Category: English

My birth broke my mother. It was a difficult labor, one that left her body scarred and her mind fractured by severe postpartum depression. From the time I was an infant, the slightest sound from me would send her into a frenzy. She would scream, her hands finding my throat, squeezing until my face turned purple. But then, the storm would pass. She would collapse in front of my crib, sobbing, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” My brother, Tyler, would look at my bruises with pity, but he’d always tell me the same thing: “Mom used to be gentle. Before you. Don’t blame her.” My father dealt with it by burying me in toys, guilt-wrapped gifts meant to buy my silence. “Be understanding, Harper,” he’d say, his eyes weary. “Just endure it a little longer. She’ll get better.” So, I learned to make myself small. I walked on eggshells. I didn’t dare to cry, and I certainly didn’t dare to laugh. I existed in the margins of their lives, waiting for Mom to be “cured.” But on my sixth birthday, I made a mistake. I stared at the cake, and for a split second, I swallowed hard, hungry for the sugar. Mom’s face twisted. Her eyes went red, filled with a terrifying, familiar hate. She swept the cake off the table with a violent crash. “You nearly killed me on the operating table!” she screamed, her voice shredding the celebratory mood. “How dare you want cake? Where do you get the nerve?” Tyler, who had been smiling just seconds before, turned on me. “Were you starving in a past life or something? Couldn’t you wait five minutes? Do you have to ruin everything by upsetting Mom?” Dad, exhausted from work and life, finally snapped. “We shouldn’t have had you,” he groaned, head in his hands. “The three of us… we were fine. We were happy.” They escorted Mom out of the room, cooing at her, protecting the victim. I stood there, looking at the ruin on the floor. Tears streamed down my face as I walked toward the balcony. …… I didn’t hesitate. I climbed over the railing, let go, and fell. There was a dull thud, and then, finally, relief. My spirit felt light. It drifted, untethered, floating back up to the thirty-second floor, back into the penthouse apartment. The living room was silent. Only the smashed cake on the floor remained, a mute witness to the chaos. I walked over to the mess of frosting and sponge. I couldn’t stop crying. In six years, this was the first time they had celebrated my birthday. Usually, because Mom hated me, nothing I did was right. If I cried, I was a burden. If I laughed, she would fly into a rage and beat me. In the beginning, Dad and Tyler tried to be the buffer. They would sneak me candy, buy me little trinkets. But whenever Mom found out, the hysteria that followed was so intense, so draining, that they stopped. Eventually, they just got tired. When Mom hit me, they learned to look away. They knew the drill: she needed to vent. Once she got it out of her system, she’d be calm again. So they just repeated the mantra to me, over and over: “Just bear it, Harper. Just a little longer. Mom will get better.” There were so many nights, half-asleep after a beating, tears crusting on my cheeks, where I would dream. I dreamed of someone gently applying cool ointment to my wounds. I dreamed that person was crying, too. In the dream, I would whimper, “Mom, please don’t hit me, I know I was wrong.” And the person would flee, sobbing. I looked down at the cake now. “I need to clean this up,” I mumbled to myself, the habit ingrained in my soul. “If Mom comes back and sees this mess, she’ll be angry again. She’s just getting better; I can’t trigger her…” I reached for the broom. My hand passed right through the handle. I tried again, clumsy and desperate, but I couldn’t grasp it. I lifted my sleeve to wipe my eyes. You’re useless, Harper, I thought. Even now, you can’t do one last thing for this family. Just as the sorrow threatened to swallow me whole, a force pulled me away. I blinked, and suddenly I was watching three familiar figures sitting in a high-end restaurant. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, food that looked like art—it was a scene I’d only ever seen on TV. Mom’s eyes were still red, her voice thick with resentment. “Giving birth to her ruined my body. I have chronic pain. I can’t work. Ten years of climbing the corporate ladder, all gone because of that pregnancy.” “It’s all her fault,” she spat. “She’s a leech. A curse. Why doesn’t she just die?” Dad patted her hand, soothing. “Okay, okay, honey. You’re right. We should have stopped with Tyler. It was a mistake.” Tyler hugged Mom from the side, his face full of sympathy. “If she wasn’t here, everything would be perfect. You wouldn’t have been in pain for all these years.” I stood beside their table, weeping. I didn’t know. I didn’t know my existence had destroyed Mom’s life so thoroughly. I didn’t know I caused them all so much pain. I shouldn’t have been born. I wanted to scream at them: “Mom, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I hurt you!” “Mom, I’ve paid for it with my life. I won’t make you angry ever again.” “Mom, if there is a next life, please, don’t be my mother.” On the drive home, they passed a bakery that was about to close. Mom hesitated for a second. Her voice was unnatural, strained. “I… I suddenly want something sweet. Let me buy a slice of cake.” Dad and Tyler exchanged a look. They both smiled, a look of relief washing over them. “It’s for Harper, isn’t it?” Tyler said confidently. “I knew it. You still love her, Mom.” For me? I stared at them, confused. A tiny, foolish spark of hope flickered in my chest, even though I knew it was too late. I followed them back home. The moment the door opened, Mom saw the mess on the floor—untouched, exactly as they left it. Her face fell. Dad frowned, shooting Tyler a look. Tyler immediately went for the broom, grumbling under his breath. “Harper is so clueless. We finally got Mom in a good mood, and she couldn’t even clean up the living room?” I waved my hands frantically, desperate to explain. “No, Tyler! I didn’t want to be lazy! I’m dead! I can’t hold the broom!” But my words dissolved into the air. Mom let out a cold laugh, raising her voice so it would carry to my bedroom. “Look at that laziness! I nearly died bringing you into this world, and now I can’t even say a few words to you without you throwing a tantrum?” Silence. Usually, before Mom’s expression could even shift, I would be out there, apologizing, working. I had never ignored a scolding before. Mom’s anger spiked. She slammed the new cake onto the table and marched toward my door. I watched her, nervous but expectant. Mom, open the door. Open it, and you’ll see that I’ve disappeared. You’ll see that I’ll never upset you again. But just as her hand touched the knob, Dad stopped her. For the first time in forever, he spoke up for me. “It’s her birthday, Diane. The kid is probably asleep. Let it go for tonight. Don’t lecture her.” Mom’s face twitched, but she dropped her hand. Later, after Mom fell asleep, Dad went to the balcony to smoke. Tyler followed him. “Dad, this is all Harper’s fault,” Tyler complained. “Because she’s always triggering Mom, I can never have friends over. I have to walk on eggshells just doing my homework. When does it end?” “I wish she would just disappear…” “Shut up!” Dad slapped the back of Tyler’s head before he could finish. “She is your sister! How can you curse her like that?” “But Dad, you’re exhausted too! I’ve seen you sitting in the car downstairs for an hour, smoking, because you don’t want to come up!” Tyler rubbed his head, defiant. Dad opened his mouth to argue, but then just sighed. “Harper… she doesn’t have it easy,” he murmured. “But… I am tired. God, I’m tired. If I could just have a few days of peace…” Looking at the deep lines on my father’s face, my heart felt like it was being pierced by needles. “Dad, look down! Just look down!” “If you just look over the railing, you’ll see! The problem is gone. The burden is gone. Harper is dead.” I screamed soundlessly. “Look! I’m dead! You’ll have peace now! You won’t be dragged down by me anymore!” But no one heard my desperate plea. The next morning. Everyone woke up, but the table was empty. No warm milk, no eggs. Tyler looked into the kitchen, confused. “Why didn’t Harper make breakfast?” To please Mom, I had taken over all the chores. Since I was tall enough to stand on a stool, I had been making breakfast for the whole family. Mom sneered, her face twisting into that familiar mask of disdain. “Great. I gave birth to a little princess. I say two words to her, and she goes on strike. Next thing you know, she’ll be burning the house down.” She stormed toward my room, shouting. “Harper! Get up! Are you going to school or not?” She reached for the door handle. My heart leaped into my throat. “Har—” The word died in her throat. Dad and Tyler saw the look on her face and rushed over. The room was empty. The bed was made, the duvet folded with military precision. “Did she… not come home last night?” Tyler asked, his voice wavering. “Nonsense!” Mom snapped instantly. “It was freezing last night. Where else would she go?” Dad was silent for a moment. “She’s probably sulking. Maybe she went to school early on her own. Isn’t today the parent-teacher conference? I’ll ask for time off and go check.” “I’ll go,” Mom said, turning to get dressed. “Your job is important. I’ll handle the conference.” “Can you… handle it?” Dad grabbed her arm, worried. We all knew that since the depression hit, Mom was terrified of crowds. Being alone in public made her feel like she was suffocating. I drifted over, trying to block her. I didn’t want her to suffer for me. “The doctor said I’m better. Don’t worry,” Mom muttered, wrapping a scarf around her neck aggressively. “Harper is getting more and more disobedient. When I find her, she’s going to get it.” Mom hurried out. As soon as she stepped out of the building, she saw a crowd gathered at the back of the complex. “I heard someone jumped. Blood everywhere.” “Just a kid. Shame. Died so young.” “Police said the body’s been there all night. Stiff as a board. Where the hell were the parents? Irresponsible.” Mom’s pace slowed. Panic flickered in her eyes. Suddenly, a small dog darted out, grabbing her pant leg and dragging her toward the crowd. I recognized him instantly. Buster. The stray dog I played with whenever Mom kicked me out of the house. I used to save half my breakfast for him. Mom, allergic to dog hair, kicked him away. Buster didn’t give up. He came back, whimpering, tugging her toward the police tape. He knew. He knew she was my mother, and he wanted her to see me. But Mom frowned, disgusted, and kicked him harder. I tried to hug the dog. Don’t hurt him. Buster howled, running back to my body, barking at anyone who tried to get too close. Mom backed away from the crowd, muttering to herself, a mantra of denial. “It can’t be Harper. That damn kid doesn’t have the guts to die.” I watched her stumble away. “Mom,” I whispered. “I’m not a coward. I was brave.” “Mom, just look back. Please. Crowds make you sick… you don’t have to force yourself to go to school…” I followed her all the way to the school. I felt a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. This was the first time Mom had ever come to my school. Dad was usually busy traveling. He’d come a few times, but mostly, I sat alone. I used to watch the other kids with their parents and feel so jealous my stomach hurt. Mom wandered the halls for a long time before she found my classroom. She looked around frantically but didn’t see me. When she saw the homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, walk in, she rushed up. “Mrs. Gable, where is my daughter? Where is Harper? I can’t find her.” Mrs. Gable looked at her with a strange expression. “You’re Harper’s mother? The class monitor said she wasn’t here during roll call. I was just about to call you.” “What is going on? We never see you at conferences, and now that the child is missing, you show up demanding answers?” Mom panicked. A nameless dread washed over her. The scene from the apartment complex—the police tape, the whispers about a jumper—flashed in her mind. She forced it down. “Nonsense! Mrs. Gable, are you covering for her? Is that little brat hiding? She has to be here! Tell her to come out! I’m going to teach her a lesson!” Mrs. Gable stared at the unhinged woman in front of her. Her face hardened. “Mrs. Ji, how do you not know where your own daughter is?” “I checked the security cameras. Harper never entered the building. That is why I was calling you.” Seeing the teacher’s serious face, Mom realized she wasn’t lying. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her. Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone. But before she could dial, Dad’s name flashed on the screen. She answered. On the other end, Dad’s voice was trembling, barely human. “The police just called me. Harper… she jumped.”

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The new intern at our law firm was haughty and full of herself. When I assigned her to photocopy case files, she went straight to the managing partner to complain. “I have my JD and passed the bar. Why am I doing scut work every day?” Fine. I washed my hands of her. I let her take the lead on a $200,000 promissory note dispute. She took the file to organize the exhibits. And promptly fed the original, signed $200,000 promissory note right into the paper shredder. The trial was just days away. I couldn’t wait to see how she was going to explain this to the client. 1 A new junior associate had just joined our team. She looked delicate, quiet, and well-educated. Her name was Chloe Miller. I checked her resume. She was a local, having graduated from a mid-tier state university. Since we were the only two female attorneys on the litigation team, the managing partner, Richard Davis, specifically asked me to mentor her. I agreed without hesitation. At the end of the day, I knew how hard it was for women to grind their way up in the legal field. I genuinely wanted to teach her the ropes, starting from the absolute basics to help her get familiar with actual legal practice. 2 The legal profession is entirely different from what you see on TV. In law school, you learn theory. But when you step into the real world, you realize the textbooks are miles away from actual practice. When I started, I built my foundation by organizing case files. We had just taken on a construction contract dispute. I handed the files to Chloe and told her to make two copies of everything, stressing that she couldn’t afford any mistakes. I specifically instructed: “Make sure every page is legible. When you bind them, keep them in exact chronological order. Do not mix them up.” “Got it, Sarah. Don’t worry,” she promised. But an entire morning passed, and she hadn’t delivered the copies. I figured she was just slow and didn’t want to rush her. By the time 5:00 PM rolled around, the materials were still nowhere to be seen. I walked over to her cubicle. “Chloe, where are the construction files I asked you to copy this morning?” She was leaning over, chatting excitedly with another intern. Hearing my voice, she jolted. “Oh shoot, Sarah, I totally forgot!” I followed her to the copy room, only to find the files hadn’t been copied at all. They were just dumped on a side table. “What’s going on? Who moved my stuff?” Chloe yelled angrily. I shushed her. “Oh, Sarah, are those your team’s files?” Attorney Roberts called out as he walked by. “The copier jammed this morning and no one came to fix it for hours. People needed the machine, so we just set your stack aside.” I nodded to him. “Thanks, Mark. Sorry for the hassle.” Once he left, I turned to Chloe. “If you had just checked on the machine once, cleared the paper jam, this wouldn’t have been delayed all day, and you wouldn’t have blocked other people from working.” I tried to keep my tone even, wanting to save the young girl some face. To my surprise, Chloe got defensive. She stiffened her neck and argued, “I was discussing a complex breach-of-contract case with a colleague. I figured I should prioritize the important stuff. That case has a lot of tricky legal nuances, we debated it for hours.” I almost laughed out loud. A rookie who just passed the bar with zero practical experience, who couldn’t even manage a copy machine, was supposedly cracking a “complex” case? What profound insights could she possibly offer? It wasn’t that I looked down on her. It was just that she was out of school now. If you can’t even handle your basic job duties, what future do you have? 3 In that moment, most of my desire to mentor her evaporated. She looked quiet, but her ego was sky-high. She had no grounding. But considering it was her first week, I chalked it up to her still having a “student mentality” and didn’t push it. I just waved my hand. “Reprint the materials, bind them neatly as requested, and have them on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.” “But… it’s almost time to clock out,” Chloe pouted. I gave her a flat look. “For litigators, overtime is a daily routine. I assumed you were prepared for that.” The next day. I handed her a different batch of case files. I quickly noticed how incredibly careless she was. Out of a few hundred pages, the order was constantly scrambled, and some pages were printed upside down. After I corrected her a few times, she visibly lost her patience. “Sarah, I have a JD. I passed the bar exam. Having me do this grunt work of copying and binding every single day is a massive waste of my time, don’t you think?” Who in this firm hasn’t passed the bar? I thought. And does she think her degree makes her special? Half the lawyers in our firm went to T14 law schools. She went to a state college. I kept my patience and explained: “Every lawyer starts with this work. The case file is the foundation of the lawsuit. Organizing it is how you familiarize yourself with the facts.” She clearly didn’t listen. Muttering under her breath, she grabbed the binders and walked away. That afternoon, walking past the copy room, I saw her sitting in a chair scrolling through TikTok. I decided to give the copying tasks to another intern. If she didn’t want to organize files, fine. Let’s do paperwork. I assigned Chloe to draft an Evidence Exhibit List. Honestly, copying is the easiest thing in a law firm. If you can’t do that, you might as well be a janitor. But when she handed in the Exhibit List, I got a massive headache. It was a disaster. The “Purpose of Evidence” and “Contents of Evidence” sections were completely conflated. Not only were the Bates numbers wrong, but the document was riddled with typos. In one instance, the dates and amounts on a bank statement exhibit didn’t even match her description. “Chloe, being a lawyer requires absolute precision. Sometimes, a single typo or a wrong dollar amount can ruin a judge’s trust in our evidence,” I said, suppressing my annoyance. Instead of taking notes, she glanced at it and pushed back. “Sarah, it’s just an index. Close enough is fine. You’re being way too nitpicky. These little things don’t affect the case.” I finally understood. This girl wasn’t just arrogant and incompetent; she was unteachable. I didn’t argue. I just slid the document back to her. “Redo it. Use the firm template. And I don’t want to see a single mistake.” I thought she would learn her lesson. Instead, the second I got to work the next morning, the managing partner, Richard Davis, called me into his office. 4 “Sarah, our new associate complained to me. She said you’re intentionally making things difficult for her, assigning her tedious chores, and hyper-fixating on minor errors to stress her out.” I froze. “Richard, I’m not making things difficult. This is how everyone starts…” Richard took a sip of his coffee and smirked. “I know you’re a perfectionist. But Chloe is just a young girl fresh out of school. You aren’t feeling… threatened by having a younger woman around, are you?” Richard was generous with his compensation, and for a guy pushing forty, he was decent-looking. But he had the classic toxic traits of a middle-aged boss. He constantly diminished the role of women in the workplace and loved having his ego stroked by young, pretty associates. I furrowed my brow. We were discussing workflow, and he was spewing this garbage? Did he really think I was in some petty catfight over looks with an intern? Seeing his attitude, I knew I needed to keep my distance from Chloe. “Richard, my caseload is overflowing right now. I honestly don’t have the bandwidth to mentor a junior associate.” Richard nodded. “Fine. Get back to work.” Soon after, Richard handed a seemingly straightforward personal loan case directly to Chloe. When we met the client, Richard brought Chloe and me along. The client, Mrs. Higgins, was a woman in her late forties with a sharp perm and even sharper eyes. You could tell immediately she wasn’t an easy person to deal with. After a brief greeting, she cut to the chase. “Your retainer is too high. I asked around, and another firm quoted me 30% less. My case isn’t complicated, can you lower the fee? Besides, I know a bit of law myself, I can handle some of the legwork. You won’t have to hold my hand.” Richard looked troubled. “Mrs. Higgins, our firm has strict standardized billing rates.” Mrs. Higgins pressed, “Mr. Davis, you’re the lead attorney on my case, right? I only trust experienced partners like you.” Chloe’s face instantly dropped. She was desperate to prove herself, only to be completely ignored by the client. “Ma’am, I am the lead attorney on this case. Mr. Davis has assigned it to me, and I am fully capable of handling all matters.” Mrs. Higgins paused, looking Chloe up and down. Her disdain was completely unfiltered. She scoffed. “Little girl, how old are you? How many years have you been litigating? I’m paying top dollar here; my money isn’t funding your practice runs.” That was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Chloe opened her mouth to snap back, but Richard quickly intervened. Playing the peacemaker, Richard smiled. “Mrs. Higgins, don’t worry. Attorney Miller is young, but her professional skills are sharp. She passed the bar on her first try and she’s very dedicated. Plus, I will be co-counseling and supervising her the entire time. It’s essentially getting two attorneys for the price of one. It’s highly cost-effective. We can offer a slight courtesy discount on the retainer, but that’s as low as we can go to guarantee quality service.” Mrs. Higgins mulled it over. After making Richard promise multiple times that he would be heavily involved, she reluctantly agreed. But she didn’t forget to issue a warning: “I’m telling you right now, if there is a single mistake in my case, there will be hell to pay.” She didn’t look at Chloe once for the rest of the meeting. Chloe sat there, her face shifting through every color of the rainbow. 5 After walking the client out, Chloe slammed the case file onto her desk. “She is so incredibly condescending! Just because she’s older, she thinks I’m incompetent? When I was on my college debate team, I mapped out logic for cases ten times more complex than this. What’s so hard about a simple loan dispute?” I offered a word of caution: “Clients like her need to be handled carefully. Just do the work properly and use the results to prove her wrong. By the way, make sure you organize the exhibits properly. Especially the original documents. Put the originals in a separate folder and lock them in the firm’s fireproof filing cabinet.” That afternoon, I was buried in my own cases and didn’t check on her progress. Walking past her desk later, I saw Chloe typing furiously on her computer. The case files were scattered across her desk in absolute chaos. The original, handwritten $200,000 promissory note was mixed into a pile of random photocopies, not separated or secured at all. I was about to say, “Chloe, you—” She cut me off with an attitude: “Sarah, I’m really busy right now. Can you not interrupt me?” Fine, I thought. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Three days later, the trial was fast approaching. Chloe suddenly burst into my office, her face paper-white. Her voice was trembling. “S-Sarah… I have a hypothetical question. What happens if an original piece of evidence goes missing?” A bad feeling instantly washed over me. “What original evidence? How did it go missing?” Chloe flinched, her eyes darting everywhere but at me. She panicked and dodged the question. “I-I’m just asking hypothetically! I didn’t say it was actually missing.” Watching her guilty, frantic deflection, I already knew exactly what had happened. “Chloe, documentary evidence is the absolute foundation of a judge’s ruling—” I started, but she cut me off again. “But isn’t that why they hire lawyers?! We’re supposed to use our eloquence to persuade the judge and destroy opposing counsel!” Chloe argued defensively. “I’ve seen Better Call Saul! Lawyers give amazing speeches in court, and when I did debate, I always—” I almost burst out laughing. Aside from the fact that Hollywood dramatizes the law for TV… did she seriously not understand the basic rules of civil procedure? “TV shows are for entertainment,” I said coldly. “This isn’t Hollywood. Real American civil litigation isn’t won by a dramatic monologue to a jury. It’s won on procedure and the Best Evidence Rule. In a bench trial over a promissory note, if you lose the original document, it’s inadmissible hearsay. The judge will toss the exhibit, we will lose the case instantly, the client will sue us for damages, and you’ll be hit with a malpractice claim.” Chloe’s brow furrowed tightly. She mumbled a vague “Got it,” and quickly scurried out of my office. Not long after, Richard posted a docket update in our team’s Slack channel. “@Chloe, the hearing date for Mrs. Higgins’s loan case got rescheduled by the court. You have plenty of time to prep the exhibits now, no rush.” “Understood, Mr. Davis!” With the trial delayed by two weeks, Chloe suddenly looked completely calm and collected again. I even started to wonder if I had misjudged the situation. Maybe I was overthinking it? Maybe she really had just locked the original note away? But my gut told me something was very wrong.

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After the divorce, my parents split me and my younger sister between them. My mom took me. She made a schedule, meticulously detailing my every waking minute for studying. She said I couldn’t lose to my sister, not by a single minute, not by a single point. She needed to prove to my dad that he was blind for giving up such a good woman. I woke up at 5:00 AM every day. She would be up even earlier, making handmade steamed buns loaded with green onions, peeling corn kernel by kernel for my porridge. I ate breakfast while staring at my vocabulary flashcards. “Breakfast takes five minutes. You should be able to memorize fifteen vocabulary words in that time. Why did you only get fourteen?” Panicking before the switch came down, I frantically flipped the page to find the word I had missed. She slammed her hand down on the book. “One word less a day means 365 less a year, 740 less in two years. You slacking off like this—is this how you repay your mother’s sacrifices?” I shook my head violently, crying that I wouldn’t do it again. My mom lowered her voice, becoming increasingly, terrifyingly gentle. “Mia, Mommy gave up your sister just to have you. Every single point you score is stolen straight from the love that should have gone to her. You have to have a conscience, you know that, right?” 1 The reason my mom didn’t want my sister, Chloe, was because Chloe never listened to her. Growing up, our house was never quiet. Arguments erupted over anything: where the slippers were placed, the trash bag not touching the wall, not holding the rice bowl with exactly three fingers, the wrong tone of voice. They could scream from sunrise to sunset over these things. My mom said the devil was in the details, and details determined whether people would respect you or look down on you. My dad said poor people shouldn’t be so damn fussy. He said he was a blue-collar carpenter. Why the hell should he wear a crisp white button-down to go eat at a diner? He didn’t have a son to go win a Nobel Prize anyway. Chloe copied him. She started talking back right alongside our dad. She wasn’t even afraid of getting hit. Whenever my mom tried to playfully tell embarrassing stories about us to the neighbors, Chloe would loudly interrupt and forbid her from continuing. When my mom cooked food Chloe hated, Chloe would rather starve than open her mouth. I would secretly try to persuade her. “Chloe, just take a bite. Aren’t you hungry?” Chloe would cover her swollen cheek from where she’d been slapped, shaking her head stubbornly. “No. If I eat it today, I’ll have to eat food I hate forever. I won’t eat it. I don’t care if she hits me.” My mom would come to me, fuming. “Tell me, I do everything for your own good so people won’t laugh at us. Why won’t she listen? Am I wrong?” She looked so pitiful. My heart ached for her. “Mom, I’ll listen to you.” My mom would hug me, looking relieved. “My oldest is the best. So considerate. Not like your heartless little sister.” But when they finally filed for divorce, the one my mom wanted to keep was Chloe. They fought in their bedroom. My mom yelled, “I don’t want the oldest! She’s stupid as a brick! Chloe has good grades and she’s smart! Why should you get to keep the good one?!” My dad yelled back, “The oldest has always taken your side! I’m not taking a kid who isn’t loyal to me!” I stood outside the bedroom door, listening to the chaos inside. Chloe walked up behind me. She handed me a hot dog on a stick. “Here, eat this. I put chili powder on it, it’s really good.” She glanced at the bedroom door, looking completely indifferent. “Let them fight, it’ll be over soon. No matter how much they scream, you’re always my big sister.” “But… what if they really get divorced? Who will you live with?” “I’ll go wherever you go. I don’t like either of them.” Unfortunately, we didn’t get to choose. We split that hot dog in the hallway. Inside the bedroom, our parents split us. My mom made a vow that she would make my dad regret it. She told him not to look down on people because they would prove him wrong. 2 From that moment on, my entire life changed. My mom poured all of her “love” and attention onto me. She was determined to mold me into the absolute perfect daughter. My grades. My appearance. My personality. Every single aspect had to be better than Chloe’s. At first, my age gave me the advantage. We weren’t in the same grade, so looking at our overall rankings, we were fairly matched. But I was taller, and my temper was much better than Chloe’s. My mom was satisfied. Until my freshman year of high school, when Chloe skipped a grade and ended up in my class. Everything changed. “She’s younger than you, she eats less than you, and she learns faster than you.” “She hasn’t taken a single tutoring class! How can her grades be the same as yours?! Stop looking at me, look at the book! …You’ve been staring at the same page for half an hour, are there flowers growing on it?! You’re a year older than her! Your time is precious, how can you waste it like this?!” She slammed a jar of chili oil on the table. “Eat a spoonful. It’ll wake you up.” The spice jolted through me. My forehead burned, and my vision blurred with tears. The next week, my mom asked about the monthly exam scores. For the exact same test, Chloe scored one point higher than me. My mom demanded to know why. I told her there was a typo in one of the test questions. Chloe pointed it out to the teacher, so the teacher gave her an extra bonus point. “Then why didn’t you point it out?” Because I didn’t dare to speak to the teachers. Ever since the last parent-teacher conference, when the teacher gently suggested my mom reduce the pressure on me, my mom went to the school and then to the school board, throwing a massive fit and accusing the teacher of lacking ethics and trying to sabotage my future. Since then, the teachers barely spoke to me unless absolutely necessary. My mom saw right through me. “You coward. How are you going to survive in the real world acting like this? I guess Mommy has to help you.” She grabbed my composition notebook. She flipped to her favorite essay, titled: My Mother. “Take this. Go down to the apartment complex gate or onto the subway and read it. Read it out loud for everyone to hear.” That essay was essentially a self-criticism letter I had written to her, word by grueling word. It was filled with pathetic, groveling flattery that was never meant for anyone else’s eyes. My scalp prickled with sheer terror. Almost instinctively, I said, “No.” My mom looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “No? Are you embarrassed? Good! You should be embarrassed! Let’s go. Mommy will go with you.” When I was shoved out to the complex gate, it was rush hour. People were everywhere. I saw classmates who lived in the same complex. I saw Chloe walking home with her friends. My face instantly flushed crimson. My mom stopped, huffed, and said, “Right here. Read.” I couldn’t open my mouth. She looked deeply pained. “I got a divorce for you. I gave up my second daughter for you. And this is how you treat me? What’s the point of me even living?” I had no choice but to open my mouth. A smile returned to my mom’s face. “Louder.” “Did you forget what Mommy taught you? Be confident! Be generous! Act like you deserve to be heard! Be elegant! Don’t cry! Put some emotion into it!” A group of elementary school kids ran past, giggling and mimicking me: “My mother is the best mother in the world, she is gentle, kind, and dedicates her whole heart—” “Whole heart—” “Whole heart—” Tears spun in my eyes. I saw the shocked looks from my classmates. I saw passing grandmothers frowning, and an older man clicking his tongue in disapproval. They were all staring at me. Chloe signaled her friends, and the two girls ran over to chase the mocking kids away. A neighbor walked by. “Carol, you’re disciplining the kid outside again? It’s freezing, take her inside.” My mom scoffed dismissively. “No pain, no gain. If I don’t discipline her now, should I wait until she ends up like those motherless kids who grow up completely ruined?” The neighbor’s mother had died when she was young. She frowned and shot me a look. In that moment, I suddenly understood her. I understood the confusion and pity in everyone’s eyes. An unprecedented, overwhelming wave of shame swallowed me whole. Blood rushed to my face, turning my neck purple. “Mom, can we please go back? I’ll listen to you from now on. I’ll do three extra practice tests tonight. Please, let’s go back.” My mom laughed brightly. “See? I told you this kind of training works! Look at you volunteering for extra work! Come on, read it one more time.” Tears rolled freely down my cheeks. On the way back, my mom was incredibly smug. “Did you see your sister’s face just now? She wishes she had picked me, but I wouldn’t take her if she begged. If you keep acting up, I might just go get her instead.” I suddenly started dry heaving. From that day on, I developed a complex. Whenever I spoke and people looked at me and smiled, I would blush uncontrollably and stammer. I couldn’t even stand at the front of the classroom to lead the morning reading anymore. I secretly went to my English teacher and resigned from my position as class representative. 3 I couldn’t absorb anything the teachers were saying in class anymore. I started memorizing practice questions instead. Most high school workbooks recycled questions from other districts or schools, so I memorized all the answer keys. The next time a test rolled around, I managed to get a decent score. The smiles on my mom’s face grew more frequent. She told anyone who would listen that I took after her, unlike my sister, who was stubborn and simple-minded like my dad. Other moms would ask her for her parenting secrets. She’d say casually, “Oh, there’s no secret. Just give them lots of love and provide good logistical support. ‘Well-rounded development’ isn’t just an empty slogan, you know! For example, when my girls were little, they both hated green onions and ginger. I just patiently taught them. If they didn’t eat it, I wouldn’t eat it either. My oldest felt bad for me, so she started eating it.” The other moms nodded in admiration. My mom smiled proudly. “I’ve worked so hard my whole life just to prove to certain people that any child placed in my care will turn out exceptional.” “Of course, of course,” they agreed. The meals on our table became increasingly elaborate. During dinner at our small table, if I happened to take an extra bite of a certain dish, my mom would immediately push that plate right in front of me. But the truth was, I hated all of them. The dishes were loaded with the green onions and ginger I despised. To stop me from picking them out, she minced them so finely they were practically dust. Whatever I ate, she would eat. If I refused to eat, she would go on a hunger strike. As always, I swallowed the food whole without chewing. “Slow down, no one is fighting you for it.” My mom looked at me with deep satisfaction. “See? You used to say you wouldn’t eat onions and ginger, and now you’ve overcome it! Don’t learn your sister’s bad habits. She’s so stubborn. Whenever I made steamed buns, I always had to make a separate filling just for her.” My mind flashed back to something Chloe told me years ago. If you don’t say no the first time, you’ll be forced to eat things you hate forever. She took a beating, but she earned the right to have her own filling. I looked up at my mom. Her smile was gentle, and she seemed to be in a very good mood. So I asked, “Mom, can you not put onions in the food from now on? I really… don’t like the taste.” “You don’t like it?” she asked slowly. I instantly regretted it. But it was too late. Her face darkened ominously. The next second, she slammed her chopsticks onto the table with a sharp crack. “Like it?! Do you think I like cooking? Do you think I like being a housewife? It’s all for you! If everyone just did what they liked, well, I’d like you to get perfect scores! I’d like you to be number one in the class! Have you given me that?!” She grew more hysterical with every word. Finally, she grabbed the plates and violently swept them all into the trash can. “If you don’t like it, then don’t eat!” She kept screaming, her rage building. Suddenly, she stood up and flipped the entire table over. “I suffered so much for you! I got a divorce for you! I didn’t even take your sister for you! And what do I get in return? I get you looking down on me?! I might as well just die!” She reached down, grabbing a jagged piece of a broken porcelain bowl, bringing it toward her wrist. “I was wrong! I like it—I can eat it! I was wrong, I’ll never say it again!” I screamed, dropping to the floor. She stared down at me coldly. “Think about what you did wrong.” Wasting food? Just as I was about to drop to my knees and dig the ruined food out of the trash can… There was a loud knocking at the door. It was the downstairs neighbor. My mom shot me a look, dropped the porcelain shard, smoothed out her clothes, and opened the door with a sweet, apologetic smile. Her muffled, gentle voice drifted in. “Oh, I’m so sorry. The kids are just acting up, sorry for the noise… She’s just being a picky eater… Yes, I’m just trying to reason with her…” Her voice seemed to drift further and further away. To outsiders, she was always gentle, always appropriate. That essay I wrote played in my head on an endless loop. “My mother is the best mother in the world, she is gentle, kind, and dedicates her whole heart to me… The only thing I can repay her with is my shallow heart. Oh, my mother, I stole your youth, yet I haven’t grown into the person you wanted me to be…” I suddenly heard myself laughing. The stupid garbage I wrote… it was actually hilarious. I looked down at the trash can beneath me and kicked it away.

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My mother had gone to the bank to collect a “Customer Appreciation” gift, a small gesture for long-time account holders. Instead, the clerk had shoved a half-torn bag of premium rice across the counter with the grace of someone tossing trash. In the clumsy hand-off, the bag slipped. It hit the polished marble floor with a sickening pop, white grains skittering in every direction like tiny, panicked insects. Instead of helping, the clerk crossed her arms over her chest. She leaned into her microphone, her voice booming through the lobby speakers, distorted and cruel. “Pick it up. Every single grain. I want this floor spotless!” “You’re pathetic, you old bat. If you don’t clean this up, don’t even think about walking out that door.” I walked in just as that last sentence echoed off the high ceilings. My mother’s eyes were rimmed with red, her hands trembling as she stood frozen in the middle of the lobby, surrounded by the mess. I stepped forward, pulling her behind me, my heart hammering a cold, rhythmic beat of fury. Seeing me intervene only seemed to embolden the clerk. She adjusted her name tag—Madison—and sneered. “Perfect timing. Why don’t you teach your mother some manners? This is what happens when people are too cheap for their own good.” “If you don’t apologize and get out of here right now, don’t bother coming back for that loan. My father is the Executive Vice President of this branch. Consider your family blacklisted.” I looked at Madison’s smug, porcelain-doll face, then glanced at the branch manager standing beside me. He was already mopping sweat from his forehead, bowing slightly as he tried to offer a weak, conciliatory smile. Blacklisted? I looked back at Madison. If I actually walked out of here with the three billion dollars currently sitting in my private accounts, this branch wouldn’t just be blacklisted. It wouldn’t exist by tomorrow morning. … I frowned, my gaze shifting to Howard, the manager, whose collar seemed to be getting tighter by the second. “Howard,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “Is this the new standard of service? Skimping on promotional gifts and insulting seniors?” “If a client of my standing is treated like a beggar over a bag of rice, I can’t imagine how you plan on attracting any new business.” At the mention of the gift, Madison’s expression flickered with a hint of guilt—likely because she’d been skimming the “premium” inventory for herself. But before Howard could stammer out an excuse, she exploded. “Stop acting like you’re somebody! It’s a bag of rice. You’re making a scene over groceries? God, talk about low-class.” My mother flinched at the word low-class. That small movement, that tiny collapse of her shoulders, snapped something inside me. “Madison,” I said. “Originally, I would have accepted an apology and a replacement gift. But it seems your father never taught you the meaning of the word ‘professionalism.’” Madison slammed her hand onto the granite counter. “Who are you to mention my father? You think you’re entitled to an apology from me?” “Look at you. You look like you crawled out of a clearance rack. A family of grifters causing a scene for freebies. You should be embarrassed.” “Madison! Enough!” Howard’s voice was sharp, his face ghostly pale. But she was on a roll, completely blind to the frantic warning in his eyes. Her voice climbed another octave. “Am I wrong, Howard? Look at them! They’re probably here to scan for a predatory loan. We shouldn’t even be processing their paperwork. It’s bad for the bank’s image.” Howard was practically vibrating with anxiety. “Shut up, Madison! This is—” “This is what? A small-time business owner?” she interrupted, her lip curling. “Howard, please. I brought in a three-million-dollar deposit last month. Why are we catering to people who fight over rice? Just kick them out.” I felt the corner of my mouth twitch into a cold smile. Three million. That wouldn’t cover my corporate travel expenses for six months. I had three billion in liquid cash sitting in their vaults, not counting the gold bullion and the offshore holdings. Howard’s face had turned a bruised shade of purple. “Stop it, Madison. Elena is—” I raised a hand, silencing him. I reached into my leather briefcase and pulled out a file. “Howard, let’s skip the pleasantries. Replace the gift. Finish the paperwork. And tell me—is the fifty-million-dollar bridge loan for the development project ready for signature today?” Truthfully, my firm didn’t need the money. I was only taking the loan as a favor to Howard—an old college acquaintance—to help him hit his quarterly targets. Howard wiped his brow, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes, of course! Right away. Madison, process the documents for Ms. Montgomery immediately!” “Wait a second!” Madison lunged forward, snatching the file before Howard could touch it. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Fifty million? Are you kidding me? You couldn’t get a fifty-dollar limit on a store card with that attitude. Let’s see what we’re really looking at.” “Madison! Give that back! That is confidential!” Howard’s voice cracked as he reached for the papers. Madison danced back, hugging the file to her chest, her eyes gleaming with malice. “I’m doing my job, Howard! Auditing client viability. Preventing fraud. Isn’t that what we’re trained for? Who knows if these documents are even real?” She began flipping through the pages, her voice rising so everyone in the lobby could hear. “Wait… look at this. Meridian Group transferred two million dollars into your personal account last month? Why would a CEO send a girl like you that kind of money?” She paused, a poisonous smile spreading across her face. “You’re pretty enough, I guess. Is that the trick, Elena? What kind of ‘special sacrifices’ did you have to make for that check?” My fists clenched, my knuckles turning white. Before I could speak, she kept going, her voice like a serrated blade. “Oh, it gets better! Bright-Tech, eighty thousand a month for three months. Maritime Trade, one point five million. God, Elena, you’re a busy girl. How do you find the time to service so many ‘clients’ without catching something incurable?” The air in the bank felt thick, suffocating. “You… you liar! Don’t you dare speak about my daughter that way!” A voice, trembling but fierce, cut through the room. My mother, pale as a ghost, stepped in front of me. She put her frail body between me and that girl. “My daughter is a good woman! She worked for every cent she has! You have no right to spit these lies!” Madison let out a bored sigh. “Move it, lady. This doesn’t involve you.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “Actually, I get it now. No wonder the mother is so protective. I bet this is how you made your way up back in the day, too. Like mother, like daughter. The apple doesn’t fall far from the trash heap.” “You…!” My mother’s face went from white to a sickly grey. “Madison, shut your mouth!” Howard roared, his entire body shaking. “You are violating every privacy protocol in the book! This is gross misconduct!” Madison didn’t flinch. She looked at him with a sugary, fake pout. “What are you going to do, Howard? You promised my dad you’d look out for me. You think he’s going to let you fire me over a couple of nobodies?” Howard looked like he was about to have a stroke. My patience, which had been frayed to a single thread, finally snapped. Just then, my assistant, Jordan, hurried through the glass doors, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Elena, I just got word. The escrow for the Eastside lot needs to be settled early. We have a temporary liquidity gap—that fifty-million-dollar loan needs to hit the account today or we lose the land.” I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate down. I looked at Howard. “Howard. Can you close this loan today? Yes or no? Give me a straight answer.” “Yes! Absolutely! I’ll handle it personally!” Howard stammered. He turned to Madison, his voice booming. “Madison, give me those files. Now!” Instead, Madison pulled the folder further away. “Not so fast! I found a discrepancy! Look here—Montgomery Holdings has an outstanding thirty-million-dollar line of credit from last year. Per regulations, we cannot issue new high-risk loans to entities with unresolved debt.” She lifted her chin, looking at me with pure triumph. “Howard, I’m flagging this for internal review. I suspect predatory borrowing. Until the audit is complete, this loan is frozen. In fact, I’m recommending we freeze her corporate operating accounts for suspicious activity.” “Are you insane?” Howard’s veins were bulging in his neck. “Do you have any idea what that would do? This is a multi-million dollar land deal! If you freeze those accounts, the entire project collapses. You can’t take that responsibility!” “Watch me,” Madison sneered. “My dad and you run this place. We make the rules. I say we audit, so we audit. Let her wait.” I looked at her, and for the first time today, I felt a strange sense of calm. The kind of calm that comes right before a storm levels a city. “Madison,” I said softly. “You want an audit? Fine. But before you pull that trigger, I suggest you look at who signed off on that thirty-million-dollar credit line last year.” I took a step forward, pinning her with my stare. “It’s right there on the signature line. Robert Miller. Your father.” “If you want a full internal investigation, go right ahead. I have nothing to hide. But the first person the regional board is going to call into a dark room for questioning… is your ‘dear old dad.’” Madison’s smirk froze. But after a second, she puffed out her chest again. “Liar! You probably tricked him or forged his signature. You think you can scare me? Once those assets are frozen, we’ll see who comes crawling for a favor.” Jordan checked his watch, his voice urgent. “Elena, we have thirty minutes. If the funds aren’t in escrow, the seller is moving to the backup bidder.” The silence in the lobby was heavy. Madison let out a derisive snort. “Scared now? Tell you what, Elena. I’ll be generous. Get down on your knees, apologize for your attitude, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll find a way to skip the audit.” Before I could move, a soft, broken sound came from beside me. “Please… please don’t do this…” My mother had stepped forward, her posture bent and humble. She began to bow toward Madison. “Young lady, I’m so sorry. It was my fault. I’m clumsy. I’ll clean up the rice right now… I’ll apologize for my daughter. Just please, don’t hurt her business. Please.” “Mom!” I grabbed her shoulders, my heart breaking. Madison recoiled as if my mother were a leper, shoving her back. “Ugh, get away from me! You’re pathetic. No wonder your daughter is such a disaster; she was raised by a beggar.” As I caught my mother, feeling her small frame shaking against me, the last of my mercy evaporated. I stood tall, shielding her. “Madison, you wanted an apology? You aren’t worth the breath it would take. You want an audit? Do it. Start the process.” Howard looked like he had been struck by lightning. “Elena! Please, no!” He knew. He knew I didn’t care about a fifty-million-dollar loan. But he also knew that once the bridge was burned, I would take my entire empire elsewhere. He turned to Madison, his voice a guttural scream. “Madison! Apologize to Ms. Montgomery! This is your last chance! Do it now!” Madison remained defiant, her head held high. “Why should I? She’s the one breaking the rules! Whose side are you on, Howard?” “Fine,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “Howard, it’s clear your authority here is a joke. Don’t worry about the internal audit. I’ll save you the paperwork.” I turned to Jordan. “Call the National Risk Management head and the Ethics Committee. Tell them Elena Montgomery is requesting a full forensic audit of the Miller family’s dealings at this branch. I’ll wait right here.” Jordan nodded and stepped away, phone already at his ear. Madison rolled her eyes, ignoring Howard’s terrified face, and pulled out her own phone to text. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. The heavy glass doors swung open. A group of men and women in dark, tailored suits marched in, their expressions grim. They wore the silver pins of the Federal Regulatory Oversight. In the center of the group was a man whose face was a mirror image of Madison’s, though far more weathered. “Dad!” Madison’s face lit up. She put on a tearful, victimized expression and ran toward him. “Dad! You’re finally here! They’re all ganging up on me! That woman, Elena, she—” She didn’t get to finish. The sound of the slap echoed through the entire bank. Robert Miller had swung with every ounce of his strength. Madison was sent sprawling onto the marble floor, her hand flying to her cheek. She looked up at her father, her eyes wide, the arrogance replaced by a hollow, terrifying confusion.

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“Now you’re scared?” The campus jock had me pinned against the wall, his body close, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against my ear. “You were so eager to flirt. Didn’t you think about the consequences?” “I wasn’t flirting.” I denied it, straining to breathe, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm. “No?” He clearly didn’t believe me. “We’re adults, Calla. You own your actions.” Oh god, what was I supposed to do? 1 “Strike three, Calla Jansen. How many times is this now?” He grabbed me by the collar of my jersey, lifting me like a kitten, choking the life out of my impending freedom. The exit gate was just a single, agonizing step away, but I couldn’t reach it. I flailed, desperately trying to twist out of his iron grip. I was going crazy. Why did Lachlan Shaw always manage to catch me every single time I tried to sneak off campus? It baffled me. I couldn’t figure out the surveillance setup, but if I didn’t get out soon, the boredom of this intense pre-season soccer camp would actually kill me. Why were we locked down for a whole month just for training? It was archaic. “Lachlan…” I turned my most pathetic gaze on the man behind me, clasping my hands together in a plea. “Just this once? I swear, it’s the last time!” Lachlan wasn’t buying it. He let out a dry, dismissive scoff. “Calla, that’s what you said last time.” “I mean it! If there’s a next time, you can call me Shirley.” I thumped my chest dramatically, raising a hand in a solemn oath, trying to look trustworthy. The corner of his mouth curved up, crinkling the skin at the edge of his eyes. His face—already unfairly handsome—looked even more devastating with the hint of a smile. But right now, it just terrified me. I swallowed hard. Lachlan bent closer, and I instinctively leaned back. “That’s a weak promise, Calla,” he murmured. “Why would I ever call you Shirley?” I paused. He had a point. My pathetic little promise had no teeth. Just as I was scrambling for a better guarantee, Lachlan cut me off, his resolve clear. “Rules are rules. Once the camp is over, you can spend a whole day off campus. I won’t stop you.” I refused to accept defeat and tried one last, dying gasp of a negotiation. But before I could get a word out, he shut me down with another threat. “Maybe the drills aren’t intense enough. You still have the energy to try and run away.” “If they’re too easy, I can always double the running for your entire squad tomorrow.” Seriously? The man was completely unreasonable. I immediately snapped my head up. I was not going to be the reason my teammates had to do suicide sprints. I bowed a full ninety degrees. “Coach! I was wrong! I’m heading back to the dorm now. See you around!” With that, I bolted, terrified that even a moment longer in his presence would lead to consequences for my friends. This pre-season camp was mandatory, a brutal month of daily drills and lectures. The main rule was no unauthorized leave. Lachlan, a graduate student and former star player, was the assistant coach assigned to my team. Which is why the entire campus seemed to be under his personal jurisdiction. But I strongly suspected Lachlan was deliberately targeting me. Every time I tried to slip away, he’d materialize like an angry spirit, a personalized surveillance system attached to my back. What made it worse? He even policed my love life. A cute guy from the track team asked for my Instagram handle the other day. I instantly lit up. Handsome strangers are a rarity around here. I was about to open my profile for him when Lachlan appeared out of nowhere and yanked me away. When I demanded to know what he was doing, he actually said, “Time for training. Get back to the field.” I checked my watch, furious. We still had an hour before the next session! What were we supposed to be doing so early? Sunbathing? I glared at him, then whipped my head around to find the track guy, but he was gone. “Lachlan Shaw! You owe me a dating prospect!” I yelled, stomping my foot. I didn’t even care that he was my coach; I used his full name. He just smiled. “Fine.” The next morning, I found a hideous, obviously fake bouquet of plastic roses taped to my dorm door. I was so angry I tossed them directly into the nearest trash can. Lachlan, your love life is a pathetic imitation of the real thing! May all your future relationships be as fake as these roses! 2 I had no idea what I had done to incur his constant antagonism. I spent my evenings soul-searching, but aside from my desire to escape the suffocating camp—which was a perfectly rational desire—I couldn’t identify any other transgression. I simply did not understand. In a fit of pique, I spent a week reworking the toxic male antagonist in my current novel, giving him Lachlan’s exact name and an equally infuriating personality. I had been struggling to name the character, but now the inspiration flowed freely. Even my readers seemed to pick up on the vitriol. A comment on the latest chapter read: “Something’s up with this ‘Lachlan Shaw.’ Did the author hate this guy in real life? Usually your villains are complex, both pitiful and awful, but this one is just pure awful.” My readers understood me completely. I didn’t reply, but my best friend, Tess Sullivan, commented on my behalf: “Haters to lovers, anyone?” I tried to stop her, but it was too late. Disaster. My readers instantly started shipping us. Every day, the comments were flooded with: “How’s the real-life Lachlan doing?” Wait! What about my status? Where did my authority go? I was even more determined to despise him. I rested my chin on my palm, gazing out the window of the off-campus coffee shop (a rare, illegal indulgence), nursing my iced latte. I sighed a long, dramatic sigh. Only two more weeks left of camp. Under Lachlan’s watchful eye, I didn’t dare slack off; in fact, I had to work even harder than everyone else. To mess up would be both humiliating and painful. When you’re dependent on a tyrant, you have to walk on eggshells. Tess took a long sip of her bubble tea, seeing my distress. She laughed. “What? Still thinking about Lachlan?” I gave a short, noncommittal sound. “I knew it.” Tess’s eyes crinkled with smug success. “Lachlan is hot. Of course you’re hung up on him.” “No!” I finally protested, gently pinching her arm, my cheeks feeling warm. “I’m just annoyed that training isn’t over yet. I want to escape his grasp.” “Are you sure you don’t feel anything?” Tess leaned closer, pressing me. “He’s the campus heartthrob. Soccer captain. The girls who like him could circle the entire field.” “Look.” Tess pointed to the campus field a short distance away. The air was filled with cheers and shouts. “Most of those girls are here for Lachlan.” I barely heard Tess. A different thought was forming in my mind: If I couldn’t escape his grasp, maybe I could disarm him. How could I make him go easy on me? What if… I made Lachlan like me? The idea settled into my mind. It was brilliant. This was a much better solution. I had never failed to get a guy’s attention. A tiny challenge like Lachlan Shaw couldn’t possibly be my match. I’d make him regret ever messing with a girl like me. No sooner had the thought solidified than I sprang to my feet. Tess was startled. “What is it?” “Back to the dorm to put on some makeup and a killer outfit,” I announced, finishing the last of my latte and tossing the cup. “I’m going to pursue Lachlan Shaw.” Tess was stunned. She hurried to catch up. “You figured that out fast!” I looked toward the field where Lachlan was running a drill, and a new wave of determination solidified. I nodded. 3 I swapped my camp uniform for a slinky sundress, applied a subtle layer of makeup, and headed to the campus market for a bottle of water and a fresh towel. I found an empty seat in the stadium stands. When I saw Lachlan take a break, I immediately called his cell phone. The moment he picked up, I launched into my plan. “Coach!” I chirped, making my voice extra sweet. “Could you do me a favor?” “I made a bet with some classmates yesterday. The deal was: if I gave you water and a towel and you accepted it, they owe me fifty bucks. If you refuse, I owe them. Please help me out!” I watched as Lachlan smiled, looking down at his phone. “What’s in it for me?” “Hmm…” I pretended to think deeply. “How about we use that fifty dollars to grab dinner? I heard that new Korean BBQ place downtown is amazing. Want to try it?” He was silent for a moment, taking a slow drink from his own water bottle. Then, slowly, he replied, “Okay.” “Awesome, Coach. See you after the next half.” I hung up, smiling triumphantly. Of course, there was no bet. It was a complete lie. I waited until practice was over and was gathering my things to go down and deliver the goods when I looked up and saw Lachlan was already sitting beside me. His face was suddenly inches from mine. I was caught completely off guard, staring right into his eyes. The faint, salty smell of sweat mixed with his cologne—the scent of pure male adrenaline—hit me, making my heart flutter inexplicably faster. I shivered, completely startled. He moved silently. Like a predator. He extended his hand, beckoning for the water in my grasp. I tried to act nonchalant, handing him the bottle. I could feel dozens of eyes on us now, along with the rising tide of whispering. I felt certain they were talking about me. I hadn’t planned for my grand gesture to be quite this public! “I said I was going to bring it down to you, so why did you come all the way up here?” I whispered through gritted teeth, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. “It’s more efficient,” Lachlan said, taking the towel to wipe his neck. “It saves me the trouble of having to reject other people. Saves my breath.” It might save him trouble, but I was probably going to be the hot topic on the campus message board for the next three days. No, wait, I was probably already being dissected by every girl with a smartphone. I hated him. I was even more convinced he did this on purpose. No! I couldn’t back down now! “Lost in thought?” Lachlan waved his hand in front of my face. I snapped out of my stupor and looked at him blankly. Lachlan’s lips quirked. “You’re totally zoning out. I said I’m free tonight. Just let me change first.” I nodded dumbly. Before he left, he added, “And don’t sit out in the sun. Your face is already bright red.” Once he was gone, I frantically touched my cheeks. They were burning. I took out my compact mirror and saw that the heat was rising through my foundation. No, no, this wasn’t right. It had to be the sun. We settled into a booth at the Korean BBQ. We hadn’t been there long when a whole team of guys rolled in. That would have been fine, except they immediately started yelling “Ma’am!” and “Future Mrs. Shaw!” Me: ??? Don’t call me that! We hadn’t even had a first date! But I couldn’t deny, I kind of liked the sound of it. I played the role of the shy, flustered girlfriend, a lamb ready for slaughter, but they only lingered for a moment before Lachlan shooed them away. I ate my food, my mind racing, trying to figure out what my next move should be to truly reel this man in. I still hadn’t figured out a surefire plan by the time we finished dinner. Just then, I overheard someone talking about the Campus Fall Fest. This gave me an idea. To keep him around longer, I suggested we check out the festival. The closer we got to the quad, the denser the crowd became. I seized my chance, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “We have to hurry! We need to get a good spot!” As I spoke, I lightly dragged my index finger across his palm. I ran a few steps, then glanced back. I realized the hand I was holding belonged to Lachlan, and I instantly let go, feigning embarrassment. “Oh, sorry! I was so excited, I just instinctively grabbed your hand like I would my girlfriend’s.” It was a total performance. The light was dim; I couldn’t make out his expression. But I wasn’t worried. Men, after all, simply needed to be slowly tempted and they’d be yours. We arrived at the stadium quad. It was packed and noisy, but a gentle melody was floating over the crowd. We found a spot near the stage. Just as one song ended, someone yelled Lachlan’s name. We both turned. It was the guy who had just performed. “Didn’t you say you were busy tonight?” the singer asked. Then he noticed me standing next to Lachlan. He paused, then gave an exaggerated wink, thumping Lachlan’s chest. “Betrayal, Shaw! You’re breaking the bro code.” “Well, since you’re here, play a song before you leave.” Lachlan couldn’t refuse. He went up on stage and performed. He chose a mellow acoustic song—something like The Atlas Ghosts’ track, “Momentum.” He played the guitar, the stage lights bathing him in a soft, ethereal glow, making him so radiant I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “I thought I’d be drifting,” he sang. “Leaving all my looking back to the sunrise.” “…” That was a song I’d recently shared on my social media. I stared at him, and he met my gaze. His eyes were filled with a tenderness that made my heart pound wildly. I couldn’t help but wonder: Was this the same Lachlan Shaw who put us through hell during drills this morning? He felt like a completely different person. The event was winding down, and it was getting late. I told him I needed to head back. Lachlan nodded and walked me to my dorm building. Before leaving, I clasped my hands behind my back, tilted my head, and offered a sweet, innocent smile. “Coach, you were amazing tonight.” Then I took a step closer to him, looking up into his dark eyes, my smile genuine this time. My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, meant only for him. “And you also looked… kind of hot.” Oh, I was good. 4 The next morning at practice, I felt a new surge of confidence. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but he seemed a little kinder to me today. He smiled more frequently, too. Still, the revolution wasn’t over. I had to keep working. I learned that apart from the weekend pickup games, Lachlan spent most of his free afternoons in the library. So, clutching a few textbooks, I followed him. After checking two floors, I finally found him tucked away in a quiet corner on the third floor. I placed my books next to his stack and took out a pen. He looked up, gave me a small, acknowledging nod, and went back to his work. I sat down, twirling my pen, pretending to study. The truth was, my mind was elsewhere, and I hadn’t absorbed a single word. My pen slipped and clattered to the floor, landing exactly between our seats. I froze. A brilliant plan immediately formed in my mind. This is perfect. I waited for him to retrieve it. Sure enough, a second later, Lachlan bent down to pick it up. I bent down at the exact same moment, and our hands brushed against the pen simultaneously. The backs of our hands were touching. Our heads were close. I looked at him, and the world seemed to go silent. I was riding a wave of smug satisfaction. How could you not be into me, Lachlan? I’m gorgeous and smart. Just fall for it already. Fall for it, fall for it, fall for it. To my confusion, he instantly released the pen and stood up, leaving me to grab it myself. I was baffled. Why did Lachlan bail on the trope? This was not how it was supposed to play out. “Calla Jansen, come with me.” Lachlan’s voice was suddenly devoid of any of the warmth from the night before. He stood up and walked away. A strange feeling of dread washed over me, but I meekly followed. I frantically tried to figure out if I had accidentally made him angry. He didn’t seem like the type to get petty over a clumsy attempt at flirting, though. Before I knew it, he had led me to a deserted corner of the stacks. He abruptly slammed his hand down on the table right next to my waist, trapping me between the surface and his body. He leaned in close, staring down at me. Crap. I looked into his eyes and instantly realized I had walked right into a trap. I was too scared to move, swallowing hard. “C-Coach Shaw.” “Scared now?” Lachlan smiled, a slow, mesmerizing grin that made me hold my breath. His voice was a low, husky rumble. “When you were doing your little dance just now, didn’t you think about what would happen next?” I was caught. “I… I wasn’t doing anything.” “Oh? You think I didn’t recognize your game?” he challenged, raising a brow. As he moved closer, the heat of his breath washed over my face. I instinctively leaned back to keep a sliver of distance, and the intensity of the moment made my heart race wildly. My body was trembling, which was odd. I was a veteran of the dating scene, yet here, facing Lachlan, I completely lost my composure. “Calla, we’re both adults here,” he stated, his voice firm. “You’re going to take responsibility for what you started.” The moment the words left his mouth, a hand cupped the back of my head. The next second, his mouth was on mine, a kiss that was both passionate and deep. My eyes widened. I couldn’t react. This pace was insane. It was too fast. “I—” I pulled back an inch, trying to say something, anything, but before I could utter a word, he sealed my mouth again. He claimed my lips, his hand sliding down to the nape of my neck, deftly pulling out the hair elastic. He wrapped the strap around my waist, pulling me tight against him, as if he meant to melt me into his body. I suddenly recalled the thought from my novel: The highest-level predator often disguises himself as the prey. I had walked right into the ambush.

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In my past life, I married an old man for money, but I ended up kicking the bucket before him. When I opened my eyes again, I was reincarnated as a billionaire heiress in Manhattan. Looking at the incredibly handsome, dirt-poor college student standing in front of me, I decided it was my turn to experience the thrill of keeping a sugar baby. I loaded up his campus dining card, paid his tuition, and bought him anything he looked at for more than two seconds. But the way he looked at me was always icy and distant, like an untamed, feral puppy. That was, until the day I accidentally found a hidden diary in the back of his desk drawer. Flipping to the last page, I saw a very familiar handwriting: “I’m sorry.” “This time, let me be the one who leaves first.” !!!!!!! Wait… Old man?! 1 When my chauffeur pulled up to the university gates in my Bugatti, Liam was setting up a small folding table, selling hand-drawn calligraphy prints for the holidays. He was 6’1″, with messy, dark hair falling perfectly into his eyes, and striking, delicate features. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a GQ magazine, completely out of place on a dusty sidewalk. He caught my eye immediately. I squinted. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to sponsor this college boy. After all, in this life, I really wanted to see what it was like to have my own kept man. Seemingly sensing my gaze, Liam looked up. His detached, world-weary eyes met mine. “Large prints are fifteen dollars. Small ones are eight.” I reached out and picked up one of the prints. “Your handwriting is really nice.” I looked up at him. “How much to write my name?” His grip on his calligraphy pen tightened, his face deadly serious. “Not for sale.” Fine, not for sale. Then why are your ears turning red? The corners of my mouth curled up. No rush. We have plenty of time to negotiate this business deal. 2 Liam wasn’t just gorgeous; he was also top of his class. Because he was broke, besides selling prints on the street, I found out he also worked as a private tutor. “What’s your hourly rate?” “Eighty dollars an hour.” “Deal.” I blinked at him, looking the picture of sincerity. “I’m Chloe. Let’s exchange numbers so we can schedule sessions.” He frowned, hesitated for a moment, and then reluctantly pulled up his contact info for me to scan. After adding him, I pretended to casually ask: “By the way… do you tutor any other students from our school?” His finger, swiping on his phone screen, paused. “No. Just you.” Just me! What a godsend! “Hey Liam, off-topic question.” “Yeah?” “Would your girlfriend mind… that you’re tutoring a girl?” He finally turned his head to look at me. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” I fought hard to suppress my rising smile. No girlfriend? Perfect. That means you’re completely available to be sponsored by me. “Liam, have you ever considered an annual retainer?” I leaned in slightly closer to him. “Name your price.” He kept a straight face and said, “I’m not for sale.” Wow, that sounds familiar. Very much my vibe from my past life. 3 In my past life, I had a sick mother, a gambling-addicted father, and a younger brother in school. To keep my family afloat, I worked five jobs simultaneously. But in the end, I still couldn’t pay off the massive debts my deadbeat dad owed to loan sharks. I was dragged into a dark alley by the collectors. I thought my life was over right then and there. Unexpectedly, a Bugatti suddenly pulled up to the mouth of the alley. An older man wearing a bespoke, high-end suit stepped out of the car. You could tell that in his youth, he must have been devastatingly handsome. He asked me if I was willing to be his kept woman. He would pay off all my father’s debts. He would guarantee my entire family a life free of financial worry. “I’m not for sale.” As I recall, I said the exact same thing to him back then that Liam just said to me. The older man just smiled and didn’t say anything, but he still solved my problem with the loan sharks. Not only that, he quietly took care of my mother’s medical bills, my brother’s tuition, and even paid to have our leaky, rundown house repaired. He would occasionally drop by to see how I was doing, but he never brought up the “kept woman” arrangement again. During casual conversation, I learned he had never married. He had always held a torch for his “first love,” and I just happened to look 90% like her. Maybe I was moved by everything he had done for me. Or maybe when you’re truly destitute, your principles are like wet paper—they tear at the slightest touch. I actually ended up being the one to propose we get married. After we got married, he treated me with immense respect, practically worshiping the ground I walked on. We maintained a strictly platonic relationship. Once, I was wearing a lace nightgown and accidentally tripped into his arms. His arms instantly tensed, and his breathing grew heavy, but he immediately steadied me and took a step back. Living with him for five years, it wasn’t that I didn’t develop any feelings for him. But the massive age gap was a chasm we could never cross. I never expected that I would die in a car crash before he did… When I opened my eyes again, I was a billionaire heiress in Manhattan. This time, it was my turn to enjoy life! 4 I scheduled my tutoring session with Liam for the evening. I specifically took a shower beforehand. My hair was half-wet, draped over my shoulders. I changed into a silk slip dress. Liam rang the doorbell right on time. “Good evening, Liam.” His gaze slid off me instantly. He followed my housekeeper straight into the study. “Liam, I don’t know this word,” I pushed my notebook toward him. “Can you translate it for me?” “Sensitive. It means easily affected or emotionally reactive.” “Oh.” I rested my chin on my hand, poking his elbow with the tip of my pen as I continued: “What about this one?” “Seduce. To entice or tempt.” I swung my legs, my toes “accidentally” brushing lightly against his calf. “How do you say ‘moth to a flame’?” “Like a moth to a flame!!!” He violently yanked his leg back, leaning so far backward he almost tipped his chair over. “Chloe, sit properly.” I completely ignored him and pulled my chair even closer. “I can hear you better this way.” “Chloe,” his tone was dead serious, “do you know… this is very dangerous.” “How dangerous?” I feigned innocence. “More dangerous than Calculus and the LSATs?” He stared at me, then suddenly reached out, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, and threw it directly over my head… “Put it on.” I sat there, stunned inside his jacket for two seconds. It smelled like his clean laundry detergent. “Liam, you’re so mean.” He ignored me and continued writing out the math equations. Watching him sit there—refusing to play the victim, refusing to sell his body, purely selling his brainpower—I suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. …What is going on here? I’m the one paying him! Why does it feel like I’m the one who doesn’t dare step out of line? My desperate attempt to seduce him just now didn’t look like a sugar mommy… It looked like… a sugar baby!!! Chloe, what the hell is wrong with you?! In this life, you’re supposed to be the one holding the purse strings! 5 A sugar mommy needs to act like a sugar mommy. New semester. I swiped Liam’s student ID card, went to the cafeteria kiosk, and dumped five thousand dollars onto his meal plan. I was afraid if I put any more, he’d be too embarrassed to accept it. When I found him in the library that afternoon, he was wearing headphones, deep in his coursework. I pulled out the chair across from him and slid the card over. “Liam! You don’t have to survive on $3 ramen cups this semester!” He picked up the card, looked at me, and furrowed his brow. “What is this?” He slid the card back to me. “I don’t need this.” “What do you mean you don’t need it?” I flashed a fawning smile. “You tutored me, and my grades went way up. This is your bonus!” “You already paid me for the tutoring sessions.” His tone was hard, and he pushed the card closer to me. “I’ll withdraw the cash and return it to you.” Back and forth. That card slid across the table multiple times. Watching Liam’s absolute, unwavering determination to resist capitalist corruption, I suddenly felt the urge to tease him again. I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hands, and asked softly with a sly smile: “If you don’t want money… do you want a different kind of bonus?” He looked up at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “For example…” I intentionally dragged out the word, my eyes dropping to his perfectly shaped lips. “…A kiss?” Cough! Cough!! Liam blushed furiously from his cheeks all the way down his neck. He frantically grabbed his water bottle, trying to look calm as he took a gulp. “What… what are you talking about?!” “Oh, you don’t want that?” I pretended to have a sudden realization. “Then I guess cash is more practical, right, Liam?” He took a deep breath, snatched the card from my hand in one swift motion. “Just this once. Never again.” 6 Never again? Once a door opens, it stays open. After observing him, I realized that Liam’s washed-out white button-down, whose collar was starting to sag, and his faded jeans were no longer worthy of a face that could be on a billboard. So, the next time he came to my apartment to tutor me, I placed a designer shopping bag right on top of his textbooks. “What is this now?” His tone was calm, but heavily guarded. “Your battle armor, Liam!” “Uh… my horoscope said that if you wear this, it’ll boost my academic luck!” Liam stared at me. His expression practically screamed, Keep making up bullshit, I’m listening. I kept a straight face and pushed the bag closer to him. “Seriously! Go to the bathroom and try it on!” He didn’t move, just stared at me in silence. I sighed and made a move to stand up. “If you’re too lazy to do it… should I help you change?” “My customer service is top-tier. I’ll even start by unbuttoning your shirt…” Before I could finish, Liam shot up from his chair like a rocket, snatched the bag, and took long, rapid strides toward the bathroom. I laid my head on the desk, my shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Gotcha. Now I know exactly how to handle you. About ten minutes later, he came back out. My eyes instantly lit up. The cream-colored cashmere turtleneck softened the usual cold, aloof aura around his eyes, adding a layer of gentle warmth. Help me. This isn’t a nerd… He looks like the male lead walking straight out of a winter K-drama! “…Are you done staring?” Liam awkwardly tugged at the hem of the sweater. “Nope.” I looked at him, my eyes sparkling. “Liam, wearing this… you look illegally handsome!” He pressed his lips together, refusing to take the bait. “Let’s get back to the math problems.” “Wait! Your collar isn’t folded right.” I reached out, my fingertips pretending to accidentally brush against the skin of his neck. He abruptly stepped back, his face flushing with embarrassment and annoyance: “…Chloe.” I knew exactly what he meant. I silently pulled my hand back, but my eyes were still glued to him. He was gorgeous, but he was also genuinely freezing cold. This wasn’t a sugar baby. This was an unapproachable ice prince! 7 I was just trying to figure out how to melt this iceberg when I bumped into Liam at the library… sitting next to another girl. An advanced calculus textbook was open in front of them. They were sitting quite close. Liam had his head turned, listening to her, occasionally nodding. Sunlight, books, a boy and a girl whispering about schoolwork… Why did this picture look so damn harmonious?! The level of interaction between them had already vastly surpassed his usual “Not for sale,” “I don’t need it,” and “Put your clothes on” routine with me! And this girl didn’t even have to pay him an hourly rate! The boba tea in my hand suddenly tasted bitter. I was jealous. I was pissed. I, Chloe the Sugar Mommy, had been feeding this guy for weeks. I loaded his meal card, bought his clothes, and gave him all the compliments in the world. And the iceberg barely melted for me, but someone else was enjoying the shade?! Now I finally understand why sugar daddies always get so obsessed with a single target. The feeling of having something right in front of you but being unable to eat it is agonizing. In my past life, I died young. In this life, I somehow managed to be born into unimaginable wealth, and who knows how long I’ll live. I decided to cherish my limited lifespan and take a different approach. Hanging myself on one tree wasn’t my style. Especially a tree that was trying to grow branches toward someone else! I refuse to believe Liam is the only handsome, broke college student on this campus!

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The week Julian and I started dating, I moved into his house to work as a maid. Right before his engagement to the heiress of the Montgomery family, he sneaked into the maid’s quarters, grabbed my hand, and swore to me: “Listen to me, Chloe. Wait for me for three years. In three years, I promise I will divorce her and marry you.” I glanced toward the living room at the back of the woman sitting elegantly on the Montgomery family’s sofa. Just three years. Then we could be a family again. So, I nodded obediently. “Okay!” 1 When Julian came downstairs, I was kneeling on the floor, picking up pieces of broken porcelain. He walked over to the dining counter, picked up his coffee, and looked down at me from above. Just as I was about to stand up, a warm palm pressed against the back of my neck. His thumb rubbed the side of my neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to be felt. It was like comfort, but also like carelessly playing with a favorite toy. “Why are you kneeling?” He bent down, his breath tickling my ear, his tone carrying a hint of dissatisfaction directed at me. “Did my aunt punish you again?” I didn’t say anything, just looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. Julian sighed. Instead of comforting me, he reached out and adjusted my collar. “Chloe, you know that before I came back to the Montgomery family, I was just like you. What is this little bit of grievance compared to the privilege of entering this house?” He looked at me. Like a strict teacher, yet also like a tender lover. “This is a test. If you can’t handle a small thing like this, how will you stand by my side as the young madam of the Montgomery family in the future?” He paused, his thumb gently caressing my cheek, his voice soft and persuasive. “Bear with it.” “Chloe, you know what kind of person she is. Right now, in her eyes, you are nothing.” “Only when you become the young madam, when you have status and position, will she naturally look up to you. She will accept you, even… love you the way you want her to. Isn’t that what you want?” I sniffled, leaned my head against his palm, and nodded obediently. My voice was soft and full of dependence. “Yes, I know, Julian.” Satisfied, Julian patted my cheek and walked away with his coffee, looking content. Only after his figure disappeared did I look down at the broken pieces on the floor. If he hadn’t appeared at the top of the stairs right at that moment, she definitely would have helped me pick them up. I saw it clearly; she had already bent down and reached out her hand. But upon hearing the door open on the second floor, she retracted her hand as if burned and put on a harsh face. A faint scent of perfume lingered in the air. It smelled so good, so warm. I breathed it in greedily, as if doing so could bring me closer to her. 2 In the Montgomery family’s renowned old mansion in Seattle, the food chain was actually quite clear. Old Mr. Montgomery was the absolute authority. And Julian was the “crown prince” who held the power of life and death. As for his aunt, Patricia… Despite putting on airs as the “second madam,” she and her son—the burden she brought into the family—entirely depended on Julian’s moods to survive. To secure a future for her son, she had to bow and scrape to Julian. Her life wasn’t much better than mine as a maid. At least I got paid. To the outside world, I was the college student Julian was charitably sponsoring. Inside the house, I was his secret, underground lover. And in Patricia’s eyes… I probably had ulterior motives. But I didn’t care. As long as I could stay in this house, as long as I could see her every day. I took a Band-Aid out of my pocket and wrapped it around my bleeding finger. I dusted off my knees and got up to head to the kitchen. When my aunt left earlier, her gaze lingered on my hand for a moment. She must have felt sorry for me. That was enough. 3 When Julian first suggested I come work as a maid to keep him company, I immediately nodded and agreed. It wasn’t because I loved him so much that I had lost my self-respect. It was because he “accidentally” showed me a photo of a Montgomery family dinner. In an inconspicuous corner of the photo stood the person I had been looking for for many years. At that time, Julian put away his phone and gently held my hand. He looked at me, his eyes full of loneliness, like a child about to be abandoned. “Chloe, in this cold house, I can’t feel a shred of warmth.” “If you were there, I’d be so happy.” He didn’t mention the person in the photo at all. As if showing me the picture was really just to share his life. But I came without hesitation anyway. 4 When Julian walked over, he was holding a canister of fish food. He must have been standing there for a long time. I had just finished talking with his aunt. Oh, wait, I should call her the second madam of the Montgomery family. “I’ve seen your resume.” She stepped closer, a look of frustrated disdain on her face. “A top student in finance from NYU, and pretty too… Why is your head so muddled that you insist on coming here to serve people like a lowly servant?” She looked at my face as if looking at a stranger. Completely unable to recognize how much this face resembled hers when she was young. I lowered my eyes, my voice submissive. “Investment banking is too stressful, and my health isn’t good. I just want a stable place, and the Montgomery family pays well.” I lied. If I wanted to, getting into a top investment bank and earning a high salary wouldn’t be hard. But some opportunities can’t be bought with money. She was probably afraid I’d seduce her useless husband and steal her position as the second madam. She lifted her chin, pointing toward Julian, and egged me on: “See him? That’s the real golden goose of the Montgomery family.” “Julian is young and vigorous, and he’s about to be forced into an arranged marriage with that block of wood from the Harrison family. Those rich heiresses are so boring. Men… they all like pure, obedient girls like you.” She patted my shoulder, speaking with deep earnestness. “If you can climb into his bed, even without a title, the benefits will be enough to last you a lifetime. We know your background; rather than having him go out and find some dirty woman, it might as well be you.” I lowered my head, my nails digging deep into my palms. A wave of absurd bitterness washed over me. I pretended to be overwhelmingly grateful. “Thank you for the advice, Second Madam! I… I will work hard.” Patricia smiled in satisfaction. “Be smart about it. Don’t say I taught you.” She turned and left, her steps even seeming a bit lighter. Julian must have heard everything. He looked up at his uncle’s room and let out a soft chuckle. He casually tossed all the fish food from the edge into the pond, watching the koi fight madly over it. “My aunt is right.” He stood up, walked over to me, and adjusted the name tag on my chest, his words full of implication: “You see, in her eyes, you are just a plaything to be used, a tool to curry favor with me.” “Think about it. When you become my Mrs. Montgomery in three years, how happy will she be? How much will she dote on you?” “So, Chloe, you have to be obedient.” 5 During dinner, Leo came back. Leo was the “burden” Patricia brought into the Montgomery family, and her biggest hope in this house. To help him fit in, she had him change his last name, even though Julian’s uncle had never once looked the boy in the eye. As soon as he returned, Patricia’s whole demeanor brightened. The cheap red silk scarf Leo gave her was treated like a treasure and wrapped around her neck. “Oh, Leo is so thoughtful.” I stood waiting in the corner of the dining room, wishing that happiness was because of me. That scarf was a package I had signed for; it cost $9.99 on Amazon. Last week for her birthday, I used the money I had saved for a long time to anonymously gift her a pure cashmere shawl. The next day, I saw it in the trash can. She clapped her hands in disgust and told the cleaning lady: “I don’t know who sent this off-brand junk. It scratches my skin just touching it. Throw it far away.” I tried my best to control my facial expression, lowering my eyes so I wouldn’t look at the mother and son. Julian was sitting at the head of the table, watching me. While elegantly eating his dinner, he observed my reaction with great interest. When Patricia, trying to serve food to her son, accidentally splashed some broth on the table and turned to yell at me, “Are you blind?!” Julian finally spoke up. “Aunt Patricia,” his voice was light, but lacked any respect for an elder. “Chloe is a student I’m sponsoring.” My heart jumped, thinking he was going to stand up for me. But the next second, he changed his tune, a smile playing on his lips: “But in this house, she is a servant. Since she draws a salary, taking a little scolding is expected.” He looked at me, like a patriarch reprimanding an ignorant child: “Chloe, what are you standing there for? Can’t you see my aunt is upset? Go pour some wine for her and Leo.” I bit my lower lip hard, meeting his eyes that seemed gentle but were actually ice-cold. He knew everything. He knew who that was, and he knew what I wanted! I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and respectfully poured the wine. As I passed by Julian on my way back, he said in a voice only I could hear: “Do you see clearly now? Without my backing, in her eyes, you are nothing but a punching bag.” “Chloe, you can only stay here if you listen to me.” My hand trembled slightly. Yes, he knew. He knew what I wanted, and he knew how to control me. I lowered my eyes, hiding the coldness within them, and answered softly: “Yes, Young Master.” 6 The atmosphere at the dinner table didn’t ease up despite my submission. Halfway through the meal, Leo rolled his eyes, put down his knife and fork, and pulled a document out of his bag, slamming it on the table. “Ugh, this is so annoying! My professor abroad is making me translate this paper. It’s full of financial jargon, and translation software just spits out gibberish. Mom, I’m not doing it. I want to sleep.” Saying that, he glanced at Julian out of the corner of his eye. Patricia panicked and quickly put down her chopsticks to coax him: “How can you say that? You came back specifically to intern at the company. We can’t let people look down on your qualifications. The Montgomery family isn’t short on people; we’ll just find a translator.” Leo rolled his eyes and looked at Julian, his face full of flattery: “Julian, you studied abroad and majored in finance. Why don’t you help me…” Julian slowly and elegantly wiped his mouth. He refused matter-of-factly: “Company policy states that intern assessments must be completed independently. Leo, cheating is not good.” Leo’s face froze, and Patricia looked embarrassed. Just as the situation reached a stalemate, Julian’s gaze suddenly fell on me. He looked at me with a half-smile, his tone casual: “However… Chloe has good grades at school. This kind of basic modeling should be very simple for her.” He turned to look at Patricia, offering a “thoughtful” suggestion: “Aunt Patricia, since Leo doesn’t understand it, why not let Chloe try? She’s a top student at NYU after all; tutoring Leo shouldn’t be a problem.” I snapped my head up to look at him. Was he helping me? No, that couldn’t be right. How could he be so kind! But this opportunity was too rare; I couldn’t bear to let it go. If I could prove to my mom that I could help my brother, that I was excellent… I took a deep breath, took a step forward, and tried to make my voice sound steady: “Second Madam, this report is about financial derivatives, which happens to be my major. If you trust me, I can…” “Slap!” Patricia grabbed the document and smashed it hard against my face. The sharp edge of the paper scraped across my cheek, leaving a burning, bloody scratch. “Who told you to run your mouth?!” Patricia suddenly raised her voice, her eyes fierce: “A lowly servant showing off? Are you trying to act smarter than the young master? Do you think you’re worthy of tutoring him?!” Leo gloated from the side: “Exactly, take a look in the mirror…” 7 “SMASH——!!!” A red wine glass shattered on the floor, splashing liquid everywhere. Julian slowly picked up a napkin and elegantly wiped the wine stains from his hand. His movements were refined, as if he hadn’t just smashed the glass. “Julian…” Leo was so scared he fell silent. Julian lifted his eyelids, his cold gaze locking onto Patricia: “Aunt Patricia, I recall saying that Chloe is my person.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a terrifyingly oppressive weight: “You were right about one thing. Do you think you are worthy of lecturing someone from the Montgomery family?” Patricia’s face turned deathly pale. “Julian, I didn’t mean… it’s this girl who doesn’t know her place…” “That’s my business.” Julian cut her off, picking up the document with two fingers. “Since this document is making everyone so unhappy…” Without even a glance, he let go, dropping it straight into the boiling soup pot. “Then let’s not keep it.” “Since Leo doesn’t understand it, I don’t think there’s any need for him to go to this internship either.” “No! Julian! Julian, I’m sorry!” Leo started screaming miserably. Julian turned a deaf ear. He strode over to me, grabbed my wrist tight, and dragged me upstairs. We entered his room, and the door slammed shut heavily, cutting off the wailing outside. Julian pushed me onto the sofa and turned to get the first aid kit. His violent aura instantly vanished, replaced by a drowning tenderness. He dipped a cotton swab in iodine, lifted my chin, and carefully treated the bloody scratch on my cheek. His movements were unbelievably gentle. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. The grievance I felt a moment ago, met with this sudden tenderness, almost made me cry. My eyelashes fluttered as I whispered, “A little.” Julian sighed, his eyes full of heartache, but the words he spoke were meant to kill: “You see, trying to curry favor on your own will only earn you a slap.” He cupped my face, his forehead resting against mine, his voice enchanting: “That woman is snobbish. She doesn’t see your sincerity; she only sees benefits.” “As long as I become the true master of the Montgomery family, as long as you become the rightful Mrs. Montgomery…” “When that time comes, you won’t need to beg her. To please me, she will kneel before you and hold you in the palm of her hand.” “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Though cruel, it was the truth. The light in my eyes dimmed bit by bit, only to reignite with a different kind of hope. I knew this was poison wrapped in a sugar coating, but I still couldn’t resist swallowing it. That scenario was too tempting. If I just endure it, if I just wait for him to take control of the Montgomery family, Mom will recognize me, acknowledge me… “Yes.” I nodded obediently, burying my face in his palm and rubbing against it. Julian smiled in satisfaction and planted a kiss on the top of my head. In a daze, his figure began to overlap with the shadow from that summer many years ago.

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1 When Alistair strolled in, flaunting his pregnant young model and demanding I vacate the master bedroom for her to nest, I didn’t throw things or stage a hunger strike like I had before. Instead, I graciously gave up the room, even personally cooking up bird’s nest soup for the girl. From then on, I became the laughingstock of the city’s elite. All those aspiring social climbers saw me as an easy target, believing that a pregnancy was all it took to walk all over me. Alistair’s cronies even joked about me, calling me a pathetic relic, unable to leave the golden cage of the Parisot family. It wasn’t until the girl’s belly swelled, and Alistair, a smug grin plastered on his face, watched me iron baby clothes. “Darling, outside flings are just for fun, nothing more. Don’t worry, as long as you’re good and don’t make a fuss, no matter how many women I have out there, the title of Mrs. Parisot will always be yours.” Everyone thought I was clinging to Alistair’s money, desperate and pathetic. But only I knew the truth. I had signed a prenuptial agreement with the Parisot family: [Regardless of the husband’s transgressions, as long as the wife maintains the marriage for five years, she will receive 10% of Parisot Enterprises’ original shares.] Now, five years had passed. Alistair’s billion-dollar fortune? Half of it now belonged to me, Evangeline Miller. … I continued ironing the baby clothes, unmoved by Alistair’s hollow declarations of loyalty. “I know.” He seemed unsettled by my detached calm, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow. My quiet compliance was unfamiliar to him. After all, just six months ago, when photos of him passionately kissing an actress on a yacht surfaced, I’d smashed an entire collection of antique porcelain, creating a scandal that rocked the city. He paused, then suppressed the vague annoyance, reaching out to touch my head. “Evangeline, you’re finally being sensible. I always knew you were a woman of understanding.” I subtly evaded his hand. “I’ll check if the bird’s nest soup is ready.” Alistair’s hand hung in the air, but he quickly withdrew it, turning his attention to Elara, who was already nestled in his arms, feigning fright at a distant rumble of thunder. In the kitchen, the clay pot bubbled, steam rising. The hot vapor misted my face, making my eyes sting. I stared blankly at the soup, the composure I’d maintained in the living room crumbling in that moment. Alistair once protected me just like that. Back when we were younger, living in a quieter part of the country, he was still the Parisot family’s illegitimate son, hidden from the main branch. His mother had entrusted him to my family to escape their persecution. That winter was bitterly cold. I had a high fever and yearned for some candied chestnuts from the town square. There wasn’t a car in sight, so he braved the heavy snow, running miles to get them. When he returned, his hands were crimson from the cold, but the chestnuts in his arms were still warm. Later, after my parents died in a car crash, he held me as I cried myself into unconsciousness, his eyes red as he vowed, “Evangeline, I will be your home from now on. I will protect you with my life.” Now, I had a home. This lavish mansion nestled in the hills, overlooking the entire bay, was worth a king’s ransom. But the boy who had eyes only for me had been lost to the city’s glittering decadence. When I carried the bird’s nest soup out, Elara was sitting at my vanity, fiddling with my mother’s pearl necklace. “Alistair, this necklace is gorgeous. Does it suit my skin tone?” Alistair gazed at her with indulgence. “If you like it, it’s yours. Evangeline has plenty of jewelry, she won’t miss this one.” My steps faltered, my fingertips turning white. That was my mother’s last keepsake. I walked over, forcing my voice to remain steady. “This necklace is an old family heirloom; some believe it carries a certain energy. I’d worry it might not be good for the baby. If you like jewelry, Elara, Alistair can take you to an auction to pick out something new.” Elara’s face stiffened, and she quickly put the necklace down as if it had burned her. Alistair’s brow furrowed, and with a dismissive gesture, he pushed the necklace further away. In that fleeting moment, I caught the flicker of disgust in his eyes. That necklace had embodied my mother’s gentle love throughout her life, and it had also witnessed Alistair’s most desperate years. When my parents were alive, they never denied Alistair anything. But now, with them gone, even their cherished memento was treated like dirt. My heart ached, sharp and bitter. I counted the moments in my mind: three more days. Just three more days to endure. 2 Watching Elara sip the bird’s nest soup, I felt a strange sense of detachment. Alistair, in the past, no matter how wild his escapades, had always maintained a certain decorum, never allowing his flings to contaminate my world. But this time, for the child in Elara’s belly, he had completely broken all the rules. He despised being an illegitimate child himself, yet now, with Elara’s manipulative pregnancy, he cherished the very thing he claimed to hate. Perhaps seeing my own lack of progeny, he ventured, his eyes darting nervously, “Evangeline, this child carries the Parisot blood. When it’s born, let him call you Mother and be the legitimate heir of the Parisot family, alright?” He didn’t want his child to walk his same path, so he was willing to sacrifice my dignity. I simply smiled. “Of course.” Watching his bewildered expression at my quick agreement, my heart remained unfazed. After all, in three days, whoever wanted the title of ‘Mrs. Parisot’ could have it. Why would I care about being a surrogate mother to anyone’s child? Elara, upon learning her child would become the Parisot heir, grew even more audacious. She pointed at the cherry blossom tree in the garden, her voice a syrupy drawl. “Alistair, I don’t like cherry blossoms. I want roses!” Alistair, without a second thought, ordered the cherry blossom tree to be cut down and replaced with roses. That cherry blossom tree was one Alistair and I had planted the year my parents died. He had said, “Evangeline, cherry blossoms bloom, bringing peace. With me to protect you, you’ll never be alone again.” As the screech of the chainsaw ripped through the air, the cherry blossom tree crashed to the ground. I stood at the second-story window, gazing at the scattered branches and fallen petals, the last flicker of emotion in my heart dying out. Alistair came upstairs and found me by the window. Perhaps my silhouette seemed too lonely, for he uncharacteristically felt a pang of guilt. He walked up behind me and embraced me. “Evangeline, it’s just a tree. If you really like them, I’ll have someone buy an estate and plant cherry blossoms everywhere for you.” His embrace was still warm, but he reeked of Elara’s cloyingly sweet perfume. I gently pulled away and turned to face him. “Alistair, do you even remember when this tree was planted?” His eyes darted, clearly having forgotten. “Why dwell on the past? I’m so busy these days, I don’t have time for such trivial things.” He seemed impatient, quickly changing the subject. “Oh, there’s a charity gala tonight. You don’t need to come. I’ll take Elara.” I looked at his self-righteous face and found it strangely amusing. “Taking an illegitimate child and her mother, who has no status, to such an event? Aren’t you afraid of embarrassing the Parisot family?” Alistair’s face darkened, his voice growing cold. “Elara is carrying the Parisot family’s eldest son, not an illegitimate child!” The mention of “illegitimate” clearly agitated him. Alistair’s mother, a close friend of my own mother, had been deceived by old Mr. Parisot and became his secret mistress. To escape the persecution of the legitimate Parisot wife, she sent a young Alistair to live far away and eventually died of a broken heart. Alistair loathed the Parisot family for his mother’s tragic end, and he hated the label of “illegitimate.” Yet now, he was doing precisely what his father had done. “So?” I looked at him calmly. “To prevent your child from being illegitimate, you bring the mother of your illegitimate child to flaunt her over me?” I took a step closer. “Alistair, you constantly claimed to hate your father, but look at yourself now. How are you any different from him?” Smack! The sharp sound echoed in the room. Alistair recoiled, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of fury and shock. He seemed unable to believe he had struck me. “Shut up! Don’t you dare compare me to that old man!” he roared hysterically. “I’m protecting my child! I’ll never let my child walk my path!” I clutched my stinging cheek, tasting a hint of blood. Alistair didn’t spare me another glance, slamming the door shut as he left. Soon, I heard Elara’s sweet, placating voice from downstairs, followed by Alistair’s gradually calming murmurs. I walked to the mirror, stared at the red mark on my face, and pressed an ice pack to it. The redness faded, but my eyes grew redder still. 3 Photos of Alistair and Elara at the charity gala immediately hit the city’s headlines that night. The media, ever eager for scandal, blared: “Parisot Scion Debuts New Flame and Her Baby Bump; Is Mrs. Parisot on Her Way Out?” In the photos, Alistair was carefully supporting Elara, and around her neck hung a pink diamond necklace. It was the ‘Eternal Heart’ Alistair had bought for me at an auction for our third wedding anniversary. He’d said the diamond symbolized his everlasting love for me. How ironic. The next day, I went for my usual skincare appointment at the salon. As soon as I walked in, I overheard a few socialites gossiping. “Oh, did you see the news? Mr. Parisot is really in for it this time.” “Isn’t he? Even the Eternal Heart is around that little hussy’s neck. That’s a blatant slap in the face to his wife, isn’t it?” “Hmph, if you ask me, Evangeline Miller deserves it. Back when Alistair Parisot was just a despised illegitimate child, she threw herself at him, even emptying her family’s coffers to help him climb the ladder. Now look at her, a man with money goes bad, and she’s a scorned wife. Serves her right.” “I heard she’s still making bird’s nest soup for the mistress? She’s an utter disgrace to all women. If I were her, I’d throw myself off a cliff.” At this, I pushed open the door. The lounge fell silent. Those socialites looked briefly embarrassed, but quickly replaced their expressions with smirks of anticipation. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Parisot. What brings you out today? Not busy making soup for your esteemed guest at home?” The speaker was Mrs. Davies, whose family owned a construction business. She’d always tried to curry favor with Alistair, holding a grudge against me for not connecting them. I calmly walked to my usual spot, took the tea offered by the aesthetician, and took a small sip. “Making soup is a nice gesture sometimes, but doing it every day makes you a housekeeper. I’m not like you, Mrs. Davies. I heard you even enrolled in a cooking class to win back your husband, who’s been supporting a college student on the side?” Mrs. Davies’s face changed. “What are you talking about!” “Whether it’s true or not, you know best, Mrs. Davies.” I set down my teacup, my gaze sweeping across everyone present. “As for Alistair giving someone a necklace, that’s his prerogative. After all, for the Parisot family, a necklace is a mere trifle. But my possessions, Evangeline Miller’s possessions, even if I throw them to a beggar, are not for others to comment on.” With that, I ignored them, closing my eyes. Though I won the verbal sparring, I knew in my heart that in their eyes, I was still a joke. A pathetic creature who had lost her family’s protection and was about to lose her husband’s affection. After my treatment, I received a call from Alistair. “Evangeline, there’s a gathering tonight with some old friends. You should come.” His tone seemed cheerful, as if he’d forgotten yesterday’s slap. “Is Elara not going?” I asked blandly. “She’s tired from her prenatal check-up today, resting at home. Besides… Mr. Davies and the others, you know them. It wouldn’t be appropriate to bring her.” I scoffed. Men were truly so pragmatic. When he needed to make an impression, he still thought of me, his well-bred, dignified wife. Elara was merely a plaything he used for entertainment.

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Days before Christmas, I quietly wired fifty thousand dollars to my daughter, Liv, who was pregnant and living far away. I told her to take a solo trip, clear her head, and enjoy the peace. Liv sounded grateful and promised to go. It wasn’t until a few days later that my old college friend, Sandy Miller, sent me a message. Sandy had recently moved to Liv’s city for retirement. Just last month, she’d mentioned meeting a particularly boastful woman at her community center fitness class. The woman’s name was Joyce. She constantly bragged that her son had married a wealthy city girl whose family was so loaded, they’d practically paid for the marriage. I’d dismissed it as harmless chatter. Now, Sandy’s text popped up: “Cate, didn’t you say your son-in-law’s last name was Cole?” Following that were several screenshots. They showed a grid of selfies taken by Joyce on a tropical beach, palms swaying in the background. The caption was a slap in the face: “My darling son took the whole family to the Caribbean for the holidays! My amazing daughter-in-law was sweet enough to stay home to watch the house so we could relax! #FamilyFirst #Blessed” I stared at the screen and booked the soonest available flight. Some answers you can’t get over the phone. I had to see for myself the life my daughter was truly living. 1 The silence in the apartment was unnerving when I unlocked the front door. A haphazard pile of shoes lay scattered by the entrance: men’s running shoes, chunky walking sneakers, a child’s brightly colored Crocs… But the pair of faded beige flats my daughter always wore was missing. I dragged my suitcase over the pile, and the scene in the living room made me freeze. The sofa was buried under a heap of garish kids’ toys. Dirty clothes were strewn across the area rug. On the dining table, unwashed plates and silverware sat beside congealed grease on leftover takeout containers. “Liv?” I called out. No answer. I dropped my bag and walked toward the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Pushing it open, I was hit by a complex stench: stale air, unwashed fabric, and the faint, sour smell of old food. A frumpy, floral housecoat belonging to the mother-in-law was thrown on the pillow. On the nightstand sat Ryan Cole’s smartwatch charger. The delicate jewelry box I’d painstakingly picked out for Liv was gone from the vanity, replaced by a stack of prescription bottles and an open bag of sunflower seeds. I backed out and opened the door to the spare room. Cartoon stickers covered the walls, and a child’s play mat was on the floor. A queen bed was piled high with strangers’ clothes—clearly a young couple’s. Finally, I opened the door to what used to be Liv’s office. In the cramped ten-by-ten space, Liv’s laptop sat on a folding table, surrounded by her professional textbooks. Her packed suitcase stood unopened in the corner, draped with a few of her familiar, wash-faded sleep shirts. A small pull-out sofa was covered in an old, faded sheet—the same one she’d used in her college dorm room. My breath started to come heavy and fast. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It rang for an agonizingly long time before she picked up. “Mom?” Liv’s voice was strained and low, the background noise a muffled cacophony. “Where are you?” I heard the tension in my own voice. “Oh, Mom, I… I’m just out! The scenery here is gorgeous…” Her tone was instantly panicked: “Mom, why did you call so suddenly?” “Liv,” I looked at the offending floral housecoat tossed on the master bed. My voice was eerily flat. “Tell me the truth. Did you ever go on that trip?” Silence hung on the line for two seconds, broken only by the background sound. I heard what sounded like an announcement, but it was too unclear to make out the words. “Mom, I… I’m just taking a walk nearby. Going on a solo trip felt lonely and exhausting, so I thought… I’d just stay close to home.” Her words rushed out: “I’ll be back soon. Just sit down, Mom, I’ll just—” Just then, a clear, automated female voice cut through the background noise: “Dr. Rodriguez, Physical Therapy, report to Exam Room Three. Dr. Rodriguez…” Physical Therapy? “Liv,” the hand gripping my phone started to shake. “Where exactly are you?” “Mom, I’m—” Her voice started to tremble. In the background, a loud, gruff voice yelled: “Family of Bed Three! Get some hot water! Where’s the aide?” My brain went numb. All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head. “The hospital?” My voice was a choked whisper. “Are you at the hospital? What happened? Are you okay?” 2 By the time I rushed into St. Jude’s Regional Medical Center, the elevator was just ascending. I couldn’t wait. I turned and took the stairs, two at a time. The seventh-floor hallway reeked of disinfectant. Doors were open, giving me glimpses of various patients lying in their beds. Outside Room 704, Liv had her back to the hall, bent over, sorting something by the bed. She wore a faded gray sweater and was carefully holding a plastic urinal. I walked up quietly. She didn’t hear me. Lying in the bed was Ryan’s father, George Cole. Three months ago, when Ryan called to say his dad had a stroke and was paralyzed, I’d wired him the fifty thousand dollars, explicitly for a home health aide. Now the old man lay with tubes in his nose, eyes closed. Liv was gently wiping his arm with a damp washcloth. The woman in the adjacent bed saw me first. She paused: “Are you?” Liv spun around. The washcloth slipped from her hand and splashed into the basin. “Mom…” Her face instantly went white. I didn’t answer her. I just nodded to the woman: “I’m her mother.” “Oh, thank God you’re here!” the woman exclaimed, standing up. “You need to talk to your daughter! She’s pregnant, and she’s here every single day, scrubbing, changing him, helping him use the bathroom—day and night! We all feel terrible for her!” I looked at Liv. “Where is their family?” Liv kept her head down. The neighbor woman jumped in: “I’ve only seen two of them twice! One old woman, the mother, she just sits in the chair and barks orders at your daughter. And one man, the son, he stood here for less than ten minutes and said he had to leave for work. We thought they were distant relatives just visiting!” A knot of ice formed in my chest. I grabbed Liv’s arm and pulled her into the hall. “Look at me,” I said. “Where is the fifty thousand dollars I gave you? You said you were taking a trip. Did you take a trip to the hospital?” “My mother-in-law said that flying while pregnant was too dangerous. She said we could go as a family after the baby was born.” Liv sniffled. “She said she’d worked hard all year and deserved a break, so she just took… took the whole family.” “What about the money for the health aide?” I pressed, my voice low and dangerous. “The extra money I send every month was for professional help!” Liv’s voice was a mere whisper: “She said a stranger wouldn’t do a good job, and it was a waste of money. She kept the money, for now, to save for the baby’s college fund…” My hands were shaking with rage. “So you came yourself? You’re four months pregnant, Liv! You’re here holding a bedpan for a man who isn’t your father!” I gripped her shoulders. “My sweet, stupid girl! Does Ryan know about this?” She silently nodded. Just then, her phone rang. The screen flashed the name: “Joyce.” She tried to hit the ignore button, but I snatched the phone and hit speaker. “Liv! Where the hell are you?” A sharp, grating voice exploded from the speaker. “We made it to the duty-free shop! Hurry up and transfer another twenty thousand! What good is that little bit of money your mother gave you? It’s not even enough for a decent designer bag!” 3 Joyce was still talking: “And listen up! The house needs to be immaculate by noon tomorrow! The floors need three passes, and the windows need to be sparkling! We’ll be home at twelve sharp, and dinner needs to be on the table! Seven dishes and one soup, nothing less! If you dare to slack off again—” I slammed the hang-up button. Walking out of the hospital building, the cold winter air hit us. Liv shivered. I opened the car door. “Get in.” The drive was silent. Liv leaned against the passenger window, staring out. While stopped at a red light, I noticed her left hand resting gently on her belly. “How have you been spending the past few months?” I broke the silence. “Tell me everything.” She was quiet for a long time. “Seven in the morning, I go to the hospital. Come back for a quick lunch, then go back in the afternoon.” Her voice was flat, as if describing someone else’s routine. “I get home around eight or nine at night, clean the house. Ryan’s brother’s family is also staying here. Joyce said they were moving in to help me when the baby comes.” The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator, my grip on the steering wheel tight. “What does Ryan say?” I asked. “Does he just watch his mother treat you like this?” Liv didn’t answer. It wasn’t until I’d pulled into the building’s underground garage that she spoke, her voice small: “He said… to just hold on. He said it would get better after the baby came.” I turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out. “Liv,” I turned to face her. “Look at me.” She slowly turned her face. Her eyes were red and swollen. “You married him, not his entire family,” I said, each word distinct. “You are pregnant. This is the time you are supposed to be cared for. Instead, they take your money and turn you into a free health aide and maid. Does that sound normal to you?” “You are my only daughter, my darling girl. When have you ever had to suffer such indignity?” Her tears finally came. Her shoulders began to shake. “Mom… I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have hidden it from you… I was just afraid you’d be angry, afraid you’d be disappointed in me…” I reached over and pulled her into my arms. She cried hard against my shoulder, her whole body convulsing. “Oh, sweetheart.” I rubbed her back. “How could I ever be disappointed in you? I’m heartbroken for you.” When her sobs subsided, I let go and wiped her tears away. “Come on, let’s go home.” Inside, I didn’t turn on the lights. I walked straight into the master bedroom. Joyce’s clothes were still piled on the bed, and Ryan’s clutter was on the vanity. I pulled open the closet, which was crammed with things that didn’t belong to Liv. I grabbed a large plastic garbage bag and began tossing everything inside: the floral housecoat, men’s sleepwear, piles of socks and underwear. I dumped the full bag into the bathroom. Liv stood at the door, staring. “Mom, what are you doing…” I took her by the hand and led her into the master bedroom, making her sit on the edge of the bed. “You are sleeping here tonight. You will rest. Don’t think about anything.” “But the Coles are coming back tomorrow…” “We’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow,” I cut her off. “Tonight, you just sleep.” “The rest is up to me.” 4 The next day, it was four-thirty in the afternoon when I placed the last bowl on the dining table. There was only one meal and one drink . A burger meal and a simple vanilla milk shake. A stark, aggressive simplicity. Liv came out of the kitchen, holding a dust rag, looking anxiously at the table: “Mom, is… is this okay? Joyce is going to…” “Go to the office and stay there,” I took the rag from her hand. “No matter what you hear, don’t come out.” “But—” “Listen to me.” I ushered her into the small office, closed the door, and locked it. Then I walked into the master bedroom and locked that door behind me. Time crawled by. At twelve-ten, the sound of keys turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. Then came a cacophony of voices, the rattle of luggage wheels, and a child’s shrieking. “I’m exhausted! That horrible flight made my back ache!” That was Joyce’s loud voice. “Mom, slow down,” A young man’s voice, probably Ryan’s brother, Mark. “Liv! Where the hell is Liv? Get out here and grab the bags!” Joyce yelled. Footsteps stopped in the living room. Then, Ryan’s sister-in-law, Jessica, shrieked: “Mom! Look at the table!” A moment of silence. Then, Joyce’s voice spiked: “Liv! Get your sorry butt out here!” The office door opened. I heard Liv’s hesitant footsteps. “Mom, you’re back…” Liv’s voice was tiny. “What is this trash?” Joyce roared. “I told you seven dishes and one soup! Look at this! A plate of old vegetables and a bowl of dirty water? Are you mocking me?” “I… I wasn’t feeling well today…” “Not feeling well? I think you need a good slap!” A sharp crack echoed. It was the sound of a hand hitting a face. My hand tightened on the doorknob. Then the little boy screamed: “My toys! My toys are broken!” A crash, like toys being swept to the floor. “Liv! Did you touch my son’s toys?” Jessica’s voice was sharp. “I didn’t, it was already—” “You dare talk back!” Another slap, louder this time. The little boy was crying: “Bad Auntie! Pay for my toys! Hit her!” Then came the sound of punching and kicking, followed by Liv’s muffled cry of pain. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wrenched the doorknob open and walked out. In the living room, Joyce was yanking Liv’s hair, Jessica was screaming insults, and the five- or six-year-old boy was raising his foot to kick Liv in the stomach. Ryan’s brother, Mark, stood by the entrance, still holding a suitcase, watching the scene with a faint, amused smile. I walked over and shoved the little boy aside. He stumbled, fell, and wailed loudly. I brought my hand across the child’s face, a quick, hard slap. Joyce froze, releasing Liv’s hair. “Who are you? How dare you touch my grandson?” She didn’t wait for my answer. She whipped her head toward Liv, who was now huddled against the wall, and screamed: “Liv! We don’t need any more maids in this house! You’re enough. Who do you think you are? We leave for one week and you bring home a beggar?” I ignored her first insult, and with a swift, backhanded motion, I slapped Joyce across the face. CRACK. The sound was sharp and deafening. Joyce stumbled back two steps, clutching her face, her eyes wide with shock. Jessica shrieked: “Assault! Call the police! A maniac is attacking us!” Mark finally lifted his head, dropped his phone, and charged at me: “What are you doing!” Just then, the front door was pushed open again. Ryan Cole, a few steps behind the others, stood in the doorway with his suitcase, taking in the chaotic scene. His eyes landed on my face. “…Mom? What are you doing here?” His mouth hung open. He was completely frozen.

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“If you ever want a divorce, you can have one anytime.” That’s what Arthur Vance told me on our wedding day. I believed him. Two months later, on the day his true love returned, I placed the divorce agreement in front of him. Arthur looked out the window, his expression flat. “It’s raining. “I’m in a bad mood. Let’s divorce next time.” Me: ??? 1 On the very night Chloe Thorne returned. Fueled by liquid courage, I slept with Arthur Vance. The trail of clothes discarded from the front door to the bedroom was proof of the urgency of our encounter. Arthur tried to maintain his reason, pushing me away. His eyes, slightly red, stared intently at me. His Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. “Elena, look closely. Do you know who I am? “If we continue, don’t regret it.” I was panting slightly. I looked up, grabbed him by the collar, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him. What a joke. I was sleeping with my legal husband; what was the problem? Until the second half of the night, when I started to regret it. This guy’s stamina was terrifying. I tried to sneak away, but the person behind me grabbed my ankle and pulled me back. Warm breath tickled my ear. Arthur’s voice, deep and rich, ghosted over the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Be a good girl. Quitting halfway isn’t allowed.” 2 A night of absolute absurdity. When I woke up again, the person beside me was gone. On the nightstand sat a glass of milk, a sandwich, and a sticky note left by Arthur, its words brimming with gentle concern. Since we got married, Arthur had faithfully played the role of a good husband. I often had the illusion that I was actually loved. But reason always reminded me of the truth. The person Arthur liked was Chloe Thorne. She was the one who was supposed to marry him in this arranged union. But my always impulsive, free-spirited younger sister ran away. I heard Arthur chased her all the way to the airport that day. For some unknown reason, he ultimately didn’t get on that flight to France. Because he was acting out of spite. Later, when our families tried to shove me—the older sister he barely knew—onto him, he didn’t resist. It was only when I excused myself to the restroom that, faced with the relentless teasing of his relatives, he finally showed a hint of exhausted indifference: “Do I even have the right to refuse? “You’ve all already decided. I don’t care.” Because it wasn’t the person in his heart, anyone else would do. On our wedding day, the first thing Arthur said to me was: “If you ever want a divorce in the future, you can have one anytime.” I just didn’t expect that, a mere two months after the wedding, Chloe would come back. I’ve always known my place. Ignoring the breakfast on the nightstand, I picked up my phone and called Mia, my lawyer friend. “Prepare a divorce agreement for me.” I heard the lawyer’s exaggerated gasp on the other end. The sun was shining brightly outside the window, but suddenly, it started to pour rain. I couldn’t help but space out. 3 That very evening, I placed the divorce agreement in front of Arthur. In the quiet study, the man in the white shirt sat there, radiating an aura of noble gentleness. Completely different from the image I held in my memory. I had seen Arthur beat someone up once. It was in a filthy alleyway near the old campus of A University. To make it hurt more, he held a Zippo lighter in his fist, striking with ruthless, heavy blows. Until the sound of bones crunching echoed in the air, mixed with the man’s agonizing screams. The slightly boyish, handsome face of the youth looked somewhat demonic, splattered with crimson blood. That was the first time I met the person Chloe constantly talked about. The sole heir to the Vance Group. Violent, reckless, fearless. Perhaps because that summer was exceptionally hot and sticky, I inexplicably disliked him. My thoughts returned to the present. Arthur was still staring silently at that piece of paper. It had been so long I started to doubt his literacy skills. I couldn’t help but ask: “Can you not read?” Arthur finally moved. He turned his head to look out the window, his expression flat: “It’s been raining all day.” My gaze followed his to the damp windowpane. Okay, and? “I’m in a bad mood. Let’s divorce next time.” Me: ??? … For the past two days, Arthur and I had been locked in a bizarre tug-of-war. The chat history on my phone was still stuck on the message I sent this morning, reminding him to sign the papers. He had deliberately ignored me again. Me: [You’re avoiding this.] Arthur: [Avoiding it may be shameful, but it’s useful.] A few moments later, my phone buzzed again. Arthur: [Sleeping with me and then abandoning me. What a player.] What was that supposed to mean? Wasn’t I graciously making way for his true love? Arthur: [Did I make you uncomfortable last night, so now you’re mad? [Okay, I admit I lack experience, but doing this really makes me lose face. [Besides, you seemed to enjoy it later on /frantic emoji/.] His overly blunt words made my old face flush red. Me: [You were the one who said I could have a divorce anytime.] Arthur: [… [You talk too much. Blocking you for half a day.] I tried to reply again. The screen displayed a notification: The recipient has rejected your message. Me: ??? This guy is so childish. 4 I had originally planned to go back tonight, tie him up, and force him to sign. But halfway there, I received a call from my family’s main estate. Resigned, I turned the car around and headed back to the old mansion. As soon as I arrived, I heard a chorus of cheerful laughter coming from the living room. “Chloe, you’re getting prettier every day.” Chloe was surrounded in the center. Her face flushed red from the teasing and compliments of the relatives, looking exactly like a tender, translucent peach. “She’s such a perfect match for that Vance boy. What a shame.” “I told you, if you hadn’t run away from the wedding, you’d be the future matriarch of the Vance family right now.” Chloe quickly intervened: “Arthur is already married to my sister. It’s inappropriate to make jokes like this.” The relatives were dismissive. “What’s inappropriate? You can always divorce after getting married.” “As long as the Vance family is willing, swapping a person is no big deal.” These people were all my father’s relatives. They had always disliked me. Because I looked very much like my biological mother. That poor woman. She bet everything her father left her to help a down-and-out man rebuild his empire. Only to be betrayed time and time again. In the end, she fell ill from depression and died alone in a sanatorium. I scoffed, clapping my hands as I walked toward the crowd. “Since when did the Thorne family adopt the trend of encouraging people to steal their sister’s husband? “But you guys are right about one thing. “I’ve already given Arthur the divorce papers.” I stopped, my gaze finally locking onto Chloe’s innocent almond eyes. The corners of my mouth curled into a mocking arc. “Do you want to go act cute and beg him to kick me out faster, so you can take my place? “Just like your mother did.” Chloe’s face instantly turned pale, tears welling up in her eyes. Anyone seeing this pitiful display would feel their heart ache. “Insolent!” A furious roar came from my father behind me. I spun around, only to unexpectedly lock eyes with a pair of dark pupils swirling with inexplicable emotions. “…” Why was Arthur here? 5 As soon as the study door closed. My father raised his hand, ready to strike me. I didn’t move or dodge. I took the slap head-on, my left cheek burning with pain. “Who told you to unilaterally ask for a divorce? “Can you bear the consequences of angering the Vance family?” I lowered my eyes, my posture neither servile nor overbearing: “Isn’t Chloe still here? She and Arthur mutually love each other. It’s perfect…” “Nonsense.” My father irritably cut me off. “My, Richard Thorne’s, daughter never eats another person’s leftovers.” Another person’s? I laughed. “Back then, when you told me to marry him in Chloe’s place, did you ever think of me as your daughter? “Or perhaps, from the moment you dumped me with that ‘crazy woman’ 15 years ago, you never intended to acknowledge me again.” “Elena Thorne! “That ‘crazy woman’ you speak of was your mother.” Richard was furious, leaning on the desk, panting heavily. His health had been very poor lately. The man who was once invincible was now showing signs of old age. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he waved his hand weakly at me. “If you want to divorce, fine. But don’t even think about getting anything from the Thorne family afterward. Weigh the consequences yourself. “I called you back today to tell you that Chloe will be joining the company next week. Keep an eye on her for me, and don’t let her run wild anymore.” Constantly using the inheritance to threaten people. What arrogant, self-righteous authority from a man in power. In his heart, he never truly intended to hand the Thorne family over to me anyway. I walked out of the study and stopped a passing servant. “Where is Arthur?” The servant hesitated for a moment, stammering that they saw the son-in-law and the Second Miss head to the third floor alone. That was Chloe’s bedroom. Perfect. I looked up at the empty staircase. This saved me the trouble of begging him for a divorce. 6 My ears were filled with deafening music. The dazzling lights turned the club into a world of intoxicating luxury. I drank in silence. Mia couldn’t stand watching me anymore. She reached out and snatched the glass I had just brought to my lips. “Even when your dad hit you, I’ve never seen your mood this bad. “I brought you here to relax, not to binge drink, Princess.” I remained silent, casually grabbing another glass of alcohol. Just then, a man approached to hit on me. Mia winked and gestured for me to seize the opportunity. The man sat right next to me, his hand resting on my waist slowly roaming as he spoke. I raised an eyebrow: “I’m married.” Mia tore down my defense: “Getting a divorce soon.” Hearing this, the man’s eyes turned suggestive, and he leaned in even closer. “Wives are more exciting.” His deliberately raspy “vocal fry” made me frown in disgust. Before I could lash out, the man suddenly screamed in agony. From behind the sofa, Arthur gripped the man’s arm, forcing him to stand up. His tone was bone-chilling. “Next time before you touch someone, think about how many hands you have left to chop off. “Get lost.” I was speechless. Was he auditioning for a mafia movie? The man cursed and fled. The atmosphere in our booth instantly became tense, with people stealing careful glances our way. I leaned back against the sofa, crossing my arms, and looked at Arthur. His expression was completely flat, his eyes dark, cruel, and unruly, slowly overlapping with the image of the boy from that hot, humid summer. “Elena, we aren’t divorced yet. Don’t let other men touch you.” Sure enough, no matter how well he pretended, his true nature was hard to hide. I didn’t expect him to remember me after comforting his true love. I must admit, I was almost touched. I shrugged: “It’s just a matter of time.” Arthur’s gaze was burning, his tone bordering on obsessive. “I won’t agree to it.” “Fine,” I smiled brightly, pointing at the dozens of shot glasses on the table. “If you finish all of those, I’ll tear up the divorce agreement.” I was certain Arthur wouldn’t drink them. Because he had a terrible alcohol tolerance. And he absolutely despised the drinking culture of the business world. In the two months since we got married, he had only been mad at me once. Because I drank myself into stomach bleeding at a business dinner. For that, a certain someone unilaterally gave me the cold shoulder for an entire day. Within five minutes, a crowd gathered around our booth to watch the show and cheer. Arthur’s face was flushed red, constantly pouring liquor down his throat. Glass after glass. His dark pupils reflected my stunned expression. Why on earth was he doing this?

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