Category: English

As the holidays approached, our company held its annual awards banquet. Everyone else received a hefty year-end bonus, but me? The top sales rep? I just got a piece of paper. To be exact, it was a contract transferring the title of “Corporate CEO & Legal Figurehead” to my name. My boss, Richard Vance, patted my shoulder, his face plastered with a hypocritical smile. “Ethan, I’ve always seen immense potential in you!” “Keep up the hard work in the new year, and I guarantee you’ll take home more money than anyone else by the end of it.” “Come on, sign this document. From today on, you are the official face of the company. You’ll even get a cut of the equity dividends at the end of the year. No other employee gets this kind of VIP treatment!” I stared at him coldly, forcibly suppressing the urge to introduce the sole of my shoe to his doughy face. If I hadn’t secretly overheard his conversation earlier, I might have actually fallen for his bullshit! The company’s financial black hole was getting bigger by the day. Handing me the CEO title right now? He was clearly setting me up to be his scapegoat. Since you want to play dirty, Richard, don’t blame me for playing dirtier. 1 In the executive office, Richard leaned back in his plush leather chair, a cigar clamped between his teeth, smiling amiably at me. “Ethan, your contributions to the company this year have been massive. It’s obvious to everyone.” “So, the board has decided to give you the ultimate reward.” “Once you become the legal CEO, you’ll be part of the executive inner circle. From now on, any major company decisions will have to go through you first…” Richard talked a big game, trying to dazzle me with a pie-in-the-sky pitch. I really, really wanted to expose him right to his face and slap my resignation letter across his desk. Just yesterday, I returned to the office after meeting a client. I was planning to go straight to Richard’s office to give him a progress report, but my stomach acted up, so I hit the restroom first. While in a stall, I overheard Richard talking on his phone near the sinks. He spoke with dripping contempt: “Ethan is just a dog I keep on a leash!” “I tell him to jump, he asks how high. As long as I throw him a bone and stroke his ego, he’ll work himself to death for me like a rented mule.” “He’s no ‘top sales rep.’ He just knows a few buzzwords and has a slick tongue. He flirts with the clients, and they hand him the contracts. Even without him, I could send a monkey in a suit to close those deals.” “Ethan doesn’t even have a college degree. His education is a joke. If he wasn’t so easy to manipulate, and if he didn’t constantly refuse to ask for a raise, I’d never hire trash like him!” “Our financial loopholes are about to blow up in our faces. At the next board meeting, those investors are definitely going to demand an audit. It’s going to be a disaster.” “So, I’m going to transfer the legal CEO title to Ethan. Before I do that, I’ll have him hand all his active client accounts over to you…” Hearing those words, I was so furious smoke practically blew out of my ears. I almost lost it and beat him to a pulp right there in the bathroom. But ultimately, reason prevailed. Even if I beat the crap out of him, what would it accomplish? If I laid a finger on him, Richard would call the cops, press charges, and extort me for a massive settlement. It wasn’t worth it. Richard coughed lightly, pulling me from my thoughts, and smiled his fake smile. “Ethan, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and sign!” “Once you sign and the paperwork is filed, I’m hosting a dinner at The Capital Grille tonight. The whole executive team is getting together…” Before he could finish, I said flatly, “Mr. Vance, I am incredibly grateful for your high regard.” “However, my education is limited, and my contributions are negligible. I’ve been with the company for less than three years. I absolutely cannot shoulder the immense responsibility of being the CEO. You should find someone more qualified.” Hearing my refusal, Richard’s face darkened slightly. At that moment, his executive assistant, Chloe Miller, spoke up. She gave me a saccharine, fake look. “Ethan, Mr. Vance is showing you incredible appreciation. Don’t throw away a golden opportunity like this!” “You don’t even have a college degree. In any other corporate firm, they wouldn’t even look at your resume.” “Mr. Vance not only hired you but mentored you. And now he’s elevating you to the executive suite! Do you have absolutely no gratitude for everything he’s done for you?” “Mr. Vance believes in you. If you refuse, aren’t you just slapping him in the face?” “Ethan, opportunities like this don’t come around every day. If you miss this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” I sneered internally, but kept my face completely neutral. “I know I can’t handle the burden of being the legal representative. With my low education and lack of seniority, I’m perfectly happy just being a regular employee.” “You, on the other hand, Chloe, have an excellent degree. Plus, you’re Mr. Vance’s sister-in-law. You are the perfect candidate for the CEO position.” “Keep the wealth in the family. Let’s leave the CEO title for Miss Miller!” Hearing this, Chloe glared at me viciously and snapped, “Ethan, don’t be an ungrateful prick!” “You…” Before she could finish, I cut her off, feigning complete innocence. “Chloe, why are you getting so defensive?” “Recommending you for the CEO role is a huge compliment!” “Could it be that you don’t want to be a top executive?” “Or is there something… wrong… with the CEO position?” Chloe was furious. Just as she opened her mouth to yell, Richard slammed his hand on the desk, his face cold. “Enough! Both of you, quiet down!” “Ethan, do you really not want the CEO position?” “If you take it, I can promise you a 5% equity stake in the company…” I shook my head decisively. “I think being a regular employee is great. I’m a man with low ambitions. I just don’t have that kind of drive.” Richard’s gaze turned dark and venomous. He was clearly pissed. However, he didn’t blow up immediately. He said coldly, “We’ll discuss the CEO position later. Starting today, Ethan, I need you to hand over all your active client accounts to Chloe.” “And any projects you haven’t closed yet? Transfer those to her as well.” “Alright, you’re dismissed. Get out.” Just as I stepped out of the office, I heard a loud crash from inside. Sounded like Richard had smashed his favorite custom coffee mug against the wall. A cold smirk curled on my lips. You’re mad already? The real show hasn’t even started yet! 2 I had zero complaints about handing over my clients and pending projects to Chloe. But when the rest of the office found out, the way they looked at me instantly changed. They instinctively distanced themselves, whispering among themselves with thinly veiled schadenfreude. “Is Ethan an idiot? Can’t he see the boss is completely phasing him out?” “I always hated that guy. He didn’t even graduate college, why the hell does he get to sit at the same level as us Ivy League grads?” “The most annoying part is that his sales numbers are higher than ours. All he does is kiss ass and drink with clients, right?” “Good riddance. A parasite like him should have been fired ages ago.” “At the awards banquet, everyone got a fat bonus except him, and he didn’t even complain. What a pathetic, brainless corporate slave!” I wasn’t exactly popular in the office. It wasn’t because I was arrogant or aloof. When I first joined, I genuinely tried to build good relationships with my coworkers. But they all looked down on me. The main reason? My lack of a fancy degree. Back then, Richard saw that I was a smooth talker and had helped him close a massive deal, so he reluctantly brought me on board. At the time, I was incredibly grateful. I worked like a madman. Even though I had the lowest base salary, my workload was the heaviest in the entire company. No matter how others viewed me, I put my head down and crushed my quotas, just to repay Richard for giving me a chance. My first year, I brought in $10 million in contracts, accounting for 30% of the company’s total revenue. My second year, I closed $25 million, making up 50% of the revenue. By my third year, 80% of the company’s total sales volume was signed by me. And my salary? It remained frozen at the exact same entry-level rate I started with. Even the fresh college grads they hired last year had a higher base salary than I did. Originally, I planned to ask Richard for a raise after the awards banquet. Now? There was absolutely no need. The debt of gratitude I owed him had been paid off tenfold a long time ago. But Richard wanted to squeeze the very last drop of value out of me, and then kick me into the abyss to take the fall for his crimes. That wasn’t just bad business; it was pure evil. Over the next few days, I clocked in and out normally, completely ignoring the bizarre, mocking stares from my coworkers. Until the day before the winter holidays. The moment I walked into the office, the atmosphere felt different. My coworkers looked at me like I was a clown, their eyes brimming with malicious joy. I had just sat down at my desk when Richard walked out of his office. He was holding a thick stack of red bonus envelopes, handing them out one by one. The staff was grinning ear to ear. Richard cleared his throat and smiled warmly. “Everyone worked hard this year. I hope we can keep up the momentum next year and hit new revenue records.” “Today is the last workday before the holidays. You can all clock out early this afternoon. Remember to be back in the office on the 8th. I’ll have kickoff bonuses waiting for you.” The office erupted in cheers, aggressively showering Richard with flattery. Richard glanced at me, a fake, plastic smile on his face. “Ethan, there’s no bonus for you. Don’t take it personally.” “Given your sub-par performance during your last few contract negotiations, the clients had some complaints. It negatively impacted the company’s reputation. Honestly, you should be thankful I’m not docking your pay.” “This holiday, don’t bother going back to your hometown. Stay here and man the office.” “And don’t even think about holiday overtime pay. Consider it your unpaid contribution to the company to make up for the reputational damage you caused.” After Richard finished, the mockery on my coworkers’ faces grew even more intense. I had already handed all my clients and projects over to Chloe, so Richard didn’t even bother pretending to be nice anymore. His stance was crystal clear: as long as I refused to sign the CEO transfer paperwork, he was going to make my life a living hell. My response was simple. I pulled out the resignation letter I had already prepared and dropped it on my desk. “Find someone else to man the office. I quit.” 3 My resignation went through flawlessly. Richard signed off on it right then and there. After I packed up my box and walked out the glass doors, Chloe stood in the executive office, looking confused. “Richard, didn’t you say we had to force Ethan to take the CEO title?” “Why did you approve his resignation so easily?” “Do you have a new scapegoat lined up?” Richard smiled confidently. “Relax. Ethan isn’t escaping my grasp.” “He is the absolute perfect fall guy. Think about it: over the last few years, he signed the vast majority of our contracts. His name is all over our biggest projects.” “As long as we force him to become the legal CEO, when the company’s finances explode in six months, we can pin 100% of the blame on him.” “I’ve already forged evidence showing him taking kickbacks and embezzling company funds. When the time comes, I’ll leak it, and Ethan will become public enemy number one.” “Your job right now is to keep his old clients happy. Squeeze as many advance payments out of them as possible.” “That way, in six months when the company goes bankrupt and Ethan goes to federal prison, we can take the cash and disappear to a tropical island.” Chloe sat on Richard’s lap, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Richard, what about my sister?” Richard let out a disgusted snort. “When she goes bankrupt, you think I’m going to stay with that ugly old hag?” “Besides, she’s not even your biological sister, and you’ve always hated her anyway. This is the perfect chance to get your revenge!” Chloe’s smile grew wider. She wrapped her arms around Richard’s neck. “If she hadn’t suddenly been ‘found’ and brought back to the Sterling family, all the Sterling wealth would have been mine.” “She grew up in the country. Her looks, her body, her education—she’s inferior to me in every way. But just because I’m the adopted daughter, she inherited everything. It’s not fair.” “She funded this entire company. Once we tank it, she’ll lose everything.” Richard laughed arrogantly. “When the financials blow up in six months, right before we leave, I’ll clean out our joint bank accounts and empty the house. She’ll be just as broke and destitute as that loser Ethan!” Chloe kissed Richard hard, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Let’s put that aside for now. How are you going to force Ethan to willingly become the scapegoat?” Richard smiled evilly. “Ethan’s family is poor. His parents are old, but they’re still working minimum wage jobs just to survive.” “If his parents were to have a little… accident… and couldn’t work anymore? And suddenly needed a massive amount of cash for medical bills? Do you think Ethan would come begging to me?” “When that happens, I’ll have him completely by the balls!” Just as Richard and Chloe were getting handsy in the office, a frantic knocking echoed on the door. “What is it?!” Richard barked angrily. His trusted assistant’s panicked voice came through the wood. “Boss, your wife is here! She’s already in the lobby!” 4 Richard and Chloe scrambled to fix their clothes, both looking visibly panicked. Chloe stammered, “Richard, why is my sister here?!” “Didn’t she leave all the company operations to you?!” Richard ran a stressed hand through his hair. “How the hell should I know what that old hag is plotting!” “Why didn’t she call ahead?!” “Do you think she’s here to audit the books?!” “Pull yourself together. Don’t act suspicious.” The moment they stepped out of the office, a sharply dressed woman in her mid-thirties strode into the bullpen. It was Richard’s wife, Victoria Sterling. The employees all greeted her with immense caution and respect. The veterans knew exactly who held the real power. It wasn’t Richard; it was the formidable Victoria, who could crush Richard with a single thought. Richard slapped on a look of sheer joy and rushed over. “Honey! What are you doing here? I thought you were out shopping and playing bridge with your friends!” Chloe also plastered on a bright smile, adopting a playful tone. “Victoria! Were you worried Richard was messing around behind your back? Don’t worry, I’m keeping a close eye on him for you!” Victoria completely ignored Chloe. She looked at Richard and asked flatly, “Where is our top sales rep? The guy named Ethan. Is he here?” Hearing this, the employees exchanged bizarre looks. After all, I had just quit an hour ago. The owner’s wife suddenly showing up specifically looking for me was incredibly strange. Chloe asked cautiously, “Victoria, why are you looking for Ethan?” Victoria glanced at Chloe, then turned back to Richard. “Ethan’s parents were in a severe car accident. They’re in the hospital.” “He’s our top performer. It’s only right that we go show our support.” “I was shopping nearby when I heard the news, so I came straight here. I was going to take Ethan to the hospital to see them.” Chloe was just about to blurt out that I had quit, but Richard desperately shot her a warning glare. He quickly turned to Victoria, his face a mask of sycophantic concern. “Honey, I just heard the news too! I was just getting ready to head to the hospital!” “Ethan came in this morning throwing a massive tantrum, screaming about resigning. I have no idea what got into him. I tried to talk him out of it for an hour, but he wouldn’t listen. I had no choice but to approve it.” “He probably got the call and rushed straight to the hospital. Let’s head over there right now. We can check on his parents, and while we’re at it, we can try to convince him to come back to the company.” Victoria gave Richard a long, unreadable look. She didn’t say a word, and simply turned to leave. Richard and Chloe followed closely behind. Half an hour later, they arrived at the hospital room. When they saw the people standing outside the door, both Richard and Chloe froze. The people standing there were the primary investors and board members of the company! Richard looked at them in complete shock, instinctively asking, “What are you guys doing here?” The board members completely ignored Richard and Chloe, respectfully greeting Victoria instead. Victoria looked at Richard and said flatly, “I asked them to come!” “I’m going to announce something right in front of them!” Richard and Chloe’s hearts plummeted into their stomachs. “Announce what?” A cold sneer crept onto Victoria’s lips. “You’ll find out in a minute.” “Let’s go inside and check on Ethan’s parents first.” Without waiting for their response, Victoria pushed open the door to the hospital room. When they saw what was inside, Richard and Chloe’s faces contorted in absolute, paralyzing terror.

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Because of my cowardly personality, I was bullied every day by my coworkers and gaslighted by my manager: “Shouldn’t young people do a little more?” “With your skill level, do you even deserve a salary? Do you think this company is a charity?” “You have plenty of opportunities in the future. Let the senior employees have the ‘Employee of the Year’ award this time.” “You’re just wasting oxygen. Watch your back on your way home!” When I went to the boss to report the bullying, he just sneered: “There’s no such thing as bullying among adults. If everyone dislikes you, you need to look at yourself and find out why!” Eventually, my depression worsened, and I jumped off a building to end my life. When I woke up, my coworker Linda was just saying to me: “Hey Chloe, I’m heading out early. Can you stay late and finish this spreadsheet for me?” 1 “Are your arms broken?” I didn’t even look up, just fired right back at her. In my past life, this was exactly how it started—the slow, creeping gaslighting over minor tasks. At first, when delegating work within the department, they’d intentionally give me a heavier workload or the toughest, most thankless tasks. Later on, they didn’t even bother hiding it. They just dumped their own work on me, constantly saying: “Chloe, can you organize this spreadsheet for me?” “Chloe, take this report over to the client for me.” “Chloe, I have a family emergency and need to leave early. Can you finish my expense report and attach the receipts?” Chloe isn’t your mother. Will you literally die if you don’t boss me around for one second? How shameless can you get? Unfortunately, in my past life, I was meek and thin-skinned. If I was even slightly slow, my coworkers would say: “Oh, Chloe, you’re still young. Young people should work harder so they can learn and grow quickly. That’s how we all came up.” Like an idiot, I thought they actually had my best interests at heart and eagerly ran around doing their bidding. But what exactly was I supposed to learn from spending two hours taping receipts to a piece of paper? On top of that, Accounting would constantly nitpick—either the receipts were facing the wrong way or in the wrong order. They called me useless, saying I couldn’t even handle a simple task. It tanked my self-esteem. I started doubting myself, wondering if I really was just that incompetent and needed to tape more receipts to improve. But that was nothing. The fatal blow came later. The data in the contract I delivered to the client for Linda was wrong, causing a massive loss for the project. The boss was absolutely furious. Linda put on a devastated, apologetic face and explained to the management: “Young people are just so careless. I hadn’t even finished reviewing it, and Chloe took it upon herself to deliver it to the client. It’s my fault. I’ll teach her more in the future and make sure she learns to be more reliable.” The boss immediately docked my entire annual bonus, and HR sent out a formal, company-wide reprimand email. I hid in the bathroom and cried for hours. I really wanted to travel back in time and slap myself awake for being such a massive pushover! Instead of wasting time crying, why didn’t I just rip her a new one? Thankfully, I’ve been reborn! 2 Linda looked at me in pure disbelief: “Chloe, what kind of attitude is that? We’re your seniors. Did you lose your mind today? You were never like this before.” Clearly, she still thought I was the same meek doormat from my past life. “Linda, this is your work. How do you have the nerve to ask me to work overtime to do it?” “What’s wrong with a young person learning a bit more? I’m giving you an opportunity to gain experience. Besides, you’re a single girl, you don’t have anything going on at home anyway. Why can’t you spend a little more time improving yourself?” “You’re right. I definitely need to learn more, especially since this spreadsheet is so difficult. I don’t know how to do it. Why don’t you teach me? Once you teach me how, then I’ll do it for you.” I’d made up my mind. If she wanted to play the “young people need to learn” card, fine! I’ll learn! I’ll spend 5 hours learning how to do this spreadsheet! I’ll stay until 11 PM learning! Linda seemed to catch on to my strategy and got a little angry: “You can’t even handle a simple task like this? I don’t know how HR ever hired you!” “Yeah, you can’t even handle a simple task like this and have to ask others for help. I don’t know how you’ve survived in this company for so many years!” “I have something to do and need to leave early, it’s not that I don’t know how to do it!” Linda started explaining herself. The moment she started explaining, the battle was already won. Take note here, this is a key lesson: In office warfare, never explain yourself. The moment you start explaining, you fall into the trap of self-justification. Just go on the offensive. I didn’t say anything else, just gave her a cold sneer. Linda seemed a little flustered. She didn’t dare tangle with me any further, went back to her cubicle, and started working on the spreadsheet herself. As she worked, she muttered under her breath: “What’s wrong with her? She was fine yesterday…” Although she backed off, she was clearly still resentful. After all, just a few days ago, no matter who asked me to do something, I’d just roll over and take it. Today, I actually dared to refuse her, completely disrespecting her in front of everyone. So, she was determined to win that respect back today. Not long after, she came looking for me again. Of course, coming to me this time was like walking right into a trap. 3 She tossed the client contract onto my desk: “You can’t do a spreadsheet, but surely you can run an errand? This is the contract for the client. Go drop it off!” Just as I was about to fire back, a scene from my past life flashed through my mind: It was this exact contract delivery. Linda falsely accused me of submitting the contract to the client without permission, which cost me my annual bonus, got me publicly reprimanded, and made me cry my eyes out. Well, I had to deliver it. Otherwise, what if she noticed the data was wrong and corrected it? So, I pretended to be reluctant and said: “Fine, I’ll go drop it off now.” Linda looked pleased. She finally got her respect back today. This young upstart dared to rebel and be insubordinate; she had to nip that abnormal behavior in the bud immediately. However, seeing my sour expression, she assumed I was still resentful and wanted to push me down further: “Chloe, this isn’t just a simple delivery. You’ll get to interact with the client. You can learn how to communicate with clients. You’re still very lacking in that area.” What a joke. When I got to the client’s office, all I had to do was hand it to the receptionist. What was there to learn? Stop using “learning” and “growth” as bait to exploit young employees. Besides, I communicate perfectly fine with my own clients. How am I lacking? Of course, right now, I couldn’t wait to get that contract into the client’s hands. I just played hard to get: “But I’m worried the manager might need me for something. If he can’t find me, he might mark me as AWOL. Could you let the manager know?” My request was perfectly reasonable. The company had a formal “Out of Office” form, but people usually just left if they had urgent business. I diligently filled out the form, made sure both Linda and the manager, Mark, signed it, and then happily rented a Citi Bike to deliver the contract. As for the financial loss it would cause the company, that wasn’t my problem. In my past life, when the bullying got so suffocating I couldn’t breathe, I went to the boss and told him I felt like I was being bullied by my coworkers. The boss just sneered at me: “Chloe, have you been reading too much fiction? There’s no such thing as bullying among adults. If nobody likes you, maybe it’s because your emotional intelligence isn’t high enough?” I tried to explain, but he waved his hand dismissively: “Look for the reasons within yourself. Don’t blow everything out of proportion. You’re an adult, stop being so dramatic!” Was I being dramatic? I was being bullied, and I was supposed to find the reason within myself? When will this victim-blaming mentality finally disappear? I looked at the contract in my hand and wished I could change the price to be even lower and the penalty clause to be even higher. I’d love to bankrupt this company in one fell swoop. But I wasn’t going to commit a crime. I’d just sit back and watch them destroy themselves. 4 The problem surfaced very quickly. As soon as the client wired the payment, Accounting panicked and rushed to the boss. Soon, both Linda and Manager Mark were called into the boss’s office. Roaring and the sound of things being thrown echoed from inside. Everyone in the bullpen was too scared to make a sound. They all sat rigidly at their desks, pretending to be extremely busy, while stealing glances at the boss’s office. I felt absolutely nothing inside. I just silently cheered for the boss, hoping he’d lose his mind and beat Linda up. Unfortunately, the tension inside seemed to ease up a bit. A few minutes later, Linda opened the door and called me in. The boss pointed at the contract on the floor and demanded: “What is wrong with you?! You delivered the contract to the client before Linda even finished revising it?!” Trying this trick again? What a masterful deflection! “Boss, Linda told me to deliver it. I have an Out of Office form, and Manager Mark knew about it too.” Linda had assumed I’d just silently take the fall like I did in my past life, and then go hide in the bathroom and cry for hours. She didn’t expect me to instantly whip out an approved Out of Office form. “I followed company procedure and submitted a request to leave the office. Here is my approved form.” The boss shot a look at Mark. Mark’s signature was on that form. If he covered for Linda, he’d be taking the blame himself. Mark was shrewd. He immediately said: “That’s right. Linda asked Chloe to deliver it. They both told me about it.” The boss grew even angrier and glared daggers at Linda. Linda turned pale from fear. She couldn’t shift the blame, and her attempt to frame someone else had failed. I thought she was out of moves, but then she suddenly picked up the quote sheet, pointed at the numbers, and said to the boss: “This data is wrong. Someone tampered with it. I’ve been at this company for years; there’s no way I’d make such a rookie mistake!” Then, she glared at me viciously: “Chloe, is it because I asked you to do that spreadsheet? Are you mad at me and trying to get revenge? If it was wrong of me to ask you to work overtime, you could have reported it to management. You can’t just use the company’s profits to get revenge on me for your own petty grievances!” She even turned to Mark and said: “Manager Mark, you saw me and Chloe arguing that day, right? I never thought this young kid would be so vindictive and have absolutely zero regard for the big picture!” I was a bit stunned. I didn’t realize this woman was such a good actress. 5 But if she wanted to put on a show, I’d play along to the bitter end! “Linda, after I got the contract from you, I put it straight into a manila envelope. When would I have had the chance to alter it?” “Who knows if you swapped it out on the way? I have the original version on my computer. Let’s take a look and see, won’t we?” Saying that, she actually ran out and brought her laptop in. I looked closely, and sure enough, the amount was a full million dollars higher than the contract sent to the client. Linda instantly regained her confidence: “Boss, look, this is the original data. Chloe must have been upset that I made her work overtime, so she altered the contract to get back at me. Thank God I kept the original draft, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to prove my innocence.” Then she turned around, putting on an expression of deep disappointment: “Chloe, personal grudges should be settled privately. But what you’ve done is illegal! If you don’t confess right now, we’re calling the police!” I didn’t expect Linda to be so fast. She had altered the draft in that short amount of time and then immediately thrown the dirty water on me. The boss and Mark seemed more inclined to believe Linda. I could understand that. Linda was a veteran employee who was always kissing up to management, while I had only been there for a little over a year. Of course, they’d side with her. “Call the police then. I can’t explain it anyway.” Seeing my indifferent attitude, Linda became even more arrogant and actually reached for her phone to call 911. But with her little trick, the company’s IT department could easily check when she modified the file. We didn’t even need the police. She was just bluffing to force me to take the fall. Mark stopped Linda and said to me: “Chloe, the company doesn’t actually want to see you go to jail. If you really altered it, just confess. The company takes a small loss, and it won’t affect you.” This was exactly how it played out in my past life. The two of them played good cop, bad cop, forcing me to take the blame, which became the catalyst for my worsening depression. Seeing Mark still pulling the same old tricks, I couldn’t take it anymore and asked: “Manager Mark, haven’t you always kept the company seal locked in your office? I’m just a regular employee. I don’t have the authorization to alter contracts, and I certainly don’t have access to the company seal. Please tell me, how exactly did I alter it? And how did I stamp it after altering it?” Theoretically, Mark was supposed to review all contracts. But he trusted Linda, so he probably just stamped it without even looking. That meant he had to share the blame, which was why he was so desperate to pin it on me. Of course, the deeper reason was that they both thought I was an easy target, the perfect scapegoat. 6 I had checkmated Mark. He quickly tried to explain to the boss: “I keep the company seal in my office. Usually, people just come in and stamp things themselves. It was an oversight in my management…” This statement not only cleared him of the responsibility of “failing to review” the contract but also implied that I might have snuck in and used the seal when no one was looking. It was incredibly calculating. I was too lazy to keep playing games with them. I took out my phone and pulled up the photos I had taken the moment Linda handed me the contract: “Boss, when I got the contract, I was worried pages might be missing, so I took a picture of every single page. You can take a look.” The boss took my phone, checked the timestamp on the photos, and then looked at the content. His face turned ashen. Linda still wouldn’t give up and stubbornly argued: “Who knows if those photos are Photoshopped? Photoshop is so advanced these days. Doctoring a photo and changing the timestamp is easy.” Even at this point, she was still trying to shift the blame. I wasn’t going to humor her anymore: “Linda, when I got the contract, I walked past the front entrance. There’s a security camera right there. I held up every single page under that camera. Just have IT pull the security footage!” Linda, who had been trying to put up a brave front, completely panicked. I struck while the iron was hot: “Also, your little trick with altering the file won’t fool anyone. The file properties show the ‘Last Modified’ date. Open it and see for yourself.” I really didn’t understand how she could delude herself to this extent. The boss finally lost it: “If you made a mistake, you made a mistake! Why are you still lying?! You’ve caused the company a massive loss. Write your resignation letter. I don’t ever want to see you again!” Linda lowered her head, not daring to speak. Not making her pay for the damages was already a huge act of leniency. However, her year-end bonus was definitely gone, her commissions were gone, and she wasn’t getting any severance pay either. As she left, she glared at me with pure hatred: “I never thought someone as young as you could be so calculating.” I genuinely couldn’t understand it. When a bad person’s malicious plot fails, they blame the victim for not cooperating? Of course, what I understood even less was the boss. After Linda left, he held the contract, stared at me, and said: “Since you looked at every page of this contract and even took pictures, why didn’t you spot the errors?”

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In the capital’s elite circles, all knew Crown Prince cherished his beloved daughter and wife of seven years, Iris Winter. Yet secretly, he kept another woman and an illegitimate son in his suburban villa, visiting them on every business trip. After rebirth, the first thing I did was swallow abortion pills before him — one, two, three… Until blood streamed down my legs and his eyes reddened, rushing to stop me. In my past life, he married me because I was pregnant with our daughter. I believed longing had finally been answered, but marriage brought only emotional abuse. Our daughter wasn’t even allowed to call him “Dad.” On her birthday, he took her to kindergarten alone — I thought his heart had softened. Instead, he sent her into surgery to donate bone marrow for his son with his first love. She died of infection on the table; he skipped her cremation to celebrate his son’s birthday. I sat with her urn until dark, only to hear, “Decide your divorce terms. I don’t want the daughter.” Ridiculous. I watched him leave, then set myself ablaze. Flames silenced the pain. Reborn, I vowed this tragedy would end at the start. … The hospital’s antiseptic smell was acrid. I lay in the hospital bed, a cramping pain twisting in my lower abdomen, like a blunt knife churning inside. Liam Bowen stood by the bed, his face ashen. “Iris Winter, are you deliberately taking abortion pills and playing the victim, just to hide Cathy Lin?” Abortion pills. A bitter ploy. Hiding Cathy Lin. In his eyes, had I become so manipulative that I would use my own flesh and blood as a bargaining chip? My voice was hoarse. “What does that have to do with me?” Yes, I knew Cathy Lin. She was his first love, the woman hidden in the suburban villa. Liam’s voice was low, laced with a strange certainty. “You know. You know about her existence, you know about the child’s existence, you even know where I go every time I’m on a ‘business trip’.” “Iris Winter, you’ve been reborn too, haven’t you?” In that instant, my heart nearly stopped. The hospital room was eerily quiet. I could hear my own heartbeat, a frantic drum against my ribs. Liam stared at me, his eyes holding a madness I’d never seen before. “In the last life, you burned yourself and our daughter to death. I thought it was all over, but then I opened my eyes and I was back eight years ago.” All the blood in my body turned cold. He had been reborn too. He remembered everything from the previous life. He remembered our daughter’s death, he remembered the fire, he remembered everything. But what he wanted to make amends for wasn’t me, wasn’t our daughter. It was Cathy Lin, it was that so-called son. Liam’s hand gripped my jaw, the force so strong it felt like my bones would shatter. “Where have you hidden her?” I gritted my teeth. “I haven’t.” His voice suddenly rose. “Tell me!” “I told you, it wasn’t me!” He ripped the IV needle from my hand, blood seeping from the puncture. My eyes reddened. “Liam Bowen, you’re insane!” “You’re forcing me, Iris Winter!” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Come in.” The hospital room door was pushed open again. Two men in black suits entered. One held a medical kit. A premonition of ill omen rose in my heart. “Mr. Bowen, the items are here.” The man opened the box, revealing a row of syringes neatly arranged inside. Liam took one, examining it under the light. “Iris Winter, I’ll ask you one last time, where is Cathy Lin?” I clenched my jaw, not uttering a single word. I hadn’t kidnapped Cathy Lin; I didn’t even know why she would be missing. But I knew that in this man’s eyes, I would always be the wrong one. It was true in the previous life, and it was true in this one. “Very good.” Liam grabbed my arm, the needle piercing my skin. It wasn’t injected into a vein, but shallowly into the muscle, then the liquid was slowly pushed in. The pain was like countless ants tearing at my skin. “What is this?” “Something to make you clear-headed.” He expressionlessly pulled out the needle and took another. “Each injection will make you hurt a little more.” “Until you tell me where she is.” The second needle went into my arm. The third into my calf. The fourth… I don’t know how long it lasted before Liam finally stopped. My whole body trembled, cold sweat soaking my hospital gown. “Why don’t you believe me?” I heard my voice, hoarse like a broken bellows. Liam looked at me with an expressionless face. “Because you’ve changed.” He spoke softly, yet his words cut into my heart like a blunt knife. I closed my eyes. Changed. Yes, I had changed. The Iris Winter of the previous life, who gave up everything for him, humbled to the dust, was dead. Dead in that great fire, dead before our daughter’s cold urn, dead in his retreating figure. But why should he demand that I not change? “Liam Bowen, you remember the previous life. Then do you remember how our daughter died?” I opened my eyes and looked directly at him. His pupils suddenly constricted. “You personally sent her into surgery, to donate bone marrow for your son. She was only five years old, she didn’t even dare to call your name.” “When she died from infection on the operating table, you were celebrating Cathy Lin’s son’s birthday.” “So, in this life, I simply took the abortion pills. That way, our daughter won’t be born. She won’t have to see a father who doesn’t love her.” I laughed, but tears streamed down my face. Not from pain, but from irony. In the previous life, he sacrificed our daughter for Cathy Lin’s son; in this life, he tortures me for that son. From beginning to end, his heart only held that woman and that child. What was I? What was our daughter? A tool, a substitute, or a pawn to be discarded at any time? No sooner had the words left my lips than a resounding slap landed hard on my face. My head was snapped to the side, blood instantly seeping from the corner of my mouth. Liam’s voice trembled. “That was your child! How dare you abort her?!” I covered my face, letting out a cold laugh. “How dare I? Liam Bowen, when you let her die on the operating table in the previous life, why didn’t you ask yourself how you dared?” He raised his hand, as if to strike again, but it froze midway. “You!” His eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaving violently. “Iris Winter, you don’t deserve to be a mother.” I lifted my head, tears mingled with blood running down my face. “Liam Bowen, you are the least qualified to say that to me.” Just then, his phone rang. Liam answered, and his face instantly changed. “What?!” He abruptly stood up. I was dragged out of the hospital room by him, my wounds still bleeding, each step a searing pain. At the entrance to the emergency room, several bodyguards in black suits stood. The light in the emergency room went out. Liam rushed over, grabbing the doctor who came out. “Where’s my son?” The doctor removed his mask, his face grim. “I’m sorry, we did our best.” The air froze. I stood a few meters away, watching Liam’s hand slowly relax, his whole body seeming to deflate. His voice was very soft. “What did you say?” “The child had no vital signs when he arrived. We performed CPR for forty minutes…” The doctor was still saying something, but I couldn’t hear it anymore. Because the emergency room door was pushed open, and a woman stumbled out. Cathy Lin. She was wearing a long white dress, her hair disheveled, her face streaked with tears. “Ethan! My Ethan!” She threw herself into Liam’s arms, her whole body shaking. “Liam, my Ethan, how could he…” Liam stood stiffly, not embracing her, just staring in the direction of the emergency room. His voice was cold. “What happened? Ethan was fine, how could something suddenly happen?” Cathy Lin sobbed, struggling for breath. “I don’t know, I was driving him home today, and suddenly a car hit us from behind. When I woke up, he was lying in a pool of blood…” As she spoke, she suddenly looked up, her gaze fixed on me. “It’s you! It must be you!” I froze. Cathy Lin tore herself from Liam’s embrace and stumbled towards me. “Iris Winter, you killed my son!” Her voice was shrill and piercing, and everyone in the hallway turned to look. “You hate Liam, you hate me, so you targeted Ethan!” She raised her hand to strike me. Liam grabbed my arm, yanking me in front of him. “Iris Winter, what do you have to say for yourself?” His eyes were bloodshot, like a deranged beast. I looked at him, and suddenly felt it was all so ridiculous. “Liam Bowen, why do you think I did it?” He spoke each word distinctly. “Because you hate me, you hate Cathy Lin, you hate Ethan.” “So the first thing you did after being reborn was abort our daughter, and the second was to target them.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t.” Cathy Lin shrieked. “You’re still trying to argue! The police were just here, and they found the hit-and-run vehicle information!” She pointed at me, her voice shrill. “Liam, the police said the license plate number of that car belongs to Iris Winter!” I reeled. My car? But I hadn’t driven at all. I looked at Liam. “It wasn’t me. You can check the surveillance.” Cathy Lin sneered. “Surveillance can be faked! You just want to kill my son and me!” She started crying again. “Liam, you have to avenge Ethan. He was only five years old, still so small…” Liam’s grip tightened further. I felt like the bones in my arm were about to break. I stared at him. “If you don’t believe me, call the police.” He suddenly laughed, a chilling sound. “Call the police? Iris Winter, do you think I’d let you off that easy, just to go to prison?” He released my arm and turned to his bodyguards. “Take her.” “Where?” “To the outskirts.” His voice was soft, yet it sounded like a death sentence. “I’ll make her realize the price of killing my son.” The car drove for a long time. So long that the streetlights outside the window grew fewer and fewer, until finally, only darkness remained. I was thrown into the backseat, my hands and feet bound. The rough rope bit into my flesh, each breath tugging at the wounds on my wrists. Cathy Lin sat in the passenger seat, crying the entire time. Liam drove, not uttering a single word. I didn’t know where he was taking me. But I knew I might truly die tonight. The car jolted over a pothole, my body slamming hard against the car door, a sharp pain shooting through my shoulder. I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry out. The car finally stopped. I was dragged out, my feet landing on dirt. There was nothing around, only the silhouettes of a few bare trees in the distance. The middle of nowhere. A bodyguard roughly yanked my arm. I stumbled, my knee hitting a stone, the searing pain making my vision black out for a moment. Liam stood before me, looking down. “Iris Winter, I’ll ask you one last time.” “Did you kill Ethan?” I lifted my head, looking into his eyes. My lips were purple from pain and cold, my teeth chattering as I spoke. “No.” Liam nodded. “Good. Since you won’t admit it, I’ll make sure you can never speak again.” He turned to his bodyguards. “Dig a hole.” I froze. “Liam Bowen, what are you going to do?” His voice was calm. “Bury you alive. Just like you killed Ethan, I’ll make you taste despair.” The bodyguards began to dig. The sound of shovels piercing the earth was jarringly clear in the silent night. I watched the pit deepen, my heart aching. The wound on my knee was still bleeding, warm liquid running down my calf, soaking my pant leg. “Liam Bowen, you’re really insane.” In my previous life, I thought love could be exchanged for love, and patience for tenderness. In the end, all I got was our daughter’s urn and a self-immolation. In this life, I explicitly chose not to let our daughter be born, yet I still couldn’t change anything. Liam knelt down, pinching my jaw. His fingers were like iron tongs, gripping my mandible so tightly. “You forced me. In the last life, you killed our daughter. In this life, you killed Ethan.” “Iris Winter, how much more do you intend to destroy of mine?” I looked at his bloodshot eyes and suddenly felt so tired. “You never believed me.” Liam’s hand stiffened. “You’re not worth it!” Yes, I wasn’t worth it. Not worth him believing me even once. I stared into his eyes, my voice beginning to tremble. “Without any evidence, based solely on someone else’s words, are you going to sentence me to death?” Liam’s fist clenched and then relaxed. His voice was as cold as the stones in this desolate wilderness. “I don’t need evidence. I don’t need the police. Iris Winter, today, you will be buried with Ethan.” He waved his hand at the bodyguards. The two tall men walked over, gripping my arms from each side. I struggled desperately. “Liam Bowen, you can’t do this!” My bound wrists, under their pulling, had the rope deeply embedded in my flesh. I could feel my skin tearing, warm blood dripping from my fingers. With every step, the wound on my knee ripped further, the pain so intense I could barely stand. I used all my strength to try and break free, my legs frantically kicking the ground, leaving two deep marks in the dirt. “Liam Bowen, are you going to kill me here?” Liam pointed at the deep pit. “I’m going to bury you here.” The bodyguards dragged me towards the pit. In my previous life, I chose fire, burning completely, not even wanting to leave him ashes. In this life, he chose earth, to let me rot in an unknown wilderness, as if I had never existed. I desperately turned to look at him, tears blurring my vision. “Please, just believe me once! Just once! I didn’t do it! I really didn’t!” Liam stood at the edge of the pit, his overcoat billowing in the wind. Only his voice cut through the wind. “I don’t care anymore.” I screamed in despair. “No! Liam Bowen! You can’t do this!” Liam acted as if he hadn’t heard. He turned, his back to the deep pit, and said coldly, “Bury her!”

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I was halfway through a work trip when a message suddenly popped up in the condo owners’ group chat: “My kids have finals this week. Could the unit above us please keep it down? And for God’s sake, stop playing that ‘Daddy’ game.” Another neighbor chimed in: “Seriously. ‘Daddy’ this, ‘Daddy’ that, day and night. Are they that desperate for attention?” But I had been out of town for over a month and a half. Who was playing games in my apartment? 1 I tried to check the CCTV on my security camera, but the connection kept failing. After several attempts, I called my fiancé, Holden Blackwood, hoping he could swing by and check the setup. No answer. I tried to rationalize it. The soundproofing in our building, The Heights, was notoriously bad. Maybe the noise was traveling from another unit, and the downstairs neighbor, Carol Perkins, had just misidentified the source. I quickly messaged the group: “There is no one home in my unit. You should check elsewhere for the source of the noise.” The group chat fell silent. I tried to focus on my itinerary, but a low, insidious anxiety had begun to coil in my stomach. Even if Holden had been busy when I called, he should have at least texted me back. He never did. I scrolled through our message history. The screen was a long ribbon of my vibrant green bubbles—photos of local cuisine, complaints about bizarre clients, and long, detailed inquiries about his day, his meals, his schedule. Sandwiched between my effusive paragraphs were his clipped, blue replies: “K.” “Got it.” “Fine.” “I know!” I hesitated for a moment, then sent another text: Are you busy right now? Could you swing by the apartment? I can’t connect to the camera. I’m worried it’s unplugged or broken. As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. Holden’s research lab at the university was demanding. When I’d told him this current work trip would last nearly three months, he’d packed a duffel bag and moved straight into the campus dorm. “Tracy,” he’d said, using my first name, “you’re going to be gone. It’s a waste of time and gas to commute back and forth every day.” The day I left, we’d walked out of the apartment building at the same time. I’d expected him to offer me a ride to the airport. Instead, he simply got into the SUV—the one my parents had bought for me—and peeled out, leaving me standing alone with my luggage. I hailed a rideshare, trying to soothe the stinging feeling. He’s just a classic academic, a genius with no social skills, I told myself. His mind is only on his thesis. We’re looking at houses. We’re getting married. It’s fine. It’s fine. But over the past six weeks, he hadn’t initiated a single call or text. Everyone said three days of silence was the end of a relationship. How many three-day stretches had we blown past? 2 That night, back at the hotel, I had just finished reporting to headquarters and was settling in for the night when my phone vibrated. The group chat again. It was Carol Perkins, the same downstairs owner. This time, she posted a video. It was recorded from her balcony, and you could clearly hear a man and a woman laughing. The wind distortion made the audio scratchy, but the words were horrifyingly clear. The man’s voice, a low chuckle: “Got you. Call me Daddy.” Then the woman’s cooing, theatrical voice: “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…” What followed was a sharp, drawn-out shriek, then a series of breathless, unmistakable sounds. The video cut off abruptly with the sound of Carol screaming an obscenity. The group chat exploded. [CarolPerkins]: Still going to tell me no one is home? What’s this, then? A ghost? [Mr.Singh]: Kids these days are wild. [BrodieJ]: I’ve heard this for days! It’s driving me nuts! So obsessed with being a “Daddy”? Go adopt ten kids from a foster home! [Mrs.Kim]: Call the police. Say someone’s running an illegal business up there. Let the cops teach them a lesson. Defeated, I posted my live location to the group, adding: “I promise, I am still out of town. I’m having a friend check the unit immediately.” That seemed to calm the other owners, but Carol was still furious. “If I find out who you are, I’m putting this on YouTube. I’ll make you famous.” I called my best friend, Kira Ashford. “Kira, can you do me a favor? Can you check my apartment? See if Holden is there.” Kira sounded winded, probably out on one of her late-night runs. “Sure, I’ll head over now. What is this, a post-mortem check? Worried Holden’s cheating?” I didn’t know how to answer. I couldn’t say it aloud. Kira paused, then laughed. “Relax. I’ll keep an eye on him. Don’t worry.” Half an hour later, Kira called back. “Holden’s definitely not there. But, Tracy, does your downstairs neighbor have a screw loose? When I was leaving, she was practically glued to your front door, trying to look through the peephole. She scared the hell out of me.” She scoffed. “She even muttered something at me—called me some kind of cheap tramp. Honestly, people are insane. Watch out for her, Tracy. She’s unhinged.” After Kira hung up, I realized I’d forgotten to ask her to check the camera plug. 3 Still, my work was going well, and I was going to be home ten days early. I decided not to bother her again. Holden and Kira had always had a tense relationship. Early in my courtship with Holden, he’d stood me up a few times for lab emergencies. I had complained to Kira, and she, fiery and protective, had tracked Holden down and ripped into him. It caused a huge fight. Since then, Holden would scowl whenever I mentioned her name, so I learned to keep them separate. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked Kira to go over tonight. What if they had run into each other and fought again? But the audio recording… Call me Daddy. Who was that? That voice sounded terrifyingly familiar. Tossing and turning, unable to sleep, my phone buzzed again. A private message request in the owners’ group. It was Carol Perkins. She was persistent. The second I accepted the request, she aggressively sent me several clips from the elevator security footage. “It is you! I checked the building security. Don’t try to deny it. You’re messing with my son’s education, and I’m going to ruin you.” “You said no one was home. Then what is this?” “You’re the only unit on the eleventh floor right now, right?” In the grainy footage, a man and a woman hit the eleventh-floor button, then immediately began to embrace, their hands already exploring. The video quality was poor, but I knew those bodies. I knew that slouch. It was Holden. And Kira. I took a deep, shaky breath, then started a video call. Carol answered immediately. She looked at my face and gasped, eyes wide. “Oh, my. It really isn’t you! Who… who are those people? How do you not know who is in your own apartment?” My voice tasted like metal. “That’s my fiancé and my best friend.” “Oh, honey. Oh, no. I am so sorry. What are you going to do?” “Carol,” I said, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “Help me. Keep an eye on them. I’m rushing back home now.” She immediately dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You want to bust them? Done. The minute they show their faces, I’ll text you.” 4 I threw myself out of bed, called my partner, requested two days of emergency leave, and booked the first flight home. My partner looked at my pale face and offered a final warning as he drove me to the airport. “Tracy, whatever it is, think about the consequences. Don’t do anything that will create more trouble for yourself.” Just before boarding, I called Holden. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Where are you? I’m coming home a few days early. Can you pick me up at the airport?” “The lab is swamped. I’ll see what I can do.” His voice was flat, distant. “Okay. You focus on your work then.” He waited, likely for me to coax him, to sweet-talk him into it. When I didn’t, he simply hummed and hung up. I stared out the window at the black night sky. My reflection stared back, my mouth a downturned arc of misery. I covered my face with my hands. When did it start? According to Carol, Holden and Kira had been playing the “Daddy” game in my apartment for nearly a month. Sometimes, even during the day. They were moving in and out together. With winter coats on and a lack of neighborhood interaction, the building staff and guards had simply assumed Kira was me. Holden wasn’t on the deed or in the group chat, so he had no idea the entire building was gossiping about him. I never would have known that the quiet, hyper-intellectual Holden was into role-play. I certainly never would have guessed that the rough-and-tumble tomboy, Kira, would be cooing “Daddy” in that sickeningly sweet voice. As the plane lifted off, I leaned back, pulling my sunglasses down. I was afraid I might start crying, and I didn’t want the flight attendant to see. When did they get together? How could they do this to me? 5 I met Holden during freshman orientation. He was two years ahead of me—tall, lean, and classically handsome, with an intense, quiet demeanor. He helped me haul my suitcases, got me my meal card, and helped me with all the orientation paperwork. I wanted to thank him with dinner, but he politely refused and rushed off. Later that evening, while eating with Kira and my other new roommates, I saw him again—working a shift at the campus cafeteria. Even in his simple uniform, his bookish air was unmistakable. A lock of hair fell over his clean, defined features, reminding me of a French New Wave actor, all silent longing. My heart pounded. In that single moment, I fell for him. I pursued Holden for two years, my crush a campus-wide joke. After graduation, he stayed for his Master’s. Everyone said he stayed for me. But Holden remained aloof. He was always busy with his research, always hustling to earn money. I couldn’t feel the love everyone else insisted he felt for me. He simply didn’t reject me. He didn’t refuse the movie tickets, the meals I brought him, or the clothes I bought. Feeling defeated, I broke up with him just before graduation. I told him I was moving back home. My parents had set up a job for me. He broke down. He held me and cried. “Tracy, please. Can you stay here, for me?” That day, he told me everything—about his difficult childhood, the father who abandoned him and his sick mother, and how his mother died in poverty. He talked about how he relied on charity to get through college. “Tracy, I have nothing. I’ve been afraid to accept your pursuit,” he choked out. “But the thought of you leaving me… I can’t bear it. Please, stay. For me.” Looking at his tear-drenched, pleading eyes, I made a terrible decision. I kissed him. I wasn’t all that different from him. I had an absent biological father, too. But I was lucky. My mother was an independent, successful woman, and my current father was wonderful. I convinced my parents to let me stay. They bought me an apartment. “A good foundation gives you leverage, Tracy. If you two separate, you’ll always have your own space.” My mother had urged caution. She didn’t want me to repeat her mistakes. “Even though I’m happy now, healing from that separation nearly destroyed me. They say men who can’t empathize with their mothers carry a certain type of damage, Tracy. That toxicity… it can be hereditary.” I had been so sure. I argued that Holden was nothing like his father. He would be loyal. I believed true love conquered all, and I wouldn’t follow my mother’s path. 6 Only a few years later, Holden had cheated with my best friend, using my apartment while I was away. My face was burning with shame. I had been blind. I had misjudged Holden and misjudged Kira. I had trusted them, giving them the perfect privacy to plot against me. Holden knew how much I despised my birth father. My mother’s experience had taught me a harsh lesson: cut your losses quickly. Dragging it out only causes more pain. I clenched my fists. A double betrayal. I would make them pay tenfold. When the plane landed, dawn hadn’t fully broken. Snow was beginning to fall. I quickly checked in with Carol Perkins while waiting for a taxi. Realizing I wouldn’t find a cab in this weather, I stopped a large, black car that had just pulled up to the curb. A tall, impeccably dressed man was putting luggage into the trunk, looking at me with an air of sophisticated curiosity. I looked up at him and pleaded, “Could you give me a ride? I’m rushing to catch a cheating fiancé.” “Excuse me?” The man’s driver, a friendly-looking guy named Dustin, jumped out. “Busting a cheater? Get in, get in! Where are we going? I’ll take you.” The tall man, Leland Shaw, let out a soft tsk, took my suitcase, loaded it, and then opened the passenger door, gesturing for me to sit in the front. I mumbled my thanks, embarrassed but grateful, and climbed in. Dustin started the car. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. I got you. You need me to swing a punch? You wanna key his car? I’ll be your brother-in-arms.” Leland coughed from the back. Dustin scoffed. “Lee, what’s with the cough? Look at this city girl. Her eyes are red. She’s heartbroken. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m your witness.” I couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Thank you, but I’m not married yet.” I gave them the highly condensed version of the story. Dustin was furious. He turned to Leland in the back. “Lee, you gonna let her get pushed around like this?” “Look, sweetie, you trust me, I’ll help you teach him a lesson. You point, I hit.” 7 Leland let out a soft, amused laugh from the back seat. My cheeks flushed. I hadn’t just stopped any car. I had screened my targets. The value of the Rolls-Royce, Leland’s cashmere coat, the high-end luggage—a man this wealthy wasn’t likely to be a scammer. I was using them, and they were treating it like a piece of high-stakes entertainment. A mutually beneficial transaction. The goal wasn’t just to catch them. It was to ensure Holden and Kira suffered total public humiliation—social death. The thought of them playing that game, chasing each other in my space, made me physically ill. One of them destroyed my love, the other destroyed my trust. I wouldn’t stop until I had stripped them bare. The car pulled up to my building. I spotted Carol Perkins waiting in the lobby. Dustin grabbed my small carry-on bag, and Leland followed, hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Carol rushed over and nodded at me, eyes wide. Leland glanced at me, a slight, knowing smile on his lips. I pulled out my phone and called Holden. Unsurprisingly, no answer. I called Kira. It rang for ages. When she finally answered, her voice was slurred, thick with sleep. “Kira, where are you? Can you come over to my place right now?” “I’m asleep at home. Why would I come over this early? What’s going on?” “Holden’s cheating. I brought people back to catch him. Get over here and help me.” A strangled yelp came over the line. “What?! You’re back? Is this for real?” “I’m here. Just got off the elevator. Hurry up.” Hurry up and hide. Don’t waste the chance I’m giving you.

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As promised, the system cured my terminal illness, erased every trace of my existence, and sent me abroad. I thought I would never see him again. But six years later, that same system found me. It told me that there was a role for a malicious supporting female character, and it needed me to play it. “If I become malicious, mean, and greedy, Oliver Vance… will you still love me?” 1 The plane slowly descended, and the familiar bustling traffic and skyscrapers of the city unfolded before my eyes. Looking at the view from the window, I let out a deep breath. If the system hadn’t threatened me with complete erasure, I never would have agreed to come back. After all, our breakup back then was incredibly ugly. He chased me all the way to the airport. The corners of his eyes were red as he screamed my name through the crowded terminal, just to beg me not to leave. Forty-nine times. Each one more desperate than the last. But until my back disappeared at the end of the security checkpoint… He didn’t get a single response. Back then, he truly loved me. He loved me so much that even when I told him to his face I only approached him for his money, he didn’t care. I sold everything he gave me, even that ring, and boarded the plane to a foreign country. Before blocking him on WeChat, I left him one final message: “Sorry, Mr. Vance. It was just for fun. Why did you take it so seriously?” In the airport, the slender boy hunched over, practically breaking down, hot tears falling drop by drop. When he was ostracized and gossiped about for being the illegitimate son of a wealthy family, the only person who stood by his side had now abandoned him too. The only beam of light in his oppressive life had suddenly extinguished. The blow to him was massive. The scene was captured by a bystander and uploaded to the internet. The hashtag “Boy in Black Chases Ex to Airport Begging for Reconciliation” instantly went viral. Oliver’s identity was exposed that very day. He was a wealthy heir from a prominent family, where just the hair tie on his wrist cost tens of thousands. Six years passed. People were still constantly posting comparison videos of Oliver. The miserable, defeated boy in the airport had grown into a powerful, influential tycoon, his features now carrying an arrogant, ruthless edge. The caption below the video read: “Does the girl from the airport regret it now?” 2 Did I regret it? Maybe. If I had just broken up with him a little more gracefully back then, the current mission wouldn’t be so tricky. [Detected that the female lead, Chloe Thorne, is currently at KK Bar. Host, please proceed to the location immediately. Use your identity as the ‘first love’ to mock and belittle her.] Chloe Thorne? The wealthy heiress who relentlessly pursued Oliver in our senior year of high school? When she found out I was Oliver’s girlfriend, she purposely came to provoke me. She tore up my exam papers, threw cold water on me, and tried to force me to break up with him. I twitched the corner of my mouth. [System, your taste in female leads is seriously terrible.] [Host, please just focus on completing the mission.] The system’s voice remained cold and detached. 3 The bar at midnight was lively and loud. Wearing a black fishtail dress, I swayed my hips to the beat of the music, blending in with the dancing crowd. Even with heavy makeup, the woman in the distance noticed me. Her gaze closely followed my every move. I flipped my hair and turned my face fully in her direction. Soon, two men in black suits pulled me away from the dance floor. “It really is you, Elena Miller. “I didn’t expect you to have the guts to come back.” She swirled her wine glass, looking me up and down with a contemptuous gaze. Her haughty tone was exactly the same as it was back then. I rubbed my wrist, sat down across from her, and looked at her with eyes full of amusement. “What, afraid I’m back to steal Oliver away?” “Afraid? Afraid of what?” She acted as if she had heard a joke, the corners of her lips turning up even more. “You’re the one who should be afraid. “You didn’t just scam him out of his money back then; you scammed his feelings. He looked for you for years and couldn’t find you. And now, you show up yourself. You should know, Oliver hates deception and betrayal the most. “Guess how a vindictive man like him will torture you?” Her eyes held obvious schadenfreude. “Oh, well, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m his first love.” My tone was light and indifferent. The smile on her lips noticeably faded. “That was in the past,” she emphasized. “At least I was, once,” I retorted, latching onto her point. Amidst the blaring background music, we stared at each other. The amusement in my eyes grew stronger. She finally cracked, leaning in closer, gritting her teeth. “Elena, have you no shame? “You’ve been gone for so many years. Oliver has been mine for a long time now. “The person he loves now is me! Me! I’m warning you, stop being so delusional!” Saying that, she opened her phone. She forcefully pointed at an entertainment news headline in bold red font for me to see. A-List Actress Chloe Thorne and Powerful Tycoon Behave Intimately, Suspected Romance Exposed. The photos were blurry shots of a man and a woman from behind—eating at a restaurant, walking side-by-side on the street, getting into a car one after the other. I tapped the screen, zooming in on the blurry side profile. “Stop doubting it. It’s Oliver.” She curled her lips into a triumphant smile. “I never said it wasn’t him,” I replied flatly. She scoffed, then opened her photo album to show me. The background looked like a family gathering. A woman stood next to a man, her head resting slightly on his broad shoulder, smiling radiantly. I glanced at it twice, pushed the phone back, and leaned against my chair. Fingers laced together in my lap, I slowly rubbed my index finger. In six years, he had completely shed his boyish aura. Dressed in a sharp black suit, he looked cold and dominant. The eyes looking into the camera were utterly freezing. He used to be aloof and unapproachable, too. But whenever I touched the small mole at the corner of his eye… His eyelashes would flutter, and he would indulge my actions with a slow, unblinking gaze. He never possessed this intimidating, oppressive aura he had now. A slightly unfamiliar Oliver. As if reading my mind, the system spoke up indifferently: [No one stays the same, Host. He couldn’t possibly retain all his past feelings. Your identity as the ‘first love’ is just a facade now. You just need to use this facade to complete the mission.] I paused, downed the drink in my glass, and smiled. “He might not remember everything, but he couldn’t have forgotten everything, either.” Just as I stood up to leave, the person behind me suddenly stood up and shouted, “Elena! He only loves me now! I’ll say it again, don’t show your face here! Or he’ll skin you alive!” So stubborn. I stopped, turned around, and smiled. “Well, that’s unfortunate. I just signed with Oliver’s company. Guess we’ll be seeing each other every day.” “Elena! You did this on purpose, didn’t you?!” she demanded, furious. “Yep, on purpose. I haven’t forgotten the things you did to me using your family’s money back then. Guess who the company will give the better resources to from now on—you or me?” I kept smiling. She turned pale with anger, picking up her wine glass to throw it at me. But the next moment, her footsteps halted abruptly. In a daze, it felt as if the music in the bar had paused for a second. Sensing something, I followed her gaze and turned my head. Amidst the noise, a blurry yet familiar figure froze in my pupils. The man wore a long, black trench coat, the buttons left undone. The hair on his forehead was slightly messy from the wind, as if he had rushed over from a meeting. Countless eyes were on him. But he just stood there, looking at me. Across the crowd and the noise, it felt like a dream. A long-awaited reunion. I thought he should hate me. But I didn’t see any hatred or resentment in his eyes. Instead, there was a surge of some obscure, unspeakable emotion. “Hi. Long time no see.” In the end, I was the first to speak, smiling and greeting him. 4 We ended up eating together anyway. Throughout the meal, Chloe kept serving Oliver food, every action designed to show how intimate her relationship with him was now. And Oliver barely said a word. His jaw was tight, his face expressionless. But his gaze was restrained yet burning. Looking closely, there was even a hint of caution. I had to admit, it created a stark contrast within him. When dessert was finally served, Chloe saw the three small orange mousse cakes and covered her mouth, laughing. “Oh, Oliver, you still ordered my favorite. I remember Elena is allergic to mangoes, right?” She shot a triumphant look in my direction. But as soon as she finished speaking, a waiter placed a different small dessert plate in front of me. “Miss, your chocolate mousse.” “Hmm?” I looked up at the man across from me. “For you.” His voice was very soft, but his eyes uncontrollably fell on me, carrying a faint anticipation. It was my favorite flavor from the past. I paused, put on a smile, and said politely, “Thank you, Mr. Vance.” 5 “Next mission: Sow discord between the male and female leads, and steal the female lead’s script.” In the restroom, I was carefully touching up my makeup in the mirror. I asked, surprised, “That simple?” The system paused. [Host, you’d better have a clear understanding of yourself. [Don’t forget how you abandoned the male lead back then.] I touched my freshly glossed lips and smiled. [System, I think you’re underestimating the destructive power of a ‘first love.’] In the mirror, those narrow, cold eyes suddenly met mine. “Is there something you need?” I put my lipstick back in my bag and turned around calmly. He pressed his lips together, looking at me silently, his eyes as dark as ink. His Adam’s apple bobbed as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. I chuckled and casually called his name, “Oliver.” The slightly raised intonation at the end was exactly the same as it was back then. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, his knuckles turning white. I just stood there, eyes smiling, watching him leisurely. [System, see that? [The first love doesn’t have to do anything. [The first love just needs to stand there, and it hurts him to his very core, agonizingly so.] The system was silent for a long time before saying, [Host, you are very cruel.] [Aren’t the ones who designed this mission cruel too?] I lowered my eyes indifferently. They insist on giving this interrupted story the worst possible ending. Forcing the boy to watch helplessly as everything from his past is destroyed in a tragedy. 6 I forget how we ended up kissing. I only remember that, as our breaths mingled and our eyes met, the emotions in his eyes churned like a stormy sea. The next moment, I was pinned against the wall. An oppressive, vindictive kiss fell upon me, urgent and fiery. Just as I was running out of breath, he gradually slowed down, becoming gentle, reverent, and cautious. Eventually, he held me tightly, his forehead resting against my neck, breathing deeply. He seemed incredibly wounded and fragile. My heart trembled slightly. My shoulder felt a little damp. I looked at his slightly messy hair and couldn’t resist reaching out to smooth it. “I have a room on the top floor. Want to come up?” “Yes.” His voice was muffled and raspy. 7 The lights in the room were off. My kisses fell on his neck, his collarbone. Unable to handle it, he fell back onto the sofa, panting heavily. I gently bit his earlobe, asking with practiced ease and a light laugh, “Oliver, do you like it?” His expression visibly froze. I was using him. Using his past feelings to manipulate him. His expression turned cold. Just before he could push me away, I kissed him again. I easily pried open his lips, gradually taking over. Slowly, the hand pushing me away lost its strength. … “What do you want?” His voice was hoarse, suppressing his emotions. The redness at the corners of his eyes hadn’t faded, and his large hands rested restrained on my lower back. I thought he would ask where I’d been all these years, why I didn’t come back, why I lied to him, or maybe settle old scores and say something harsh. But he didn’t. He chose to ask a question about the present. Asking what my motive was for approaching him. I rested my chin on one hand, my fingers casually tapping his abs. With a beaming smile, I said, “The lead female role in Chloe’s new drama. You know I don’t like her.” [Host, you’d better not be this direct.] The system couldn’t help but issue a warning. [No one would agree to your request under these circumstances.] Is that so? I looked at the man in front of me with those beautiful, smiling eyes. He pressed his lips together tightly, holding my gaze. I could even feel the rise and fall of his chest and his faint breaths. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. “Can you do that?” I asked. The defenses he had built in his heart were effortlessly shattered. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked deeply at me and rasped out a single word: “Yes.” The smile on my lips deepened. “Thank you, Mr. Vance.” I straightened up, preparing to rise, and casually added, [System, I suggest you stay quiet while I’m doing my missions, otherwise the face-slapping every time…] Suddenly, two large hands grabbed my waist. Caught off guard, I fell back onto his lap. “Elena.” He buried his face in my neck, breathing deeply. I froze. My mind went blank for a second. A muffled, hoarse voice came from my neck, carrying a deep sense of helplessness and an indescribable longing. He said, “Please, stop playing with me. ” I can’t take being played like this.” 8 Oliver drove me back. The car pulled up smoothly in front of a hotel. Just as I unbuckled my seatbelt to get out, he suddenly reached out and grabbed me. “You’re staying here?” “Is there a problem?” He rolled down the window, looking at the neon hotel sign missing a letter and the unattended front desk. “It’s not safe.” “This hotel was investigated for some issues a few years ago.” The dim yellow interior light spilled onto the messy hair on his head. He looked at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, and asked, “Stay at my place. Please?” I didn’t answer. I just followed his gaze out the window. Old wooden windows swayed in the wind, and the surrounding area was completely deserted. Because the system had rushed me to the bar the moment I got off the plane, I didn’t have much time and just found the nearest hotel to drop my bags. I didn’t expect the hotel, which looked fine in the afternoon, to look so creepy at night. “It’s fine,” I swallowed hard. “I checked it out this afternoon. It’s livable.” At this point, I had secretly resolved to sprint upstairs as fast as possible, lock the door, and hide under the covers. Just as my hand touched the door handle, the person next to me spoke again, “I think I just saw a woman in a white dress with disheveled hair walk by.” Seeing me freeze, he added very softly, “She looked like she was floating.” After a brief second of hesitation, I decisively let go of the door handle and leaned back in my seat.

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My husband couldn’t forget his “the one that got away.” Whenever he went to keep his terminally ill childhood sweetheart company, he would drop hints, asking if we could get a divorce. Because her dying wish was to legally be his wife. Today, he hinted at it again. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t cause a scene. I just calmly said, “Okay.” Because we had already had this exact conversation ninety-nine times. Today was the one hundredth. And I had finally found the perfect reason to convince myself to walk away. I had a miscarriage. Our baby was gone. Now, the only thing connecting him and me was a thin piece of paper—our marriage certificate.

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My husband was “sick” again. He lay in bed, trembling under the duvet, claiming he was too terrified to even call in to work. He looked so fragile, so broken by the pressure of his “accounting job,” that I felt a pang of maternal protection. When I offered to call his supervisor for him, he gripped my wrist, his eyes wide with a desperate, almost feral plea. He begged me not to. He begged me to stay away from his office. I relented, stroking his hair until he seemed to drift off, but the guilt gnawed at me. We were drowning in debt. We were living in a studio where the wallpaper peeled like sunburnt skin because he had “lost everything” in a failed startup years ago. I couldn’t let him lose this job, too. So, I went. I took the bus to the address on his pay stub, rehearsing a speech about a sudden flu and a dedicated employee. But when I stepped into the lobby of the gleaming glass-and-steel skyscraper in the Financial District, the air felt different. Expensive. Cold. The receptionist looked at me as if I were a smudge on a Da Vinci. Her eyes swept over my faded Target cardigan and my scuffed heels—shoes I’d worn for five years because we “couldn’t afford” new ones. “I’m here to speak with Nate’s manager,” I said, my voice small. “Nate Miller. He’s an accountant here.” The woman’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Are you joking? There is no ‘accountant’ here named Nate Miller.” “I… I have his pay stub,” I stammered, reaching into my purse. “Ma’am,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a tone of pitying disbelief. “Nathaniel Miller is the Founder and CEO of this firm. And Mr. Miller arrives every morning with his wife. They just went up to the executive suite together.” My heart didn’t just break; it shattered, the shards slicing into my lungs. “His wife?” “Yes. And, forgive me, but you don’t look like her.” The elevator dings. The doors slid open. There he was. My husband, the man who had been “trembling in bed” an hour ago, was now draped in a bespoke charcoal suit that probably cost more than our annual rent. His arm was wrapped firmly around the waist of a woman who looked like she’d stepped off a Parisian runway. Madison. His “one that got away.” The girl he told me was a “painful memory” from his college days. 1. Our eyes met. His practiced, charismatic smile curdled on his face. I looked at him—this stranger in high-end wool—and a laugh bubbled up in my throat, hot and salty with tears. “That watch,” I whispered, pointing at the Patek Philippe on his wrist. “It’s worth my entire yearly salary. And yet, for seven years, you’ve played the part of the struggling clerk making fifty grand a year.” The lobby went silent. The security guards shifted uncomfortably. “You told me your startup went bust. I sold my parents’ house—the only thing they left me—to plug the holes in your ‘debt.’ I spent my days coding until my eyes bled and my nights working the graveyard shift at a 7-Eleven. I had a stomach ulcer from the stress and refused to go to the hospital because we ‘couldn’t afford’ the co-pay!” My voice rose to a shriek. “Tell me, Nate! Why? Why play this game with my life?” Nate stammered, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Madison, however, didn’t miss a beat. She reached out and delicately gripped my wrist, her silk sleeve brushing my skin. “Caitlin, don’t blame him,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “When he married you, he made a vow to me. He told me that everything he had—his body, his wealth, his future—belonged to me. You were just the placeholder. Don’t go coveting things that were never yours.” Seven years. I thought we were a team, a fortress against the world. It turns out I was just a supporting actress in a script I hadn’t been allowed to read. But I was his legal wife. I was the one who signed the papers. “Shut up, Madison. This isn’t your conversation,” I snapped, my eyes burning as I turned back to Nate. “Nate, look at me. Is this true? All of it?” Nate sighed, a sound of profound annoyance, as if I were a bug he’d forgotten to squash. “Caitlin, listen to me. I was afraid that if you became a ‘society wife,’ you’d lose your drive. I didn’t want to hurt your pride. Besides, didn’t you say you’d always take care of me? You said you loved me for me, not my money.” “Don’t you dare gaslight me!” My voice trembled with fury. “Seven years! We’ve been married for seven years! You didn’t know who I was by then? If I lacked drive, would I have sold my childhood home to save you? Would I have worked twenty-hour days to keep us afloat?” I took a step back, my footing uneven. My heel was worn down to the plastic—I’d been meaning to get them repaired for months but kept putting it off to save the thirty dollars. My gaze drifted to Madison. She was wearing Valentino pumps. A Tiffany HardWear bracelet sparkled on her wrist. I remembered Nate joking once, “When I make it big, I’m going to buy you so much jewelry you’ll have to hire a guard just to walk to the mailbox.” He had made it big. He just gave the jewelry to someone else. “What about her?” I asked, the bitterness coating my tongue. Nate glanced at Madison. “Maddie and I… we’re just partners. She’s looking to invest in the firm.” Madison’s face fell. “Nate!” He squeezed her hand, a silent signal, then looked back at me. “She’s my ex, Caitlin. You knew that. I never lied about my past. We’re working together now. That’s all.” “Then what did she mean by what she just said?” I demanded. Nate gave Madison a cautious look, his tone turning dismissive. “Oh, you know Maddie. She loves to stir the pot. She was just joking—” “I wasn’t joking,” Madison interrupted. “Nate, didn’t you tell me that on your wedding night? While you were on FaceTime with me while Caitlin was asleep right next to—” “Madison!” Nate barked. She shrugged, falling silent, but the damage was done. The floor seemed to fall away beneath me. Nate wouldn’t look me in the eye. His guilt was finally being overtaken by impatience. “Don’t listen to her. It’s nothing. Just go home, Caitlin. I have a meeting with a client. I’ll come back tonight and explain everything.” I took a deep breath, the cold air of the lobby stinging my throat. “You don’t need to explain anything.” “Nate, I want a divorce.” “I am done with you. Eight million dollars.” I looked him in the eye. “Eight words. One million for every year you stole, plus one for the house you took from me. It’s a bargain to get me out of your life and marry your ‘partner,’ don’t you think?” “Caitlin, be reasonable. Let’s go home and talk.” I cut him off. “Home? You mean the apartment with the moldy ceiling and the seven-hundred-dollar rent?” I started to laugh, a jagged, broken sound. His face shifted. People were starting to stare; the morning rush of employees was filling the lobby. He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward the side exit. “Don’t make a scene here. It’s bad for business.” “Let go,” I hissed. He gripped tighter. “Is this what it’s about? Money? You think I’ve been holding out on you? You’ve lived off me for seven years, Caitlin. I’ve given you a roof and a bed. Isn’t that enough? You’re acting like a victim because you want a payday.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. “I’ve slept with you for seven years for free. You should be grateful. And the more you act like a psycho in public, the less likely I am to give you a single cent.” I stared at him, paralyzed. I didn’t recognize this man. Or perhaps, I had never known him at all. Madison let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Come on, Nate. This is embarrassing. Didn’t you promise to buy me that new Birkin before our lunch meeting?” Nate didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. Anything you want. And we’ll stop by the dealership later—your lease is up, and you need something more impressive for the investors.” Madison threw me a triumphant look. “Hear that? Nate’s money is my money. You want eight million? You’re dreaming. But hey, you did a decent job taking care of him while I was gone. Tell you what—if you call me ‘Ma’am,’ I’ll talk Nate into buying you a new pair of shoes to replace those thrift-store tragedies you’re wearing.” That hurt more than a physical blow. I thought of the years I spent clipping coupons. The five-year-old winter coat I wore until the seams burst. The makeup I never bought. The nights at the convenience store being harassed by drunks while I worried about Nate’s “mental health.” The humiliation boiled over. As Madison leaned in, her face twisted in a smug sneer, I swung. I put every ounce of my seven years of resentment into a slap that echoed through the marble lobby. Madison staggered back, her hand flying to her cheek. Time stopped. Seconds later, she let out a piercing, hysterical shriek. “You bitch! You absolute loser! Nate! She hit me!” Nate reacted instantly. He stepped in front of Madison, cupping her face with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. “Caitlin, have you lost your mind?” He raised his hand. I didn’t even have time to flinch before his palm connected with my face. The world blurred. My cheek burned with a white-hot sting. “Don’t you touch her!” I screamed through the pain. “I’ll do more than touch you!” Nate roared. “You think you’re special? You’re a low-level coder who can’t even get a promotion. If you were worth anything, would you still be working a register at midnight after seven years of marriage? You’re a failure, Caitlin. You’re stagnant. You’re a loser.” He leaned closer, his eyes cold and dark. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to tell people you’re my wife? I tell everyone you’re the maid. I’m ashamed of you.” I felt a warm trickle down my lip. Blood. The metallic taste filled my mouth. I thought of all the times my boss had piled extra work on me because he knew I was desperate for the money to pay Nate’s “debts.” I’d never told Nate because I didn’t want him to worry. And now, my sacrifices were the weapons he was using to disembowel me. I looked at them both, my voice raspy and cold. “Nate, from this moment on, we are through.” He blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?” “You think eight million is too much? Fine. We’ll let the lawyers decide. I want every penny you hid. I want half of this company—the company you built with my parents’ inheritance. I want half of the cars, the houses, and the bags you bought her. I’m going to take you for every cent you’re worth.” Madison looked up, her eyes narrowing. “In your dreams.” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked toward the glass doors. Every step sent a throb of pain through my face. Every step, I felt the blood cooling on my chin. But I kept my back straight. You can break a woman’s heart, but you can’t take her spine. By the time I left the lawyer’s office, the sun had long since set. I dragged myself back to the apartment we shared. When I opened the door, a large Rimowa suitcase sat open in the middle of the living room. Nate was tossing his silk shirts into it. Madison was curled up on our sagging sofa, scrolling through her phone. “You’re back?” Nate said, his tone as casual as if he were asking about the weather. “Good. I have something to tell you.” “Madison has a heart condition. That slap you gave her triggered an episode. The doctor says she needs constant supervision. I’ll be staying at her place for a while.” I walked over and picked up a box of Magnums from the corner of his suitcase. “Is this part of her ‘heart medication’?” He snatched them out of my hand, looking annoyed. “They got caught in my laundry. Don’t be hysterical. I know you’re upset about today, but Madison needs me right now. I’ll come back in a few days to explain things when you’ve calmed down.” Needs me. When he needed someone to sacrifice their future, I was there. Now that I needed him to be a human being, he was with her. “Fine,” I said. I walked into the bedroom. I opened the closet and started pulling out the rest of his things. When I got to the photos, I paused. A framed picture from our wedding day. I was radiant. He looked like he’d won the lottery. “Caitlin, what are you doing?” he asked, following me in. There was a flicker of genuine panic in his voice now. “You said you were leaving.” I didn’t look at him as I tossed the frame into the trash bag. “I said for a few days—” “No. You’re leaving for good. Take your things, take the woman who ‘needs’ you, and get out.” Nate lunged for the trash bag, retrieving the wedding photo and placing it carefully back on the dresser. “Stop acting out. I’ll be back as soon as she’s stable.” Madison appeared in the doorway. “Nate, I just sent you the pitch deck for my new venture. It’s a guaranteed win. Can you take a look?” Nate barely glanced at his phone before nodding. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll have the CFO wire ten million to your account tomorrow.” Ten million. I thought of the 7-Eleven shifts. The thousands of lines of code I’d written for freelance pittance. I would have to work several lifetimes to see ten million dollars. Madison saw me looking at the phone. She smirked. “Jealous, Caitlin? You want to try your hand at business? Or are you just going to stare at my deck?” Nate scoffed. “Please. She doesn’t know a bull market from a flea market. If she tried to trade, she’d lose her shirt in ten minutes. She’s built to be an employee, nothing more.” I cut him off, my voice like ice. “Are you finished?” He blinked. “Then get out. Get out of my apartment.” “Caitlin, this is our—” “No. I pay the rent. I pay the utilities. I bought every piece of furniture in here while you were ‘bankrupt.’ You haven’t contributed a dime to this household in seven years. You’re a squatter. Leave. Now.” He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He knew I was right. For seven years, I had funneled every spare cent into his “debts” while he spent his millions on Madison. “Fine,” Nate said, his voice hardening. “I’m going. But don’t come crawling back when you realize how cold the world is without me.” “Go.” The door slammed shut. The silence that followed was deafening—the hum of the old fridge, the thump of my own heart. I sank to the floor and finally let the tears come. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. It was a photo. Nate, fast asleep in a plush hotel bed, Madison’s head resting on his bare chest. The caption read: Thanks for letting him go. He’s finally where he belongs. I stared at the photo for a long time. Then, I typed back: You’re welcome. Thanks for taking out the trash. My private investigator had told me Nate was careful—never any physical proof of cheating. Well, now I had it. The next morning, I stood in the HR office of the tech firm where I worked. The paper in front of me was a joke. Embezzlement? $3.2 million? “This is absurd,” I said to the HR Director. “I’m a lead dev. I handle code, not wire transfers. I don’t even have the authorization for an amount that large.” The Director looked at me with a flicker of pity behind his glasses. “The company was acquired over the weekend, Caitlin. The new ownership flagged the discrepancy.” “Who bought us?” “A holding company. Owned by a Madison Vance.” I didn’t wait. I stormed upstairs to the executive suite. I shoved past the secretary and burst into the corner office. Madison was sitting behind the mahogany desk. Nate was standing by the window, looking over some files. “Ah, the star developer arrives,” Madison said, her smile razor-sharp. “Or should I say, the former star developer?” “Nate, this audit is a lie,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “Any purchase over ten thousand requires three levels of approval. I don’t have signing authority. The system logs will prove I never touched those accounts.” Nate finally looked at me. “The logs were hit by a ‘hacker’ last night, Caitlin. Most of the data was wiped. Strangely, the only records left are the ones tied to your credentials.” A cold realization washed over me. “I built the security architecture for this company. I wrote the firewall rules. You’re telling me someone bypassed my encryption just to frame me for a mid-level embezzlement?” Madison leaned back in the chair. “Internal jobs are always the easiest, aren’t they? A few modified log files, a few forged invoices… light work for a genius like you.” “You tampered with the database.” Madison stood up. “Talk is cheap. The evidence says you stole three million dollars. You’re looking at a massive civil suit and potentially prison time. Unless…” she leaned in, “you want to get on your knees and beg? Maybe I’ll tell Nate to go easy on the damages.” I felt like I was going to throw up. “Nate? You’re going along with this? You’ve lied to me for seven years, and now you’re trying to destroy my life? Why? Do you hate me that much?” His face went pale for a second. Madison lunged forward, grabbing my arm. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” “Get off me!” I shoved her back. “You want me to beg? You want me to crawl like a dog? In your dreams. I’m not paying a cent, and I’m not admitting to a crime I didn’t commit. Call the police. I’ll see you in court.” Nate’s lip trembled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Madison was faster. “Nate, go grab a coffee. Let me handle this ‘negotiation.’” He hesitated, then turned and walked out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. The moment he was gone, Madison’s mask dropped. “Let’s be real, Caitlin. You’re just bitter because Nate chose me. You’re bitter because the divorce settlement won’t be as big as you hoped. You’re bitter because of that photo I sent.” I froze. “Oh, did that hit a nerve? It was a great night, by the way. Nate was… inspired. We went through three boxes of condoms.” The blood roared in my ears. “What do you want, Madison?” “I want you to admit you lost. Nate’s mine. His heart, his money, his future. This company is mine. You’re just trash that needs to be cleared out. Sign a waiver, walk away with nothing, and never file for divorce. Do that, and the ’embezzlement’ charges vanish.” “Three million dollars, Caitlin. Think about how many years of ‘graveyard shifts’ that would take to pay back.” Something snapped. The logic, the restraint, the years of playing the “good wife”—it all vanished. I lunged at her, pinning her against the desk, my hand raised to strike. The door flew open. Nate stood there, his face contorted with rage. Madison whimpered, touching a corner of her mouth where there wasn’t even any blood. “Nate! She’s attacking me again! I tried to be nice, and she just snapped!” “I didn’t—” “Enough!” Nate yelled. He spoke into his intercom. Two large security guards appeared instantly. They grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back. One of them kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the floor. My face was pressed against the cold plush carpet. “Madison,” Nate said, his voice devoid of any humanity. “Whatever she did to you, give it back.” Madison walked over, her heels clicking like a countdown. She stopped right in front of my face. Then, she ground the stiletto of her Valentino pump into my cheek. “This is for the lobby,” she whispered. Then, she kicked me. Hard. My nose shattered. The warmth of the blood was the only thing I could feel. I didn’t even feel the pain—just a profound, hollow sense of irony. Seven years of devotion. This was the dividend. “You’re pathetic, Caitlin,” Nate said from somewhere above me. “I’m calling the police. Let’s see how tough you are behind bars.” His phone rang. He looked at the screen, his expression shifting from anger to confusion. He answered it. As he listened, his face went from pale to ghostly. He hung up and looked at me, his voice a ghost of itself. “You… you actually served me? The divorce papers… you filed them this morning?”

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On graduation night, the college underclassman who had been chasing me for six months got me dead drunk and tricked me into bed. But when I woke up, he smiled and told me: “You didn’t just sleep with me last night.” Immediately after, photos of me in bed with a group of strange, middle-aged men went viral all over the internet. The caption read: “Shared sugar baby, employed right upon graduation.” I went to confront him, only to be met with his icy, venomous words: “Isn’t your mother’s favorite hobby being a homewrecker? As her daughter, it’s only natural you surpass her.” The night my mom saw the trending hashtag, she was so furious and devastated that she suffered a massive stroke. When she woke up, her cognitive abilities were permanently stuck at the age of eight. To keep my mom alive, I became the reigning queen of pole dancing at a local nightclub. Eight years later, twisting my waist under the blinding neon lights, I looked up—and saw those familiar eyes sitting in the VIP booth. …… I was sweating profusely on stage. As my inner thighs gripped the rapidly spinning metal pole, the friction burned like fire. It had been eight years, but my skin still hadn’t adapted to the brutal friction. But I didn’t dare stop. Every cheer from the crowd below could turn into cash, and that cash would turn into my mom’s specialty medication tomorrow. Spin. Invert. Split. Right as I executed a high-difficulty backward drop, my gaze slammed violently into a pair of eyes in the crowd. My movements faltered, and I plummeted straight down from the ten-foot pole. “Bang!” I hit the hard floor solidly, a piercing agony shooting up from my ankle. Boos erupted from the crowd, mixed with vulgar, mocking laughter. “What the hell was that?!” “If you can’t dance, get off the damn stage!” Rick, the floor manager, rushed up in a panic. He bowed and apologized to the crowd while violently yanking me to my feet, hissing through gritted teeth: “Chloe! Do you have a fucking death wish?!” “Do you know how many people are watching tonight? If you ruin this club’s reputation, can you afford to pay for it?!” I clutched my rapidly swelling ankle, trembling from the pain. I looked up toward the VIP booth again, but the familiar eyes I had just seen were gone. Had I imagined it? “What are you standing around for? Get the hell backstage!” Rick’s scolding snapped me back to reality. I gritted my teeth and limped off the stage. Back in the messy dressing room, I had barely sat down when a waiter pushed the door open and threw a cold sentence at me: “Rick said you caused a major accident tonight. Your entire pay for the shift is docked.” “What?” I jerked my head up, my heart plummeting. “All of it? But my mom has physical therapy the day after tomorrow!” Getty Images Khám phá I grabbed the waiter’s arm, my voice laced with begging. “Can you please help me beg Rick? I promise I’ll be careful next time, it will never happen again!” The waiter shook off my hand with a look of disgust. “Begging won’t help. He’s pissed.” “Besides, you’re the one who messed up on stage. Who else is there to blame?” He turned and left, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I collapsed back into my chair, the throbbing in my ankle mixing with the sheer panic in my chest. Therapy bills, medication costs, rent… a mountain of bills swirled in my head, suffocating me. If I didn’t get paid tonight, my mom’s therapy would have to be delayed. Just as I was drowning in despair, the dressing room door opened. Rick walked in, his face slightly softer than before. “Chloe, come with me. The guests in the Diamond Room specifically requested you for a private show. Double pay.” My heart skipped a beat. I knew exactly what a private show entailed. A closed door, expensive alcohol, and hands that didn’t care about boundaries. I had always avoided them like the plague. But thinking of my mom’s therapy bills, thinking of the debt collectors, I hesitated. “What? You don’t want to?” Rick raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine. But don’t expect your base salary this month either.” “I’ll go.” I gritted my teeth. I had already fallen this far. What right did I have to be picky? Rick smiled in satisfaction. “That’s more like it. You’re already in this line of work, why pretend to be some pure saint?” “Hurry up and change. Don’t keep the guests waiting.” I dug a conservative black slip dress out of my locker, wrapped a thin cardigan over it, and followed Rick down the hall to the Diamond Room. Pushing the door open, Rick immediately slapped on a sycophantic smile: “Marcus, I brought her. This is our top girl, Chloe.” I followed Rick’s gaze, trying to force a polite smile, but my eyes instantly froze. Sitting in the center of the plush leather sofa was the exact face I had seen from the stage. Liam Vance. I hadn’t imagined it. Eight years had passed, and he was no longer the green, lovesick college underclassman who used to follow me around. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his features were sharp and composed, exuding the untouchable aura of an A-list Hollywood actor. And I had become a cheap nightclub pole dancer. The humiliation lasted only a second before I shoved my emotions down. The current me didn’t have the luxury of pride. Following Rick’s instructions, I stepped onto the small stage in the center of the room and began moving to the music. I kept a flattering smile plastered on my face, even as sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them painfully. When the song ended, sparse applause echoed in the room. Liam, who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time, finally opened his mouth. His voice dripped with bone-chilling mockery: “Chloe. Eight years later, and you’ve really come up in the world.” The room went dead silent. The men beside him immediately noticed the tension and asked with amused curiosity: “Liam, do you know her?” Liam picked up his glass of red wine, his gaze sweeping over me with contempt. “Not really. We just went to the same college. I had the privilege of hearing all about her ‘glorious exploits’ back then.” He placed a heavy, loaded emphasis on the words glorious exploits. The men around him immediately exchanged knowing, dirty laughs. “Well, since she’s an old alum of our famous leading man, shouldn’t she give us a real show?” A man with a thick gold chain jeered: “Do a striptease for us! Liven things up!” My body went rigid, all the color draining from my face. “I’m sorry… I… I don’t do that kind of dance.” “Don’t do it?” The gold-chain man scoffed. “You work at a club, stop acting like a prude! Dance well, and we’ll reward you.” He pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and slammed it onto the glass table. The others followed suit. Soon, a small mountain of cash piled up on the table. Under the dim, hypnotic lights, that money radiated a filthy, irresistible allure. In my mind, I saw the hospital’s overdue notices, my mom’s innocent, childlike eyes, and the impatient voices of the nurses. As the seconds ticked by, the anticipation in the room soured into impatience. “Are you gonna strip or not? If not, get the hell out!” someone shouted. Liam just sat there, leisurely sipping his wine. He was the high-and-mighty spectator, and I was the meat on the chopping block, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that the pain was the only thing keeping me conscious. I gave a slow, barely perceptible nod. The music started again, a heavier, more suggestive beat. I reached up and pulled out my hair tie, letting my long hair cascade down my back. Then, with trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper on the side of my dress. The sound of the metal teeth sliding down was quiet but deafening to my ears. The dress slipped off my shoulders, revealing the thin black lace bra underneath. The AC was blasting, raising a field of goosebumps across my bare skin. I moved mechanically, instinctively trying to cover myself with my arms, which only earned louder, more excited catcalls. Just as my trembling hands reached around to unhook my bra— “That’s enough,” Liam said, his brow furrowed in deep disgust. Every sound and movement in the room stopped instantly. I stood frozen on the stage, the half-removed dress hanging off the crook of my arm. He stood up, looking down at me as if I were a cockroach. “A dog really can’t change its nature. You’re exactly like your mother. As long as there’s money, you’ll spread your legs for anyone.” With that, he turned and walked out. The heavy door slammed shut behind him. With Liam gone, the rest of the men lost their interest. They grabbed their coats, preparing to leave. I hastily pulled my dress back up, wrapping my cardigan tightly around myself, standing awkwardly with my head bowed. Before leaving, Producer Marcus Thorne suddenly approached me. He shoved a business card down the front of my dress, his breath reeking of expensive liquor. “Miss Chloe, right? You’ve got a spectacular body, and you know how to move it.” He leaned in, his eyes wandering sleazily over my chest. “I’m casting a new project. We need actors willing to be… bold. Create some truly ‘artistic’ adult films.” “If you’re interested, give me a call. The pay is highly negotiable.” The door clicked shut. The room was finally empty. I looked up and numbly wiped a tear from my cheek. I walked over to the table and picked up the scattered hundred-dollar bills, gently smoothing out their creases, stacking them neatly. I counted them twice. It was exactly $5,500. I did the math in my head. My mom’s specialty meds for next month—the best imported brand—cost $1,200 a vial. I could buy four vials right now. That left $700. Winter was coming, and last year she kept complaining her feet were cold. I could buy her a thick pair of UGG boots and a warm down jacket. The radiator in our apartment was always breaking. When I looked at it that way… tonight was actually completely worth it. It was just being looked at, touched a few times, and enduring insults I’d already heard a thousand times over. I survived it. Compared to the cold, merciless numbers on a hospital bill, what was a little lost dignity? I pushed myself up on my numb knees, carefully stashing the thick wad of cash into my bag. As I turned to leave, my peripheral vision caught the business card lying on the edge of the carpet. I stopped at the doorway, my hand resting on the freezing doorknob. The doctor had told me there was a specialized neuro-hospital in New York that could completely cure my mom’s cognitive damage. But the surgery cost was astronomical: $100,000. To me, it was an impossible sum. What kind of “film” could Marcus Thorne possibly want me for? Obviously, it was going to be cheap, degrading, explicit trash. But if shooting one film meant I could walk away with $100,000, what did I have left to lose? My body had already been ruined and dirtied eight years ago, hadn’t it? What difference did it make if it got a little dirtier? As long as I got that $100,000. I took a deep breath, turned around, walked back, and picked up the business card. A week later, I arrived at the address Marcus had given me. It was a secluded mansion up in the hills. There were barely any crew members—maybe three people total. Marcus greeted me with a sleazy smile, saying we needed to do a “costume test” first. His assistant handed me an outfit made of translucent mesh that barely qualified as lingerie. It covered almost nothing. Marcus directed the shoot himself, barking orders for me to strike degrading, provocative poses. “Arch your back… stick it out.” “Look up, drop the strap off your shoulder.” The blinding studio lights hit my skin, and my first instinct was to cross my arms over my chest. “Put your hands down. Act natural.” “Yeah, turn around, dip your waist lower… part your legs a little more.” “The eyes, give me bedroom eyes! Look at the lens and imagine you’re desperate for it…” I was a puppet with its strings cut, mindlessly contorting into whatever suggestive positions he demanded. I swallowed my nausea and just kept repeating the number in my head: One hundred thousand… One hundred thousand… Once I got this money, my mom could have her surgery. After the shoot, Marcus personally walked me to the door. The moment I stepped out of the mansion, I bumped right into Liam, who was walking out holding a woman’s hand. When he saw me, he froze dead in his tracks. Marcus quickly stepped forward with an obsequious grin. “Liam! What a coincidence, what brings you to the hills?” Liam ignored him. His eyes were locked onto me, staring with an intensity that felt like he was trying to flay me alive. The woman beside him broke the silence, her voice soft and polite. “Hello, Marcus.” “And who might this be?” Marcus asked. Liam finally broke his stare, his tone softening as he introduced her: “This is Audrey. My fiancée.”

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On the third day of my mission to capture Tristan’s heart, he confessed his feelings to me. But the affection meter floating above his head clearly read a solid 0! After we made it official, he spoiled me rotten. On our sixth anniversary, he proposed in a spectacular, high-profile way. As I was nodding with tears in my eyes, a barrage of live comments suddenly floated across my vision: [The Second Male Lead must be so exhausted acting. To protect the Female Lead, he endured his disgust and played along with the Vicious Supporting Female for 6 whole years!] [This substitute really bought into her role, LMAO!] My blood instantly froze. No wonder that number hadn’t changed in six years. At the same time, the system’s cold, mechanical voice exploded in my mind: “Final phase initiated. Capture countdown: Ten days.” “Upon failure, you will be completely obliterated.” Smiling, I pulled back the hand he was about to put the ring on and wiped my tears. “Sorry, but I’m tired of playing this dating game.” 1. The holographic comments were still scrolling past my eyes: [Whoa, did the supporting girl’s expression just change?] [She should’ve woken up a long time ago. The Second Male Lead only has the Female Lead in his heart.] [Sitting here waiting for her to go crazy and turn evil—] Turn evil? No. I just suddenly remembered a lot of details. He never allowed me to meet anyone alone, claiming he was “worried about bad influences.” He always gently interrupted whenever I brought up my career: “I make enough to take care of you.” It turned out that wasn’t him spoiling me. It was a cage. I returned to our shared mansion in a daze, mechanically throwing my things into a suitcase. As I passed the study, the comments suddenly surged: [Look at the computer! Tristan didn’t log out of his messages!] [Oh no, if she sees his chat history, it’s over…] [Danger! Initiate Female Lead Protection Protocol!] A crisp notification chime echoed from the study. I pushed the door open and walked in. The monitor was glowing, displaying a chat window between Tristan and the Male Lead, Carter. The latest message was sent by Tristan: “She suddenly rejected the proposal. Protect Chloe these next few days. Don’t let Harper anywhere near her.” Carter replied quickly: “Don’t worry. Thanks for your hard work all these years.” I laughed out loud. How absurd. Because of me, two men who used to be bitter rivals had formed a united front. I scrolled up. The chat history sliced through my skin like a dull knife. Carter: “I remember in the original plot, Harper not only ruined Chloe’s face but also hired guys to assault her. It must be so hard for you to share a bed with that venomous woman every day.” Tristan: “As long as Chloe is safe, none of this matters.” Carter: “She seems to be falling deeper in love with you. If she finds out the truth, will she go even crazier?” Tristan: “She won’t find out.” “And if she does, and dares to touch a hair on Chloe’s head—” “I’ll break her arms and legs, throw her in a psych ward, and lock her up for the rest of her life.” He even added an exclamation mark to that last sentence. I stared at the screen, my fingertips turning to ice. The comments were boiling over: [“None of this matters”… The Second Male Lead loves her so much! I won’t say who!] [Am I the only one who thinks this conversation is terrifying? Setting someone up for six years just to protect the Female Lead?] [To the person above: She’s a vicious extra! He’s doing society a favor while protecting his true love. It’s a win-win!] [Look at the supporting girl’s face… is she about to snap?] [Stop causing trouble and just run away!] Run? I looked down at my slender wrists. Yeah. I needed to run. It was pitch black by the time I dragged my suitcase out the front door. I stood on the sidewalk, momentarily unsure of where to go. The comments were getting anxious on my behalf: [Is she really leaving?] [Hurry up and go! Don’t ruin the sweet moments between the Second Male Lead and the Female Lead!] [Wait… is that car in the distance Tristan’s?!] Headlights pierced the darkness, and a familiar black sedan slammed on its brakes right next to me. Tristan got out and ran over. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, his breathing heavy, and his face wore a perfectly crafted mask of panic and heartbreak. “Harper, I’m sorry. I rushed it… I thought you’d be happy.” He reached out to grab my hand, his eyes turning red. “Don’t leave. Let’s sit down and talk, okay?” If this were the past, my heart would have melted into a puddle. But now, all I could think of was the phrase break her arms and legs and lock her up. I took a half-step back, dodging his touch. “I don’t blame you,” I heard my own voice say, light and airy. “I’m just bored of this.” “Bored…?” His eyelashes fluttered, acting as if he couldn’t comprehend the word. “You don’t love me anymore?” Under the streetlights, his features were tinged with a shattered vulnerability. His acting was so flawless he deserved an Oscar. A single comment drifted by: [Honestly, his kindness to her these past six years couldn’t have been entirely fake… this is kind of heartbreaking.] That sentence suddenly woke me up. I raised my head and looked deeply into his eyes. “Tristan.” “In these six years, was there even a single second… where you genuinely felt happy?” His pupils shrank infinitesimally. He didn’t answer. But the comments exploded: [!!! Did she find out?!] [Holy shit, high alert—] [Tristan, don’t just stand there! Make up a lie!!] The wind was freezing. I grabbed my suitcase, turned around, and vanished into the night. No footsteps chased after me. Only the clear, rhythmic ticking of the countdown echoed in my mind: 9 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes. —The game wasn’t over yet. But the player was done following the rules. 2. I hailed a cab and leaned against the cold window, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Not out of fear. Out of excitement. So this was what it felt like to strip away a six-year facade. It felt like I could finally take a deep breath. The countdown flashed coldly in my peripheral vision: 9 days, 23 hours, 10 minutes. I had less than ten days to live. All because of a man who would never love me. How ridiculous. “Where to, miss?” the driver asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. I gave him an address. It was a riverside café I used to love. Tristan had once told me it was “too loud and chaotic.” He never let me go back after that. The comments drifted across my vision: [Where is she going? Why isn’t she running away?] [Tristan’s last look was terrifying…] [Is it just me, or does she look absolutely stunning in that red dress?] Outside the window, the neon lights of the city blurred past. For the past six years, I had lived inside a glass dome. Everything I saw was a sanitized version of the world, filtered by Tristan. Now, the glass was shattered. The wind poured in, bringing with it the smell of street food, the damp river breeze, and the laughter of strangers. It felt so real it made me want to cry. The café was exactly where it used to be. The bell above the door chimed as I pushed it open. The owner, Dave, a man with a graying beard, paused when he saw me. “Harper?” “Dave. Long time no see.” “It really is you!” He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped out from behind the counter. “It’s been what, five or six years? You used to love that window seat. You’d order a latte and write screenplays all afternoon…” Only then did I remember. Before I met Tristan, I used to come here to write my thesis. I was a film student back then, dreaming of winning an Academy Award, scribbling margin notes all over my scripts. And then what happened? Then Tristan said, “Acting is too exhausting. Let me take care of you.” He said, “Hollywood is too toxic. It doesn’t suit you.” He said, “Harper, having me is enough.” And like an idiot, I believed him. I skipped my auditions, turned down contracts, locked my dreams in a drawer, and handed him the key. “The usual?” Dave asked. “Yeah,” I paused. “And add a slice of tiramisu.” I never dared to eat it before. Tristan used to tell me I “gained weight easily and wouldn’t look good on camera.” But I only had ten days left. What did it matter if I gained weight? The window seat was empty. I sat down. The river breeze brushed my face, and the city lights on the opposite bank reflected in the dark water, shattering into ripples of liquid gold. As I took the first bite of cake, the sweet cream and the bitter coffee-soaked ladyfingers melted on my tongue. I closed my eyes. It was so delicious. So this was what it felt like to be alive. The comments went quiet for a moment before slowly resuming: [She’s eating so earnestly…] [Why do I feel inexplicably sad?] [If I only had ten days left to live, I’d want a good meal too.] [But seriously, is Tristan really going to let her be this free? I doubt it.] I doubted it too. So when my phone buzzed with Tristan’s name on the caller ID, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. I answered but didn’t speak. “Harper, where are you?” “I’m worried about you,” his voice carried a trace of exhaustion. “I’m eating.” “Come home, Harper,” he softened his tone. “We both need to calm down. I promise I won’t bother you tonight. You can sleep in the guest room. We’ll talk things out tomorrow, okay?” Such a familiar cadence. For six years, every time I threw a tantrum, he acted exactly like this. Gently, patiently coaxing me back into the cage, step by step. And then everything would return to the status quo. “Tristan,” I said, staring out at the river. “Do you remember my senior thesis film?” He went silent for a moment. “Why bring that up now?” “I played a captive woman who, in the end, burned the house down with herself inside it.” I scooped up another bite of cake. “You told me the acting was too extreme. You said no one in real life would be that stupid.” “But I understand it now.” “She wasn’t stupid. It was just that the fire was the only thing she had left.” The breathing on the other end of the line grew heavier. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m trying to say,” I swallowed the last bite of cake, “for the next ten days, I’m going to live my own life.” “Don’t look for me. Don’t bother me. Don’t threaten me using my family.” “After ten days, if I’m still alive…” I let out a soft laugh. “Then we can go back to playing your game.” 3. I checked into the most expensive presidential suite in the city, swiping the supplementary black card Tristan had given me. The comments were still flowing: [A presidential suite??? She really knows how to enjoy herself.] [Using the Second Male Lead’s money to stay in a luxury hotel. Legend.] [She only has ten days left. Let her splurge!] I dropped my suitcase in the foyer and sank into a bathtub covered in rose petals. The countdown ticked in my mind: 8 days, 14 hours, 32 minutes. I had eight and a half days left. My phone was eerily quiet. Tristan hadn’t called back. That was very unlike him. Deep into the night, I was lying on the massive California King bed. The comments were sparse: [Is she really sleeping? She’s got nerves of steel.] [What is the Second Male Lead doing? I think he’s tracking her phone’s GPS.] [Honestly, this feeling of being constantly monitored is suffocating.] Just as I was drifting off, a violent crash echoed from the front of the suite. I jolted upright. The comments instantly exploded: [WTF WAS THAT SOUND?!] [Someone’s kicking the door down!!!] [Is it Tristan???] [Help, I’m so tense!] Before I could react, the bedroom door was violently kicked open. Tristan stood in the doorway. His eyes were completely bloodshot, looking like a man pushed to the absolute edge of fury. “Harper.” His voice was hoarse as he walked toward me, step by heavy step. I instinctively grabbed the collar of my bathrobe. He stopped in front of me, his shadow entirely engulfing me. “Where is Chloe?” I froze. “What?” “Stop acting.” He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight my bones ached. “Where did you kidnap Chloe? Tell me!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” I tried to pull away, but he squeezed harder. The comments were scrolling at lightspeed: [What’s going on? The Female Lead got kidnapped?] [By the supporting girl? Impossible, she’s been at the hotel the whole time!] [The timeline doesn’t match up. She didn’t have time to hire kidnappers!] [Tristan has lost his damn mind!] “Tristan, let me go!” I gasped in pain. “I haven’t even seen Chloe! I’ve been here the whole—” “Harper, I underestimated you.” “You put on such a great show of being heartbroken, only to turn around and kidnap Chloe? You really are a venomous bitch.” “I didn’t do it,” I said through gritted teeth. He violently shoved me back onto the mattress, leaning over and pinning me by placing his hands on either side of my head. “I’m giving you one last chance. Where is Chloe? What did you do to her?” His breath hit my face, carrying an almost psychotic hostility. In six years, I had never seen this side of him. The comments began to split: [Tristan is terrifying…] [But if the supporting girl really kidnapped the FL, she deserves it, right?] [Read the room! She didn’t have time to commit the crime!] [Could this be a setup?] “I told you, I don’t know.” “Tristan, look at me. Have I ever lied to you in the past six years?” His pupils contracted. He wavered for a split second. “The location where Chloe’s phone signal disappeared,” he looked down at me, his gaze like a poisoned blade, “was the exact same café you went to.” My blood ran cold. A trap. Someone had set a trap. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t…” My voice started to tremble. “Enough!” He abruptly stood up and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. Grabbing my hand, he pressed the cold steel edge directly against my wrist. “Harper.” His voice was horrifyingly low. “I know you hate Chloe. I know you hate her for stealing me away—even though I never belonged to you to begin with. But you don’t get to touch her.” “I’m going to ask you one last time! Where is Chloe?” The blade bit into the flesh of my wrist. Bright red blood instantly welled up. Agony shot through my veins like an electric current. My vision went dark, and I nearly passed out. The comments were going insane: [He’s lost it! He’s completely lost it!] [I’m starting to feel bad for the supporting girl… she legitimately looks clueless.] [Harper, say something! Even if you have to lie!] I opened my mouth, a broken, breathy sound escaping my throat: “I… didn’t…” 4. Crimson blood stained the pristine white sheets. Tristan’s hand was like an iron vice, locking my wrist in place. The blade remained buried in my flesh. Every heartbeat brought a fresh wave of tearing agony. “One last time,” his voice sounded like it was coming from miles away. “Where is Chloe?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My vision began to blur. All I could see was his clenched jaw and the manic, bloodthirsty redness in his eyes. The comments flooded in like a tidal wave: [She’s fading fast…] [Tristan, let go! She’s actually going to die!] [Can someone call 911?! This is literally attempted murder!] [Where the hell is the system?! Are they just going to ignore this level of violence?!] The system remained dead silent. Right. In a capture-target game, the life of the supporting female character was never a priority. I was just an NPC. A stumbling block on the protagonists’ path to true love. A malicious background prop meant to highlight the Female Lead’s kindness. But I could feel pain. Real, agonizing pain. “Still won’t talk?” Tristan pressed the blade down another fraction of an inch. I heard the faint sound of skin tearing, followed by a warmer, heavier flow of blood. Black spots danced in my vision, like static on an old television set. Just as I thought I was actually going to die right then and there— Tristan’s phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, his pupils dilated. He answered it almost instantly: “Chloe?” From the other end came a woman’s intermittent sobbing: “Tristan… I-I escaped…” “They took me to an abandoned warehouse on the west side… they all ran away…” “…I’m so scared…” “Don’t be scared! I’m on my way!” Tristan’s tone shifted instantly. The ruthless cruelty vanished, replaced by a trembling, desperate tenderness I had never heard before. “Are you hurt? Find somewhere safe to hide.” He forgot to even hang up the phone. He dropped my wrist and sprinted out of the suite. The blade was yanked out of my flesh, sending another spike of blinding pain through my arm. I collapsed back onto the mattress, watching his silhouette disappear through the door. The comments went dead silent for a second before exploding: [He just left her?!] [Her wrist is still bleeding!] [He could have at least called an ambulance?!] [This is his idea of love? Being willing to casually slaughter someone else for the FL?] [How did I ever think he was devoted and romantic…] I struggled to lift my uninjured hand, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. My fingertips were shaking. It was only inches away, but it felt like miles. More and more blood poured from my wrist. The sheets were soaked, the deep crimson spreading endlessly across the white fabric. I gritted my teeth and threw my entire body weight forward by a single inch— My fingers finally brushed the edge of the phone. The comments turned into a cheering squad: [Come on! You got it!] [Dial 911! Hurry!] [Don’t fall asleep! Hang in there!] I unlocked the screen, but my vision was too blurry to make out the numbers. Relying entirely on muscle memory, I tapped 9-1-1 and hit dial. The dial tone rang through the speaker. Once. Twice. My breathing grew shallower, the black spots in my vision multiplying. Click. The call connected. “911, what is your emergency?” I opened my mouth to speak, but only a faint gasp escaped. “Hello? Can you hear me? Do you need police, fire, or medical?” I wanted to say: I’m at a hotel. I’m bleeding out. I’m dying. But it felt like something was blocking my throat. I couldn’t make a sound. “Hello? Is anyone there?” The voice from the speaker grew distant. The phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the plush carpet with a dull thud. The comments were frantic: [NO!!!] [Somebody save her!!!] [Where is the hotel staff?! How did no one hear a door getting kicked down?!] [Tristan, you absolute piece of shit!!!] My consciousness began to scatter. In a daze, I felt like I was floating. I looked down and saw myself curled up in a pool of blood, my face as pale as a sheet of paper. And then I saw the comments updating. [Tristan found Chloe.] [Chloe threw herself into his arms and cried.] [He’s comforting her, telling her ‘it’s going to be okay.’] [Chloe kissed him.] […They’re making out.] [While Harper is literally lying here bleeding to death.] The comments paused for a few seconds. Then the tone drastically shifted: [I suddenly feel… incredibly sick.] [What did the supporting girl even do wrong? She just fell in love with the wrong guy.] [She genuinely dedicated six years of her life to him.] [What gives Tristan the right to treat her like this?] [If she dies, he’s a literal murderer.] [I want to see him regret this.] [I want to see him drop to his knees and beg for her forgiveness.] [But she might not live to see it.] [Can someone please go to the hotel and save her? I can’t watch this anymore.] The countdown was still glowing, flickering weakly in my mind: 8 days, 9 hours, 01 minutes. The game wasn’t over. But it looked like the player was logging off early.

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“You’re pregnant.” I was halfway through a sip of water when the words hit. I nearly choked, my throat seizing as I forced myself to swallow and maintain a mask of icy composure. The only reason I didn’t spit it out was because the doctor sitting across from me, looking clinical and professional in his white coat, was my ex-boyfriend. 1 “Ow, hey. Take it easy.” I was lying on an exam bed in the ER, letting a certain someone poke and prod at my abdomen with more clinical detachment than I found strictly necessary. “How long has the pain been localized in the lower right quadrant? From what I can see, it’s not appendicitis.” Silas West withdrew his hand—his long, elegant fingers that I once knew so well. He looked at me like I was a stranger off the street. If it weren’t for that familiar, infuriatingly arrogant edge in his voice, I wouldn’t have believed this was the man I’d shared a bed with for three years. “Since last night,” I muttered, turning my face away. It had only been a month since the breakup. Apparently, thirty days was all it took for some people to become completely unfazed. Cold-hearted prick. “Have you been sexually active recently?” “…” He knew damn well we hadn’t been. Suddenly, a nurse burst in with two ultrasound reports. They were clearly mine. Silas took the sheets, and I watched his handsome face go from clinical neutral to a shade of dark, thunderous brooding. “You’re pregnant,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. I nearly died right there on the crinkly exam paper. “Excuse me?” “A ten-week-old fetus,” he said, his eyes flashing with something that looked suspiciously like hurt masked by rage. Ten weeks ago, Silas and I were still very much together. But in the three years we’d dated, we had never actually… gone all the way. We’d been “intimate,” but there was always a line he didn’t cross, a ghost of someone else always lingering in the room. “Riley Miller,” he growled, “Did you cheat on me?” As a woman who was, quite frankly, still a member of the V-club, I knew this was a massive clerical error. But seeing him this worked up? It felt too good to pass up. I wanted to burn his composure to the ground. “Well, since you’ve figured it out, I guess there’s no point in lying,” I said, my voice dripping with fake nonchalance. I didn’t just stop at the verbal jab; I sat up and crossed my legs with an air of sophisticated mystery. “I was actually surprised to see you here, Silas. Did you drive all the way from Seattle to Boise just to attend my wedding? I haven’t sent out the invites yet.” Honestly, seeing Silas at Boise Memorial was a shock. He was the golden boy of the University of Washington’s surgical department. Why would he sabotage a brilliant career to move to a mid-sized city in Idaho? As for me, I was only here because after our explosive breakup a month ago, I’d packed my life into a U-Haul and fled back to my parents’ house. I couldn’t stand the sight of the Seattle skyline if he was under it. “Riley!” He stepped closer, his breathing heavy. “I’m right here. No need to yell. I left the house in a rush today, so I don’t have the save-the-date on me. I’ll be sure to mail you one, though. For old times’ sake.” I stood up, ready to make a grand exit. If I stayed another second, I was fairly certain Silas might actually bite me. The look in his eyes was feral. As I tried to brush past him, his foot “accidentally” caught mine. I tripped, and he pivoted instantly, blocking my path. I tumbled straight into his chest. To keep from eating the linoleum floor, my arms instinctively flew up and wrapped around his neck. The scent of his cologne—something crisp, like cedar and rain—hit me like a physical blow. Even through the layers of his shirt and white lab coat, I could feel the radiating heat of his body. “Already a ‘married woman,’ yet you’re still throwing yourself into my arms?” he whispered, his voice dangerously low. 2 Gaslighting. Incredible. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I hissed, trying to untangle myself. “My fiancé owns several properties here in Boise. My future mother-in-law adores me. She’s already talking about helping with the baby so I can focus on my career. With a setup like that, I don’t need to throw myself at an ex.” “Riley, you really are something else.” A cold draft hit my back as the door swung open again. It was the same nurse from before, looking frantic. “I am so sorry! The charts got swapped at the desk. Dr. West, this is Ms. Miller’s report.” I should have run when I had the chance. The silence in the room was deafening. Silas took the new report, read it, and then a slow, terrifyingly beautiful smirk spread across his face. “Well,” he said, handing me the paper. “I can prescribe you some high-grade laxatives.” “What?” “You aren’t pregnant, Riley. Your ‘abdominal pain’ is just a severe case of being full of it. Literally. You’re constipated.” I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. I looked at the nurse, who was doing a heroic, if failing, job of not laughing. “Fix the filing system,” Silas said to the nurse, his voice tight with suppressed amusement. “We can’t have this happening twice.” Just as he was about to tuck the report away, the nurse spoke up again. “This other one—the pregnancy report—it belongs to a Ms. Blake. She’s waiting in the lounge.” My heart did a painful somersault. After the breakup, the name “Serena Blake” was a trigger. “Which Ms. Blake?” I asked, my voice suddenly small. “Serena?” The nurse nodded, surprised. I looked at Silas. So, that was it. Why would a top-tier surgeon move to a “flyover” city? Because his “White Moonlight”—the one who got away, the girl he’d never truly moved on from—lived here. He hadn’t come for me. He’d come for her. Then the second realization hit me like a freight train. “That’s Serena’s pregnancy report?” The nurse, blissfully unaware of the emotional carnage she was causing, nodded again. “Dr. West has been her primary since she arrived. The girls at the desk were gossiping… they said since Dr. West and Ms. Blake are old friends, maybe the baby is—” “That’s enough,” Silas snapped, cutting her off. The nurse scurried out, but the damage was done. Serena Blake was the reason Silas and I were over. She had spent the last six months of our relationship weaving herself back into his life, and now, here she was. Pregnant. 3 Two months ago. That was when she’d flown to Seattle to “reconnect” with him. “Riley, it’s not what it looks like—” Silas started. “We’re over, Silas.” “I can explain the timeline—” “I don’t care about your timeline. I’m not interested.” I turned on my heel and slammed his office door so hard the glass rattled in the frame. He was on my heels instantly. As we reached the hallway, the noise must have drawn attention. Serena emerged from the waiting area, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach. We came face-to-face. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a glance. My only goal was to get out of this hospital and out of this town. I’d only taken a few steps when Serena let out a sharp gasp. She crumpled toward the floor, clutching her belly and whimpering in a way that screamed for attention. Silas, it hurts, her silence screamed. I saw him hesitate. Just for a second. That split-second of indecision was all I needed to know where I stood. He stayed. He went back to her. I walked out of the hospital doors alone, clutching my ultrasound report—the one that said I was just a girl with a stomach ache, not a woman with a future. Who was playing who? When I got home, my parents were staged in the living room like a firing squad. I knew that look. “Mom,” I said, closing the door quietly, trying to maintain the peace. Neither of them looked at me. They sat stiff-backed, faces set in grim lines. I decided to just sit down and take whatever lecture was coming. “Don’t you dare sit down!” my mother barked. “It’s my house too, Mom.” “You’re nearly thirty!” she shouted, ignoring me. “I set up three dates for you this week and you blew off every single one! Do you want to kill me? Even the neighbor’s golden retriever has a partner and two litters of puppies by now!” She shoved a stack of glossy papers into my hands. I looked down. In bold, horrific letters, it read: HUSBAND WANTED. My jaw dropped. “Mom, what is this? And why is my photo printed upside down?” It looked less like a dating profile and more like a ‘Missing Person’ flyer or a funeral notice. “I wanted to see if I could attract a man by making you look like a project,” she snapped. “I’ve already coordinated with my friend Mrs. Higgins. You’re going on a blind date with her son tomorrow. If you blow this one off, I’ll have your father post these flyers on every telephone pole from here to downtown. Do you understand?” My mom was a lost cause when she was in a “Matchmaker” frenzy. I turned to my dad, hoping for a shred of fatherly solidarity. “Dad, come on. I’m your little girl. Don’t you want me to stay home a few more years? Keep you company?” My dad stood up, took off his favorite cardigan, walked to the window, and threw it outside. “Go find a nice man to take care of you, Riley,” he said solemnly. 4 I caved. The thought of my “funeral-notice” dating flyer plastered all over Boise was too much to bear. I followed my mother’s instructions and took an Uber to a high-end French bistro downtown. It was actually quite nice—dim lighting, velvet booths, very romantic. My mom had already scurried off to “meet the guests” at the door. I was sitting at the table, scrolling through my phone, when I saw them. Mrs. Higgins, my mom… and Silas West. The world is a cruel, tiny place. The seating arrangement was a nightmare: Me, my mom, Silas, and his mother. Silas sat directly across from me, looking like the picture of a perfect gentleman. He smiled at my mother, a sweet, charming expression that made my skin crawl. “It’s so good to see you again, Mrs. Miller.” “Oh, Silas! Look at you! You’ve grown into such a handsome man,” my mom gushed. She was already mentally picking out her dress for the wedding. I stabbed at my salad, glaring at Silas with enough venom to kill a cobra. “I don’t know what happened with the last guy she was seeing,” my mom sighed, leaning toward Silas’s mom. “Three years down the drain. He must have been a real loser.” “Oh?” Silas leaned forward, his interest piqued. “What did she tell you about him?” A cold dread settled in my stomach. When I’d come home crying and angry, I hadn’t told my mom the truth about the cheating or Serena. I’d told her something much more… emasculating. Something that wouldn’t make her pity me, but would make her glad he was gone. “Well,” my mom whispered, not very quietly. “Riley said the poor boy had… performance issues. Medical ones. You know, ‘failure to launch.’ Extremely premature.” The sympathetic look Silas’s mother gave him was legendary. “Oh, bless his heart. It’s good she found out before marriage. That’s a lifetime of frustration.” “Exactly,” my mom agreed. I watched Silas’s face. His calm, “perfect gentleman” mask was beginning to twitch into something much darker. I buried my face in my wine glass, chugging the Chardonnay. I didn’t dare look up. I could feel his gaze burning holes into my forehead. Needing an escape, I mumbled something about the restroom and bolted. I was halfway to the lounge when a hand gripped my wrist and pulled me into the shadows of the hallway near the coat check. “You,” I gasped, backing up. Silas didn’t say a word. He just kept stepping forward until my back hit the wall. “Premature?” he whispered, loosening his tie with one hand. “Performance issues? You seem to have a lot of opinions on my anatomy, Riley.” The scent of cedar and rain enveloped me. He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my neck. It sent a traitorous shiver down my spine. “Riley,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration. “How can you claim I’m ‘inadequate’ when you never even let me try?” My heart was hammering against my ribs. He was the one who cheated! Why was I the one feeling guilty? Just then, I heard the clicking of heels. Our mothers were coming toward the restrooms. If they saw us like this, my mother would have the priest on speed dial before dessert. “Let go! They’re coming!” I hissed. I tried to push him away, but he grabbed both my wrists with one hand, pinning them above my head, while his other hand cupped the back of my neck. He didn’t hesitate. Silas kissed me—a deep, possessive, “I’m-going-to-prove-you-wrong” kiss that tasted like red wine and years of suppressed longing. He broke into my senses with practiced ease. By the time I could think to pull away, the two “Best Friends” were standing five feet away, clutching their pearls and grinning like they’d won the lottery. Game over. 5 “I’d love to get Riley’s new number,” Silas said with a boyish grin. My mother didn’t even wait for me to agree; she grabbed my phone, unlocked it, and pulled up my QR code. So much for blocking him. But Silas wasn’t done. He was a shark in a tailored suit. “The only problem is,” Silas sighed, looking at my mom with puppy-dog eyes, “I’m staying in my mom’s guest suite, but it’s actually just a studio. I’ve been sleeping on a loveseat for a week. My back is killing me.” His mother nudged him, looking confused, but my mom took the bait hook, line, and sinker. “Well, stay with us! We have plenty of room, and I haven’t seen your mother in ages. You can both move into the guest wing for a few days!” And just like that, the next morning, Silas arrived with three suitcases, looking like he planned to move in permanently. I had never met a more shameless human being. Over brunch, I learned the backstory I’d forgotten. Silas’s mom was a Boise native who had moved to Seattle after a messy divorce when Silas was six. Apparently, our families had been close back then. I’d met him when I was three, but I had zero memory of the scrawny boy who had apparently decided way back then that I was his. While my mom was busy fawning over him, Silas’s phone buzzed on the table. The notification read: Serena. I pretended to be intensely interested in my toast, but I was watching him like a hawk. Thanks for taking care of me. Dinner tonight? the message read. That little snake. Silas was literally in my house, and she was already trying to lure him away. Suddenly, a competitive fire ignited in my chest. I wasn’t going to let her win. Not this time. I pulled up a local app and booked tickets for the most intense, multi-hour experience I could find. “I actually booked us something for tomorrow,” I said, interrupting their conversation. “An escape room followed by a three-hour movie marathon. Silas, I hope you’re free?” Silas looked surprised, then his lips curled into a smirk. He checked his phone, saw Serena’s message, and typed back a single word: Busy.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391266”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel