the village. “How long has it been?” I asked. “Thirteen years. Man.” “Thirteen years. We were just kids then.” Thirteen years ago, the summer I was seven, my mother brought me here to live for a short time. Because I was the “city kid,” the other village children wouldn’t play with me. Only J-Rod followed me around every day. That summer, he took me climbing trees and wading in the creek—the perfect, authentic country childhood. Afterward, I sent him gifts every year, and he always referred to me as “Aunt Avery” in his letters. “Thirteen years, and you still found my place. You’re amazing.” “What about you? Got a girlfriend?” “Yeah, my folks set it up. We’ve been talking for six months. Planning to get married next year.” “Congrats. You’re efficient.” J-Rod got a little shy. “Don’t laugh. We don’t do all the city romance stuff out here. You meet, you see if you can get along, and that’s that. She’s from another village. We don’t see each other much; she calls, we talk for a minute, and then she has to get back to work.” The ride took almost an hour, and we talked the whole time, from childhood memories to adult life. J-Rod let slip a lot of local gossip, including the fact that Art’s sprawling house had encroached on several of his neighbors’ properties. I found a motel in the county seat, slept, and took the morning train back to school. That pointless, exhausting estate meeting wasted two days of my life. I recounted the entire saga to my father. He listened and then, without hesitation, said, “They just wanted you to waive your right to the money so you wouldn’t stick around and hassle them later.” It was absurd. Two days after I got back to school, Art called again. “You left without saying goodbye! That was so disrespectful. You didn’t sign the papers. You need to come back immediately and sign.” “Sign what?” I asked. “The Estate Distribution Agreement.” “I wasn’t included in the estate. Why would I sign?” “You weren’t included because you’re a Wells, not a Kincaid or a Shaw. That’s not our fault. But you are my granddaughter, and you still have to sign. Waiving your claim is part of the distribution, and it’s your responsibility.” I struggled to keep my voice even. “Grandpa, if you’re worried, hire a lawyer in the county seat to draft a certified will. Or get a notary. It’s your money; give it to whomever you want. It has nothing to do with me. I will not come back, now or in the future, for your money or Lilly’s. I have too many classes. I can’t sign.” “Why are you being so difficult? It’s just a signature! If you don’t come back and sign this, don’t ever come back to Hickory Creek!” “I’m late for class. Gotta go.” I hung up, irritated. The more I thought about it, the more bizarre it seemed. Even if Art was senile, he had three able-bodied sons, and the village had a mayor. Why were they so fixated on my signature waiving my claim? Unless there was something that already belonged to me, something Art had been holding onto, and he didn’t want to include it in the will because it wasn’t his to give away. It hit me like a train. I stood up and shouted, “Exactly!” The whole class stared at me. My academic advisor, standing at the front, looked confused. “Avery Wells, do you have an objection to the material?” Mortified, I stammered, “No, Professor. I just… I think you’re absolutely right.” “Oh, good. Since you’re so enthusiastic, I’ll have you write the piece for the university literary magazine.” I slumped back down, my mind racing. That document Art wanted me to sign—it had to contain the clue. But I had already rejected him. I couldn’t just turn around and agree to sign. The bell rang. The class president, an earnest guy named Sam, walked up. “Avery, what are you going to write for the lit mag?” I blurted out, “A will.” Sam’s face went pale. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t think about doing anything stupid, okay? If you’re under pressure, I’m here. That lit mag thing is just a formality, you just need to meet the word count.” “The will is the trick,” I muttered. “They’re going to contact me again. I know it.” The words were barely out of my mouth when my phone rang. Unknown number. “Hello, is this Avery? It’s your Granny Lilly.” I was almost delighted. They did call. “Avery, darling, Granny Lilly wants to apologize. We didn’t take care of you when you came home. It was all my fault. I knew you were a smart college girl, and I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing that I let Art handle you, and he, well, he gets a little drunk and forgets things. Please don’t be angry.” Slight praise followed by an apology. She definitely wanted something. “It’s fine, Granny Lilly,” I replied. “It was a busy house. I’m rarely there, so it’s normal for the relatives not to know me. I’m back in class now. Is there something you needed?” “Such a smart, polite girl. Just like a college student should be.” Lilly chuckled. “Well, your grandfather and I actually put together a big cash bonus for you—one for getting into college, and one to help you out while you’re there. I was waiting for you, but you left so fast! I was going to take you out for a nice dinner at the country bistro. When are you coming back?” “Granny Lilly, I have too many classes. If I take time off, I lose credits. Maybe when the semester ends.” “Okay… your education is what’s important. That’s what matters.” She paused. “Well, then I’ll just mail you the agreement, and you can sign it and mail it back. Honestly, your signature doesn’t change anything. I don’t know what’s gotten into Art lately, he’s just obsessed with signatures and fingerprints. He even makes me sign a contract for his groceries. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just transfer the cash bonus directly to you; it’s easier than mailing cash.” Back to the agreement. It was clearly vital to them. “Sure, Granny Lilly. Mail it over. I’ll sign it as soon as it arrives. I’ll text you my address.” Lilly hung up happy. A few days later, a thick manila envelope arrived from Hickory Creek. Inside were two identical, densely-typed agreements. [I voluntarily waive all claim to the inheritance of the Kincaid ancestral land in Hickory Creek, I voluntarily waive all claim to the land used for the ancestral home, I voluntarily waive all claim to all of Arthur Kincaid’s personal property, I voluntarily waive all claim to the condo in the county seat…] [I voluntarily waive all claim to the inheritance of Lillian Shaw’s ancestral land in Shaw Settlement, I voluntarily waive all claim to the land used for the ancestral home, I voluntarily waive all claim to all of Arthur Kincaid’s personal property, I voluntarily waive all claim to…] Paragraph after paragraph, thousands of words. It even included waiving my right to vote or run for the village council. Was all this necessary? I was holding the document when Sam, the class president, rushed up. “Avery, are you feeling better now?” He’d been keeping a close eye on me, worried I was going to have a breakdown. “I’m telling you, the lit mag thing is just bureaucratic nonsense. Just fill the word count with garbage—long, pointless filler—praise the school at the beginning and end, and you’re done. If you’re really angry…” Sam leaned closer and lowered his voice, “…hide one line insulting the administration in the middle of all the filler. They’ll never find it.” Hide one line in the middle of all the filler… My eyes widened. I slammed my fist into his shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for the idea.” Sam grimaced, rubbing his arm. “Just glad you’re feeling better.” Filler exists to hide the truth. That was it. I tore through the convoluted text. […I voluntarily waive all claim to the inheritance of Lillian Shaw’s Audi A6 sedan…] […I voluntarily waive all claim to the shares and the right to inheritance for Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies, LLC…] […I voluntarily waive all claim to the Shaw Settlement Village Council voting rights…] […I voluntarily waive all claim to…] My eyes fixed on the word shares. Every other asset was phrased as “waive all claim to the inheritance.” Only the factory included the term “waive all claim to the shares and the right to inheritance.” “Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies, LLC… Sam, do you know how to look up a company’s information?” He pulled out his phone. “It’s easy. I have a subscription to the corporate database. The Student Council makes me hunt for sponsors all the time. What are you looking for?” Sam typed Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies into the app. The screen refreshed. The name jumped out at me. My mother, Laurel Kincaid, was listed as a shareholder.

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Me and my sister found two snakes. The black one looked like a god in scale-form. The moment he saw my sister, Bella, he wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. That left me with the little white snake, who looked like he was knocking on death’s door. In my past life, I pitied him. I took him home, nursed him back to health, and basically became his servant. The black snake shifted into a human within a year—tall, dark, and handsome—and treated Bella like a queen. Meanwhile, I was busting my ass working odd jobs to feed myself and that useless white noodle. I was well past marrying age, but no guy wanted me because I carried a snake everywhere. They all said, “Ditch the reptile, and maybe we’ll talk.” I beat them all off with a broom. I used to pet his little head and whisper, “Even if you never shift, I won’t abandon you. I picked you, so I’m responsible for you.” Then the flash flood hit. My sickly white snake, who had been useless for ten years, suddenly transformed into a majestic dragon overnight. I reached out from the drowning currents, desperate for him to catch me. But he flew past me and scooped up Bella. It turned out, the first person he ever laid eyes on was her. It turned out, he learned to shift way before the black snake did; he just enjoyed watching me struggle. I open my eyes. I’m back. I look down at the dying white snake in my hand. And I yeet him into the dirt. 1 “Raven, look at this white one! He’s top-tier. He’s definitely gonna turn into a dragon someday and spoil you rotten!” Bella pressed the white snake into my palm, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “You know Mrs. Higgins next door found one just like this ten years ago? That snake ascended and took her whole family up to the high life. Don’t forget your big sis when you’re rich, okay?” The villagers chimed in, right on cue. “Raven, you’re too soft! Everyone knows white snakes are more likely to become dragons! Bella isn’t as gentle as you, and let’s be honest, she’s the pretty one. You’re the one who needs the luck!” Bella put on a pouty face, then forced a brave smile. “It’s okay. I’m the older sister. It’s my job to take care of Raven.” I frowned. If you looked closely, the white snake was barely breathing. The black snake, on the other hand, had scales that shimmered like obsidian under the sun. The villagers were clueless, but Bella knew. She knew damn well which snake was the winning lottery ticket. In my last life, I didn’t call her out. I saw a dying creature and couldn’t walk away. But now? Watching the white snake bare his tiny fangs at me in my palm, I just felt sick. Before, I thought it was a stress reaction. Now I know—he just hated me. Splat. I threw the white snake onto a jagged rock, adjusted my basket, and walked away. “Raven!” Bella shrieked, scrambling to scoop up the snake. “How could you?! It’s a living creature!” “Life has its limits,” I said without looking back. “If he dies today, that’s just fate.” “Raven!” Bella stomped her foot. “You’re so cold-blooded! Are you really just going to watch him die?” The villagers stared at me, their judgment heavy and loud. “She’s got a rotten heart, that one. Bella is the beauty with the soul to match.” “Exactly. Look at Raven, plain as dirt and heart just as black.” I gripped the strap of my basket. I turned around. Bella was teary-eyed, playing the peacemaker, which only made everyone pity her more. She always did this. Handed me the short end of the stick, then acted like the martyr. I laughed. “Since you’re so saintly, Bella, why don’t you take both of them?” Bella froze. Her eyes darted around. “I… how could I hog such a blessing?” “It’s fine. Take ’em. When he ascends to godhood, I won’t ask for a ride.” Bella choked on her words. The white snake was hurt bad; healing him would cost a fortune in herbs and time. But the villagers were already pivoting. “Raven’s got no luck anyway. Bella should have it!” “Yeah, Bella, don’t let that ingrate have him!” Bella hesitated. “But his injuries…” Suddenly, a blinding white light exploded in the clearing. Everyone gasped. I whipped around. A man in white robes stood there, looking like a literal god. A trace of blood at the corner of his mouth only made him look more devastatingly beautiful. The crowd stopped breathing. I froze too. Lucien… he shifted? 2 My nails dug into my palms. I thought he learned to shift after I saved him. But no. He could always do it. All those years, he watched me get mocked for carrying a “dumb snake,” and he never lifted a finger. Now, at his weakest moment, he forced a transformation just to impress Bella. “Injuries don’t matter! I’ll take responsibility!” Bella screamed, her hesitation gone. If he could shift, ascension wasn’t far off. The villagers were drooling over Lucien’s god-tier looks. No one doubted he was the next big thing. They laughed at my stupidity and praised Bella’s kindness. Bella stepped in front of Lucien, blocking my view, acting like she was protecting him from me. “Raven, you said you didn’t want him. I tried to convince you, but… well, I guess I have to take him in.” “Don’t explain yourself to her, Bella! She gave him up! If she tries to take him back, we’ll run her out of town!” “Oh stop…” Bella blushed. “Raven isn’t like that…” I stared coldly at Lucien. He looked past the crowd, locking eyes with me. That desperate, forced transformation. That look—it wasn’t the look of a stranger. He was reborn too. When I turned and walked away without a second glance, confusion flashed in his eyes. And shock. The whole village was buzzing about how I fumbled the bag. Lucien was the talk of the town. Everyone was waiting for him to ascend. They waited for me to regret it, to come crawling back. But I never looked at him again. Until one day, I was walking down a path, and a hand grabbed my wrist. I tried to yank it away, but he held tighter. He frowned at me, silent. His eyes were asking a question. Maybe even demanding an answer. Why don’t you love me this time? Did he really not know? I couldn’t pull free, so I pried his fingers off mine, one by one. Then I shook my aching wrist and walked off, cursing under my breath. Lucien stared at his hand, then at my retreating back. His eyes reddened. I guess when you’re used to being someone’s entire world, indifference feels like betrayal. In my past life, I carried him through storms. I thought we had a bond. Walking away hurt my heart, physically. But that night, thirsty for water, I passed by the guest room and heard whispering. “My Lord, if you feel regret toward the Second Miss… why not take her as a spirit pet?” I peered through the crack in the door. Lucien stood with his hands behind his back, looking like a statue carved from jade. “Since I have been granted a second chance, I must fix my regrets.” A shadowy figure knelt behind him. “But… your brother has already chosen the Eldest Miss.” “So what?” Lucien turned. His eyes, usually cold, burned with possessiveness. “I came to this life for her. Nothing will stop me from being with her. Not even my brother.” I rolled my eyes and turned to leave. But then the subordinate asked, “May I ask, My Lord… why are you so obsessed with a mortal woman?” Lucien’s voice went soft, dripping with nostalgia. “At Wyrmwood Creek, when I was near death, I will never forget how she lifted me with her own hands. She guarded me for forty-nine days. Without her, I would be nothing but snake bones.” Wyrmwood Creek?! I froze. That… that was where I saved a little white snake. I guarded him for forty-nine days. I never told anyone. So… the snake I saved there and the snake I brought home were the same snake? I clenched my fist and let out a silent, bitter laugh. Lucien, you absolute moron. I had no intention of claiming the credit. In this life, I had bigger plans than playing nursemaid to a reptile. 3 I stopped going to the mountains to pick herbs. I stayed in my room, studying. Until the annual Spring Gala. Bella dragged me out. “It’s the Gala, Raven! If you don’t go, the Flower Goddess won’t bless you!” Flower Goddess? Blessings? I glanced at the history book on my desk, thought for a second, and nodded. “I got you an outfit! Throw away those rags. You need to look pretty!” She handed me a bag. I opened it later that evening. It was a hideous red floral shirt with neon green pants. It looked like a clown threw up on a Christmas tree. But when I went to find my other clothes, they were gone. Hungry and out of options, I put on the clown suit and went out to find food. I ran straight into Bella and her posse. She was wearing sheer silk, looking ethereal. “Oh my god,” one girl gasped. “Does she think she looks good?” “Ugly people really try the hardest. Is she trying to steal Bella’s thunder by looking like a joke?” “Haha, well she succeeded. Bella’s dress is made of celestial silk gifted by Lord Lucien. Raven isn’t fit to wipe her shoes.” “Stop it, everyone!” Bella rushed over, looking horrified. “Raven, why are you wearing that? It’s my fault… I didn’t prepare well enough for you.” Her eyes welled up with tears. The crowd immediately started comforting her. “Bella, it’s not your fault she has no taste!” “Yeah, where would she find a sister as good as you? It’s her own choice to look like trash.” “Are you done acting?” I asked loudly. The crowd went silent. I stepped up to her minions. “You said you don’t believe this is my only outfit? Bella, do you dare tell everyone who took all my clothes?” Bella choked. In the past, I would have walked away. Not today. “That silk looks nice on you, Bella. Even if the snake gave it to you, you must have added your own touch. So why did someone with such ‘high taste’ pick this garbage for me?” Bella covered her mouth. “Raven… are you doubting me?” “Stop playing the victim!” I swatted her hand away. “If you’re so innocent, let’s go to your room right now and see if my clothes are stuffed in your closet!” Bella turned pale. I grabbed her arm to drag her back, but she pulled away, sobbing. “Raven! Even if I did… doing this is tearing our sisterhood apart!” “Let’s just look.” I reached for the door. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my wrist. Two puncture marks. A snake bite. Suddenly, my mouth moved on its own. “What’s wrong with red and green? I’m prettier than Bella anyway… I want everyone to know she’s an ugly hag! I bet everyone will still protect her even if I throw this trash in her face!” I clamped my hand over my mouth. The crowd’s gaze shifted from pity to disgust. “I knew it! She’s a jealous psycho!” One of Bella’s friends slapped me across the face. The mob swarmed, pulling my hair, tearing my ugly clothes. “You don’t deserve anything Bella gives you!” I stumbled back and ran. Before I turned the corner, I saw Lucien appear next to Bella, pulling her into his arms. His cold eyes bore into me. Bella was weeping into his chest, hiding her smirk. I rubbed my throbbing wrist where a white shadow had flashed moments before. I gritted my teeth. 4 While I recovered at home, Lucien actually came to my room. I swiped the medicine he brought off the table. It shattered. He looked at me with a complicated expression. He picked up a pill, grabbed my jaw, and forced it down my throat. “Spit it out and you die,” he threatened. I swallowed the antidote. My head cleared instantly. He waited a moment, ensuring the truth serum or whatever hex he used wore off. “Do you have nothing to say to me?” he asked at the door. He knew I was reborn. I hadn’t said a word to him since I woke up. I closed my eyes. “No.” He stared at me for a long time before closing the door. My reputation in the village was trash. I was the “Jealous Ugly Sister.” I disappeared for a while. Everyone said I ran away out of shame. But I came back. Bella, glowing with health thanks to Lucien’s care, patted my shoulder patronizingly. “Raven, I know you’re jealous. But you have to accept your lot in life. Accusing me in public was wrong. Don’t covet what isn’t yours. Lucien loves me. I can’t control that.” I shoved her aside. She shrieked and fell conveniently into Lucien’s arms as he walked in. “Raven, I was just trying to welcome you home…” she sobbed. Lucien frowned, shielding her. “Bella, apologize.” I laughed coldly. He looked dark. “Come at me if you have a problem. You can’t force love. I chose her. Stop hurting her behind my back while pretending you don’t care!” Just then, drums and gongs sounded outside. Officials in red robes marched in, beaming. “Congratulations to Miss Raven! First place in the Provincial Exam! Your policy essay was read by the Emperor himself! He summons you to the capital!” “The Exam?” Bella gasped. “Raven… a woman… you took the State Exam?” 5 I smirked. “The Emperor opened the exams to women this year. I guess you were too busy scheming to notice the news.” I walked past Lucien. “You’re wrong, Lucien. My goal was never you. Getting over you was easy. Compared to my career and the fate of the nation? You’re insignificant.” Lucien stopped breathing. He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. In his last life, I rejected every suitor for him. Now, I discarded him like a used tissue. He couldn’t process it. But I wasn’t here to manage his ego. I took the golden scroll. Bella tried to touch my sleeve, but I dodged. “Don’t cross the line, sister.” The official scowled at her. “Bold! This is the Emperor’s top scholar! Kneel!” Bella, red-faced and humiliated, was forced to her knees by imperial authority. The official handed me a heavy bag of gold. “Be at the capital by the 7th of next month! The court covers all expenses. With your talent, you’ll likely skip the preliminaries. Don’t forget us little people when you’re Prime Minister!” The villagers slapped their own faces in shock. “Is Second Girl gonna seek revenge on us?”

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I was the fake heiress, switched at birth. When my wealthy parents finally laid eyes on their biological son, they immediately wanted to bail. “Why is he a street thug? Abort mission! Let’s get out of here!” I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. I forced the “Real Young Master” into a strict rehabilitation program. I whipped him into shape—literally—until he became a National Champion. Later, when I tried to retire from my duties, the boy signed all the family assets over to me and cried like a baby: “You said you’d manage me for a lifetime! One year less, one month less, even one hour less doesn’t count as a lifetime!” 1 After discovering I was the accidental heiress switched at birth, my dad and mom took me to see their biological son. In a dark alley, the school’s notorious bad boy was fighting ten guys at once. He sent a group of dyed-hair delinquents howling in pain. The three of us crouched behind a dumpster, watching the fire from the other side of the river. My dad frowned, adjusting his bespoke suit. “Why is he a hoodlum?” My mom immediately started retreating. “I feel like one of his punches could kill three of me! Let’s go, let’s go!” I blocked their path. “But he’s your biological son!” My cold, CEO father looked at him with disdain. “So what if he’s biological? The Sterling family doesn’t raise idlers.” My socially anxious, avoidant mother looked terrified. “Forget it, forget it… I can’t accept a son this big popping up out of nowhere… let’s just figure out how to compensate him later…” The Sterling family had raised me as the heir since childhood—perfect grades, perfect manners. Meanwhile, the “Real Young Master” grew up with a chaotic single mom and became a problem child. And now, his biological parents were rejecting him. I imagined myself in his shoes. He was too pitiful. I had nightmares all night. In my dream, the bad boy was crying tears of blood: “Who stole my trust fund baby life?!” I woke my parents up at 3 AM for a family meeting: “Don’t get involved yet. I’m going to go meet him first.” 2 I transferred schools. From a prestigious private academy to a public high school. I became desk mates with the bad boy. His name was Hunter Thorne. He had sharp, intense features and a rebellious streak. He looked exactly like my CEO dad. So, upon our first meeting, I had a slip of the tongue. “Daddy…” Hunter looked at me coldly. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not into that kink.” Me: “…” Assessment complete. He’s a “Cinnamon Roll” disguised as a tough guy. During recess, I saw Hunter pull a bag of white powder out of his backpack. He tilted his head and dumped it straight into his mouth. It’s over. The kid is on drugs. Just as I was about to call 911, Hunter started beating his chest, gasping for water. Turns out, he was dry-scooping cheap protein powder. And accidentally cemented his throat shut. The poor kid had no money for meat, so he relied on off-brand powder for nutrition. From then on, I brought him bento boxes every day. Fresh, healthy, high-protein meals. Hunter actually ate them obediently. He asked me with a meaningful look, “You’re fattening me up. What’s the endgame?” I said sincerely, “You look too skinny. I just want you to eat better.” He suddenly lifted his T-shirt, revealing a rock-hard eight-pack. “I’m shredded, okay? I just look slim in clothes.” My eyes accidentally drifted downward. My tired eyes instantly widened into copper bells! Wow, so big… so white… Cough, I mean, his T-shirt. 3 The first quiz ended. I looked at his grades. I almost passed out. Luckily, he was a Tier 1 MMA athlete. Maybe he could get a sports scholarship. But Hunter said he didn’t care about college. “Better if I don’t get in. After high school, I’ll just work construction.” I said that wouldn’t do. “I’ll help you get into a top university, okay? I’ll pay tuition, plus give you a $2,000 monthly allowance.” His comprehension skills were truly unique. “You want to be my sugar mama?” I said earnestly, “I just want to help a classmate in need. You can pay me back when you’re successful.” The guy in the front row turned around. “Sarah… actually, I really need help too…” Hunter kicked the back of his chair. “Scram!” The entire row was too scared to look back again. He glanced at me sideways. “You sponsoring anyone else?” I shook my head. “Only you.” The corners of his mouth twitched up so hard he couldn’t suppress it. For the first time all semester, the slacker opened a textbook. “I just suddenly feel like studying. It’s definitely not for anyone in particular~” Me: “…” 4 To facilitate the plan, I bought the apartment across from Hunter’s. It was a rundown unit in the projects, not expensive. Just a few hundred grand. When I moved in alone, I made a lot of noise on purpose. Hunter’s door opened. A middle-aged woman in a cheap camisole opened the door. When she smiled, her teeth were yellowed from smoke. A cigarette dangled from her lips. “New neighbor?” A sharp pain hit my heart. This was my biological mother. All these years, Hunter had suffered in my place. I extended my hand. “Hi Auntie, my name is Sarah Sterling. I’m a junior at North High.” “Eh? My son is a junior too! What class are you in?” At that moment, Hunter’s tall frame squeezed out from behind his mom. He looked at me in shock, the tips of his ears turning red. “Look at you, why are you so desperate following me home~” Me: “…” 5 I was invited to dinner at Hunter’s. It was 100 degrees, but they wouldn’t turn on the AC until I arrived. Hunter opened the cupboard to get me snacks. Suddenly, he let out a shonen anime protagonist scream: “Damn rats! The cursed rats! They ate a hole in my Buldak noodles!!” What a sin. What kind of hard life was the Young Master living? I wiped a tear of sympathy. His mom was shocked. “The highest level of love is pity. You must really like our Hunter, huh?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no!” Hunter looked both moved and embarrassed. “Mom, don’t be so direct, she’s shy~~” I was anxious. “Really, I’m not!!” His mom issued a command. “You’re still students. Talk about liking each other after the SATs.” Hunter looked reluctant. “Oh.” I was relieved. Knowing Hunter loved MMA, I told him I’d support his dream. Find the best coaches. Fly him around the world for matches. I’d also help him with his academics. I said, “I hope Hunter can go to a good college, have a career he loves, and live a happy life.” I promised, “As long as I have the ability, I can be responsible for him… for life.” I looked up. Mother and son were crying like teakettles. Hunter looked at the ceiling, wiping tears. “To plan so far ahead for me… she really loves me to death!” Because he was so deep in his own delusions, my explanation felt incredibly pale: “Bro, I really don’t…” 6 My move caused too much commotion. Grandpa found out. I finally convinced him to come take a look. But as soon as the car stopped, we saw Hunter. He had stolen a neighbor’s new cockroach costume. He was currently crawling on the ground, chasing people. Singing: “For you~ I become a roach~” My grandpa immediately told the driver to turn around. His old face was full of disgust. “Granddaughter, come home! I’m afraid that idiot is contagious!!” Me: “…” No. I have to train this embarrassing guy properly!

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I was the most invisible little security guard in the company. So ordinary that no one even knew my name. But no one could have guessed, I took this job just to cover up my real identity— A modern-day “corpse walker.” By day, I help the living clean up their messes. By night, I help the dead continue their lineage. I originally planned to retire after saving up 100 million. But that night, I received a huge order worth 50 million. 1 Seeing that string of zeros, I bounced off the bed like a rocket, sleep instantly forgotten. Fifty million! After this job, I could retire on the spot and lie flat forever. Thinking of this, I happily prepared to accept the order. But the moment I was about to press confirm, reason reclaimed my brain. When things are too good to be true, there’s usually a catch. This price, unreasonably higher than the market rate by tenfold, definitely smelled fishy. With a cautious attitude, I asked a few detailed questions. The other side replied quickly. “The situation here is a bit special. The deceased’s family loves their daughter dearly and can’t bear to move the body.” “So, you need to leave an heir for the deceased at the scene of death first. Do the deed, then clean up.” I frowned and replied: “I don’t do risky jobs.” I’ve worked hard for years to save up tens of millions. I didn’t want to lose everything before I could even enjoy it. Seeing my reluctance, the other side got anxious. After hesitating for less than three minutes, they explained their true intent. 2 He told me the deceased was Stella He, the only daughter of the richest man in the capital circle. Stella committed suicide by slitting her wrists at home because of love troubles. The death scene was particularly gruesome. Mrs. He, who always doted on her daughter the most, fainted just by looking inside. Mr. He was worried that news would affect the company’s stock price. He was also worried that there would be no one to inherit the family business. So he thought of finding me to solve this trouble. “Of course, this money isn’t for nothing.” “Besides guaranteeing a 100% success rate, you also have to accept a body search and guarantee not to leak any information.” I thought quickly. In our line of work, reputation is paramount. Followed by confidentiality. Since I planned to retire right after this job anyway, The fewer people who knew about this, the better. Thinking of this, I agreed immediately. The He family truly lived up to their reputation as the richest. Less than half an hour after confirming the order, A helicopter to pick me up landed on the lawn downstairs. Arriving at the He residence, I was blinded by the magnificent villa. I couldn’t help calculating in my mind. With my security guard salary of 3,500 a month, I couldn’t afford such a luxurious house even if I didn’t eat or drink for several lifetimes. Just as I was thinking, Mrs. He’s crying interrupted my thoughts. Looking up. The Western-style living room was decorated with traditional Chinese wedding ornaments. A big red “Double Happiness” character was pasted on a pitch-black coffin. 3 In this silent late night, it appeared especially eerie and terrifying. Mr. He burst into tears as soon as he saw me. “Master, you must help. We worked hard for half our lives and only have this one daughter.” “Now the white-haired are sending off the black-haired. If there’s nothing left to hope for, her mother and I really don’t want to live anymore…” The old man in front of me had graying temples and a haggard face. He looked like a completely different person from the spirited President He on TV. I remembered reports about him. Lost his father young, started from scratch. Now losing his child in old age, with no successor. Truly tragic. Seeing the couple’s unbearable grief, I couldn’t help sighing in my heart. The rich also have troubles money can’t solve. Thinking this, my attitude softened a lot. “How about this? Add another five million, and I’ll do my best to get you fraternal twins.” Mr. He paused, then agreed joyfully. After receiving half the deposit, I asked for Stella’s birth date and time as per custom. Just as I was about to draw the talisman, I froze. This birth date… there’s a problem. 4 I looked at it again and again. I refused to accept the answer in my heart. I could only ask the He family to take me to Stella’s room first. Mrs. He fainted again crying as soon as she saw the dried bloodstains on the wall at the door. Mr. He barely maintained his composure. But tears still rolled down his cheeks uncontrollably. “Master, don’t be offended.” “Stella, she really… died too tragically…” I glanced into the room. Stella lay stiffly on the bed. The dim light obscured her face. But it illuminated the shocking bloodstains in the room. Arterial blood can spray more than two meters high. Those million-dollar vases and crystal chandeliers in the room were all splattered with blood. Looking up, it was a sea of crimson. Doing the deed in such an environment was truly creepy. No wonder the He family offered a high price of fifty million directly. I glanced around briefly and frowned. “How can I work with the room in this state? Have to add money.” “Tell you what, I won’t make it hard for you. Add another five million, making it sixty million total. A lucky number.” Mr. He looked at me with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Master is young but quite skilled.” “It’s just… a bit different from the corpse walkers in my impression.” Traditional corpse walkers transport bodies to let the souls rest in peace. But times have changed too fast, and transportation methods have become diverse.

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I’ve always rejected the idea of inner turmoil. When a college roommate accused me of theft, I called the police immediately and told them to search my side of the room. When a professor, threatened by my confidence, slut-shamed me in her office, I brought the entire class in and forced her to point out the specific man I was supposedly trying to ‘charm.’ My reputation quickly preceded me. No one dared to cross me—until that dinner party. I’d just returned from the restroom when I heard my boyfriend’s ‘girl friend’—a blonde named Vanessa Hill—delivering her assessment right outside the door. “Look at her. Total vanity project. I bet she says she’s naturally beautiful, but she’s clearly all filler and filters.” “Head-to-toe designer clothes, driving a G-Wagon… what kind of job pays that well for a girl her age?” “Rhys, darling, you need to be careful. She’s definitely trying to climb the ladder from gold-digger to wife!” I pushed the door open, my voice cutting through the noise. “Your mouth smells like a sewage backup, Vanessa. Did you eat trash today?” 1 Silence instantly swallowed the private dining room. Every glance, whether direct or peripheral, was sizing me up. My boyfriend, Rhys Caldwell, said nothing. His gaze, however, was dark and unreadable. Vanessa’s smirk froze for a beat before she covered her mouth with a delicate, practiced laugh. “I was only kidding, Skylar! Why are you so defensive, darling?” “Did I strike a nerve? Are you worried Rhys will dump you and your whole little operation will collapse?” I immediately pulled out my phone, started playing the recording of her words on a loop, and, right in front of her, contacted my lawyer. I watched Vanessa’s pale, shifting expression, and let out a cold laugh. “You’re an adult, Vanessa. You need to pay for your words.” “If you can’t provide immediate evidence to support your claim that I’m a gold digger, expect a defamation lawsuit. I will sue you for slander.” The rest of the friends at the table looked stunned, clearly not expecting me to go for the jugular so fast. Vanessa chewed on her lip, her face white. Rhys’s brow furrowed. He was clearly displeased. “Skylar, this is too much! It was just a little drama, why are you making a scene?” A little drama? Being publicly slandered as a prostitute is “a little drama”? He didn’t react when I was being insulted, but the moment I defend my own name, he tells me to let it go. Did he think I was some kind of pushover? I opened the dialing app and hovered my finger over the 911 button. “Apologize to me in the next three seconds, Vanessa, or I’m calling the police right now.” Since I was meeting all of them for the first time, it was clear the others were closer to Vanessa. One of the men scoffed. “Whoa, what a temper. Maybe she’s really just acting tough because she knows Vanessa is right?” Rhys’s face hardened. He grabbed my wrist, his voice turning cold. “If you’re not what she says, then prove it to me.” My breath hitched. I couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. “What are you talking about?” No wonder he had stayed silent earlier. He was actually listening to her poisonous gossip. Seeing the frost in my expression, Rhys doubled down. “Just show me all the chat logs on your phone. If I see nothing suspicious, I’ll believe you.” I nearly laughed out loud. Why should I have to prove my innocence against a baseless rumor? I yanked my arm free, crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned back in my chair, fixing my gaze on Vanessa. “I see that’s the new LV bag. The cheapest version is easily ten grand. So, did you earn that, or did you scam it? Got a receipt, Vanessa?” The others looked closer, realizing I was right, and their inquisitive stares turned to Vanessa. She faltered, hesitating for a moment before pursing her lips. “Rhys bought it for me.” A slow, deliberate smile stretched across my face. “My boyfriend bought you something that expensive? I have every reason to suspect you two are hooking up.” Slam! Rhys slapped his chopsticks down. He glared at me. “Skylar Reed, you are completely irrational!” “Vanessa and I are clean! It was just a friendly gift. Are you seriously this jealous?” I grabbed my phone, opened my photos, and pulled up a screenshot I’d taken earlier. The picture showed Vanessa in a black lace negligee, her cleavage prominent. It was a photo she’d sent to Rhys with the question: Do you like this dress? I stood up and walked directly over to the guy who had defended Vanessa, shoving the phone right in his face. “Tell me, buddy. What kind of intentions does a person have when they send this kind of photo to someone else’s boyfriend late at night?” He shrunk back, refusing to meet my eyes. The others suddenly became fascinated by their own plates, desperate not to get involved. I turned back to Rhys, a terrifying grin on my face. “Tell me, what do you think?” Rhys’s face immediately darkened. He shot Vanessa a look of cold fury. Sensing the tide turning, Vanessa scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry, Skylar, I shouldn’t have said those things.” “And I didn’t mean to send that photo to Rhys! I meant to send it to my friend, but I accidentally sent it to him. I can’t believe you went through Rhys’s chats and screen-grabbed it!” No, I just happened to see it pop up and took a screenshot for proof. But Rhys only heard the second half. He turned his accusatory gaze on me. “You checked up on me?” Tears welled in Vanessa’s eyes. “Rhys, Skylar, please don’t fight because of me. I apologize to Skylar. I promise I’ll stay far away from you from now on, Rhys.” Rhys pulled her close, his voice chillingly cold. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing. Turns out Vanessa was right, Skylar. You’re nothing but a conniving, gold-digging sociopath.” “You hooked enough money off other old men and thought you’d try to anchor yourself to a real trust-fund baby, didn’t you? Stop hiding your tacky ambition.” “We’re done. And trust me, you cross me, you won’t get away with it. I’ll be waiting for the day you come crawling back.” He pocketed his phone and stormed out. Vanessa turned to me, a smug, triumphant smile on her face. The others looked on with a mixture of amusement and contempt, filing out one after another. I looked at the empty room and laughed. Rhys was right. The only difference was that he was the one who wouldn’t be getting away with anything. 2 Rhys and his entourage kicked me out of their group chat. But they didn’t block me. Instead, they constantly updated their social media feeds: snowboarding trips, golf tournaments, fast cars, yacht parties, all flaunting mansions and luxury cars. It was a pathetic show meant entirely for my benefit. What they didn’t realize was that in an effort to show off, they’d rented a massive estate to host an auction house party where the ‘goods’ being auctioned were female influencers. I clapped my hands softly. How incredibly interesting. An open invitation for disaster—it would be a crime not to take advantage of it. I paid a substantial amount to bribe one of the estate’s catering staff, instructing him to install pinhole cameras in every corner to ensure a 360-degree surveillance setup. He looked terrified when he heard the request. “Ms. Reed, this is highly illegal, isn’t it? If they find it, I could go to jail.” I smiled. “What they’re planning to do is far worse. No one will be concerned with a few cameras when the dust settles. Don’t worry.” I pulled out a bank card and handed it to him. “This is your fee. I assure you, you will be very satisfied.” That night, he messaged me confirming everything was set up. Perhaps as a final attempt to make me regret leaving, Rhys even sent me an invite. Why not accept? I certainly wasn’t going to miss the show. The night of the party, Vanessa approached me, acting the part of the hostess, her expression haughty. “You’ll probably never earn enough money in your life to afford the down payment on a place like this, you know.” “Don’t think just because you have a pretty face, some trust-fund idiot will stick around. Plastic surgeons are a dime a dozen now. If you want to latch onto someone, you’ll have to beg Rhys first.” I watched her swagger away and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Rhys then walked up, looking down at me. “I thought you wouldn’t show. Vanessa was right, wasn’t she? You’re a gold digger who can’t stay away from the money.” His entire crew gathered around, throwing out their usual cheap insults. “Well, look who it is! If it isn’t Skylar Reed. What’s up, ditching the high-and-mighty act and crawling back so fast?” “She looks high-class, but I bet she’s filthy underneath. Rhys, when you’re done, pass her around to the rest of the guys!” The group roared with vulgar laughter, their eyes predatory. I tilted my head, forcing a saccharine-sweet smile. “Wow, your imaginations are so vivid. Don’t worry. I’m just here for the show.” “Just wait. You’ll be crying later, I promise.” Vanessa spat the words, turning to leave with the men. I found a quiet corner and opened my phone. The livestream was running. Vanessa’s face, beaming with excitement, was front and center. She held a microphone and addressed the room. “Welcome, gentlemen, to tonight’s Auction House Party! And now, please welcome our first item up for bid!” A line of scantily clad female influencers—sweet-faced, curvy, soft-spoken—paraded onto the stage. As soon as the influencers appeared, the stream started gaining viewers. “No way? Is this what I think it is? Can they even broadcast this?” “Dude, don’t doubt it. I recognize one of them. That’s Rhys Caldwell from the city’s A-list circles. Total trust-fund brat.” “I follow a few of those girls! They’re being treated like this by a bunch of rich jerks? Unbelievable.” Due to the audacious content and rapid sharing among viewers, the livestream quickly went viral, hitting over fifty thousand concurrent viewers. Rhys and his friends had no idea. 3 “Lot number one, starting bid one hundred thousand, with minimum raises of ten thousand.” Vanessa stood in the auctioneer’s spot, basking in her temporary authority, her eyes full of contempt for the women on stage. Her expression stiffened for a moment, however, when Rhys placed the first successful bid. The acquisition of Lot 1 immediately injected a hint of jealousy into Vanessa’s gaze. As I watched the stream comments fly by, my phone buzzed with a text from Rhys. Could you make this much money sleeping with other men? Probably take you ten or more times. If you come over now and get on your knees, crawl to me, and beg for forgiveness, I might consider giving you one more chance. I let out a harsh laugh. Rhys must have a few screws loose. Did he really think I needed him? What, did he think wealthy families don’t have daughters? For the record, my family’s actual net worth would make his father’s fortune look like pocket change. The next second, the livestream was suddenly shut down. Across town, Victor Caldwell, Rhys’s father, received a frantic call. His face went white. He immediately called Rhys, but between the loud music and the fact that Rhys was currently making out with his new Lot 1, he didn’t hear his phone. Moments later, Victor and a swarm of bodyguards kicked in the villa’s front door, storming in with absolute fury. Victor hauled Rhys off the sofa and, without a word, delivered a massive, ringing slap across his face. Everyone froze, stunned. Vanessa, seeing her man assaulted, shrieked and ran over. “You old man, who the hell do you think you are? You lay a hand on Rhys again, you’re dead!” She didn’t notice the complicated, almost pitying glances the other young men were shooting her. SMACK! Rhys slapped her back, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s my father, you idiot!” At that, Vanessa’s legs gave way. She almost collapsed, stumbling to offer a terrified apology. “Mr. Caldwell, I’m so sorry! I was just worried about Rhys! I spoke out of turn! Please don’t be angry!” Victor Caldwell shot Vanessa a look of deep distaste. “This is who you keep around?” Seeing Rhys about to get dragged further, Vanessa played her final card: she violently slapped herself multiple times, tears streaming down her face. “Uncle! I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault! Please don’t punish Rhys! I promise I’ll never speak out of turn again!” Victor’s face softened slightly. He looked around the chaotic room and demanded of his son, “What in God’s name are you doing?” Having been slapped in public, Rhys was embarrassed and pissed. “Just having a little fun, Dad.” Hearing the casual arrogance, Victor’s hand shot up again. He held back, his face a mask of disappointment. “Look at what you’ve done!” He shoved his phone, playing the recorded livestream, in front of Rhys. Rhys’s expression changed instantly. “Where did this come from?” Seeing his genuinely confused reaction, Victor guessed someone had set him up. “Think, Rhys. Who have you crossed lately? Whoever did this is not an amateur.” He thought and thought. The most impossible answer was often the correct one. Rhys’s eyes snapped up, landing on me. However, I had quietly slipped out of the villa moments before Victor’s dramatic entrance. I was now in my car, watching Rhys’s panic unfold through the cameras. I always live by one rule: anyone who messes with me gets repaid a hundredfold. 4 Rhys texted me a slew of desperate messages. Was it your sugar daddy who did that for you? I can’t believe you found a new man so fast. With that kind of pull, he must be a sixty-year-old leech! Letting some old man worm all over you… you’ll do anything for money. That’s truly disgusting! I ignored the insults and blocked him completely. I knew that given Rhys’s standing in the Caldwell family, a little video scandal wasn’t enough to truly shake him. Sure enough, the next day, the entire fiasco was swept under the rug and explained away as a “behind-the-scenes gag for a short film.” I made my next move. I contacted Victor Caldwell’s illegitimate son, Rhys’s younger, half-brother: Ezra Caldwell. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. More importantly, if Rhys was taken down, Ezra would be next in line. Ezra didn’t hesitate; he agreed to my invitation instantly. The next day, a major charity gala was held at the Grand Unity Hotel. Virtually every elite family in the city was present. Vanessa and Rhys were walking through the doors just as I stepped out of Ezra Caldwell’s car. They froze. “Skylar Reed. I wondered who you were latching onto next. Turns out it’s my worthless little brother.” “Tsk tsk. I hope you know he’s a bastard child. Everything he has is just the crumbs that fall from my table. Pitiful.” Vanessa clung to Rhys’s arm, her voice dripping with venom. “A gold digger and an illegitimate son. What a perfect match!” They turned and walked away. Ezra quietly comforted me. “Don’t let them get to you.” I smiled. I didn’t care. They were just two clowns. I took Ezra’s arm, and we walked into the ballroom. A little while later, Rhys and his friends cornered Ezra and me in a remote part of the venue. Rhys had a wicked, satisfied grin. “Tell me, guys. How viral would it go if my little brother and a trashy gold digger got frisky right here on the ballroom floor? That would be explosive, wouldn’t it? Haha!” The crew laughed, their expressions lecherous. Rhys waved his hand. His men immediately moved in and pinned Ezra and me. Vanessa grabbed my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and poured a glass of drugged wine down my throat. Ezra received the same treatment. As soon as we’d swallowed, Rhys and Vanessa clinked glasses and drank theirs, triumphantly. On Rhys’s signal, a powerful spotlight suddenly illuminated our corner of the room. In the dim banquet hall, a man and a woman were now locked together, writhing and tearing at each other’s clothes under the intense light.

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Chapter 1: The Detective in the Dark My best friend, Sarah, always told me: “Layla, never let a man know you have money on the first date. It attracts the sharks.” I was good at following that rule. I drove a beat-up Honda to first dates instead of my G-Wagon. I wore Zara instead of Chanel. I played the part of the struggling graphic designer, hiding the fact that I was the sole heiress to the Vance Media empire. But logic left the building the night I met Damien. It happened at an immersive “Murder Mystery” dinner party in a converted warehouse in Downtown Los Angeles. The theme was 1920s Noir. I drew the card for “The Black Widow,” a femme fatale suspect. I was terrible at it. “You’re shaking,” a voice whispered in the dark. I was currently locked in the “interrogation room”—a closet-sized space with flickering bulbs—waiting for my turn. The man standing next to me was playing the Detective. I looked up, and my breath hitched. Even in the dim light, he was devastating. Sharp jawline, messy dark hair that fell over his eyes, and a scent that was a mix of rain and expensive sandalwood. He leaned in close, invading my personal space in a way that should have been creepy but felt electric. “I’m not the killer,” I stammered, forgetting my lines. “I know,” he said, his voice low and gritty. He stepped closer. I could hear the rustle of his dress shirt. “But the script says I have to interrogate you. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” I’ll protect you. It was a cheesy line from a roleplay game, but the way he said it—with such quiet intensity—made my heart hammer against my ribs. When the lights came up for the final reveal, I got a better look at him. He was tall, leaning against the wall with the grace of a panther. But then, the illusion cracked. I looked at his shoes. They were cheap, scuffed faux-leather loafers. His dress shirt was frayed at the cuffs. He didn’t have a watch. He’s broke, I thought, a strange pang of sympathy mixing with my attraction. He’s beautiful, talented, and struggling. During the voting round, I accidentally incriminated myself because I was too busy staring at his hands. The other players laughed. “The Widow is cracking!” Damien stepped in. “Wait,” he commanded the room. “The evidence points elsewhere.” He systematically dismantled the arguments against me, spinning a wild theory that shifted the blame to the Butler. He saved me. After the game, I found him outside the warehouse. It was pouring rain—a rare, torrential L.A. downpour. He was standing by the bus stop, no umbrella, soaking wet. My “don’t show money” rule evaporated. “Hey,” I pulled my car up to the curb. “You’re going to drown out here. Need a lift?” He hesitated, looking at my car, then at his wet clothes. “I’ll ruin your upholstery.” “It’s just a car. Get in.” He hopped in. “I’m Damien.” “Layla.” “Thanks, Layla. You saved me. I don’t usually do these things, but… well, a gig is a gig.” “You were working?” I asked. “Yeah. I’m an actor. Or a musician. Or a waiter. Depends on the day of the week,” he gave a self-deprecating smile that made my knees weak. “Tonight, I was a detective.” I drove him to his apartment in North Hollywood. It was a dingy complex with peeling paint. Before he got out, he turned to me. “You know,” he said softly. “You were the worst murderer I’ve ever seen.” “Thanks,” I laughed. “But you were the best part of my night.” He didn’t ask for my number. He just smiled, a sad, longing smile, and ran through the rain to his door. I sat in my car for ten minutes, wondering why I felt like I had just lost something important. Chapter 2: The Wedding and the Promise I didn’t see him for a week. I tried to focus on work, on my portfolio, on anything other than the memory of his sandalwood scent. Then, my phone buzzed. It was the organizer of the Murder Mystery events. “Hey Layla! We’re running a new script this Saturday. ‘The Royal Wedding Gone Wrong’. We’re short one female player. Interested?” I typed back: “Is the Detective guy going to be there?” “Damien? Yeah, he’s playing the Groom.” I was there. I spent three hours getting ready. I told myself it wasn’t for him. I told myself I just liked the game. But when I walked into the venue, wearing a vintage lace dress, my heart was racing. The setting was a mock cathedral. I was assigned the role of the Bride. And Damien… Damien was the Groom. When he saw me, his eyes widened. He broke character for a split second, a genuine smile flashing across his face. “Hi,” he mouthed. We sat across from each other. He poured me water, fixed my napkin, treated me with a tenderness that felt dangerously real. The plot was chaotic. There was a poisoned chalice, a secret lover, and a murder. Halfway through the game, the script called for a dramatic confrontation. The “Secret Lover” character (played by a guy named Mike) stood up and shouted, “She doesn’t love you! She loves me! Run away with me, Layla!” Damien stood up. He looked at Mike, then turned to me. He took my hands. “This man claims to know your heart,” Damien said, improvising his lines. “But from the moment you walked in—late, flustered, apologizing with those dimples—I knew you were the only one for me.” The room went quiet. This wasn’t in the script booklets. “I promised to protect you last time,” Damien continued, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “And I meant it. I don’t care about the script. I choose you.” The other players “ooh-ed” and “ahh-ed.” My face burned. He lifted my veil and looked at me with such raw vulnerability that I forgot we were playing a game. After the session, it was raining again. “I’ll drive you,” I said immediately. “I can’t let you keep saving me,” he murmured, but he followed me to the car. This time, I took him to my place. My real place. A sprawling condo in the Hills. He looked around, wide-eyed. “You live here alone?” he asked. “Yeah.” “It’s… big. And cold.” “I’ll turn up the heat.” He was soaked again. I gave him a towel. He dried his hair, his shirt clinging to his chest. “Layla,” he said, standing in my living room. “Why are you terrified of me?” “I’m not.” “You are. Every time I get close, you flinch. Like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.” “I’m just… not used to this,” I admitted. “To whatever this is.” “I like you,” he said. “For real. Not the game.” “You don’t even know me.” “I want to.” He stayed that night. We didn’t sleep together. He slept in the guest room. But before he left the next morning, he kissed my forehead. And then, he ghosted me.

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The day before our engagement, my boyfriend suddenly regained his memories. I found out he was an undercover cop before his amnesia. And he had a childhood sweetheart fiancée. She found me, crying her eyes out: “If he had returned safely from that mission, we would have been married.” “Please, give him back to me…” I was silent for a long time, then whispered: “Okay.” I accepted a company transfer and moved to another city. Three years later, I was held hostage at knifepoint on the street. He saved me. As I tried to sneak away, he handcuffed my wrist. His voice was stern: “Planning to leave without saying goodbye again?” 1 Evening. Torrential rain. A sharp dagger pressed against my neck, bringing a damp, sticky pain. Behind me, the vicious criminal shouted: “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!” That’s how I met Julian again. He was wearing a crisp uniform, side-facing me, talking to his colleagues. Rainwater streamed down his jawline, making his expression even more solemn. A moment later, he started negotiating with the criminal holding me hostage: “What are your demands? Name them.” The criminal’s face was twisted, voice distorted: “I want a wife! You guys give me a wife to bear me a son!” Obviously impossible. The rain poured harder. Negotiators switched rounds. Someone must have said something wrong. The criminal suddenly snapped. He gripped the knife handle tight, screaming: “Since I can’t have a wife, taking a pretty woman to die with me isn’t a loss!” The sharp blade cut into my skin. Severe pain mixed with the fear of death instantly filled my heart. The next second, bang. A bullet tore through the dense rain, hitting the criminal’s forehead. When Julian lowered his gun and strode over to me. I was already clutching my neck wound, swaying as I stood up from the ground. Due to blood loss, my vision went black in waves. I stumbled forward two steps. And fainted into Julian’s arms. I woke up in the hospital. My neck wound was bandaged, the pain still sharp. Julian stood by the bed, his hair soaked from the rain, still dripping water. I rasped: “The little girl I swapped with…” “She’s fine. Her mother protected her well.” Julian stared at me deeply. “The man had a knife. Even if you wanted to save someone, you shouldn’t have risked yourself.” I curled my lips, but the smile vanished quickly as it pulled at the wound. “Sorry. But protecting the weak is human nature. You taught me that, Officer Zhou.” 2 This hostage situation had nothing to do with me. I was just walking home from work and saw the little girl with a knife at her throat, the criminal kissing her hair and shoulders randomly. She was crying in terror. I suddenly remembered Julian. Three years ago, before we broke up. He saved a little boy and got his back smashed by a falling billboard, needing six stitches. In the hospital, I was anxious to the point of tears, poking his forehead and scolding him: “Next time you save someone, can you ensure your own safety first?!” He sat under the light, looking up at me. Lips pale from blood loss. But when he smiled, there was light in his eyes: “Protecting the weak is human nature.” Selfish me was suddenly choked up. Couldn’t say a word. He held my hand, looking into my eyes seriously: “But hurting myself and making you worry is my fault.” “I’m sorry, Sarah.” How much we loved each other then. How messy the breakup was later. Because a few months later, his childhood sweetheart, Chloe, suddenly showed up. I learned Julian was an undercover cop. Exposed during a mission, tortured nearly to death, he managed to escape. But severe injuries caused amnesia. “While he was with you for two years, I was looking for him.” Chloe wept before me, “Please, give him back to me…” She showed me many things. Photos, gifts, rings. Her past with Julian, twenty years of intimacy. So, I ran away. 3 On the day of discharge, Julian and a young cop picked me up. He sat in the back with me, expression solemn. I covered the gauze on my neck, trying to lighten the mood: “People might think I committed a crime, leaving the hospital in a police car.” Julian kept a straight face, tone flat: “No, just going to give a statement.” The young cop took my joke seriously and quickly comforted me: “How could that be, Miss Shen? You risked your life to save someone; the bureau is discussing giving you a bravery award!” “Just an award, no reward?” I smirked. “Like rewarding me with a young, handsome cop as a boyfriend?” In the rearview mirror, the young cop’s ears turned red. He stammered: “Well, we…” Before he could finish, Julian interrupted. He said coldly: “Focus on driving, don’t get distracted.” “Yes, Captain Zhou.” I lowered my eyes and stopped talking. It was noon when the statement was done. Julian went out to handle a sudden case. I was enthusiastically escorted to the door by others, about to leave. Ran straight into a very familiar face. Chloe. She wore a white cheongsam, dressed gently, holding a lunch box. Her quiet smile vanished the moment she saw me. Others greeted her: “Miss Ning, here to bring lunch to Captain Zhou again?” “Captain Zhou is so lucky. Unlike us, coming back late from missions to cold food.” “Is the wedding coming soon?” She lowered her head, seemingly shy: “Getting married soon. We’ll send invitations then.” A fog of emotion rose in my heart. I pursed my lips and walked out quickly. Chloe chased after me. “Sarah Shen.” She blocked my way, looking unhappy: “You promised to return Julian to me.” “Going back on your word now because he became the captain?” “Didn’t go back on it.” I said indifferently, “Wishing you and Julian a happy marriage.” She smiled with satisfaction: “Thanks.” 4 On the way back, the taxi stopped at a red light. I looked out the window. A girl fell, and her boyfriend picked her up, hugging her tightly. Tears fell without warning. Just one drop, and I wiped it away. I suddenly thought of when I knew Julian for seven months. He rejected my confession for the third time, saying he lost his memory, identity unknown, couldn’t give me happiness. But he still accompanied me home to pack. Halfway through, my stepfather came back. Drunk, pouncing on me cursing like many times before. I tried to kick him away but was choked and slapped. Julian, fixing the wardrobe in the inner room, heard the noise and strode out. Grabbed my stepfather’s collar, dragged him off me, and punched him hard. I lay on my back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Vision blurred, couldn’t even see Julian’s face clearly. “Sarah.” He called me, “Sarah Shen!” I curled my lips: “Ten years, first time someone saved me, Julian.” His expression was indescribably sad as he picked me up from the floor and walked out. “Don’t look back, don’t look.” He covered my eyes. “No need to come back to dangerous places. I’ll handle it for you.” “Sarah Shen, I accept your confession.”

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The night before my SATs. Mom was in the kitchen, cooking my favorite dinner. My sister, six months pregnant, sat on the couch helping me pack, nagging me for the hundredth time not to forget my admission ticket. I smiled, about to say “okay.” Suddenly, a line of bullet comments (danmu) floated across my vision. The text read: [Is this the family that gets brutally murdered right before the SATs?] [Such a pity. If this girl didn’t die, she had a shot at Harvard.] [The sister is the most tragic. Not only dismembered, but the baby was cut out of her belly and thrown into the sewer.] A chill ran down my spine. They said… my whole family dies tonight? 1 Knock knock knock. Before I could process the meaning of the floating text, someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?” my sister asked casually. “Delivery.” “We didn’t order any takeout,” my sister said, puzzled. “Wrong address?” “No, Unit 401, for Ms. Rosie.” Rosie. That’s me. My sister gave me a playful glare. “Ordering takeout right before dinner? You little glutton.” “But since your big exam is tomorrow, I’ll let it slide.” She stood up to open the door. As she moved, the text in front of me scrolled frantically. [Don’t open it! That’s not a delivery guy, it’s a psycho killer!] [Seriously, don’t you know if you ordered food? Why just open the door for anyone?] [This is why characters in horror novels die. zero survival instincts.] Cold sweat drenched my back. I grabbed my sister’s arm. “Wait! Don’t open it!” She looked back, confused. “What’s wrong?” I pointed at the door, whispering, “Sis, something’s wrong. I never ordered anything.” My sister looked through the peephole, then recoiled. “He’s not wearing a uniform. He really looks suspicious.” My sweat poured. The comments were real. There was a murderer outside. As if sensing our hesitation, the person outside pulled a wet, dirty uniform from his bag. “Please open up, I have another order to deliver. I really am a delivery driver. I fell into a puddle and got my uniform dirty, so I took it off.” “But we didn’t order anything,” my sister said through the door. “It was ordered for you. The note says: ‘Good luck on the SATs, Princess Rosie.’” My sister relaxed instantly. She smiled at me. “Mystery solved. Your brother-in-law ordered it. Princess Rosie, do your best tomorrow.” She reached for the lock again. “Princess Rosie.” Only my brother-in-law called me that. But the comments made me hesitate. I stopped her again. “Leave it at the door. We’ll get it later.” The person outside didn’t move. “It’s marked as a valuable item. Must be signed for in person. Please hurry, I’m late for my next delivery.” My sister laughed. “Valuable? Definitely from your brother-in-law. He said he’d get you something good after the exam. You little worrywart, open the door.” She reached for the lock. The comments screamed at us to run. The “delivery guy” kept urging us. My mind was a mess. Maybe he’s legit. But what if? Looking at my pregnant sister and my mom in the kitchen, I couldn’t risk it. I stopped her again. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a cleaver. Ignoring their confused looks, I stood by the door and opened it. I later learned this decision was the start of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. 2 The moment the door opened, he kicked the knife out of my hand. Before I could react, another man hiding behind him swung an axe into my head. To make sure I didn’t run, he smashed my lower back with a hammer. My sister screamed and tried to save me, but he grabbed her hair and dragged her inside. Mom rushed out with a knife but was stabbed through the heart with a machete. Pain and blood consumed me. In my last moments, I saw the comments again. [Poor girl tried so hard, but still died.] [Yeah, and because she stalled, the killer tortured her sister even worse. The baby was ground into meat paste.] [Sigh. This family is cursed.] 3 I opened my eyes. The pain and smell of blood were gone. I was standing in the living room, safe and sound. The smell of fried pork filled the air. My sister was on the couch, nagging me about my admission ticket. The text floated before me again. [Is this the family that gets dismembered before the SATs?] [If not for those killers, this girl could have gone to Harvard.] [The sister had it worst. Baby cut out and destroyed.] Tears filled my eyes. I hugged my sister tight. “Why are you so clingy all of a sudden? Nervous about tomorrow?” “Don’t worry. I took time off work to be with you.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. My sister is the best. Since Dad died, it’s just been the three of us. Life was hard, but we had each other. But such good people were brutally murdered. Knock knock knock. “Who is it?” I stopped her. “Shh. My classmate’s dad is the police chief. He said two killers are posing as delivery drivers in our neighborhood. Don’t open the door for strangers.” My sister looked surprised but stayed silent. She picked up a baseball bat. “Don’t be scared, Rosie. I’ll protect you.” Mom came out with a knife. “Mom will protect you too. No one hurts my girls.” Their trust moved me to tears, but I had no time to cry. I locked the door and called 911. “There are killers outside our door.” The police said they’d be there in 10 minutes. I relaxed slightly. We just need to hold the door. But the comments scrolled faster. [Smart girl, keeping the door locked.] [But she doesn’t know there’s already an accomplice hiding inside the house.] [No matter what she does, the ending is the same.] Cold sweat returned. An accomplice inside? Where? Squeak. A faint sound from the corner. A man stepped out of the large wardrobe. He smiled psychotically. “Smart. Knowing not to open the door.” “But useless.” He swung a machete at Mom. Blood filled my vision. I grabbed Mom’s dropped knife and charged him. But before I reached him, a gunshot rang out. He had a gun. I fell, dead. My sister screamed, raising the bat, but the door was axed open. The intruder struck her back, then her belly. The baby, the intestines… dragged out. We died again. Brutally. 4 Dad died when I was in elementary school. Mom raised us selling fruit. She refused to remarry, fearing a stepfather wouldn’t treat us well. Rain or shine, she worked her stall. She put my sister through college. Now it was my turn. I was top of my class. Teachers said I was Ivy League material. Mom said once I got into college, she could finally rest. We planned a trip to Yunnan after my sister gave birth. Mom had never left the city. We were finally growing up. We could finally take care of her. But why? Even reborn, I couldn’t save them. I closed my eyes in despair. Opened them again. Back in the living room. 5 Fried pork smell. Sister nagging. I stared at the door, desperate. Two killers outside. One with a gun inside. We three women couldn’t win. My sister noticed my silence. “Rosie, nervous? Don’t worry. I’m with you.” Comments: [Here we go again. The massacred family.] [Poor girl.] I clenched my fists, brain racing. We can’t fight them. I looked at the balcony. Our balcony was connected to the neighbor’s by a narrow gap. Only a small person could fit. I was skinny enough. The neighbor’s sons were a gym coach and a PE teacher. If I could get their help… I texted the police. Then I typed a note on my phone and showed my sister. [Don’t speak. There’s a killer hiding in the house. Two more are coming to the door.] [Stall the people at the door. Do not open it.] [I’m going next door for help.] We didn’t alert Mom to avoid startling the gunman in the wardrobe. When the knocking started, I was on the balcony. I looked at my sister one last time and squeezed through the gap. Comments: [Smart girl. Going for help.] [But useless. Horror novels always have casualties.] [They can’t escape.] I ignored them. I will change fate. But the neighbor’s balcony door was locked. No one was home. I had to find help. I looked down. Fourth floor. I gritted my teeth and jumped onto the AC unit below. Layer by layer, I climbed down. I ran toward the complex exit, screaming for help. A van sped toward me. Bang. I lay on the ground, bleeding out. A short, fat man got out of the van, yelling into his phone. “How are you guys working? Someone jumped from the balcony! Idiots, finish the job!” Upstairs, my sister screamed. I closed my eyes. Four killers. The comments were right. We can’t escape.

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I was scrolling through a gossip thread after work when I saw it: [Do Childhood Sweethearts Really Stand a Chance Against a Sudden, Dazzling Arrival?] One highly-rated comment stood out: [Of course not. I stole my husband right out from under his so-called ‘childhood sweetheart.’] [Five years ago, my husband was a charming, polite college student, and his girlfriend was totally unsuited for him.] [So I played the cool girl. I worked my way into his life as his ‘guy friend,’ and then, under the guise of being his best buddy, I started chipping away at their relationship.] [It didn’t take long for them to start fighting. He invited me out for a drink to vent, and I showed up in a killer little black dress and the highest heels I owned. His eyes were glued to me.] [The night we got together, his little girlfriend was probably waiting for him to come home to take her to her prenatal appointment.] The accompanying picture showed a father holding an infant, meticulously giving a bottle. Though his face was obscured, I recognized the man immediately. The jagged, distinct scar tracing his forearm gave him away. It was Dean, my childhood sweetheart, Xu Xiangyi. I was stunned to see a post about him, completely unmoored in time and context, after so many years. I skimmed the comments—a nasty mix of praise and condemnation—then quit the thread and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. I started the car, but before I could pull away, Harper leaned over from the passenger side. “Sierra, babe, someone named Dean called you.” “I answered it for you.” 1 “Wait—” Just as I grabbed the phone back, a familiar voice drifted from the speaker. “Happy Anniversary, honey.” My first instinct was to slam the End Call button, but Harper snatched the phone away again. She wore a “spill the tea, you dog” expression, mouthing silently: “Fess up. Since when?” I pressed the brake, pulling over. I was about to explain that the man on the other end already had a wife when a different, female voice cut in. “Oh my God, it’s the necklace I’ve been wanting! Thank you, honey!” “Also, babe, the results from the check-up came back today. The doctor says the baby is perfectly healthy.” Dean murmured, “That’s great. And the toddler? What’s my big boy doing? Why are you playing with Daddy’s phone—” The closeness of his voice stopped dead. For a moment, the only sound on either side of the line was the faint static of the connection. Finally, a faint whisper emerged. “Sierra?” That one word was a cold shock. I snatched the phone back, didn’t give him a chance to speak again, and instantly hit Hang Up. After all, I had once told him I’d rather die than ever speak to him again. The car eased back into traffic, but the atmosphere inside remained thick with unspoken tension. Harper broke the silence first, clearing her throat with a forced laugh. “Oops, must have been a pocket dial.” Then, attempting to lighten the mood, she rambled, “Speaking of, I saw some trashy viral post today. This woman was saying she stole her husband from his little childhood sweetheart.” “People will post any absurd, dramatic fantasy for clicks these days…” “That post wasn’t fiction. That was life.” I gripped the steering wheel, managing a calm, chilling smile as I glanced at Harper’s astonished face. “Because I was the stupid little childhood sweetheart whose boyfriend was stolen.” 2 Dean’s parents and mine were inseparable, practically family. Dean and I, we’d shared a crib. We were the literal definition of childhood sweethearts. Growing up, Dean was quiet, reserved, and almost painfully awkward. Mr. and Mrs. Reed often sighed, calling him their little ‘stone statue.’ In school, his honest, submissive nature made him an easy target for bullies. Luckily, I was the resident wild child—a terror in pigtails. If Dean got cornered, I’d rally my sisterhood and we’d go to war. The kids we beat up would stick out their chins and shout: “Look at him! A boy who needs a girl to protect him! Shame!” I’d immediately grab a rock and hurl it at them. “Say that again, and I’ll pull down your shorts and parade you through the quad!” I was always furious on his behalf, but Dean would just tug on my sleeve and press a piece of candy into my palm. I’d chew the candy, exasperated. “Dean, don’t be such a doormat. Your parents are worried sick. Can you try to be a man?” He’d just offer a gentle smile and ask if I had enough candy. I’d grab his ear and twist it in pure frustration. It’s fair to say that I protected Dean through our entire childhood and adolescence. He was always that sweet, mild-mannered boy. No matter how many times I drilled him on standing up for himself, he’d only smile and say: “I’ll just focus on being your strongest backup, Sierra.” Eventually, I gave up trying to change him. I even stepped in to defend him when Mr. and Mrs. Reed would scold him. It was half-serious, half-teasing, when Dean’s parents would say: “Oh, Dean. What on earth will you do without Sierra?” Dean would look at me with earnest, serious eyes. “Do we have to be apart? I want to be with Sierra forever.” I’d just laugh, flexing my small arm. “Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Reed! I’ll take care of Dean! As long as I have a meal, he’ll have the best seat at the table!” It was just child talk, but Dean never forgot those words. The day he finally confessed, he clung to me, his voice thick with emotion. “Sierra, you promised you’d take care of me. Don’t ever leave me, okay?” “Be with me, please?” I thought then that Dean was the most hopelessly stubborn boy I knew. He was fiercely devoted, stuck to his convictions, and once he made a decision, he followed it to the end. That’s how he was when he confessed to me. And that’s how he was the day I caught him, fiercely defending Tatum. “You’re kidding me?!” Harper shrieked. She pointed at the phone. “So, the Tatum you mentioned… she’s the… the one who posted the thread?” “Yes,” I said simply. “The woman who posted the thread.” Harper buried her face in her hands, tugging at her hair. “Why? You had two decades of history! Does a childhood bond really lose to a sudden, dazzling arrival?” I didn’t have an answer for that then, and I don’t really have one now. Looking back, the root cause of our implosion wasn’t even about love. It was about trust. How darkly ironic. Two people who had lived in each other’s shadows since birth, closer than siblings, ended up tearing each other apart over a fundamental lack of faith. Dean and Tatum’s meeting was completely ordinary. They were in the same university class, grouped together for a project. I first met her when Dean came to deliver me my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. I was ecstatic when I walked downstairs, but the first thing I saw was Tatum’s arm slung casually over Dean’s shoulder, their heads close together. When she saw me, Tatum whistled and called out in a loud, carefree voice: “Hey, sis-in-law!” My gut clenched. I saw a flash of sharp, competitive light in her eyes—the exact kind I’d seen a thousand times in the girls who’d tried to compete with me for Dean’s attention growing up. I realized instantly that she saw me as a rival. I warned Dean about her—repeatedly. I told him Tatum wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. I even said she was clearly flirting with him. But Dean would simply maintain his gentle smile and reassure me: “Sierra, you’re overthinking this. Tatum has high standards. She would never be interested in me.” His complete dismissal of my warning. The slight, almost imperceptible leap in his voice when he mentioned her name. And the hint of genuine disappointment in that phrase, “She would never be interested in me.” Every detail made my skin crawl. Our fights began, escalating quickly. But this time, Dean—the one who always came back tearfully begging for reconciliation—chose silence. He chose the cold war. 3 For three days, I felt like I was sitting on shattered glass. At dinner, distracted and sick to my stomach, I dropped and broke my spoon. When I leaned down to pick up the pieces, the world went black, and I collapsed. When I woke up, the doctor told me I was pregnant. In a daze, completely overwhelmed, I immediately called Dean. Half an hour later, he burst through the hospital room door, breathless. Mrs. Reed followed him, happily taking my mother’s hand and telling her not to worry, that I was now part of their family. From that day on, Dean was a shadow. He was meticulous in caring for me, catering to my every mood swing during those difficult first weeks. But slowly, his course load became “too demanding.” The group projects piled up. He started coming home later and later. Until the day of my first solo prenatal check-up, when Dean never showed up at all. I used every trick I knew to get Tatum’s address. The door wasn’t locked. As I pushed it open, the sound hit me first: the low, unmistakable sound of entangled breaths coming from the back room. The tension that had been building inside me for weeks, combined with the crushing sickness of early pregnancy, finally snapped. I grabbed the fruit knife from the kitchen table and ran into the bedroom like a lunatic. I was screaming, swinging the knife wildly, unleashing all the resentment and pain that had been building inside me. There was a muffled cry of pain. Dean had thrown himself in front of Tatum, and my desperate swipe had sliced a long, ugly wound across his forearm. Blood welled up instantly and streamed down his arm. But Dean didn’t look at his wound; his eyes were fixed on me. He finally roared at me. “Sierra! Have you lost your mind?!” In twenty-three years, that was the first time Dean had ever stood his ground with such force. The first time he had ever displayed such overwhelming certainty and protectiveness. And it was all for the woman he loved. It was a version of him I had never seen before. Every movement, every fierce look in his eyes—it was all for Tatum. We were done. Completely and irrevocably. He moved back to the university dorms. I turned around and terminated the pregnancy. When Mrs. Reed found out, she ordered Dean to come home and beg for my forgiveness. Dean’s eyes were fixed on my stomach, and he didn’t say a word. But I wasn’t the kind of girl to just walk away in silent defeat. I spread the pictures of Dean’s affair all over the university. I compiled a damning presentation and uploaded it online. I stood outside the student dorms with a megaphone and broadcast their secret relationship to everyone. I wasn’t a fragile, heartbroken little girl who would simply vanish after being wronged. I intended to make Dean understand the cost of crossing me. If I wasn’t going to be okay, neither were they. But within days, my own private photos—intimate shots Dean and I had taken—were leaked. They spread with a force that completely overshadowed the news of Dean’s infidelity. The scandal raged for two weeks, until the university board cited me for “disrupting the campus environment” and suspended me. Dean, the star student, faced no disciplinary action whatsoever. My mother, heartbroken, officially withdrew me from school. She said we would move to a new city and start over. On the day we moved, Mr. and Mrs. Reed came to the house, burdened with shame and apologies. Dean stood outside the door, where my father had forbidden him to cross the threshold. Just before getting into the car, I walked over to him. I had to know. I desperately needed to know why. Why had we ended up like this? Why the betrayal? Why the cruelty? Dean was silent for a long time, and then he said words I would never, ever forget. 4 He said: “Sierra, you are consumed by jealousy. You are selfish and self-centered. You only ever think about yourself. To you, I was just an appendage.” “You used me to advertise your success, to prove how charming you were.” “Tatum is different. She supports me, she understands me, and she knows what I truly want.” I stared at him, and my first instinct was to burst into a sharp, hysterical laugh. So, for twenty-three years, that was what he really thought of me. In that instant, a strange calmness washed over me. The pain, the crushing resentment, the humiliation—it all seemed to vanish. I nodded, smiling coldly. “Fine. If that’s the case, let’s agree to never cross paths again. It saves us the trouble of being disgusted by each other.” Dean frowned, hesitation crossing his face. “We’re only breaking up. But we still have all those years of history. If you ever need my help…” I cut him off, a wave of pure revulsion washing over me. “Don’t worry.” “I’d rather die than ever speak to you again.” With that, I turned my back, got into the car, and drove away from the place where I had suffered so deeply. … When I finished the story, the car was silent for a long time. Harper maintained her expression of sheer shock for three full minutes before saying numbly: “I thought guys this messed up only existed in bad fiction… I can’t believe he’s real.” After another long pause, she asked, her voice laced with confusion, “So, why do you still have his number? A guy like that—keeping his contact is like keeping a copy of your own criminal record!” I gave a casual shrug. “That was his secondary account. I forgot to delete it when I nuked everything else.” The car pulled up smoothly to my condo building. Harper clung to my arm as we walked. “We are ordering the best food tonight. That story made me physically ill. I need my Sierra-made butter tarts to recover…” We both stopped dead, mid-sentence. A solitary figure was standing right outside my door. He must have been there for a while; a thick dusting of snow covered the shoulders of his coat. He turned at the sound of our voices. It was Dean.

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