Category: English

I’d been on a brutal cut for almost a month, so my planned cheat meal was more than a reward—it was a necessity. When the delivery vanished into thin air, I was furious. I paced the floors, downstairs and back up, calling the delivery guy repeatedly. After a frantic half-hour of searching and confirming, the intern finally tagged me in the large office group chat: Willow Maybrook: Ugh, I’m so sorry, sis. I grabbed the wrong order. Willow Maybrook: And I accidentally ate two bites, poor-kitten-face.jpg. Willow Maybrook: My bad, I’m just too careless! Thanks so much for treating me, Viv! Willow Maybrook: Hehehe, love you~ 1 Before I could even reply, the intern, Willow, sent another image to the group. She’d angled her phone to get a shot of herself next to my meal. My $120 custom Wagyu protein bowl was gone—dismantled and scraped clean, leaving only two garnish pieces of lettuce at the bottom. She was puffing out her cheeks in the photo, holding her index fingers together in a pose of exaggerated contrition. Willow Maybrook: Oopsie, my mistake! I was totally dizzy from working on the report all morning. Willow Maybrook: I smelled the deliciousness and completely zoned out. Only realized it wasn’t mine after I was totally stuffed. Willow Maybrook: Seriously, though, Viv Chase has the best taste. That was amazing! Willow Maybrook: Thanks again, Viv~~ Willow Maybrook: When I get promoted, I’ll buy you a fancy latte. I promise to work super hard! Reading those last few lines, my brain went completely blank. Wait. Is she serious? My customized Wagyu bowl cost more than a hundred dollars. She was offering me a latte? And only if she got promoted? Starvation had already fueled my anger; now, I was steaming. I tagged her back immediately. Vivian Chase: You’re welcome, I guess. Since I never planned on treating you. I pasted the delivery link into the group: Vivian Chase: It’s the first set. Go downstairs and buy it right now, or order a rush delivery. I want that meal on my desk in the next thirty minutes. I dropped my phone and headed to the breakroom to find a snack to tide me over. God knows how hard this diet cut had been—I’d wrung enough sweat out of my gym towel to fill a bucket, all for this one glorious cheat meal. I grabbed a protein bar, ordered a veggie juice, and headed back to the office, timing my return perfectly. Instead of the savory scent of Wagyu, I was greeted by the judgmental stares of my colleagues. “Vivian, don’t you think that’s a bit much? Why the massive power trip?” “Seriously, the poor girl is practically in tears.” “We’ve been trying to calm her down for ages, she just won’t stop. Now, how are you going to fix this?” 2 Power trip, tears, fix this. The words were English, but the combination made zero sense to me. When I reached Willow’s desk, she was, predictably, crying into her arms. It wasn’t just crying; it was rhythmic, punctuated by perfectly timed little sobs. When someone patted her shoulder, she angled her head slightly, revealing her bloodshot eyes. “Please don’t comfort me, guys, Viv Chase still hasn’t forgiven me…” I reached out and gently—yet firmly—hooked a finger under her chin to lift her face. “Are you okay???” “Viv… sis…” “Are you okay? I don’t have any food. Why are you the one crying??!” Willow froze. The picture of delicate, pitiful distress cracked instantly. She managed a strained pull at the corner of her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Viv. I truly mixed it up. I had no idea it was yours.” “If I’d known, I swear I would never have touched it. It was a complete accident.” I could hear the passive-aggressive undertone, but I was too hungry to dissect it. “So, where is my meal? What’s the ETA?” I made a move to take her phone to check the delivery progress, but the colleagues chimed in immediately. “Come on, Viv, it’s just one meal.” “Willow is this upset, and you don’t even care—you’re still only thinking about food.” Just one meal? They clearly didn’t know how utterly demanding the client for our new project was. To land that contract, I’d spent weeks physically testing their fitness equipment, writing reports, filming promotional content, and subsisting on rabbit food. The moment we signed the papers today, I’d been counting on this meal for survival. If the fire had been in my stomach moments ago, it was now burning at the top of my head. I forced a smile at the colleague. “Sure, it’s just one meal. Barely a hundred bucks. Why don’t you be a sweetheart and run downstairs, buy it for her, and bring it up?” The person who’d just scolded me for being petty instantly clammed up. “It’s easy to be generous with someone else’s hundred bucks, isn’t it? Why are you suddenly silent?” “Enough.” Willow, who moments ago had been a tear-streaked damsel, stood up, shielding her colleagues. “Viv, it’s my fault. Don’t take it out on them. I really didn’t know it was so expensive. I never order anything over twenty dollars.” “So, you’re saying you mistakenly looked past the packaging, mistakenly opened the container, mistakenly ate every bite until it was empty, and then only mistakenly realized you’d taken the wrong order when you saw the receipt?” The Wagyu bowl I ordered was expensive not just for the ingredients but for the distinctive, eco-friendly packaging. It was miles away from the cheap twenty-dollar containers she claimed to use. She’d have to be blind to confuse them. Willow was speechless. Then, a thought struck me. I turned to the colleagues. “Hang on. Are you telling me one of you stole Willow’s meal? Is that why you’re so desperate to defend her?” Accused of theft, the group bristled. “Vivian, what are you talking about? That’s crazy!” I pointed out the obvious flaw in Willow’s story: “You said you took the wrong order. Where is yours, then?” The others finally caught on. Right. If Willow took the wrong meal, her own must be sitting on her desk. Willow stammered, “I… I forgot to pick it up.” Based on her terrified expression, I knew she was inventing the whole thing. “Alright. Fine. Go get it now.” I raised an eyebrow. “Bring your food back and we’ll swap. You can eat my twenty-dollar special, and we can call this even.” 3 Willow reluctantly got up. To prove their own innocence, the other colleagues followed her to search for the food. The company had a dedicated pickup station just outside the door for convenience. It was well past the lunch rush, and the station was completely bare. Willow peered underneath the counter, behind the cabinets—anything to avoid admitting the truth. Naturally, she found nothing. “How can it be gone?” I called out, stripping away her pretense. “You never ordered anything, did you?” Her face flickered, but she doubled down. “Of course I did!” The others immediately backed her up. “Vivian, you don’t need to be so cynical.” “Yeah, just solve the problem. Why are you harassing her?” I sighed. “I’m just trying to eat my lunch. Aren’t you the ones harassing me?” “We’re trying to help! Maybe Willow’s meal was taken by someone else!” I pulled out my phone and opened the company group chat. “The chat shows only you mistakenly took a meal. If everyone ordered something, there should still be one left here.” “Or, are you suggesting someone else in this company stole Willow’s twenty-dollar lunch?” “If that’s the case, then this is easy. We can’t have a Takeout Thief in the office. I’ll have HR pull the surveillance footage right now. That should clear Willow’s name once and for all.” The colleagues thought this was a great idea. They urged Willow: “Willow, check your order. We can look for the person based on the packaging!” Willow froze, unable to pull out her phone. I poured fuel on the fire: “What’s wrong? You don’t even know what you ordered?” “Stop with the passive aggression!” the colleagues shouted. They were so eager for proof to shut me up that they kept pushing Willow to open her delivery app. Cornered, she finally pulled out her phone. As I leaned in, ready to expose the lie, her hand suddenly trembled. The phone clipped the protruding edge of the counter. Clatter. It rolled to the floor, the screen instantly spider-webbing into a thousand tiny cracks. 4 “My phone!” Willow frantically scrambled to pick it up. Seeing the shattered screen, she burst into louder, more theatrical sobs. “My mom bought this for me years ago! It’s ruined! What am I going to do?” No one had even touched her. I knew a performance when I saw one. This wasn’t clumsiness; it was calculated panic. The moment the colleagues saw the tears, they forgot all about the missing meal. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. We can get it fixed quickly. It’s probably fine.” “As long as the motherboard isn’t damaged, all your stuff will still be there.” “Vivian, this is your fault! If you hadn’t dragged her here to look for the meal, her phone wouldn’t have been dropped!” I laughed coldly. “If you’d chipped in to buy her a replacement meal, she wouldn’t have had to come down here.” Besides, looking at the beat-up thing, that screen repair probably costs less than the meal she stole. “How can you be like this? No wonder everyone says you…” My colleague paused, then settled on the insult: “You’re un-cooperative and lack ‘office foresight’!” If not being their errand girl, coffee runner, or personal assistant was a lack of foresight, then I was certainly guilty. I was here to work, not to cater to their needs. “Since you’re all so full of foresight, why don’t you crowdsource the repair cost for her phone?” I was done watching their cheap drama and turned to walk away. After this, I figured she wouldn’t dare try for a free lunch again. I was focused on getting back to work and walked quickly. I didn’t need to look back to feel the hatred of Willow’s glare boring a hole through my spine.

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Seven years after he left to study abroad, the boy I’d loved my whole life finally came home to introduce his new girlfriend to his parents. That same week, my doctors finally announced that my seven-year battle with cancer had failed. I could go home to die. When Sherman saw me being wheeled out by my mother, a cruel smirk touched his lips. “Well, well. Seven years, and look at you,” he sneered. “So pathetic you can’t even walk on your own two feet.” Hearing the contempt in his voice, I just quietly pulled down the sleeve of my jacket, hiding the dense constellation of needle marks on the back of my hand. “It’s nothing,” I said softly. “I just fell and broke a bone.” He let out another sharp, mocking laugh. “Is that so? Well, in that case, since I’m getting married soon, you can be my fiancée’s bridesmaid.” I managed a faint, calm smile. “I can’t. I’m going somewhere very far away soon.” With that, I patted my mother’s hand, a silent signal for her to push me home. 1 As soon as we got home, my mom helped me into bed. It wasn’t long before Sherman’s mother showed up. She stepped into my room, her eyes darting toward me, her words hesitant. “Nina,” she began, “I… I have an enormous favor to ask.” Her face was flushed. She didn’t have to say the rest. I already knew. It was the same as seven years ago. The memory was seared into my mind. The day I was diagnosed, she had burst into my hospital room, her expression a frantic mix of urgency and guilt. I hadn’t even had a chance to process the word “cancer.” I was hysterical, sobbing with terror, when she fell to her knees in front of me. “Nina, I’m begging you,” she’d pleaded, her voice a desperate whisper. “Don’t drag Sherman down with you. He just got his acceptance letter. If he finds out you’re sick, he’ll never go.” “You and Sherman grew up together, you’ve been in love for years. Please, for my sake, don’t ruin his future. Break up with him. Please.” “I’ve already figured it all out. I’ve arranged for a boy to meet you. All you have to do is pretend to kiss him downstairs. Let Sherman ‘catch’ you. Then just… break his heart.” Because of her words, the first thing I did after my diagnosis wasn’t schedule treatments or see a specialist. It was to stage a betrayal. To coldly, cruelly break Sherman’s heart and force him out of the country. And now, just as I expected, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial, guilt-laden whisper. “Nina, don’t blame me. I have no choice. Sherman’s new girlfriend… they were classmates through his Master’s and PhD programs. They’re a perfect match in every way. I just… I can’t let such a perfect marriage fall apart.” “You know how much Sherman has always cared for you. If… if he finds out the truth about what happened back then, I’m afraid… I’m afraid he’ll…” “So, could you please just avoid him for a little while? I mean… you’re dying, aren’t you? It’s not like you should be going out much anyway.” The word “dying” hung in the air. My mother, who had been quietly organizing my medical supplies, slammed a package of adult diapers onto the bed in a flash of fury. Seeing the rage in her eyes, I quickly grabbed her arm, my touch a weak, placating gesture. Only then did I turn back to Sherman’s mother, my voice steady. “I can promise you I won’t tell Sherman the truth about what happened seven years ago,” I said. “But I can’t promise I won’t see him.” I couldn’t. For seven brutal years, there wasn’t a single moment I didn’t think of him. When the chemo became unbearable, I would clutch the old photo of us, his arm slung around my shoulder, and somehow find the strength to endure. I went through dozens of surgeries. More than once, I was rushed to the ICU, and I almost didn’t wake up. It was my mother’s voice that pulled me back. She would stand by my bedside, screaming until her voice was raw. “Nina, don’t you remember? You promised you would live! You promised you would go find him and clear up the misunderstanding yourself!” “You said that when you got better, I would take you to him! If you die, you will never see Sherman again!” Her desperate cries, always with his name, were the lifeline that dragged me back from the edge, time and time again. But in the end, I still lost the fight. And Sherman… he had a new life now. A new girlfriend. A new future. Still, in the little time I had left, couldn’t I just be near him for a while? That’s why, when the doctor told me leaving the hospital was a death sentence, I pushed myself out of bed anyway. I had to. I knew he was home. 2 I thought that would be the end of it. But after sending Sherman’s mother away, I drifted into an exhausted sleep. When I woke up, I heard his voice coming from the living room. I was surprised. Seven years ago, his hatred for me was a physical thing. He had stood outside my door for three days and three nights, waiting for a chance to grab me by the throat and demand to know why I’d betrayed him. When I’d finally sobbed that I just didn’t love him anymore, he’d shattered the hallway window with a single, bloody punch. He hadn’t laid a hand on me, but his disgust was a wall between us. If he saw me in the hallway, he would turn and walk the other way. He stopped going to the little corner store we used to love. The mere mention of my name would make him scowl. “Why are you talking about Nina? The name makes me sick.” The day he left for the airport, I ran through a downpour just to see him one last time. He saw me, and a bitter sneer crossed his face. He took off the matching ring we’d bought together, pulled out his phone—the one filled with all our photos—and smashed them both on the ground at my feet. Then he walked away without a backward glance. And yet, here he was. In my house. Peeking through the crack in my bedroom door, I understood. He was holding his fiancée’s hand. “Mom,” he was saying to my mother, “is it because of what happened seven years ago? Is that why you won’t let Nina help me pick out a wedding planner, or rings?” “It’s okay. I’m over her. We grew up together, after all. If we can’t be lovers, we can at least be friends.” His fiancée, Sophie, chimed in, her voice sweet. “It’s true. Sherman told me all about what happened with Nina. I know she cheated, but they were young. It takes two to tango. I’m sure Sherman wasn’t perfect either.” She smiled brightly. “Besides, I should thank her! If she hadn’t given up on Sherman, I never would have met such a wonderful man.” “So really, there’s no need to dwell on the past. And it was my idea to ask for her help. We’ve been out of the country for so long, we don’t know anything about the vendors here. And, well… letting our parents decide everything… their taste is a little… dated.” Seven years ago, my greatest wish was for Sherman to forget me, to move on. But now, hearing him talk about it all so calmly, hearing that he had told his new girlfriend everything… a thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. My mother, however, was not so composed. Hearing Sophie’s passive-aggressive digs, her face flushed with a deep, furious red. Her lips trembled. “You’re just as shameless as your mother!” she finally roared at Sherman. My heart seized. I pushed myself up. “Mom!” I called out, my voice weak. “Come in here. Help me into my wheelchair. I’ll talk to him myself.” 3 My mother came in, her expression still stormy. But when she saw me sitting up, the fight seemed to drain out of her. I reached out and hugged her. “Please, Mom,” I whispered. “Just let me have this. It’s my last wish.” Her eyes welled with tears, but she, who had always indulged me, went to my vanity. She brought back my lipstick, my wig, and helped me into my jacket. The moment she wheeled me out, Sherman’s brow furrowed. “What is wrong with you?” he said, his voice sharp. “You were always so dramatic as a kid, and you’re even worse now. It’s just a broken leg. Your mom is not young. Do you have to make her wait on you hand and foot?” The disgust on his face was plain to see. I just smiled faintly. “The doctor said it’s a bad break. I’m not supposed to put any weight on it for a while.” Sophie stepped forward. “Don’t mind Sherman,” she said with a dismissive wave. “He’s just used to being blunt from his time abroad. He’s like this with everyone… except me.” Another pang of bitterness shot through me. It was true, he was always gruff. But with me, he used to be… I pushed the thought away and looked at Sophie. “Are you sure you want my help?” “Of course, of course!” she chirped. After a few more minutes of strained small talk, I sent them on their way. That evening, Sherman called. He told me to be ready tomorrow morning; we were going to see the wedding planner. My fingers gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I was greedy for the sound of his voice, but terrified at the same time. It had been seven years since I’d heard him like this, just the two of us on the phone. Back then, I used to fall asleep every night to the low, comforting rumble of his voice in my ear. I was lost in the memory when a woman’s voice shattered the silence from his end. “Sherman, come dry my hair…” I snapped back to reality and managed a quick, “Okay.” The moment I answered, he hung up. Listening to the dead dial tone, tears I didn’t know I was holding back began to fall. I knew this was coming. But seeing it, hearing it… knowing he belonged to someone else now… the pain was a physical, aching thing. 4 Sherman had told me to be ready at 10 a.m. I was so anxious that I had my mom wheel me downstairs at 9:30. We waited. And waited. By noon, he still hadn’t shown up. When I tried to call, he declined it. My mother tried to coax me back inside several times, but I refused. Getting out of the house had taken every last ounce of my strength. I knew that after this, I might never leave again. Finally, at 1 p.m., he called. They were coming down. My mom was furious, but I pleaded with her until she managed to paste on a neutral expression. As soon as I was in the car, Sophie turned to me with a saccharine smile. “Sorry about that, Nina. Sherman and I were… up a little too late last night. I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed this morning.” My hand clenched in my lap. Sherman, after stowing my wheelchair in the trunk, glanced at me in the rearview mirror as he got into the driver’s seat. “Why are you explaining anything to her?” he said coldly to Sophie. The familiar ache returned. I just turned and waved to my mom through the window. He drove fast, the car lurching in a way that made my stomach churn. I bit my lip and endured it. I remembered how it used to be. After he got his license, he would always borrow his dad’s car to take me out. He knew I got carsick, so he drove so smoothly, so carefully. I got sick in taxis, on buses, but never, not once, in his car. He slammed on the brakes, and my weak body was thrown hard against the back of the seat. A wave of nausea washed over me, and a small whimper escaped my lips. From the front seat, I heard his mocking laugh. “You don’t actually think I’m still going to drive carefully for you, do you, Nina? No sudden stops, no speeding up?” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “No,” I said, my voice quiet. “You should be careful for Sophie. She’s your girlfriend now.” “You’re damn right she is,” he sneered, and stomped on the accelerator. My body slammed back into the seat again, my back screaming in protest. But I smiled. At least there was hate. At least, while I was still alive, I occupied some small, dark corner of his heart.

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The school was being renovated over the summer, and my classmates asked me, the class monitor, where they should store their luggage. I coldly told them to figure it out themselves. Why? Because in my past life, I kindly let my classmates store their luggage in my home. But when the new semester started, the entire class accused me of stealing a huge amount of valuables. My grad school recommendation was revoked, my personal information was leaked online, leading to cyberbullying, and my parents, who lived in the countryside, died tragically on their way to testify for me. As I wept over my parents’ bodies, my classmates laughed and said: “We were just joking. Who knew you’d take it seriously? You’re the class monitor, can’t you take a joke? Don’t be the monitor if you can’t handle it.” Disheartened and before I could prove my innocence, I was humiliated and killed by homeless men who broke into my home. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment my classmates asked me how to handle their luggage. 1 “Monitor, the school’s notice was too sudden. We aren’t prepared at all. With so much luggage, we can’t move it anytime soon. As the monitor, think of something for us.” Looking at my classmate Liam, who was waiting for my answer with an expectant face, I suddenly clenched my fists. Anger kept bubbling up in my heart. I pinched my palm hard to stabilize myself. I didn’t expect to be reborn. Thinking of the slander and insults poured on me in my past life, I wished I could go crazy right there and question why Liam and his gang accused me of stealing a huge amount of property. But I couldn’t. Because nothing has happened yet, and I have no evidence. I took a deep breath. “Although the school’s notice was urgent, there’s a shipping station right at the gate. You can just ship it home.” I spoke coldly. The shipping station had opened downstairs in the dorm building. Anyone with a brain would know what to do, yet they came to ask me. “Huh? But my home is out of state. It costs too much to ship. Monitor, you know my family situation. Can you help me?” Another classmate, Rachel, clasped her hands together and spoke pitifully. She was a student on financial aid. As the monitor, I took care of her. Usually, if there was a collective expense, I paid for her. I even fought for her financial aid this semester with the counselor. But in my past life, she slandered me the most. Not only did she leak my personal information first, but she also started a livestream to complain, saying I, the monitor, secretly forced her to give me money. At that time, her eyes were vicious, wishing she could bite a piece of meat off me, completely different from this weak and bullyable appearance now. Chills ran down my spine. I shook my head calmly. “How much money you spend isn’t my concern. Anyway, you must pack up before the holidays. If you leave things in the dorm and lose them, you bear the responsibility.” As soon as these words came out, wailing ensued. Especially Rachel; she never thought I would refuse her. She wanted to say something more, but another voice appeared. “Oh, what’s there to worry about? Our monitor’s family is rich. She has a small apartment near the school. Everyone can just put their things there. The monitor always likes to help others; she definitely won’t refuse us, right, Monitor?” I looked up at the owner of the voice. My best friend, Faye. She affectionately held my arm and directed the classmates to move their luggage. “Liam, you put the luggage in the small bedroom later. Rachel, yours goes in the storage room. The rest of the classmates can put theirs in the living room; it’s quite big there.” After Faye finished speaking, she remembered I was the owner of the house. She smiled embarrassedly. “Sorry, Monitor. I just thought the house is empty anyway, might as well use it to help classmates. Besides, didn’t you plan this long ago? The classmates and I will be very grateful to you!” With a wave of Faye’s hand, Liam led people to start cheering. In my past life, it was like this too. The house my parents bought for me was treated by Faye as her own. Without even asking me, she arranged everything on her own initiative. It’s just that I did have this intention in my past life, so I didn’t stop it. In this life, I won’t seek my own death. “No, that’s my house. You have no right to put things in it.” 2 As I spoke, I forcefully pulled my arm out of Faye’s embrace. “And you, Faye. If I remember correctly, you still have my house key. Give it back to me now, lest something happens to my house and you can’t explain it.” I remember clearly after my accident in my past life, Faye looked like she was explaining for me, but in reality, every word she said put me on the roasting rack. The house my parents bought me became something I got from being a mistress. My parents living in the countryside was twisted by Faye into me feeling ashamed of them. Even my grad school recommendation, Faye said I got it through shady means. And to think Faye and I grew up together; I treated her like my own sister. I was trembling with anger, my face black as thunder, but no one cared about me. Especially Faye; she blinked, and two lines of tears fell. “I just wanted to help the classmates solve their problems. Was it necessary to speak so harshly to me?! And you forced the key on me back then; I didn’t ask for it. I’ll give it back to you now!” Faye said, fishing a key out of her pocket and throwing it viciously at my feet. I bent down to pick it up nonchalantly. This was the effect I wanted. Who knows how many copies of a key there can be? I just wanted Faye to break up with me on the spot. This way, Faye wouldn’t be able to do anything disadvantageous to me under my banner. Others seeing Faye treated like this by me only thought I was crazy, especially Liam. He had a crush on Faye. Seeing his goddess wronged, he couldn’t hold back first. He yelled at me. “Gwen, you are the monitor! You should be responsible for us classmates! Faye was just thinking from our perspective. How can you treat her like this? Do you have a conscience?” Seeing this, Rachel chimed in from the side. “Exactly, Faye just wanted to help us. What did she do wrong? On the contrary, you rely on having some money to look down on us. Who knows where your money comes from!” Rachel’s words were like a sharp sword piercing my heart, instantly igniting my anger. “I earned my money by working part-time! It has nothing to do with you, nothing to do with Faye! The house is mine too! Helping you is a favor; not helping you is my duty. If you keep making trouble, don’t blame me for being impolite! If you’re not convinced, go find the counselor. If you think I’m not a competent monitor, I can tell you clearly, I quit!” 3 I hadn’t wanted to be this monitor for a long time. Working myself to death helping classmates, only to be thought of as taking all the benefits because I was the monitor. But if they looked closely, they would know that since I became monitor, whether it was scholarships, financial aid, or awards, my name was never on the list. The only grad school recommendation was awarded to me by the school leaders after I won awards in various competitions. Liam and the others were stunned by my appearance. He looked at me awkwardly. “We just thought putting it in your house would be convenient. We didn’t force you. Is it necessary to take it so seriously? Worst case, we won’t put it there.” Liam hemmed and hawed, and Rachel was also reluctant on the side. “Exactly, other monitors sacrifice themselves for others, but you fuss over every little thing. That’s your house; if you don’t let us go, we won’t go. It’s not like we have to.” I laughed out loud at their behavior. Listening to this, it sounded like it was my fault for not lending it to them. If it were someone else with thin skin or high moral standards, they might have agreed. But after living a past life, I knew this was just a facade they deliberately put on. As long as I let them in, I would still be screwed over by them. I took a deep breath. “That’s good. If you have nothing else, hurry up and move.” After saying this, I left without looking back. I hadn’t packed my things yet; I didn’t have time to mess around with them. Moreover, I had to hurry to install surveillance cameras and change the locks on the house. In my past life, I was too naive, thinking everyone had been classmates for three years. After giving the house to them, I didn’t think of installing cameras, so when they poured dirty water on me in the end, I couldn’t even produce evidence. But before I could do these things, the counselor called me. Looking at the counselor in front of me, I looked incredulous. “Counselor, you mean let me give up the house for them to store luggage? But this is my house; I have to live there for my internship during the holidays.” The counselor looked troubled. “I know this is a bit difficult, but there’s no other way. The school is being renovated, and the students really have nowhere to put their luggage. If you didn’t have a house, it would be fine, but the Dean found out you have a house. You know the Dean’s character; he likes helping others the most. If you don’t listen to him, what about your grad school spot?” The counselor sighed. I froze in place. This was something that hadn’t happened in my past life, leaving me somewhat helpless. The counselor was right. I only had the qualification for recommendation; the specific quota would be decided next semester. After all, the Dean is the Dean. If he really wants to block me, it’s simple. However, it’s true the Dean likes to help others, but how did he know I have a house, and why did he insist I hand it over? I didn’t understand, wanting to ask the counselor, but he shook his head too. Instead, a teacher gossiping nearby spoke up. “Maybe Faye from your class told the Dean? Isn’t she taking the Dean’s elective course? I heard the Dean likes her very much.” My hair stood on end instantly. The teacher’s words reminded me. In my past life, Faye was the first to tell me my recommendation qualification was cancelled. At that time, I was too busy to take care of myself, and I felt the sky collapse when I heard the news. Thinking about it now, I, the party involved, hadn’t received any news, so how did Faye know so quickly? 4 I walked out of the office with heavy steps. Just as I reached the door of the house, I saw Faye, Liam, and the others smiling. Their luggage was piled messily at the door. Seeing me, they looked like hungry wolves seeing food. Liam spoke triumphantly. “Monitor, you said you wouldn’t let us move our luggage here, but you still have to open the door obediently. Don’t complain. The Dean ordered you. Besides, you are the monitor; you should serve the class. Don’t worry, next semester, we’ll still let you be the monitor.” As Liam spoke, he gestured for me to take out the key. Seeing me move slowly, he impatiently grabbed the key and unlocked the door himself. Seeing this, the others didn’t say a word to me but thanked Liam for opening the door instead. The newly renovated house instantly became messy because of this luggage. Liam made himself at home, turning on all the appliances. Without even taking off his shoes, he took a few boys to my bed to play video games. Rachel pointed and commented on my decoration, greed almost drowning her eyes. I was trembling with anger but could only stand there watching. Because besides these classmates, our Dean was also there. He stood with Faye. Even knowing I was waiting on the side, he didn’t give me a good face. In the end, he patted Faye’s shoulder with relief. “You did very well in this matter. Thinking for the school and the class is what a good student should do. Unlike some people, who enjoy the school’s resources but don’t treat the school as home!” The Dean was imposing. He wanted to say more but was interrupted by Faye to smooth things over. The Dean only left after the students had packed up their things. And in all this time, I only got a dissatisfied look from the Dean. Suppressing the anger in my heart, I walked up to Faye. Her luggage was also moved here. Unlike others throwing theirs on the floor, she stuffed her luggage into my closet like the owner, throwing my original clothes on the floor. “What’s wrong, Gwen? Are you still unhappy because classmates moved their luggage to your house? But we are classmates; mutual help is expected. If you fuss about it more, you’ll seem petty.” As soon as Faye finished speaking, Liam began to agree loudly. “Exactly, exactly. We didn’t hold anything against you originally. If you keep holding onto this, don’t blame us for complaining to the Dean.” I twitched the corner of my mouth. The Dean only came once, and they treated him as a savior, even threatening me with this. Faye’s move was really good. I looked at Faye; she still had that innocent look. But having been with her for so long, how could I not know Faye was waiting for me to make a scene? Although I haven’t figured out exactly what Faye wants to do, I won’t just go along with her wishes. I glanced imperceptibly at the surveillance camera installed just today. The camera was hidden. Liam and the others hadn’t seen it since they came in. I laughed out loud, speaking amidst Faye’s astonished gaze. “How could that be? Like Faye said, we are classmates; mutual help is expected. My house, you guys live freely.” “However.”

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My aunt’s favorite pastime? Playing the victim and sowing discord. Every day, she’d badmouth my mom to anyone who would listen, but in front of my dad, she was a fragile, bullied little flower. Eventually, her manipulation drove my parents to divorce. Young and naive, I believed her lies. I grew to hate my mom, becoming a brat who couldn’t tell right from wrong under her influence. Meanwhile, she raised her own daughter to be gentle, elegant, and well-educated. Her daughter graduated from a top university abroad and became a famous pianist. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my 8th birthday. An uninvited guest arrived: my mom. My aunt tugged at my sleeve, whispering, “Your cheap mom is here. You know what to say, right?” 1 “Lynn, what’s wrong?” My mom asked, looking at me with uncertainty. The relatives around us fell silent. Everyone knew how much I loathed my mom since the divorce. I snapped back to reality, seeing the gift my mom held. Her eyes were full of love and worry. I clenched my fists, trying my hardest not to cry. My aunt seized the moment to hug me. “What could be wrong? Don’t you know? You’ve been out enjoying yourself for years. How many times have you visited the child?” She looked down at me, comforting: “Don’t be scared, sweetie. Just say whatever comes to mind!” Her expression was gentle, but her eyes held malice and anticipation. In this moment, I finally realized this wasn’t a dream. I had been reborn. After her divorce, my aunt had nowhere to go, so she brought her daughter to live with us. Soon after, my dad was misunderstood as cheating, and my mom left in anger. But somehow, under my aunt’s “mediation,” the conflict deepened, leading to their divorce. My aunt started badmouthing my mom daily. She said my mom didn’t want me anymore, abandoning us to have a son with some other man. She claimed my mom only came back to trick my dad out of money to raise her “bastard” and tried to kick my aunt out multiple times. She played the victim to brainwash me, while behind my back, she found excuses to prevent me from seeing my mom. Over time, I grew to hate my mom and pity my aunt. Thinking back, my mom was the pitiful one. Adopted and treated as cheap labor since childhood. At 18, her adoptive father tried to marry her off to a 70-year-old man. Luckily, he passed away, and she seized the chance to apply for college and escape the village. Meeting my dad in college was her first breath of fresh air. I was her only blood relative in this world. Yet, manipulated by my aunt, I broke her heart time and again. Thinking of this, my blood boiled. Suppressing my disgust, I looked my aunt in the eye and sneered: “Auntie, wasn’t it you who wouldn’t let Mom see me?” 2 My voice was childish but clear, my expression serious. The relatives at the table were surprised, especially Grandpa. Everyone was used to me resisting my mom; no one expected this reaction. In my past life, my mom came to give me a birthday gift. Incited by my aunt, I smashed the crystal ball she gave me and screamed, “You shameless woman, running off with men! Get out of my house! Don’t bully my aunt!” That was the last time my mom came to see me. Soon after, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away. My aunt naturally became my guardian. She spoiled me rotten, taught me to be unreasonable, lazy, and unable to distinguish good from bad. She encouraged me to drop out for “love,” leading me to get pregnant before 18 and marry a divorced man in his 30s. Meanwhile, she carefully cultivated her own daughter, teaching her to be diligent and refined. When my husband beat me until I hemorrhaged, I begged my aunt for $200 to save the baby. The aunt who claimed to love me most sneered, “Forget $200, you won’t get $20.” I was beaten to death by my husband. It was the mom I had hurt so deeply who held my body, trying to get justice. But my aunt hypocritically advised, “Let it go. She was born bad. She’s dead, you’re free.” She turned around and signed a settlement letter, leading to my mom being stabbed to death on the street by my resentful husband. Reborn, I will never be my aunt’s tool again. In this life, I will make her pay! 3 “I didn’t! You’re lying…” My aunt froze, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Before she could react, I continued in an innocent tone. “You said Mom would only regret leaving if she saw me angry, and only then would she want to remarry Dad.” “But Auntie, I haven’t seen Mom in so long. I really missed her. Could I not throw a tantrum this time?” The room exploded. Dad stood up abruptly. “Faye, what nonsense are you telling the child? Is this how you raise Lynn?” My aunt’s face turned pale, lips trembling. “No, I never said that. Lynn, what’s wrong with you? When did Auntie say that?” I put on a confused face and counted on my fingers: “This morning, yesterday, the day before… you say it every day.” “Oh no, I lost count. Auntie, don’t be mad at me for being dumb.” I carefully tugged at her sleeve, looking up at her. Her expression was a mix of anger and anxiety, but she couldn’t explode in front of the relatives. “How could I? Lynn is smart, but you can’t lie!” She squatted down, staring at me intently. “Good Lynn, be brave and admit when you lie, or Auntie won’t like you anymore.” I quickly covered my mouth. “Auntie, I was wrong!” A triumphant look appeared on her face. Before she could speak, I smiled fawningly. “I admitted my mistake. So Auntie, you still have to take me to the reservoir to play!” “Reservoir?!” Mom and Dad screamed in unison. “Lynn is only 8! Taking her to a reservoir? Are you crazy?” My mom was furious. “Faye, this is outrageous!” Even Grandpa scolded her. “You’re her aunt! How could you do such a thing?” My aunt was scared silly, stammering an explanation. “…It was Lynn who insisted on swimming. I couldn’t handle her tantrum…” “Besides, she took swimming lessons. She’ll be fine.” Ridiculous. I never threw a tantrum; she took me herself. Thankfully, my mom wasn’t buying it. She gritted her teeth at my aunt: “If she wants to go, you take her? If she told you to eat shit, would you eat it?” “My daughter survived by luck. Why didn’t you take your daughter?” My aunt panicked and reached for me. But being small, I dodged her, crawled under the table, and threw myself into my mom’s arms. “Mommy, I’m scared!” Mom hugged me tight immediately, glaring at my aunt. “What do you want?” Back in my mom’s embrace, I almost cried. In the past life, you protected me. This time, I’ll protect you. 4 My aunt put on her victim face, looking ready to cry. “Brother, during the two years you were fighting, who took her to the dentist? Me!” “I treat her so well, and she lies and frames me. What an ungrateful brat!” “Fine! If you don’t believe me, I’ll leave!” She wiped a tear, grabbed her daughter, Penny, and made to leave. Now my dad couldn’t sit still. “Stop it! We’re family, why make such a fuss? Eat first, we’ll talk later!” My aunt took the out, throwing herself into my dad’s arms and wailing. The scene was incredibly awkward. My mom sneered. “Some family. Treating my Lynn like this? Since that’s the case, I’m taking Lynn. I won’t disturb your ‘family unity’.” Dad scratched his head in frustration. “Helen, drop it. Everyone makes mistakes.” Mom ignored him, looking down gently to ask if I wanted to go with her. She didn’t force me when I stayed silent. instead, she patted my head, told me to take care, and to call her if I missed her. Watching her leave, I apologized silently. I want to! Of course I want to! But not now. My aunt is still squatting in my house. How can I hand over my things to her? My aunt cried until midnight, with my dad comforting her. Seeing me, she looked almost manic. “Why did you lie? Auntie is so good to you, why?” Dad also signaled for me to apologize. “Anyway, your aunt hasn’t had it easy these two years. You shouldn’t have embarrassed her publicly.” I didn’t expect my dad to not only gloss over her manipulation but demand an apology. He didn’t know the sister he cherished had been eyeing his assets for a long time. In my past life, he didn’t die of lung cancer.

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Three years after the divorce, the next time I heard news of my former CEO husband, it was live-streamed. His engagement party was splashed across the Jumbotron in the airport as soon as I landed. On the massive screen, the girl tucked under my ex-husband’s arm was gushing about their great love story. “Three years ago, I ran a little boutique florist shop in the Village, and he came into my shop to buy flowers for his wife.” “I was instantly smitten. When I found out he was the CEO of the Harrington Group, I started showing up at his office with ‘client’ bouquets every single day. I made sure his wife knew exactly what was going on, of course.” “After that, they fought constantly, and I just kept swooping in to ‘comfort’ him.” “It all came to a head when he got drunk after a huge fight with her. We were both overwhelmed by emotion, and it just happened naturally.” “I heard his wife had a miscarriage that night during their argument, and she ran home and cried herself silly.” “But look at me now—I knew I made the right choice. He’s the head of Alistair City’s leading conglomerate. I’m about to be the CEO’s wife. If I hadn’t swooped in when I did, I wouldn’t have this life.” “His ex? She was miserable. She didn’t even recover from the miscarriage before he made her walk away with nothing. Who knows if she’s even alive now.” I looked up at the familiar, smug face on the airport screen. I smiled. Well, that’s rather awkward for her. Not only was I perfectly alive, but I had also become the Asia-Pacific representative for Archon Capital, one of the world’s top investment firms. I was back in Alistair City, and it was time for the head of their leading conglomerate to change. 1 The VIP lounge was almost unnervingly quiet, which only made the engagement party blaring on the enormous screen seem even louder. My assistant, Leo, walked over silently, placing a cup of unsweetened black coffee and a sleek tablet next to me. The coffee was scalding, bitter, and bracing—exactly what I needed. I lifted the cup, taking a slow sip, my gaze fixed on the tablet. The screen was lit with the words “The Harrington Group,” below which were real-time stock prices and a core data analysis report. The red, plummeting arrow was stark and unmistakable. My index finger tapped lightly on the cold screen, once, then again. The smell of antiseptic from the hospital three years ago. The crisp, cold reality of the divorce papers that left me with nothing. The countless nights I’d spent curled up with stomach pain in my cramped foreign apartment, staring blankly at the nameless city lights. I set the coffee cup down with a light click against the table. Serena Maxwell on the Jumbotron was still talking, but I no longer heard her. I lifted my eyes to Leo, who remained silently beside me. The last trace of warmth in my expression vanished. “Notify Archon Capital’s European headquarters. Initiate Phase One of the acquisition plan for the Harrington Group.” Leo didn’t hesitate, immediately beginning to type on a separate device. I turned back to the screen and the happy couple, a cold, predatory smile playing on my lips. “I want to see their panic before the market opens tomorrow.” Alistair City’s business world was turned upside down overnight. “Archon Capital Enters the Market with Multi-Billion Dollar War Chest, Suspected Hostile Takeover of Harrington Group!” “Harrington Stock Plummets to Trading Floor, Market Value Evaporates by Billions!” In Alexander Harrington’s office, the air was so thick with tension you could wring it out. Alex, a man who prided himself on his unflappable composure, now had his tie yanked crooked and his eyes, visible behind his gold-rimmed glasses, were webbed with red. Several high-level executives stood opposite him, too afraid to even lift their heads. “Find out! Find out now! What the hell is Archon Capital? Who is their goddamn representative?” Alex slammed his fist onto the desk, the veins on his hand bulging. An hour later, an emergency board meeting was called. The room was packed with the Harrington Group’s old guard, their faces all darker than thunderclouds. Alex sat in the primary position, trying to stabilize the situation, but his own mind was chaos. It was then that the heavy double doors of the boardroom were pushed open. Leo walked in first, expressionless, ushering the person behind him. Then, I walked in. I was wearing a sharply tailored, slate-gray power suit, my heels clicking a crisp, rhythmic beat on the polished marble floor. The entire boardroom fell into a suffocated silence. Every single eye in the room was fixed on me—shock, disbelief, and a panicked search for context. Alex’s gaze, though, was different. It was utterly riveted to my face, like a nail driven into the wall. His lips parted, his throat bobbing once. The sight of him, speechless and stunned, was more satisfying than any positive financial headline. I ignored him, walking directly to the opposite end of the long conference table, the seat reserved for the acquiring party. I sat down with a composed elegance. The moment I was seated, Leo opened the tablet and slid it in front of me. “Eliza… Sloane?” An older board member finally found his voice, laced with uncertainty. I looked up, sweeping my gaze across the familiar, yet suddenly irrelevant, faces. Finally, I let my eyes settle coolly on Alexander Harrington. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said with a faint, utterly cold smile. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Eliza Sloane, the Asia-Pacific Representative for Archon Capital, leading this acquisition.” Alex’s face instantly drained of all color. “The Harrington Group’s financial reports for the past three years look impressive, but in reality, over thirty percent of your profit comes from high-risk leveraged investments. The moment your capital chain faces stress, the entire structure collapses.” “Seven of your subsidiaries have bloated, inefficient management. Last year alone, administrative expenditures consumed five hundred million dollars that should have been dedicated to technology and R&D.” “Your newest real estate venture was a major strategic error, located on the fringe of future municipal planning. That investment won’t see a return for at least three years.” In a few succinct sentences, I sliced through the Harrington Group’s glossy facade, exposing the rot underneath. Each word made the board members’ expressions darken further. Alex’s hands were clenched into tight fists under the table. When the meeting concluded, the look in the eyes of the men in the room had shifted from pure shock to pure, unadulterated dread. People began to leave, but Alex remained seated. He waited until the last person was gone, then stood and walked slowly toward me. He stopped in front of me, his tall frame casting a long shadow. “Eliza,” his voice was raspy, edged with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “You…” What did he want to say? Ask why I came back? Or why I was doing this? I didn’t give him the chance. I stood up, deliberately closing the tablet and handing it to Leo. Then, I met his gaze, looking him directly in the eye. “Mr. Harrington, this is still business hours.” I paused, watching his face instantly freeze, and the curve of my smile deepened slightly. “Keep your private emotions contained.” 2 After that day, I didn’t pay much attention to Alexander’s reactions. The person I was truly waiting for was Serena Maxwell. I knew she would come for me. People like her, who survive by playing the victim, are terrified of losing their audience and their stage. Now that I was back and had stolen her spotlight, it would only be a matter of time before she struck. Sure enough, on the third day, a heavy, engraved invitation to a charity gala was delivered to Leo. “The annual Alistair City Charity Gala. The Harrington Group is the lead sponsor,” Leo stated plainly, placing the card on my desk. “Serena Maxwell is this year’s Charity Ambassador.” I picked up the beautifully designed card, running my finger over the embossed lettering. “A lovely ambush,” I chuckled, tossing the invitation back down. “Tell them I will be there on time.” Leo nodded, asking no further questions. He knew I wasn’t going to attend a party; I was going to crash a coronation. The moment I stepped into the ballroom that evening, I felt the immediate stickiness of countless gazes—curious, searching, and more than a few frankly malicious. I didn’t care. I picked up a flute of champagne and found a quiet corner that wasn’t overly conspicuous. It didn’t take long for the show to begin. Serena was wearing a pristine white, strapless column gown, her hair in a loose, delicate updo that exposed her slender neck. She truly looked like a fragile porcelain doll who knew nothing of the world’s harshness. She carried her own glass, weaving through the crowd with a clear destination: me. She stopped directly in front of me. Alex stood a few steps behind her, his brow furrowed, looking like a cowed husband who wanted to intervene but didn’t know how. “Eliza… sister?” Serena whispered tentatively. “It really is you. You’re back.” I stayed silent, watching her begin the performance. Her eyes instantly misted over. The tears arrived right on cue. “Sister, I’m so sorry… What happened three years ago, it was all my fault. I loved Alex too much, and I… I didn’t mean for it to happen. I’ve lived with the guilt all these years, I just…” As she spoke, she glanced out of the corner of her eye, making sure her performance of fragile remorse was being witnessed by enough people. It was award-worthy acting, I’ll give her that. The room was already filling with murmurs. Several sympathetic looks were directed at her, while the glances aimed at me were laden with judgment and blame. I was being framed as the unforgiving villain, the one bullying the poor, repentant girl. Alex finally closed the gap, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Serena, a clear act of protection. He looked at me, his eyes complicated. “Eliza, let the past go.” “The past?” I finally laughed, gently swirling the champagne in my glass. “Easy words for you, Alex. Some things can’t be let go.” Serena seemed frightened by my response, shrinking further into Alex’s side, and her tears intensified. “Sister, please, can you forgive me? I just want to be happy with Alex now…” Watching her deliver this masterclass in deceit, I found any impulse to anger completely missing. I set my glass down and took my phone from my clutch. Under the confused scrutiny of everyone nearby, I pressed the play button. A crisp, smug female voice, amplified by the phone’s speaker, carried clearly through our corner of the ballroom. “…You should have seen what a fool Eliza was. She believed everything I said! Like I accidentally fell down the stairs…” “Alex? Men are all the same. If I cry, he thinks the whole world is out to get me. He’d argue with Eliza, and then he’d come straight to me for comfort…” “The miscarriage? Good riddance! Saved me the trouble of figuring out how to get rid of it myself. With that kid gone, she was nothing. That CEO wife title was always going to be mine!” The voice, the tone—arrogant and malicious—was a stark contrast to the tear-stained Serena standing before me. The recording continued, but the silence around us was deafening. Serena’s pale face still had tear tracks, but her expression had completely frozen. The feigned innocence in her large, watery eyes finally melted away, replaced by nothing but raw terror and utter collapse. 3 That charity gala recording caused the Harrington Group’s stock price to quietly plummet by another hundred million in market capitalization. Every morning, Leo provided me with his update on the Harrington Group’s latest movements. “Harrington dropped three points today. A few smaller shareholders are folding and requesting private meetings with you.” I nodded. “Schedule them. It’s time to close the net.” I heard that Alex’s side was absolute chaos. He had canceled all upcoming public engagements with Serena and had even frozen the funds for several of her vanity projects within the company. It seemed that trust, once fractured, could never be fully repaired. Alex was quietly beginning to investigate what happened three years ago. Leo’s intelligence network was highly efficient, reporting that Alex had pulled all the security footage from the hospital during my stay and sent people to interview some of the nurses in private. I listened to these reports with cold detachment, almost finding it funny. How foolish must a man be to only remember to seek proof after the truth has been shoved in his face via a recording device? Where was his skepticism before? Trying to play Sherlock Holmes now was far too late. I wasn’t interested in Alex’s small acts of penance. His investigation wouldn’t change the outcome. I wanted the Harrington Group. His personal remorse was worthless. The acquisition was proceeding smoothly. One shareholder after another was defecting, and the Harrington Group’s internal defenses were being dismantled piece by piece. The external and internal pressure was suffocating Alex. I heard he was suffering from recurring stomach issues again, often spending entire nights locked in his office. Late that night, I had just finished a video conference with European headquarters and was preparing to finally rest. Leo knocked and came in, his expression unusually grim. “Ms. Sloane, there’s been an issue.” I gestured for him to sit. “We received two pieces of intelligence.” “The first is from our insider at the Harrington family estate,” Leo said. “Tonight, Alex locked himself in his study and was looking through a lot of your old things. He found a letter—a letter you wrote back then but never got the chance to send.” My heart skipped a beat, completely unprepared for the emotional jolt. Leo continued: “Inside the letter… was your sonogram. He knows now that you were pregnant with twins.” My fingers instinctively clenched, my nails digging into my palms. “After he saw the letter, he locked himself in the study. He hasn’t come out all night.” Seeing my prolonged silence, Leo slid a tablet across the desk. The screen was on. “Ms. Sloane, this is the second piece of intelligence. Our private investigator has secured the definitive proof.” I looked down, my gaze falling on the screen. It was an investigation report, attached to clear bank transfer records. The recipient was a middle-aged woman named Lana Reeves. Occupation: Hospital janitor. The report also included a video—Lana Reeves’s confession. She admitted that three years ago, Serena Maxwell paid her twenty thousand dollars to apply a special oily liquid to the staircase landing I used every day for my prenatal appointments. Colorless and odorless, you wouldn’t notice it, but the floor would become dangerously slick. My breath stopped entirely. I stared intently at the screen, seeing the conclusion printed on the final page in large, bold font: Upon investigation, Eliza Sloane’s miscarriage was not an accident. It was a premeditated act of murder.

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Chapter 1: The Wedding Night Disaster The wedding suite at The Plaza Hotel smelled of expensive lilies, champagne, and impending doom. I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, still wearing my Vera Wang couture gown. It was a dress thousands of women would kill for, but right now, it felt more like a straightjacket. Across the room, my new husband, Chase Sterling—heir to the Sterling Private Equity empire and New York’s most notorious bachelor—was aggressively loosening his bow tie in the mirror. “Why the hell did I agree to this?” Chase grumbled, ripping the silk tie from his neck and tossing it onto the terrifyingly expensive Persian rug. He turned to look at me, his blue eyes cold. “You look miserable, Chloe. Fix your face. The press might have drones outside the window.” I slammed my hand on the mahogany dresser, the sound echoing in the tense silence. “Excuse me? You think I wanted this? I’m here because my family’s real estate portfolio is tanking, and your father needed a ‘respectable’ wife to clean up his son’s messy reputation. Don’t act like you’re the victim here, Chase. Go cry to Sierra.” Sierra. The name hung in the air like toxic perfume. Sierra was a bottle service girl at Nebula, the most exclusive club in Manhattan. She was beautiful, mysterious, and famously known as Chase Sterling’s “girlfriend.” On our wedding night, I was bringing up his mistress. It was tacky, but I didn’t care. Chase’s jaw tightened. He poured himself a glass of scotch, his knuckles white against the crystal decanter. “Leave Sierra out of this. You look at you—you’re loud, you’re messy, and you have zero elegance. You’re nothing like her. She’s… gentle. She understands me.” I felt a sting of tears but forced them back. “Then go marry her! Why are you here with me?” I stood up, grabbing my suitcase. “I’m done. I’m going back to my parents’ estate in the Hamptons. You go to your club. We’ll get an annulment in the morning.” I marched toward the door, my heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor. Before I could touch the handle, Chase grabbed my wrist. He pulled me back, not roughly, but with enough force to make me stumble into his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice low. “To get a divorce lawyer,” I snapped, trying to shake him off. “Go find Sierra. I’m going home.” He let out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes. “Chloe, stop being dramatic. You can’t leave. The paparazzi are camped in the lobby. If you walk out of here alone on our wedding night, the Sterling stock drops ten points by morning. My father will kill me, and your father will lose his financing.” I froze. He was right. We were trapped in this gilded cage together. “Fine,” I hissed, smoothing out my dress. “But I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you.” “Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” Chase muttered. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the closet. “I’ll take the couch. You take the bed. Just… stop yelling. My head hurts.” “Maybe if you didn’t drink so much at the reception, you’d feel better,” I shot back. “Maybe if I didn’t have to marry you, I wouldn’t have to drink,” he countered. I watched him set up a makeshift bed on the velvet sofa. This was Chase Sterling. The boy I had grown up with. The boy who used to pull my pigtails in kindergarten. And now, the husband who wished he was with someone else. “You’re unbelievable,” I whispered, turning off the lamp. “Night, Chloe,” he said into the darkness. “Try not to snore. I know you do.” “I do not snore!” I yelled, throwing a decorative cushion at him. “You do,” he chuckled, catching the pillow without looking. “I remember from nap time in first grade.” I huffed, burying my face in the duvet. I hated him. I really did. Chapter 2: The Bamboo Horse and the Club To understand why this marriage was such a disaster, you have to understand our history. Chase and I were what the Chinese call “Bamboo Horse” friends—childhood neighbors who grew up inseparable. The Sterlings and the Vances ruled the Upper East Side. We went to the same prep schools, the same summer camps in Maine. Our parents always joked about us getting married, forcing us to sit together at galas. But we weren’t friends. We were accomplices. Chase was a magnet for trouble. Even in middle school, girls were leaving love notes in his locker. He would bring them to me, looking annoyed. “Here,” he’d say, dumping a pile of scented letters and chocolates on my desk during study hall. “I don’t like dark chocolate. You eat it.” “Why do you take them if you don’t like them?” I’d ask, unwrapping a truffle. “I can’t hurt their feelings,” he’d say with a shrug, leaning back in his chair with that effortless, arrogant grace. “I’m too nice.” “You’re a player,” I’d correct him. “And you’re using me as a trash can for your unwanted snacks.” “Whatever. You love the chocolate.” He was right. I did love the chocolate. And maybe, deep down, I loved that he felt comfortable enough to be his true, annoying self around me. But Chase wasn’t husband material. He was a playboy. A rich kid with too much time and money. The incident that should have warned me away forever happened when we were sixteen. I was a straight-A student; Chase was on academic probation. One afternoon, he dragged me out of AP History. “I need a favor,” he whispered, pulling me into the janitor’s closet. “I need to get into The Velvet Room.” “The strip club?” I hissed. “Chase, are you insane? We’re minors!” “Not for the dancers,” he said, looking desperate. “I need to find someone. A girl named Sierra. Please, Chloe. You know the bouncer, Big Mike, from your dad’s security detail. He’ll let us in if you vouch for me.” “Absolutely not.” “If you do this,” he said, looking me in the eyes, “I’ll owe you. Forever.” I was an idiot. I put on a baseball cap, borrowed his oversized hoodie, and we snuck out of school. We went to the club. The bouncer, Mike, looked at me skeptically. “Miss Vance? Does your father know you’re here?” “I’m doing a… sociology project,” I lied, my voice cracking. “This is my cousin. He’s just here to carry my notebook.” Mike rolled his eyes but let us in. Inside, the music was deafening. Chase ignored the dancers. He scanned the room frantically until he saw a girl cleaning tables in the back. She looked young, maybe eighteen.

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On a variety show, the host randomly checked the seventh photo in the guests’ phones. I displayed the Rolls-Royce my brother, Payton, just picked up. But the “innocent” white lotus (a term for someone who pretends to be pure and innocent but is actually manipulative) got teary-eyed: “Sis, you can target me usually, but can you please not mooch off my boyfriend’s car for clout?” I was stunned: “How come I didn’t know my brother had a girlfriend?” The white lotus cried as she called Payton: “Hubby, I’m being bullied…” There was a pause on the other end, then Payton’s voice became very serious: “Who? Where? I’m flying back to the States right now to find you.” I was dumbfounded. The internet exploded: [I knew Quinn Qin was clout-chasing again!] [Didn’t see that coming, CEO Pei isn’t someone she can leech off!] [CEO Pei is so sweet! You guys get married right now! Piss off Quinn Qin!] No, seriously, I just didn’t know when my brother secretly started dating my arch-nemesis! 1 My dumbfounded expression was quickly turned into a meme and trended on Twitter. [Hahaha, Quinn Qin didn’t think Sherry was joking with her, did she? Did she really think Sherry loves clout-chasing as much as she does?] [Is CEO Pei someone she can leech off? Dying of laughter, this meme is my contender for meme of the year!] [Hahahaha, so satisfying to watch! I love seeing this poser get slapped in the face by Sherry!] The livestream comments were going crazy. I immediately ran out of the livestream room to the lounge. [Too ashamed to face anyone?] [ seeing her suffer makes me so happy] I closed the lounge door and called Payton immediately. His voice sounded a bit anxious: “Sis, I have something urgent, talk later.” “Let me guess, is your girlfriend being bullied?” Payton froze: “Sis, how did you know?” “Are you crazy, dating that kind of woman!” “Sis, you don’t know, she’s the most special girl I’ve met in my twenty-five years.” I almost suffocated: “She’s an actress! What can’t she act out? Let me tell you, I know exactly what kind of person Sherry Song is. Break up with her immediately!” “She’s not acting!” Payton was righteous: “Even when she’s drunk, she says she loves me!” I felt a blockage in my chest: “What’s so hard about that? I can act that out too. I love you, I love you, I love you!” “Are you crazy? What kind of fit are you throwing!” Payton got goosebumps and hung up directly. I turned around angrily, only to find someone standing at the lounge door. Sherry covered her mouth with one hand, holding her phone in the other, looking extremely innocent: “Sister, sorry, I didn’t know you were in here too.” I sneered: “How do I remember you staring at me entering this room just now?” “Sister, you…” Sherry’s eyes turned red instantly. The comments went crazy: [Ahhh, you psycho, stay away from Sherry!] [Hate this poser the most, bad movies and bad person. Clearly she tried to leech off Sherry’s boyfriend first!] I had no interest in this catfight game and turned to leave. But unexpectedly, just after touching up my makeup, the trending search exploded again. I clicked it open; it was the three-second video of me “confessing” to Payton. Trending Topic: #Payton: Are you crazy? What kind of fit are you throwing? #Quinn Qin attempts to be the other woman, scolded as a psycho by Payton My vision went black. 2 The lounge’s soundproofing and privacy settings were excellent. The only one who could have filmed me was Sherry, who opened the door at the end. That video started recording exactly when I was “confessing.” It looked like I was crazily saying “I love you” to Payton, and then being shunned by him. Thinking of this, I proactively found Sherry and showed her that three-second video: “You secretly recorded me?” Sherry hurriedly smiled: “Sister, don’t misunderstand, I was just taking a selfie and accidentally…” “Why was the camera pointed at me for a selfie? If it was accidental, why post it?” Sherry’s face turned pale. Only then did she realize that admitting she filmed it was equal to admitting she leaked the video. But her persona had always been the harmless, innocent white lotus. Her eyes reddened, and tears suddenly fell: “Sister, I beg you, please stop pestering my boyfriend, okay? I’ve advised you for so long and you won’t listen. I don’t know how to argue, I really had no choice but to… “This is the first time I’ve met a boy I like so much, I beg you…” I interrupted her: “This act works on him, not on me. “Play too many games and you’ll be found out eventually. Him dumping you is just a matter of time. Behave yourself.” With that, I turned and left. This variety show was set in the countryside. I was preparing for the next step of the itinerary when my agent called: “Little ancestor, calm down. It’s only been a while, and you’re already third on the trending search!” I hurriedly opened my phone. The number one trending topic had a glaring “Explosive” tag: #Quinn Qin threatens Sherry Song Just now, a recording was leaked by someone claiming to be a variety show staff member. Inside was exactly the conversation between me and Sherry. But I was very sure, only Sherry and I were present at the time. My Twitter and Instagram were already blown up. [Lady, look clearly, Sherry is the girlfriend personally verified by CEO Pei! And you’re telling Sherry to behave herself?] [Homewreckers deserve to die] [Wondered who it was, turns out it’s this poser. Not surprised then, hope your whole family dies soon] … Meanwhile, Sherry started a livestream in her car. The corners of her eyes were slightly red, tears in her eyes, yet she smiled “stubbornly”: “Everyone, please stop talking about it. There must be some misunderstanding between me and Sister. “If I hurt someone because of this, I would be very sad too.” Netizens were heartbroken: [Ahhh baby, you can’t be too kind! Quinn Qin is just targeting you! Don’t speak up for her ahhh!] [Baby is so good, my heart aches boohoo! Going to curse in Quinn Qin’s comments right now] [Protect the best baby in the world, Quinn Qin deserves to die a horrible death!] I sat in the car, my vision going black again and again. So I called Payton. 3 “Break up, break up with her immediately!” I got straight to the point. Payton was confused: “Sis, I told you we are true love.” “You didn’t see her ability to manipulate public opinion against me at all, did you? Have you even looked at the trending searches?” “Oh, Sis, which day do you not get scolded? I’m used to it for you.” …He had a point. “It’s okay, Sis. When I get back, I’ll treat you guys to a meal and clear up the misunderstanding. Sherry is a very good person, definitely not what you think.” “Forget it. I have more experience in this circle than the contracts you’ve signed.” “Isn’t your experience just getting scolded?” “You!” “Alright, alright, Sis. How about quitting the industry? Look at the bad movies you make.” I argued logically: “How can they be called bad movies! If I acted seriously, it’s not a bad movie!” “Yes, yes, yes, you acted seriously, but your acting skills are inherited from Mom!” I was speechless. Payton laughed: “Alright Sis, come back and take over the family business. Obviously, you earn much more this way than mixing in the entertainment circle, and I can relax a bit. Why suffer outside?” “I won’t! I didn’t enter the entertainment industry to make money, it was for Lucas Lu!” “…” 4 Indeed, I didn’t need to enter the entertainment industry. My parents urged me every day to take over the family business and make it bigger and stronger with Payton. But I stubbornly chose the entertainment industry just to be close to my idol, Lucas Lu. This peer I’ve been a fan of for five years. To avoid unnecessary trouble, I never publicly announced my relationship with Payton. I took my mother’s surname, and Payton took my father’s. So for so many years, no one suspected us. Unexpectedly, such a big farce has occurred now. I suddenly regretted it very much. As a guide on my brother’s growth path, I once watched him closely and forbade early dating. Didn’t expect the consequence of lacking love’s nourishment in adolescence is being easily hooked by bad women. I sat in the car, regretting and holding my forehead: “If I knew earlier, I should have let him date more!” 5 Soon, the haze in my heart was swept away. Because after getting off the car, I learned the identity of today’s mystery guest. “Lucas Lu?!” I screamed: “Is it him? Is it really him?” The staff looked at me with disdain, snorted coldly, and turned away. The entire production team was cold to me because of the “stealing Sherry’s boyfriend” incident. Later, they found that this attitude received unanimous praise from netizens, so they looked down on me even more. I didn’t care. After mixing in the circle for so many years, I’ve suffered plenty of eye-rolls and ridicule. Lucas Lu is still worth my attention. The moment Lucas stepped out of the car, everyone erupted in piercing screams. I rushed up in one step and handed over the gold-rimmed card: “Mr. Lu, I’m your fan, can I have an autograph?” He took off his mask and smiled: “Sure.” Took the card, scribbled a few strokes, and handed it back to me. Just as I wanted to treasure it, I saw two words written on it: [Dumbass] I froze. Looked up, he was glancing at me disdainfully, sneering. “Brother Lucas!” An excited voice interrupted my thoughts; Sherry’s car had also arrived. The moment she got off, she pounced into his arms in one step: “It’s actually you! Weren’t you filming somewhere else?” Lucas caught her in his arms, spinning her around: “Knowing you’re here, I came specially. Or on a whim, wanted to take this variety show. Which one do you want to hear?” The comments were frantically scrolling: [I’ll say it, I’ll say it! Came specially for you! For you, for you, for you!] [So flirtatious boohoo…] Sherry pouted, frowning as if angry: “Teasing me again!” Lucas smiled and scraped her nose: “Still so easily angered.” I frowned: “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Lucas raised his hand to protect Sherry behind him, giving me a contemptuous smile: “Sherry and I are childhood sweethearts. We’ve supported each other since we were little to get to where we are today. “I hope Ms. Qin doesn’t think everything is dirty just because she herself is dirty.”

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I told her I was done the moment I slid into the passenger seat of Sloan’s Tesla, fresh from the traffic authority office. “Asher, I’m exhausted. Stop playing games, please?” I looked at Sloan’s profile—her hands gripping the steering wheel—and a laugh, thin and brittle, escaped me. “I’m not playing games.” “Sloan,” I turned my head, my gaze tracking the blur of neon lights outside the window, “this is where we get off.” 1 The Tesla slammed to a stop mid-span on the main bridge. The air inside the car was instantly thick, frozen like the surface of a December lake. “Reason.” Sloan’s fingers drummed once, sharply, on the steering wheel. Her voice was cold enough to frost the glass. “Give me one good reason. What in the hell is this dramatic exit about now?” I glanced in the rearview mirror at the silver Lexus that had followed us for three intersections, then pressed the button to lower my window. The night wind rushed in, clean and sharp. “I’d guess we have thirty seconds.” “Before the person in that car comes running to you.” I started the countdown, low enough for only her to hear. “Thirty.” “Twenty-nine.” “Twenty-eight.” When I reached twenty-five, the Lexus had pulled over and stopped. The driver’s side door flew open, and a boy in a beige trench coat sprinted toward us, tapping frantically on Sloan’s window. Sloan frowned and pushed the button. “Sloan, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Kellan’s eyes were already red-rimmed, his voice shaking with a manufactured sob. “I truly didn’t mean to rear-end you, I just saw your car driving so fast, and I was so worried you’d crash, so I followed…” He looked past her, directly at me, and a single, perfect tear rolled down his cheek. “Asher, please don’t be angry. I wasn’t trying to interrupt you guys. I was just… I was just so worried.” He reached for my sleeve, and I recoiled, pulling my arm away. “Hit me,” Kellan pleaded, pushing his face closer. “If it’ll make you feel better, just hit me.” Sloan pressed her hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Kellan, stop it. What are you doing?” Then she turned back to me, her eyes heavy with disappointment. “Your damn chivalry? Did you leave it in the precinct parking lot?” I laughed out loud. See? I hadn’t done a single thing, yet just by sitting here, I was instantly cast as the unreasonable, classless man. I pushed Kellan’s hand away and stared directly at Sloan. “Do you understand now?” “Sloan,” the part of my chest where my heart used to be felt utterly numb. I unbuckled my seatbelt. “That is the reason.” “We’re over.” I shoved the car door open. Over Kellan’s look—that flicker of shock, then undeniable, smug victory in his eyes—I gave Sloan a smile. “Congratulations. All those little maneuvers you used to wedge yourself between me and Sloan over the years are finally paying off.” “Sloan is all yours.” I turned and walked away. Sloan bolted out of the car, grabbing my wrist and spinning me back around. “Asher! Do you have any idea how important the signing I missed today was because of this fender-bender? You called, said you’d been hit, and I threw down my pen and rushed to the precinct! And for what? The person who hit you was Kellan! He’s an intern at my own company!” “He apologized. Insurance is filed. What more do you want from me?” “I’ve been biting my tongue for months, Asher. Kellan is always here, always talking you up, telling me to be more understanding, telling me not to fight with you. Can you stop being so ungracious?” Her grip on my wrist was crushing. An old injury flared beneath her grasp, a sharp, familiar jab of pain. I looked down at the pale circle of skin her fingers were devouring. “Let go!” I yanked my arm free, rubbing the throbbing spot, and then I roared. “Sloan!” “I’ve been biting my tongue for eight years!” Sloan and I had been together for eight years. From college to launching her company, from a shared basement apartment to a view of Avery Coast in a high-rise. We’d fought, we’d argued, we’d had weeks of silence, but I had never done this—I had never humiliated her in front of a third party. But I was done holding back. “I had a 104-degree fever, and you were helping him at the shelter find a home for a stray cat. I was getting torn apart by a client during a crucial pitch, and you were on a rooftop watching a meteor shower with him. Every single time I genuinely needed you, you were already with him!” I held her gaze. “You gave him the security code to my apartment so he could sneak in and grab files while I was out of town. You gave him my prized, irreplaceable, first-edition collection set for his birthday, telling him, ‘Asher doesn’t really play with these anymore.’ Today, my car gets rear-ended, and your first words were, ‘Is Kellan okay?’” “Sloan!” “We’re done!” My composure, which I’d desperately clung to all evening, shattered like a broken dam. Sloan’s face paled. She automatically started to rationalize. “I had Kellan get the files because I was running into a meeting! I asked about his car because his damage was worse! Why are you always dissecting every little thing!” “Asher!” She looked at me, her eyes filled with nothing but exhaustion and disappointment. “When did you become so petty? Hunting for microscopic crumbs of evidence?” “You’re turning into exactly the kind of small-minded man you swore you’d never be!” I thought I was past the point of pain. From giving my statement at the traffic authority office to sitting in her car, I had been perfectly calm. I even spent that drive reviewing our eight years—from meeting to falling in love, from having nothing to having everything. And I had concluded: it had to end. I wanted a clean exit. But her words still twisted my heart, a blunt force trauma to the softest part of my chest. “Yeah. In your eyes, I’m the small-minded one.” I let out a weak chuckle. “Well, I don’t need your approval anymore.” I turned to leave, but Kellan scrambled to his feet and grabbed my arm. He was crying now. Tears streaming down his face, though I hadn’t shed a single one. “Asher, I’m sorry, this is all my fault… I’ll quit tomorrow. I’ll leave the company. I’ll disappear… Sloan really loves you. Please, don’t break up with her. Please.” I hated this performance most of all. Looking at his tear-drenched face, I ripped my arm out of his grasp. “Get lost!” Kellan stumbled back a few steps, staring at me, startled. “Asher!” Sloan rushed forward to steady Kellan. Seeing the scrape on his elbow, she turned on me, her voice shaking with rage. “Are you insane! Apologize to Kellan!” “Dream on.” I looked at Sloan, then caught Kellan’s expression—a fleeting moment of triumph beneath the tears—and spat out a final ultimatum: “Either we end this cleanly, or I move out right now, and you can deal with the fallout. You choose.” I didn’t look back. I didn’t care about Kellan’s choked sobs or Sloan’s attempts to soothe him. I flagged down a cab and headed straight for my oldest friend Rhys’s place. 2 Rhys opened the door, looked at me, and didn’t ask a single question. He just stepped aside. He wordlessly pulled two six-packs of an ice-cold IPA from the fridge and set them on the coffee table. He only asked one thing: “Good start?” I looked at the beers, and my eyes suddenly burned. I’d managed to hold it together until now. Rhys didn’t say anything else, he just opened his arms. “Cry, man. Go for it. You don’t have to put on a show for me.” I completely broke. I collapsed onto his shoulder, howling until my throat was raw, shaking uncontrollably, until I finally stumbled into his bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. Finally, my voice hoarse, I whispered: “I’m leaving her.” What is the end of love? It’s when the person you swore you’d face the world with turns into the opponent sticking the knife in your back. It’s when you finally admit that the grave you once believed could bloom with flowers is just a pile of dirt—the flowers will wilt, and the love will die. I stayed at Rhys’s place for two weeks. In that time, I scrolled through thirty-seven updates on Kellan’s private feed. Every single one featured a glimpse of Sloan. [Midnight deadlines don’t feel so lonely when you have the right company.] The photo was a selfie of Kellan. In the blurry background, Sloan was a focused profile at her computer. [You promised you’d always be my light.] The photo was two hands linked: on Kellan’s wrist was the Cartier watch I’d bought Sloan last Christmas. The other hand, resting lightly on his arm, was hers. [Taking the most important person to the most important place.] A photo of Kellan, beaming, inside an airport lounge. Beside him, Sloan was captured mid-doze. Post after post. Rhys jumped off the couch, pointing at my phone, screaming. “I swear to God! That little shit! Is Sloan blind? How can she not see what he’s doing? It’s completely obvious!” Rhys was furious. I, conversely, felt strangely calm. I was going through withdrawal, and the craving was almost gone. I just shrugged at Rhys’s outburst. “Sloan knows exactly what she’s doing.” “She knows?” Rhys sank down beside me. “Then why does she keep playing the innocent victim?” “To her, if they haven’t slept together, she’s innocent.” I managed a wry smile. “She always told me that her relationship with Kellan was pure and clean. And that my mind was the only thing that was dirty.” Sloan always maintained that one boundary. So whenever I pushed back, she always shut me down with the same weapon: “You’re seeing things because your heart is poisoned.” 3 Now looking at these posts, I felt nothing. “The moving company is scheduled for ten,” I reminded Rhys. If I was breaking it off, I had to physically leave that apartment. My things weren’t extensive, but a few items couldn’t stay—chiefly, the box of my father’s original blueprints and sketches. “Just glad you finally came to your senses,” Rhys said, clapping me on the shoulder. When we arrived at the apartment building, I checked my phone—Kellan had posted half an hour ago, tagged at a resort hotel in the next county, the photo grid featuring a dozen pictures of Sloan. I thought I’d have the place to myself. But the moment I unlocked the door, the scent of a simmering garlic butter sauce hit me. I walked into the living room and saw Kellan, wearing my charcoal grey cashmere lounge pants, sitting cross-legged at the dining table, picking at a plate of shrimp. He jumped up like a startled rabbit when he saw me. “Asher…” I ignored him, my eyes tracing the pants back to the source—Sloan, who had just walked out of the kitchen holding a steaming pot of soup, her expression instantly freezing. “You’re back?” Sloan asked stiffly. “Have you eaten?” I didn’t answer. I walked straight toward my study. Then I stopped dead in the doorway. The design books, once perfectly ordered on the shelves, were pulled out and haphazardly stacked. My work desk was a mess of scattered drawings, but the thing that made my blood run cold was the corner of the room: The door to my father’s old floor safe was wide open. 4 “Asher…” Kellan had crept to the doorway, his voice thin as a mosquito’s whine. “I’m so sorry… Sloan and I came back from the hotel, and I realized I left my suitcase there… Sloan told me to put on your clothes…” “I accidentally… bumped the safe.” A buzzing started in my head. I spun around and saw Kellan holding a stack of faded, yellowed paper—my father’s original blueprints and sketches—the edge of the stack stained with a huge, dark smear of coffee. “I swear I didn’t mean to!” Kellan threw himself forward, grabbing my arm, instantly on his knees. “Please, just hit me! I’m begging you! Hit me!” “I didn’t know these were your dad’s designs! I honestly didn’t know!” He grabbed my hand, trying to force it to strike his face. “Hit me! Hit me hard! I deserve it!” He then attempted to kowtow, but before his head could touch the floor, an arm slipped beneath his chest, stopping him. Sloan pulled him up and looked at me, her voice as flat as if she were commenting on the weather. “He’s gone, Asher. They’re just drawings. They’re not him. Kellan is sorry, can you please stop making this worse?” Her tone was so rational, so utterly dismissive of my grief. As if I were the one who was overreacting, the one who was small-minded. She stood between us, a protector, blocking my path to Kellan. “He already feels terrible. Just let it go.”

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I’d been Rhys Kingston’s “best friend” for two decades. Twenty years. Not even the night we tumbled into bed—drunk, messy, losing our virginity to each other—could change that. All I got in return was his cool, measured voice: “That was just a mistake, Rory. We’re still best friends for life, right?” I used to believe Rhys was just emotionally detached, incapable of real intimacy. That was, until the day the housekeeper, Lana, climbed into my father’s bed, and I cracked my equestrian crop across her back until she bled. Rhys, who should have been standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me, had eyes only for Seraphina “Sephy” Bell, the housekeeper’s daughter, who stood weeping behind her mother. He was genuinely in love with her. He brought her brazenly into our exclusive social circle. He even announced his intention to marry her at the Kingston family dinner. Only I, his so-called childhood friend, was left to become the city’s laughingstock. My mother, crushed by the gossip and sinking deeper into depression, jumped from the top floor of our house. That twenty-year delusion of mine shattered into dust. I decided to simply vanish from his world and start over. But Rhys Kingston, We were just friends. So why did you panic when I hired a boat full of models? 1 When Rhys kicked open the cabin door, I was grinding against a male model, clad in a skimpy scarlet two-piece. My skin, slick with sweat and shimmering under the low, suggestive lights, was a reckless, burning fire—scorching the eyes of every observer. “Oh my God… what is this?” Devon Reed, usually all easy smiles, stopped dead in his tracks, his cheeks flushed, barely able to look directly at me. Rhys stood right beside him. He was still wearing his usual detached, above-it-all expression, though his gaze darkened considerably as it swept over me. “Aurora Wells! Are you done with this charade?” He strode forward, slamming off the deafening music, and tossed a heavy blanket over me. I ignored him, instead pulling the model closer and whispering against his ear. “Ignore him… let’s keep going.” The model smirked, pulling me into a tight embrace in open defiance, his shaggy head burying itself provocatively in my neck. But before his breath could even graze my skin, Rhys grabbed my arm, wrenching me away with such force I nearly stumbled. “Rory Wells!” His fury finally broke through. “Parties, hookups, models—do you even remember what day this is?!” “Of course I remember!” I froze for a split second, then spun around and slapped him across the face. The sound was sharp and clear, but the tears finally came, blurring my vision. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Rhys Kingston! And you definitely don’t get to mention my mother!” My mother had treated Rhys like her own son, pouring money and influence into him, securing his place as the Kingston heir. And yet, Rhys had fallen for the housekeeper’s daughter. He’d fallen for Seraphina Bell! Today was my mother’s funeral. The one person in the world who had no right to lecture me was him. Devon hesitated, stepping forward. “Actually, Rhys handled the entire funeral…” “Aurora Wells,” Rhys said, cutting him off with a cold voice. That face I had been obsessed with for twenty years was still utterly remote, his dark eyes fixed on me, but the words he spoke felt like a slow, agonizing flaying. “Did you forget? You’re the one who ran to the Kingston estate, caused a scene, exposed everyone’s secrets, and drove your mother to take her life.” I froze mid-breath. My swollen eyes locked onto his face, while inside, something cracked, splintered, and stabbed painfully through my organs. It hurt so much I couldn’t draw air. He was right. I hadn’t been able to stand the thought of him marrying Sephy. I had foolishly, shortsightedly, failed to see that the Kingston power now dwarfed my family’s, and that Rhys was no longer the bullied bastard child who needed my protection. I was the idiot who stormed the Kingston house, waving that embarrassing photo of us in bed, shrieking that Sephy’s mother was a shameless homewrecker. And when Rhys had rebuked me, I’d lost all control and publicly thrown his own mother’s background—she was once a struggling single mother who clawed her way up—back in his face. That was when the future Mr. Kingston had unleashed his true wrath. He not only silenced the rumors and had me physically removed from the estate. He retaliated. He took that photo of us, cropped his face out, leaving only the image of me, flushed and lost in the moment, for the entire city to consume. He let the entire city dissect and pass judgment on my passionate expression in bed. My twenty years of devotion to Rhys became a sick joke. Look at her. The Wells heiress is a desperate slut. Her mother couldn’t compete with Sephy’s mother, and she couldn’t compete with Sephy for Rhys, either. That’s what everyone said. And that was why my proud, vibrant mother, in a moment of utter despair, threw herself off the penthouse balcony, crashing into a scarlet stain on the pavement. Right before she died, she had a moment of lucidity, a clarity brought on by the trauma. She clutched my hand, her eyes sharp, clear, and utterly heartbroken. “Rory, you chasing after Rhys looks exactly like I chased after your father. Chasing… until you can’t see yourself anymore. It’ll kill you.” “Go find a few men. You’ll know that in the end, love is just… a cheap trick.” So, I had skipped her funeral. Instead, I’d chartered a yacht and hired a crew of models. And finally, it was my turn to use his words against him. “So what?” My smile was bright, but my nails were digging crescent moons into my palms. “We’re just childhood friends. You don’t get to dictate my life.” Rhys stared at me, his dark, heavy eyes emanating a strange, oppressive atmosphere. After a long pause, he simply said, in a dull voice: “Sephy is waiting for you.” In an instant, my heart stopped, then erupted in a wave of pain. I thought I had moved on. But twenty years of entanglement, all it took was one name to leave me a wreck. “You’re a real piece of work, Rhys Kingston.” I murmured the words under my breath. Typical of the “best friend” I grew up with—he knew exactly where to twist the knife for the maximum effect. He ordered his men to drag me into a waiting car. As I was leaving, I noticed the model’s light-colored eyes. Devon leaned in, whispering, “I know you’re hurting, Rory. But it’s your mom’s funeral. You can’t not go.” He glanced at Rhys, who was leaning back with his eyes closed, clearly resting, and hesitated. “Don’t be angry. Rhys oversaw the whole service. He really does care…” He trailed off, unable to finish. He was right to stop. Was Rhys doing it for me? Or was it to show respect for my mother’s protection all those years ago? Neither reason seemed to stick. The moment my mother jumped, whatever was between us curdled into an impossible, messy debt. I slumped into the seat, watching the tiny porcelain pendant hanging from the rearview mirror sway with the speed of the car. Devon, Rhys, and I had been inseparable since kindergarten. Yet, Rhys only ever had one picture in the car—a tiny old selfie of just him and me. And the passenger seat was always reserved for me. I used to believe that small “exception” was my special privilege, and I threw myself blindly at him because of it. Now, my photo was gone, replaced by the pendant Sephy had made by hand. The passenger seat was cluttered with a fluffy, incongruous pink dog blanket. Everywhere I looked, there were traces of Sephy. Oversaw the funeral? I managed a strained smile, tasting the metallic tang of blood at the back of my throat. He probably just wanted to impress Walter Wells so he could marry Sephy sooner. The car stopped at the Wells estate, and I shoved the door open and got out. My mother’s funeral had just concluded, but the Wells living room had already been completely redecorated. Even the old family portrait—my mother, father, and me—had been replaced with a wedding photo of Walter and the housekeeper. My mother’s body wasn’t even cold, and he was already rushing to bring his new wife home. “You wicked girl! Where the hell have you been all day?!” “How dare you skip your own mother’s funeral! Do you even care about this family?!” Walter Wells stood up, slamming his fist on the table, his face, ravaged by alcohol and indulgence, turning an ugly shade of red. Beside him, Lana Bell, dressed like the wealthy matriarch she’d always wanted to be, cooed softly in a proprietorial manner, though a flicker of disdain crossed her eyes. “Darling, Rory is just too distraught. That’s all.” “She’s still young. Don’t be so angry, Walter.” “Yes, Mr. Wells, Rory must be so sad,” Sephy chirped, standing nearby in a crisp white dress, looking as innocently fragile as a gardenia. Walter sat back down next to Lana and scoffed. “If she were half as level-headed as Sephy, her mother wouldn’t have died from despair!” I snapped my head up. Looking at this trio’s pathetic performance, I suddenly burst out laughing. “Stop the act. If you two hadn’t been shameless enough to sleep together, would my mother have been driven to jump?” “Aurora Wells!” Walter bellowed a warning. Lana’s face went white. “I am so sorry for your mother, but Walter and I are genuinely in—” Before she could finish, I lunged forward, grabbed a handful of her hair, and, over her shriek, slammed her down in front of my mother’s memorial photo. “You begged my mother to take you and your daughter in when you had nothing, and you repaid her by climbing into my father’s bed.” “If you really feel sorry, you should join her in the grave!” Walter roared for me to let go. Sephy rushed forward, crying and trying to pull me away. “Stop, Rory! You can’t blame my mother! You’re the one who drove your own mother to suicide, don’t pin the blame on her—” Before she finished that line, I snatched the nearby equestrian crop and viciously brought it down across her lying, two-faced mouth. “You hit me! Rhys won’t let you get away with this!” Sephy clutched her mouth and screamed, a malicious, poisonous gleam in her eyes. I gave her a wild, triumphant smile. “Not pretending anymore, are we?” “I like you better this way.” “You are going to kill me with this madness!” Walter clutched his chest in fury, servants and staff rushing to his side. “Your madness changes nothing! Your mother is gone, and it’s your fault! No one in this house wants you here!” Sephy shrieked through her red-rimmed eyes. I raised the whip again, but a hand suddenly grabbed my forearm, the grip so tight I felt my bones might crack. “Aurora Wells! Who gave you permission to lay a hand on her?!” Rhys, who had somehow appeared behind me, had two burning flames in his dark eyes. I refused to yield, though the hand gripping the crop trembled for a moment. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She deserves it!” “I heard,” Rhys said, his voice flat as he dropped my arm. “So what.” My heart stopped beating for an instant, and then the raw, sharp pain began to blossom. I stared at Rhys, disbelief suffocating me. He knew! He had always known Sephy was playing a role, he knew she was intent on driving me out of the Wells family, and he knew how impossible my life was here. But he still chose to stand with her. “Rhys!” Sephy sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. “She hit my mom, and she hit me with that horse whip!” Rhys held her close, his eyes fixed on me, his voice colder than ice. “Is that so? Then I’ll give her a hundred lashes myself to apologize to you. How about that?” “Rhys Kingston, you wouldn’t dare!” I glared at him, my eyes burning. Rhys met my gaze unflinchingly. His dark eyes held mine for a moment, then he raised his hand and ordered his bodyguards to restrain me on the floor. In front of Walter and the Bells, he ruthlessly beat me until my skin was raw and bloody. As the pain grew so intense I began to cough up blood, I heard a terrible, deafening crash inside my chest. Twenty years of affection, the very last flicker of hope… It was all ground into ash in that single moment. I don’t know how many lashes I took before I finally lost consciousness and collapsed. In a haze, I was lifted into a familiar embrace, the faint, clean scent of cedarwood and iris—Rhys’s signature scent—filling my nose. “Rory! Get a doctor now!” I heard his voice, ragged and panicked—a rare sound—but he was shouting for me only after he had commanded his men to beat me until I was bleeding. I used my last surge of energy to struggle out of his arms, preferring to fall painfully onto the tiled floor rather than remain in his embrace. “Rhys Kingston, you’re fucking disgusting.” Rhys didn’t respond to that. He had me rushed to the hospital that night and arranged for my treatment. But the next morning, the small company I had secretly started was reported to the authorities, and all the evidence was dumped right on Walter’s desk. The partners I had worked so hard to secure overnight immediately backed out. Even the photos of me and the models at the funeral party were deliberately circulated. One by one, these events cornered me. Walter publicly announced his intention to disown me. I was forced to swallow my pride and call in favors, desperate to find someone to intercede. The former darling of the city, Aurora Wells, was hobbling on unhealed whip marks, meekly asking for help from the socialites who used to follow her around. “Rory, it’s not that we don’t want to help.” Tristan Davies, the one at the head of the table, looked distressed, but his eyes were shamelessly licking over my pale face and the visible bruises on my neck. “But you crossed Rhys. That’s a cost none of us can afford.” He slid a glass of amber-colored liquor towards me, his eyes gleaming with a familiar, predatory hunger. “But if you’re willing to have a few drinks with us and hang out tonight… we could potentially reconsider.” I knew exactly what “a few drinks and hanging out” meant. It was the ugly, transactional game of power and sex, a common practice in our circle. I used to watch it with cold contempt. Now, I was the fish on the cutting board. No escape. “Tristan, I didn’t call you all here for that!” Devon, his face ashen, tried to intervene, but his lower-tier family status meant he was quickly—and physically—silenced. “She can’t expect us to risk everything without showing any sincerity,” someone sneered, his gaze on me vile and sickening. “Besides, who doesn’t know Rory plays fast and loose? A whole yacht of models—what’s a few more of us?” They advanced on me, liquor glasses in hand, a pack of wolves circling, savoring the reversal of power. The shame turned my face white, and the salty, metallic taste in my throat threatened to spill over. “Quite the party, isn’t it?” Rhys’s voice suddenly cut through the air. “Why didn’t you invite me?” The room went instantly silent. Everyone watched Rhys standing in the doorway, Sephy on his arm in a custom-made evening gown. It looked like a casual, accidental encounter. Tristan froze, then quickly recovered, ushering Rhys to the head seat with an awkward smile. “We knew you were busy, Rhys. Just a casual get-together.” Rhys’s eyes scanned my pale face, then the liquor glasses in every man’s hand. He settled calmly into the seat and issued his instruction to me. “Since you love to drink so much, maybe you should use this opportunity to properly apologize to Sephy.” “If she hadn’t interceded on your behalf, the punishment would have been far worse.” I bit my lip, glaring at him, and everything clicked into place. My small attempt at independence, my plan to get revenge on Walter—Rhys had seen it all. With a slight nod, he had crushed all my hope, pushing me into this humiliating, unspeakable position. All to exact revenge for Seraphina. My heart felt fit to burst with rage. But I bowed my head, forcing myself to swallow the burning liquor in one gulp. “Sephy, I was wrong. I apologize.” Only then did Rhys nod in satisfaction, turning to leave with Sephy on his arm. A moment later, a strange, burning heat coursed through my body, and I realized the drink had been spiked. I tried to leave, but Tristan blocked the door, slapping me hard across the face. “Running, are we?” Tristan had already had Devon quietly dispatched. His voice was a triumphant, savage roar. “Let’s see who saves you this time!” Save me? Through my blurring vision, I managed a bitter, hopeless smile. Who had ever saved me? Ever since I became the city’s joke, every step I took had already landed me in this unending hell. I bit down on my lip until it bled, grabbed the liquor bottle, and smashed it against the head of the man tearing at my clothes. I ran, dragging my leaden, injured leg. “Bitch! Get her!” Someone threw a bottle at me; someone else brutally kicked my lower leg. The stabbing pain, coupled with the feverish heat that threatened to overwhelm me, nearly drove me mad. Clutching the last shred of my sanity, I dragged my broken body into an empty supply closet and crammed myself into a utility cabinet. By pure instinct, I clawed out my phone and dialed my emergency contact. He picked up almost instantly, his voice quiet and calm. “Hello?” Fear and the drug made me choke out the words, sobbing. “Rhys, help me!” “I’m sorry, I was wrong, please, you have to save me—” Then Sephy’s voice cut in on the line. “Rhys, darling, I suddenly have a craving for that special gourmet shortbread. Can you go get it for me right now?” I screamed into the phone. “No, Rhys, please listen to me, my leg is broken, they’re trying to—” “Yes, of course.” “Beep—beep—beep…” Rhys had answered Sephy. I buried my head into my knees, letting the sound of despair roar out of me. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard footsteps outside the closet, like the approaching drumbeat of the devil.

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On the day of high school graduation, in front of the entire class, I slapped a stack of cash onto Christian’s chest. “I’ve had my fun. We’re done.” He bent down, picking up the bills one by one from the floor. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Okay.” Summer ended. Christian boarded a train to Harvard Med. I flew to Switzerland to start a grueling round of chemo. Years later, I was back in the States, lying in a hospital bed, bald from the treatment. I was busy scrolling through wigs on my phone when the door opened. Christian, wearing a white coat, walked in. Our eyes met. 1 When Christian walked in, I was in a very undignified position—butt in the air, face buried in the pillow. My phone was blasting a livestream: “Black Friday sale! Don’t miss out, fam!” “Ms. Montez, shopping for wigs again?” The noisy ward fell silent. The nurse pointed at me. “Dr. Vance, this is the new patient for your group. She’s signed the consent forms.” The moment Christian looked over, I froze. My brain went blank. It had been ten years. The man I thought I’d never see again was now my attending physician. And he caught me doing yoga stretches on a hospital bed. Kill me now. I scrambled up, adjusting my crooked face mask. Silence. I didn’t dare look him in the eye, but I could feel his gaze on me. It was cold. Zero warmth. Nothing like the gentle, exasperated look he used to give me when I messed up a math problem. “Ms. Montez, this is Professor Christian Vance. He’ll be in charge of your treatment plan.” I avoided his eyes and gave a quick nod. Didn’t make a sound. The intern next to him, holding a clipboard, started reading my history like a good student. “Luna Montez, female, 28. Ten years ago, a physical revealed enlarged cervical lymph nodes. Initial diagnosis was Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Further pathology showed—” “Skip the history.” “Huh? Do you know the patient, sir?” My heart was in my throat. I pretended to be busy with my phone. I felt Christian’s gaze land on my ridiculous sheep-horn beanie. After a long pause, he said flatly, “I don’t know her. Her case is unique, so I reviewed it beforehand.” My phone auto-jumped to the checkout page. The payment countdown was ticking. Seconds passed. I zoned out, finger hovering over the “Buy” button but never pressing it. The intern dutifully reported the treatment plan. Christian listened, his tone devoid of emotion. “Okay. Continue current treatment. Re-examine tomorrow.” Then, he moved to the next patient. Rounds lasted twenty minutes. He didn’t look at me again until he left. I moved my stiff neck and realized my back was soaked in sweat. The wig I wanted was sold out because of the distraction. Ugh, just my luck. But the silver lining was: Christian had forgotten me. Even when the intern said my name, he didn’t react. 2 Christian and I didn’t start off on the right foot. Back in high school, I was a rich brat—terrible grades, worse attitude. My homeroom teacher made Christian my desk mate to “influence” me. At first, Christian ignored me. He just did practice tests, over and over. He was smart, nice, handsome. His only flaw was being poor. I was the opposite. Dumb, mean, rich. Sitting next to him, I felt like a brainless ATM. But I had charm. While other girls wrote him love letters, I bought him SAT prep books. I paid for all his study materials. In less than a semester, I bagged him. The day I kissed Christian, it was his birthday. His white shirt was rumpled, his lips stained with my lipstick. He looked down, eyes hooded. “What does this mean?” It was my first time kissing a guy. My brain short-circuited. I stammered, “D-don’t you get it? Be my boyfriend.” Christian’s ears turned red. He whispered, “Okay.” Those days were beautiful. I hated studying, but I sat obediently next to him, letting him tutor me. In a year, my SAT score went up by 300 points. I calculated it—I could get into a college in Boston. No long-distance relationship necessary. If only that physical hadn’t happened… “Ugh—” The sound of me retching echoed in the ward. I hugged the toilet bowl, seeing stars, covered in cold sweat. My bestie patted my back. “This isn’t working. You’re reacting too strongly. I’m getting a doctor.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t. I’m used to it.” Twenty-seven rounds of chemo abroad, all alone. I survived that. I fought for ten years. Now it’s back. Who knows how much longer I’ll suffer? I didn’t want to be the annoying patient. My bestie wouldn’t let it go. “Isn’t Christian your doctor? I’ll find him. He’ll help.” I hugged her leg. “Girl, please. Be quiet. You should be glad he didn’t recognize me. If he did, he’d prescribe a hundred rounds of chemo just for spite.” “Who told you that you need a hundred rounds?” A cool voice came from behind. I stiffened. I didn’t dare turn around. My bestie sighed in relief. “Dr. Vance, Luna isn’t feeling well—” “It’s a normal reaction to chemo. If she can’t handle it…” I didn’t hear the rest. My brain was screaming: Did he hear what I just said? 3 That evening, a nurse came to give me an anti-nausea shot. She probed, “Do you know Professor Vance?” I flopped onto the bed, dead inside. “Nope. Why?” “He never micromanages like this. He specifically went to the attending physician and ordered this shot for you.” I looked in the mirror. Gaunt. Pale. Sickly. Compared to ten years ago, I looked like a different species. Impossible… Christian has a good memory, but— Wait. He has a great memory. What if he’s holding a grudge? The name “Luna Montez” was on the chart. How could I think he wouldn’t know? My bestie chimed in, “Your Professor Vance is only 28, right? A professor so young?” “Wow, you know your stuff! He did an accelerated MD-PhD program. Graduated at like 26. He’s a unicorn. Regular people can’t compare.” Seeing my bestie’s interest, the nurse laughed. “Planning to chase him? Save your energy. He’s taken.” My bestie winked at me. Then the nurse added, “The Dean’s daughter. Ivy League grad. They might get married any day now.” My bestie’s smile froze. I picked at a loose thread on my hospital gown, suddenly finding it fascinating. After the nurse left, my bestie whispered, “Luna, sorry…” “Eh, what for?” “I’m 28, not 18.” The dream of the cold, aloof genius falling for me died ten years ago. 4 I didn’t see Christian after that. I heard about him, though. Academic conferences, research labs. He did rounds once a week to check meds. Between chemo cycles, patients could go home. So until I was discharged, I didn’t see him. On the way home, my high school class president called. “Luna! You still in Boston? How’s treatment?” Background noise was loud. The class rep jumped in. “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick? If the Prez didn’t mention it, we wouldn’t have known.” I was popular back then. I still kept in touch. I laughed awkwardly. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.” “Don’t say that. Where do you live? We’re coming over tomorrow.” I couldn’t say no. I gave them the address. My parents spent a fortune on my treatment. Thanks to my bestie, I found a cheap rental in the city. First floor, south-facing yard. If I got better, I could plant flowers, maybe get a dog. Most of my classmates stayed in our hometown. Only a few were scattered around. So only five or six people showed up. They brought groceries. “We were gonna do hotpot, but it’s hot. Let’s stir-fry.” I wore a thick beanie. “It’s fine, we have AC. I want hotpot.” Everyone swarmed the kitchen. The house came alive. It felt like graduation all over again. The Prez was washing veggies. “Have you contacted Christian?” I froze. “What?” “Dude, didn’t you know? He’s a hematology expert. specializes in lymphoma. You should ask him.” “Oh, I—” I really didn’t want to get involved with Christian. Then the doorbell rang. The Prez wiped his hands and opened the door. Cheers erupted. “Christian! You made it!” “Whoa, Professor Vance, long time no see.” “Come in! Luna wants hotpot. You’re the expert, can she eat it?” I stood there like an idiot. Unwashed face. No mask. Exposed. I never expected them to invite him. Or for him to see me like this. Christian looked at me calmly. “Clear broth is fine.” “Okay, okay! Clear broth it is!” Everyone got busy again. Christian changed into the slippers the Prez offered. He handed a bag of fruit to someone in the kitchen. The Prez tried to smooth things over. “Hey, let bygones be bygones. Christian, be the bigger man. Don’t hold a grudge against Luna.” Someone shoved a colander of spinach into Christian’s hands. He was pushed onto the sofa opposite me. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the living room. The AC hummed in the corner. I avoided his eyes, fumbling for the mask in my back pocket. Snap. Christian broke a spinach stem. “I already recognized you. Is there a point in hiding?”

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