Category: English

Jade and I were once gentry daughters, raised in a world of rigid social codes, but a twist of fate had tossed us through time, landing us here as two ordinary college students. Jade, always the wild one, had declared her freedom the moment we arrived. Released from the “female commandments,” she’d loudly proclaimed her goal: to date a hundred men before ever settling down. Yet, as graduation approached and I found myself engaged to the kindest man in this century, Reid, the great love hunt of Jade’s never materialized. I thought she might stay single forever. Then, she stumbled into my arms, the smell of champagne and cheap perfume heavy around her. Her hands clutched a slim document—a marriage certificate. “Sylvie,” she slurred, her eyes shining with a manic, triumphant joy. “He rejected me three years ago. Turned me down flat. But I never quit. Look. I finally got him.” I smiled, genuinely happy for her. After all, today was my own wedding day, and Reid had always been my gentle, steady anchor. Jade’s sudden, drunken announcement felt like a perfect double celebration. I carefully guided her to the couch, but as I stood, my elbow snagged the document in her hand, sending it fluttering to the floor. I picked it up and opened it. The sight of the photo hit me with the force of a physical blow. The man smiling out from the page, his expression sunshine-bright and utterly devoted, was Reid. My Reid. The man who had choked up placing my ring on my finger just hours ago. 1 My mind went blank. I squeezed my eyes shut, then blinked them open, trying to flush the image away. It had to be the post-wedding adrenaline; I was seeing Reid’s face everywhere. He was supposed to be finalizing the paperwork for the gallery expansion, our gallery. He told me we’d file our own certificate after the show. How could he have possibly had the time—or the heart—to do this? But Jade’s voice, thick with liquor yet laced with an undeniable, sickening sweetness, floated clearly into the silence. “Reid was the first thing I saw when we landed in this century. I loved him instantly. But he only had eyes for my best friend, so I had to work slowly, subtly, to win him over.” “The road was tough, but the ending is perfect.” I gripped the paper hard. The sharp edges dug into my palm, painfully real. I had known Reid for five years. They had been in love for three of them, operating in a world I couldn’t see. I mechanically turned toward the couch. Jade was still there, smiling a senseless, drunken smile. “Since Reid married me, and kept Sylvie outside our life, it means he truly loves me.” The tears came then, hot and unbidden. I closed my eyes and whispered, using the formal tone I sometimes slipped into. “Are you not afraid Sylvie will find out about this betrayal?” Jade laughed, shaking her head. “Sylvie and I grew up together. If she finds out, we’ll just bring her to live with us.” “It would be… it would be like having a sister-wife. We are like sisters, she won’t mind.” Something sparked in her memory then, and she lunged up, snatching the marriage certificate from my hand. She kissed the photo and lovingly stuffed the precious thing into her coat pocket, still giggling. On the day of my wedding, my husband had already married my best friend. And now, they planned to use an ancient, twisted rule to condescend to me with the position of a mistress. The shock was absolute. My hands and feet felt numb, heavy with ice. I was about to demand an answer, a reason, when the front door swung open. Reid’s warm, loving gaze settled on my face. He didn’t see Jade on the sofa. He walked right to me, pulling me into his arms in a playful embrace. “I finally got rid of those useless groomsmen,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck. “Now, the night is all ours.” Excitedly, he scooped me up into his arms, but his eyes caught Jade’s form in his peripheral vision. He stopped dead, and the excitement drained from his face. In the next instant, he dropped me. I fell, unprepared, with a sickening thud. The back of my head slammed against the corner of the coffee table, and a blinding jolt of pain made my vision go black. Reid finally turned, saw my contorted face, and rushed to pull me up, panic in his eyes. “I am so sorry, Sylvie, I didn’t mean it! I was just startled by your friend!” he stammered. “She knows tonight is important for us. Why is she sleeping here like a giant spotlight? I’ll send her away right now.” He released me, his face a mask of annoyance as he roughly pulled Jade to her feet. “Jade, go home. You have your apartment. Stop being in the way.” I stood paralyzed, watching him drag her. The movement looked crude and disgusted, but I saw it—the careful, almost proprietary hand gripping her lower back, steadying her. That small, tender gesture sliced my heart open. Reid didn’t notice my silence. He was still complaining. “Sylvie rented you a place just around the corner. How can you still freeload off us like this?” The jostling finally made Jade open her eyes. She smiled dazedly at Reid, about to speak, but he clapped a hand over her mouth. Reid avoided my gaze, clearly flustered. “Your friend is loud when she drinks. I’ll take her home now. Wait for me here, okay?” Before I could process a word, he was guiding a muffled, groaning Jade toward the door. He didn’t notice the blood trickling down the side of my head, staining my wedding dress. Dizzy and nauseous, I fought to steady myself. I had to follow. I hailed a cab and had it stop a block away from Jade’s apartment building. They were arguing on the sidewalk, oblivious to me. “Reid, you’re mine tonight. I need you to stay with me.” Jade was clinging to his neck, whining like a child. Reid looked at her, his expression torn. I almost thought he would remember that it was our wedding night, that he would refuse her. Then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Reid. Sylvie, I safely dropped off Jade. A big client urgently needs to see some pieces tonight. I won’t be back, darling. Get some rest. My blood ran cold. I immediately called him, but the line rang and rang, unanswered. I wanted to throw my phone, to storm up to them and scream, Why would you betray me? But I froze, watching Reid cup Jade’s face in his hands, then kiss her fiercely, hungrily. My stomach turned. It was too much. I stumbled behind the thick trunk of an old maple tree and finally gave in, retching violently onto the grass. The man I had given my life to. The woman I had considered my only sister in this terrifying new world. They had coordinated a crushing blow on the happiest day of my life. Hollowed out, I leaned against the trunk. The breeze carried their voices back to me. “Reid, thank you for marrying me. Even if we can’t be public, just knowing I’m your wife makes me so happy.” “I know this is awful to Sylvie, but I truly love you.” Jade sounded sober now, her voice thick with tears. Reid gently wiped her face. “Don’t be silly,” he murmured. “We are the legal couple. Sylvie is busy with work, and sometimes she stays at the gallery to paint. We’ll be discreet, just like before. She won’t notice anything.” Jade began to sob more pitifully, throwing herself into his arms. “You’ve done so much for me. As soon as my grandmother recovers, we can finally get a divorce.” “Then I’ll give you back to her, whole and untouched.” Their words were like razor wire, tearing through my ear canals. I could barely stand. So, they had gotten together while I was pouring my time into earning our tuition and saving up startup funds. A stabbing pain spread across my chest. I couldn’t understand it. I had given them my absolute best. They used to bicker constantly, each claiming the other spent too much time with me, sometimes even fighting until they were red-faced. How could they now be rolling around together behind my back? My vision blurred. I reached up and tightly gripped the small jade pendant around my neck—the one that could only take one person home. If they were truly in love, I would give them what they wanted. I was done with both of these hypocrites. A blinding flash of light. CRUNCH! I was thrown backward. When I woke again, I was in a hospital bed. “Sylvie, I told you to stay home and rest! Why did you run out?” Reid was holding my hand, his grip tight, his skin scalding against mine. It was the warmth I had craved and depended on in this world, and now it was utterly repulsive. I pulled my hand away and looked past him to the window. Jade was sitting there, deliberately trying to appear aloof. As soon as I woke, she rushed forward, mimicking concern. “I was worried about Jade,” I stated, flatly. “I wanted to check on her.” The air in the room instantly became thick and silent. A flicker of panic crossed both their eyes, but they avoided looking at each other. “Unfortunately, I was hit by a car before I made it to her place.” I kept my voice calm. They both let out a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief. Their chilling synchronicity made my heart ache. “You don’t trust me?” Reid said, attempting a tone of fond exasperation. “Even if I can’t stand Jade, she’s your best friend. I would never fail to drop her off safely.” He reached out to playfully ruffle my hair, but I jerked away. His hand froze in the air. He stared at me, visibly confused. He clearly expected me to lean into his touch, to be dependent and clingy after the accident, as I always had been. Jade, seizing the moment, pouted. “Who needs you to drop me off anyway? If you hadn’t been so busy rushing to your gallery, Sylvie wouldn’t have been hit.” They began to argue, immediately blaming each other for my accident. If I hadn’t seen them entangled in a frantic embrace just hours before, I would have intervened, soothing them both as usual. Now, I watched their performance with cold indifference. My lack of reaction startled them. They exchanged a subtle, concerned look. Reid broke the tense silence first. “I’m going to get you some food.” He didn’t look at me, and his shoulders were hunched, the nervousness in his posture obvious. When the room cleared, only Jade and I remained. She broke the silence hesitantly. “Sylvie, last night, I was really drunk. I didn’t say anything stupid, did I?” Reid’s betrayal hurt, but Jade’s backstabbing was a deeper, more agonizing wound. We had shared everything since childhood, only to have her lie to me for a man. I knew she had always yearned to go back, to return to being the revered “County Princess.” When I discovered the one-person-only jade pendant, I had planned to hand it over to her, to let her finally go home. Instead, she had repaid my loyalty with a nightmare. I held her gaze until her composure broke. “You didn’t say a thing,” I finally said, pulling my eyes away. “I’m tired. You should go now.” I wanted her out, but she didn’t budge. “You look thirsty, Sylvie. Let me get you some water.” She didn’t wait for my refusal. She poured a glass and offered it to me. My nerves were raw. I reached out to gently push her hand away, just as Reid’s voice announced his return. “Sylvie! I brought your favorite, sweet and sour pork!” Jade’s hand twitched. The cup slipped, and boiling hot water drenched the back of my hand. “Ah!” The searing pain ripped a cry from my throat. Reid immediately dropped the takeout and ran to me. He grabbed my burned hand, his face etched with concern, but then he saw Jade clenching her reddened fingers. He immediately turned to her. “Sylvie, I’ll call the doctor for you!” he rushed out, but then grabbed Jade by the collar. “It’s all your fault! You hurt Sylvie! Get out of here right now!” he yelled, furiously dragging her out of the room. I looked down at the transparent blisters bubbling up on my skin. My heart ached, a deep, pulling pain. The man who once had eyes only for me now didn’t even see my injury. After the nurse treated my hand, I walked out of the room. I saw Reid carefully applying cream to Jade’s hand, holding it delicately as if it were spun glass. That was the moment I finally let go. I was dead to them.

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I was running the unapproved meds from down south. Not India, but across the border, hidden in shipments of cheap textiles and knock-off sneakers. Every run was a tightrope walk over the DEA and Customs. I’d carefully cross-reference the patients’ charts. Every vial was divided by treatment cycle, taped with a label showing the patient’s name and precise dosage. I charged twice the black-market cost to cover my risks and travel, but it was still only a fraction of what Big Pharma was asking. I never sold to anyone who couldn’t show a verified, recent diagnosis. I didn’t handle the final drop-offs myself. I used an old friend, Rick, as a cut-out. He was solid, trustworthy, and he always verified the ID. Safe. Discreet. First-time buyers even got an extra week’s supply free. I honestly thought I was doing God’s work. I was giving these people—the ones who had been priced out of life—a lifeline. A road to keep walking. They started calling me “The Ghost Broker.” They sent me shaky, tear-stained thank-you notes, and they helped me keep an ear out for the cops. Watching the tremor leave their hands after that first dose, I knew it was worth every risk. …Until Briana showed up. She was standing just outside the chain-link fence of my rental unit, clutching a worn-out copy of her father’s pathology report. When I quoted her the price—my fraction-of-retail price—she just stared down for a long moment, her eyes darting subtly, assessing. Then, she smiled. 1 The day Briana came back for the first delivery, she claimed she’d been referred by a mutual contact. She was a recent honors grad from NYU’s Nursing program, her résumé stuffed with accolades. She volunteered, unprompted, to be my assistant, insisting she didn’t want a dime. I gave a nervous chuckle and brushed it off. I handed her the meds, rattling off the dosage and protocols. “Take this after your meals, three times a day,” I said, pointing to the label. “This is the receipt. It’s the cost of the drug plus a minimal fee for transport. No markup.” She nodded, her eyes lingering for a few seconds on the notebook where I logged the patient names. She stopped at the alley exit, holding the edge of the box. Her voice was low, professional. “Leo, these don’t have the standard FDA-approved inserts. If there’s a serious adverse event down the line, we have zero legal recourse against the manufacturer, right?” I felt a sudden coldness. “Everyone knows the score,” I said, my tone flat. “I give them the common risks and the protocol. They sign the waiver.” “Taking the risk to live is one thing, but running a sophisticated operation like this? You have to mitigate liability from the jump. It’s the baseline.” She used the word baseline with a chilling emphasis. I felt a knot of suspicion tighten in my gut, but I just forced a smile and agreed. “You’re right. I’ll send out a detailed risk update to the group.” She took her father’s month-long supply, thanking me profusely before she left. Over the next few days, I started noticing subtle shifts in the rhythm of our hand-offs. Briana would show up half an hour early to the meeting spot. She began translating the Spanish and Portuguese instructions on the foreign packaging. She’d talk shop with the families picking up the drugs; she had the medical degree, after all, and spoke with authority and effortless compassion. When I got swamped, she’d volunteer to cross-check patient files and medication logs. The patients and their families adored her. They started calling her Little B. “Little B is so knowledgeable. She talked me through the side effects and I feel so much calmer.” “She’s a godsend. Doesn’t treat us like we’re a burden.” “A real professional. She’s so sharp and so kind.” The compliments chipped away at my wariness. Maybe I had been paranoid. An eager, bright kid wanting to help was a good thing. A week later, I went to the warehouse on the North End docks to prep a new shipment. Outside, Briana was surrounded by a small cluster of patient families. She was holding a few printed sheets, teaching them something. I walked closer. “…According to Title 21 of the U.S. Code, Section 355,” her voice was clear and academic, “any unapproved foreign drug, even a true generic, is categorized as a misbranded and adulterated substance. You buy it and use it, and you have zero legal protection.” “But Leo charges so little,” one of the family members murmured. “We could never afford the real thing.” Briana offered a soft, patient smile. “The low price is built on a foundation of illegality and zero assurance. Have you considered what happens if the drug fails? Or if Leo gets shut down? We wouldn’t have a single legal avenue for recourse. We need this medicine, yes, but we need to secure it within a framework of legal safety. That’s the baseline.” The word baseline hung in the cold air again. Another person chimed in, “Little B is right! My husband didn’t see any improvement last month, and he had bad side effects. I was too embarrassed to bring it up to Leo.” I remembered him. His father was terminal, and even the approved drugs wouldn’t help much, but the family was relying on the old man’s pension. They couldn’t lose him. I stopped dead in the warehouse doorway. Snow had fallen, making the air brutally cold, but the chill that settled in my chest was colder. I didn’t go in. I turned around and walked away. I found a cheap bar, ordered a whiskey, and started drinking. The private chat group—the one I’d set up for mutual aid—was buzzing with activity since Briana had joined. I scrolled through the chat, then pulled up the photos I’d taken of every single patient’s intake file. On the back of every one was their signature on the Risk Acknowledgement and Indemnification Agreement. “I understand this medication is an unapproved foreign generic. I voluntarily assume all associated risks.” Every one of them had signed it. The next morning, my small drop-off warehouse was packed. Briana had called a meeting, claiming they needed to “discuss the medication protocol.” She stood in the center, clutching a stack of printouts, and launched straight into it. “Leo’s South American Viranox has no FDA approval. Legally, it’s counterfeit. And the pricing is completely indefensible. It has to come down.” As she spoke, she passed out printouts of the US Code, then sheets showing the exact cost of the generic drug in Mexico. Finally, she presented their collective demands: First, I had to admit the drugs were illegal/counterfeit and explain the full legal situation to everyone present. Second, the price had to be dropped to the near-wholesale cost in Mexico. No more profit margin. Third, I had to refund everyone the price difference for all past purchases. The room erupted in a chaotic surge of affirmation. “Little B is spot on! I knew this felt too expensive for a black-market drug! He’s profiteering off our sickness!” “A counterfeit drug sold at a premium? That’s blood money!” “Refund the difference! Why else would we risk taking a drug with no safety net?” I locked eyes with Mr. Jensen, who was shouting the loudest. Just last week, he’d practically cried while asking for credit on a box. My chest seized up. I gripped the neck of my T-shirt so hard my knuckles went white. When the noise ebbed, I looked at Briana, forcing my voice into a low, even tone. “A meeting? You didn’t think to tell me you were holding a hostile assembly?” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, her voice unwavering. “If I had told you, Leo, would you have allowed us to have this transparent conversation? This is the consensus of the patients. It has to be addressed openly to be fair.” “Fair?” I took two steps toward her, my voice tight. “I never hid the fact that the drug was unapproved. But how many people is it keeping alive? You want the local price? Do my transport costs, my risks, my upfront capital, mean nothing? How do you think I keep the supply chain running?” “That’s your business, Leo, not the patient’s concern.” She cut me off, letting her gaze sweep over the crowd. “Besides, it’s an illegal drug. You should be grateful we’re even taking it off your hands. You don’t have the leverage to demand a profit margin. You don’t agree? The community won’t agree, either.” She put a chilling emphasis on “the community won’t agree.” I almost laughed at the absurdity. “So you’re using this ‘illegal drug’ to save your lives, but you hate the price, and now you’ve banded together to threaten me into a refund?” “We’re not threatening you. We’re reclaiming what’s owed. We shouldn’t have been overcharged for a counterfeit product.” Her gaze was cool and calculating. “If you’re smart, you’ll comply. Otherwise, things are going to get messy, and that won’t benefit anyone.” I took a deep breath and looked around the room. Mrs. Thompson, who’d hugged me last week thanking me for the results, was looking at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. “When you came to me, every single one of you signed a waiver. You came willingly. No one held a gun to your head.” Briana’s lip curled. Her voice was quiet but carried through the room. “Willingly? We had no other choice. It was your drug or nothing. But legally speaking, you’re trafficking a felony amount of counterfeit medication. Even if we signed a waiver, you can’t sign away your criminal liability. You run to the police, you shut down your operation. We’ll find another channel. What do you lose?” The warehouse door creaked open. Aunt Carol, who lived in the unit below me, shuffled in, clutching a tattered cloth bag containing the cash she’d earned collecting cans. She froze at the sight of the crowd, then whispered to me, “Leo, I need two more boxes. We’re almost out. Can you… can you give me an extra day or two to pay?” Before I could answer, Briana spun around, her expression softening into a practiced empathy. “Carol, don’t rush to buy. Leo is currently considering lowering his prices. Wait for him to bring the cost down. You’ll save a lot of money.” Carol’s eyes lit up. She nodded eagerly. “Really? Oh, Little B, you are such a doll! Always looking out for us!” Forgetting her request for credit, she happily joined the back of the crowd. I stared at Briana. A cold, black dread started at my core and worked its way up, choking me. The negotiation collapsed. I refused all their demands. I told them that the supply chain was too volatile for a price drop. The source was never a secret, and they all bought willingly. I would not issue refunds. If they were unhappy, they were free to go elsewhere. The next evening, I was cornered in the alley behind my house by three young men. Even with their baseball caps pulled low and their faces half-covered, I recognized them as the sons of some patients. They pushed me hard against the brick wall, one of them driving a fist into my back. The demand was simple: Pay up, drop the price within a week, or they’d break my legs and report me for selling counterfeit drugs. The leader was Mrs. Thompson’s son, the one who’d called me “Uncle Leo” and thanked me for my care. The atmosphere in the patient community curdled instantly. People who used to greet me warmly now avoided my street or looked down when they saw me coming. The “Mutual Aid” chat group I’d built turned into a war room dedicated to organizing against me. I didn’t leave the group. I watched them coordinate, discussing who would monitor my movements to prevent me from escaping. “Who’s free during the day to check Leo’s place? Figure out his schedule.” “Keep the empty bottles. We’ll need physical evidence when we file the claim.” “Everyone tell your family—tell them Leo tricked you into buying illegal drugs. It justifies everything.” “My cousin works in the DA’s office. Even if this gets messy, we’re on the right side of the law.” Briana never posted overtly, but her authority was clear. Everyone deferred to Little B’s strategy. Mr. Jensen’s son, Noah, was the most active. “Don’t worry! I’ve tracked Leo twice now. He always goes to the corner store for groceries right at sunset. We can hit him again.” I remembered Noah begging me for credit, saying, “You’re a good man, Leo. We’ll pay you back fast.” I sat in my living room, my back throbbing, flipping through the signed intake book again and again. The week passed quickly. I didn’t drop the price. I didn’t return a cent. The next morning, when I opened the door to take out the trash, the three young men were waiting for me, clutching baseball bats. They said if I didn’t comply, they would kill me and make sure everyone knew I was nothing but a snake-oil salesman. I looked at Mrs. Thompson’s son. The savagery in his eyes was a chilling mask over the politeness he’d shown before. I endured the pain, then pulled out my phone and called my cousin, Matt, an attorney. “Matt, I’m in trouble. I have men threatening me, demanding money. I need your help.” Matt was silent for a long moment after I explained the whole situation. “This is bad, Uncle. Really bad. You’re straddling criminal trafficking and aggravated assault. They’ve got you cornered. They’re using violence to pressure you, but the minute you call the cops, your felony conviction for moving unapproved drugs is front and center.” “But they all signed the waivers! They knew what they were buying!” “They’ll claim you exploited vulnerable people with terminal diagnoses. They’ll cry victim. Assault is a slap on the wrist. Your drug operation is serious prison time. Your best move is to pay some of it back. Meet their demands. Your loss will be minimal.” I hung up. Minimal loss. I walked to the window. Mrs. Thompson’s son was standing guard, staring at my door, worried I might run. He was talking to Briana, pointing at my house. In his hand was an empty box of the Viranox I had sold his mother. I picked up my phone and posted one sentence in the Mutual Aid group. “You have resorted to violence. I’m calling the police.” The silence in the group lasted only seconds. Then, Noah replied: “You call the cops, we make sure you sit in a cell.” The sky was a suffocating, bruised gray the day I walked into the precinct. In the reception area, besides the recording officer, Briana and two patient family members were already seated. Briana didn’t need a lawyer; she was there as the star victim. She sat by the wall, her hair pulled back tight, her expression conveying a composed, absolute certainty. She handed the officer a thick binder. It contained photos of my Viranox boxes, a meticulously organized spreadsheet comparing my price to the official Mexican rate, and printouts of federal law defining unapproved generics as illegal. Finally, she produced a forty-page bound book. It was filled with handwritten victim statements. Every page was laced with a manufactured sense of betrayal and helplessness. They claimed I preyed on their desperation, that I high-pressured them into buying my dangerous, illegal product, delaying their chance at proper treatment. They painted themselves as powerless victims swindled by a profiteering black-market dealer. Briana’s voice was shaky, carefully calibrated to sound like raw, righteous anger. “Officer, we never wanted this. Our families are dying. We were praying for a miracle—for a good Samaritan. Instead, we found a predator who was pushing us into a literal fire pit!” “He calls himself ‘The Ghost Broker,’ but he’s just a drug trafficker making a profit off our despair!” The other family members chimed in, their faces contorted with manufactured outrage. The recording officer wrote furiously, his expression hardening as he listened. When it was finally my turn, I pulled out my signed intake book and handed it over. “These are the waivers. They all signed them. I explained the situation to every one of them.” Briana cut in before the officer could even look at it, her voice rising. “Don’t believe him, Officer! He rushed us! We were too desperate to get the medicine; we didn’t read the fine print. He exploited our weakness! He’s only bringing this up to escape responsibility!” I tried to explain my process, the honesty about the source, the reason for the price, but Briana steamrolled me every time, using the same refrains: “We didn’t understand the law. He fooled us.” or “Every patient in the group agrees.” My every word was rendered useless. The officer’s brow furrowed, his eyes cold and distant. I knew I had already lost. Briana had been prepared for this since day one. My simple act of kindness—my necessity—had left me wide open to her perfectly constructed legal ambush. She had used the banner of “patient justice” as a battering ram to turn me into a branded criminal. We took a ten-minute break. I stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, trying to control the trembling in my hands. Briana walked over. She stood directly across from me, the fluorescent light making her face seem strangely transparent. “Leo, it’s not too late to concede.” Her voice was flat, carrying an immutable certainty. “Just admit to the trafficking, refund the money, and we will talk to the officer. We’ll ask for leniency. It’s better for everyone.” I looked at her, a stone in my chest. My voice was a choked rasp. “What if I don’t?” She smiled, and the smile held no warmth, only cold calculation. “Then you face the full weight of the law for trafficking. You’ll be heavily fined, maybe even incarcerated. And you’ll lose your name forever. People will only remember the fake humanitarian who preyed on the sick.” She leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “All that hard work, all the risk, all the money you fronted—it all becomes proof of your crime. Was it worth it?” I met her eyes. Every word was deliberate. “Let the court decide.” “I’ve accepted the consequences.” Briana’s smile evaporated. Her face went slack with shock, then settled into a hard, unforgiving expression. Without another word, she turned and walked away, tossing a low, venomous “Suit yourself” over her shoulder.

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After infiltrating an enemy spy organization for five years, I was exposed. To survive, I sold out my childhood sweetheart, Lucas Lu. He dragged a crippled leg and barely escaped with his life. When he was awarded the Medal of Honor, first class. Lucas limped onto the stage with a cane. The Commander asked him if there was any wish the organization could fulfill for him. His eyes were cold as ice, his thin lips curling into a cruel sneer: “Bring Chloe Jiang back.” “And execute her.” The organization then raided the entire spy den but found no trace of me. They only found a videotape left for Lucas. 1 When Lucas received the videotape, he scoffed. “This is evidence of her crimes.” “She will be nailed to the pillar of shame in history.” His eyes were cold, and the corner of his mouth twitched with thick sarcasm. The guard pushed his wheelchair through the park and spoke cautiously. “General, won’t you watch the content?” After receiving the First Class Merit, Lucas had been promoted to General of the Military Region. His broken leg became a badge of honor that would follow him for life. He sneered again. “Watch what?” “Watch how she sold out her country and begged the enemy like a dog?” “I’m afraid it will dirty my eyes.” The guard was choked for a moment, silent for a few seconds before steeling himself to speak. “But the envelope containing the tape specifically mentioned your name.” “To be opened by Lucas Lu personally.” “This tape is specifically for you.” Lucas paused, his narrow eyes narrowing slightly, a sharp glint passing through them. The enemy spies had not yet been completely eliminated; remnants still remained. Perhaps there were clues in the tape? “Hmph, fine. I want to see what tricks they’re playing.” “Most importantly, Chloe Jiang hasn’t been found.” “A traitor like her won’t appease the public anger until she’s dead.” He had to find Chloe and watch her be executed with his own eyes. 2 December 15, 1986, 3:10 PM. Chloe was stripped naked, her body blue from the cold. A masked man in black stood beside her, holding a basin of cold water. Splash, he poured it over Chloe. Her body shook violently, and her hanging hair froze almost instantly. “Kill… just kill me!” Her teeth chattered, her lips purple as she growled. But the man in black acted deaf, pouring basin after basin of cold water on her. Until Chloe completely passed out. Only then did a sinister voice ring out. “Drag her back. Don’t let her freeze to death.” Then a group of people untied Chloe from the wooden stake and dragged her away. The screen went dark briefly. Lucas sat in front of the screen, his gaze colder than the frost outside the window. “A bitter meat trick?” (A ruse where one inflicts injury on oneself to win confidence). “Heh, this is all a conspiracy by the enemy.” “A traitor deserves whatever torture she gets.” The guard stood by, pursing his lips lightly, his tone low. “General, should we continue playing it?” Lucas leaned back on the soft sofa, speaking leisurely. “Play it.” “I want to see how long she can keep up the act.” 3 December 16, 1986, 3:10 PM. This time it was in a dark room. Chloe was still naked, her body covered in whip marks. That exquisite, pale face had been disfigured, skin torn and flesh gaping, blood oozing out constantly. “Will you talk?” It was that sinister voice again, coming from off-screen. Chloe curled her lips into a smile, her eyes resolute and fearless. “Lucas has already wiped out your nest.” “You’re just grasshoppers after autumn; you won’t be hopping for long.” After speaking, she grinned, laughing so hard she trembled. “Keep hitting.” As soon as the sinister voice fell, the whip lashed viciously onto Chloe’s body again. She trembled all over, her pearly teeth clenched tight. “We have already won!” “You… you just… wait for death…” She refused to submit even unto death, her beautiful almond eyes flashing with sharp, fierce light. Outside the screen, the guard held his breath, a look of pity on his face. “General, could Chloe be wronged…” He frowned as he spoke, not daring to look at Chloe’s flesh tearing open bit by bit anymore. Lucas glanced sideways, looking at the guard with disdain. “Just this?” “You’re still too inexperienced and naive.” “They want to use my feelings for Chloe to threaten me.” “Does a traitor deserve my heartache?” 4 December 17, 1986, 3:10 PM. Chloe’s teeth were gone. Inside her pink lips was emptiness, only bloody gums remained. “Will you talk?” Still that cold voice, unchanged from yesterday. Like a repeating machine. Chloe hung her head, blood mixing with saliva dripping slowly from her mouth. “Never betray the country.” Her eyes were stubborn. Even without teeth, her articulation was still clear. “Do you regret letting Lucas go?” That voice finally fluctuated a bit. Chloe was stunned, and a warmth finally dyed her originally cold eyes. “No… regrets.” “He must hate me now. It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s alive.” With that, she closed her eyes, two lines of clear tears sliding from her sockets, washing away the blood on her face. The screen went dark. The guard’s face looked grim. “General, there must be a hidden story here.” Lucas frowned, but his falcon-like sharp eyes still revealed ruthlessness. “She was discovered after lurking for five years after all.” “They won’t let her off.” “This kind of fence-sitter won’t be spared by either side.” Lucas said, a trace of contempt flashing in his eyes, leaning back on the sofa again to watch the tape. 5 December 18, 1986, 3:10 PM. One of Chloe’s hands was gone. Blood was everywhere, her face pale as paper. “General!” The guard finally couldn’t help but exclaim. “They chopped off Chloe’s hand!” His eyes reddened, even his voice trembling. As Lucas’s guard, he naturally knew the story of Lucas and Chloe. They were childhood sweethearts, originally about to get married, but later received a temporary mission from the organization to infiltrate the enemy, gone for five years. In the eyes of everyone in their military region, Lucas and Chloe were a heroic and patriotic couple. He didn’t believe Lucas had no feelings for Chloe at all! On the sofa, Lucas’s palm resting on his knee clenched slightly. Knuckles turning slightly white. The eyes staring at the screen had a hint of crimson. After a while, he stretched his stiff body and sighed, “Too fake.” “Where did they find these actors?” “Someone as afraid of death as Chloe must have confessed all the organization’s secrets. Would she still have a hand chopped off?” “Laughable.” Although he said so, his gaze unconsciously fell on Chloe’s severed arm. The empty forearm had no continuation. Blood so red it was blinding soaked the gauze, dripping onto the ground, forming a mirror-like puddle. He unconsciously furrowed his brows, a place in his heart aching dully. But soon, remembering the scene of being betrayed by Chloe, that softness in his heart vanished. He exhaled, his eyes clearly saying: “Chloe, if you knew this would happen, why did you do it back then?” 6 December 19, 1986, 3:10 PM. Lucas finally believed this was the enemy’s interrogation video of Chloe. This time, a naked man wearing a black hood got off Chloe’s body. Then, another one got on. Still that sentence, “Will you talk?” Chloe cried heart-wrenchingly, biting one man’s ear, but without teeth, the other party felt no pain or itch. “Animals!” “I’ll kill you!” Her mouth full of blood, screaming until her voice cracked. The hatred bursting from her eyes was like a raging fire, threatening to burn the whole world to the ground. Lucas, sitting on the sofa, tried to stand up abruptly but lost his balance and fell to the floor. “General!” The guard rushed to help. Lucas trembled all over, his face paler than Chloe’s. “It must be fake, fake!” “Chloe already surrendered, how could they still treat her like this!” He gripped the guard’s sleeve tightly, tears falling continuously. His heart felt like it was being squeezed hard, suffocating him. He could only breathe desperately. The recording didn’t stop; Chloe’s screams continued. “Lucas! Save me!” “Save me!” “Lucas… boohoo…” Her helpless voice was like a knife, carving out Lucas’s heart piece by piece. He crawled all the way to the screen, protecting Chloe’s image with both hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “Chloe, where are you, where are you!” “I forgive you, I forgive you, I’m coming to save you!” “Wait for me to save you…” He pounded the screen hard, hating that he couldn’t rush in. No matter how he shouted, those beasts wouldn’t stop until they tortured Chloe half to death before giving up. And at this moment, Lucas had completely fainted in front of the screen. 7 When he woke up again, Lucas could no longer hate Chloe. He would rather be betrayed by Chloe again than have her suffer, just wanting her to live well. “Where’s the tape?” Lying in the hospital bed, he spoke with a hoarse voice. The guard advised him with a pained expression, “General, don’t watch it anymore.” “I think Comrade Chloe must have been killed.” “Today is already December 30th.” More than ten days, Chloe was probably more dead than alive. Lucas’s heart ached, eyes reddening. He tried his best to hold back tears, but they broke through. “Show me.” He ordered masochistically. “General…” The guard wanted to persuade him more but was scolded by Lucas. “Show me!” “Chloe must still be alive!” His eyes widened, filled with stubborn obsession. The guard sighed and continued playing the tape for Lucas. 8 December 20, 1986, 3:10 PM. Chloe, covered in scars, had completely lost the light in her eyes. She was like a piece of lifeless meat, tied to a wooden stake, left to be slaughtered. “Will you talk?” That voice sounded again. Chloe didn’t speak. Her dry, blood-stained lips moved, but ultimately no sound came out. “Is it worth suffering so much just not to implicate Lucas?” “He escaped, will be promoted and get rich, living the good life.” “What about you?” This was the soft approach after the hard failed, a common interrogation tactic. Lucas’s hand gripping the sheet tightened, even his breathing stagnated. In the picture, Chloe’s eyes stared straight at the ground, but the corners of her mouth lifted easily. “If I expose him, where will Lucas have a way to live?” “Better I be the bad guy, cut off his longing, and win him a chance at life…” As her voice fell, she closed her eyes, tears mixed with blood sliding from her eyes. Lying in bed, Lucas wept a river, raising his hand to slap his own face fiercely. “Lucas Lu! You bastard!” “Why are you so stupid!” “Why didn’t you take Chloe with you!” “The one who should suffer is you! It’s you!” Lucas cried until he passed out again.

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I was bound to a “Sick Transmigration System.” I transmigrated into the body of the real heiress, who everyone despised. Everyone loved the fake heiress, who had been meticulously cared for by the family for sixteen years. My three older brothers, afraid I would snatch what belonged to the fake heiress, mocked and ridiculed me. My biological parents, afraid my appearance would hurt the fake heiress, tried their best to compensate her. They never considered my feelings. They saw my craving for love as a threat, as jealousy. Later, I was dying. Even later, my second brother found the diary I hid under my pillow. They broke down. 1 I was bound to the “Sick Transmigration System.” I transmigrated into the body of Mia Sterling, the real heiress who had been found by the wealthy Sterling family six months ago. On my first day here. I got a plate of food thrown right in my face. Freshly cooked curry sauce dripped from my cheeks down to my neck, and fish balls rolled off my clothes onto the floor. It burned. I looked at the boy in front of me expressionlessly. There was no emotion in my eyes. Everyone else was shocked by his action too. Mother Sterling exclaimed, “Caden, what are you doing!” Caden Sterling looked a bit regretful, but what came out of his mouth was blame. “It’s because she always has that deadpan face. Didn’t she hear Lily talking to her?” Lily Sterling looked guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was because of me…” She looked at me apologetically. “Third Brother didn’t mean it. Mia, can I apologize for him?” Caden immediately got upset. “Who is she to deserve your apology? Lily, why do you care so much about her!” I twitched my lips faintly. I also really wanted to know what the original owner was to them. Looking at Lily, surrounded by three brothers, wearing a pristine white dress, her hair exquisitely styled. While I was stained yellow by curry sauce, smelling of food without even lowering my head. Lily. The family’s precious pearl. This name shouldn’t have been hers. I ignored Lily. I picked up the only fish ball left on my leg, swallowed it along with the sauce remaining on my lips. Not the taste I remembered. I stood up to leave. “I’m full, going back to my room now, thanks.” Turning around, I met the housekeeper, Auntie May’s worried gaze and smiled at her. Silence fell over the dining table. Father and Mother Sterling looked unhappy. Eldest brother Lucas Sterling said in a deep voice, “Caden, you really went too far this time. Mia didn’t do anything.” 2 I died in my original world. Late-stage stomach cancer, died at eighteen. Died from sheer pain. No one was by my side. Except for that fish ball just now, I hadn’t eaten anything normal for nearly three months. Maybe the System pitied me and brought me to this world. This body also has stomach cancer. But not yet terminal. The System said the original girl committed suicide by taking sleeping pills today. Frequent abdominal pain accompanied by coughing up blood told her something was wrong with her body. But she was afraid speaking up would trouble the Sterling family. Afraid it would make her family, who already disliked her, hate her even more. So she chose to leave this world directly. She was so silly. The Sterling family is rich; with proper treatment, she might have recovered. This family is truly ironic. They didn’t realize their biological daughter was sick even after having her back for six months. “Why am I here?” A girl who shared the same fate as me. Also an orphan from childhood. Also had stomach cancer. Maybe she was luckier than me. At sixteen, she was taken home by her biological parents. Maybe she was unluckier than me. She went to be an angel before ever receiving a shred of unreserved love. The System was silent. “My arrival seems to have worsened the body’s symptoms?” Feeling the taste of blood in my throat, I asked the System. The System said, “Yes. Like the original you, you might only make it to 18…” “But if you cooperate with treatment…” I said lightly, “Not treating it.” Doesn’t matter, gonna die anyway. Besides, I don’t want to live. 3 In the middle of the night, my stomach hurt unbearably. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. It felt like returning to my past life. Curled up every night, eyes open until dawn. There was nothing in the room. My mouth was dry, so I fumbled downstairs in the dark to find water. But I ran into my second brother, Ethan Sterling, in the living room. Ethan was a pro gamer, so it was normal for him to be up at 2 or 3 AM. Obviously, Ethan noticed me too. He looked at me with an ugly expression. Ethan was the most silent person in the Sterling family. The original owner hadn’t seen a good face from him in the six months she’d been back. I ignored him. He was probably annoyed just seeing the original owner. I hunched over and went to the kitchen. Unbeknownst to me, Ethan was scared by my appearance. Under the dim night light of the living room. He clearly saw me sweating profusely from pain, my lips pale. Except for the unnaturally red scald on my cheek, everywhere else was scary white. And I was used to looking abnormal from the torture of illness, so naturally, I didn’t care. I leaned on the sink to rest, and the next second, blood surged up, and I vomited blood. Retches. I choked out tears in discomfort. There was movement at the kitchen door; Ethan had followed me in. I hurriedly turned on the tap to wash away the blood in the sink, cupped my hands, and drank a few mouthfuls of tap water. Then I heard Ethan’s deep voice: “Drink warm water if you’re thirsty. Cold water gives you diarrhea.” I hummed softly, lowered my head, and tried to bypass him to leave. The original owner had barely spoken a few sentences to this second brother, and I had no desire to entangle with this family. But my wrist was grabbed by Ethan. I tilted my head to look at him, voice hoarse: “Second Brother, something wrong?” The close distance allowed Ethan to see the wound on my face more clearly. He was silent for a while before frowning: “Why didn’t you treat the burn on your face?” I looked at the expression on his face that seemed impatient. He probably thought this was just some trick to get attention. I pulled my hand back, nodding randomly, “Mm, going back now.” Too close. Ethan turned on the light and frowned as he approached the sink. Although the blood had been washed away. He still keenly saw the traces of red lingering after being washed by the water flow… 4 Early the next morning, I went downstairs and bumped into Caden at the stairwell. The original owner’s third brother was the one most hostile to her. He and Lily were similar in age and had the deepest bond. Maybe the boy was too young, only knowing that the sister he doted on and protected since childhood was suddenly replaced. This new person was going to take everything away from Lily. He vented all his dissatisfaction on his biological sister. He blamed her for breaking their original life. Little did he know, the original owner was the most innocent one. Caden looked at the obvious burn on my face, eyes dodging. He deliberately didn’t speak to me, waiting for me to greet him. Unexpectedly, I didn’t even look at him, walked around him, and left. Father Sterling said coldly, “You’re a big girl now, don’t you know how to treat a little burn yourself? What do you look like going out like this?” Father Sterling was a traditional patriarch; his eyes held more interest than family. He was just afraid my appearance would embarrass him. Moreover, the original owner was just someone brought back six months ago, with no skills in arts or music, poor grades, and no utilization value. Mother Sterling also looked disapproving. I sneered. If it were Lily, she would probably have been sent to the hospital immediately. Last night, no one took the initiative to ask if I was burned. Or if I was hungry after eating so little. Truly biased to the extreme. “There’s no first aid kit in the room.” Now it was the Sterling family’s turn to be silent. The master bedrooms in the Sterling villa naturally had everything. But they brought the original owner back and let their biological daughter stay in the guest room. The guest room had pitifully few things. The original owner even had to use the public bathroom. No one took the initiative to suggest changing rooms for the original owner. Mother Sterling looked at her daughter’s face, similar to hers, flushed red, and felt a moment of panic. If it were Lily, a little injury would attract the whole family’s care. Why was it that with me, there wasn’t a sound. Not as endearing as Lily at all. Caden said stubbornly, “How would we know it’s this serious if you didn’t say anything.” My upper abdomen started to hurt in waves, and I couldn’t help but hunch over. A taste of blood surged in my throat. I pulled my backpack straps, voice hoarse: “I’m going to school.” Caden frowned. Maybe it was his illusion, but Mia’s posture seemed wrong…

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Today was Noah Bellwether’s college graduation, and it was also the seven-year anniversary of the day Daphne and I started dating. We had made plans months ago to go snorkeling in the Maldives. I’d booked the flights, reserved the overwater bungalow, and meticulously planned every excursion. But she stood me up. 1 Because Noah had called her last night, extending a heartfelt invitation to his ceremony. At the end of the call, his voice had dropped into a pitiful, wounded whine. “But, Sis… I’ll be so bummed if you don’t come. It just won’t feel right without you…” That was all it took for my girlfriend, Daphne Wells, to lose her mind, her heart swelling with protectiveness. She’d instantly promised him she’d be there. “Liam, I can’t make the Maldives anymore.” I pulled her into a hug, trying to salvage the moment. “Couldn’t you skip it? I thought…” She cut me off before I could finish, pressing a swift, silencing kiss to my mouth. Then she wrapped her arms around mine, her voice dripping with affection. “We’ll have plenty of anniversaries in the future, darling, but Noah’s graduation is a once-in-a-lifetime thing.” “Liam, wait for me. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” I was too dizzy and lost in the fog of the kiss to think clearly. My ability to reason evaporated, and I didn’t push back. She was gone by early morning, taking a redeye flight upstate. “Hey, who’s this dude on Daphne’s feed? They look awfully cozy.” At the bar, my best friend, Mark, nudged my elbow and shoved his phone into my hand. “Happy graduation, little brother. May your life journey from here on be nothing but smooth sailing.” Daphne had just posted it. The accompanying picture was a beaming selfie of her and Noah. She was wearing his cap and gown, her eyes crinkled with pure joy, leaning impossibly close to him. “Are you blind? It says ‘little brother.’” A sour, rotten feeling twisted in my gut. I tossed the phone back to Mark. He just raised his shot glass, his voice laced with mocking sincerity. “Come on, guys. A toast to Daphne’s little brother!” I kicked his barstool over and slammed back the whiskey in my glass. The liquor burned a fiery path down my throat, but the sudden rush of alcohol couldn’t stop the sight of their blinding smiles from filling my mind. I lowered my gaze and gave a bitter laugh. If she hadn’t stood me up, I’d be underwater right now, somewhere off the coast of the Maldives, proposing to her. I’d spent months preparing for it, secretly rehearsing the words countless times. But she’d packed up and left to attend her “little brother’s” ceremony—she’d even taken off the matching anniversary ring I’d given her. 2 Noah Bellwether was the college student Daphne had sponsored. Four years ago, right when my first startup finally hit its stride, she’d gotten this spontaneous, high-minded idea to help fund a struggling student. “Liam, we came from nothing. Now that we’re finally comfortable, it’s our duty to give back.” Even though we were still pinching pennies, I couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm. After a few inquiries, we chose Noah: a clever, hardworking kid from a poor background. Four years. That was his entire college life, and the vast majority of our relationship. In the beginning, he’d regularly update both of us on his grades and his progress. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but slowly, that changed. He started directing all his updates—his grades, his life details—only to Daphne. I’m a man. I knew what his lingering eyes and overly solicitous texts meant. But my simple, idealistic Daphne didn’t. We’d had one fight about it. Just one. I’d let my frustration get the better of me, admitting that I was uncomfortable with my girlfriend having such an intense connection with another man. “Liam, how could you think that about Noah? He’s just a kid, he’s our little brother.” She’d slapped a hand over her chest, emphatically defining the boundaries of their relationship. Her expression was one of such profound conviction that it felt like my mere suspicion was a stain on their pure sibling bond. After that, I never questioned her about him again. On one hand, the company was growing exponentially, and I was drowning in work, scrambling to meet targets. I figured having someone to keep her company wasn’t the worst thing in the world. On the other, I had absolute confidence in our relationship. More accurately, I had confidence in myself. Daphne was so fiery, so driven, so vibrant. Why would she ever fall for a poor, timid, and emotionally needy college kid like Noah Bellwether? The alcohol in my stomach was churning. I staggered into the restroom, threw up, and then stared at my reflection in the mirror. Crow’s feet around my eyes… A creeping hairline… The eight-pack abs that were slowly dissolving into soft tissue… And Noah? He was no longer the awkward kid we first met. He was a blossoming young man, in the prime of his life. He was the person I used to be. And the person I was now? Just the “old guy with some cash” that Daphne occasionally mentioned. 3 I was still reeling from the hangover when Daphne burst into my office, Noah in tow. I’d slept on the couch here out of convenience after drinking with Mark. Seeing them standing together in front of my desk made my head spin, but when I saw the resumé in Noah’s hand, I understood instantly. He was here to find his “smooth sailing.” “Liam, take a look at Noah’s resumé. See what position you think he’d be a good fit for.” Daphne placed the single-page document directly on my desk. I scanned the few lines of text and frowned, sinking into contemplation. “This…” Noah had majored in Automotive Technology—a field that had absolutely zero overlap with our Financial Technology firm. Daphne, my girlfriend, also happened to be our Head of HR. She knew this. She also knew that I was strictly professional, refusing to hire unqualified cousins or family friends, no matter how much they begged. She was here because she wanted my approval of Noah. She wanted him to have a job, and she wanted it to be a respectable one. “Our Noah has great grades, lots of internship experience, and he’s a fast learner. He’d be perfect for…” Hearing her call him “Our Noah,” combined with the fresh memory of her sycophantic anniversary post, sent my jealousy boiling over. I pointed to the college transcript, with its multiple failing grades, and the “practical experience” section that listed only hotel dishwashing and bussing tables. I looked her dead in the eye. “Daphne, are failing classes what you call ‘great grades’? And is washing dishes what you call ‘extensive experience’?” “You…” She was clearly stunned by my bluntness. Her face turned bright red, and she seemed incapable of speech. Noah, standing beside her, tugged timidly at her sleeve. “Sis, it’s okay.” “If Liam doesn’t think I’m a good fit, that’s fine. I really am not that impressive. I’ll just go look for another job.” My head was pounding. I didn’t want to fight. “Look, how about this, Noah. You can start in Customer Service. Once you prove yourself, I can move you into…” Daphne immediately objected, hands on her hips, her face a thundercloud. “Liam Archer, what is that supposed to mean? Customer Service? He’d have to work twelve-hour shifts and overnight! Are you kidding me?” “I’m not…” I didn’t understand. Why could everyone else start at the bottom, but not Noah Bellwether? Noah stepped up again, gently pulling at my sleeve, his lips quivering. “Please don’t fight because of me, Liam. It’s not worth it. I’m happy to do Customer Service. Liam must be doing this for my benefit.” “Even though my health is always a bit fragile and I might struggle with the overnight shifts, I’ll find a way to overcome it.” He looked absolutely devastated, as if he felt responsible for our argument. Daphne’s tone immediately softened toward him. “Don’t worry, Noah. I’ll find you a better position, I promise.” She shot me a disgusted glare, grabbed his arm, and stormed out without a backward glance. The whole encounter had made my headache worse. I watched Daphne’s receding figure. Suddenly, my girlfriend of seven years felt like a stranger. 4 I’ve known Daphne Wells for twenty years. We’ve shared the better half of our lives together. We first met at the orphanage. I was seven; she was six. My mother died young, and my father ran off with a rich woman. My frail grandfather raised me until he passed away, leaving me an orphan. Daphne’s story was even sadder; she was abandoned on the doorstep just days after she was born. Our bond was forged in the fire of a bullying incident. Back then, I was a lot like Noah Bellwether four years ago. I was an orphan, painfully insecure, and smaller than the other boys due to malnutrition. The older boys loved to pick on me. One time, they had me pinned down on the rooftop, beating me. Blood was streaming from my nose, and my head was ringing. I remembered thinking, I hope they just kill me. Just as I was losing consciousness, Daphne arrived like an angel descending. “The teachers and the police are coming! You garbage better run now!” She screamed at them, then activated the school’s fire alarm, sending the bullies scrambling in fear. Later, on the rooftop, she cleaned the grime and blood from my face and asked why I didn’t fight back. “The less you fight, the more they’ll hurt you,” she said. She said a lot of things that day. But the light radiating off her was so intense that I only saw her lips moving. I didn’t hear a single word. Years later, we were accepted into the same university. When she found out, she clapped a hand over her mouth in delighted surprise. “Liam Archer, what a coincidence! We got into the same school!” I stared blankly at her smiling, crinkled eyes, unable to respond. Daphne, it wasn’t a coincidence. I stole a peek at your application. When summer break ended, we took a twelve-hour, worn-out Greyhound bus north to start our new lives. I studied Computer Science; she studied Finance. In our junior year, I won a scholarship for my thesis and got a few thousand dollars in prize money. I drank too much that night—the first time I’d ever been drunk—and made an absolute fool of myself in front of her. “Daphne, I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” The secret I’d kept for a decade finally spilled out. She lost her usual sharpness, looking at me with a bewildered expression. “Huh? Liam, you… you like me?” She looked so adorable in her confusion that I suddenly wanted to kiss her. Liquid courage took over, and I did it. Thankfully, she didn’t get mad. She didn’t push me away. We’ve been together for so long. We were so good together. When did the shift start? She changed the background of our couple photo she used to announce our relationship. She stopped making my profile her pinned post. We stopped having heart-to-heart talks before bed, and she started forgetting our anniversaries. The relationship-tracking app she begged me to develop hadn’t seen a new update in months. Somewhere along the way, she started drifting. But I wouldn’t let her go. 5 After that fight, Daphne was distant and cold. She didn’t want me to touch her, and barely spoke to me. She refused to sleep in our bed, instead hugging a duvet and retreating to the guest room. It was the middle of winter, and while I was showering, she even turned off the hot water. Later that night, I grabbed my own pillow and crept into the guest room, squeezing myself onto the small twin bed beside her. I sniffled, trying to sound pathetic. “Daphne, I’m sick. Don’t you have any pity for me?” She turned her back to me, ignoring me. Moments later, she spun around and kicked me right off the bed. “Good! Be sick! I hope you get sick, you heartless man!” I hadn’t been prepared. My head cracked hard against the corner of the nightstand, leaving a small gash. Daphne gasped, her eyes immediately filling with remorse. “Oh, Liam, you’re bleeding!” She scrambled up, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for a bandage, which she carefully and intently pressed onto the wound. Seeing her fussing over me, my heart warmed. See? She still cares. I took advantage of her distraction, grabbing her small hand and kissing it. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” “Liam, you’re so good to everyone else. Why can’t you be that way with…” She let out a heavy sigh. I didn’t wait for her to say that name, the one that always grated on my nerves. I flipped her over and pinned her beneath me. “Daphne, I’m freezing. Hold me.” If I kissed her until she was senseless and lost, maybe she wouldn’t bring him up again. But when she finally came to, her face flushed, she immediately whispered, “Liam, Noah really is a good person. Please, just see this through and give him a chance.” The hand that had been tracing the curve of her cheek froze. I can’t describe the disgust and frustration of hearing another man’s name come out of her mouth at that moment. It felt like I was being strangled by a tight vine. I mumbled a meaningless excuse and fled to the balcony to smoke a cigarette. When I returned to the room, the source of my agitation was sleeping soundly. I pinched her soft cheek. She winced and frowned in her sleep, but I still felt unsatisfied. I reached out and pulled her close, wrapping her in my arms. I didn’t sleep all night. But the next morning, when I saw the simple bowl of oatmeal she’d cooked for me and the small note she’d left behind, all the dark clouds in my heart vanished. I gave a self-deprecating chuckle. Daphne always knew exactly how to reel me back in. So the man who won the personal battle compromised in the professional one: I transferred Noah Bellwether out of Customer Service and into the Executive Office. I had a selfish motive, though. I figured having that slick, pathetic kid under my direct supervision was better than having him hovering around Daphne. What I didn’t realize was that I, the successful CEO, a 985 graduate with a growing business empire, was about to be played for a fool by a poor, small-town college dropout.

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In my last life, I sacrificed everything to take care of my paralyzed brother. I died an old maid, never marrying. In this life, we were reborn together. The very first thing he did? He got rid of me to make room for the “destined” fake heiress. He took me, a newborn baby, and dumped me on the cold streets. “Don’t blame me for being heartless,” he whispered to my tiny face. “You’re the reason Chloe died.” 01 I was born during a torrential downpour in Seattle. Chase Sterling, the eldest son of the prestigious Sterling family, skipped school for three days to come back home. Nobody knew the truth. That straight-backed, solemn elementary schooler harbored the memories of two lifetimes. He had just been reborn, carrying a belly full of regret from his previous life. He didn’t even glance at me, his biological sister. Instead, he bribed a nurse to swap the babies, ensuring the girl who was mistakenly taken in our past life was now legitimately presented to our parents. He carried me out of the hospital. Stuffed me into a flimsy cardboard box. And took a bus all the way to the outskirts of the city. Meanwhile, the baby crying louder than me in the nursery—the one now draped in the Sterling family name—would grow up to be the apple of everyone’s eye: Chloe Sterling. Chase’s biggest regret from his past life was wasting decades missing out on the girl who became a brilliant flight surgeon. Me? I was the biological sister who wasn’t brought home until I was eighteen. I spent my life unmarried, teaching myself rehabilitation medicine just for him. I dragged him out of his wheelchair and gave him a life. But all he cared about was the fake sister I had displaced. The Sterlings were a military legacy family. In his last life, they were heroes. In this life, Chase was determined to rewrite the script. At any cost. I lay in the swaddle, quietly opening my eyes. Surprise, brother. I was reborn too. 02 In our past life, Chloe and I were switched at birth. She became the Sterling princess. I was sent to a blue-collar family. When I was three, a car crash left me an orphan. I was tossed into the foster care system. I spent over a decade living in fear. Chloe, however, was pampered. She was the jewel of the Sterling family, the only sister in Chase’s eyes. She learned piano, ballet, and studied abroad. She had everyone’s love. I was finally brought back to the Sterling estate at eighteen. I remember walking through those iron gates wearing cheap canvas shoes and a thrift-store dress, dragging a broken suitcase. I saw Chase standing in the yard. Tall, dressed in his uniform, backlit by the sun. He frowned at me. “You’re Penny? You look so… low class.” Chase became a top-tier Air Force pilot. Chloe became an elite flight surgeon. In photos, they stood shoulder to shoulder, smiling brilliantly. Until that year I went to visit the base. A training accident. The plane went down. Chase and Chloe were pinned under the wing, waiting for rescue. The medic looked at me frantically. “I’m sorry, we only have the resources to extract one right now.” I hesitated for one second. “Save my brother.” Everyone blamed me for Chloe’s death. But I didn’t regret it. I spent ten years nursing him. I gave up my youth to be his caretaker. When Chase was on his deathbed, his pale hand covered mine. His voice was weak, but the words were like daggers. “Penny… I wish you had saved Chloe.” I froze. It felt like a sledgehammer to the chest. Even at the very end. He never had a single word of gratitude for me. 03 He carried the box a long way. From the hospital, through the old town, to the sketchy East End. Finally, he crouched down at the mouth of an alley overgrown with weeds. He looked at me in the box, his face pale, lips tight. “Penny,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “Don’t blame your big brother.” “Chloe died so tragically. In the last life, she died because of you… I don’t hate you, but she… she deserves to live without a care in the world.” He pushed me into the shadows of the alley. With his small hand, he tucked the blanket around me. “Someone will find you here. Just live a normal life this time.” He stood up, eyes red, but stubbornly turned his head away. “Penny, I’m begging you. Don’t show up in our lives again.” He walked away. He never looked back. My mind was clear, fully awake in this infant body. But I couldn’t speak. I lay in the shadows. Watching his back disappear, I felt nothing but ice in my veins. 04 The rain started pouring. I opened my eyes again. The sky was the color of a dirty rag. The wind whipped the leaves around the alley entrance. He was long gone. I was a newborn. My body was weak. I couldn’t even cry. My throat only produced a weak, muffled whimper. The rain soaked through the cardboard. I started to burn up with fever. My vision went white. In the distance, I heard the snarls of stray dogs. It sounded like death approaching. I couldn’t move. I could only look up at this strange, dark sky. I thought about my past life. I spent a lifetime learning medicine. Rehab. Forty years of caretaking. All for one sentence: “I wish you saved her.” In this life. His first act upon rebirth was to throw me out like garbage. I closed my eyes. The smell of mud and rain filled my nose. My consciousness started to fade. Until a gentle female voice cut through the noise: “Did you hear that? Is that a kitten?” A deep male voice followed. Teasing, warm. “Let’s take it home then. You love cats.” 05 In the darkness, a light appeared. It was the glow of streetlamps through the rain, the headlights of a car. It was the first thread of hope I could grasp. I saw an umbrella open. Under it was a beautiful, elegant face. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks by the rain. When she saw me, her eyes went wide with panic. “Arthur! Start the car! It’s a baby!” Her voice trembled. She was terrified. The next second, she lifted me gently from the soggy box. She stripped off her coat and wrapped me in it. She pulled me tight into her embrace. She smelled amazing. Like magnolias and clean laundry. It made me want to cry. I leaned into her warmth. Babbling weakly, panting with fever. My mind drifted. She held me tighter, cursing softly. “Who does this? What kind of monster leaves a baby in a storm?” “She’s burning up. Her lips are blue.” The man’s voice came from beside her, rough with worry. “I’m bringing the car around. We need to move.” She cooed at me. “Don’t be scared, baby. Auntie is taking you to the doctor.”

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Chapter 1 I just clocked out from work and ran into an old college buddy at the subway station. He asked me, after all these years, when I was going to forgive Sarah. Sarah was my childhood sweetheart. Five years ago, we almost tied the knot. But at our engagement party, the night before we were supposed to get our marriage license, she publicly dumped me. She said she refused to be a substitute for my “white moonlight”—my one true love—and sarcastically wished me a lifetime of happiness with her. Then she grabbed her grad school junior, turned around, and walked out. I was confused and wanted to explain. I never had any “white moonlight.” But she hurt me so badly I was practically numb. In the end, I left Boston. “Sarah has always had you in her heart. She said if you hadn’t used her as a rebound for your ex, she would have married you years ago.” “Now, as long as you’re willing to apologize, she’s ready to rekindle the romance.” Rekindle the romance? I laughed. My kid is three years old. What romance is there to rekindle? … Mike’s eyes went wide. He stared at me blankly, like he’d just heard a ghost story. “M-Married?” He stammered. “Your kid is in preschool?” I nodded, not wanting to waste my breath. I turned to leave. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “Impossible! Liam, you’re messing with me, right?” He was getting emotional, drawing stares from people waiting on the platform. “Everyone in our circle knows how much you loved Sarah.” “You gave up a guaranteed spot at an Ivy League for her. How could you possibly be happy marrying someone else?” I frowned. Hearing these old stories from his mouth just felt ironic. I did love Sarah. I loved her enough to give up everything. But that was in the past. “Why would I lie to you?” I asked. My coldness seemed to trigger him. “So who’s your wife? What does she do? Is she prettier than Sarah? Is her family as rich as Sarah’s?” He fired questions like a machine gun, his tone laced with inexplicable hostility. As if I had married someone embarrassing. I ignored him and tried to shake off his hand. But he held on tighter, refusing to let go. “Liam, are you doing this on purpose?” “I know, you felt wronged back then.” “But it’s been five years. Whatever anger you had should be gone.” “Do you know how Sarah has spent these last five years?” He started talking to himself, his tone boastful. “As the only daughter of the Miller family, Sarah took over the company and proved she’s just as capable as any man.” “She made drastic reforms, and now Miller Corp’s market value has tripled! She’s the hottest new tycoon in the business world!” “So many rich guys want to date her, but she’s kept herself single for you. Besides Luke, her work partner, she hasn’t even had a boyfriend.” “Everyone says she’s a hopeless romantic, wasting five years on a man who doesn’t appreciate her.” The Sarah he described was deep, devoted, and perfect—like the heroine of a tragedy. But listening to it just made me sick. I remembered a phone call I received before leaving Boston. It was from Sarah’s father, Mr. Miller. His voice was as gentle and polite as always, but there was an undeniable distance. “Liam, I know you feel wronged.” On the other end of the line, he sighed softly. “Sarah, that child, we spoiled her too much. She has a bit of a temper.” First, he tried to placate me. Then came the pivot. “But having said that, it’s normal for young couples to have friction.” “Sarah is our only daughter. The pressure of inheriting the family business is immense. Our help is temporary; she needs a partner who can assist and guide her.” I held the phone, silent. I understood what he meant. “Luke, that kid, I’ve met him a few times. He has a good head for business and is very steady.” “He’s accomplished academically and has a lot in common with Sarah. He’s a great asset to her career.” Mr. Miller’s voice was soft, but every word hammered into my heart. “You, Liam, your gentle nature is good. But in Sarah’s position, her future husband needs to be decisive. He needs to have… methods.” Methods. So in his eyes, all my kindness and gentleness amounted to “lacking methods.” I grew up in the Miller household. He watched me grow up, treated me like a son. But when it mattered, twenty years of affection couldn’t compare to “career asset.” In the eyes of the wealthy, matching status and business benefits always outweigh childhood bonds. I didn’t say anything back then. I just quietly hung up. And then I blocked their entire family. “Liam, are you even listening to me?” Mike punched my arm, annoyed at my spacing out. “Sarah treats you so well. Are you really happy marrying some average nobody? Don’t you regret it?” Regret? I looked at him like he was an idiot. “I’m living a great life.” I told him, enunciating every word. “My life doesn’t need anyone else to worry about it.” With that, I didn’t give him another chance to harass me. I yanked my arm free and walked away. Chapter 2 After leaving Boston, I cut ties with that entire circle completely. New number, new address, new city. So they all thought I was still stuck in the past. Waiting for that proud, dazzling woman to turn around and save me. But they didn’t know. My life had long since turned a new page. And Sarah Miller? She was just a typo I’d whited out on the previous page. My stop arrived. I got off the train and walked to the preschool near my house. Through the fence, I saw my daughter playing on the slide with her classmates, grinning ear to ear. A graceful figure walked up to her and picked her up. It was my wife, Claire. She saw me and immediately smiled. I quickened my pace and took our child from her arms. “Honey, you’re early today.” She took my briefcase and naturally held my hand. “Just missed you guys, so I came back early.” I smiled and pinched my daughter’s chubby cheek. My daughter nuzzled into my chest and chirped, “Daddy!” The warmth of this moment was enough to ward off the cold of the entire world. Regret? What did I have to regret? Sarah and I were neighbors. We grew up in diapers together. She was two years older and always protected me. If anyone dared to bully me, she was the first to throw hands. Everyone said Liam was the apple of Sarah’s eye—untouchable. I thought we would be like that forever, from school uniforms to wedding dress. Until Luke showed up. He was Sarah’s grad school senior, a gentle man with an edge. He started frequently appearing around Sarah under the guise of academic exchange. Library sessions, projects, academic forums. At first, I didn’t mind. Sarah was always surrounded by excellent men, but she only had eyes for me. I had enough confidence in her. The first time I felt uneasy was at a friend’s gathering. We were playing Truth or Dare. Luke lost and chose Dare. The dare was to reveal a secret about someone present. His gaze swept around the room and finally landed on me, apologetic. “Liam, sorry, I’m going to spill your secret.” He smiled, his tone hesitant. “Last time, I accidentally saw that Liam’s phone lock screen is a photo with a girl. She’s really pretty. Who is she?” Everyone’s eyes instantly focused on me. And some turned to Sarah. The bright smile on Sarah’s face faded. “It’s my cousin,” I explained immediately. “She passed away two years ago. That’s the only photo I have with her.” “Oh? I’m so sorry,” Luke apologized profusely. “I didn’t know. I really didn’t mean to.” He looked incredibly guilty. Everyone tried to smooth things over, and the incident passed. But that night at home, Sarah brought it up. “Your cousin? How come I never heard you mention her?” “She was always sick, lived abroad for treatment. Of course you never met her.” I handed her my phone. In the photo, a young girl leaned against a hospital bed, pale but smiling gently. I stood next to her, smiling a bit stiffly. “See? We look a bit alike.” Sarah looked at it for a long time before handing the phone back. “Yeah, you do look alike.” On the surface, she believed me. But I could feel a seed of doubt planted in her heart. From then on, Luke would always “accidentally” mention me in front of Sarah. “Sarah, Liam has such a great personality. He has so many friends. Unlike me, my circle is so small.” “Sarah, I saw Liam watching a movie with a girl yesterday. He’s really popular.” “Sarah, isn’t Liam graduating soon? He loves to party so much, can he handle a 9-to-5 job?” He never directly badmouthed me. Every sentence was a compliment, but every sentence hinted at something. Hinting that I had too many female friends, hinting that I was frivolous, hinting that I wasn’t steady. Sarah started becoming suspicious and jealous. We had our first intense argument because of this. The trigger was an academic gala Sarah insisted on bringing me to. At the gala, I ran into a senior who mentored me during my internship, so we chatted for a bit. Sarah’s face went cold on the spot. She left me alone in the banquet hall and walked out. I chased after her and found her in the parking lot. “Sarah, what’s wrong now?” “What’s wrong?” She sneered. “Liam, when you’re chatting happily with another woman right in front of me, do you ever consider my feelings?” “That was my mentor! We were talking about work! She’s married with kids!” “Does talking about work require smiling that happily?” she roared. I looked at her face, twisted with jealousy, feeling strange and exhausted. “Sarah, can you calm down? I have never betrayed you. My love for you is real.” “I’m not calm enough?” She grabbed my wrist. “Do you think I’m too controlling? Like a shrew? Do you think I’m not as gentle and considerate as your dead cousin?” I didn’t understand why she was bringing up my cousin again. My brain was throbbing with anger. “Sarah, that’s my relative within three degrees of kinship! What are you saying!” I was shaking with rage. But she just glared at me with hatred, turned around, and ran off. That time, we gave each other the silent treatment for a long time. I thought our relationship just hit a small bump. I never expected that was the beginning of the end. Chapter 3 During the week of the cold war with Sarah. I reached out to her no less than ten times, but she ignored me every time. Eventually, she just blocked and deleted me. In the past, whenever we fought, she would soften up and communicate within three days max. But this time, she didn’t. I was holding a grudge too. But with the engagement party coming up, I thought she would eventually come to me. The night before the party, I received a message from Luke. It was a photo. In the photo, Sarah was drunk, leaning on his shoulder, sleeping deeply. Luke’s head tilted slightly towards her, a victor’s smile on his lips. Under the photo was a line of text. “Sarah is under a lot of pressure. You should be more understanding.” I looked at that photo, agitated. But I still comforted myself. She was just drunk. Luke was just taking care of her. It was my fault for not being by her side. On the day of the engagement party, I dressed up carefully. I checked the venue in advance and arranged many gifts, wanting to surprise her. I found her in the lounge. She was wearing a gown matching my suit, beautiful enough to captivate anyone. Seeing me, her eyes dodged mine. “Sarah,” I walked up actively, wanting to hold her hand. “Let’s stop fighting, okay?” She reacted like she was electrocuted, violently throwing off my hand. The force was so strong it caught me off guard, and I stumbled. I looked at her in disbelief. Guests started entering, and the MC was ready on stage. As the main characters, we stood at the front. Spotlights hit us. I forced a smile, trying to maintain surface peace. Sarah didn’t even bother pretending. She kept a cold face the entire time, not even glancing at me. When the MC asked us to exchange rings, the fatal blow came. She threw off my hand again. In front of all the guests, she questioned me with ice-cold eyes. “Is it fun treating me as a substitute?” The crowd went into an uproar. My brain buzzed. I was completely stunned. “Sarah, what are you talking about?” “Don’t you know what I’m talking about?” She sneered and pulled a letter out of her purse. The stationery was pink and scented—clearly bought with care. “What is this?” I asked. “This is the love letter you wrote to your ‘white moonlight’!” she shouted. “Luke found it in my study!” She unfolded the letter and read it aloud. The ambiguous and cheesy words, read from her mouth, felt like knives slicing my heart. “I didn’t!” I explained frantically. “I didn’t write this!” “You didn’t write it?” Sarah laughed until tears welled up in her eyes. “Handwriting can be forged, but the perfume on this paper is the exact same one you use!” “Liam, how long are you going to keep acting?” I was stunned by this sudden slander and humiliation. I looked off-stage at my parents’ shocked expressions, the Miller parents’ ashen faces, and the guests’ disdainful and pitying gazes. I felt like a joke. Sarah finished reading the letter, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in my face. Then, she took out the engagement ring meant for my finger and smashed it on the ground. “I wish you and your white moonlight a lifetime of happiness.” She articulated every word clearly. After that, she grabbed Luke, who was pretending to mediate but couldn’t hide the triumph in his eyes. Under everyone’s sympathetic gaze, she resolutely walked out. In that moment, my world collapsed. The farce of the engagement party made me the laughingstock of the entire Boston elite circle. Everyone said I was a scumbag playing with hearts. Leading on the Miller heiress while still entangled with a “white moonlight.” Rumors drowned me like a tidal wave. The Miller family offered no explanation, letting the rumors ferment. I became the gold digger who would do anything to climb the social ladder and finally got what he deserved. I was utterly chilled to the bone by the Miller family and Sarah. I didn’t explain a word. Because I knew, for someone who no longer trusted me, nothing I said would matter. I deleted all contacts, deactivated my social media accounts. Alone, I bought a one-way ticket and left Boston. This city where I lived for twenty years had nothing left for me to miss. Mike probably told Sarah that I was married with a kid. My phone started getting bombarded by strange numbers. Local ones, Boston ones. Calls, texts, non-stop. I ignored them all, blocking every single one. She seemed to be pushed to the edge. A few days later, just as I walked out of my office building, someone blocked my path. It was Sarah. Five years later, she had shed her youthful look, becoming more mature and alluring, but there was a heavy hostility between her brows. She stared at me dead-on, eyes red and bloodshot. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Chapter 4 Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t rested in a long time. I didn’t speak, stepping around her to leave. She grabbed my arm, her sharp nails digging into my flesh. “Liam, I’m asking you a question!” she roared. It hurt, and I frowned. “We have nothing to do with each other anymore. Please let go.” My detachment and coldness thoroughly triggered her. She questioned me like a madwoman. “Nothing to do with each other? You say it so lightly!” “You disappeared for five years without a word, and now you have a child with someone else. What do you take me for?” Her interrogation sounded ridiculous to me. “You’d rather marry some nobody from nowhere than come back and explain yourself to me?” She looked at me with bloodshot eyes, like an abandoned beast. “Liam, did you ever love me at all?” She asked me if I loved her. After humiliating me in front of everyone with a forged letter. After letting rumors destroy me and not caring one bit. After parading around with Luke for five years. She ran here to ask me why I didn’t love her. I looked at her painful expression and felt nothing but apathy, even finding it a bit ironic. The me who stood on that stage back then, mocked by thousands, isolated and helpless—I was the one who should have asked that question. Sarah, did you ever love me? If you loved me, how could you trust an outsider over our twenty-year bond? I looked at Sarah coldly. “Ms. Miller, please let go.” My polite and distant address made her tremble all over. “Ms. Miller?” She muttered to herself, then seemingly stung, became even more emotional. “What did you call me? Liam, say it again!” Her grip on my wrist tightened. “You owe me an explanation!” “There’s nothing to explain between us.” I tried to shake her off coldly, but failed. She was surprisingly strong. Just as we were struggling, a milky voice drifted over. “Daddy!” I turned and saw my daughter running out of the office lobby. Like a happy little butterfly, she opened her arms and ran toward me. In her hand, she held a drawing, crayons depicting three stick figures holding hands. “Daddy, look! It’s you, Mommy, and me!” I instantly broke free from Sarah’s grip, squatting down to hug my daughter. “Lily, why did you come out?” “Mommy said you got off work, so let me come pick you up!” I looked up and saw Claire standing not far away. She was smiling at us. And Sarah, beside me, looked like she had been struck by lightning the moment she saw my daughter. She froze, her face instantly draining of color. Her eyes were glued to the child in my arms, lips moving, but no words came out. Claire walked over, naturally kissed my cheek, pinched our daughter’s face, and then calmly walked in front of me. She looked at Sarah, her gaze as calm as water. “This lady, can I help you?” Sarah seemed to snap back to reality, her gaze moving from the child to Claire’s face, and finally landing on me. In that look, there was shock, pain, and disbelief. She looked at this scene in agony, murmuring. “A child…” “You even have a child…” Her voice was so light, yet filled with despair. I watched her soulless state, feeling no joy. Just a barren calm.

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On Christmas Eve, my stepmother prepared two apples for my sister and me. Mine was large, red, and beautiful. My sister, Bella, who was usually the spoiled favorite, received a small, lopsided apple. When she cried and threw a tantrum, she was scolded and told to let me have the better one “just this once.” Then, my stepmother looked at me with a loving, almost hypnotic gaze. Her voice was soft, like she was coaxing a small animal into a trap. “Stella, honey, your sister has always been in poor health. If you had the chance, would you be willing to give your health and safety to her?” I agreed on the spot. But, terrified that she would change her mind and beat me later, I secretly gave the big apple to my sister to eat. My stepmother gave me a special apple for three days in a row. For three days, I gave them to my sister. On the third night, a mechanical voice rang in my ear: “Life force transfer successful. Stella has acquired five years of Bella’s lifespan.” From the master bedroom next door, my stepmother screamed in horror: “Why did Stella get it?!” Chapter 1 “Stella, I’ve prepared an apple for you and Bella for Christmas Eve,” my stepmother said, handing us two gift boxes. My box was noticeably larger, wrapped beautifully with a silk ribbon. In contrast, Bella, who was usually showered with affection, received a plain, tiny box. Bella pouted immediately. She tore her box open, revealing a small, bruised, and lopsided apple. She froze. Then she snatched my box and ripped it open. Inside sat a massive, crimson apple—perfect and shining. “Mom!” Bella exploded. “Why are you being so unfair?!” My stepmother snatched the big apple from Bella’s hands and placed it firmly in mine. “Bella! Your sister always yields to you. Can’t you let her have this one thing on Christmas Eve? Is that how I raised you?” “I don’t want it!” Bella slapped her small apple off the table and ran to her room. My stepmother didn’t seem to care. She turned to me, her expression shifting to a loving warmth that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stella, Bella has been sickly since she was a baby. If there was a way, would you be willing to share your own health and luck with her?” It was a strange question, but she always demanded I be good to Bella. Sharing some “luck” didn’t seem like a big deal. I nodded without hesitation. “I am.” Her smile deepened, looking incredibly satisfied. She lifted the apple in her hands. “Good girl. Now, eat the apple. Eat it all.” Something about her expression terrified me. I was afraid that if I ate it, she might regret giving me such a nice thing and beat me later when Dad wasn’t looking. I rolled my eyes, thinking fast. “Denise, I’ll eat it in my room.” “Make sure you finish it, you hear?” Her phone rang at that moment, distracting her. “I will, I promise,” I nodded vigorously. I was always obedient. I never dared to go west if she said east. So, she let me go without suspicion and answered her call. Back in my room, I didn’t take a bite. Instead, I waited until Bella was getting ready for bed and snuck into her room. I pulled the warm apple from my hoodie pocket. “Bella, I didn’t eat it. Here.” Bella’s anger vanished instantly. “At least you have a conscience. Thanks, Sis.” I patted her head. “Can you finish it all?” Bella’s health was fragile. She took a small bite and nodded. “Yeah. Wow, this apple is so good. I’ve never tasted anything like it. It melts in my mouth like cotton candy.” I found it funny—how could an apple taste like cotton candy? I watched her eat the entire thing, bite by bite. I was surprised she finished it, and worriedly touched her stomach. Strangely, despite the size of the fruit, her belly didn’t bulge at all. “I’m going back to my room. Don’t tell Mom you ate it, okay?” Bella, being her usual proud self, nodded. “Of course. I ate it, so I won’t tell. If I do, she’ll hit you.” Maybe it was the lighting, but Bella’s face seemed to drain of color the moment she finished the last bite. It wasn’t like her usual sickness. It looked as if her very essence had been siphoned away. “Sis, I’m sleepy,” she mumbled, lying down weakly. “Okay, go to sleep. I’m leaving.” I tucked her in. In that short span of time, she was already asleep. Her lips, usually pink, were pale despite having just eaten a red apple. It was like she had suddenly… withered. Chapter 2 When I left her room, Dad had returned home. He and Denise were talking in their bedroom. I thought about telling Dad, but I figured there was no point in mentioning that I gave the apple to Bella. Denise would just find a reason to punish me for it. I went to sleep. In the middle of the night, I realized Denise had come into my room and taken the empty gift box away. The next morning, I went to wake Bella, but she wouldn’t stir. She had a high fever. “Denise! Bella is burning up!” Denise was making breakfast. Dad had already left for work. She rushed into the room, saw Bella’s flushed face, and panicked. She scooped Bella up, then turned and saw me standing there. “What are you standing there for?! Go get the documents!” She freed a hand and slapped me hard on the back. The force knocked me to the floor. My hand scraped the ground, stinging sharply, but her tone was far scarier. “Hurry up! Stop dawdling! If anything happens to your sister, I won’t forgive you!” I was used to this. She always hit me on my back, my butt, or my legs—places where bruises could be hidden by clothes, places that hurt a lot but healed fast. Denise came into our lives when I was three. Bella was born when I was four. Dad was busy with work. It was just Denise, me, and sickly Bella. Whenever Bella got sick, Denise got anxious, and I became her punching bag. I told Dad once because it hurt so much. But there were no marks, and he didn’t believe me. Denise punished me for days for being a “tattletale.” Since then, I learned to be quiet. I scrambled up and ran to their bedroom to grab the insurance cards and medical records. I knew the drill. We went to the hospital so often the doctors knew us by name. At the hospital, Bella was put on an IV drip. The ward was empty; she was the only patient. Denise sat by the bed, crying, her eyes swollen. I heard her muttering through her sobs: “Bella, just wait… just wait two more days… just wait… don’t scare Mommy…” I didn’t understand what she meant by “wait.” That night, despite her grief, Denise gave me another apple. It was identical to the first one—huge, red, and beautiful. She pulled it from her bag, shoved it into my hands, wiped her tears, and forced a smile. “Stella, here. You didn’t eat breakfast. Have an apple.” I held the apple, sensing she intended to watch me eat it. Her expression was intense, terrifying. Luckily, Bella woke up, and Denise rushed to call the doctor. Bella saw the apple. “Sis, why do you have another big apple?” Her voice was weak. I looked at the fruit, then at my sister. “Do you want it? Denise gave it to me.” She wanted it. She ate it quickly, just like the night before. Again, her stomach didn’t bulge. After eating, she fell into a deep sleep immediately. This time, she didn’t wake up for the rest of the day. Chapter 3 Denise was so worried she couldn’t eat. Her mood was explosive. Any small movement I made resulted in a curse or a slap on the back. Dad came to the hospital that night and took me home. Denise stayed overnight. The next morning, Dad dropped me back at the hospital. “Stella, stay with your sister for a bit. I have an emergency at work. Your stepmom will be here soon.” He was rushing. It should have been his job to stay while Denise went home to change, but he had to go. “Okay, Dad.” Then, Dad pulled out a red apple. “This is a reward from your stepmom. She said you’ve been working hard helping with Bella.” The third apple. “When did she buy this?” I asked. “She gave me one yesterday and the day before.” Dad looked puzzled. “I don’t know. She always manages to find high-quality stuff. Just eat it. I didn’t have time to get you breakfast.” Right then, Denise called Dad. I could hear her asking urgently if he had given me the apple. “Yes, yes, I gave it to her. Don’t worry, it’s in her hand right now,” Dad reassured her. She told him to make sure I ate it. He agreed, but the moment he hung up, he pushed me into the ward. “Watch your sister. Don’t go out until Denise gets here. Call the nurse if anything happens.” He was in a rush. “I know. I’ll watch her,” I promised. Dad left. I sat there holding the apple. It smelled incredibly sweet. I swallowed. I actually wanted to eat it this time. While I stared at it, Bella woke up again. “Sis?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She looked even worse than before—like a ghost. All her vitality was gone. I forgot about the apple and grabbed her hand. “Bella, do you hurt anywhere? I’ll get the doctor.” “Don’t go,” she stopped me. Her hand brushed against the apple on the bed. Her eyes lit up. “It’s that yummy apple.” This time, I didn’t want to give it to her. “Bella, let’s not eat this. I think… I think the apples are making you sick.” She didn’t believe me. “Mom gave them to us. Why would she give us something that makes us sick?” She sat up, struggling, and grabbed the apple with both hands. This one was the reddest of all. It looked like the poisoned apple from a fairy tale. I felt a sudden panic. “Bella!” She looked at me blankly, but didn’t stop. She took a bite. She kept eating, entranced. I tried to take it away, but she held on with surprising strength, chewing mechanically. I was terrified. I ran to get the nurse. By the time the nurse arrived, the apple was gone. Fortunately, Bella didn’t faint this time. She finished her IV drip and was discharged that afternoon. Denise was ecstatic. She cooked a huge dinner and kept piling food onto my plate, smiling at me like I was her favorite person in the world. That night, as I was drifting off to sleep, a voice spoke clearly in my ear. “Ding! Life force transfer successful. Stella has acquired five years of Bella’s lifespan.” It sounded like the automated voice at the vending machine Dad used. The moment the voice faded, a scream tore through the apartment from the master bedroom. “Why is it Stella?!” Denise shrieked. Chapter 4 Even through the wall, I could hear the horror in her voice. Hearing my name made my heart pound with fear. The bedroom door slammed open. Before I could sit up, Denise was at my bedside, hauling me up by my collar. “Stella! Did you eat the apples?!” Her face was twisted, monstrous. She was on the edge of insanity. I was shaking. I nodded frantically. “I ate them…” “You ate all three?!” She choked me, shaking me violently. I couldn’t breathe. My vision started to go black. “What are you doing?! Star did nothing wrong! You’re choking her!” Dad rushed in, prying her hands off my neck. Denise collapsed, wailing. “Her! Bella! My Bella!” She scrambled out of the room and ran to Bella’s bedroom. Dad smoothed my collar and patted my back. “Stella, what happened?” I shook my head, coughing too hard to speak. From the other room, Denise screamed. “Bella!” “Bella, don’t scare Mommy!” The grief in her voice froze us both. Dad dropped me and ran. Bella had gone into shock. The ambulance came. Denise cried until she nearly passed out. She rode in the ambulance. Dad and I followed in a taxi. At the hospital, Bella was still in the ER. When Denise saw me in the hallway, her eyes were filled with pure hatred. “Stella! You didn’t eat the apples, did you?!” She lunged at me like a wild animal. I scrambled back, terrified. “Dad!” Dad blocked her. “Calm down! What apples? What is wrong with you?” Denise looked like she wanted to tear my throat out. I was cowering in the corner, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Denise. I didn’t know… Bella didn’t have an apple, so I gave mine to her. She’s sick… I wanted her to have the good food.” It wasn’t the whole truth—I gave them to her because I was scared of Denise—but I couldn’t say that in front of Dad. Denise went rigid. Her face contorted into a mask of despair and fury. “You… it really was you. I gave those to you! You ungrateful wolf!” Her eyes were bloodshot, practically bleeding. She stared at me, unblinking. “You! You!” “Stella!” She screamed my name like a curse. Then, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

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Patrick pointed to the divorce papers resting on the coffee table. “Child support,” he said, tapping the screen with a dismissive fingernail. “I put down five hundred.” I stared at the line of text, the number blurring. “Five hundred? Pat, are you serious?” “It’s enough,” he clipped, sliding his gaze away. “The kid isn’t solely my responsibility, Eliza.” I laughed. A sharp, raw sound that caught in my throat and brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Seven years of marriage. A six-year-old son, Leo. And he declared five hundred dollars was “enough.” “Sign it if you agree, or don’t. It’s up to you.” He stood, snatching his phone off the arm of the sofa. The phone immediately buzzed. A text message notification popped up on the screen. The contact name read: Babe. 1 I didn’t sign the agreement. I told him I needed time to “consider.” Patrick huffed, utterly impatient. “What is there to consider?” “You pull in twelve thousand a month, Pat. Giving your son five hundred dollars for support—does that sound reasonable to you?” “I have to live, too,” he retorted. “Leo has to live, too.” “He’s with you. You take care of his living expenses.” I drew a long, shaky breath, fighting the urge to shatter the cheap glass table between us. “Legally, child support is calculated at twenty to thirty percent of the non-custodial parent’s income. That means you should be paying between twenty-four hundred and thirty-six hundred dollars.” “That’s the law’s suggestion, Eliza. It’s not my obligation.” “The law defines your obligation.” He fell silent, his jaw tight. After a moment, his voice dropped to a low, cold register. “Eliza, don’t push me.” “I’m not pushing you. I’m just demanding what my son is entitled to.” “You want to drag this to court?” “If you refuse to be reasonable, then court is where we’re going.” He glared at me, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen them. “Fine. You’ll regret this.” He slammed the front door on his way out. I sank back onto the sofa, staring at the printout. Child support: $500 per month. Leo is six, in the first grade. Tuition for his magnet school is a couple hundred a month, the after-school program is another five hundred, and his weekend tutoring is at least seven hundred. Plus clothes, doctor visits, and just, life. I spend at least two thousand a month on him. He was offering five hundred. I make about forty-five hundred a month. After rent of fifteen hundred, my own basic bills, and Leo’s two thousand… there’s practically nothing left. Patrick makes twelve thousand. After deductions… Wait. Where was his money going? I grabbed my laptop and logged into our joint savings account. Patrick’s direct deposit account. Balance: $1,800. I felt a chill wash over me. He brings home twelve thousand a month. How could he only have eighteen hundred left? I clicked on the transaction history. The most recent transfer: November 28th, $4,000 to “Savannah T.” Memo: Living Expenses. I scrolled up. October 28th: $4,000 to “Savannah T.” September 28th: $4,000 to “Savannah T.” August 28th: $4,000 to “Savannah T.” The 28th of every month. $4,000 on the dot. It had been going on for a full twelve months. My hand clenched around the phone. He gives Savannah four thousand dollars a month for “living expenses.” He would only give his own son five hundred. My phone chimed. It was Patrick. Patrick: If you don’t agree to $500, then it’s $300. I won’t give you another penny. Figure it out. I opened the Venmo app on my phone. 2 The Venmo history was far more detailed than the bank account. I saw the rest of the picture. In addition to the monthly $4,000 wire transfer: November 15th: Tiffany & Co. bracelet, $1,200. November 20th: The Gilded Spoon Bistro, Couple’s Tasting Menu, $180. November 22nd: The Fairmont Hotel, one night stay, $450. October 10th: Prestige Motors, Down payment on a vehicle, $15,000. I clicked on the $15,000 payment detail. It was the down payment for a BMW 330i—a sleek, nearly new model. The total cost was $45,000, with a loan for the remaining $30,000. Owner of the car: Savannah T. I sat there, perfectly still. My body felt heavy, hollowed out. Leo ran out of his room, his hair mussed. “Mom, I’m hungry.” I pulled him onto my lap, hugging him tight. “What do you want?” “Can we get a pizza?” “Absolutely.” I opened the delivery app and ordered a basic medium pepperoni pizza. $28. Then I looked at Patrick’s Venmo history again. November 25th: High-end Steakhouse, Surf-and-Turf Dinner for Two, $350. That very day, I had cooked Leo a cheap box of mac and cheese. It was the end of the month, my paycheck hadn’t cleared, and I only had fifty dollars left in my checking account. I called Patrick. It rang for a long time before he answered. “What do you want?” “Leo’s tutoring fee is due next week. Seven hundred dollars.” “I’m broke.” “What about your paycheck?” “Spent it.” “On what?” He paused for a few seconds. “My money is mine to spend however I choose, Eliza. You don’t get to audit me.” “You still have to cover the kid’s expenses, Pat.” “Didn’t I give you a deposit for living expenses?” “You give me two thousand a month! What am I supposed to do with that?” “Figure it out yourself.” He hung up. I stared at the phone, a strange, hysterical urge to laugh welling up. I wanted to laugh until I wept. Seven years of marriage. Year one: I was pregnant, violently ill. He said he was too busy with work to care for me. Year two: C-section delivery. He stayed at the hospital for two hours, said there was an emergency meeting, and left. Year three: I quit my job to stay home with the baby. He said since I wasn’t working, I was responsible for everything at home. Year four: I wanted to go back to work. He said Leo was too little to be left with strangers. Year five: I found a part-time job, making $3,000 a month. He said it was pitifully small, I should just stay home. Year six: I insisted on working, pushing my salary up to $4,500. He said I still made less than him, so he was the one supporting the family. Year seven: He wanted a divorce. He had been cheating. And he offered $500 for his son. I sent him a text: I’d like to meet Savannah. Can we arrange that? He replied instantly: What are you trying to pull, Eliza? Nothing. Just want to talk. A conversation. Don’t you dare cause trouble. I won’t. He texted me an address. The Riverwalk Residences, Tower 3, Unit 1502. I looked up the complex. Upscale condos. Average price per square foot was astronomical. A hundred-square-meter unit would cost over half a million dollars. Three years ago, Patrick had said we should buy a house. I offered the $20,000 my parents had gifted me for a down payment. He said the money wasn’t enough; we had to wait. We never bought a house. Now I knew why. The money wasn’t the problem. The buyer was the problem. And this was just the beginning. 3 I didn’t go find Savannah. I went to see a lawyer. Ms. Ellis, a sharp, composed woman, reviewed the materials I’d compiled. “The evidence is very strong, Eliza.” “His transfer records to the third party, the car purchase records, the hotel stays—all valid evidence.” “Under marital law, you can demand the return of any community property funds he gifted to a third party during the marriage.” “Twelve months, four thousand a month. That’s forty-eight thousand dollars.” “The fifteen-thousand-dollar down payment on the car also counts as marital property. You can demand that back, too.” “That’s sixty-three thousand dollars total.” “In addition, since he is the party at fault for the dissolution of the marriage, you can demand a larger share of the remaining assets, as well as compensation for emotional distress.” I asked, “And the child support?” “His income is twelve thousand a month. The statutory baseline is twenty to thirty percent, twenty-four hundred to thirty-six hundred. Given Leo’s needs, I recommend we demand thirty-five hundred.” “If he disagrees, we file suit, and the court will set the amount.” I nodded. Ms. Ellis adjusted her glasses. “There’s one other issue.” “What is it?” “Do you have any community assets? A house, a car, joint savings?” “No house. The car he drives was purchased before we were married, and it’s titled only in his name.” “Savings?” “I have about eight thousand in my personal account, from my salary over the last few years. His account…” I showed her the bank statement on my phone. Patrick’s balance: $1,800. Ms. Ellis frowned. “He’s been working for years, making twelve thousand a month. There’s no way he only has eighteen hundred dollars left.” “Where’s the money?” “I have no idea.” “We need to investigate,” she said. “If he’s been liquidating or transferring community property to hide it, the court can penalize him severely.” I left the law firm and drove straight to Patrick’s office building. One of his colleagues, Mike, looked surprised to see me. “Liz? Hey, what are you doing here?” “Looking for Patrick.” “He’s on leave. Said he was taking an impromptu trip.” “A trip where?” “Didn’t say.” I opened my phone and pulled up Patrick’s social media. He had posted a photo yesterday. It was a sunset on a beach, with the back of a woman’s head in the foreground. The caption: Much-needed R&R. I zoomed in on the picture. I could clearly see the bracelet on the woman’s wrist: a David Yurman Cable Bracelet. Retail: $2,500. I had seen that bracelet before. Last month, Patrick had asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I’d suggested a simple, affordable bracelet—maybe a hundred dollars. He’d scoffed. “A hundred dollars? That’s too cheap, Eliza. I’ll get you something nice.” Then he never mentioned it again. Now I knew. He bought it. For Savannah. $2,500. I went home, booted up my old desktop, and logged into Patrick’s email. The password was our wedding anniversary. He hadn’t bothered to change it. There was an unread email from his bank. Dear Patrick J. [Zhou], a transfer of $100,000 from your account ending in 8888 was initiated on October 15th, 2024. Your current balance is $500. I froze. One hundred thousand dollars. Where did he move it? I scrolled further and found the electronic statement. October 15th. Transfer of $100,000. Recipient: Diane J. Diane J. was Patrick’s mother. He had moved the money to his mom. I sat there, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. He had been planning this for months. Liquidate assets, transfer the cash, file for divorce, hide the money, and try to get away with paying me and Leo five hundred dollars a month. My phone rang. It was Patrick. “Eliza, what were you doing at Ms. Ellis’s office?” “You’re spying on me?” “A college buddy works in that building. He saw you.” “I was consulting an attorney about the divorce.” “Consulting what? Just sign the damn papers!” “I won’t sign them.” “Then what do you want?” “I’ll see you in court.” He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Go ahead. Sue me. I don’t have any money.” “You have one hundred thousand dollars.” Silence on the other end. After a long time, he spoke. “You went through my email?” “It’s community property, Pat. I have a right to know where our money went.” “That money is my mother’s! It’s not marital property!” “Is that so? We’ll let a judge decide.” I hung up. Leo ran over. “Mom, where’s Dad?” “Dad’s on a work trip, sweetie.” “When is he coming back?” “I don’t know.” Leo looked up at me, his small face serious. “Mom, are you and Dad getting a divorce?” I knelt and pulled him into a desperate hug. “I’m sorry, baby.” “I don’t want you to,” he whimpered. I started to cry, too. But I knew I couldn’t back down. I called Ms. Ellis. 4 Ms. Ellis helped me compile all the evidence. The transaction records, the texts, the hotel bills, the car receipt, the property transfer. It was 127 pages of undeniable fact. She said, “It’s more than enough. We can file.” “How long will this take?” I asked. “If he’s uncooperative, maybe three to six months.” “What about Leo’s support in the meantime?” “We’ll file a motion for temporary orders. The court can mandate he pay interim child support.” “How much?” “Based on the statutory guidelines, likely five to seven thousand dollars a month.” I nodded. Patrick hadn’t contacted me in days. His social media, however, continued to update. Beach, restaurant, hotel, theme park. In the photos, Savannah was beaming. I screenshotted them all. Then I drove to the Riverwalk Residences. Unit 1502. The door was closed. I rang the bell. No answer. I asked the security guard: “Who lives in 1502?” “A couple. The man is in his thirties, the woman is in her twenties.” “When did they move in?” “Two years ago.” Two years ago. Leo was four. Patrick had been “working late” and “traveling for business.” He’d told me I had it easy, staying home with the baby, compared to his corporate grind. Now I knew the truth. He wasn’t grinding. He was here. With Savannah. I waited outside the complex until 8:00 p.m. Patrick’s car—the one he bought before we were married—pulled into the parking garage. Savannah was in the passenger seat. They got out, holding hands, and walked toward the tower lobby. I followed them. I slipped into the elevator just before the doors closed. Patrick’s face went white when he saw me. “Eliza…” “Patrick,” I said, my voice steady. “We need to talk.” Savannah looked from me to him. “Who is this?” “I’m his wife,” I stated clearly. “More accurately, his not-yet-divorced wife.” The elevator opened on the 15th floor. I followed them into 1502. The condo was beautifully decorated. Minimalist, high-end furniture, a massive flat-screen TV in the living room. Everything we were supposed to have. I looked around. “You bought this place, Pat?” Patrick remained silent. “Purchased two years ago. Total price, four hundred thousand. Down payment of one hundred twenty thousand. Loan for two hundred eighty thousand.” “The down payment money? That was our community property.” “The mortgage payments for the last two years—eighteen thousand a year, thirty-six thousand dollars total—also community property.” “One hundred fifty-six thousand dollars, total. I want it back.” Patrick’s face was dark with fury. “Are you crazy? I bought this house! Why would I give you any of it?” “Marital law, Pat. Any property acquired during the marriage with community funds is community property. You gifting this to a third party is the malicious transfer of assets, and I have the right to demand its return.” Savannah shrieked. “That’s a lie! Patrick gave this apartment to me!” I turned to her. “Did you know he had a wife and a six-year-old son?” She looked down, silent. I continued, my voice low and cutting. “Did you know he only offered his son five hundred dollars a month for support?” “But he gave you four thousand a month.” “He bought you a forty-five-thousand-dollar BMW.” “He bought you this half-million-dollar condo.” “Don’t you feel any shame?” Savannah was trembling. Patrick suddenly roared, “Eliza! Enough! You came here to threaten us, didn’t you?” “I’m telling you, it won’t work!” “I bought the place, it’s in my name, and you can’t touch it!” “The money? I don’t have it! Sue me! I won’t give you a single cent!” I looked at him, and a genuine smile touched my lips. “Patrick, you know what my biggest regret is?” “That I was blind enough to marry a man like you.” “Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure you pay for everything.” I turned and walked out. Just before the door clicked shut, I heard Savannah’s muffled sobs and Patrick’s rushed comfort: “Don’t cry, Babe. She’s just trying to scare you.” Three days later, I gave him his surprise. 5 I filed the divorce petition with the court. My demands: Dissolution of marriage. Custody of Leo, with Patrick to pay $3,500 monthly child support. Return of marital assets gifted to a third party, totaling $221,000 (includes apartment down payment, two years of mortgage payments, monthly transfers, and the car down payment). Return of the fraudulently transferred $100,000. $50,000 in damages for emotional distress. The court accepted the case. A week later, Patrick received the summons. He called me, screaming obscenities. “Eliza! You’re completely out of line!” “The apartment, the cash, fifty thousand in damages? Are you trying to steal from me?” I smiled into the phone. “Yes, Pat. I am.” “Don’t push your luck!” “Patrick, I’m asking you: what did I give up for this family over the last seven years?” “When I was pregnant, I went to every doctor’s appointment alone. I was sick, I had to be put on an IV, and I cried in the clinic hallway alone.” “When Leo was born via C-section, you left the hospital after two hours, saying work was more important.” “When I was recovering, your mother stayed for three days and left, saying the city wasn’t comfortable for her.” “And you? You came home after ten p.m. every night, saying you had clients.” “I took care of the kid, the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning—all by myself.” “When Leo spiked a fever at midnight, I held him in line at the emergency room for three hours.” “Where were you? You were with Savannah, watching a movie.” “For seven years, my paycheck—forty-five hundred a month—went entirely toward our family.” “Your paycheck—twelve thousand a month—went entirely toward your mistress.” “Now you want a divorce, and you offer your son five hundred dollars in support.” “Tell me, Patrick. Who is out of line here?” Silence again. After a very long pause, he said, “I admit, I haven’t been a good husband.” “But $221,000—I don’t have that kind of money.” “The apartment is Savannah’s home. I can’t leave her homeless.” “The $100,000 is with my mother; I can’t get it back.” “The best I can do is thirty thousand dollars and three thousand a month for Leo. That’s my absolute final offer.” I laughed again. “Patrick, you know what is the most disgusting thing about you?” “That even now, in this moment, you are prioritizing Savannah.” “You say you can’t leave her homeless.” “Did you once consider leaving your son with enough money to live on?” “When you were sending her four thousand a month, did you know I had fifty dollars left in my bank account?” “When you bought her the twenty-five-hundred-dollar bracelet, did you know I couldn’t afford a hundred-dollar pair of sneakers for myself?” “When you were on vacation with her, did you know I was home alone with a sick child?” “You say you can’t get the hundred thousand back from your mother? That money was mine! Why does your mother get to keep it?” “You say three thousand is your bottom line for child support? The law’s bottom line is twenty-four hundred to thirty-six hundred! What do you think your ‘bottom line’ is worth?” “Patrick, I’ll see you in court.” I hung up. Leo looked at me from the doorway. “Mom, is Dad leaving us?” I knelt and held him tight. “No, sweetheart.” “Daddy still loves you.” It was the biggest lie I’d ever told. But I refused to let my son carry the burden of feeling unloved by his father. No six-year-old deserves that. I started organizing the final documents for the hearing. My phone rang. Ms. Ellis. “Eliza, the opposing counsel contacted me. They want to settle out of court.” “What are the terms?” “They won’t agree to the apartment or the one hundred thousand, but they’re offering thirty thousand cash as compensation, and three thousand a month for child support.” “No.” “He says if you refuse, he’ll drag this out. He claims he has no liquid assets, so even if the court rules against him, there’s nothing to seize.” “Then we drag it out,” I said firmly. “I have time.” Ms. Ellis was silent for a moment. “Eliza, I want you to consider this seriously.” “Litigation is a marathon. It could take six months, maybe a year.” “During that time, you’ll be a single mom, working full-time, under immense stress.” “And even if we win, enforcement is the problem. He’s already moved the assets. The court orders him to pay, he claims he’s broke, and we’re stuck.” “Thirty thousand isn’t a lot, but it’s guaranteed cash. Three thousand is low, but it’s better than five hundred.” “Think about it.” “Ms. Ellis, I don’t want the thirty thousand.” “I want what he legally owes us.” “I need him to understand that there is a severe price for what he did.” “I will not settle.” “Understood. I respect your decision.” I put the phone down and opened my laptop, pulling up more evidence. Patrick’s social media from the last two years: Photos with Savannah—restaurants, movies, theme parks, vacations. Every single photo was screenshotted and dated. Then, I logged into his payment app history. Beyond the monthly $4,000: Weekly dinner dates: averaging $100. Monthly hotel stays: averaging $450. Yearly vacations: averaging $4,000. A conservative estimate: he spent at least $100,000 on Savannah in two years. For me and Leo? Two thousand a month for all of our expenses. I organized the data into a spreadsheet and emailed it to Ms. Ellis. Her reply: Evidence solid. We will win. I put the phone down. Looking out the window, I suddenly remembered our wedding day, seven years ago. He had promised: “Eliza, I will take care of you forever.” I had believed him. Now, I knew better. The day before the hearing, Patrick called me again. “Eliza, let’s meet. Let’s talk this through reasonably.” “There’s nothing left to talk about.” “You have to give me a way out, Eliza!” “Did you ever give me or Leo a way out?” “I know I messed up, but why do you have to ruin me completely?” “I’m not ruining you. You did this to yourself.” “Then what do you want? I can’t give you two hundred twenty-one thousand dollars! I have mortgages, I have to support the….” “Support the what?” I interrupted. “Support Leo? What have you supported?” “I…” “You offered him five hundred dollars a month. That doesn’t even cover a pair of quality sneakers and a winter coat.” “Do you spend time with him? When was the last time you saw him? Six months ago?” “Do you care about him? Did you know he was in the hospital with a fever last week?” “I…” He had no words. I finished for him. “Patrick, I’ll see you in court.” “Wait,” he pleaded. “Let me send you something.” A text notification popped up.

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I was a ward of the Sunshine State Orphanage. One day, two wealthy families arrived. Both brought their sons, who were three years older than me. They both wanted to adopt me. Mrs. Higgins, the orphanage director, held my hand and asked gently, “Sweetheart, which one would you like to be your big brother?” I looked at the two boys in front of me. Just as I was about to point to the boy who looked like a golden retriever—warm, sunny, and smiling—rows of translucent subtitles suddenly floated before my eyes: [Girl, do not pick Gavin Sterling. He is the Main Character. In the future, he will only love the Heroine, Sarah Locke.] [Choose Liam Vance. He is the Villain. He looks cold and gloomy on the outside, but he secretly wants a little sister. If he has you, maybe he’ll learn to love. Maybe he won’t become a ruthless monster. Maybe he won’t have to die a tragic death.] My gaze shifted to the other boy. He was wearing a miniature black suit, his dark hair messy and rebellious, his expression cold as ice. I walked over, took his hand—which was freezing cold—and asked in my sweetest voice: “Will you be my big brother?” 1 Dust motes danced in the beams of sunlight cutting through the old orphanage windows. I sat on a small wooden stool, counting the cracks in the floor tiles. I had been at Sunshine State for five years. I knew every crack by heart. “Chloe King, come here a moment,” Mrs. Higgins called out from the hallway. I looked up and smoothed down my faded blue dress. It was the best one we had, saved specifically for adoption days. “Coming, Mrs. Higgins,” I chirped, jogging over. My heart was pounding. Last night, I had that dream again—a boy in black standing in the distance. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was waiting for me. Mrs. Higgins fixed my collar. “Two very nice families are here today. They both want to adopt you.” Her eyes twinkled. “This time might be the one, Chloe.” I bit my lip. People always said I was cute, but they always picked someone else. In the main hall, two couples were talking. I hid behind Mrs. Higgins, peeking out. One couple wore bright, casual clothes. The mother was crouching down, talking to a boy who radiated sunshine. He was about twelve, with chestnut hair and a smile that reached his eyes. He was flying a toy plane through the air. The other couple was starkly different. The man wore a sharp black suit. The woman wore a deep blue dress; she looked elegant but pale and sickly. Standing beside them was a boy in a black suit. He matched the figure in my dreams. He was taller than the first boy, hands shoved in his pockets, staring blankly out the window. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, and their son, Gavin,” Mrs. Higgins introduced them. “And this is Mr. and Mrs. Vance, and their son, Liam.” Gavin ran over, grinning. “Hi! I’m Gavin. I’m thirteen. Dad said I might get a sister!” He grabbed my hand enthusiastically. “Do you like planes? I can teach you how to make paper jets. I know a ton of designs!” “Gavin, don’t scare her,” Mrs. Sterling scolded gently, smiling at me. “Chloe, right? You’re adorable. If you come home with us, Gavin will be a great brother.” I instinctively looked at the other boy. Liam was still by the window, but now he had turned his head. His eyes were pitch black, staring straight at me. Cold, like winter stars. “Sweetheart,” Mrs. Higgins asked, “who do you choose?” I looked at Gavin’s warmth, then at Liam’s silence. The Sterlings looked happy. The Vances looked… broken. Just as I raised my finger toward Gavin, the text appeared in the air, glowing like a HUD in a video game: [Girl, do not pick Gavin Sterling. He is the Main Character. He will eventually abandon you for the Heroine, Sarah Locke. You will die alone in a foreign country.] I blinked. The text didn’t vanish. More appeared: [Choose Liam Vance. The Villain. He looks cold, but he needs you. Save him, and you save yourself.] My heart hammered against my ribs. Was this a hallucination? But the text was so clear. [Liam looks mean, but he will be the best brother if you give him a chance.] I looked up at Liam. He was frowning slightly, confused as to why I was staring. I took a deep breath and made up my mind. I walked toward Liam. As I got closer, he stiffened. I saw a flash of panic in his dark eyes. I stopped in front of him and grabbed his cold hand. “Will you be my big brother?” I asked, looking up. The room went silent. Liam’s eyes widened. His lips trembled. I saw shock, followed by a flicker of desperate longing. “Are you… sure?” His voice was low, raspy. “I don’t know how to… fold paper planes.” I nodded. “I’m sure.” Liam’s hand slowly tightened around mine. “Okay.” In that moment, something in his eyes melted. The subtitles flashed again: [Congratulations. You have chosen the true future.] 2 The Vance family car rolled through towering iron gates, the tires crunching on gravel. “We’re here,” Mr. Vance—Father, now—said briefly. The house was a gray stone mansion, massive and intimidating. Heavy curtains covered every window. I glanced at Liam sitting next to me. Since I picked him, he hadn’t said a word. “Let’s go inside,” Mrs. Vance said softly. She looked exhausted. I fumbled with the door handle and nearly tripped getting out. A pair of hands steadied my shoulders. Liam. “Careful,” he muttered, then immediately let go and shoved his hands back in his pockets. The interior was cold marble and crystal chandeliers. It was so big it echoed. “Martha will show you to your room,” Mrs. Vance said, coughing lightly. “I’m tired. I’ll be upstairs.” She walked up the stairs slowly, looking frail. A round-faced woman appeared. “Miss Chloe? I’m Martha, the housekeeper. Come this way.” I looked at Liam. He stood rooted to the spot. “Liam…” I whispered. “I live on the third floor,” he said, avoiding my eyes. Then he turned and vanished up the stairs. My room was on the second floor. Pale blue walls, a white bed, and brand-new fairy tale books on the desk. That night, dinner was just Father and me. Martha said Mother was unwell and Liam wasn’t hungry. “You start at Saint Mary’s Elementary tomorrow,” Father said, cutting his steak. The knife screeched against the plate. “Thank you… Dad,” I tried. He paused, grunted an acknowledgment, and went back to reading documents. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The house was too quiet. Around midnight, my door clicked open. I squeezed my eyes shut, peeking through my lashes. It was Liam. He walked silently to my bed in his pajamas. He stood there for a long time, just watching. Then, he reached out and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. “Goodnight… Chloe,” he whispered. I held my breath until he left. The blanket smelled faintly of pine soap—Liam’s scent. The next morning, Liam was at the breakfast table. “Good morning,” I chirped. “Morning,” he mumbled into his toast. “The school bus will be here in twenty minutes,” Martha announced. Liam stood up abruptly. “I’ll drive her.” Martha blinked. “But Liam, your high school is in the opposite direction.” “I’m driving her,” he repeated, grabbing his keys. Twenty minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of his car. “Thanks for the ride,” I said. Liam stared at the road. “New school. If anyone bullies you, tell me.” When we arrived, he walked me to the main office. “This is my sister,” he told the receptionist, his voice hard. “She’s new. Look out for her.” As I walked to my class, I looked back. Liam was still standing there, watching. He raised a hand in an awkward wave. My class was full of curious stares. During recess, a group of girls surrounded me. “Are you really Liam Vance’s sister?” a girl with a ponytail asked. “You don’t look like him.” “I’m adopted,” I said honestly. “Oh. So they bought you,” another girl giggled. “Did you cost a lot?” My face burned. Suddenly, the classroom went dead silent. I looked up. Liam was standing in the doorway, his face like a thundercloud. He strode over, towering over the elementary schoolers. “She’s my sister,” Liam said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “Say one more word, and see what happens.” The girls scattered like terrified birds. Liam looked at me, his expression softening. “Come find me at lunch. We’re eating together.” After he left, I looked at my desk. The glowing text appeared: [He is starting to care.] 3 A month passed. I settled into life at the Vance manor. One afternoon, I ran up to Liam after school. “Guess what? A new girl transferred in today! Her name is Sarah, and she sat next to me!” Liam frowned. “Sarah?” “Yeah! She lent me her colored pencils. She’s so nice.” [Warning: Sarah Locke has appeared. The Heroine.] The text floated in front of my face. I blinked it away. “Don’t trust strangers too easily,” Liam muttered. “But no one else talks to me,” I said quietly. Liam went silent. “I’m free this weekend. I can teach you how to make paper planes.” I looked up, eyes wide. “Really? You said you didn’t know how.” He looked away, ears turning pink. “I… learned.” That weekend, I knocked on his door. “Come in.” His room was amazing. Posters of galaxies covered the walls. Telescopes and star charts were everywhere. “You like astronomy?” I asked. He quickly closed the book he was reading—Astrophysics for People in a Hurry. “Did you need something?” “I made this for you.” I handed him a drawing. It was a girl and a boy holding hands under the stars. Liam took it. His fingers trembled slightly. He opened a drawer to put it away, and I saw he had kept everything—the paper frog I made, the clay bear, even a messy card. He kept it all. “Why are you so good at paper planes?” I asked later, as we flew them in the living room. “I spent a lot of time alone as a kid,” he said simply. My heart ached for him. Monday came. Sarah wasn’t in school. During a break, I went to the bathroom, but when I tried to leave, the door was locked from the outside. “Hello? Anyone?” I banged on the door. Hours seemed to pass. Finally, a janitor opened it. “Weird, there was an ‘Out of Order’ sign on the door. A high school boy told me to check.” I ran out and saw Liam at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall. He nodded at me once, then walked away. That evening, we walked home under the setting sun. “Why did you choose me that day at the orphanage?” Liam asked suddenly, stopping under an oak tree. “Because you didn’t choose Gavin,” he whispered before I could answer. “Everyone chooses Gavin. He’s the sun. I’m just… the shadow.” He looked at me, his eyes vulnerable. “It was the first time anyone chose me.” The subtitles floated up: [He has lived in Gavin’s shadow his whole life. You changed that.] I grabbed his hand. “Because you’re better than anyone else, Liam.” He squeezed my hand back. “Idiot.” But he was smiling. 4 May arrived. Liam’s birthday was coming up. I used all my allowance to buy a limited edition book: The Hubble Legacy. The day before his birthday, Father came home. He tossed an expensive gaming console on the table without even wrapping it. Liam didn’t even look at it. “Liam,” Father said at dinner. “I hear you’re top of your class again. Good. Keep it up for the business.” Mother coughed weakly. The tension was thick. The next morning, I snuck the book into Liam’s backpack. After school, I found him on the roof terrace of our house. “Happy Birthday!” I shouted, holding a small, slightly melted cupcake I’d bought from the corner bakery. Liam turned around. “You… got this for me?” “Yup! And check your bag!” He pulled out the book. His eyes softened in a way I’d never seen. “Thank you.” We ate the cupcake together. “Make a wish!” I said. “I don’t have any,” he said. “Can I make one for you?” I closed my eyes. I wish my brother would be happy and never lonely again. “What did you wish for?” “Can’t tell. Won’t come true.” Liam adjusted his telescope. “Want to see Saturn?” We looked at the stars until late. “Do you want to be an astronomer?” I asked. “Father wouldn’t allow it,” he said bitterly. “But it’s your dream.” He didn’t answer, just patted my head. A week later, Mother’s condition crashed. An ambulance came in the night. Liam went with her. He came back at dawn, eyes red and hollow. “She needs surgery,” he rasped. Three days later, I visited the hospital. I showed Mother a drawing of our family smiling. Liam watched me, his face tight. The subtitles flashed, bright red: [Warning: In three days, Mrs. Vance will die. Prepare yourself. He will need you.] My heart sank.

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