Category: English

My acting is as trash as dog shit. No director was willing to hire me, so I had to pay out of my own pocket just to get a role. Juggling acting and side hustles, I was constantly operating at a loss. Until my agent booked me a reality TV show. The original plan was just for me to show my face and build a little presence. I never expected that I would instantly blow up on the trending charts. None of the celebrity guests on the show knew how to cook. I raised my hand and said: “I know a little bit about cooking.” So, using whatever ingredients were on hand, I whipped up an eight-course feast. The sweetheart ingenue’s makeup melted off. I raised my hand and said: “I know a little bit about makeup.” After I worked my magic, she was so thrilled she wanted to hire me as her personal makeup artist. In the middle of the night, a water pipe burst in the house the production team provided. I raised my hand and said: “I know a little bit about plumbing.” That very night, I skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts. The top comment read: Of the 360 trades in the world, sister, why don’t you just pick a different one?! 1 Other actors get paid to work. I had to pay to get acting gigs. This all started with my very first audition. I was auditioning for the role of a blind person. My performance was so breathtakingly realistic that it scared the director out of his chair. He personally escorted me out on the spot: “Ma’am, I asked you to play a blind person, not a zombie from The Walking Dead!” From that day on, my reputation preceded me. Within a hundred-mile radius of Hollywood, not a single casting director dared to hire me. My agent deeply regretted her choices, particularly the choice to sign me so early. But, out of professional obligation, she still tried her best to get me work. Even though they were all just extra roles and bit parts. As a result, my reputation only grew. When I played a corpse, I actually fell asleep, and when I was supposed to have a post-mortem twitch, I didn’t move a muscle. The director almost had a heart attack from stress. When I played a background maid, my voice was louder than the lead actress’s. When I played a lackey, I tripped the female lead while trying to walk menacingly. Not only did I lose the role, but I had to fork over my entire month’s salary to cover the medical bills and ruined costumes. Given all of the above, I truly couldn’t get a single role anymore. Left with no other options, I had to get creative. Not only did I work for free, but I actively paid money to get cast. For a single bit part with three lines, I had to network through eighteen different connections. I even had to bribe the casting director’s dog with premium organic dog treats. This went on for three years. I was still stuck at square one. My acting was still garbage, and I was still only booking tiny extra roles. Even the savings I had built up from working odd jobs before entering the industry were almost gone. With no other choice, I had to pick up side hustles between acting gigs just to survive. In my spare time, I did DoorDash deliveries. The only problem was, occasionally, I’d accidentally deliver food to a set I was working on, which was a little awkward. But doing food delivery just didn’t pay enough. So, I started looking into maintenance work. Things like being a locksmith or fixing toilets. Low stress, high pay. Or I’d go work as a line cook at restaurants that were too busy and needed an extra hand tossing the wok. Over the past three years, I juggled acting and odd jobs. Of the 360 recognized trades in the world, I’ve probably dabbled in every single one. 2 When my agent called me, I was in the middle of changing a lock cylinder for a young woman who lived alone. I had just popped the old cylinder out when my phone rang. My agent, Maggie’s, voice sounded incredibly excited. “Stella, I got you a fantastic gig!” “It’s a live-streamed reality show! It’s packed with A-listers, and the buzz is already massive. You are going to ride some serious coattails on this one!” “To get you on this show, I literally begged every single connection I have. I bought three different producers dinner. I’m deducting all those expenses from your paycheck, by the way.” What?! Deducting it from my paycheck? Wait a minute, do I even have a paycheck? I let out a bitter laugh. “Maggie, I’ve been operating at a loss for years. There’s literally nothing left to deduct from me. Why don’t you just dock my credit score instead?” However, my agent didn’t share my pessimism. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Listen, there are two massive pop idols, an Oscar-winning actress, and two ‘sweetheart’ ingenues. The drama and trending potential are going to be off the charts! Just standing in the background will get you more exposure than you’ve had in your entire life. Your popularity is going to skyrocket! You’ll have so many scripts thrown at you, you won’t even have time to read them all!” Hearing her say that, I started floating a little. If that happened, did that mean I could finally get some more significant roles? I’d settle for the evil step-sister! Or even the female lead’s quirky best friend! Anything was better than my current status of only ever having three lines! So, I immediately promised: “Don’t worry, Maggie! I will perform my heart out on this reality show. I will fight for every second of screen time and ride this wave to the top!” After finishing the lock installation for the young woman, I rushed home without stopping. I stayed up all night compiling dossiers on all the other guests on the show. I didn’t realize until I looked them up, but the lineup was terrifying. They were all currently trending, highly talked-about celebrities. The kind of people who could sneeze and end up on the front page of TMZ. The day the production company announced the cast lineup, the post surpassed a million retweets in half an hour. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Looking at the comments underneath, it was even more spectacular. The top comments were entirely fan bases cheering for their idols. Obviously, none of them were cheering for me. The only few comments that mentioned me went something like this: “Who is that girl at the end? Stella? Never heard of her. Is she a regular civilian?” “The producers are getting creative, bringing in an average Joe.” “Wow, I want to go! This Stella girl is so lucky.” Meanwhile, I, Stella “The Civilian”, was crying a river of tears in my heart. 3 The day of the reality show recording. To make a good impression on the crew, I arrived on set extremely early. I spent my time bringing coffee and kissing up to all the production staff. Not long after, the other guests began to arrive one by one. I practically tripped over myself rushing to help them carry their luggage. Mainly to steal some screen time. And to build up some goodwill. The live-stream comments noted: [This civilian girl really knows how to play the networking game.] Of course I do! I’ve spent the last three years in the industry doing nothing but networking! Just as I was helping the ‘sweetheart’ ingenue, Daisy, lift her suitcase, the Oscar-winning actress next to her, Serena, suddenly let out a shriek. “Ah! My zipper is broken!” Serena had brought a simple duffel bag today to save hassle, but the zipper had derailed after only two pulls. She frustratedly ran a hand through her hair. “I wonder if there’s a tailor or repair shop nearby.” I gently set Daisy’s suitcase on the ground. Dusting off my hands, I walked over to Serena. “Let me take a look.” The three people gathered around automatically stepped aside to give me room. Serena frowned. “You know how to fix zippers?” I picked up the bag, inspected it carefully, and confirmed it was a minor issue. I turned back and replied, “I know a little bit about it. Do you mind if I use my teeth?” After getting a bewildered but affirmative nod from Serena, I clamped my teeth down on the zipper track until I bit open a large enough gap on the derailed side. Then, I fed the bottom teeth of the zipper back into the slider. Once I confirmed it was pulled all the way to the bottom, I bit down again, clamping the gap I had just created firmly shut. After finishing, I zipped the bag up and down a few times to ensure it was smooth, then handed it back to Serena. “All done.” Serena took the bag, looking completely incredulous. “That’s it?” I waved my hand casually. “Minor issue.” Except it was a little hard on the molars. The live stream went wild: [Learned something new today.] [Looks like the civilian they hired is actually a seamstress.] [It’s alright, isn’t that just a basic life hack?] [Civilian Stella actually has some skills.] [Civilian sister, I’m a little worried about your dental health.] Thank you. My teeth are feeling a little breezy right now. 4 The room assignments were sorted out. I was sharing a room with the sweetheart, Daisy. The Oscar winner, Serena, had her own room. The two pop idols were sharing a room. By the time we unpacked, it was already high noon. Unsurprisingly, everyone’s stomachs were growling. Naturally, ordering Uber Eats was strictly forbidden. According to the rules of the show, we had to use the ingredients provided on-site, and we had to prepare a total of eight dishes. I took inventory of the vegetables on the counter. Eggs, eggplant, cabbage, pork belly… Okay, making eight dishes wouldn’t be a problem. So, I looked excitedly at the others. “Let’s each make one dish! What does everyone know how to cook?” Daisy was the first to raise her hand. “I know how to make boiled eggs.” Girl, I don’t think that counts as a dish. The comments: [Aww~ Our Daisy is so cute~] Serena also raised her hand. “I know how to make steamed eggs.” Sister, I don’t think that counts as a dish either. The comments: [Wow~ Our Serena is so amazing~] Next to them, the pop idol, Mason, raised his hand: “I know how to make scrambled eggs.” I was sweating profusely. Why is everyone obsessed with eggs?! Holding onto a final shred of hope, I asked, “Does anyone here know how to actually cook a meal?” The group nodded in perfect, silent unison. No. I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. We were out of time. If we didn’t cook soon, everyone was going to starve and turn into actual zombies. I took a deep breath and started issuing commands. “Serena, help me chop the eggplant. Daisy, julienne the potatoes. You two handsome guys, prep the cabbage leaves and dice the pork belly…” Once everyone had chopped and washed all the ingredients, I smoothly fired up the stove and started cooking. High heat, aggressive stir-frying, occasional wok-tossing. So skilled it was almost heartbreaking. The others watched, completely dumbfounded. “Stella, you actually know how to cook like a chef?!” I offered a modest smile. “I know a little bit about culinary arts.” The comments: [Those wok tosses do not look amateur.] [I bet the civilian sister’s real job is a chef!] [The guy above me, the answer is already on the board and you’re still guessing.] After a grueling forty minutes, the final dish was brought to the table. It was a full-blown feast, a perfect balance of meat and vegetables. Braised pork ribs, spicy chicken stew, chili pork stir-fry, tomato and egg stir-fry, braised eggplant, hot and sour shredded potatoes, braised pork belly, and a steamed egg custard. Eight dishes. Absolute perfection. Everyone couldn’t stop praising the food as they ate. “Stella, you’re amazing! This is so delicious!” Of course it is. If it tasted bad, they docked my pay. “You’re literally at the level of an executive chef.” Because I am a professional. Back when I was slinging woks at the restaurant, I could crack an egg with one hand. My cooking was so good it brought in a ton of repeat customers for the owner. 5 Everyone was eating, drinking, laughing, and chatting. Only Daisy, sitting next to me, seemed down. She kept checking herself in a compact mirror. I put a piece of braised pork belly into her bowl. “Daisy, why aren’t you eating?” Daisy pulled a long face. “My makeup is ruined.” While I was cooking earlier, Daisy had been my dedicated sous-chef, constantly running back and forth handing me things. After being smoked out by the grease and cooking fumes for half an hour, her makeup had completely melted off. Even though she had a great natural base and didn’t look bad, she definitely wasn’t looking her best. The comments were filled with sympathy: [Aww, our poor Daisy. She doesn’t know how to do anything, but she was helping out the whole time, and she didn’t even have time to touch up her makeup.] [Oh no. Daisy cares about her appearance more than anything. She probably doesn’t even want to look up at the camera.] [This show doesn’t allow outside assistants. I wonder if Daisy even brought her makeup bag.] I asked, “Daisy, did you bring any makeup with you?” Daisy pulled a cushion puff and a lip tint out of her pocket. “I left in such a hurry, I only brought these two.” I nodded. “That’s enough. That’s plenty.” Daisy looked completely lost. “Huh?” Five minutes later, Daisy was staring at herself in the mirror, absolutely thrilled. “Stella, you’re incredible! How did you achieve a full-face makeup look using only a puff and a lip tint?!” I smiled and replied, “I used the puff to heavily set the center of your face, which creates a highlighting effect. Then I used the lip tint for blush and to lower the outer corner of your eyes. But the main reason it looks so good is because you have a great base to work with. Otherwise, even the most skilled hands couldn’t paint a masterpiece.” Back in the day, to make extra cash, I ran around to countless different gig locations. At my peak, I did makeup for 58 people in a single day. They called me the “Hustling MUA.” Daisy was floating on air from the compliment. “Stella, why don’t you come be my personal makeup artist? The pay is highly lucrative!” It sounded incredibly tempting, but I still waved my hand. “I just know a little bit about it. I still have my main career.” Even though my main career lost me money, I truly loved it. The live comments exploded: [To the person guessing chef earlier, still wanna bet? I’m guessing Civilian Stella’s job is a makeup artist.] [Are you stupid? Didn’t she just say she has a main career? She’s not a makeup artist!] [Seeing how skilled she is, it really doesn’t look amateur. What the hell does she actually do?!] That night, the hashtag “What Exactly is Stella’s Job?” skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts. 6 That evening, we all went back to our respective rooms. I was lying in bed scrolling on my phone, and the second I saw the trending hashtag with my name on it, I sat bolt upright. I rubbed my eyes. Holy monkey, am I seeing things?! I, Stella, actually made it onto the trending charts?! I was ecstatic. I was losing my mind. Everyone must have been blown away by my charm today. After all, a gorgeous girl who can cook, carry luggage, and is a master of social networking? Who wouldn’t love that? Let’s see how everyone is praising me. I happily clicked on the hashtag. A massive headline immediately caught my eye: What Exactly is Stella’s Job? My smile froze on my face. What is my job? I’ve been acting for three years, and you’re asking me what my job is?! Okay, fine, I admit it. The dramas I’ve been in are all super niche indie stuff, or I was just an extra. It’s understandable if people don’t know. But wasn’t it written right there in the guest introductions below the show’s description?! Stella, Actress! Is that not clear enough?! I frantically clicked on the official cast introductions for our reality show. Stella, Civilian. Me: “?” Don’t mess with me. Wait, when the show first premiered, I explicitly remember it saying “Actress”! I planned to demand an explanation from the producers tomorrow. However, by the next day, I had completely forgotten about it. Because today’s challenge was brutal. Setting up a street stall. Everyone had to choose a street vending stall they liked and sell products. As long as a customer approached, we had to serve them, and we would be graded on our performance. The two handsome pop idols chose the easiest option: grilling hot dogs. Serena chose something slightly easier: applying phone screen protectors. The only thing left was the slightly more difficult option: making street crepes. Everyone looked at me. “Stella, we’re counting on you.” I rubbed my forehead and forced a bitter smile. Street crepes. I actually did know a little bit about that. 7 I was planning to show off my skills. But after waiting for half an hour, not a single customer showed up. Bored out of my mind, I looked around. Figuring I’d go steal some screen time at the other stalls, my eyes landed on Serena’s booth. A young woman was standing in front of the stall, looking quite unhappy. She kept rushing Serena: “Are you done yet? I’ve been waiting for almost twenty minutes.” Serena was sweating profusely from nervousness. “I’m so sorry, this is my first time applying a tempered glass protector. I’ll be done in just a second.” I walked over. “Serena, what’s wrong?” The customer spoke up: “I just need a screen protector applied. She’s gone through five or six of them and still can’t get it right. I’m in a rush.” I took the phone from Serena and whispered, “Serena, you grabbed the wrong model size. Let me handle it.” Serena sighed helplessly: “I’ve been looking through this pile of protectors for half an hour, I can’t find the exact model match.” I carefully inspected the pile. Indeed, there wasn’t an exact model match. But phone screens are mostly similar; there should be another model that fits well enough. I rummaged through the pile and finally found one. The old, cracked screen protector hadn’t even been removed from the customer’s phone yet. Serena probably thought the new one was supposed to be applied directly over it. I picked at the corner of the phone screen, slowly and carefully lifting it up until the old protector separated from the screen. Then, I peeled the entire sheet of cracked glass off. I tossed the broken protector into the trash can. I pulled out an alcohol prep pad and meticulously began wiping the phone screen. The comments: [Stella knows how to apply screen protectors too?!] [She looks so focused, it doesn’t look like she’s faking it.] [So Stella’s actual job is running a phone repair kiosk?] [Highly likely. An amateur wouldn’t have that much patience.] I wiped the screen until there wasn’t a single speck of dust or fine hair left. Then, I slowly peeled back one corner of the new tempered glass protector, pulled the backing off halfway, and carefully aligned it with the phone screen. I gently lowered it, smoothly pulling the rest of the backing off, waiting for the glass protector to slowly adhere to the screen. Once everything was done, the three of us let out a long sigh of relief. The live stream comments also let out a sigh of relief: [Phew, it’s finally applied. We four are amazing.] [No wonder I can never apply screen protectors right. Turns out I just don’t have enough patience.] [Case closed. Stella is absolutely a phone kiosk worker. If she’s not, I swear I’ll eat a shoe on live stream.] [The guy above me is getting bold with these bets.] After sending the customer off, Serena looked at me, her eyes filled with amazement. “I never expected you to know how to apply screen protectors too.” I waved my hand casually. “I know a little bit about it. I’m used to applying them for myself.” In reality, there was a period of time where I constantly set up a stall under an overpass selling phone cases. Naturally, I had to apply screen protectors too. Because of my absolute patience, rigorous attention to detail, and excellent technique, I attracted a massive crowd. At my absolute peak, I applied 140 tempered glass screen protectors in a single day. My hands were practically smoking by the end of it.

I went to the ER, and the hallway was absolutely packed with patients waiting their turn. But I was in a rush to get to my grandfather’s 80th birthday dinner, so I had no choice but to let an intern draw my blood to speed things up. After poking me eight times without finding a vein, the girl suddenly covered her face and started sobbing. “I’m just a baby, my hands are too small to aim properly! Why are you being so mean?!” I was sweating cold bullets from the pain. Just as I was about to snap, a few lines of floating text suddenly scrolled across my field of vision: “Omg the female lead is so cute! She’s so nervous seeing her crush that she forgot how to do an IV!” “This is the charm of a clumsy beauty! She’s using this to get the male lead’s attention, so sweet!” “Look, the male lead has a straight face, but he’s about to feel so bad for her!” I almost laughed out loud. I didn’t even know this woman! And what the hell did it mean by “male lead”? I am a 100% biological, certified woman! … “What are you doing? Move your hand!” Seeing this intern, who just referred to herself as “a baby,” gearing up to stab me again, I violently yanked my arm away. The back of my hand was already covered in dark purple bruises, and blood was beading out of the multiple puncture wounds. I was about to explode. “Even if you’re an intern, this is crossing a line, right? Did you actually graduate from a legitimate nursing school?” I gritted my teeth, enduring the sharp, cramping pain in my stomach that brought me here in the first place. But the woman grabbed my hand again, muttering softly: “Don’t move! When you move, baby loses her feel for the vein!” “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely get it this time. Stop being so grumpy!” My head was buzzing. This is a hospital emergency room, not the set of a goddamn romantic comedy! But the waiting room was packed with people, and the stomach pain was becoming unbearable. My grandfather was still waiting for me. I decided to just let her try one last time. I resigned myself to my fate, closed my eyes, and offered my hand. My stomach was doing flips; I just wanted to get this over with. I completely ignored her delusional muttering. “Don’t be scared, handsome. Baby can definitely do it this time.” “Come on, baby, fighting for love!” I didn’t even bother lifting my eyelids to acknowledge her. About thirty seconds later, accompanied by a joyful gasp: “Done!” I finally let out a sigh of relief and opened my eyes. What I saw nearly made me pass out on the spot. The new puncture wounds, combined with the massive purple bruise from before… She had crookedly poked a pattern into the back of my hand. A heart? What the actual fuck?! The blood instantly rushed to my head. Am I in a hospital ER, or am I participating in some psychotic performance art? And the intern actually pointed at my hand with an expectant look: “Does it look good?” “It’s the newest trend in IV art. I knew you’d love it!” The floating text comments started scrolling rapidly again. “Ahhhhh! The female lead is so smooth! She gave him a heart tattoo with the needle!” “What kind of god-tier confession is this! So romantic! Look at the male lead’s face! He’s definitely stunned by how touched he is!” I slowly raised my hand, branded with the bruised heart. And roared toward the nurse’s station at the end of the hall: “CHARGE NURSE!” The intern panicked and tried to cover my mouth: “Why are you calling the charge nurse? If you don’t like it, I can just change the pattern! Why are you yelling?” As she spoke, tears started streaming down her face. This immediately sparked whispers from the surrounding patients: “What’s wrong with that guy? Bullying a little nurse?” “He looks so well-dressed, why is his temper so awful? It’s just a needle poke, can’t a grown man handle a little pain?” My head was pounding. I looked down at myself. I was wearing a black tactical jacket, I had a sharp wolf-cut hairstyle, and because I hit the gym year-round, my shoulders were definitely broader than the average woman’s. But that doesn’t mean I am a goddamn grown man! The charge nurse jogged over and saw my hand completely covered in needle holes. She immediately reprimanded the intern: “Chloe Miller! Did you cause trouble again?!” “Didn’t I tell you that you are not allowed to draw blood without supervision? What is wrong with you?” But Chloe pointed at me, looking incredibly wronged: “He said he was in a rush and insisted that baby do it!” I let out a cold, incredulous laugh: “And?” “Does that give you the right to turn my hand into a pincushion?!” The charge nurse’s face turned pale. She glared at Chloe. Chloe shrank her neck, tears falling like rain: “Waaah… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” “Baby was just too nervous, my hands wouldn’t listen to me…” The floating comments started going crazy again. “Ahhh the female lead is crying! The clumsy beauty looks so cute when she’s wronged! Male lead, you absolute pig, comfort her!” “This is love! She made a mistake because she cares too much! I ship them so hard!” “I don’t even like this male lead, he’s not as good as the Hospital Director male lead. When he has to grovel to get her back later, he’ll regret this!” I’ll regret this? I’m currently regretting bringing my hand to this hospital! The charge nurse was clearly nursing a massive headache, trying to pacify me: “Sir, please don’t be angry.” “Chloe is an intern here, her clinical skills are definitely lacking. I apologize on her behalf.” She paused, pointing at the registration slip in Chloe’s hand: “However, you’ve already checked in under her name, it’s entered into the system.” “If you want a different nurse, you have to go back to the front desk, cancel this ticket, and pull a new number to wait in line again.” “The ER is packed right now. Going back and forth will probably take you another three or four hours.” I squeezed my fists. Three or four hours? By the time it was my turn, my grandfather’s birthday party would be over. The charge nurse saw my hesitation and immediately offered a compromise: “How about this? I will personally stand right next to her and supervise her for one last try?” “I guarantee it will be a success this time. How does that sound?” Before I could even speak, Chloe nodded enthusiastically: “Give me one more chance, please? Baby can definitely do it this time!” The comments cheered. “Charge nurse with the ultimate assist! Say yes! Say yes!” “Being surrounded by a crowd, but she only has eyes for you… this is totally a K-drama vibe!” I kept my face deadpan and replied: “No.” Chloe’s tears immediately welled up again. The people waiting in line started muttering again. “What’s this guy’s problem? The girl apologized, the charge nurse guaranteed it, and he’s still being a jerk.” “A grown man arguing with a little girl, he has absolutely no class.” Every time I heard “grown man,” my temples throbbed painfully. “It’s real easy to judge when you’re just standing there, isn’t it?” “If any of you think she’s so pitiful, and I’m so classless, why don’t you offer your arm for her to stab?” The crowd instantly went dead silent. The comments immediately got angry. “This dog of a male lead actually said no? Female lead, use your ultimate move!” “We have to cancel this trash man today so he loses his male lead status!” I looked up at Chloe in confusion. Suddenly, I felt like she looked familiar. Before I could place her face. I saw a red light flash from the front pocket of Chloe’s white coat. This person was secretly recording me! What the hell was she trying to do? Just as I took a step forward, Chloe violently jerked backward: “What are you doing?!” “I let it slide when you rubbed against my thigh earlier, and now you’re trying to grope my chest?!” With that single scream. The entire hallway devolved into absolute chaos. Several large, aggressive male family members immediately rushed forward, blocking Chloe behind them. “What are you doing?! Sexually assaulting a nurse in broad daylight?!” “You’re here for a doctor, keep your hands to yourself! Do you want to go to jail?!” I turned to look at the charge nurse. The cramping in my stomach made my voice ice-cold: “Does this hospital not do psych evaluations when hiring interns? You let people with persecution complexes work here?” The charge nurse turned pale and quickly tried to de-escalate: “Sir, please calm down. This is a hospital, please do not shout and disturb the other patients.” “Chloe, explain yourself clearly, what exactly happened?” Chloe clutched the hem of her coat, looking at me with tear-filled eyes: “It’s… it’s just that earlier, when he was letting me draw his blood, he purposely… he rubbed against baby’s thigh.” “Baby was scared, my hand shook, and that’s why I missed the vein…” The crowd completely exploded. “He really is a pervert!” “Call the cops right now! This kind of trash needs to be locked up!” “Don’t be scared, sweetie, we’ll all testify for you!” Seeing that someone had already pulled out their phone. Chloe suddenly waved her hands in a tragically heroic manner: “No, please don’t call the police!” She bit her lip, looking like someone who had suffered immense trauma but was too scared to speak up: “Forget it. It’s not his first time doing this.” “Last time, he cornered me in the stairwell and tried to sexually harass baby…” She stopped mid-sentence, choking back a sob, shaking her head vigorously. “I’m just an intern nurse. I’m about to become a full-time employee.” “I can’t afford to offend him. He looks like he has money. If he retaliates against me, I’ll lose my job…” The comments started cheering. “Baby is doing great! Finally using the ultimate move!” “Beautifully done! This dog of a man must die! Ruin his reputation!” I roared in anger: “You’re full of shit!” But to the people around me, my roar just looked like I was lashing out from being exposed. “Look! He’s still threatening her!” “He definitely got exposed and now he’s panicking! We can’t let this scum get away with it!” Several of the large guys rolled up their sleeves and surrounded me. They boxed me in completely. “Hey buddy, are you going to admit it or what?” I was so angry my stomach literally stopped hurting. This mob of people just loved the drama, acting like they were bursting with righteous justice. Fine. You all think I’m an easy target, huh? I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 directly. When I finished giving the dispatcher the details. The crowd erupted into an even louder uproar. “He actually has the nerve to call the cops?!” “He gets caught sexually harassing someone, and he plays the victim?!” Chloe froze for a second, then put on a face of tragic martyrdom: “Baby is just a lowly intern with no voice. If you hadn’t gone too far, I was going to suffer in silence.” “But if I let you go, what if other women fall victim to your predatory behavior?” “I have to stand up! I have to speak for all women!” The comments were boiling over. “Wow! Baby is so brave! Facing off against the trash man head-on!” “This is a true strong female lead script! My blood is pumping!” The guys surrounding me were practically ready to throw punches. “Don’t be scared, miss! We’re your witnesses!” “Hospitals need brave nurses like you! We’re all going to write commendation letters to your director! They have to hire you full-time!” Just then, two police officers arrived on the scene: “What’s going on here? Who called 911?” “I did!” I pointed at the massive purple bruise on the back of my hand, complete with that idiotic heart shape: “Aggravated assault.” “Also, this intern is defaming me, claiming I sexually harassed her.” Before the officer could speak, Chloe threw herself forward: “Officer, that’s not true! He was groping me!” Crying, she pulled her phone out of her white coat pocket and handed it to the police. “I have proof!” “He harassed me last time, so I was terrified.” “When he got close to me this time, I secretly started recording…” The officer took the phone and played the video. The footage was a bit shaky, but it clearly showed me sitting in a chair, with Chloe leaning over to find a vein. Then, my leg and her thigh made brief, momentary contact. I was absolutely dumbfounded. That’s it?! I was wearing thick tactical pants, and she was wearing scrub pants under a lab coat. There were eight hundred layers of fabric between us, I literally didn’t feel a thing. And that counts as sexual harassment?! Not to mention, that contact happened because I flinched when she stabbed me with the needle! But the crowd didn’t see it that way. “See! There’s video! Ironclad proof!” “What else is there to say? Cuff him and take him away!” The officer’s expression turned serious, and he looked at me: “Sir, please come with us to the precinct for questioning.” I suddenly smiled. I looked at Chloe: “I’m going to ask you one last time.” “Did I, actually, sexually harass you?” The crowd immediately started voicing their support for Chloe. Chloe straightened her posture and said affirmatively: “Yes! You sexually harassed me! You are a pervert!” “Okay.” I nodded, and smiled again. Then, in front of everyone, I pulled my ID card out of my pocket and handed it to the officer. “But I am a goddamn woman!” “Please tell me, exactly what equipment did I use to sexually harass you?” The entire hallway fell dead silent. The officer looked at my ID card, checking it back and forth several times. The comments started debating wildly: “Impossible! Absolutely impossible!” “This trash man is using a fake ID to escape justice! He has no shame!” “The backup male lead we carefully selected for our baby could never be a woman! With those broad shoulders and that Adam’s apple, impossible!” Where the fuck did I have an Adam’s apple?! Right at that moment, I finally remembered who this woman was. Last month, I was invited to give a guest lecture at the university’s medical school. Out of hundreds of students in the auditorium, only this Chloe Miller spent the entire lecture staring directly at me! After the lecture, she cornered me multiple times, asking bizarre, irrelevant questions. “Professor, what kind of love do you consider unforgettable?” “Professor, what is your ideal romantic confession?” I had just given her some vague, polite answers and left. I had no idea this was the same person! At this point, Chloe pointed at me, her voice shrill: “Officer, don’t believe her! She’s definitely using a fake ID! How could a woman look like that?!” “She’s a man! Just a pervert trying to escape the law!” I actually laughed: “Look like what? Is there a law stating that all women must have waist-length hair and look like fragile, weeping willows?” “Officer, does this count as another count of defamation?” The officer ran my ID card through his mobile scanner. Beep. My information popped up crystal clear on his screen. Sex: F.

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A new intern had been using my photos to date the CEO online for three months. Suddenly, a stream of comments popped up before my eyes: [Oh no, what now? The CEO is coming back next week to meet the protagonist in person, but the protagonist has been dating him using the antagonist’s photos!] [Sigh, it’s all because the antagonist’s big, alluring eyes were too captivating. Otherwise, our protagonist wouldn’t have been so self-conscious about her single eyelids, forcing her to use the antagonist’s photos for online dating.] [Don’t worry, our protagonist darling is super smart! She’s getting double eyelid surgery tomorrow, and with some clever makeup, she’ll be ninety percent similar to the antagonist. The CEO will never find out!] [Once the protagonist gets her double eyelids, she’ll definitely be prettier than the antagonist. After all, she’s a 22-year-old girl, naturally fresher than a 28-year-old old hag.] Wait, this 28-year-old big-eyed antagonist… why does she sound so much like me? Just as I was trying to make sense of it, Lynn, my intern, knocked and walked in. “Boss, I’d like to request a week off for double eyelid surgery!” I looked up, glancing at her with a faint smile. “Leave denied. You’ll be on a two-week business trip.” 1 Lynn froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Is… is that big project in Atlanta being assigned to me? But I’m just an intern, I don’t have any experience.” I nodded, my voice firm. “Don’t worry. My old friend is the contact person over there. She’ll guide you every step of the way. Haven’t you always wanted to be involved in this project? After much consideration, I decided young people deserve a chance. This trip will be tough, though. There’s a lot of work to manage daily, and you might even have to pull all-nighters for meetings. You’ll need to dedicate all your time and energy to it. If you seize this opportunity and do well, you can secure your full-time position, and perhaps even get a promotion and a raise.” Any other intern would have jumped for joy. But for Lynn, a promotion and a raise were nothing compared to meeting the CEO. Seizing a career opportunity was less important than snagging the CEO, a veritable cash cow. Becoming the CEO’s wife was a far more comfortable life than working like a dog. She certainly knew how to calculate her priorities. So, without a second thought, Lynn immediately refused. “But my double eyelid surgery is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. That surgeon is incredibly popular and hard to book—a lot of influencers get their work done by him. I booked this a month in advance, I can’t change the time. I really appreciate you giving me this chance, Boss, but my abilities are limited. I’m afraid I can’t complete this task. Maybe you should find someone else.” I had anticipated her excuse. So I slapped the desk, feigning anger. “Lynn, have you lost your mind? Giving up a business trip for double eyelid surgery? Do you know how rare an opportunity like this is for an intern? The chance is yours, your flight is booked, and the contact in Atlanta is waiting for you at the hotel. Think carefully. If you forgo this opportunity for plastic surgery, I’ll have no choice but to inform HR during your performance review. I doubt anyone would want to hire someone who doesn’t understand priorities.” At my threatening tone, the comments section exploded: [Oh my god, typical evil antagonist, daring to threaten our protagonist like that!] [She’s just a measly director, who does she think she is?] [Yeah, what’s the antagonist flaunting? She’ll regret this later!] [Once our protagonist darling becomes the CEO’s wife, she’ll be the first one to get fired!] [Firing her is too boring! Make her clean toilets and fetch coffee, that’s real revenge!] 2 The comments kept scrolling, most of them calling me evil for trying to stop the protagonist and the CEO from meeting. It was then that I realized I was in a CEO romance novel. In the book, Lynn was the protagonist. She had fallen in love with the CEO’s photo when she first joined the company, then scoured the internet to learn his preferences. Discovering he liked big-eyed beauties, she set her sights on me, the woman with the largest eyes in the company, and secretly used my photos to entice him. The original plan was that after she had double eyelid surgery, styled to match my eyes by a popular surgeon, she would smoothly meet the CEO, embark on a sweet romance, and become his wife. However, as the “evil antagonist,” once I learned she was using my photos to date the CEO, I would try every trick in the book to “seduce” him. Eventually, the protagonist, fearing I’d succeed, would use her status as the CEO’s wife to fire me. She’d then expose my flirtatious messages with the boss online. This would lead to my being blacklisted across the entire industry, leaving me destitute, and ultimately, I’d be hit by a car by a “righteous netizen” and die. Oh, lovely. Since I was the evil antagonist with such a grim fate, I had no choice but to rewrite my destiny. The thought of Lynn becoming the CEO’s wife and unleashing her vengeance, leading to my tragic death, sent a shiver down my spine. When HR first handed me Lynn’s resume, I immediately passed on her due to her low academic qualifications. But she wouldn’t give up, repeatedly waiting for me downstairs, pleading for an interview. Seeing the brave and persistent young woman, I softened and let her join my department. Now, it seemed, it was all fate, merely playing out the book’s plot. But the story was just beginning, and I still had a chance to change everything. With that thought, I fixed my gaze on Lynn and said coldly, “The plane departs in three hours. I hope you make the right choice.” Then I sent her the flight details. Upon receiving the booking confirmation, Lynn’s face instantly fell. She frowned, challenging me, “Ms. Davies, I really can’t go. Why are you making things so difficult for me? I told you I have something important tomorrow and need to take a day off. Why do you insist on sending me on a business trip? You can’t just force me to do things I don’t want to do just because you’re my boss, can you? Whether you approve the leave or not, I’m not coming in starting tomorrow. I have to get this double eyelid surgery.” With that, she grabbed her bag, ready to storm out. 3 Seeing Lynn’s defiance, the comments section immediately erupted: [Our protagonist is awesome, that’s exactly what she should do!] [Who does that old hag of an antagonist think she is? Why should Lynn listen to her?] [What’s a lousy project lead compared to becoming the CEO’s wife?] [The antagonist is so shameless, doing everything she can to keep the leads apart!] [Our protagonist darling’s double eyelid surgery has to happen tomorrow, or the CEO will find out when he arrives!] [Our protagonist is about to get the same double eyelids as the antagonist; the CEO loves those sparkling big eyes!] The timing of these comments couldn’t have been better. I was just looking for an excuse to get a handle on her. Since the CEO loved those big eyes so much, what if the entire company knew Lynn was getting double eyelid surgery? How would she continue her charade then? With that thought, I quickly posted a message in the team chat: [Lynn Spencer is having double eyelid plastic surgery tomorrow. Anyone interested in going to Atlanta for the big project instead?] The moment she saw the message, Lynn rushed back, pleading with me, “Boss, I beg you, please retract that message! Such private matters don’t need to be shared with the whole team.” I smirked, my voice calm. “Since you don’t want to go on the business trip, of course I have to ask around to see if anyone else can fill in. Isn’t that normal?” Lynn yelled, her voice laced with desperation, “I’ll go! I’ll go on the business trip! Please, just retract the message!” Once the message was gone, Lynn finally breathed a sigh of relief. She lightly wiped the sweat from her brow, then accused me, “Ms. Davies, why do you have to push me like this? All I want is to get double eyelids. What’s wrong with a young woman wanting to be beautiful?” I spread my hands, feigning helplessness. “How am I pushing you? If you don’t want to go on the trip, I ask others. That’s perfectly normal, isn’t it?” Seeing her speechless, I shifted the conversation, deliberately asking, “On the other hand, why are you so worried about people knowing you’re getting double eyelids? Could you be hiding some secret?” Before Lynn could reply, the comments section had already exploded: [That old hag of an antagonist is so shameless, truly manipulative!] [She intentionally posted it in the company-wide chat, just to let everyone know the protagonist is getting double eyelids, didn’t she?] [The most despicable thing is that the antagonist even deliberately used the word “plastic surgery” to mislead everyone!] [Although the CEO doesn’t really check group messages, his assistant does! What if it gets back to him?] [Good thing it was retracted, otherwise if the CEO saw it, it would be over! The CEO hates women who get plastic surgery!] [Ugh, our poor protagonist, trapped by the antagonist like this!] Hahaha, I knew it! Mr. Sterling, being a CEO, was never short of beautiful women. Why would he like someone who’d had plastic surgery? Even double eyelid surgery was a no-go, as it could affect future generations’ looks. Lynn was flustered by my sudden question. She stammered, trying to explain, “N-no… no, it’s not… I just feel it’s personal… no need for everyone to know. I only told you because I needed to take leave, and the doctor said I need a week of rest after surgery, no phone use. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t assign me work during my time off.” Oh, I see. That explained why she came to my office to ask for leave in person. I didn’t bother listening to her excuses anymore. I pointed to the clock on the wall and reminded her, “Alright, hurry up and go. You can get your double eyelids done later.” Lynn knew there was no room for negotiation. She glared at me, annoyed, and then stormed out. 4 After confirming Lynn was on the plane, I immediately messaged my best friend in Atlanta. I told her to keep a close eye on Lynn, making sure every move she made was under surveillance. Recalling the comments that said the CEO would return next week, yet there was no internal company announcement, I wondered: was Mr. Sterling coming back specifically for Lynn? To gather more information, I ordered a coffee and went to Jessica’s office, our Head of HR. “Jessica, the annual gala is next Friday. Any special guests attending?” Jessica took a sip of her coffee and whispered, “Just between us, Mr. Sterling will be at the gala this year. The grand prize is a month of study at our headquarters in France for one lucky employee drawn live. You’ve been with the company for five years, but you’ve never met him, have you? He suddenly decided to attend this year, and the grand prize was his last-minute addition.” Hearing that, I instantly understood. The “lucky employee” was surely Lynn. Using a work trip as an excuse to take his girlfriend to France—classic CEO move. Back in my office, I dug out some of my best photos and did a full-network search on social media. Hours later, I finally found Lynn’s private account on a certain platform. The account had only been registered for a short time, just three months. She had completely copied and pasted my entire social media feed—my selfies, daily life photos, even my posts about feeding stray cats and my insights on industry trends. Good heavens, this wasn’t just using my photos for online dating; she was practically replicating my entire life! Lynn was nothing short of a con artist! After scrolling through all the content, I didn’t find any interactions between her and Mr. Sterling. So I clicked on her followers list and found only one person. This account didn’t show a face, but every single post reeked of pretentiousness. It was either a picture of a Rolls-Royce emblem or a Rolex watch, all flaunting extreme wealth. And Lynn, like a sycophant, commented on every single post with more than fifty words.

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The mistress sent me a naked photo of her and my husband. The caption was the grenade. “Your husband says you’re a corpse in the sack.” I didn’t reply. I went straight to the printing house, fast-tracked an order for fifteen hundred copies, and plastered them all over her apartment complex. The next day, she called me, sobbing, begging me to forgive her. I chuckled. “Don’t rush it. That was just the appetizer. The next grand gift is for both of you.” 01 My phone screen flickered to life, the time reading 2:00 a.m. I had just finalized the ultimate proposal for next quarter’s exhibition and was about to close my laptop. A crisp notification sound sliced through the silence of the study. It was a photograph. Grant Kingsley, my husband of five years, tangled up naked with a young woman. The backdrop was our master bedroom—the Italian-imported gray sheets I’d personally selected were now crumpled into a mess. The girl’s face was turned toward the camera, a smirk of pure provocation on her lips as she took the selfie. Grant’s face was buried in the curve of her neck, obscured, but the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist, the one I’d given him for his birthday last year, was unmistakable. Beneath the image, a single line of text followed. “Your husband says you’re a corpse in the sack.” I stared at the words, specifically at “corpse in the sack,” for a long time. A chilling sensation crept from my fingertips, up my arm, and settled firmly in my heart. But the searing pain I should have felt, the gut-wrenching collapse—it never arrived. Instead, there was an alien, almost peaceful stillness, like a boot that had been suspended over my head for years had finally dropped with a dull, heavy thud. So, this is how it ends. My fingers moved with the detached precision of someone finalizing a work document. I screenshotted the photo and the accompanying text. The image was saved into an encrypted folder I’d created weeks ago. The folder’s name: The Final Chapter. I opened my laptop, pulled up another document I’d prepared long ago, and felt no hesitation. The file title was: Sage Tanner. It contained every piece of information about her, more detailed than any internal HR file. Her exact home address down to the unit number, her parents’ contact information and workplace, her alma mater, even the boutique coffee shop she habitually visited every morning. I had collected all this a month prior. The moment Grant started working late with suspicious frequency and the faint, unfamiliar scent of a woman’s perfume began to linger in his car, I knew this day was inevitable. I hadn’t succumbed to useless emotional turmoil—no interrogation, no screaming matches. That would have been a waste of my energy. I simply, and quietly, prepared all the necessary ammunition for the war I knew was coming. I picked up my phone and dialed the number of Mike, the owner of the printing house I’d worked with for years. Mike’s voice was thick with sleep. “Rory? It’s late…” “Mike, I need a rush job,” my voice was unnervingly calm. “Fifteen hundred A4 glossy, full-color prints. I need them in three hours. I’ll triple the price.” “What’s the content, to be so urgent?” “A photo. And a single line of text.” I sent him the screenshot via email. There was a few seconds of silence on the line, followed by a low sigh. “Rory, you…” “Mike. Domestic dispute,” I cut him off, my tone devoid of emotion. “…Got it. I’m firing up the machines now.” I didn’t sleep. I changed clothes and drove to the printing house. The machines roared, and the acrid smell of fresh ink permeated the air. I watched, expressionless, as the obscene images were spit out of the cold machinery, one after another. Grant, the sheets I picked out, the expensive watch I bought—all turned into the stage for his betrayal. Mike offered me a cigarette; I politely declined. He simply patted my shoulder, saying nothing. At 4:00 a.m., I drove away, my trunk heavy with three cumbersome cardboard boxes. I had pre-hired three temps via a local gig app and met them outside Sage Tanner’s apartment complex. “I want these plastered on every single surface in this complex,” I handed them a thick wad of cash and a box of photos. “The bulletin board, the elevator lobby, the gym equipment, and taped to the door of every single unit.” “Uh, ma’am, what is this?” A young man hesitated, looking at the photo. I pulled another stack of bills from my wallet and added it to the pile. “Make sure you’re thorough.” No more questions were asked under the weight of the triple cash incentive. I didn’t leave. I parked my car in the shadows across the street and silently watched them, like ghosts in the dark, distributing my “masterpiece” into every corner. The faint light of dawn broke the darkness. Movement started in the complex. Early-morning walkers and joggers were the first to find the jarring, full-color sheets. They gathered at the bulletin boards, pointing and whispering. Next, uniformed security guards started running around, tearing them down, but for every sheet they removed, another was quickly discovered. Fifteen hundred copies. Enough to ensure the scandal would fully ferment by sunrise. I watched the lights flicker on behind the windows, and the hesitant, peering silhouettes, and a cold smirk touched my lips. My phone finally rang. It was Sage Tanner. The moment I answered, her piercing sobs erupted, the background a cacophony of neighborly shouts and angry discussion. “Ms. Leighton! I’m so sorry! I really am! Please, please, just let this go!” Her voice was shaking uncontrollably. “My parents will kill me if they find out! I’ll lose my job! Please!” I let out a soft, gentle laugh, rolling down the window to let the cool morning air brush against my face. My tone was falsely kind, like I was consoling a frightened child, but the words were pure venom. “Don’t rush it.” “That was just the appetizer.” “The next grand gift is for you, and your darling Grant.” 02 When Grant kicked the front door open, I was slowly and methodically dusting a Song Dynasty porcelain vase on the bookshelf. I’d bought it at an auction two years ago; he’d mocked me then, calling it “a broken jar” not worth the six figures I paid. He never understood art; he only understood the shallow vanity built on money and profit. “Rory! What the hell is wrong with you?!” He stormed toward me, his face a mask of scarlet rage, his eyes bloodshot. He slammed his phone down hard on the mahogany coffee table in front of me. The screen showed the apartment complex’s community chat log: The obscene photo and a flood of vicious commentary had completely taken over the thread. “Do you have any idea how badly this affects my reputation?!” he roared, spittle flying toward my face. I could smell the stale mix of smoke, whiskey, and the other woman’s perfume on him. See? He didn’t mention his betrayal once. Only his reputation. I set down the soft cloth, picked up the vase—now polished to a perfect, soft luster—and held it up to the light for inspection. “Your reputation?” I said, my gaze still on the porcelain, my voice as flat as if I were discussing the weather. “It’s the one you rolled around in bed and earned with her. It has nothing to do with me.” “You!” His chest heaved with fury. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so strong I thought he might shatter the bones. “You fix this now! You will go and tell them it was a mistake! You will apologize to Sage!” He was still commanding me. Five years of marriage had conditioned him to this high-and-mighty posture, to my expected subservience and forbearance. I finally lifted my eyes to meet his. My gaze held none of the past warmth, the adoration, or even the expected anger or resentment. All that remained was a cold, alien assessment that clearly unnerved him. “Grant Kingsley, what gives you the right to order me?” He froze. In five years, this was the first time I had used that tone, that look, with him. The raw fury in his eyes stalled, replaced by bewilderment and disbelief. “You ruined Sage! She’s just a girl fresh out of college! She didn’t know any better!” He was still defending his mistress, still shifting all the blame onto me. He was always like this—selfish to his core. I smiled, a small, quiet sound that nonetheless prompted him to instinctively loosen his grip on my wrist. “Ruined her? No.” I gently rubbed the red marks forming on my wrist. “I’m making her famous. Look. Now her entire complex—no, soon her entire firm—will know she is Grant Kingsley’s one true love. She should be thanking me.” My words were a pointed dagger, precisely hitting his most vulnerable spot. His self-control snapped. He raised his hand, ready to deliver a vicious slap across my face. I didn’t flinch. But as I took one step back, my other hand shot up, the phone’s camera already facing him. The screen displayed his contorted, snarling face and his raised arm in an ugly close-up. “Do it.” I looked at him calmly, my voice low but every syllable crystal clear. “Hit me.” “I promise you, the cover of the next ‘grand gift’ will be a special feature on you, Grant Kingsley, the wife-beater.” His hand froze mid-air. It was only inches from my cheek; I could feel the faint current of air from his palm. The raging inferno in his eyes was instantly extinguished, replaced by profound shock and undisguised fear at the sight of the camera lens. He stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. And he was. He had never truly seen me. In his mind, I was just a mild, uninteresting accessory, a “trophy wife” to sit safely at home, decorate his public image, and manage his domestic life. He never once considered that the “corpse in the sack” might still have teeth. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he lowered the hand suspended in the air. I watched the fear and confusion swim in his eyes, and I knew: from this exact moment, this game had slipped entirely out of his control. I was the chess master, and he, along with his ambitious young mistress, were merely the pawns I had unleashed. 03 Sage Tanner was “counseled out” of her firm, citing “a severe impact on the company’s image.” Fired, to be precise, but phrased politely. In the span of a single morning, she went from a promising intern at a prestigious investment bank to the toxic joke everyone in the financial circle scrambled to avoid. Grant was in total crisis mode. He had to placate the perpetually sobbing Sage while dealing with the internal gossip and reprimands from his own superiors. He probably assumed my revenge had reached its peak, and if he could just weather this storm, everything would settle back into place. He was far too naive. I waited one week. I waited until he’d just started to catch his breath, waited until he thought the storm was finally passing. That’s when I delivered the second “grand gift.” It was a beautifully designed electronic invitation, sent to his private email address. The subject line: Boundary Lines — Aurora Leighton Solo Curatorial Exhibition. In the body of the email, I wrote only one line. “My new exhibition is opening soon. I insist you attend. I’ve also specifically invited Mr. Preston from Venture Peak Capital.” Mr. Preston was the key decision-maker for a multi-billion-dollar project Grant was desperately trying to secure. Landing this project would make him untouchable at the firm. He had to come. He called me, his voice riddled with caution and suspicion. “Rory, what game are you playing now?” “What game could I possibly be playing?” My voice sounded light and utterly innocent. “I’m merely a curator hosting my own exhibition. Shouldn’t my husband be there to witness my small achievement? Besides, Mr. Preston is deeply interested in contemporary art. I’m just giving him what he wants.” He fell silent. The lure of the multi-billion-dollar deal ultimately overpowered his unease. He needed the project, and he needed Mr. Preston’s support, to wash away the taint of his recent scandal. He agreed. Grant arrived on the opening night of the exhibition. He wore a razor-sharp Armani suit and a perfect, impregnable elite smile. He even brought Sage. The girl wore a delicate white dress and light, subtle makeup, timidly clinging to his side. She was desperately trying to play the role of the innocent, wronged-but-still-good girl, attempting to repair her shattered image in front of Grant’s friends and clients. Pathetic. The exhibition venue was elegant, the lighting soft, the music soothing, and the guests numerous. The room was filled with well-known figures from the art, fashion, and finance worlds. Everything appeared completely normal—so normal that Grant’s defenses finally dropped. He held a flute of champagne and expertly navigated to Mr. Preston, and the two began talking and laughing easily. I watched the confident, calculating smile return to his face. He clearly believed that I was, after all, still the sensible Aurora, who would never dare embarrass him in such a public, high-stakes setting. At 8:00 p.m., the exhibition officially began. As the curator, I walked onto the temporary stage. The spotlight hit me. I wore a simple black column dress, and I calmly surveyed the room, my gaze sweeping over Grant and Sage. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for attending my first solo-curated exhibition—Boundary Lines.” “Every one of us, in life, in our careers, and in our relationships, has boundaries. Some are clear, others are frustratingly blurred. Tonight, we use art to explore that fragile boundary between humanity and commerce, and between loyalty and betrayal.” My voice, carried by the microphone, was clear and resonant. The smile on Grant’s face tightened. Mr. Preston watched me with genuine curiosity. “Now, I will unveil the core piece of this exhibition. Its name is—Betrayal.” I turned and walked toward the center of the hall, where a massive piece was concealed beneath a drape of rich red velvet. All the lights in the room focused there. Under the gaze of every single person present, I reached out and slowly pulled back the curtain. The instant the fabric slipped away, the room fell into a dead, absolute silence. Then, the collective, suppressed gasp. It was an installation piece. A man’s life-sized sculpture, constructed entirely from discarded, shattered cellphone screens, giving it a cold, fractured texture. In his arms, he clutched a woman’s sculpture, crudely pieced together from cheap, colored crystals and clear plastic, which reflected a tacky, greedy light under the spotlights. But that wasn’t the fatal blow. The most damning detail was that the “heart” of the male sculpture had been hollowed out.

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I was seven months pregnant when my cover was finally blown. The man who once claimed to cherish me—the crown prince of the Moretti Syndicate—didn’t hesitate. He shattered my teeth with the butt of his rifle, broke my ribs with his boots, and dragged me into the pits of a black-site dungeon. I miscarried in that cold, dark cell. He took the tiny, lifeless body away, and I never saw him again. Five years later, a little girl crawled into my cage and whispered: “Mommy, Daddy’s drunk. He’s crying, and he says he misses you.” 1 Five years ago, Silas Moretti beat me until the world went black, carried away my stillborn child, and vanished from my life. Since then, my world has been four damp walls, a bucket, and the endless dark. On the nights when the silence became a physical weight, I’d catch a rat just to have someone to talk to. It’s a miracle my mind hasn’t completely snapped. But my body? My body is a different story. Years without sunlight, the moldy air, the rancid scraps they call food—every joint, every old break, every inch of me screams in perpetual pain. This little girl is the first living soul to speak to me in half a decade. She said: “Mommy, Daddy’s drunk. He’s crying, and he says he misses you.” I stared at her, uncomprehending. Why was she calling me Mommy? Who was her father? I tried to answer, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. My vocal cords had withered from years of disuse. Panic flared in my chest, triggering a violent coughing fit. A spray of blood splattered across the girl’s pristine white dress. Terrified, she scrambled back and fled into the shadows. Great, I thought, slumped against the stone. More trouble. Usually, when the guards were bored or frustrated, they’d break in just to use me as a punching bag. They still haven’t forgiven me for the intel I leaked five years ago—the bust that crippled their empire, killed their men, and forced Silas to flee across the border with a handful of survivors. When they found out I was the mole, I became the Syndicate’s favorite target. They called me a traitor. I almost want to laugh. I never betrayed my badge. How could I be a traitor? Silas used every torture technique in the book on me. I begged him to kill me. “No,” he had growled back then. “I’m keeping your pathetic life. As long as you’re breathing, Leo will come for you.” Leo Vance. My husband. He was a detective, my partner, and my soulmate. His head is the only thing Silas Moretti wants more than my suffering. 2 Clang. Clang. The heavy iron gate groaned open. Steady, rhythmic footsteps echoed against the damp stone floor. This wasn’t the guard who usually tossed my slop through the slot. I retreated into the furthest corner, my eyes wide with a primal fear. The intruder held a half-empty bottle of bourbon. The sharp, boozy scent instantly filled the cramped cell. He put a cigarette between his lips. The flare of a lighter cut through the dark. The flame illuminated a face of sharp, chiseled angles and eyes that burned with the cold, predatory hunger of a wolf. Five years had passed, but I knew him in a heartbeat. My former “lover.” The king of the Moretti Syndicate. Silas. He leaned against the rusted bars, exhaling a cloud of smoke. The only sound was the faint crackle of the tobacco. “Elena. It’s been a while,” he rasped, his voice like gravel. I didn’t speak. I had forgotten how. “We’re moving,” he said, talking more to himself than to me. “The heat is picking up in this sector. We’re heading further out. We’ve made enough money to disappear forever. The men… they want me to leave you behind. They want me to put a bullet in your brain.” Do it, I thought. End this misery. “But I want your death to serve a purpose,” he continued. He stepped into the cell, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. His breath reeked of whiskey. The pressure he exerted was suffocating. “I need you to bring Leo Vance to me.” I met his gaze with absolute stillness. No anger. No joy. No hope. The void in my eyes infuriated him. He lashed out, his palm cracking against my face. Suddenly, blood began to pour from my nose. He hesitated, his hand hovering. “I didn’t even hit you that hard…” He hadn’t. The blood wasn’t from the blow. It was the sickness. I could feel my body shutting down. Death was already knocking. If I was going to die anyway, why would I ever help this monster hurt my husband? Silas used the sleeve of his expensive white shirt to wipe the blood from my face, then suddenly hauled me into his arms. I tried to struggle, but he held me in a death grip, resting his chin on my matted hair. “Elena, listen to me. Just listen,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a lethal kind of persuasion. “Did you see that girl? Her name is Mia. She’s your child. That baby five years ago? She wasn’t stillborn. She survived. You help me take down Leo, and I let Mia live. If you don’t… I’ll make you watch as I throw her into the sea.” I stopped struggling. My heart froze in my chest. 3 For the first time in five years, I was dragged out of the pit. The moment the morning sun hit me, I shrieked and scrambled for cover like a blind animal. Silas didn’t care. He dragged me by the arm, hauling me into a sprawling, opulent villa. Several women in heavy makeup were lounging on the massive leather sofas in the living room. “Silas…” they cooed, standing to greet him. One of them immediately pressed herself against him, kissing him deeply. Right in front of me, Silas returned the kiss with a savage, performative passion. “Bianca,” he said to the woman, “take her upstairs. Clean her up. Get rid of the smell.” Bianca shot me a look of pure venom. “Move it, bitch.” It took Bianca and two other women an entire afternoon to scrub the filth and the shame off my skin. Hot water hit my skeletal frame, revealing every jutting rib. I looked like a ghost draped in pale skin. Five years of hell had turned Elena Vance—the bright, fierce star of the DEA—into a hollow shell of a woman. Bianca roughly brushed my hair, her voice a low, sharp hiss. “Don’t get comfortable. Silas isn’t the man he used to be. If you want to survive another day, you stay invisible.” “Bianca. Out,” Silas’s voice boomed from the door. She gave me one last warning look and scurried out. Silas stood behind me, watching my reflection in the mirror. His long, calloused fingers traced my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Then they began to slide beneath my collar. I winced, my disgust flashing across my face for a split second. His hand stopped. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. “Look at you!” he spat. “You’re a walking corpse! No man would even look at you if you were naked!” “Daddy!” a small voice rang out from the hall. Silas’s grip instantly loosened. He let go of my hair. “Daddy! You finally let Mommy out!” Mia ran into the room, looking at me with wide, earnest eyes. “Mommy is so pretty! But she’s too thin. You need to eat more, Mommy.” I looked at her, and my vision blurred. Was she truly mine? Could this beautiful, innocent thing have come from my broken body? “Mia, how about Daddy takes us out for steak tonight?” Silas asked, his voice transforming into something terrifyingly tender. “Yay!” Mia cheered, jumping with joy. I couldn’t understand how a child could be so pure in a den of vipers. On the drive to the restaurant, she never stopped smiling, her eyes glued to the world passing by the window. Silas spoke to her with a gentleness that seemed impossible for a man who had broken my ribs. I watched them—this “father and daughter”—and my mind drifted back twenty years. To when I was five years old. 4 My father was a cop. He was always on duty, undercover, away from home for two hundred days out of the year. Every time he came home, I was overjoyed, clinging to his leg and peppering him with questions. On my fifth birthday, my parents promised to take me to McDonald’s. I was sitting on the back of my father’s bicycle, holding a colorful pinwheel. The wind made it spin and spin. The gears of fate began to turn with it. I only remember a series of deafening bangs. I tumbled off the bicycle. The world turned into a blur of blinding red. My parents lay in a pool of blood. I don’t know how long it was before a man ran over, scooped me up, and covered my eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.” … That man took me home. At first, I didn’t eat, didn’t speak, and didn’t cry. I was an empty shell. The man had a son, Leo. Every day, Leo stayed by my side, talking to me, trying to make me laugh, playing Cops and Robbers with me. Later, we went to school together, did our homework together, and eventually entered the same police academy. After graduation, we joined the same precinct as homicide detectives. We solved major cases together, bled together, and sweated together. One year, I was injured on a mission. Before I was pushed into the operating room, Leo held my hand, crying as he told me he loved me. “Elena, you have to survive. I’m going to marry you.” Neither of us had ever dated anyone else. We knew we were waiting for each other. After I recovered, Leo took a day off on Valentine’s Day to take me to the St. Jude’s botanical gardens to see the winter roses. The snow sat heavy on the red petals. It looked like a classical painting. Under the winter roses, Leo proposed. We held each other and vowed to protect one another forever. 5 As we were leaving the gardens, a young man in a sharp black suit brushed past us. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled on Leo’s sleeve. “Does he look like someone we know?” Leo nodded. “I noticed too. Silas Moretti.” The Moretti Syndicate. We had been investigating them for two years, but they were shadows. We could never find a way in. But here was Silas, delivering himself to us. I wasn’t letting him go. “You go back,” I told Leo. “I’m going to tail him and see what he’s doing here.” Leo knew my temper. Once I decided on something, there was no turning back. “I’ll wait at the bottom of the hill. Stay safe. Do not engage.” I followed Silas into a small chapel. He knelt before the altar, lighting three candles and whispering a prayer. What, was he trying to seek redemption? Impossible. Silas Moretti was the iron fist of the syndicate. He was cold, ruthless, and psychotic. Heaven doesn’t take devils like him. He finished his prayer and left. I couldn’t tail him further, so I approached the usher. “Does that handsome guy come here often?” “Yes,” the usher replied. “A few times a month.” I had a bold idea: I would get close to Silas. I would infiltrate the Moretti Syndicate. Leo was violently opposed. I threatened to call off the wedding if he didn’t let me take this shot. “Leo,” I said. “This is the last one. Once the Morettis are gone, I’m quitting. I’ll take a desk job, marry you, and have your kids. Deal?” Leo didn’t speak. He was still furious. I staked out the garden for two weeks before Silas returned. I stood not far from him while he lit his candles. When he stood up, he turned and locked his piercing gaze onto mine. He walked toward me. Good. You caught his attention. “You’ve been watching me,” he said. “Do I know you?” “Maybe we should get to know each other,” I replied confidently. “Why?” “Because… you’re very handsome.” I made sure to blush as I said it. “Ridiculous,” Silas muttered, turning away. But every time he came to the chapel after that, I was there. Finally, one day, he said, “Beautiful, let me buy you dinner.” 6 I became Silas Moretti’s “girlfriend.” He brought me into hidden clubs and underground casinos. I fed every scrap of intel to the precinct. My superiors were terrified. They wanted me out. Silas was too dangerous. But three days later, Silas was taking me to a high-level meeting. It was the jackpot. I promised my captain that after this, I was done. I got the intel. I witnessed a massive illegal arms deal with an international cartel. After the deal, Silas was riding high. He had been drinking. He looked at me, a dark fire in his eyes. “Elena. You have an incredible body.” I felt a cold chill. In the two months we’d been together, he hadn’t touched me. He didn’t fully trust me. But today, he had let me into his inner circle. He trusted me now. And I had to prove my “loyalty.” He pulled me onto his lap and started unbuttoning my shirt. I grabbed his hand. His eyes narrowed. He picked up the gun on the table and pressed the barrel against my forehead. “Strip.” … I walked home in the light rain, my coat wrapped tightly around me. Leo had called eight times. I finally answered. “Leo… we need to break up.” I turned over all the evidence on the Morettis, filed my resignation, and disappeared. Seven months later, when Leo finally found me, my stomach was heavy. I was seven months pregnant. He held me tight. “Elena, the Morettis are gone. You’re safe. Marry me. Let me take care of you forever.” We chose a small restaurant in a neighboring town for a quiet wedding. Mostly Leo’s family and friends. His captain officiated. The weather was terrible. Dark clouds gathered in the afternoon, and by evening, a storm was raging. “Leo Vance, do you take Elena More—Elena Vance to be your wife? To love and protect her, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?” “I do.” 7 The memories faded as the car continued to move. The scenery outside grew more desolate. This didn’t look like a place to get steak. Finally, the car stopped in front of an abandoned factory. Silas told his men to watch Mia, then dragged me inside. “Before dinner, we have a little business,” he told me. “The cops caught my brother. I agreed to a prisoner exchange. You for him.” He turned on his radio. “Snipers in position. Once the exchange is made, the moment the cops try to take Elena away, open fire. Leave no survivors.” He grabbed my hair. “Tell me, do you think Leo Vance is the one coming for you? Your precious Leo?” I smiled. “You better pray he isn’t. He’ll bury you.” My smile enraged him. “You goddamn traitor!” Traitor? I never betrayed my faith. Twenty minutes later, the radio crackled. “Boss, they’re here!” Silas and his men racked their guns. The factory door opened. Three men walked in. The man in the middle was Silas’s brother, Marco. The other two? I didn’t recognize them. But they had the look of my former colleagues. Silas narrowed his eyes. “Where is Leo? Why didn’t he come?” “Silas Moretti! We brought your man!” the plainclothes officer shouted. “Let’s make the trade!” “I said Leo Vance personally! Are you screwing with me?” Silas roared, cocking his pistol. The tension was a physical weight. “Si… Silas.” It was the first time I had spoken in five years. “K-keep Marco. Let the two officers… go.” He shot me an icy look. “Why the hell would I do that?” “I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you.” He ignored me. I slowly dropped to my knees, begging. “Don’t make me go. I want you. I want Mia. Let the three of us go… far away. Please?” His cold expression cracked just a fraction. He finally lowered his gun. “Leave Marco. You two cops, get the hell out!” On the drive back, Silas sat in a stony, dark silence. Mia was quiet too, playing with her toy. It was a realistic-looking toy gun. Back at the villa, Silas barked, “Bianca, take Mia upstairs!” As soon as they were gone, Silas spun around and slapped me across the face. “You think you deserve to be Mia’s mother?” He squeezed my throat. “If Leo doesn’t show his face, I’m going to kill you myself, you demon!” I just laughed. Blood poured from my nose into my mouth, staining my teeth. I probably did look like a demon. Silas let go in disgust, and I collapsed. I was dragged back to the hole. Familiar dark. Familiar damp. Familiar silence. I almost felt safe here. I curled into the corner, staring. I had learned how to zone out over the last five years. When I did, the memories would float and shift. Leo, Silas, my parents, my adoptive family. They were all so real. Clang. Clang. The iron gate again. It wasn’t mealtime. A flashlight beam cut through the dark. Behind it was a woman. It was Bianca. “Elena. Come here.” She gestured to the bars. She shoved a plastic bag into my hand. “Painkillers. They might help.” I didn’t understand why she was suddenly kind. Before she left, I asked her to leave the flashlight. I pulled a photo from under my pillow. By the light of the flash, I looked at the man in the picture. The only photo I had left of him. A handsome face in a police uniform. Bright eyes. A sunny smile. Leo, it’s been a long time. My mind drifted back five years.

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The world didn’t know it, but he was the real stand-in. At 2 AM, my ex called, saying he wanted to get back together. With red eyes, I agreed. But from the other end of the line erupted a thunderous roar of laughter. [I told you guys, this woman, Emily Vance, as long as I crook my finger, she’ll shamelessly crawl right back to me.] I didn’t get angry. I just asked him if what he just said still counted. [Nathaniel Hale, as long as you come back, you can do whatever you want to me…] Deathly silence on the other end. [Emily Vance! I’m fucking Liam Sterling! You better explain right now, who the hell is Nathaniel Hale?!] 1 In the middle of the night, I was running a slight fever. In a groggy haze, I heard my phone ring. I answered it. There was a lot of noisy commotion, and it took a while before a man’s magnetic voice reached my ear. [Emily, I miss you.] That familiar voice made my eyes instantly tear up. For the past few months, I’ve been relying on sleeping pills just to close my eyes. Hearing his voice again, I couldn’t help but choke up. [I miss you too.] Soon, the voice spoke again. [Emily, let’s stop fighting. Let’s get back together.] The man’s voice was like rich red wine, instantly intoxicating me. After the high fever, a layer of sweat coated my body, soaking through my clothes. My long nails dug into the edge of my phone case. I could barely suppress my sobs as I eagerly nodded in agreement. But then, a burst of thunderous laughter erupted from the phone. [Liam is the man! Two sentences and he’s got his ex-girlfriend begging like a dog!] [People actually fall for the middle-of-the-night ‘let’s get back together’ routine? Liam, where did you find this weirdo? When you were together, she treated you like a king. It’s been three months since you broke up, and she’s still hung up on you.] [That’s just our Liam’s charm. When they were together, he’d tell her to get lost and she would, obedient as a dog.] [One time, Liam was out on a date with another woman, and with one phone call, Emily came over just to drop off condoms.] [Are there really people that pathetic?] [That’s our Liam’s charm. I’ll take this penalty drink.] Unbridled mockery poured from the phone, finally replaced by Liam’s voice again: [I told you guys, Emily Vance is pathetic. As long as I crook my finger, she’ll shamelessly cling to me.] Liam’s voice was still deep and magnetic, but laced with a hint of smugness. Then, he said to me: [Emily, we’re playing Truth or Dare. Thanks for taking a drink for me.] His tone was dismissive, and he sounded ready to hang up. But I didn’t want to miss this hard-won opportunity. I pressed him urgently: [Did you mean what you just said?] He froze. Even the background music seemed to quiet down a bit. [Emily, are you sick in the head? You didn’t actually think I was calling you in the middle of the night to get back together, did you?] Liam cursed at me. I ignored him, persisting: [You said it, and I agreed.] As I spoke, I couldn’t hold back my cries. My voice took on a pleading tone, lowering myself to the absolute dust: [Nathaniel Hale, as long as you come back, you can do whatever you want to me…] No response from the other side. For a long, long time, it was a deathly silence. Then, a furious, low growl from Liam: [Emily Vance! You better explain right now, who the hell is Nathaniel Hale?!] 2 Nathaniel Hale. That name accompanied me throughout my entire youth. In a daze, I was transported back to when I was sixteen, the summer I first met Nathaniel. Those were the hardest days of my life. My grandmother, who I had always depended on, passed away. I became like a wild dog completely off the leash, letting myself rot in the mud. Caught in another vicious fight, my homeroom teacher issued a final ultimatum: if my parents didn’t show up this time, she would report me to the school board for expulsion. I didn’t care. Leaning lazily against the wall, I said indifferently: [My dad is in Canada, my mom is in Thailand, and I can’t reach either of them. Do you want me to invite my grandma up from the grave?] [Emily Vance!] My homeroom teacher, enraged by my attitude, grabbed me by the collar to drag me to the expulsion office. That was when Nathaniel Hale appeared. He hurried over and stepped in front of me. His first words were: [I’m sorry I’m late. I’m Emily’s older brother.] Brother? I froze, and so did the teacher. The teacher froze because the man standing before her had a clean, sharp aura, looking like he belonged to a completely different world than me, with my messy hair and heavy makeup. I froze because I never expected my parents to have an illegitimate child this old. So, I was extremely resistant to him. [Bullshit, I don’t have a fucking brother!] I cursed loudly, lunging forward to push him away. But Nathaniel, despite looking slim and refined, easily pinned me with one hand while calmly communicating and apologizing to my teacher. He promised that from now on, he would keep a strict eye on me. Due to his pleading, the teacher decided to give me one last chance. Nathaniel practically dragged me home. On the way, he shoved me into a hair salon, getting rid of my chaotic, colorful hair and the heavy makeup. The mirror revealed my original face. He stared at me for a moment, then smiled and ruffled my hair: [Look how nice you look as a student.] I didn’t dodge; instead, I took the opportunity to bite down hard on the webbing between his thumb and index finger. I failed. He caught my chin instead. [Tsk, such a fierce little girl?] [Get lost! I’m calling the cops, you kidnapper!] I mumbled my curses, my jaw held tight. Even though Nathaniel was very good-looking, it didn’t stop me from hating him, especially when he smiled—it was blindingly bright. I cursed, kicked, and hit him. Nathaniel didn’t get angry. He let me throw my tantrum. Only when I settled down did he slowly explain: [I’m not a kidnapper. Your parents entrusted me to take care of you.] [Bullshit. They don’t care about me. Otherwise, why didn’t they come back when Grandma died?] I tried to act like I didn’t care, but I still choked up when I yelled, glaring at him with red eyes. My cheeks felt a little itchy, and a little wet… Nathaniel fell silent. He let go of me, and after a long while, he promised: [Once you get into college, they’ll come back.] I thought for a moment and replied: [They’re dreaming.] 3 Whether I agreed or not. Nathaniel forcefully moved into my house. During that time, I called the police, but Nathaniel actually produced a legally binding guardianship document, signed by my parents, completely shutting me up. I gave up and started treating him like he was invisible. We had a two-bedroom apartment. I had one room, and Grandma had the other. Now he moved into Grandma’s room, and he really started acting the part, preparing three meals a day and taking care of the daily cleaning. A free maid? Why not. Once I figured that out, I accepted it with peace of mind. Except one thing was really annoying. He nagged me to come home every day after school. No matter which shady internet cafe I hid in, he would always catch me red-handed. As soon as I got home, he checked my homework. If I said I didn’t understand, he would actually sit by my side and explain it to me. Whatever I didn’t understand, he could teach. [Nathaniel Hale, tell me the truth…] Caught and dragged home yet again, I couldn’t help but ask: [Did you get bound to some mission system? If I get into college, do you get points or wealth? Or get cured of a terminal illness?] Nathaniel flicked my forehead. [Going to college is for yourself.] [Why go to college?] I rubbed my forehead, complaining: [I don’t even want them to come back…] [Do you really not want them to come back?] Nathaniel interrupted me, looking at me with a very serious tone: [Don’t you want to prove to them that even if you’re all alone, you can become excellent?!] My fingertips curled, and my heart surged slightly. He had a tiny teardrop mole at the corner of his eye. I looked into his eyes; they seemed to hold a galaxy, shining so brightly… 4 Midterm exams. I went from second to last to the top fifty in my grade. When I got my report card, no one around me could believe it. I was so happy. My mind was full of how to tell Nathaniel the good news that night. I’d lie and say I was still second to last, then extort a meal of braised pork ribs out of him. Nathaniel’s braised pork ribs were seriously delicious. I was thinking happily, but before school even ended, I was called into the homeroom teacher’s office… She suspected I cheated and wanted to cancel my score. That night, I went to a bar. 5 Nathaniel bailed me out of the police station. According to the police officer: During a spot check, the police caught a bunch of minors in the bar. I was the most conspicuous one, drunk in my school uniform, twisting and shaking on the dance floor with a bunch of shady characters, having the time of my life. Nathaniel’s face was very dark. I saw him whisper something to the police officer, sign a document, and then walk over to take me out of the station. Actually, I hadn’t drank that much, and after standing in the drafty police station hallway for so long, I was mostly sober. All the way home, Nathaniel didn’t speak to me. Seeing his stern face, I got angry too. I was about to storm into my room when he stopped me: [Stop! Don’t you have anything to say?] That one word ignited all the rebellion in my body. [I don’t need you managing me! Are you my dad, or my mom?! Do you really think a piece of paper gives you the right to control me?!] Nathaniel strode toward me. Even though he was skinny, when he kept a straight face, his aura was terrifying. Standing in front of me, he was a full head taller. Looking down at me, his face as cold as frost, his tone harder than ever before: [Do you know how disappointed your parents would be if they saw you like this?!] Hearing that, I slammed my backpack down as hard as I could and screamed hysterically: [How disappointed could they be?! The grass on their graves is taller than I am! What the hell do they know?!] I saw the ice on Nathaniel’s face crack, piece by piece. The air was stagnant for a long time before his deep voice finally broke the silence: [When did you find out?] My fists were clenched tight. The feeling of the alcohol rushing to my head returned, and my whole body felt uncontrollably hot. Biting my lip, I looked into his eyes and enunciated every word: [Stop treating me like a child. I understand everything. My parents have been dead for a long time! You hid it from me, and my grandma hid it from me too… I know a lot. I also know that they were undercover agents, and you’re a cop too!] 6 Groggy. Memories flooded my mind like a tidal wave, making my already throbbing head feel like it was splitting open. On the phone, Liam was still demanding an answer. I snapped back to reality and replied instinctively: [Where are you? I want to see you right now.] I missed him so much. I really, really wanted to see him right now. The other side went silent. I heard mocking banter in the background—some calling me shameless, others saying I was playing hard to get, and some teasing Liam, asking if he was getting anxious. Finally, Liam sent an address. I didn’t even bother getting dressed up; I just hurried over. When I got to the bar, Liam’s group was still there. Seeing my pale face, Liam, sitting right in the middle, froze for a second. [Emily, we haven’t seen each other in a few months and you look like you’re… dying?] I didn’t care. Ignoring all their mocking stares, I approached him. But when my eyes adjusted to the dim light and I saw Liam’s face clearly, an indescribable wave of fury washed over me. [Where is your teardrop mole?] I reached out and grabbed his chin, frantically inspecting his face. I hadn’t seen him in a few months. Liam’s face was different. The corners of his eyes, his nose bridge… and more importantly, the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye, the one just like Nathaniel’s, was gone… He didn’t look like Nathaniel anymore! Annoyed by my grabbing, Liam pushed me away roughly, his tone impatient: [That mole was ugly as sin. I’ve wanted it removed for ages. It looks much better now.] He touched his face, smiling confidently. But I suddenly started tearing at him like a madwoman. [Who told you to remove it?! You don’t look like him at all anymore!] I had searched so hard to find someone who looked so much like him, and now Liam had ruined it. In my anger, I turned my wrath on the man in front of me, getting up to leave, but my arm was forcefully grabbed. [What do you mean? Like who? That guy named Nathaniel Hale? Emily Vance! You better explain to me right now, who the hell is Nathaniel Hale?!] Liam finally remembered his previous question and interrogated me sharply. Someone tried to break up the fight. [Liam, calm down. Emily is definitely playing hard to get…] [Exactly. This guy probably doesn’t even exist.] Hearing this, Liam’s expression softened, and the look he gave me became a bit more contemptuous. He said: [If you want to get back together, show some sincerity. Don’t just make up some random ‘Nathaniel Hale’ or whatever, using a fake person to mess with me…] Before Liam could finish. I slapped him across the face. With one hundred percent of my strength. [Who are you calling fake?! Nathaniel Hale isn’t dead! He isn’t!] [Emily Vance, have you lost your mind?! Are you psycho?!]

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They say the night bus doesn’t just carry the living. I didn’t buy into that kind of urban legend. Not until I took the wheel for the graveyard shift. A few months ago, my life was totaled—literally. I survived a wreck that left my skull fractured and my memory full of holes. I knew who I was—Mason, born in the Rust Belt, blue-collar roots—but the accident itself was a blank tape. I just knew it was bad. After they cut me loose from the hospital, I was desperate for cash. That’s when I saw the flyer fluttering on a wet sidewalk: Transit Authority Driver Needed. Night Shift. Rural Route. High Pay. I used to drive rigs before the crash. Figuring it was fate, or maybe just dumb luck, I made the call. When I pulled up to the depot, my optimism died a quick death. The place was a concrete scar on the edge of town, half-swallowed by dead ivy and stained with years of water damage. A few buses were scattered around the lot like discarded toys, their doors rusting, their bodies dented. I couldn’t figure out how this fleet passed inspection. … The supervisor was a man named Hank. He looked like he was carved out of granite—forty-something, stiff, eyes that didn’t blink enough. After a test drive, he gave a curt nod. He pointed to the saddest vehicle in the lot, a beat-up 17-seater shuttle. “You start tonight. That’s your rig.” He laid out the route. 10:30 PM sharp. Depart from the Central Terminal, drive out to the turnaround at Blackwood Creek, rest for twenty minutes, drive back. “Five grand a month. Full benefits. Extra thousand for the night differential. You good with that?” Good? It was a lifeline. It was too good to be true. I walked into his office, ready to sign my life away. Hank stopped me, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “Mason, we run a tight ship. There are three rules. You break them, you’re out.” I nodded, desperate not to blow this. “Name them.” “First,” he said, deadpan. “You need to be unattached. Celibate. No women, no dating while you hold this contract. Purity of focus.” “I… I’m single. Haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” I was weirded out. I expected safety protocols, not a morality clause. “Good.” The tension in his forehead smoothed out. “Second: From the Terminal to Blackwood, there are five stops. You do not stop unless you are at a designated station. You hold at every station for exactly three minutes. Understood?” “What if a passenger is running late? Or needs extra time?” Hank shook his head. “Irrelevant. Stick to the protocol.” “Okay.” “Finally. Once the clock strikes midnight, you drive straight back. Doesn’t matter who flags you down. You do not stop.” He grabbed his coffee mug, signaling the end of the discussion. “Agree to these three, and the job is yours.” “Done.” I needed the money too badly to ask questions. I signed the paperwork, moved my stuff into the grim employee dorms that afternoon, and by 10:00 PM, I was heading to the bay. The bus was even worse than it looked in the daylight. The door hung loose on its hinges, and there was a jagged hole in the floorboard that whistled when the wind hit it. I checked my watch. Ignition. The outskirts of the city were brutal. No streetlights, just potholes and shadows. It took fifteen minutes to hit the first stop, a desolate patch of gravel called Willow Run. A guy with a briefcase became my first passenger. He was young, dressed like a junior associate at a law firm, but his face was slack, expressionless. He climbed on and walked straight to the back row without a word. No fare, no pass. “Hey, buddy,” I called out. “You gotta pay the fare.” He froze. He looked at me like I was speaking a dead language. After a long, awkward pause, he fished some loose change out of his pocket and handed it over. Something about him felt off. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror. He didn’t look at his phone. He didn’t close his eyes. He just pressed his forehead against the cold glass and stared into the blackness. Probably just burnout. We’re all hustling just to survive these days. The road was washboard-rough. It took half an hour to rattle our way to the second stop. Before the wheels even stopped rolling, the Suit stood up. As he passed the driver’s seat, he turned his head. “You should leave early. No one is getting on at this stop.” “Can’t do it. Policy says three minutes.” I answered automatically. By the time I turned to ask how he knew, he was gone. Swallowed by the night. “Fast walker,” I muttered. I waited. He was right. No one showed up at that stop, or the next three. It wasn’t surprising given the hour and the location, but it settled a heavy feeling in my gut. I finished the route, arriving back at the depot around 2:00 AM. The next morning, Hank cornered me while I was grabbing coffee. “First night go okay?” “Fine,” I said. “One weirdo in a suit. Tried to stiff me on the fare, but I made him pay.” “It doesn’t matter,” Hank said quickly. “We don’t rely on ticket sales for profit. Let him slide.” I swear I saw a tic in Hank’s jaw, a spasm of nerves, but he smoothed it over instantly. The second night, the Suit was there again. Same routine. Briefcase. Back row. Staring at nothing. This time, remembering Hank’s advice, I didn’t ask for money. At the second stop, he stood up. “Leave early. No one is coming.” At first, I thought he was messing with me. But a week went by, and he was my only passenger. Every night, same stop, same exit, same prediction. I joked about it to Hank. “Kid thinks he’s psychic. He’s never wrong.” Hank’s hand froze halfway to his mouth with a cigarette. “Don’t talk nonsense. It’s just coincidence.” Of course, the pattern broke the very next night. It was my eighth shift. I dropped the Suit off at stop number two. I tried to make small talk. “Let me guess, nobody’s coming tonight except you?” He offered a thin, cryptic smile. “Except for me? No one will ever get on your bus.” Then he vanished into the dark. I waited the mandatory three minutes. I was starting to feel foolish, wondering if this whole bus route was some tax write-off scheme designed just for that one guy. Then, a voice boomed from the darkness. “Hey! Open up!” I jumped. A bald, middle-aged man was pounding on the glass. I chuckled. So much for the psychic. The bald guy—let’s call him Tucker—seemed frantic. As soon as the doors hissed open, he scrambled inside. He scanned the back row where the Suit usually sat, his face draining of color. “Drive,” he wheezed. “Please, just drive.” But as soon as we pulled away, his panic evaporated. He sauntered up to the front, leaning on the safety rail. “First week, huh kid?” “Yeah,” I said, eyeing him. “How’d you know?” “I ride this route a lot.” Tucker grinned. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out. “Smoke?” “No thanks. And you can’t smoke in here.” “I don’t smoke usually,” he said, lighting up anyway. “Only when I’m on this bus.” I wanted to yell at him, but the bus was empty, and honestly, I was lonely. Tucker was chatty. He asked if the isolation got to me. I deflected, asking what he did for a living that kept him out so late. He didn’t answer. He just laughed, a dry, rattling sound. When we hit the third stop, Tucker flicked a loose cigarette onto my dashboard. “Take it. For the nerves. You’re gonna need it, seeing as no one else is gonna get on.” I took the cigarette, confused. Why is everyone repeating the same lines? I waited at the stop. Nothing. I shook my head, ready to pull out. Suddenly, a woman burst out of the shadows, running into the middle of the road. She was clutching a bundle in her arms. “Stop! Please!” I slammed on the brakes, the bus screeching to a halt inches from her hip. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Are you crazy? Running out like that with a kid?” She climbed on, breathless, apologizing over and over. “It’s fine,” I sighed. “Just be careful.” I looked at the bundle. It was a boy, maybe five or six, wrapped in layers of wool despite the mild weather. His face was visible—and it was wrong. Pale, with a bluish tint on his forehead. “Is he okay?” I asked. “He looks sick.” She didn’t answer, just hurried to the back. The boy lifted his head from her shoulder. His eyes were dark, like polished obsidian. He blinked at me. “Thank you, Mister.” He was smiling, but his skin looked like old bruises. “Listen to your mom,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’ll feel better soon.” “Okay,” the boy whispered. “But Mommy says I’m not gonna get better.” A chill went down my spine. Terminal? God, that was tragic. I drove them to the terminal at Blackwood. As she got off, the woman turned. She looked me dead in the eye and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile; it was seductive, unsettlingly intimate. My ears burned. When I got back to the depot, Hank was waiting on the tarmac. He offered me a cigarette immediately. “How was the run?” “Fine.” I waved him off. “I’ve got one.” I picked up the cigarette Tucker had left on the dash. Hank’s eyes widened. He stared at the cigarette like it was a loaded gun. “Where did you get that?” “A passenger gave it to me…” I stopped. I looked at the thing in my hand. It was wrong. The filter was black with rot. The paper was stained brown, damp, and smelled like wet earth and decay. It smelled like a grave. I gagged and tossed it out the window. Hank looked pale. “Throw that away. Don’t take things from strangers.”

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For a year, I endured the bullying of the school’s alpha, Lucas Rothwell. When my head was viciously held underwater in the grimy sink, his face would twist into a mask of savage satisfaction. I never understood why he targeted me. Until that day, when in my struggle, I tore the chain of his cherished pocket watch. The photo inside—a picture of my mother and him—revealed the truth. He was my older half-brother. The son my mother had, in her deepest disappointment, given up. He bullied me because he hated me. That night, returning home, I no longer hid my bruises. When my mother asked, her voice laced with concern, I burst into tears. “Mom, someone at school is bullying me. Will you stand up for me?” 1. Ding-a-ling— The sound of the dismissal bell sent a shiver through my body. The moment my teacher left the classroom, I snatched my backpack and bolted. But I was caught at the bottom of the academic building. A few slacker guys saw me, their eyes lighting up. “Lucas was right! The little wretch was trying to run!” I was trembling all over, instinctively turning to escape. But as I spun, a strong hand grabbed my collar. I caught a faint scent of cigarette smoke from him… It was Lucas. The ringleader of the year-long torment I’d endured. This is it, a wave of despair washed over me. Soon, I was dragged between them, up to the top floor. This floor had no classrooms, only an abandoned restroom. This was their “sanctuary,” where they terrorized me with impunity. I never understood why, out of so many students, Lucas had singled me out. This secondary school had both a middle school and a high school section. I was just starting seventh grade, while he was already a junior. I couldn’t fathom why someone as ordinary as me could evoke such intense hatred in him. From the very first day I enrolled, he had appeared in my line of sight. He just stood there, outside my classroom, watching me with eyes like a viper, fixed on its delectable prey… When he bullied me, his face would sometimes contort into a grimace of twisted pleasure. Bang— I was shoved violently into the restroom. My body slammed against the dilapidated door, my arm aching. “Didn’t we tell you to come up here on your own after school?” A boy raised his hand and slapped the back of my head. “What the hell are you running for?” Seeing my silence, he slapped my face again. These were Lucas’s hangers-on, his “enforcers.” I clenched my fists, struggling to speak. “Today is my mom’s birthday. I want to go home and celebrate with her.” I was so terrified that I didn’t notice Lucas, who had been leaning against the wall with an impassive face, suddenly darken at my words. He strode over quickly, roughly pushing aside the boy in front of me. Lucas was tall and strong. He grabbed my collar, forcing me to stand on tiptoes to look at him. “What do you think you are…?” Lucas gritted his teeth, his eyes twitching slightly, his breathing unsteady, as if he was struggling to contain something. Before I could grasp the reason for his sudden outburst, he hauled me to the sink. The water in the basin was filthy and foul, probably unchanged for centuries. Lucas, without the slightest hesitation, slammed my head into the water. A suffocating sensation overwhelmed me, and I thrashed wildly. I had a terrifying feeling Lucas truly wanted to kill me… Why? My hands flailed incessantly, trying to grasp anything I could. In my struggle, my hand caught on Lucas’s clothes, my fingers snagging the chain around his neck. “You little bitch! Let go!” Someone pulled my hands away, but the chain snapped, too. The metallic clink echoed as it hit the ground. Lucas seemed to snap out of a trance, abruptly letting go. Exhausted, I collapsed to the floor, gasping for fresh air. When I came to my senses, I saw Lucas, uncharacteristically, scrambling on the ground, searching for something. His expression was panicked, his hands even trembling slightly. “Where is it? Where is it?!” he roared. “Find it for me, damn it!” His stunned cronies quickly snapped to attention and began searching on the floor. Watching their unusual behavior, my fingers curled slightly, accidentally brushing against something. I glanced down. It was a delicate pocket watch, broken open. Inside, was an old, somewhat blurry photograph. But my pupils dilated in shock, because I recognized the person in the picture. My mom… Before I could get a closer look, Lucas snatched the watch. He held it carefully, rubbing it repeatedly with his designer clothes, treating it like a precious treasure. “It’s broken, the watch is broken,” he mumbled, almost obsessively, then turned and quickly walked out. “Lucas,” a boy asked uncertainly, “what about this wretch?” “Whatever!” Lucas was fixated on the watch. “I need to get this watch fixed. Don’t bother me unless it’s urgent!” 2. Thanks to that pocket watch, I had a rare chance to go home early today. A cold wind blew on the way home. My clothes were already half-wet, and now the chill felt biting. But I barely noticed it, my mind a chaotic mess. The moment I closed my eyes, I could see that photo in the pocket watch again. The gentle, beautiful woman was my mother, in her younger days. So, who was the little boy she was holding? Was it Lucas? What was their relationship? I’d always known my mom had been divorced once before and had another child. I was the child she had with my father after their remarriage. My parents had never hidden this from me. But I couldn’t connect Lucas with my mother’s previous child… But if Lucas really was my older half-brother, then all my questions finally had answers. Why he targeted me, bullied me… Because he was abandoned by our mother, so he hated me. Why did he threaten me after bullying me, telling me not to tell anyone at home? He also said his family was powerful and could easily shut down my mother’s flower shop… Because he was afraid. Afraid I would tell Mom. He was afraid Mom would find out he was bullying me! The more I thought, the more startled I became, my heart thumping uncontrollably fast. I started to run, the cold wind sharpening my thoughts. I had to ask Mom to confirm! What was usually a twenty-minute walk, I ran in ten. My mom looked surprised when I returned. “Home so early today?” Every day, Lucas bullied me, and to keep my mom from worrying, I’d lied, saying I was studying late at school. To prevent her from noticing anything, I always pulled down my long sleeves to hide the bruises on my arms before coming home. Mom, wearing an apron, came out of the kitchen and smiled at me. “Go wash your hands quickly, dinner will be ready soon.” Her gaze lingered on my hair for a moment. “Why are your hair and clothes a bit wet?” “I… an old lady spilled water on the sidewalk and accidentally splashed me.” “Then go take a bath quickly, don’t catch a cold.” I nodded, dropped my backpack, and went to my bedroom to get a change of clothes for a shower. When I came out, Mom had already finished dinner. Dad was away on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for a while. I sat at the dining table, looking at my mom’s gentle face, and hesitated before speaking. “Mom, I have a question for you.” Mom placed a chicken leg in my bowl. “Eat while it’s hot. What’s the question?” I deliberated for a moment, then asked, “Mom, do I have an older brother? What’s his name?” Mom’s hand, holding her chopsticks, paused, and the smile on her face stiffened slightly. “Why are you suddenly asking that?” “Just… a little curious.” Mom remained silent for a long time, barely eating any of her meal. I suddenly regretted it. I shouldn’t have asked, Mom suddenly looked so unhappy. But after dinner, Mom called me into her room. She handed me a photograph. “His name is Lucas Rothwell. He’s my first child.” I took the photo, my hands trembling slightly. This photo was identical to the one in Lucas’s pocket watch. 3. Eleanor Hayes hadn’t thought about that child in a long time. After all, she had long since acted as if she had never given birth to him. If her daughter hadn’t brought it up today, she might not have recalled him for a long time, nor would she have thought about her first failed marriage. She should have cut her losses when her husband started staying out all night. But her repeated concessions allowed that man to test her boundaries again and again. He began to smell of other women’s perfume. He would brazenly take his lovers on trips, claiming to be away on business. Eleanor was heartbroken. She believed that even if her husband betrayed her, the son she had given half her life to bear would always be on her side. But she was wrong. Despite showering Lucas with boundless patience and tenderness, giving him all the love she could, Lucas ultimately disappointed her. She heard little Lucas holding that woman’s hand and calling her “Mom.” He said his mother was messy and annoying, always nagging him, and that he wished he had a pretty, gentle lady for a mom instead. From that moment, Eleanor understood: Lucas was just like his father, an ungrateful wretch through and through. She was utterly disillusioned with this family. During the divorce proceedings, Eleanor relinquished custody of Lucas, striving to secure the best possible settlement for herself. She even remembered the reactions of the man and the little boy when she moved out of the Rothwell home. The older one was relieved. The younger one was ecstatic. “Yes! I can get a new mom! This is great!” Each cheer was like a thorn, piercing Eleanor’s heart. And like a knife, it severed the last shred of attachment she felt for that son. 4. After listening to Mom, I gently placed the photo on the table. “Mom.” I tugged at her hand. When she looked over, I slowly rolled up my sleeve, revealing the large and small bruises on my arm. “What is this?!” Mom grabbed my hand, her voice changing. “Did someone hit you?” I swallowed my tears and nodded slowly. “Mom, someone at school is bullying me. Can you come to school tomorrow and stand up for me?” … The next morning, when I arrived at school, my desk partner silently moved her desk away from mine. My own desk was overturned on the floor, its contents spilled out, covered in dirty footprints. I quietly righted my desk and glanced around. My classmates pointedly avoided my gaze. They were isolating me. Or perhaps, they were afraid of being associated with me and facing Lucas’s retaliation. During the break after the first period, a classmate I was fairly close with finally couldn’t hold back and followed me to the restroom. “Chloe Thorne, how did you get Lucas Rothwell so angry?” “I heard you broke his favorite possession, is that true?” “Is he just looking for an excuse to bully you?” My silence was taken as an affirmation. “That’s terrible!” At fourteen, the age of bursting righteousness, she frowned. “Why don’t you go to the teachers?” I paused. Teachers? Why hadn’t I? Either they would dismiss it as typical childish squabbling, vaguely pacifying me before sending me away. Or, upon hearing that Lucas was the aggressor, the teachers would pass the buck like a hot potato. After all, our school had an entire laboratory building sponsored by the Rothwell family. Anything involving Lucas was a hot potato to them. No one was willing to deal with it. Or rather, no one dared to. In the evening, after school, Lucas and his cronies cornered me again. His face was dark, and he seemed to be in a very bad mood. I noticed he wasn’t wearing anything around his neck. Had the pocket watch not been repaired? So, was he here to punish me today? My righteous classmate was, after all, still a child. Faced with boys several years older than us, she too felt afraid. She stood at the corner of the hallway, watching me being led upstairs. She hesitated for a long time but ultimately didn’t take a step. She squatted there, frustrated, running her hands through her hair. Suddenly, a pair of high heels appeared before her. She looked up. It was a beautiful, gentle lady. “Hello, student. Are you in class 7B? Have you seen my Chloe Thorne? I’m here to pick her up.” 5. Lucas pushed me into the abandoned restroom. I tripped over a broken mop handle near the door and fell directly to the ground. My face scraped against some stacked tiles in the corner of the restroom, and a sharp sting immediately flared. I propped myself up, feeling a warm trickle on my face. My hands trembled, afraid to touch it. Lucas’s reaction, however, was even more intense than mine. He knelt down, looking at my face, visibly panicked. “You cut your face…” He had always avoided my face when he bullied me. “You know what to say when you get home, right? Huh?” Lucas gripped my shoulders tightly, his voice laced with urgency. “Speak!” “You can only say you fell! Do you hear me?!” I ignored his sudden outburst. I just stared blankly, looking towards the door. Because of this unexpected incident, Lucas’s hangers-on were all crowded at the doorway, peering in. None of them had noticed when another person had appeared outside the door. I looked at my mother, who was so shocked she hadn’t spoken for a long time, and called out in a trembling voice. “Mom, it hurts…” “Chloe!!” I never thought someone as slender as my mother could unleash such powerful force. She pushed aside the boys blocking her path, rushing straight in, and pulled me into her embrace. “Mommy’s here! Don’t be scared, Chloe! Mommy’s here to stand up for you.” She carefully checked the wound on my face, her eyes red. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have come earlier.” She had planned to come earlier that morning, but I had stopped her. It was the grand opening of her flower shop branch today, a very important event. So, I had only asked her to pick me up after school that evening… I huddled in Mom’s arms, looking at Lucas, who was now utterly stunned. Mom also snapped out of her shock. She angrily turned, her gaze fixed on Lucas. The moment their eyes met, Lucas almost frantically looked away. Mom, too, unconsciously frowned. She found the despicable teenager before her somewhat familiar. Lucas felt incredibly tormented under her scrutinizing gaze. He turned, about to leave, but Mom stood up and grabbed his shirt. “Where do you think you’re going?! My daughter is beaten up like this, and you just think you can walk away?” … Lucas looked at the woman before him, his mother, who seemed almost unchanged from his memories. He parted his lips slightly, wanting to say something, but ultimately, no words came out. In his memory, his mother had once stood up for him with such fierce determination. He was small then, only five years old. Mom had taken him to the playground, and he was pushed down by an older child. Mom picked him up, patiently comforting him. Then, she marched angrily to confront the child and their parents. He clung to his mother’s neck, his frightened soul finding solace in that moment. He felt Mom was like a brave warrior. She seemed invulnerable and would never let him get hurt. But in the end, the person who hurt Mom the most was himself. He was swayed by the beautiful woman who often took him out to play. She told him that his mother, who fiercely fought for his interests, wasn’t gentle or elegant, and would embarrass him. She said his mother, who only knew how to bathe and cook at home, was incompetent and useless. The beautiful woman also said that a mother who truly cared for him wouldn’t hit or scold him, but would give him lots of candy and fulfill all his childish wishes. Little Lucas believed her. He thought that this beautiful woman, right before him, was the best mother in the world. He didn’t understand anything back then. So, he didn’t understand why Mom looked so disappointed and sad when she left that house. He also didn’t understand why the beautiful woman completely changed once she became his mother. He thought his mom would come back. But it was only now that Lucas finally realized. His mother wasn’t coming back. His mother had another child. His mother was even standing in front of him, and she didn’t recognize him.

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Chapter 1 Arthur cheated on me with a female subordinate who was twelve years younger than him. After I found out, he chose to return to our family. Until I accidentally saw an unsigned text message on his phone. [I’m getting married tomorrow. Can you come to Seattle to see me one last time?] It takes three hours to drive from our city to Seattle. If he left now, he would get there around 1:00 AM. Watching my husband pack his suitcase, I said softly: “Taking that many clothes, are you planning to sleep with her again?” “Oh, do you need me to pack a box of condoms for you two?” Arthur tilted his head back, his face showing a level of exhaustion I had never seen before. “Mia, I already chose you. What more do you want?” “Are you really not going to be satisfied until you drive me to my grave?” I remembered the look of sheer panic on his face when I caught him and Lily renting a hotel room. And just like the betrayed wives on TV, driven by absolute rage and heartbreak, I tore into them, hitting and scratching. I took photos of their disgraceful affair and exposed them online. Lily lost all face. Shortly after being fired from the company, she moved back to her hometown. Because of the scandal, a massive contract Arthur had secured fell through, and he was fired from his position as a director. And under the “condemnation” of his own conscience, he knelt before me, apologized, and returned to our family. After returning, he yielded to my every whim. If I said go east, he didn’t dare go west. Even when he was in the crucial stages of launching his own startup, he took on the unprecedented pressure of caring for our one-month-old daughter just so I could get a good night’s sleep. In just one short year, apart from being a bit busy and tired, his new company had gotten on track and was steadily improving. As his status rose, he enjoyed the prestige and admiration of those around him. It was as if he faced no karma at all. Oh, except for the early days when he overworked himself and caught a few severe colds. And this was what he called me driving him to his grave? How ironic. I smirked. “Arthur, how do you have the nerve to say that?” “Did you forget you swore you would never go looking for her again?” Arthur folded his clothes back into the closet one by one, finally closing the suitcase. “Mia, it’s been a long time since we visited Director Lee and the kids at the orphanage. Let’s go together tomorrow.” “Let’s go to sleep early before the baby wakes up. You know how fussy she gets when she’s fully rested.” Arthur’s nonchalant face held a trace of gentleness. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, but I didn’t feel the pain. I absolutely hated this act of his—dodging the issue and pretending everything was fine. He was the one who made the mistake! Why could he act so calm and collected?! I mocked him, “What about Lily? You love her so much. If you don’t go to Seattle, aren’t you afraid she’ll be heartbroken? Or are you afraid lightning will strike you for breaking your vow?” His expression remained placid. “Mia, those kids love the meat buns from that shop on the south side. Remember to bring some tomorrow.” Arthur was always like this. The colder and more detached he appeared on the surface, the more intense the emotions he hid inside. That was how he used to be with me, and it was how he still was with Lily. I couldn’t help but want to tear off his hypocritical mask. I pulled open a drawer, took out a stack of letters, and fighting down the nausea churning in my stomach, I read them aloud, word by word, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Lily, you are like a cloud in the sky, untainted by a single speck of dirt. Seeing you made me realize such pure, crystal-clear goodness truly exists in this world.” “Everyone says clouds easily scatter, but I insist on keeping you, this precious cloud, hidden in my heart. Year after year, I will protect you and keep you as pure as the day we met.” Chapter 2 “All I seek in this life is to drift alongside you, never to be separated from dawn till dusk.” “Lily, the woman sharing my bed is not the one holding my heart. Only in the deep of the night, when dreams return, can I see your face as it was—so pure it makes my heart tremble.” A crack finally appeared in Arthur’s facade. He completely lost control and roared, “Shut up! Mia, I just made one mistake! Haven’t I atoned enough over this past year?!” “It’s in the past! Why do you always have to hold onto it?!” With a cold laugh, I grabbed a pair of women’s panties embroidered with twin lotus flowers and threw them at his face. “I’m holding onto it? Yeah, the love letters you wrote to her were so moving, I just had to collect them. A constant reminder to you that hidden in your heart is a pure, beautiful Lily!” “And furthermore, is that what you call atonement? Penny isn’t just my daughter. Taking care of her is just you fulfilling your basic responsibilities!” Arthur had always been romantic. When he loved someone, he constantly did cheesy things like this. In the past, I would pretend to be grossed out, but secretly, I loved it. I thought he would only ever love me in this life. Until one day, while cleaning out of boredom, I found this stack of paper in a box at the very bottom of his bookshelf. Over the course of two years, he wrote five hundred and twenty-one love letters for her. The twin lotus panties Lily gave him were her response to his deep affection. It was like I had opened Pandora’s box. The demons inside instantly devoured my soul. That day, due to the extreme emotional distress, I went into premature labor. And Arthur, unaware that I had discovered their dirty secret, continued to play the role of the star-crossed lover with Lily, right up until the moment I exposed them. The day I finished my one-month postpartum confinement, I stuffed that thick stack of love letters into my backpack and marched to his company, intending to expose them in front of everyone. But the receptionist told me Arthur had taken Lily out to run errands for purchasing. A female colleague, seeing my pale, weakened state, thought I was genuinely there to deliver documents to my husband. Out of pity, she said, “This morning I heard Mr. Vance tell Lily he was taking her to the Butterfly Hotel.” The last shred of hope in my heart shattered. I didn’t care about anything anymore. When I arrived at the hotel, the staff thought I was there to cause trouble, so I had no choice but to call the police. With the help of the police, I finally saw my husband in a suite, looking panicked but protectively shielding his mistress. I lost my mind. I fought desperately, cursed them using the most vicious language in the world, and took photos to expose them. The whole process went smoothly and wasn’t difficult, but it drained every ounce of my strength. Arthur rubbed his temples, impatient. “Is this really necessary? That time at the hotel, yes, I lost my mind for a moment, but that was the only time we were intimate. After you caused that scene, nothing happened between us in the end, did it?” I snapped back, “You don’t need to make your cheating sound so righteous!” “Arthur, you are truly despicable!” Arthur smirked, his tone calm and cruel. “Mia, do you know? The more unreasonably you act, the more beautiful Lily becomes in my heart.” “You can never compare to her. Let’s see how long you can keep this tantrum up.” My breathing grew heavy. I stared at him, my eyes locked onto his. He finally showed some emotion, but my chest felt like it was crushed by a boulder, suffocating me. The man whose eyes were once filled only with love for me had become hideous. I had considered just letting this go. He had repented, changed his ways, and returned to the family, and we had a baby daughter who needed us. But over the past year, every time he tried to share a bed with me, every time he wanted to be intimate, I always thought of the image of him and Lily entangled together. Chapter 3 It disgusted me to the point of nausea. I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. The grievances and resentment building up inside me finally erupted. I screamed, “Then divorce me and go marry her! Arthur, you don’t have to keep pretending to be so accommodating! Looking at you makes me want to throw up!” After saying that, I picked up the panties and ripped them to shreds. “Sluts! You’re both sluts!” Arthur watched my fury with a satisfied expression. He reached out and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. “See? Ruining yourself like this just to provoke me, is it worth it?” “Mia, that incident is in the past. Why can’t you just live a normal life?” “We have a daughter now. Don’t bring up divorce again.” I slapped his hand away forcefully and gave no response. Our fighting woke our daughter, and she started crying relentlessly. I walked to the crib, picked her up, and rocked her. Arthur watched for a moment, then closed the bedroom door and left. After I finally coaxed Penny back to sleep, I went to the living room to get water to mix her formula, only to be hit by the overwhelming stench of alcohol. I looked at Arthur. He was sitting on the floor, his eyes glazed with drunkenness. Several empty liquor bottles lay by his feet. He looked half-dead. Hah, drinking alone to mourn his precious Lily getting married? His phone suddenly rang. He glanced at it, his expression shifting slightly, and with trembling hands, he pressed answer. “Lily, I’m here.” The woman’s voice on the other end was soft and sweet. “Arthur, she won’t let you come see me, will she?” Arthur’s eyes darkened. “Lily, she is my wife, and we have a daughter together. I have to be responsible.” “I understand, Arthur. You are a good man who takes responsibility. I know my judgment in men isn’t wrong.” Lily’s voice was light, as if she were about to break. Arthur gripped the phone tightly, his voice gentle. “Yeah. We shouldn’t see each other anymore unless it’s necessary. Lily, I wish you and him a happy marriage and a long life together.” Just as he was about to hang up, Lily pleaded: “Arthur, can you let me say a few words to her?” Arthur was silent for a moment before handing the phone to me. “Lily wants to say a few words to you. Keep your temper in check. Don’t scare her.” I didn’t take the phone, but Lily spoke as if she knew I was right there. “Mia, since he’s already returned to his family, I beg you to treat him better from now on. The grievances and exhaustion he suffers making money outside aren’t any less than yours.” “He doesn’t like spicy food. He likes sweet soup, especially mango sago pomelo. Don’t let him eat too much cold food in the summer; his stomach isn’t great.” “Oh right, I bought him a neck massager before. His neck and shoulders ache, so remember to massage them for him when you have time. Also, his career is on the rise right now, and you just had a baby not long ago. You should be careful when you two are intimate. Don’t get pregnant again and distract him. Remember to wear a condom…” I sneered. “Are you done?” “You are truly a cheap slut! You’re so far away, yet you still want to meddle in our lives! Since you can’t let him go, how about I box him up and ship him to your bed tomorrow?! Just in time to swap out your groom!” “Anyway, a shameless homewrecker like you shouldn’t be afraid of what people say, right? Might as well let everyone see this…” Arthur quickly yanked the phone away and roared at me, “Shut up! Are you out of your mind?!” I glared at him, my eyes filled with hatred. “She had the guts to do it, so I have the guts to say it. Arthur, the two of you are shameless scum! How dare you act all lovey-dovey right in front of my face!” From the phone came the soft, muffled sound of Lily crying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make your wife angry.” Chapter 4 Arthur’s face grew even darker. “Mia. Apologize.” All my reason was burned away by fury. It felt like I was back in the hotel catching them in the act. I beat him and scratched him frantically. “Apologize my ass! Arthur, are you even human?! You two will rot in hell! Rot in hell!” Arthur covered his face and shoved me away, furious. “Mia, are you deaf?! Did you not hear me saying goodbye to Lily just now?! If you keep acting like a lunatic, believe me, I will go to Seattle to find her right now!” When he said that last sentence, a flash of anticipation clearly crossed his eyes. He wanted to go see Lily. But he had to maintain the facade of a good man, making sacrifices and taking responsibility. Making me look like an irredeemable villain. Implying that I forced him to this point. I let out a cold laugh, ran back into the bedroom, grabbed the clothes he had just packed, threw them into his suitcase, and hurled it at his feet. “Get out!” “Arthur, just looking at you makes me feel dirty.” “Mia, you asked for this. Let’s see how you raise a daughter all by yourself without me.” Arthur’s lips curled into a callous smile. He grabbed his suitcase and left. The living room finally fell silent. It felt like all my strength had been drained. I collapsed onto the floor, hugging my knees, and cried silently. It wasn’t until my daughter started crying again that I forced myself up, shook the half-mixed formula until it was smooth, and took it back to the bedroom. I held my daughter’s tiny body and didn’t close my eyes all night. I was the one being driven to my grave. By him and Lily. For the past year since Arthur returned, our relationship seemed harmonious on the surface. But I was becoming increasingly unhinged. In the middle of the night, I would always dream of those two pale bodies tangled together on the hotel bed. I started crying uncontrollably. My whole body would shake involuntarily. I would scream, throw things, and use a knife to cut my arms. If Arthur came home even a little late, I would pick fights with him, dripping with sarcasm. Over and over again, I suspected he had another woman on the side. At first, he would patiently explain, but later, he just started sleeping in a different room. The relationship between us slowly froze over. It wasn’t until one day, when I stood on the edge of the eighteenth floor holding my daughter, wanting to jump, that I suddenly snapped awake. I almost died. I had become the “melodramatic” and “neurotic” postpartum woman Arthur complained about—I had postpartum depression. Standing on the roof, the cold wind cleared my head. I started trying to save myself. I saw doctors. I took medication. But today, Arthur, the very cause of it all, had pushed me back into the abyss. This disgusting, broken marriage… it ends here. I stayed awake until dawn. Arthur still hadn’t returned, but his parents showed up first. His father looked me up and down and started scolding me. “Fighting with Arthur again? Mia, if Arthur really liked that Lily girl, it never would have been your turn to be our daughter-in-law.” “It’s not that I dislike you, but you’re just petty and short-sighted. If you had just tolerated it back then, Arthur wouldn’t have been fired. He’d still be easily collecting his monthly bonuses, and he wouldn’t have to work as hard as he does now.” His mother dramatically picked up her phone and sighed. “Mia, our Arthur is so outstanding, it’s normal for him to have women throwing themselves at him outside. You need to hurry up and give him a son to tie him down, or you’ll be the one crying later!” Saying that, she shoved the phone in my face. It was Arthur’s Instagram post from last night after he left. In the photo, he was holding Lily tightly, wiping away her tears, his face full of tenderness. Chapter 5 [Traveled a thousand miles, just to see you one last time.] I opened my own phone, but I didn’t see Arthur’s post. That was when I realized he had blocked me from seeing it. I called him several times in a row, but he rejected every single one. Hanging up after the last attempt, I asked softly, “Are you sure he went to see Lily?” His mother looked incredibly smug. Right in front of me, she used her own phone to call Arthur. He answered instantly. “Mom, what’s wrong?” His mother said gently, “Son, where are you? Did you fight with Mia again?” Over the phone, Arthur’s flat tone seemed to carry a hint of disdain. “Not really a fight, it’s just her acting crazy again. Probably has too much free time sitting at home.” “I’m in Seattle right now. Mom, don’t tell Mia. I’ll be back as soon as I see Lily one last time.” The call ended in less than a minute. So, he really did rush over there overnight. It felt like a huge piece of my heart had been hollowed out, but strangely, I felt a sense of relief. Seeing I had no reaction, his mother tsked. “Hear that? Arthur is always complaining to me about how dull and stupid you are, only knowing how to fight with him every day. If it weren’t for the kid, he wouldn’t even want to stay with you!” “I think this Lily girl isn’t bad. I heard her parents were teachers. She’s more than good enough for my Arthur. Not like some people, an orphan with no parents, probably a jinx!” “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. If someone likes rotten goods, then give it to them.” After calmly firing back that sentence, I picked up my daughter and left without looking back, leaving his parents cursing behind me. I knew they didn’t like me, so after marrying Arthur, I constantly tolerated them. But there was no need for that anymore. Since Arthur wasn’t in town, I would go find him myself. I went to a law firm, got a divorce agreement drawn up, and then hailed a cab to Seattle. Following the photo his mother showed me, I went straight to the hotel where they were meeting. In the grand ballroom, Lily, wearing a wedding dress, was about to exchange rings with the groom. Arthur watched from the audience, looking like half his soul had been sucked out of him. With deep affection and restraint, he said, “Lily, you have to be happy.” Lily’s eyes turned red. One on stage, one off stage. They looked exactly like star-crossed lovers being violently torn apart. I walked into the ballroom from the lobby, stood right in front of Arthur, and raised my voice. “Since you and Lily are so deeply in love, I’ll grant your wish!” “Arthur, let’s get a divorce!” The moment the words left my mouth, the entire ballroom went dead silent. Several people in the know pointed at Lily, whispering. “The bride had an affair with that guy. It was a huge scandal.” “What affair?! She rented a hotel room with a married man and got caught by his wife!” “Oh my god, is the wife you’re talking about her?!” Lily stiffened completely, her face turning ghastly pale. Arthur clearly didn’t expect me to chase him to Seattle. His expression turned terrifyingly dark. “Why are you here? Did you track me?!” Ignoring the inquiring stares of the entire room, he walked quickly toward me and scolded in a low voice, “Mia, this is not the place for you to throw a tantrum!” “Go back home right now!” I pulled out the divorce agreement and said pleasantly, “Sure. Sign this, and I promise I’ll never appear in front of you and Lily ever again.” The veins on Arthur’s temples bulged. “Mia, how many times do I have to tell you?! I am not divorcing you!” “Do you realize that your little stunt is ruining Lily’s wedding?!”

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The entire internet knows my relationship with the A-list actor is a disaster. They are eagerly waiting for me to be publicly rejected and humiliated on a celebrity divorce reality show. However, on the very first night, the normally aloof and untouchable superstar had a near-meltdown when he drew the “separate bedrooms” card. During our fireside chat, he pitifully complained to the whole world that I wasn’t spending enough of his money. In the heartbeat challenge, my single “Hubby” sent his heart rate soaring past 140. And when the producers handed him a fake divorce agreement, he completely lost his cool, crying his eyes out and threatening to sue the show. Netizens: [Well, I’ll be damned. So you’re the desperate housewife here, bro?!] [Ahhh, they tricked us! It’s a divorce show masquerading as a dating show! Why is this so good?!] [Girl, stop smiling! Turn around, your husband is about to drop dead from a broken heart!] 1 I’m a C-list actress, famous mostly for my scandals and my working-class background. I have the looks, the acting skills, the talent… wait, no, I just have the looks. My family background is average, and my public image is, well, debatable. My popularity always hovered around the lower tiers. That was until the news of my secret marriage to the top-tier superstar, Arthur Vance, broke out, shocking the entire internet. Besides the massive gap in our status and family backgrounds, there was another reason for the shock: everyone in the industry knew Arthur had a subtle hostility towards me. At an awards ceremony, across the crowded room, Arthur (who was standing dead center) and I accidentally locked eyes. Caught off guard, I maintained my bright, sweet, fan-service smile. The man, however, looked extremely uncomfortable. He quickly dropped his smile and, in a moment of panic, actually rolled his eyes. When the video leaked, his massive fanbase was incredibly confused. Arthur was known for being aloof and a man of few words, but he was also famously gentlemanly, polite, and emotionally stable. Yet, he showed such undisguised disgust solely towards me. Later, netizens dug up the few other times Arthur and I were caught in the same frame. No matter how brightly he was smiling a second before, his face would instantly freeze the moment he saw me. Add to that my naturally soft, whiny voice. In the eyes of the internet, I became the desperate wannabe, constantly throwing myself at him while he gave me the cold shoulder. Now that our secret marriage was exposed, these videos went viral again. Netizens relentlessly mocked me, claiming Arthur had a physiological aversion to me and was red in the face from anger. Hordes of haters tagged a divorce reality show on my social media: [Please, just divorce him! Let our Arthur go!] [This girl has some thick skin. How can she still smile when her husband clearly despises her?] [Poor Arthur. A guy who barely shows emotion was forced to roll his eyes. Imagine how miserable his life must be.] … Under the intense pressure from the internet, the divorce reality show actually sent us an invitation. Arthur and I were forced together by our grandfathers; there was absolutely no love involved. Our daily interactions were no different from strangers living in the same house. I had long had enough of this stagnant, dead-end life. I agreed to the show without hesitation, ready to secure one last massive paycheck before we divorced. Just as I was grinning like an idiot, counting the zeros on my compensation fee, I noticed Arthur staring at the contract with a complex expression, hesitating to sign. “What’s wrong?” I asked, a bit confused. “My pen is broken,” Arthur muttered, looking down. “There’s another one right there.” “That one’s broken too…” Sensing his reluctance, I assumed he didn’t want to waste his precious time on me. I put on my best whining voice to coax him: “It won’t take up too much of your schedule. Let’s just go, please?” “O-okay then.” Arthur stumbled over his words, the tips of his ears turning red as he hastily scribbled his signature. 2 The show invited three couples and opted for a 24/7 live-stream format. Before filming began, the director assigned a rough script and conflict points for each couple. But considering my decade-long lack of acting progress and Arthur’s massive status, the director ultimately decided to let Arthur and me freestyle. The moment I dragged my two small suitcases into the camera’s view, the viewer count and live comments skyrocketed: [Here they come! The most dramatic couple has finally arrived.] [LMAO, the contrast is brutal. The other couples either held hands or walked side-by-side. Not only is Arthur not walking with Elena, but he’s making her carry her own luggage.] [Tsk, so what if she schemed her way into a rich family? She’s still just a glorified maid with no dignity. They didn’t even have a proper wedding announcement. The Vance family probably doesn’t even acknowledge her.] It wasn’t just the live chat mocking me. Chloe, the female half of another couple, also noticed my disheveled state and threw a subtle jab: “Elena, a woman’s hands are very delicate. Liam never lets me carry heavy things. If people didn’t know better, they’d think you were Arthur’s hired help.” Chloe and I debuted around the same time. She was highly competitive and loved comparing herself to others. When she married the director, Liam Sterling, she posted endless updates showing off her entry into “high society.” But the Sterling family was nothing compared to the Vance Group. So when my marriage to Arthur was exposed, it was understandable that she was furious. However, I was here to make money, not to engage in catfights. I couldn’t be bothered with her. The commentators in the studio had probably done their homework and accepted my persona as the Vance family’s despised punching bag. Seeing my silence, they assumed I was swallowing my pride and looked at me with deep sympathy. Live Chat: [LOL, Chloe and Liam are on a divorce show because he’s ‘too possessive’? Are they sure they aren’t just here to show off? The gold digger must be so jealous seeing our Chloe so happy.] [It’s her own fault for shamelessly clinging to an arranged marriage from their grandfathers. If she’s miserable now, she only has her own greed to blame.] Just then, the camera panned. Arthur wasn’t looking as relaxed and carefree as everyone thought. He was struggling to push five massive, connected suitcases, arriving late to the scene. The other guests, who had been whispering and enjoying the show, froze for a second before rushing over to help, joking: “Arthur, aren’t you a minimalist? You’ve gotten fancy lately! Do you need help throwing this trash bag away?” Arthur coldly dodged their hands, looking displeased. I pushed through the crowd: “Uh, those suitcases are all mine. And that’s not a trash bag, that’s Arthur’s luggage.” Live Chat: [I’m dying! Turns out Arthur is the ‘maid’ here.] [So relatable! When my husband and I travel, all his stuff fits in one plastic bag.] [What’s so funny? Arthur looks furious, he clearly didn’t want to do it! To make a seasoned actor show his true feelings like that, this girl really is something else.] [Arthur, stop holding back! Explode already! Can’t wait to see Elena get rejected daily.] The show started stirring up drama immediately, having us draw straws to decide if we’d sleep in separate rooms. Me: “Can we skip the drawing? Arthur and I will just choose—” Before I could say “separate,” the usually silent man cut me off. “I’ll draw.” Chloe feigned sympathy: “It’s okay, Elena. I know you want to use this chance to share a room with Arthur. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” The live chat found this hilarious: [Judging by how disgusted Arthur usually looks, I bet they’ve never even shared a bed. That’s why Elena is so desperate. What a pathetic rich wife.] [Did anyone else notice? Arthur just secretly glared at Elena like five or six times in the last ten seconds. Those looks were lethal. This is too funny.] 3 Arthur nervously opened the slip of paper. Seeing the word “Separate,” both the live chat and I let out a massive sigh of relief: [Thank god they didn’t draw ‘Together’. That must have terrified Arthur.] [I mean, Elena is genuinely gorgeous, her voice is sweet, and her smile is adorable. If I were Arthur, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her.] [Commenter above, are you insane?!] The host asked each of us if we were satisfied with the results. Chloe, who also drew “Separate,” looked pitifully at Liam: “I’m not used to sleeping alone. I’m a little worried I’ll have insomnia.” The host deliberately asked me: “Elena, you must sleep alone quite often, right? Any tips to share?” I replied with maximum snark: “Sorry, I rarely sleep alone.” Who would understand? Arthur had the face of an ascetic monk who was utterly bored with the world. But in private, he was more insatiable than anyone. What his fans called “gentlemanly and polite”… Was actually him ravaging me half to death while playing deaf and dumb. Thinking back on it, I almost regretted that day when, driven by hormones, I burst into his bedroom wearing a bathrobe, sat on his lap, and said: “Even if it’s a contract marriage, we need to fulfill our marital duties.” One of the main reasons I was in such a rush to divorce him now was that my fragile body simply couldn’t handle that level of frequency. When it was Arthur’s turn, his thick, long eyelashes fluttered, and his voice was low and cold: “If I’m not satisfied, can I change it?” Not getting the expected answer, the host was a bit confused: “According to the rules, you can’t change it.” Arthur took a deep breath: “Can I draw again?” The host shook his head helplessly: “No.” A trace of hostility flashed across the man’s already deep, brooding features. I gently tugged at his sleeve: “Follow the rules.” Arthur nodded and walked away, his arms and legs moving stiffly in tandem. Live Chat: [Wait, does our Arthur actually want to share a room with Elena?] [How is that possible? He’s probably just saving her some face in front of the audience.] [Oh no, I actually think they’re kind of cute together. Elena said one soft word and Arthur instantly obeyed.] [Is that obedience, or is he just so annoyed he’s speechless? He was so mad he forgot how to walk normally!] Without Arthur working me over, I had a dreamless, refreshing night’s sleep. The next day, I woke up early. Chloe was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for Liam. They were playfully arguing over whether to have boiled or fried eggs. Arguing and arguing, they inexplicably ended up hugging each other. Chloe even shot a provocative look at me, looking unkempt and fresh out of bed. It was as if she was saying: “So what if you married Arthur? My husband loves me, yours doesn’t.” The camera suddenly pointed at me: “Today is the Couples’ Telepathy Challenge. Random question: What does Arthur like to drink for breakfast?” “Iced Americano?” I guessed randomly. After getting married, Arthur started taking over his family’s business and was semi-retired from the entertainment industry. He woke up before dawn to go to the office. How would I know what he liked? Soon, the host caught Arthur, who had just returned from a morning run: “Arthur, what do you like to drink for breakfast?” “Hot latte.” The host chuckled: “Then what does Elena like to drink most for breakfast?” “Iced Americano,” Arthur replied without hesitation. “But I worry that drinking cold things all the time is bad for her health, so I often switch it out for a hot one.” I looked shocked: “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me?! I always thought the housekeeper bought the wrong thing. Hot Americanos are for dog—” Halfway through, I realized the risk of offending people and quickly swallowed the rest of the sentence. The host was even more surprised than I was: “Arthur, do you usually cook for Elena?” Arthur nodded slightly, a hint of pride in his demeanor: “She’s so tired every night; she needs more rest in the morning.” Chloe’s smug expression drastically changed, and she dropped her spatula. The commentators in the studio were grinning from ear to ear. 4 Failing to get the desired dramatic effect, the host stubbornly fired off several more compatibility questions. The final result: Arthur guessed every single one of my preferences correctly. And I barely managed to guess one question right about him. Even when the evening “Fireside Chat” began, I still hadn’t fully recovered my senses. Although we lived under the same roof and had “deep, negative-distance” contact every day, Arthur and I actually communicated very little. For one, we both had our own careers to hustle for. For another, Arthur was the textbook definition of an Earth sign. Repressed, man of few words, and completely stoic. I had wanted to ask him multiple times about those viral videos where he supposedly glared at me—did he really hate me that much? But he always anticipated my questions and dodged them. Yet now, he was acting like he knew me inside and out. Live Chat: [This is scary. Even the “wife-guy” Liam got a question wrong about Chloe, but Arthur got a perfect score! Is this really not scripted? It’s weirdly sweet.] [Just look at Elena’s shocked face, you know it has to be real. Her acting isn’t that natural.] Me: Thanks a lot, truly a backhanded compliment. [I’m dying of curiosity! If Arthur really despises Elena like the internet says, why would he cook for her?! But if you say he likes her, they act like they barely know each other…] [Agreed! This couple is so interesting! Everyone else gives off old married couple vibes, but these two have this bizarre, ambiguous tension.] The theme for the Fireside Chat was “Money.” Just looking at the topic, I knew this segment was mostly aimed at me. The host pointed the spearhead at Liam and Chloe first: “When filling out the questionnaire, both of you mentioned having some conflicts regarding family finances.” Chloe huffed: “Yeah, there’s a popular saying online: ‘Where the money is, the love is.’ But Liam still hasn’t handed over his bank cards to me.” The female half of the rapper couple joked: “But at least Director Sterling is really willing to spend money on you, Chloe. I always see you posting bags and jewelry worth hundreds of thousands on Instagram. Unlike my guy here, who won’t even set up a shared account for me.” Chloe looked down shyly: “It’s okay, really. Compared to material things, I value emotional connection more. But Elena is the one who truly went from rags to riches through marriage. She should have more to say about this than me.” I heard the hidden barb in her words and gave a sweet smile: “Marrying rich is indeed awesome. Once Liam reaches Arthur’s status, you’ll understand.” Chloe’s smile stiffened. See? If I give a real answer, she gets upset. Live Chat: [LMAO, the gold digger doesn’t have a single decent piece of jewelry on her body and she’s still talking tough. Truly, the more you lack something, the more you emphasize it.] [Exactly. To those crazy people shipping them earlier, please have some taste.] Host: “Arthur, have you and Elena had any conflicts regarding family finances?” At that moment, Arthur, who had been secretly watching me, complained pitifully: “I wish she would spend more of my money.” The live chat exploded: [Wait, I recognize every word Arthur just said, but put together, I don’t understand them at all.] [I’ve already screenshotted this and sent it to my boyfriend. We need more ‘conflicts’ like this, please!] [What is going on? The desperate housewife the show promoted turned out to be YOU, Arthur?!] [Is it possible Arthur feels Elena’s poverty is an embarrassment to the Vance family?] Arthur rarely spoke so many words in one breath: “You never even opened the jade, the pearl necklaces, the clothes, or the bags I bought.” I looked completely bewildered: “You bring things home and never say a word. How was I supposed to know they were for me?” Arthur’s eyes flickered, and the atmosphere became temporarily awkward. The studio commentators couldn’t help but laugh out loud, offering a sharp critique: “The most urgent thing for these two is to add each other on WeChat.” I pointed to the perfume sitting by the door being used as bug repellent, trying to salvage the situation: “It’s not like I haven’t used any of the things you bought…” The female rapper suddenly dropped her jaw and stood up excitedly: “That bottle of perfume could buy a courtyard house in Beijing! Elena, you’re actually using it as a room deodorizer?! That’s insane! God, what would it cost you to make me rich too?!” Hearing this, the other guests also gathered around, wanting to inspect it. That perfume didn’t even smell good. I only liked how the bottle looked and casually praised it. I thought it was just a cheap trinket… In an unnoticed corner, Chloe dug her nails into her palms, looking at Liam and muttering: “Didn’t you say no one would spend astronomical amounts on something so flashy and useless?” Liam shrugged casually: “Yeah, normal people wouldn’t. After all, not everyone can be Arthur Vance.” Chloe bit her lip, glaring resentfully at the perfume bottle. I wanted to take advantage of the chaos to talk to Arthur. But the man anticipated my move again. The moment my butt left the seat. Arthur immediately got up and went to the restroom. Leaving me standing alone in the wind. The live chat was also in a frenzy: [Stop, just stop. To those who said Elena was a punching bag living in living hell, can I please go suffer like that for a few days?] [Ahhh, is it possible Arthur likes Elena but is afraid of rejection, so he doesn’t dare let her catch him looking at her?] [Bro, being married for a year and still acting like a secret crush? Is this human behavior?] [But look at Chloe and Liam, they even feed each other. Even the rapper couple who fight every day occasionally hug and touch faces. Arthur and Elena don’t look loving at all.] [If he’s an Earth sign, it actually makes sense. Back when I had a crush, the person didn’t even know I existed.] [Whatever, this top-tier ambiguous tension is divine. I’m shipping it.]

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