Category: English

Once again, my dissertation defense was vetoed by my professor fiancé, and the muffled snickers from my classmates confirmed what they all thought: I was useless. I had spent seven years orbiting Rhys Garrison, devoting my life to his world. I had worked myself to the bone, earning a spot in his coveted PhD program. But all my diligence and academic rigor meant nothing compared to a few words of shallow flattery from my stepsister, Sienna, who walked away with the single, coveted post-doc fellowship. I was shaking with indignation, tears streaming down my face. I wanted to storm into his office and demand an explanation, a shred of decency. Instead, I overheard him chatting with a colleague in the hallway. “So you gave the Clarendon fellowship to Sienna Hale. Aren’t you worried your little girlfriend will make a scene?” “A scene? She’s been glued to my side for seven years. She has a touch of arrogance, and it needs to be curbed. She needs to be disciplined before she can be a proper mistress of the Garrison house.” “Besides,” he added, his voice dripping with casual dismissal, “it’s just a fellowship. She’s the older sister; why would she compete with Sienna?” “She’ll get over it in a few days. She always manages to soothe her own hurt.” He knew how much that fellowship meant to me. It wasn’t just a career path; it was my one chance at independence. And yet, he had carelessly obliterated my hope as easily as erasing a mistake on a whiteboard. My aspirations, it seemed, were always secondary to Sienna’s desires. If she wanted something, I was expected to surrender it. Rhys Garrison assumed I would follow the script I always had: cry, rage, and eventually return, licking my wounds. But this time, I ripped my student ID—my last remaining tether to him and Clarendon—from my neck and hurled it at the wall. The plastic badge hit with a hollow, ugly sound. “Fine…” “If Professor Garrison holds me in such low regard, then I, Eliza Hale, will no longer be an offense to your sight!” Rhys didn’t know that my father had already prepared a different path for me. If I couldn’t secure the fellowship, I would be used to serve my stepsister’s interests: a strategic marriage to the powerful Vaughn family, a “healing match” to their comatose heir… 1 I dragged my numb body out of the Humanities building. My family’s black sedan was parked outside. Sienna was leaning against the passenger door, a subtle smirk playing on her lips as she took in my wrecked appearance. “My, my, sister. Seven years trailing after the Professor, and you don’t even get a consolation prize.” “It seems I hold a special place in his heart, after all. A few soft words, and he couldn’t bear to have me as a competitor.” I tried to pull my lips into a smile, but no sound came out. My father, Arthur, waited in the car, his expression dark with irritation. He glanced at my stepmother and sneered. “Rhys Garrison’s devotion to Eliza amounts to nothing. A pity the Hale family wasted so much money on her education.” The remaining students and faculty who hadn’t scattered began to stare, whispering. I felt like a damaged artifact on public display, judged and dissected. My father, embarrassed, quickly rolled up his window. Rhys walked out of the building just then, catching the tail end of their remarks. He didn’t look at me, only offered a slight, curt nod in my father’s direction, and walked away as if nothing was happening. Sienna’s laugh was high-pitched and sharp, driving a shard of ice into my heart. It was in that moment I finally understood. Rhys wasn’t blind; he simply didn’t care. 2 “It’s settled then. Since Eliza has no future at Clarendon, she will prepare to marry into the Vaughn family.” My father’s voice was unnervingly placid as we sat in the living room. The rule had been established months ago, a cold business transaction: whichever daughter failed to secure the Clarendon fellowship would fulfill the betrothal contract with the Vaughns. The guests had left, leaving just our fractured family. My Grams rushed to me, sobbing. “I won’t allow my granddaughter to be sent to that house! Everyone knows the Vaughn boy, Silas, has been a vegetable for two years! Eliza will be ruining her life, burying herself alive!” My father’s face turned crimson. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Whose fault is that? She has no backbone! She can write a flawless research proposal, but when it counts, she can’t even outmaneuver Sienna!” Grams cried harder. “That Sienna girl is conniving! Who knows what tricks she used? No, I’ll go see Professor Garrison myself. I’ll make him re-examine the papers!” I pulled Grams closer, managing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Grams, don’t go. Rhys said I was too proud and undisciplined. He vetoed my thesis over a single methodological flaw.” My voice finally broke, a choked sob escaping me. “He did it on purpose. He wanted me to lose to Sienna…” Rhys came from a good family, he was impossibly clean-cut, and his intellect was legendary. At twenty-six, he was the youngest Associate Professor at Clarendon. The first time he taught a public lecture, the hall was packed—half the audience just there to admire him. Who wouldn’t be drawn to that kind of brilliance? I was no exception. I wanted to be worthy of him. I wanted to stand beside him. That desire had made me shed my old, spirited self, burying my head in books, pursuing academic perfection. I nearly killed myself studying for the PhD entrance exam. I thought we had a future. Grams continued to weep, and I stroked her back, trying to comfort her while my own world dissolved. I walked heavily back to my room. Sitting at my desk, I began taking every note I had organized for Rhys, every transcribed article, every meticulously cross-referenced text, and dumping them into a heavy storage box. Then, I carried the box downstairs and set it ablaze in the courtyard incinerator. The firelight reflected on my face, and the flames consumed the last seven years of my foolish devotion. 3 After that night, I was a different person. My world became silent. I rarely spoke, never left the house, and moved with a lifeless apathy. When my father hired an etiquette coach to teach me the rigid protocols of high society, I surprised them all by mastering the lessons with quiet focus. My father was immensely pleased. He privately instructed me that once I was in the Vaughn household, I needed to charm them, put in a good word for the Hale family’s failing business, and, most importantly, lay the groundwork for Sienna’s future. It was laughable. A man willing to sacrifice his own daughter for a scrap of wealth, all while prioritizing the child of his second marriage. They misunderstood me. If I entered the Vaughn house, I would certainly not lift a finger to save this decaying family. But I offered no rebuttal, only a cold, placid nod. That afternoon, my father called me to his study. Passing the entrance hall, I ran straight into Rhys. He was leaving after dropping off some materials. It was the first time I’d seen him in over a month. I paused, offering him a standard curtsy. The movement was textbook, my expression utterly blank—precisely as my coach had taught me. Rhys froze, then his expression softened slightly. “Eliza…” My throat tightened. In seven years, he had rarely called me by my first name alone, insisting on using my full name to uphold “proper academic decorum.” Now, it came so naturally. “Professor Garrison,” I corrected, my voice flat. “By all protocols, you should address me as Ms. Hale.” He smiled, as if I had uttered something charmingly playful. “Such discipline. Very good. But you don’t have to be so formal with me. Once I wrap up this administrative work, I’ll have my parents call on your father to formally propose.” I stared at him, the absurdity of his assumption washing over me. “Propose? You sabotaged my defense, ensured I lost my career, and now you claim you want to marry me?” He took a step closer. I involuntarily recoiled. He chuckled again, a sound as chilling as winter wind. I heard him say, “If you don’t let me smooth out that rebellious streak of yours, how will you ever be fit to be the mistress of the Garrison house?” 4 Grams had watched my silent decline over the last weeks. Seeing me wither, she pleaded with my father to let me leave the house, using the excuse of needing to shop for a wedding trousseau. She insisted my cousin, Liam, accompany me. Liam was three years older than me and worked in finance. He knew my entire story and was heartbroken for me. He had tried to intervene with my father, but Arthur was already too deep into the deal—my birth date had been sent to the Vaughns; the marriage was fixed. Liam did his best to cheer me up. “Eliza, let’s go to the bookshop. We can buy some new professional journals. You love reading those, right?” He watched my face anxiously. “Even if… even if it’s inconvenient later, you can read them for your own sanity.” I finally managed a genuine, albeit faint, smile, and he visibly relaxed. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “I’ll work hard. I’ll be the one to back you up someday.” I was momentarily stunned. Liam and I used to be close. But one time, Rhys saw us shopping together. His face had darkened. Later, he called me into his office and lectured me fiercely. “There are boundaries between men and women, Eliza. You are about to graduate; you must maintain professionalism. You will not only compromise your own future but also invite unnecessary gossip.” His words were cruel, but I was so accustomed to obeying him. Terrified I might actually jeopardize Liam’s career, I began to distance myself. Now, I realized how ridiculous it was. Liam and I were innocent; there was nothing to gossip about. Rhys’s judgment was not the final word. Feeling a strange sense of release, I smiled and picked up a few academic books. Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet. “Sister?” I looked up. Sienna was standing with Rhys. She held a few books, her soft skirt and his sharp blazer making them look perfectly matched. Rhys’s eyes landed on Liam and me. He gripped the books in his hand, his knuckles white. Sienna looked from me to Liam, her eyes darting between us. She smiled, sickeningly innocent. “What a coincidence! You and Liam are out shopping, too. Did I interrupt something?” I couldn’t think of a response. Just then, Rhys handed his books to Sienna. “You said you needed the latest literature review. This one is excellent.” Sienna’s cheeks flushed. She took the book, letting her fingers brush his cuff. “I was also hoping to look over a few of your recent papers, Professor. Could you lend them to me for my studies?” Rhys gave a brief “Hmm,” then turned and walked away with Sienna in tow. They got into a sleek car and vanished around the corner. I shook my head, laughing hollowly. I was laughing at myself. I had idolized him for seven years, and he had never given me a moment of dedicated, one-on-one mentorship. Sienna, with a few flirtatious words, had broken his rule. It was fine. My heart was finally dead. I arrived home in the late afternoon. Grams said Sienna had brought Rhys back for dinner. My father insisted on drinking with him. Grams was furious. “I always thought he was cold-hearted, but now I see he’s blind and stupid, completely taken in by that… sort of girl.” I comforted Grams, though I felt a flicker of confusion. He’s playing nice with my father? On my way to my room, I passed the garden. Rhys was standing by a stone fountain, watching me, looking as if he had been waiting. “Eliza. Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?” Say what? I stayed silent. In the past, I would have circled him, babbling about the smallest event of my day. Now, I was exhausted. I had nothing left to share with him. What was the point? Should I tell him that my father was financially ruined and only valued his younger, preferred daughter? Should I explain that because of Rhys’s casual favoritism, I had lost my only path to a career and was now being sold off to marry a man in a permanent coma? Seeing my silence, his voice hardened. “You were seen being overly familiar with another man today. And reading those trashy books? Is that how a PhD candidate should behave?” His scolding tone was utterly absurd. Liam and I were strictly proper, while he had been touching and guiding Sienna in public. How had I never seen his colossal arrogance before? Too tired to argue, I merely offered a dismissive half-smile. “Professor Garrison is quite right to scold me. I am tired and must retire. Please enjoy your evening.” He nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, and looked about to continue lecturing. Just then, the housekeeper called him for dinner. I gave a perfunctory nod, walked around him, and didn’t look back. 5 Rhys was utterly distracted during dinner. Eliza’s new, quiet demeanor unsettled him. He had wanted to break her rebellious spirit, but the complete absence of her usual fierce energy made him feel strangely hollow. My father, eager to climb the academic social ladder attached to the Garrison name, drank heavily. Rhys was usually aloof, but tonight he was surprisingly genial. By the time Arthur was flushed and stumbling, he could barely follow Rhys’s slurred conversation. He only heard fragments like “formal proposal,” “asking for her hand,” and, since Rhys had personally escorted Sienna home, Arthur immediately assumed Rhys was there to marry Sienna. Without a moment’s thought, he joyously agreed to the marriage. When Rhys returned home, he couldn’t sleep. He had spoken to Arthur, but an unsettling feeling persisted. He was marrying Eliza, who had finally become the compliant woman he desired, yet he felt no joy. He missed her defiance. He shook off the feeling, deciding a swift proposal would solve his anxiety. The next morning, my father triumphantly announced that Rhys Garrison would marry Sienna. My stepmother and Sienna were ecstatic, and Sienna’s eyes welled up with performative joy. “I love Professor Garrison, too!” she chirped. I tightened my hands into fists, listening in silence as my father lectured me. “Whatever ideas you had about the Professor, forget them. He’s marrying your sister, and you are marrying the Vaughn heir. You must stay away from him.” “If I catch you entertaining any dangerous notions or interfering with your sister’s wedding, you will regret it…” Ignoring Sienna’s smug, challenging glare, I curled my lip indifferently. “Father is absolutely correct. I will stay far away from Professor Garrison.” No sooner had I finished speaking than the housekeeper announced that Rhys’s mother and Rhys himself had arrived for the formal proposal. Sienna leaped up excitedly, helping my father to the drawing room to greet them. I followed behind, keeping my head down, trying to disappear. Once both families were seated and the formal betrothal cards were exchanged, Rhys smiled and walked toward me. “Eliza,” he said, his voice soft. “How about we set the wedding for the fall? It won’t be too hot for a wedding dress then.” The room fell instantly silent. My father’s teacup slipped from his hand and shattered on the polished floor.

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Chapter 1: The Origin of “Daze” I have always been a beat behind the rest of the world. My name is Daisy, but no one calls me that. To the kids at Blackwood Elementary, to the teachers who sighed when I stared blankly at the chalkboard, and eventually, to him, I was simply “Daze.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was a label. It meant I was slow. It meant that when a joke was told, I was the one blinking in confusion while the laughter washed over me like a tide I couldn’t swim in. It meant that in the grand, chaotic symphony of life, I was the pause. The rest note. I remember the exact moment the name stuck. It was a humid July afternoon in the suburbs of Connecticut. The air smelled of cut grass and asphalt melting in the heat. We were playing “Duck, Duck, Goose” in the cul-de-sac. I was “It.” I was always “It.” I wasn’t fast enough to catch anyone. I would tap a head, scream “Goose!”, and scramble around the circle, my Keds slipping on the grass, only to find the spot already taken. I would stand there, panting, my chest burning, while the other kids giggled behind their hands. “Daisy’s in a daze again!” someone shouted. “Look at her, she’s buffering!” I didn’t cry. Crying required a quick emotional reaction, and I was still processing the shame. I just stood there, a small, knobby-kneed girl in a stained t-shirt, waiting for the earth to swallow me whole. That was when Carter stood up. Carter Brooks. The boy next door. He was three years older, already tall, with hair the color of wheat and eyes that could cut glass. He was the king of the cul-de-sac. He didn’t run. He walked into the center of the circle, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me down to sit beside him. “She’s not ‘It’ anymore,” Carter announced, his voice carrying the natural authority of a future CEO. “I’m ‘It’.” The laughter stopped. If Carter said the game changed, the game changed. He looked at me. He didn’t smile. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slightly melted Jolly Rancher, and pressed it into my hand. “Stop running, Daze,” he said. “You’re never going to catch them. Just stay here. I’ve got you.” I’ve got you. Three words. They became the foundation of my entire existence. They were the walls, the roof, and the floor of the cage I would live in for the next fifteen years. I thought he was my savior. I didn’t realize then that a savior needs a victim to save. By accepting his protection, I had unknowingly signed a contract: I would be the helpless one, and he would be the hero. And heroes don’t fall in love with the damsel. They just rescue her on their way to the princess. Chapter 2: The Shadow and the Sun High school was a hierarchy, and Carter sat at the apex. He was the quarterback, the student body president, the guy every girl wrote about in her diary. And I was his shadow. We were “Carter and Daze.” Not a couple. Never a couple. But a unit. I carried his extra textbooks. He drove me to school in his Jeep Wrangler. We did homework together at his kitchen table—or rather, he did his calculus while I struggled through basic algebra, and he would eventually sigh, take my pencil, and do it for me. “You’re hopeless,” he’d say, tapping the eraser against my forehead. But his tone was affectionate. Possessive. “What would you do without me, Daze?” “Die, probably,” I’d answer, eating his fries. He loved that answer. He fed on my incompetence. It made him feel big. But there was a third person in our orbit. Chloe. Chloe was my cousin. She lived two streets over. If I was the rough draft, Chloe was the final, glossy print. She was sharp, witty, and beautiful in a way that made people nervous. Carter hated her. Or so he said. “She’s too loud,” he’d complain to me as we watched Chloe hold court in the cafeteria. “She’s arrogant. She thinks she’s smarter than everyone.” “She is smarter than everyone,” I pointed out. “She’s annoying,” Carter grumbled, tearing into his sandwich. “Not like you. You’re… quiet. Easy.” Easy. He meant uncomplicated. He meant I didn’t challenge him. But I saw the way he looked at Chloe when they argued in AP History. I saw the sparks that flew when she made fun of his football stats. It wasn’t hatred. It was friction. And friction creates heat. One rainy Tuesday in November of our senior year, everything changed. Carter picked me up for school. His eyes were red-rimmed. He smelled of stale tobacco, which was weird because Carter didn’t smoke. “What’s wrong?” I asked, buckling my seatbelt. “Nothing,” he snapped. Then, softer: “Just… family stuff.” He didn’t talk the whole ride. When we got to school, he didn’t walk me to my locker. He disappeared. I found out later, through the grapevine (I was always the last to know), that Chloe had gotten into Yale. Early admission. She was leaving. And Carter? Carter had been rejected by his dream school, Stanford. That afternoon, I found him in the bleachers, sitting alone in the rain. I sat down next to him. I didn’t say anything. I just opened my umbrella and held it over him. He looked at me. He looked broken. “She’s leaving,” he whispered. “Who?” I asked, though I knew. “Chloe,” he choked out. “She’s going to Yale. She told me… she told me I was ‘small town.’ She said she’s going to eat the world, and I’m just going to stay here and peak in high school.” He put his head on my shoulder. He cried. “She’s a bitch,” he sobbed. “I hate her.” “I know,” I smoothed his wet hair. “I know.” He turned his face into my neck. “You won’t leave, right, Daze? You’re not going anywhere.” “I’m going to community college,” I said. “I’m staying right here.” “Good,” he gripped my hand. “Good. Stay with me. Be my… be my anchor.” He kissed me then. It wasn’t a kiss of passion. It wasn’t the kiss you see in movies where the music swells. It was a kiss of desperation. He was drowning, and I was the nearest piece of driftwood. I kissed him back. I poured fifteen years of silent adoration into that kiss. I thought, Finally. He sees me. I was wrong. He didn’t see me. He just saw that I was there. Chapter 3: The Comfortable Cage We dated for four years. Or, to be more accurate, we “existed” together. Carter stayed in town. He went to the state university, got a business degree, and started working at his father’s real estate firm. I finished my associate’s degree and got a job at the local library. We were the “It Couple” of our small town. Everyone expected us to get married. “Carter and Daze,” his mother would beam at Thanksgiving dinners. “Like salt and pepper. You just can’t have one without the other.” But salt doesn’t love pepper. They just sit on the same table. Our relationship was… comfortable. He picked me up for dinner on Fridays. We watched movies on Saturdays. On Sundays, he watched football with his friends, and I made nachos. He never asked me what I wanted to watch. He never asked me about the books I read. “You’re so low-maintenance,” he’d tell his friends, squeezing my knee. “Daze is great. No drama. No fights.” Why would we fight? I never disagreed with him. I was playing a role. I was the perfect, supportive girlfriend who was just grateful to be allowed in the room. But there were cracks. Like the time I cut my hair short—a pixie cut I had wanted for years. Carter stared at me when I walked in. He frowned. “Why did you do that?” “I thought it looked… chic,” I said, touching the ends nervously. “It looks… severe,” he said. “Long hair suits you better. It makes you look softer. Grow it back.” I grew it back. Or the time I mentioned I wanted to take a solo trip to Italy. “Italy?” he laughed. “Daze, you get lost in the mall. How are you going to survive Rome? You’ll get pickpocketed in five minutes. Let’s just go to the Cape again this summer. It’s safe.” We went to the Cape. I was safe. I was loved (I thought). I was Daze. And then, She came back. Chapter 4: The Return of the Queen It was a Tuesday. Always a Tuesday. I was at the library, shelving the new fiction arrivals, when my phone buzzed. A text from Carter. “Family dinner tonight. Mom wants you there. 7 PM.” Normal. Routine. I arrived at the Brooks’ house at 7:00 sharp. I walked into the dining room, holding a pecan pie I had baked. And I dropped it. Sitting at the table, laughing at something Carter’s dad said, was Chloe. She looked… expensive. That was the only word for it. She was wearing a cream cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my car. Her hair was a sleek, dark curtain. She radiated success, confidence, and the kind of sharp intelligence that made the air crackle. Carter was sitting next to her. He wasn’t looking at his phone. He wasn’t looking bored. He was leaning in. His face was animated. His eyes were bright—brighter than I had seen them in four years. “Daze!” Carter’s mom chirped. “Look who’s back! Chloe is back from New York! She’s taking over the marketing division at the firm!” Chloe turned to me. Her eyes swept over my cardigan, my sensible shoes, my messy bun. “Hi, Daisy,” she smiled. It wasn’t mean, but it was… pitying? “Still here, I see.” “Hi, Chloe,” I managed to say, bending down to clean up the pie. “Leave it,” Carter said, waving a hand without looking at me. ” The maid will get it. Come sit down. Chloe was just telling us about this merger she handled in Tokyo.” I sat down. For the next two hours, I was invisible. Carter and Chloe spoke a language I didn’t understand—business, strategy, ambition. They bickered. They challenged each other. “You’re wrong about the zoning laws, Carter,” Chloe said, pointing a manicured finger at him. “You’re thinking too small. You’re thinking like a townie.” “I am not a townie,” Carter shot back, grinning. “I’m the King of this town. And you’re just a tourist.” “Watch me take your crown,” she teased. The tension between them was electric. It was the same friction from high school, but now, it was grown up. It was dangerous. I sat there, pushing peas around my plate. Suddenly, Carter turned to me. “Daze, get me a refill on the iced tea, would you?” He didn’t say please. He didn’t even look at me. He held out his glass while maintaining eye contact with Chloe. I looked at the glass. I looked at Chloe, who was watching me with a strange expression. I took the glass. I walked to the kitchen. I put the glass in the sink. And I walked out the back door. Chapter 5: The Breakup Text I drove home in silence. I sat on my beige sofa in my beige apartment, and I stared at the wall. I realized something terrifying. I wasn’t Carter’s girlfriend. I was his placeholder. I was the soft place he landed when he fell. I was the warm body that kept his bed from being lonely while he waited for someone who challenged him. Someone like Chloe. He didn’t love me. He loved that I was there. He loved that I was “Daze”—slow, safe, manageable. I picked up my phone. I didn’t call. I didn’t want to hear his voice. I didn’t want him to talk me out of it. I typed: “We need to break up. I can’t do this anymore. Don’t come over.” I hit send. I expected him to be relieved. Or maybe confused. I didn’t expect him to be furious. Five minutes later, my phone rang. I declined it. It rang again. And again. Then the texts started coming. “What the hell?” “Are you drunk?” “Is this about Chloe? Don’t be jealous, Daze. It’s pathetic.” “Pick up the phone. You don’t get to dump me via text. I made you.” I made you. That was it. The truth. He thought he created me. He thought I was his invention. I turned off my phone. Half an hour later, pounding on my door. “Daisy! Open the damn door!” It was Carter. He sounded angry. Not heartbroken. Angry. Like someone had stolen his favorite hoodie. “Go away, Carter,” I shouted through the door. “You’re being irrational!” he yelled. “Open up. Let me explain. You’re just… you’re confused. You’re always confused.” “I’m not confused!” I screamed back. It was the first time I had raised my voice in twenty years. “I’m clear! For the first time in my life, I am crystal clear!” “About what?” “About the fact that you don’t love me! You just love that I’m not her!” Silence on the other side of the door. “That’s crazy,” he muttered eventually. “You’re my Daze. We’re… we’re a team.” “No,” I said, leaning my forehead against the wood. “You’re the quarterback. I’m just the water girl. Go home, Carter. Go chase the cheerleader.” I heard him kick the door. “Fine!” he shouted. “Be like that. You’ll call me tomorrow. You always do. You can’t function without me.” I heard his footsteps recede. I slid down the door to the floor. He was right. I didn’t know how to function without him. I didn’t know who I was without him. But I was going to find out. Chapter 6: The Stranger in the Bookstore Two weeks later. I was still a mess. I cried in the shower. I cried in the cereal aisle. But I hadn’t called him. I decided I needed to get out. I went to the one place Carter never went: the independent bookstore downtown. It smelled of old paper and coffee. I was reaching for a copy of The Bell Jar on a high shelf. I couldn’t reach it. Usually, this was the part where I would look around helplessly, waiting for Carter to grab it and pat my head. But Carter wasn’t there. I looked around for a step stool. None. “Allow me,” a voice said. A hand reached over my shoulder. Long fingers, ink-stained. He pulled the book down. I turned around. He wasn’t Carter. He wasn’t golden. He was… monochromatic. Dark hair, messy. Wearing a grey sweater that had a hole in the sleeve. He wore glasses that were slightly crooked. He looked at me. His eyes were dark, intelligent, and kind. “Sylvia Plath,” he said, handing me the book. “Light reading for a Tuesday?” “I’m going through a phase,” I muttered, clutching the book. “Thanks.” “I’m Julian,” he said. “I’ve seen you here before. You usually come in with that loud guy who buys the business magazines.” “I… yeah. That was my ex.” “Ex?” Julian raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations.” I blinked. “Excuse me?” “He took up a lot of space,” Julian said, shrugging. “He stood in front of the shelves like he owned them. Hard to see the books when he was around. Hard to see you.” My breath hitched. “You saw me?” “Hard to miss,” Julian smiled. It was a crooked, hesitant smile. “You’re the girl who organizes the poetry section when the staff isn’t looking. You put the Neruda next to the Oliver. Chronological order by emotional impact. Very clever.” I stared at him. I did do that. I did it nervously, compulsively. I didn’t think anyone noticed. “You noticed,” I whispered. “I notice quiet things,” Julian said. “Loud things are boring. Quiet things are where the story is.” He held out a hand. “I’m going to get coffee. The kind that tastes like mud, not the fancy stuff. Want to come? We can discuss why Plath is better than Hemingway.” I looked at his hand. It wasn’t a hand offering protection. It was a hand offering an invitation. I thought about Carter, who told me I would get pickpocketed in Rome. I thought about Chloe, who called me a placeholder. I looked at Julian. “I hate Hemingway,” I said. Julian grinned. “Perfect. Let’s go.” As we walked out of the bookstore, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew who it was. Carter. Probably checking if I had “come to my senses.” I didn’t check it. For the first time in twenty years, I wasn’t in a daze. I was wide awake.

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Strange girls always appear around my childhood friend. I know they’re trying to “conquer” him. But none of them ever succeeded. Until Sarah showed up. She was different from all the other girls. She would praise his clean, efficient method of dissecting butterflies. She would agree with his most shocking, terrifying thoughts. She bragged to me triumphantly, believing she was the savior who would redeem this dark, brooding boy. But she never noticed that the look in his eyes when he watched her… Was exactly the same as when he watched those butterflies. 1 My childhood friend, Silas Vane, is a psychopath. When we first met, he was six years old. He looked like an exquisite porcelain doll, harmless and sweet. His smile was sugary, like marshmallow fluff. I let my guard down and took the chocolate bar he offered. The moment I peeled back the wrapper, a swarm of red fire ants crawled out. I looked up. Silas was smiling sweetly at me. I calmly picked the chocolate up from the ground and tossed it into the trash can. After washing my hands, I slowly turned to him and said, “Thanks for the welcome gift. I hated it. Don’t do it again.” Silas stopped smiling. His pitch-black eyes stared straight at me. I saw right through him. “Surprised I’m not scared?” I smiled slightly. “That trick was amateur. Not nearly as interesting as the surprise my mom got me.” For my fifth birthday, Mom gave me two beautiful butterfly knives. I practiced for a year before sharpening them. After I showed Silas my knife skills, he walked away with a tight face. I rested my chin on my hand and thought, He probably won’t be back. 2 A week later, I received a huge bouquet of flowers. Little Silas smiled angelically. “I picked these from my backyard. Hope you like them.” The roses were vibrant, still dewy from the morning. I smiled back. “Thanks.” The second he left, I threw the flowers into the trash. A moment later, scorpions, centipedes, spiders, and caterpillars crawled out of the roses. I stood up, dusted myself off, and went home. The next day after school, a snake appeared in my room. I grabbed the snake by its head and tossed it into the Vane family’s backyard. 3 From then on, all sorts of weird things started popping up in my house. I knew it was that little psycho. Every time, I returned the favor. 4 Until one day, Silas invited me to his house. His room had an entire wall filled with butterfly specimens. Silas’s voice came from behind me. “Isn’t it beautiful?” “Beautiful things in this world are fleeting, but there’s always a way to make them eternal.” “Specimens preserve the beauty of butterflies forever, keeping them in their most stunning moment.” I took a sip of my milk and said flatly, “But they lost their freedom.” “What does that matter?” Little Silas laughed, his voice full of childish innocence. “As long as they can stay with me forever.” “Don’t you think so, Jo?” I didn’t answer him. I closed my eyes and collapsed to the floor. After a long silence, a delighted laugh rang through the air. “Now, you’re mine too.” He hummed a happy tune, took a syringe from a drawer, and crouched beside me. The next second, I flipped over, pinned him down, and snatched the syringe. I pressed the needle against Silas’s neck, looking down at him. “You want to turn me into a specimen too?” “Don’t you want to be with me forever, Jo?” He blinked, not feeling a shred of guilt. I hauled him up, slammed him against the wall, and beat him up. Only after dunking his head into the bathtub for the third time did I let go. I said coldly, “Don’t cross my line, little psycho.” Silas pushed his wet hair back, revealing a pair of beautiful eyes that shone with terrifying brightness. He actually started laughing happily. “Jo, I like you so much.” “I don’t want a specimen anymore. I want a living Jo.” “Let’s be friends forever, okay? We’ll even die together.” “Get lost. I’m not dying.” 5 Since then, I’ve been stuck with this little psycho. But over the years, I noticed something amusing. Strange girls would always appear around Silas, stay for a while, and then disappear. Later, I found out they were trying to “conquer” him. Like a game. But no one ever succeeded. Except for Sarah. She stayed by Silas’s side the longest. Maybe because she was the most unique of them all. 6 That day, I walked past the flowerbed and saw Silas chatting with Sarah, a polite smile on his face. I listened for a bit. It was the same script he used on everyone. Feeling bored, I turned to leave, but then I heard Sarah say: “It’s not your fault, Silas. You are a good person. Blame Jo and your parents. It’s all their fault.” Me: “?” What did I do? Sarah’s eyes filled with tears, her expression a mix of sympathy and heartache. “I came too late. If I had appeared sooner, I would have protected you. I wouldn’t have let Jo hurt you.” “If I had a cold childhood friend like Jo and parents who ignored me, I’d be twisted too.” “I understand you, Silas. Let me be with you.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Silas needing protection. That was the best joke I’d heard all year. Sarah noticed me and shrieked, “Why are you hiding there eavesdropping?!” I kindly warned her, “Silas isn’t a good person. You’d better stay away from him.” But Sarah acted like she was facing a great enemy, shielding Silas behind her and glaring at me warily. “You’re trying to steal Silas, aren’t you? Jo, keep dreaming! Silas told me everything. You’ve been giving him the cold shoulder for years, causing his psychological distortion. Now that I’m here to protect him, I will never hand Silas over to you!” “I know what you’re planning. You’re trying to drive a wedge between us, hoping I’ll doubt him and leave. But I’m not weak. I will not only save Silas, I will make him better.” Disappointment and condemnation filled Sarah’s eyes. “Jo, you really don’t deserve to be his childhood friend. Please let Silas go. Since none of you care about him, from now on, I will be his salvation.” I thought she was baffling, so I turned and left. 7 The girls who appeared before Sarah usually forced themselves to stay for a few days before vanishing without a trace. But Sarah was different. She praised Silas’s technique with the butterflies. She validated his horrifying ideas. When she saw the things Silas kept in the basement, her eyes lit up as she said, “Silas, you’re so special.” Even Silas found it strange and asked why she wasn’t scared. Sarah actually claimed he was forced to be twisted by us, so being different was normal. Hilarious. Silas’s parents loved each other deeply. They were open-minded and raised Silas with a hands-off approach. As for me “cold-shouldering” him? Complete nonsense. Silas was just born sick. I don’t know what Kool-Aid Sarah drank to convince herself Silas had a tragic childhood and needed saving. She probably didn’t notice that the way Silas looked at her… was the same way he looked at those butterflies. 8 The results of the joint exams came out. I habitually looked at the first line, but my name wasn’t there. First place: Sarah. My rank had dropped to below 800. Impossible. I went to the office and requested to see the original exam paper. My homeroom teacher helped me log in, comforting me, “Must be a scanning error or a miscalculation. With your grades, we can definitely fix it.” The dean nodded. “Right. If we don’t fix it, our school loses its top student.” But when we saw the original scan, we all fell silent. The answer sheet was largely blank, with only a few lines of scribbles. Yet, the candidate information was definitely mine. The teacher frowned, hesitating. “Jo, what happened?” Staring at the handwriting on the screen—identical to mine—I thought of Sarah’s first-place score. I knew what happened. But I couldn’t explain it. Who would believe that Sarah somehow magically swapped my answer sheet?

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Right after high school graduation, the class mean girl posted my pregnancy test results in the group chat. “Trailer trash is always going to be trailer trash. Selling yourself the second you turn eighteen? Do you even know who the baby daddy is? I bet it’s some wrinkly old sugar daddy.” Everyone jumped on the bandwagon, mocking me. Someone even dug up a photo of me on my knees in the mud, digging up sweet potatoes, looking like a mess. Just as the roasting was at its peak, a message popped up from the class’s most untouchable, old-money heir. “I’m the father. Anyone got a problem with that?” Chapter 1 I was shoveling fertilizer in the garden when I gagged. The smell was awful, so at first, I thought it was just the fumes. But later, while feeding Nana her lunch, the nausea hit me again like a freight train. Nana looked at me, her eyes clouded with age but still sharp as a tack. “Savannah, are you pregnant?” Her gaze was like a knife, cutting straight through my secrets. “You went down the wrong path, didn’t you?” My heart stuttered. I swallowed hard. “Yes.” A few months ago, Nana went into heart failure. I was broke. Desperate. So I took night shifts at a dive bar downtown. That’s where I ran into Sebastian Sterling, the golden boy of our senior class. He’d been drugged. His usually pale, aristocratic face was flushed crimson, and he was delirious. He grabbed my hand, trying to pull me under his jacket. Seeing the school’s “High Mountain Flower”—the untouchable Sebastian—drowning in lust like that… my heart wouldn’t stop pounding. I hesitated for exactly one second. Then I dragged him into the employee changing room. Everyone else was working the floor. It was just us in the back. We spent half the night tangled together. When I left, I wrote a note. I figured, hush money. Even fifty grand would save my life. I didn’t expect him to wake up the next day and act like it never happened. It made me panic, so I tracked him down to ask for the cash. I remember his eyes. Ice cold. Like he was looking at garbage. He just said, “Here’s a hundred grand. Don’t cause trouble.” Then he dismissed me like I didn’t exist. I took the money and ran to the hospital to pay Nana’s bills. In the chaos, I forgot the Plan B pill. By the time I remembered, my period was long gone. I bought a stick from the pharmacy. Two pink lines. I was torn. On one hand, the Sterling family is elite. Old money. Their threshold is too high for a girl like me. On the other hand, this was a lottery ticket. A chance to rewrite my destiny. I didn’t want to fold my hand just yet. I dragged it out. My belly started to show. I wrapped it tight with bandages just to walk across the stage at graduation, but I passed out from exhaustion and ended up in the ER. That’s when Tiffany, the school’s self-proclaimed queen bee, snapped the photo and blasted it to the world. Chapter 2 Sebastian showed up the next day. He wasn’t alone. His grandmother, the Matriarch of the Sterling empire, was with him. Sebastian was stone-faced. His eyes flickered over my stomach, then dropped to the floor. I couldn’t read him at all. His grandmother, Mrs. Sterling, was surprisingly gentle. She asked my age, about my parents, my family situation. When I told her honestly that my parents were dead and it was just Nana and me, the old lady teared up. “Poor child.” She offered to take me in. I told her I couldn’t leave Nana, who was bedridden. She immediately arranged for Nana to go to the Sterling family’s private care facility. “To be honest, a family like ours doesn’t usually welcome outsiders,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “But that baby is the first of the Sterling next generation. And you are Sebastian’s first woman. We can’t just leave you out here in the sticks.” On the ride back to their estate, Sebastian kept his eyes closed. He didn’t say a word. I couldn’t tell if he liked me or hated me. But I got my answer soon enough. He threw my bag onto the sofa and told me I was sleeping there. Yeah. He definitely hated me. The Sterling mansion was massive. His bedroom suite alone was split into three rooms. He put me in the smallest one. When I looked up, I saw a framed photo of a stunning ballerina on the wall. Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. “Pretty, right? I’ve been in love with her for years.” He looked down at me with a faint sneer in his eyes. I lowered my head, stealing another glance at the photo. Elegant. Swan-like. Her fingers looked like porcelain. No wonder he looked at me like I was dirt. Chapter 3 I didn’t interact with Sebastian much. Even though we were classmates for three years, our relationship was limited to me collecting his homework. He was rich, a genius, always surrounded by simps. I’d snatch his notebook and run, keeping my head down. Even being that quick, I still got roasted. “Savannah, stop being so thirsty. Stop trying to seduce him.” “Her family is dirt poor, she’s practically selling herself. Don’t let her taint our Sebastian.” Small towns are vicious. Someone had seen me helping Sebastian into the back room that night at the bar. Rumors spread that I was selling my body for cash. But nobody guessed who the guy was. I’d catch Sebastian’s eye from across the classroom. Silence. I was immune to the slut-shaming by then. I never thought I’d actually be living with him. Even if we were sleeping rooms apart. He slept like a corpse. Face up, hands folded on his chest. Like a robot. I couldn’t sleep. I turned to look at him. “Savannah, stop moving.” “I didn’t move.” “You did. Your breathing is too loud.” “Sorry.” He didn’t speak again. His breathing evened out. I’d had insomnia for years, but somehow, listening to him, I drifted off. That night, the nightmares came back. My mother’s screams. My father’s roaring. The flash of the knife. Chapter 4 When I woke up, Sebastian was already gone. He didn’t wake me. I couldn’t find the guest bath, so I had to use his. When I went downstairs, the ballerina from the photo was sitting at the dining table, sipping milk like royalty. Seeing me, she flashed a sweet smile. “Oh, this must be Sebastian’s little friend. She’s cute.” Fairies really are nicer than humans. I’ve spent my life toiling in the sun. I am definitely not “cute.” Sebastian sat next to her. I learned her name was Mia. Principal dancer for a top European ballet company. They grew up together. To the world, she was his “big sister” figure. But I knew the truth. Sebastian was down bad for her. His room was a shrine to her. Being loved like that… must be nice. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. After breakfast, Mrs. Sterling sat me down. She said she was speaking for Sebastian’s mother. The deal: Sebastian is eighteen. He isn’t getting married. Especially not to me. The baby will be born and raised as his sibling. And I? I get a payout. A villa in the city. And a nine-figure sum in the bank account. If I wanted, the Sterlings would send me abroad to study. The condition: I can never see the child again. As she laid this out, Sebastian sat nearby, flicking his Zippo lighter open and closed, watching me with that same mocking smile. I sighed softly. I nodded. “Okay. I agree.” The lighter in Sebastian’s hand stopped spinning.

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Christmas Eve. Downstairs in the office, nearly half the team had fresh bouquets delivered from their boyfriends. Tessa, my team lead and closest work friend, nudged me with her elbow. “Harper’s man is an actual Art Curator and Rhodes Scholar, not some corporate schmuck like the rest of ours. He knows romance better than anyone, I guarantee it.” I had certainly set the bar high. Two years ago, Rhys Ashworth sent nine hundred ninety-nine velvet crimson roses—enough to fill the entire reception area. Last year, it was a gallery-quality neon art installation spelling out “I Love You,” supposedly embedded with countless pink diamond dust. When it came to public displays of affection, Rhys never let me lose. But this year, my phone was silent. A tomb. I started to panic, convinced something terrible had happened. I cashed in my unused vacation days, booked the first available flight, and crossed half the globe in a single, desperate journey. I was shivering, clutching my worn coat, when I saw him. He was standing beneath a sprawling, snow-dusted Christmas tree right outside his London apartment, kissing another woman. 1 Seeing the familiar angles of his face—the way his brow furrowed in concentration even when he was relaxed—I froze solid. Rhys gently lifted the girl, helping her tie a handwritten wish ribbon onto a branch. “Babe, tomorrow is Christmas.” he whispered, his voice the same soft rumble I’d fallen asleep to on countless video calls. “Santa always makes sure your wishes come true.” The girl’s wide, doe eyes sparkled as she looped her arms around his neck, leaning in to pout. “Will he really make all my wishes come true?” Rhys winked, his hand falling in a casual, possessive slap on her behind. “Of course.” The intimate familiarity of that small, dismissive gesture was a knife twist deep in my gut. I ducked behind the nearest corner, shrinking into the shadowed doorway of a closed bakery. I was a thief, spying on the happiness of my own fiancé and his girlfriend. Tears, hot and unexpected, flooded my eyes. Eight years of a long-distance relationship. This was the first time I had ever checked up on him. The girl giggled, a soft, cloying sound, and playfully tapped her fist on Rhys’s chest. “Now put me down, you big tease.” He steadied her waist with one hand and pressed the back of her head with the other, pulling her close for a deeper, more demanding kiss. I lost it. Fumbling with my phone, I unlocked it. I took a few shallow, shaky breaths to try and level the earthquake in my chest. If he just admits it. If he tells me she’s just a fling, a momentary slip… I can self-destruct later. I can pretend I never saw this. “Rhys, who are you with?” I texted, my thumb hovering over the send button. A familiar jingle rang out from his pocket, just yards away. The girl immediately drew back and complained, her bottom lip stuck out. “Your phone has been going off all night. Which little siren is trying to lure you away now?” She turned her face away dramatically. Rhys instantly held up three fingers in a mock-oath. “Gen, I swear, you’re the only one. Where would I even find anyone else?” He pulled her back into his arms, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I cut off my engagement for you, babe. Been right here with you in London for six years now.” Six years. Eight years we’d been together. And he’d been with her for six of them. A choked laugh escaped me, a ragged, ugly sound. I sank to the snow-dusted ground, my limbs suddenly too heavy to hold me. Tessa’s text popped up on my screen, a cruel reminder of the life I’d left. Tessa: Did you make it to London safe? Tessa: Don’t play too hard with the fiancé, remember work when you get back! 😉 The tears came faster, heavy and burning. My colleagues had helped me pick out a new dress for our “reunion date” and chipped in for a beautiful set of matching leather bracelets. We all thought Rhys would be ecstatic to see me. The voices faded as they moved away. I risked peering around the corner and watched the girl—Gen—take Rhys’s arm. She leaped onto his back with a lightness that felt like a mockery. “Quick, practice carrying me over the threshold for our wedding!” she chirped, delighted, like a little sparrow. Wedding? He was planning to marry her? What, then, did our tumultuous eight years—our promise of marriage—even mean? I booked a cheap, awful hotel room that had a direct sightline to Rhys’s apartment. A quick, painful dive into the art world gossip confirmed the details. The girl’s name was Genevieve, or Gen. She was Rhys’s student. In the hallowed halls of the Royal Academy, they maintained a cool, professional distance. But here, outside, they were co-habitating. They were passionately in love. While the Academy wouldn’t necessarily block a relationship between a Professor and a student, a high-profile curator like Rhys—engaged to one woman while living with and impregnating another—would be finished. I stood at the window for hours in an act of self-flagellation. I watched Rhys gently peel off her clothes. I watched him trace the line of her jaw and kiss her eyelids. The two shadows, obscenely intertwined on the wall, shifted and moved until the yellow light of their window was the only thing burning on the dark street. It burned a hole straight through my chest. Around 4 AM, Rhys finally replied to my text. Rhys: I was at the studio all night, trying to hit a deadline for the gallery. So sorry, Babe, totally forgot to send a proper Christmas blessing to my future wife. He sent a quick $500 Venmo transfer, labeled “For your trouble.” I stared at the cold, clinical number. The pain in my chest was sharp and dense. For every previous holiday, no matter where he was in the world, Rhys had always flown back to me. I used to tease him that he couldn’t live without me. He would nuzzle my neck and whine. “It’s true. The husband can’t live without his wife. Just wait until I finish my post-doc, then we’ll get married. Never separate again.” Five years ago, he earned his PhD. I asked when he was coming home. He told me sheepishly that a friend had convinced him to open a gallery in Paris and he couldn’t leave yet. Three years ago, when the gallery moved to London, I asked again. He mumbled about an adjunct professorship at the Academy. The wedding date kept moving. I grew sensitive, anxious. Was he seeing someone else? To calm my fears, he would video call every Sunday night. But now, scrolling through our messages, his last text was from two weeks ago. After that, it was a long, pathetic solo performance from me. I didn’t touch the Venmo money. My finger tapped the screen lightly. Harper: I’m coming to see you tomorrow for Christmas. The dreaded Rhys is typing… appeared on the screen. It stayed there. For three agonizing hours. He finally sent a cutesy dog meme. Rhys: Oh, I hate the thought of you flying all that way! Let’s just do a long video call. I need my wife rested! Rhys could have chosen to be honest. But he was still hiding. Perhaps I was no longer important enough to warrant the truth. I didn’t give him any more time to prepare. As soon as the sun cracked the horizon, I knocked on his door. When Rhys opened it, his eyes weren’t fully awake. He assumed I was a delivery driver and motioned toward the living room. “Just leave the package on the coffee table.” I followed his gaze. A pink silk teddy—rumpled and tossed carelessly—was draped over the sofa. Acid surged up my throat. My eyes stung violently. “Rhys…” My voice. The man’s spine went instantly rigid. His eyes cleared, snapping into focus. “Harper?” he gasped, astonishment warring with panic. I only nodded, a tiny, numb gesture. The bedroom door clicked open. Gen, wearing only a thin, white bra and panties, walked out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “It’s too loud out here,” she murmured. Rhys’s face drained of color. He scrambled to peel off the sweater he was wearing and quickly wrapped it around her, his eyes darting back to me. His explanation was desperate and hollow. “Harper, this is Gen. She’s my student. She had a terrible fight with her boyfriend and I was worried about her safety, so I let her crash here.” Gen looked instantly pale and pathetic. She bit her lip and eyed me timidly. “Hello, Mrs. Ashworth.” I managed a clipped nod. The forced smile I attempted evaporated immediately. Rhys cooked. He cleared the table, making a feast of French toast and eggs. Eight years. He had finally learned to cook and clean for a woman. Only it wasn’t me. Gen announced she had to leave for class. Rhys immediately reached for his car keys to drive her. I swallowed the rising tide of anger and hurt and looped my arm through his with a cheerful smile. “Take me with you. I’d love to see the campus.” Rhys pulled over one stoplight before the school entrance. Gen quickly avoided his hand as he went to undo her seatbelt, turning to me with forced sweetness. “Thank you, Professor and Mrs. Ashworth, for the lift. I’ll get out here.” She gave Rhys a meaningful, miserable look and then hurried away. Rhys’s eyes were glued to her retreating figure. As if remembering something crucial, he threw his own door open and sprinted after her. My nails bit deeply into my palms. I could taste the metallic tang of blood from where I’d chewed the inside of my mouth. Rhys pulled a hot compress and a small packet of ginger tea from his coat, pressing them into Gen’s hand. His tender, low instructions drifted back on the cold wind. “Remember, the first day is always the worst. Be sure to take care of yourself, okay?” Tears spilled instantly and without warning. I scrubbed them away frantically. Rhys watched her walk through the gates. Only when she was gone did he turn back and seem to remember I was still in the car. He explained in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Gen is an orphan. I’m just a mentor, Harper. It’s a student-professor connection. Please don’t overthink it.” I nodded. Just a mentor. As soon as we walked onto the main quad, we ran into a group of his students. Their eyes bounced between Rhys and me, the tension evident. One of them finally spoke up with a grin. “Is this Professor Ashworth’s American girlfriend?” Before Rhys could answer, I reached into my designer handbag, pulled out a handful of the high-end chocolate truffles I’d bought, and distributed them. “Not his girlfriend, actually,” I corrected, my smile bright and cutting. “His Fiancée.” They looked up, surprised, then started congratulating us, offering their clumsy, enthusiastic well-wishes. Rhys’s brow furrowed. He squeezed my wrist, his voice tight. “Harper, let’s go. I want to show you the chapel.” I waved goodbye to the students with exaggerated warmth, assuring them that our wedding was soon and that they would absolutely be invited. Just around the corner, I saw Gen’s pale, wobbling figure. She dabbed at her eyes and hurried away, a picture of wounded innocence. Rhys turned on me, his voice sharp and cold. “What the hell was that, Harper? What are you trying to pull?” I straightened my back and met the contained fury in his eyes. “Pull? Did we not finally save the money for the wedding? Didn’t you promise we would marry as soon as we had the fifty thousand dollars?” I raised my voice, the final sentence a scream ripped from my chest. “Or is it that you don’t want to marry me anymore? Have you fallen in love with someone else?” My aggression shocked him. His face hardened, and he bit out a single, ugly word. “Shrew.” He took off after Gen. I couldn’t hold the facade any longer. I leaned against the cold stone wall, the fight draining from me, and let the tears flow. My phone started a frantic, non-stop vibration. It was my mother. I hit the answer button. My mother’s sobbing flooded the speaker. “Harper, your father had a sudden brain aneurysm. He needs emergency surgery, now.” “I didn’t want to bother you, but the doctors say he’s critical. I’m afraid I won’t raise the money in time…” The pain in my heart was instantly eclipsed by terror. I quickly opened my savings app to transfer the money. But after entering my password, the screen flashed: INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. There should have been exactly $50,000—my entire wedding fund. I tried again, disbelief numbing my fingers. Still insufficient. Trembling, I pulled up the transaction history. Three minutes ago, Rhys had transferred the entire fifty thousand dollar balance out.

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I went to pick up my brother from the airport but forgot my glasses. Squinting through the crowd, I accidentally hugged the wrong guy—and even kissed him on the cheek. It wasn’t until I looked up and met those dark, brooding eyes that I realized my mistake. It was my ex-boyfriend. “Kissing me while calling another man’s name? You’ve got some nerve.” 1 I was picking up my brother, Noah, from LAX, and like an idiot, I left my glasses at home. I stood at the arrivals gate, squinting at every blurry figure that walked out. Finally, a tall guy—about 6’2″—in a black windbreaker walked toward me. I got excited and ran over. I threw my arms around him and planted two big kisses on his cheek. “Noah! How did you get even taller?” Before I could pull away, a familiar voice called out from behind me. “Sis! Did… did you just kiss our team captain?” I froze. Slowly, I looked up. My ex-boyfriend’s dark, intense eyes stared straight into mine. “Kissing me while calling another man’s name? You’ve got some nerve, Mia.” 2 On the ride back, I was squeezed in the backseat between two men. Looking left and right, they were dressed almost identically. I pinched my brother’s arm hard. “I thought you hated matching outfits with people?” “Sis, you don’t get it. Matching with Captain Carter? That’s a blessing from the Esports gods.” I rolled my eyes. Noah looked back and forth between us, his eyes wide with gossip. “Sis, do you and Captain Carter know each other?” Instantly, we both spoke at the same time: “Ex-boyfriend.” “She’s my girlfriend.” Me: “?” Noah’s face: [Holy sht! The tea is hot!]* Suddenly, a hand landed on my waist, rubbing gently. “We didn’t break up. I’ve just been busy lately, haven’t had time for her, so she’s throwing a tantrum.” Tantrum? What tantrum? When his wandering hand started making me weak, I grabbed it and threw it aside. “Jax Carter, we broke up a month ago.” Jax actually laughed. He pulled me onto his lap, burying his face in my neck, his voice terrifyingly gentle. “Baby, if we broke up… can I chase you again?” I was furious. I told the driver to pull over and scrambled off him. “Break up means break up! Do you not understand English?” 3 I met Jax gaming. He was #1 in the region; I was dead last. I heard his voice in a random match and chased him until he was mine. Later, I found out he was a pro Esports player. No one around us knew we were dating. He gamed all night and slept all day. The one time we managed a date, he fell asleep in the movie theater. As his rank climbed—regionals, nationals, even worlds—his messages got shorter. Our conversations died. I tried to break up a million times. He wouldn’t even reply. Or he’d see my breakup text and smooth it over with a few sweet words, and I’d fall for it again. But this time, I was done. If this kept up, one of us was going to end up in a psych ward. 4 As soon as we got home, I bumped into a wall of muscle. My forehead throbbed. “Let me kiss it better. Does it hurt, baby?” Hearing that familiar voice, I snapped my head up. “Why are you in my house? Get out before I call the cops for trespassing!” Just as I was pushing him out, Noah ran over and stopped me. “Sis! The Captain is new to the city, he doesn’t have a place to stay. I told him he could crash with us for a bit.” I refused immediately. “No way. Our house is too small for his ego.” “How is it small? We have four bedrooms! Plus, this is Noah’s captain. If you kick him out, I’m going with him!” My mom walked out of the kitchen holding a tray of ribs. “Alright, that’s settled. Wash your hands, dinner’s ready.” Watching Jax walk toward the guest room, I stomped my foot in rage. 5 “Liv, I’m broken.” My best friend, Olivia, looked concerned. “What’s wrong?” “Jax… is living in my house.” “What?! He chased you all the way home? Is he trying to meet the in-laws?” “Stop!” I cut her off. “Don’t ship it. We really broke up this time.” “Really?” I nodded. “Really. Dating a ghost is exhausting.” “Exhausting? Girl, think about it! It’s Jax Carter! The Esports God! Half the girls in the country want him!” “Let them have him. I’m done.” Living day and night in reverse, never seeing each other… it was too unreal. Seeing me down, Olivia quickly changed the subject. “Forget him. Tonight, I’m taking you out. Put on something hot. The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one.” Remembering Jax was just a wall away at home, I didn’t want to go back anyway. I skipped dinner and left. 6 “These guys aren’t as handsome as Jax, but their… other stats are top tier.” Olivia tossed an iPad into my hands. “Pick anyone. My treat.” Looking at the young faces on the screen, I blushed. These hosts looked so young. I felt like a predator. I couldn’t choose. Olivia saw my hesitation, snatched the iPad back, scrolled to the very last page, and ordered. That guy… looked familiar? Before I could react, the waiter took the iPad away. “Don’t worry, I ordered the top guy in the club for you.” Olivia pouted. “Don’t waste my money, okay? He was expensive.” I was already a bit tipsy. “Where is he? Why isn’t he here yet? Hurry up, or I’m gonna fall asleep…” In a daze, I saw a stunningly handsome face. It looked just like my ex. “Are you the top guy?” “Top guy?” I nodded, pointing at Olivia. “Yeah! My bestie ordered you for me.” Seeing the man turn to leave, I grabbed him. “Don’t go!” He scoffed. “You want me to stay?” “Of course! You were expensive. I can’t let you leave.” Suddenly, I was swept off my feet and held in his arms. As he carried me away, I pointed back at Olivia passed out on the couch. “Can we take my friend?” Was it my imagination, or did his grip on my waist tighten? Just before I passed out, I heard a familiar voice whisper: “I only service one person. Someone else is picking her up.”

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My mother raised a black snake, treating it as preciously as her own eyes. When the black snake grew larger, my mother said it was an adult now and deserved a wife of its own. That same night, my mother placed the black snake into my sister’s bed. My sister looked at her with pleading eyes. My mother, however, claimed that serving the black snake was my sister’s blessing and, without further ado, tied my sister to the bed. Chapter 1 The next day when I went to my sister’s room, the scene inside gave me a huge fright. My sister was curled up in a corner, her face ghastly pale. The snow-white bedsheets were stained with sporadic traces of blood. My mother, beaming with joy, stroked the black snake’s head and said, “I’ve given you my eldest daughter. “When will my Big Dragon come back?” Hearing my mother’s words, I shuddered all over. Big Dragon was my older brother, who died in a car accident three years ago. That was also when my mother started raising this black snake. The black snake hissed at my mother twice, flicking its tongue. Then it slid out of my mother’s hands. It slithered towards the underside of my sister’s skirt. My sister looked at my mother with horror, trying to get up, but was ruthlessly pinned down by her: “First time’s a stranger, second time’s a friend. “What are you pretending for! It’s not like you haven’t done it before.” My sister shook her head, tears in her eyes. My mother seemed to soften a bit, lowering her voice: “Good daughter, serve the Black Immortal well. “Making him happy enough to send your brother back is better than anything.” The black snake disappeared under my sister’s skirt. My sister’s face was deathly pale. After a while, she started whimpering. The expression on her face was indistinguishable between pain and pleasure. My mother spat fiercely on the ground. Muttering curses like: “Little hussy. “Just now you were saying no, no. “Now you’re comfortable, aren’t you?” Chapter 2 That night, I was sleeping in a daze. When I opened my eyes, I saw a dark figure standing by my bed. Startled, I was about to scream when a hand firmly covered my mouth. I looked closely and saw it was my sister. Her hair was disheveled, and her hands were icy cold. Her whole being radiated a chill. After I promised not to make a sound, my sister released her hand. Clutching the quilt, I shrank towards the inside of the bed, shivering as I said, “Sis, why are you so cold!” My sister smiled self-deprecatingly and said, “How warm can someone be after being defiled by that thing? “I came to tell you, run away while you can these next two days, or Mom won’t spare you?” I looked at my sister in horror: “Sis, but I’m a man.” “Heh!” The smile on my sister’s face grew wider, “Why would it care about gender? “And in Mom’s eyes, the two of us combined aren’t as important as Brother. If you don’t die from this, you’ll die from something else.” I opened my mouth but couldn’t say a word. Chapter 3 The next day, I was awakened by my mother’s screams. I hurriedly ran out to look. Only to find my sister dead. Wearing a bright red wedding dress, she had hanged herself from the beam of our house. My mother’s screams were so loud they attracted Third Uncle from next door. Seeing my sister’s body, Third Uncle swayed, nearly losing his footing. Then he said through gritted teeth: “Wearing red to hang herself, what does she want to do? “Does she want to become a vengeful ghost?” Seeing Third Uncle, my mother seemed to find her backbone. Sobbing, she said: “Big Dragon hasn’t come back yet, how could she die? “If she’s dead, what about Big Dragon?” Third Uncle slapped my mother across the face: “If we don’t deal with Jenny properly. “We’re all going to die, and you’re still thinking about Big Dragon.” My mother wanted to speak, but intimidated by Third Uncle’s authority, she could only shut her mouth obediently. Third Uncle circled my sister’s body three times to the left and three times to the right. Then he beckoned me over. I was somewhat afraid. But my mother kicked me towards him. Chapter 4 Unlike his fierce demeanor just now, Third Uncle changed his expression when facing me. He kindly patted my head: “River, your sister always treated you well. Tonight, you will keep vigil for her.” I shuddered in fear and waved my hands to refuse. But Third Uncle gave me no chance: “Your sister died a wrongful death. “If no family member accompanies her on her last journey tonight. “She will become a vengeful ghost, never to be reincarnated. “Do you have the heart for that? “And even if we take a step back, your sister treated you best when she was alive, she won’t treat you badly in death, she won’t do anything to you.” I still shook my head. My mother, however, went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a cleaver, and looked at me viciously: “If you don’t go, if you dare not go, I’ll chop you to death right now.” Terrified, I immediately fell silent, daring not refuse again. Third Uncle was very satisfied with my attitude. He patted my head: “Don’t worry, nothing will happen. “Taking a step back, a new ghost on the first day of passing isn’t that fierce.” Chapter 5 At night, I leaned against my sister’s coffin, trembling. After staring at my sister’s body for a while, I wasn’t so scared anymore; instead, I felt a bit sad. I wiped my tears and said, “Sis, no wonder you came to me last night. “Telling me to run away quickly, so you had this in mind. “Actually, it’s good that you died; dead, you won’t be defiled anymore. “Sis, keep your eyes open when you reincarnate next time. “Even being reincarnated as a pig or a dog is better than being born into our family.” While I was still muttering. The door suddenly burst open with a “bang.” I jumped up in fright. Calming myself, I saw it was my mother. Covered in the pitch-black night, I couldn’t see the expression on her face. Only when she came closer did I see that my mother was holding that black snake. My mother glanced at me first, then without a word, began to pull down my sister’s pants. Realizing what my mother intended to do. I hurriedly grabbed my mother’s hand, swallowed hard, and looked at her pleadingly: “Mom, my sister is already dead.” My mother stroked the snake’s head: “The Black Immortal wants it. “She has to serve me even in death.” Or, my mother suddenly changed the subject, staring at me with a sinister smile and said: “Or, you can do it too.” I was scared into a cold sweat by my mother’s smile. My hand unconsciously let go. In just that moment. The black snake had already slipped under my sister’s body. Half of the snake’s body was gone. I couldn’t bear to watch any longer. I turned and went out the door. I hadn’t been at the door for two minutes. When my mother’s scream came from the mourning hall. I shuddered all over with fright and hurriedly ran inside. As soon as I entered, I saw a pool of blood flowing from under my sister’s body. The snake’s body was broken in two. The snake head was outside, hissing and baring its fangs, but the tail was missing. My mother, pale-faced, cursed “bad luck.” Then she reached into my sister’s body and fumbled around. Finally, she pulled out the long snake tail. My mother pieced the snake head and tail together, stroking them with a heartbroken look. After confirming the snake wasn’t dead, my mother breathed a sigh of relief. Then she looked at me and said viciously: “Clean this place up. If anyone notices anything tomorrow, I’ll beat you to death.” I lowered my head and whispered, “I know.” Only then did my mother leave satisfied.

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It was the day my lawyer boyfriend took me home to meet his parents, and the future mother-in-law, Eliza Alistair, decided to share a little anecdote at the dinner table to “break the ice.” “I’d just gotten my license back then,” she said, taking a delicate bite of her artisanal bread. “I snuck out with your father’s prize possession—that vintage Porsche he worships—and I was so nervous, I hit something out on Sycamore Creek Road. I think it was a large dog, maybe? I panicked and just kept driving.” She chuckled, a light, dismissive sound. “The bumper was totally bashed in. It took forever to fix it in secret. Your father still has no idea!” She lifted her glass of Meritage, elegantly sipped it. “Thank God that area is so isolated. No traffic cameras, or I would have been in real trouble.” The knife and fork slipped from my fingers, hitting the porcelain plate with a piercing, metallic shriek. The model of the vintage car, that specific stretch of suburban road, even the detail of the light drizzle that evening… every single detail slotted perfectly over the memory of the night my brother died. I looked at Rhys, and his face was a portrait of abject terror. He was deathly pale, his eyes darting away, unable to meet mine. In that frozen instant, I understood everything. 1 The clang of my cutlery against the white china plate was a scream in the otherwise quiet, stately dining room. Eliza Alistair, Rhys’s mother, froze, the practiced smile on her face dissolving. She looked at me, a slight frown creasing her brow, her gaze carrying a hint of annoyance at the interruption. “Cassidy, what is it? Not to your taste?” Rhys’s father, Judge Wallace Alistair—a former judge, now semi-retired—also looked up from his newspaper, his eyes, magnified slightly by his reading glasses, sizing me up with cold assessment. I didn’t look at them. My eyes were locked solely on Rhys. His hands, resting on the tablecloth, were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple, and he didn’t even dare lift a hand to wipe it away. “Rhys.” I spoke the name, the sound of it light, yet laced with a chilling coldness I hadn’t known I possessed. “That road your mother mentioned—is it… Sycamore Creek Road?” Rhys’s body jerked as if struck. Eliza’s mask of aristocratic grace finally fractured. She looked at me, eyes narrowed, instantly on guard. “How do you know that?” I pulled at the corner of my mouth, trying to produce a smile that felt more like a grimace. “My brother,” I said, the words heavy and deliberate. “He died on that road.” “Hit by a hit-and-run driver in a vintage car.” “On a rainy evening, just like you described.” A deathly silence settled over the room. The air felt vacuum-sealed, pressing down on my lungs until I could barely breathe. Eliza’s face cycled through confusion, shock, rising panic, and finally, a sheet-white terror. The stem of her wine glass snapped, the bowl crashing to the floor. The crimson spill of wine on the pale rug looked horrifyingly like a pool of blood. “You… you’re talking nonsense!” she shrieked, her voice warped by fear. “Sycamore Creek? I don’t remember any of that!” “You don’t remember?” I repeated slowly, my gaze drifting to the brand-new, cherry-red sports car parked in their massive driveway. “The car. The license plate ended in 77, didn’t it?” “Those were the last two numbers my brother managed to whisper before he died.” Eliza’s lips trembled, unable to form a single word. Rhys finally moved. He shot to his feet, grabbing my wrist with a violence that felt like he was trying to crush bone. “Cass! Calm down! This has to be a misunderstanding! My mother, she—” “A misunderstanding?” I ripped my arm out of his grasp and stood up. The sudden, sharp movement sent a jolt of searing pain through the old injury in my right leg. I stumbled, leaning hard against the table for support. “Rhys, tell me, what is the misunderstanding?” “Is it that you knew who I was the first day we met, didn’t you?” “Is it that you approached me, pursued me, and were so kind to me, all because your mother killed my brother, didn’t you?” “Your love, your tenderness, your thoughtfulness—it was all a lie! It was your form of atonement! Your hush money! Wasn’t it?” My voice rose with each accusation, each one more desperate than the last. Every word was a blade, first stabbing him, then plunging back into my own heart. Rhys Alistair! He looked at me, his mouth opening and closing, his face ashen, utterly unable to deny a single thing. “Enough!” The sharp, authoritative command came from Judge Alistair, who had remained silent until now. He slammed his newspaper onto the table. Standing up, he fixed me with an icy stare. “Ms. Linnea, you may speak freely in this house, but you cannot speak recklessly.” “The police classified that incident as an unsolved cold case due to insufficient evidence.” “To come into my home today, basing your claims on a few baseless speculations, and to loudly ruin my wife and son’s reputation—that is a gross overreach!” His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable, crushing judicial authority. I looked at the three of them. A frantic killer. A guilt-ridden deceiver. A cold, ruthless accomplice. Perfect. What a perfectly intact family. I suddenly laughed, a hollow sound that ended with tears streaming down my face. “You’re right. I overreached.” I wiped my eyes, and slowly, deliberately, limped toward the front door. “My apologies, Judge Alistair, for the disturbance.” 2 I thought I would flee the city that night. But I had only just cleared the wrought-iron gate of their estate when Rhys caught up to me, wrapping his arms around me in a crushing embrace. “Cass! Don’t go! Please, just listen to me!” His voice was thick with tears, hot and wet as they hit the skin of my neck. “I’m sorry, Cass, I’m so sorry… I never meant to deceive you.” “The first time I saw you, it was in my father’s case files. The photo—you were holding your brother, crying your heart out.” “I admit, I approached you with an ulterior motive at first. I wanted to make amends for my mother.” “But after that, I truly fell in love with you! You have to believe me, Cass!” His arms tightened, holding me as though I might dissolve into smoke if he eased his grip. An hour ago, those words would have shattered me with grief and gratitude. Now, I only felt a sickening, churning nausea. Atonement? Using love as atonement? How noble. How deeply moving. But how dare he think his love could possibly pay for my brother’s life? I didn’t struggle, letting him hold me until his sobs subsided and his emotions were somewhat steadier. Only then did I speak, my voice cold and flat. “So, you’re admitting it.” Rhys’s body stiffened in my arms. “I…” “Your mother is the one who ran over my brother,” I finished for him. He remained silent. Silence was the only answer needed. I pushed him away, looking at his handsome face, now etched with pain. “Rhys, we are done.” “No! Cass, you can’t do this to me!” He grabbed my arm again, his eyes pleading. “We were going to get married! We were going to travel the world together—” “Married?” I laughed, the sound brittle and unbelievable. “To you? And live with your mother, the hit-and-run killer?” “My mother didn’t mean to! She was terrified at the time…” “So she was entitled to flee the scene? To leave a young boy bleeding on the roadside? To live a life of comfort for ten years without a single pang of guilt?” My rapid-fire questions silenced him completely. Behind us, the heavy front door opened. Eliza, draped in a luxurious cashmere wrap, stepped out. The panic in her eyes had been replaced by a cold, calculating scrutiny. “Ms. Linnea, name your price.” She walked toward me, her tone that of a CEO wrapping up a minor business deal. “I know your family has struggled; you’ve had a difficult life.” “A condo in the city, a new SUV, and five million dollars in cash.” She paused, evaluating the weight of her offer. “That figure is enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Forget what happened. Continue your relationship with Rhys. It’s better for you, and certainly better for us.” I stared at her. The woman who killed my brother, now trying to buy my silence with the blood-money from her son’s fraudulent affection. To them, a human life, my grief, my brother’s wrongful death—it was all an itemized, negotiable expense. I smiled. “Fine,” I said. Both Rhys and Eliza looked stunned. Meeting their shocked gaze, I spoke clearly, one word at a time: “I don’t want the money.” “I want you to go to my brother’s grave, kneel down, bow your head, and confess your crime.” 3 Eliza’s face instantly hardened, turning the color of oxidized metal. “You’re dreaming!” she spat. “Me, kneel before a dead boy? Who the hell do you think you are?” “Mom!” Rhys quickly gripped her arm, desperate to stop her from saying anything more incendiary. I ignored her outburst, keeping my focus on Rhys. “That is my only demand.” “If you can’t meet it, we call the police.” The word “police” struck Eliza like a physical blow. Her body swayed, and Rhys had to stabilize her. Judge Alistair walked out of the house, his expression dark and menacing as he watched me. “Ms. Linnea, there is a concept called leaving room for maneuver,” he said, his voice frigid. “Escalating this will not benefit you. Don’t forget, Rhys is a prominent attorney, and even in retirement, I maintain considerable influence in the judicial system.” It was a naked threat. They were informing me that even if I went to the authorities, they could ensure their escape. And I, a woman with no power, no influence, and a visible disability, would only be crushed under their heel. A cold certainty settled in my heart. This was the power of privilege. It could twist the truth and trample over human life. “So, there’s nothing left to discuss?” I asked. Judge Alistair gave a dismissive grunt, his attitude clear. “Fine.” I nodded, pulled out my phone, and pretended to dial a number. “Wait!” Rhys lunged forward, pressing his hand over mine. He turned to his parents, his eyes a warzone of agonizing conflict. “Dad, Mom, please, just agree to it.” “We… we owe her this.” “Rhys! Are you insane!” Eliza stared at her son in disbelief. “You want me… you want me to—” “Mom!” Rhys cut her off, his voice a strained plea. “I’m begging you! Or Cass will destroy us!” Eliza’s lips trembled. She glared at me, her eyes filled with a murderous hatred. Finally, she collapsed against Rhys, deflated. “Fine… Fine… I agree,” she hissed, squeezing the words out between clenched teeth. “Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.” I pocketed my phone, looking at them. “Not tomorrow.” “Now.” I needed to strike while the iron was hot, to deny them any time to regroup or plot. Rhys’s face went white. Eliza nearly fainted. “Now? Look at the time! The cemeteries are closed!” “Then we go to Sycamore Creek Road,” I said coldly. “The intersection where the accident happened.” “I want you to kneel at the place where my brother died.” 4 The night was deep and dark. The streetlights on Sycamore Creek Road cast a sickly, yellowish glow, stretching human shadows thin and long. This was the suburban edge, and late at night, the road was deserted. The wind whistled through the roadside trees, a mournful, crying sound. Eliza, in her expensive, custom-made suit, was kneeling on the cold, unforgiving asphalt, her entire body shaking. She had likely never experienced such humiliation in her life. Rhys stood beside her, his face pale, his hands clenched tightly. Judge Alistair remained in his luxury car parked a little distance away, the twin beams of his headlights acting like cold spotlights, fixed solely on me. “Are you satisfied?” Eliza spat, looking up at me, her voice ragged. “I knelt. Is that what you wanted?” I didn’t answer. Instead, I opened my handbag and took out a faded, yellowed photograph. The picture showed a boy with a radiant, gap-toothed smile. My brother, Finn Linnea. I placed the photo on the ground directly in front of Eliza. “Look at him.” My voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable command. “Tell me why you killed him.” Eliza’s breathing hitched. Her eyes darted around, desperately trying to avoid the photograph. “I… I didn’t mean to… it was dark, raining, I didn’t see anything…” “You didn’t see?” I scoffed. “You stopped the car after you hit him, didn’t you?” Eliza’s pupils constricted. “How… how do you know that?” “My brother told me,” I said, and the tears I had held back for ten years finally broke free. “He was still alive. He thought you had stopped to help him.” “But you didn’t.” “You paused for a few seconds, and then you pressed the gas pedal and drove… right over him.” My voice was trembling as I delivered the final words. This was the secret I had buried for a decade, the nightmare that haunted my every sleepless night. I had seen it. I saw the car pause, then surge forward, the wheel passing mercilessly over my brother’s body. I was too young, too terrified, hiding in the tall grass, unable to even cry out. “No! It’s not true! I didn’t!” Eliza shook her head wildly, desperate to dislodge the accusation. “I didn’t run him over! I just drove away!” “Oh, really?” I knelt down, forcing my gaze to meet hers. “Then look into my brother’s eyes, and say that again.” Eliza’s eyes were forcibly drawn to the clear, smiling gaze in the photo. She recoiled as if burned, screaming and pushing the photo away. “Ah! Don’t let him look at me! Take it away! Take it away!” She was breaking. In the face of the truth and the terror, all her poise shattered. Rhys rushed forward, wrapping his arms around his mother, then looked up at me, his face twisted with anger. “Cassidy! That’s enough!” “My mother apologized, she knelt down. What more do you want?” “Do you want to destroy us completely before you’re satisfied!” I looked at him. The man who claimed to love me, now shielding a murderer. It was ludicrous. “Destroy you?” I stood up slowly, wiping my tears, looking down at them both. “Rhys, you misunderstand.” “I never wanted your lives.” “I wanted something far worse than death.” With that, I turned, and with a slow, deliberate limp, disappeared into the cloak of the night. 5 I thought the kneeling on Sycamore Creek Road would be the end of the spectacle. I was wrong. I severely underestimated the utter shamelessness of the Alistair family. The next morning, my phone was besieged. News headlines dominated every outlet, each one more sensational than the last. [Alistair Family Scandal: Disabled Orphan Blackmails Future Mother-in-Law for Millions!] [Former Judge’s Son Duped: Girlfriend Revealed as Vicious Gold Digger Seeking Extortion!] [Exclusive: The Truth Behind the ‘Kneeling Gate’—A Calculated Scheme of Blackmail!] In the media’s narrative, I had become a calculating, greedy, malicious woman. Eliza Alistair, meanwhile, was portrayed as a poor, victimized mother, forced into humiliation by her vicious future daughter-in-law. The accompanying photos were damning: an aerial shot from Sycamore Creek Road of Eliza on her knees, and me standing over her—the angle deliberately highlighting my coldness and my leg’s residual injury. Another image showed Eliza, looking pitiful, being treated at a hospital with an orthopedic cast on her arm. I was shaking with rage. They dared to strike first! I immediately called Rhys. The phone rang for a long time before he answered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Cass, did you see the news?” “Rhys, how could you be so utterly despicable!” I yelled. “Cass, listen, this was unavoidable,” Rhys said, a strained tone of helplessness in his voice. “Someone filmed last night’s incident and posted it online. We had to preemptively control the narrative, or the firm—our family—would be ruined.” “Control the narrative? By painting me as a malicious gold digger?” “Cass, I know this is rough. But it was the best way. Once the dust settles, I’ll make it up to you.” Make it up to me? Compensation? Again? I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Rhys, I must have been blind to ever love you.” “Cass…” “Let me tell you, this isn’t over. I will publicize the entire truth! I will make sure everyone knows what kind of murderer your mother is!” I slammed the phone down. I opened my laptop, ready to compose a long social media post, laying out every single detail. But as I typed the first letter, a new push notification popped up. It was an official statement from Rhys’s law firm. The statement, drafted in ruthlessly professional legal language, defined my actions the previous night as “the intentional use of threats and coercion, with the intent of illegal financial gain, to extort property from the victim.” Blackmail. Extortion. They had formally labeled me a criminal. The statement concluded with a stern legal notice, warning me to immediately cease all “libel and harassment” of the Alistair family, or face the full force of judicial prosecution. I stared at the frigid legal document, my hands and feet turning to ice. I had forgotten. Rhys was a top lawyer. His father was a former judge. Manipulating the law and controlling the narrative was their specialty. What could a civilian like me, without power or legal resources, do against them? Just as I felt all hope drain away, an unknown number called my phone.

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It was Juniper’s ‘Sip and See’ party, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and new money. Savannah Wells, the woman Rhys Caldwell always called his “associate” but who acted more like a sister-wife, leaned into him, her smile a predatory arc, and proposed a game. A high-stakes one. Rhys didn’t just indulge her; he looked at her with a careless, almost doting air. “How do you want to play, Sav?” Savannah’s gaze landed on me—a deliberate, challenging dart—then settled on the baby in my arms. “Let’s play with the dice. Best two out of three.” “If I lose,” she purred, “that prime waterfront lot, the Sinclair Development Property, is yours. If I win, this child—” she gestured to my daughter, my Juniper, “—she goes to my distant relatives out East. A goodwill adoption. A little charity case to boost my karma.” The room went silent. This was his blood. His daughter. Rhys, my husband, merely took a languid pull from his custom cigarette, then casually extinguished it. “Fine by me. She’s just a girl-child. If she makes you happy, take her.” My world fractured. Despair was a lead weight in my gut, right until a soft, milky voice sounded in my head: 【They think they can sell Baby? Cute. Clearly, they’ve never met a CEO’s goddaughter.】 【I’m the designated deity of the Underworld’s favorite. The Scroll of Fates? It’s currently tucked into my diaper. Right next to a fresh change.】 【Mom, don’t you dare fold! Agree to the terms! We’ll win her fortune, ditch this deadbeat daddy, and go full single-mom billionaire!】 I froze. My daughter said that? A strange, fierce calm washed over me. I stood, walked to the nearest high-stakes poker table, and sat down, cradling Juniper. “You’re on, Savannah,” I said, my voice cutting across the room’s stunned silence. “First one to cry uncle buys the whole table a round of Veuve Clicquot.” 1 The opulent party hall was instantly hushed. Every eye was on me, a mixture of shock, pity, and the intoxicating thrill of seeing a spectacle unfold. Rhys’s brow lifted, deepening the smirk already playing on his lips. “Ella Sinclair, you sure about this?” His voice was low, carrying just enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t go losing and then crying to me later.” Savannah, clinging to his arm, let out a delighted, artificial laugh. “Oh, Rhys, darling, look at her. She’s got spunk! I love it.” She looked at me, her eyes pinpricks of icy disdain. “Ella, the rules are simple: High-Low. Best two out of three. You’re the dealer. I’ll guess.” She pushed a document toward the center of the table—the Deed to the Sinclair Development Lot, a property valued at over three hundred million dollars. “I lose, it’s yours.” Her eyes dropped to my sleeping daughter, and her tongue flicked over her red lips. “You lose, the child is mine. We sign the papers. All these fine people are our witnesses.” The little life in my arms shifted, blew a tiny milk-bubble, and the soft, menacing voice returned to my mind: 【Mom, don’t worry. That one has fifty years left on her contract. Him, forty-eight. Tonight, Baby’s sending them both to the poor house. The Ledger says she’s completely toast. Just listen to me and roll.】 I took a deep breath. I carefully handed Juniper to the nearest nanny, instructing her to take the baby far away. I didn’t want this sordid display to soil my daughter’s eyes. “Agreed,” I said. I picked up the dice cup. The cool metal was grounding against my fingertips. “But if this is a wager, it needs to be fair.” I looked directly at Rhys. “You will be the notary. You examine the dice, and you announce the result.” Rhys paused, then laughed—a booming, arrogant sound. “Fine.” He took the cup and the dice, inspecting them under the glaring chandeliers, even weighing them in his palm. “Perfectly clean. Begin.” His look was patronizing, like watching a pet perform a trick. Savannah’s smile was triumphant. She was practically draped across Rhys, already celebrating her win. “Your move, Ella.” 2 I picked up the dice cup again. The three ivory cubes rattled with a crisp, clear sound. My hand was steady. Almost unnervingly so. 【Mom, don’t shake it. Just set it down. Now.】 Juni’s voice was languid, laced with a casual, born-to-rule authority. I followed her instruction, slamming the cup down on the polished mahogany. Thwack. The sound echoed in the sudden, deep silence. Savannah’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by my decisiveness. She batted her eyelashes at Rhys. “Rhys, darling, what’s your guess? High or Low?” He lifted his glass, took a sip of single malt, and didn’t even glance at me. “Whatever you decide.” “Low, then,” Savannah said, tapping her fingernail on the expensive felt. Her red nail almost pierced the fabric. “I guess Low. One-two-three. Under six.” Rhys gestured to me with his chin. Open it. I didn’t move. I just looked at Savannah. “Savannah, sure you don’t want to reconsider?” Her smile hitched. “No. Low.” “Okay.” I slowly lifted the cup. Three dice lay there. Six. Six. Five. Seventeen. High. A collective, stifled gasp rippled through the guests. Savannah’s face drained of color. She stared at the dice as if trying to burn holes in them with her mind. “No! That’s impossible!” she shrieked, springing to her feet. “You cheated!” I didn’t say a word. I just looked toward Rhys. He frowned, picked up the dice again, and weighed them. He shook them, listening intently. After a long moment, he tossed them back on the table. “The dice are clean.” He finally looked at me, his gaze analytical, searching. Savannah was still furious, glaring at me. “Then your technique is rigged!” I smiled. “Savannah, you brought the dice cup, you chose the dice, and the notary is my husband, Rhys Caldwell. How exactly did I cheat?” I paused, then pulled the Deed to the Sinclair Development Lot toward my side of the table. “First game. I win.” Savannah’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She shot me a look of pure malice, then turned to Rhys, tears suddenly welling up. “Rhys…” His expression was dark, but he patted her hand reassuringly. “Relax. Two more games.” He looked at me, his eyes cold and dangerous. “Ella, know when to quit. Give Savannah back the deed. We’ll call this whole farce a night.” 【Hear that, Mom? What a pile of steaming garbage.】 The voice in my head was tired but fierce. 【Ignore him. Keep going. Next game, we take his watch, his shoes, and his dignity. Let him see what it’s like to really lose.】 I folded the deed carefully and placed it into my small evening bag. “Rhys, you said, ‘If she makes you happy, take her.’” “Well, I won. Are you going back on your word?” I met his gaze without flinching. “Or does the CEO of Caldwell Financial only stand by his promises when the terms suit him?” Rhys’s face hardened. The temperature in the room plummeted. “Fine. Excellent,” he spat out. “Keep going.” 3 The second round. Savannah was no longer smug; her focus was deadly. She tracked my hands, trying to catch every minute detail. My actions were identical: I picked up the cup, shook it, and slammed it down. 【Mom, don’t shake it hard. Just a quick rattle, then set it down. We need to end this now. Baby’s battery is running low. Fast finish.】 I complied. The moment the cup settled, Savannah practically screamed her guess. “High!” Her voice was sharp, desperate, fueled by the conviction of an absolute, make-or-break certainty. Rhys’s brow was furrowed, his eyes glued to the table. I flipped the cup. Two. Two. One. Five. Low. Savannah’s eyes flew open. The color in her face vanished entirely. She lost. Best two out of three. There was no coming back from this. “No! This can’t be!” she wailed, lunging to grab me. Rhys grabbed her, but his own face was a mask of shock and confusion. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. The guests buzzed with hushed whispers: “She cleaned her out.” “Didn’t see that coming.” Savannah heard the whispers. She tore her arm from Rhys, pointing a trembling, accusing finger at my face. “Ella Sinclair! You bitch! You cheated!” I stood, looking down at her. “Savannah, a bet is a bet.” I picked up the cup and held it out to her. “If you don’t believe me, check the dice yourself.” She swatted my hand away, and the cup clattered across the floor. “I don’t believe you! You used some kind of trick!” She turned to Rhys, tears streaming down her face. “Rhys, she’s attacking me! Look at her! She’s not the wife you married!” Rhys’s expression was terrifyingly cold. He ignored Savannah’s theatrical sobs and stared at me. “How did you do it?” I offered a slight smile. “Beginner’s luck.” “Luck?” He scoffed. He clearly wasn’t buying it. “Ella, I’m giving you one last chance. Give the deed back and apologize to Savannah.” I crossed my arms. “And if I don’t?” His eyes turned dangerous. “Then you find out.” He reached into his jacket pocket and threw something small and white onto the table. It was a piece of flawless mutton-fat jade—the pendant my mother had given me, the one I had given Rhys as a commitment token years ago. He had sworn to wear it always. Now, it landed on the table like a piece of trash. “That jade, plus the title to the Caldwell Heights Estate,” he announced, the name of our home ringing with finality. “That’s the wager for the third round.” Savannah instantly stopped crying, her eyes lighting up with savage expectation. My breath caught in my throat. My mother’s pendant. 【Mom, don’t get emotional. That hunk of junk is worth nothing. We’ll get a better one.】 Juni’s voice was muffled, as if she were chewing her hand, but it was brutal. 【Take it. Tonight, we make him lose everything but the underwear he’s standing in. Say yes.】 I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the last vestige of warmth was gone. “All right,” I said, sitting back down. “The stakes are set.” Rhys’s lips curled into a cruel, satisfied smile. “You win, the jade and the estate are yours.” He paused, his eyes flicking to the corner where the nanny held Juniper. “You lose, you will personally take your daughter and deliver her to Savannah.” 4 That sentence was a poisoned blade, plunged directly into my heart. The shocked murmurs from the guests were louder this time. A father betting his own child? Savannah was openly ecstatic, her eyes bright with the promise of victory. I ignored them both and focused on the cold jade pendant on the table. It was the only tangible link to my past, a piece of myself. 【Mom, stay in the game.】 【He’s not gambling with you. He’s gambling with the Underworld’s Goddaughter. This deadbeat is about to get served.】 【Final roll, Mom: Left wrist tilt, exactly three degrees. Shake exactly seven times, then slam.】 I followed Juniper’s bizarrely specific instructions, my motions sharp and precise. The cup hit the table. The voice in my head was now a tired whisper. 【Done… Mom… Baby needs… to sleep and recharge…】 This time, Savannah didn’t rush to guess. She exchanged a look of pure certainty with Rhys. They had me, they thought. “I guess… Low,” Savannah said, her voice smooth and seductive again. “I trust Rhys’s judgment.” Rhys tapped his finger on the table, a slow, methodical sound. “Open it.” My fingers touched the cool lip of the cup. The silence was absolute; I could hear the frantic pounding of my own heart. I lifted my eyes to meet Rhys’s. His face was devoid of tension, only cold indifference. In his mind, Juniper and I were just tools for his entertainment and Savannah’s pleasure. I offered him a terrible, humorless smile. Then, I snatched the cup off the table.

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Chapter 1 I had sponsored a struggling student for three years, and when she wanted a summer job, I arranged for her to work at my husband’s company. A few months later, she burst into my office with a bulging belly, tearfully accusing me: “I knew it! You never had good intentions when you sponsored me!” “Now I’m pregnant with CEO Smith’s child, and he’s suddenly disappeared. Did you hide him?” Her brother looked even more ferocious, pointing at my nose and yelling: “If it weren’t for your fake kindness, how would my sister have met such a scumbag?” “Getting her pregnant and then trying to run? No way!” “Either pay up or get a divorce and let her be Mrs. Smith. It’s your choice!” The news spread quickly, and the internet was full of curses. Everyone said I was a pimp, using the guise of sponsoring poor students to find mistresses for my husband. But I just laughed. If she could really get pregnant by my husband, I’d have to apply for a patent. … I was grading papers when my office door was slammed open by a menacing man. “Where’s your husband, Cheng? Did you hide him?” “He got my sister pregnant and wants to run? In his dreams!” Fang Ting stood behind him, protecting her belly, her eyes red. Beside her was a girl live-streaming the whole thing. I frowned. “Fang Ting, why are you here?” Fang Ting choked up, “Ms. Cheng, I really have no other way. CEO Smith is missing, I can’t find him…” “And I have a special condition; the doctor says I can’t have an abortion…” I leaned back and looked at her quietly. “So? What do you want by coming here today?” Fang Qiang sneered, “Two options! Either let Smith marry my sister! Or pay up! My sister is a top student at an Ivy League school, and your beast of a husband ruined her!” The girl holding the phone immediately chimed in, “Guys, look at this ‘teacher’! She pretends to help poor students but is actually pimping for her husband! Fang Ting is so pitiful. She worked so hard to get out of the countryside, only to fall into this trap!” The comments were scrolling frantically: “Real or fake? This teacher looks quiet, but she’s worse than a beast!” “Exactly! The girl looks barely eighteen or nineteen. Her life is ruined!” A crowd of curious students gathered at the office door, their whispers growing louder. I stood up, walked to the water cooler, poured a cup, and took a sip. “Are you done?” Fang Qiang raged, “What’s with your attitude! My sister is carrying your husband’s seed!” “Impossible,” I tossed the paper cup into the trash can. “The child in her belly is absolutely not my husband’s.” Fang Ting’s eyes instantly turned red. “Ms. Cheng, I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s the truth! That night, CEO Smith got me drunk, and when I woke up… he said he truly liked me…” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “CEO Smith told you himself that he liked you?” Fang Ting nodded vigorously and pulled a stack of photos from her bag. “These are the evidence, Ms. Cheng. If I’m lying, may lightning strike me!” I glanced at the photos. The angles were tricky, but I could see Smith’s profile and Fang Ting leaning on him. The hotel surveillance screenshot was clear, dated one night three months ago. “The photos are real,” I said. Fang Qiang immediately gloated, “See! I told you…” “But the child isn’t my husband’s,” I interrupted him. “Fang Ting, if you leave now, I can pretend this never happened. If you keep making a scene, I’ll call the police.” Chapter 2 The girl live-streaming immediately screamed: “We should be the ones calling the police! Ms. Cheng, your husband raped a college student and got her pregnant. You’re an accomplice!” The live stream chat exploded: “Is this teacher crazy? The evidence is solid, and she’s still denying it!” “Where’s the dean? Why isn’t she fired yet?” “Don’t be afraid, Fang Ting. Tens of thousands of us support you!” Several female students watching at the door were already teary-eyed. “Fang Ting is so pitiful! Betrayed by the teacher she trusted most and given to an old man!” “Exactly, someone like her doesn’t deserve to be a teacher!” Fang Ting clutched her belly, crying so hard she could barely stand. I felt a chill in my heart. Three years ago, I traveled to Yufeng Village. I saw Fang Ting’s parents trying to marry her off to a fifty-something bachelor just before her college entrance exams to get a dowry for her brother. She knelt in the mud, hugging me and begging, “Teacher, I want to study. Please help me…” I softened. Not only did I stop the marriage, but I also promised to sponsor her until she graduated college. She worked hard and got into a top university. The day she got her acceptance letter, she called me crying, “Ms. Cheng, I will study hard and repay you in the future.” I was so gratified back then. This summer, she said she wanted to earn her own living expenses. I thought about it and arranged for her to work-study at my husband’s company. I thought I was helping her. Now it seems I was digging my own grave! Seeing my silence, Fang Ting looked up and bit her lip: “Ms. Cheng, I know you and CEO Smith have a good relationship, but my child is innocent…” Fang Qiang immediately interrupted, “Tingting, you’re just too soft-hearted! Even if that scumbag is willing to divorce this old woman and marry you, you still need to ask for a million dollars in emotional damages!” I laughed and raised an eyebrow: “A million dollars? Fang Ting, do you think you’re worth that price?” The students gasped: “Is that something a human would say? Disgusting!” “Yeah! So vicious! I hope her daughter encounters the same thing in the future!” “Someone like her doesn’t deserve children!” Fang Ting’s face turned pale, and she almost fell. The girl live-streaming quickly supported her and cried to the camera, “Everyone saw it! This woman doesn’t treat Tingting like a human being!” Fang Qiang was furious. He grabbed the water cup on the table and was about to throw it. I looked at him coldly. “Try throwing it! Intentional property damage, provoking trouble. That’s enough for you to stay in detention for a few days.” His hand froze in mid-air. “And you,” I glanced at the girl live-streaming, “livestreaming in the office without permission, invading privacy. Believe it or not, I can call security right now and give you a major demerit?” The girl’s face changed. Seeing this, Fang Ting cried even harder, “Ms. Cheng, how could you be like this? I came to you because I had no other choice. If CEO Smith was willing to take responsibility, I wouldn’t bother you…” “Take responsibility?” I stood up. “For what? For something he never did?” I walked up to her and stared into her eyes. “Fang Ting, search your conscience and tell me, is the child in your belly really Smith’s?” Her eyes flickered for a moment, then she said firmly, “Of course it’s his!” “Is that so?” I smiled. “Then tell me, what color underwear was Smith wearing that night?” Chapter 3 The office fell silent instantly. Even the live stream chat paused for a second. Fang Ting froze, her mouth open, unable to make a sound. “What? Can’t remember?” I pressed. “Or did you never see it?” “I was drunk…” she stammered. “Drunk, but you remember he forced you?” I continued. “Drunk, but you’re sure the child is his?” Fang Qiang exploded, “Cheng Yue! Stop changing the subject! The evidence is right here, and you still want to deny it?” “A few blurry photos convict him?” I sneered. “Then can I just take a few photos of you walking with another woman and say you raped her?” “You!” “Also,” I interrupted him, “how did you get the hotel surveillance footage? Would a hotel just give surveillance footage to strangers?” Fang Qiang was speechless. Fang Ting quickly explained, “My roommate used her connections…” “Oh?” I looked at her roommate. “Does your family own the hotel? Or do you know the owner?” The girl hemmed and hawed, “My cousin works there…” “What a coincidence?” I smiled. “Your cousin just happened to work at the hotel where Smith forced Fang Ting? Just happened to get the surveillance? Just happened to be willing to risk breaking the law to give you screenshots?” The sentiment in the live stream began to shift: “That makes sense…” “Yeah, hotel surveillance isn’t something you can just get.” “Right, if it was forced, why didn’t she call the police immediately?” Just then, Fang Ting suddenly clutched her belly and squatted down. “My stomach hurts so much…” “Tingting!” Her roommate exclaimed. “That’s too much! This old woman is definitely doing this on purpose! She’s jealous that you’re having her husband’s child!” Fang Qiang also pointed at my nose and cursed, “Cheng Yue! If anything happens to my sister and the child, I won’t let you off!” I watched their performance coldly. “Do you need me to call 911 for you?” Fang Ting curled up on the floor, tears streaming down her face. “Ms. Cheng, why push me like this? I just want justice…” “Justice?” I sneered, finding it incredibly ironic. “Fang Ting, when you knelt in the mud begging for my sponsorship, you said the same thing. You said you wanted to study, wanted a fair life.” “Now that I’ve given you an education, given you a chance to change your destiny, this is how you repay me?” Her eyes darted away, afraid to look at me. “Cheng! Stop your moral kidnapping!” Fang Qiang roared. “So what if you sponsored her? Does sponsorship mean you can let your husband ruin my sister?” I stood up: “Enough. I’ll say it one last time. First, Smith couldn’t have forced anyone. Second, the child in your belly absolutely cannot be his!” “Third, if you continue to make trouble here, I will call the police immediately. The charge of slander is not light.” The office was dead silent. The live stream chat scrolled frantically: “This teacher is tough! Her logic is clear!” “Yeah, she looks very confident!” “Is there a hidden story? Could it be a badger game?” Just then, Department Head Wang squeezed through the crowd and rushed in. “What’s going on?!” Fang Qiang acted like he found a lifeline. “Director Wang, you’re just in time! This Cheng Yue, her husband raped my sister. She’s four months pregnant now, and they won’t admit it, even accusing my sister of extortion!” Chapter 4 “Director Wang, they’re lying,” I said calmly. “My husband couldn’t have gotten Fang Ting pregnant!” Fang Qiang raged, “Still stubborn even at death’s door! Such a teacher is ruining the school’s reputation! Director Wang, I demand Cheng Yue be fired immediately!” Director Wang looked at me with difficulty. “Ms. Cheng, why don’t you go home and rest for a few days?” I looked at Director Wang. “Even you believe their nonsense?” Director Wang lowered his voice. “It’s become such a mess, the impact is very bad! Ms. Cheng, you have to think about the school!” For the school, I should accept this baseless accusation? “Director Wang, if you punish me under pressure today, I will sue the school for defamation tomorrow. Think clearly!” Director Wang’s face grew even uglier. Just then, Fang Ting suddenly got up from the floor and pulled a paper from her bag. “Ms. Cheng, I knew you wouldn’t believe me easily, so I went for an amniocentesis paternity test last week!” She held the paper up to the camera. “The test results show that the biological father of the child in my belly matches CEO Smith’s DNA by 99.99%.” The office went instantly silent. After a few seconds of pause, the live stream chat exploded. “She asked for the hammer, she got the hammer! How can this old woman deny it now!” “Exactly, it’s in black and white. Can this be fake?” “She won’t cry until she sees the coffin. Still a teacher? Shameless!” Director Wang’s face grew increasingly grim. Fang Qiang gloated, “Ironclad evidence! Cheng, what do you have to say now? Hurry up and pay the emotional damages! Five million, not a penny less!” Fang Ting cried and pulled her brother. “Brother, don’t be like this. Ms. Cheng has been kind to me…” Fang Qiang shook her off. “She was kind to you, so she could let her husband force himself on you? Today, your brother must get justice for you!” The students watching at the door also started shouting: “We demand the school fire Ms. Cheng immediately! Police investigation! Punish this beastly couple severely!” The waves of voices grew higher, and someone even threw leftover milk tea at my head, splashing liquid everywhere. I looked at the test report and suddenly laughed. “This report is fake. Also, a paternity test requires DNA samples from both parties. Where did you get Smith’s DNA?” Fang Ting’s face instantly went white. “I got it from a cup he used…” I asked her, “Smith has a dedicated cup at the company, washed and sterilized immediately after every use. You said you got DNA, which day? Which cup?” Fang Ting was speechless. Fang Qiang immediately interjected, “Who cares how she got it! Anyway, the test report is real! If you don’t believe it, we can go for another test right now!” “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go now. I’ll have Smith come over for on-site sampling!” Fang Ting panicked. “Isn’t CEO Smith missing?” I smiled. “Who said he’s missing?” “I called and texted him these past few days, he didn’t reply…” Fang Ting’s voice grew smaller. “I went to the company to find him, the secretary said he was on a business trip…” “He was indeed on a business trip,” I checked my watch. “But he should be back now.” Fang Qiang’s eyes lit up. “Great! Let him confront my sister face to face! I want to see what this rapist has to say!” The live stream chat buzzed again: “Waiting for the scumbag to show up!” “Does he dare to come to this kind of occasion? Probably ran away!” “Is this Cheng Yue stalling for time?” Director Wang quickly smoothed things over. “Ms. Cheng, if your husband can come, that would be best! Clearing things up face to face is good for everyone!” I took out my phone and dialed a number. “Yue?” Smith’s voice came from the receiver. “I just finished a full body maintenance and was about to contact you. What’s up?” “Come to my school office,” I said. “Bring your full set of ID documents and product manual.” “Manual?” Smith paused. “What happened?” I glanced at Fang Ting, meaningful: “Someone is pregnant with your child. Don’t you want to come take a look?”

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