Category: English

Three days into my business trip in Dubai, the four-hundred-thousand-dollar smart mattress we’d just bought sent a chilling notification: it had registered 99 intense vibrations. I stared at the screen, my brows knitted into a tight knot. My husband, Dominic, was lecturing halfway across the world in Australia. The house was supposed to be empty. As doubt began to coil in my stomach, the app flashed again. The mattress had registered 199 forceful impacts and had automatically initiated the “Intimate Contact” Mode for protection. I was reaching for the phone to call Dom when his new post popped up on my social feed. [Another day in Australia missing my wife. Busy and fulfilling.] I looked at the photo, tagged with a Sydney location, and absently double-tapped it. Then I booked the first flight back to the States. 1 My first instinct was that we’d been robbed and, insult added to injury, the thief had decided to rest on my bed. The thought made my skin crawl with disgust. But when I meticulously cross-referenced the ‘Intimate Contact’ timestamps with the interior security footage, I found nothing. Not a single trace of an intruder. The antiques, the artwork, the limited-edition handbags—everything was accounted for. The house was immaculate, with no signs of disruption. Dom’s favorite bespoke suits and his Rimowa luggage were gone; he was definitely not home. Could the smart mattress just be malfunctioning? Still uneasy, I decided to check the building’s main entrance surveillance with the property manager. As I walked out, I bumped into Maria, the cleaning woman who looked after our floor. “Ms. Ashford, you’re back from your trip? Let me come in and clean up a little for you.” she said politely. “That would be a help, Maria. Thank you.” Maria was a single mother, working hard to put her daughter through college. I knew her situation and often helped them out. Out of gratitude, she insisted on cleaning our house once a week, refusing any payment. I watched her start mopping the marble in the living room and casually asked, “Maria, have you seen any strangers coming in or out of our unit the last few days?” “No, I haven’t, honey. Not since the Professor left for his lecture… Did something happen?” Seeing her sudden anxious expression, I managed a soft laugh. “No, nothing at all. Just curious.” Before she left, I pressed the expensive hand cream I’d brought back from Dubai into her hand. The weather was turning cold, and with all the manual labor she did, I knew she’d use it. If no one had come in, was it truly just a faulty mattress? But this four-hundred-thousand-dollar system had only been installed three months ago. If there were a hardware issue, the manufacturer would have been alerted immediately and contacted me for an on-site repair… I started cleaning the mattress with a heavy-duty sanitizer, my mind still reeling over the bizarre incident, when I heard the chime of the smart lock unlocking. A shiver of genuine fear ran down my spine. Before I could hide, a shadow lunged forward, pressing me onto the bed. “Surprise!” It was Dominic. Shaken, I pushed him back slightly. “I thought your teaching commitment in Australia was for a full week. Why are you back early?” “Because I missed you, of course.” He pressed a light kiss to my forehead. “No, seriously, my college needed me back right away to lead a major grant proposal. Had to ditch the outback early.” The look in his eyes was so profoundly sincere that the creeping suspicion of infidelity began to waver. Dominic was the youngest, most celebrated professor at his university—a classic heartthrob. I’d heard the whispers and the rumors, but every time I looked into his deep, earnest eyes, the doubt evaporated. “But you came back early too, darling.” He gently stroked my cheek. “I got a notification in Dubai that the mattress was… vibrating wildly.” “No one was home, so I was worried. I flew back to check.” Dominic pulled me into his chest. “Oh, that was just a minor tech glitch. An engineer was remotely calibrating the system from the backend.” His voice was low and reassuring. “I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.” He even pulled up a technician’s log on his phone. I let out a long breath, a genuine smile finally easing my face. But later, after dinner, when I turned on the living room TV, intending to stream a sophisticated drama, the playback history showed 20 episodes of Two and a Half Men. 2 The silence stretched for a long, heavy moment. Finally, I managed to ask Dominic, “Did you watch TV?” “No, honey. You must have hit the remote by accident.” That light, dismissive response pulled the knot in my heart dangerously tight. Twenty episodes of a syndicated sitcom meant that the stranger had been in my house for at least ten hours. Why was Dominic lying to me? And how could anyone stay for ten hours without showing up in any of the security footage? Was I going crazy? Was it a ghost? I couldn’t stand the uncertainty for another minute. I rushed to the property office and demanded the head of security pull up the external hallway footage. Sitting in front of the monitors, I watched frame by painful frame. Still nothing. No one entered our unit. Was this some horror movie scenario where the person had always been hiding inside? I went back another month in the recordings, watching until my eyes were burning red, but there was no anomaly. I stumbled back to the house, exhausted and defeated. Dom was standing there, holding a massive bouquet of long-stemmed roses. “Happy Anniversary, my beautiful love. The only woman I will ever adore.” I froze. In all the chaos, I had completely forgotten our anniversary. He then mysteriously pulled a key fob out of the flowers and pressed it into my palm. “It’s a brand-new Lamborghini Huracán—custom Vivid Violet paint. I reserved it three months ago.” His eyes were glistening. “No matter what storms come, I will always be right here, next to you.” His words, so tender and devoted, made my eyes sting. Leaning against his warm chest, I was overwhelmed by self-reproach. My husband clearly loved me, treasured me, and here I was, doubting him and chasing shadows. I was the one who owed him an apology. The Two and a Half Men binge was likely just a bizarre error, maybe the remote was jammed in the sofa cushions and the TV kept playing in the background while I was asleep. “Go on, love. I’ve hidden a little surprise inside. Take it for a test drive.” A faint, cloying scent—not Dom’s usual cologne—filled the car. Then, the car’s navigation system came to life, and Dom’s magnetic, warm voice filled the cabin. “Hello, Baby Doll, remember to buckle up. No matter the road ahead, your husband will always be with you.” His tone was so intimate and thoughtful that my eyes welled up again. “Navigate to The Plaza.” I hadn’t bought Dominic a gift for our anniversary, so I immediately decided to buy him an expensive watch. “Affirmative, Baby Doll. I’ll be your co-pilot all the way.” “Heads up, coming up on The Maxwell Manor Steakhouse, the site of our very first date.” Dominic’s voice continued, but I froze, gripping the steering wheel. I hate steak. And our first date was definitely not at The Maxwell Manor Steakhouse. It was a tiny, obscure jazz club downtown. Also, Dominic had never called me “Baby Doll.” Never. Was the system glitching again? “When was the last time this vehicle was driven?” I asked the navigation system. “Baby Doll, the last trip was two days ago. Destination: The Galleria.” I immediately started tearing the car apart. Sure enough. Deep in the seam of the back seat, I found a pair of worn, torn stockings. They were stained. In the small, hidden compartment of the console were a handful of ultra-thin condoms and, underneath them, a bottle of lubricant and a small, electronic toy. 3 Dominic was cheating. And this car, this gift, was a hand-me-down, a soiled trophy he was trying to pass off as a grand gesture. I was shaking uncontrollably. Ten years. A decade of my prime, given entirely to him. I had placed him above everything, loved him with every fiber of my being, and he had taken that love and ground it into the dirt with his betrayal. The vows he made at our wedding—a lifetime of monogamy—now felt sickeningly, obscenely ironic. I broke down and sobbed, a visceral, gut-wrenching grief that rattled the car. Once I regained some composure, I called a friend, an attorney who knew people, and arranged for the stockings and the toy to be sent immediately for forensic testing. I refused to believe I would find zero evidence. Unless Dom’s mistress truly was a ghost. Back home, I walked in silently. Dom rushed forward, embracing me with a forced passion. “Love, your eyes are red. Who upset you?” I pushed him away, giving him a flat, “I’m exhausted.” He reached for my hand again. “It’s been so long since we were intimate, darling.” Ever since Dom claimed to develop a severe stress disorder, we hadn’t slept together. I used to adore his gentle, insistent touch, but now the sight of him only filled me with revulsion. To avoid raising suspicion, I forced a small, tired smile. “It was a sixteen-hour flight. I just need to sleep separately tonight. Next time.” Dominic pouted for a second, then his face quickly transformed into a look of undeniable relief. He just wished me a quick “Good night.” The next day, I drove the Lamborghini back to my company headquarters. After handing the routine morning meeting over to my VP, I logged into the home media player’s backend. The playback length for Two and a Half Men had increased. He was already back at it. He couldn’t wait. I floored the accelerator the entire way back to the complex. Riding the elevator up, I fought to keep my rage bottled. Today, I was going to catch them in the act. I twisted the smart lock. Dominic was in the living room, trying on a new bespoke suit. He looked genuinely startled to see me. “Honey, why are you home?” I didn’t answer. I ripped the house apart, turning over cushions and emptying the waste bins. I even dumped out the kitchen trash. Nothing. “Did you lose something? Let me help you look,” he asked, confusion etched across his face. He looked so convincingly bewildered that I almost doubted myself again. I suppressed my rising anger, managing a forced smile. “No. I just… Did anyone stop by today?” The confusion deepened in his eyes. “It’s been just me all day… Love, are you still worried about the cheating thing?” “No. But why aren’t you at the university today?” “I have a department-wide academic conference scheduled for this afternoon.” My gaze landed on a bottle of Penhaligon’s cologne sitting on the vanity mirror. Dominic beamed. “I was planning to surprise my favorite wife with a candlelit dinner tonight. You once said you loved the leather notes in this one. I wanted to give you a preview, but I guess the surprise is ruined now.” I nodded slowly, then apologized. “I have an emergency board meeting tonight. I can’t join you.” He seemed to have forgotten the fact that I was severely allergic to synthetic leather-note fragrances. This cologne wasn’t for me. I didn’t expose his lie. As I left, I rested my hand on the top of the TV. The faint warmth confirmed it: someone had definitely been here. I had barely pulled the car out of the underground garage when I spotted Maria again, squatting by the curb, eating a breakfast burrito. “Good morning, Ms. Ashford! I was just about to bring one of my homemade ones up for you and the Professor.” I smiled, waving it off. “Maria, I wanted to ask you again. Did anyone come to my door this morning?” She frowned, thinking hard. “I didn’t see anything. Is everything okay?” Maria looked around nervously, then leaned in close, whispering, “Professor Dom, you look so tired, honey. Maybe you should find a spiritual advisor to bless the place.” I glanced in the rearview mirror. Since the first hint of Dom’s betrayal, I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep. I still didn’t know if the trespasser was human or a ghost. Suddenly, Dom’s voice came from the car speakers. “It’s raining today, Baby Doll. Be safe. Meeting you at the best time of my life was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” I felt a surge of nausea. I asked Maria an idle question. “How old is your daughter now, Maria?” “Eighteen years and five months, bless her heart.” Eighteen. The “best time of my life,” Dominic had said. 4 But a college-age student coming to my mansion to binge-watch Two and a Half Men was highly unusual. I had met Maria’s daughter, Lexi. She was a dark-skinned, plain girl—a little rough-looking, even older than her mother in appearance. Given Dom’s usual impeccable taste, the possibility was zero. Back at the office, my mind was racing. How did Dominic always know my movements? My eyes fell to the Lamborghini key fob. If I didn’t drive the Lamborghini, it would signal immediate distrust. But if I did drive it, he could track my location in real-time via the car’s GPS. Oh, my sweet, clever husband. Just after noon, the media player history flashed again: another record for Two and a Half Men. Simultaneously, the home smart speaker connected to a new device and started playing a vintage, cheesy love song. I snatched the keys to my other car—the Porsche—and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Let’s see them hide this time. Just as I suspected: Dominic wasn’t out for a conference. I was about to explode, but he quickly turned his head and shushed me with a frantic finger to his lips. On his laptop screen, several foreign students were connected for a remote lecture. “Love, why didn’t you call ahead?” “The meeting was canceled. I’m teaching my Australian students now.” He pulled me aside, kissed me quickly, and then hurried back to his study. “I’ll make you a fabulous dinner tonight.” I frantically searched the house again. Behind the curtains, under the bed—I couldn’t even find a stray hair. Fuming, I returned to the office. This time, I’d driven my own car. How had they still known my itinerary? But I was no longer willing to believe Dom’s innocence. The house was simply too clean, as if someone had deliberately scoured it. I didn’t believe he could contain himself. The afternoon was quiet until 5:00 PM, when Dom texted: “Coming home? Candlelit dinner is ready.” “I have a massive trade event for the next two days. Won’t be home.” He immediately sent a crying emoji. But I knew Dominic was ecstatic. This time, I was setting the trap. The next night, Dom texted again: “Are you coming home tonight? I miss you so much.” I smiled, typing back: “Flying to Hong Kong at 11:00 PM. Gone for a week. Take care.” Dom: “Okay. You be careful too.” The more concern he showed, the more anxious he was to get back to his routine. The Two and a Half Men binge was nearing its conclusion, and I didn’t believe his lover would abandon it now. Tonight was the perfect time to catch them in the act. An hour later, the smart speaker connected to the strange mobile device and began playing a classic, heartfelt duet. I scoffed. A “Baby Doll” with an appreciation for vintage love songs. I stood up, and the app instantly refreshed: the FINAL EPISODE of Two and a Half Men was playing. I grabbed the company photographer, Tina, and had my Head of PR queue up a social media broadcast. I didn’t care about my dignity anymore. I intended to go live, expose these two on the spot, and let the entire internet tear them apart. But when I kicked open the bedroom door and Tina raised the camera and the bright, powerful light, I stopped dead in my tracks. At the exact same moment, the forensic results on the stockings and the toy arrived on my phone. My face went chalk white.

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After the international operation I commanded went sideways—a complete wipeout—the commander’s wife was the one who personally saw me delivered to the court-martial. Stripped of my rank and uniform, I quietly finalized my discharge papers and petitioned for a post in a remote border town. That’s how I became a no-name mortician. I saw Sienna Knight again ten years later, in a documentary interview. The host shoved a microphone in my face: “Mr. Owen, Commander Knight hasn’t remarried in a decade. Everyone’s waiting for that storybook ending—the reconciliation!” As he spoke, Sienna herself walked in. She wore her dress blues, impeccably tailored, commanding the room the moment she crossed the threshold. Ten years hadn’t faded Sienna’s fierce composure. If anything, the youthful sharpness was replaced by a more formidable, measured authority. She watched me for a long time, and I could feel the silent weight of unsaid words passing between us. Finally, she offered a gentle greeting: “Owen. It’s been a long time.” “Yeah. A long time.” I gave a flat reply, my face betraying none of the internal tremors that a reunion like this should have caused. I remembered how the investigation lasted six months, concluding I had sold out my entire elite unit for five million dollars. My name was mud. My parents immediately disowned me. The families of my fallen teammates stood in court, their hatred a palpable, living thing, wishing I would just drop dead. But no one knew the truth: that the person who orchestrated the whole thing—the betrayal, the framing, the sacrificing of everything I knew—was the same “devoted” Commander Sienna Knight. All to cover for her lover-boy, Vaughn, who was the actual leak, then sealed the whole mess by eliminating the teammate who knew the truth, making me the scapegoat. 1 The mortuary’s frosted glass doors were tightly shut. Outside, the reporters were a frenzy of noise, and I could hear them clamoring on Sienna’s behalf. Sienna, however, looked completely unfazed. Hearing the rising volume, George, the old director, nervously stumbled out of the back. He gave Sienna a clumsy, half-salute. “Commander Knight… With all due respect, ma’am, this is a house of the departed. We can’t handle this kind of commotion.” “If you need Owen, I can get him, but could you maybe ask these journalists to wait outside?” He yelled toward the embalming room. “Owen, forget the cleanup. Someone’s here for you.” “No, George. Don’t force him.” Even after all this time, hearing her voice was enough to shatter my fragile sense of peace. I knew I couldn’t hide. She wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. I let out a long, silent sigh and walked out. The reporters surged forward, the questions a brutal, rapid-fire assault. “How does it feel to fall from a decorated Special Forces Captain to a mortician?” “Commander Knight has remained unmarried, supposedly waiting for your reconciliation—do you still hold a grudge for her testifying against you?” “We heard your former trainee, Vaughn, has openly pined for Commander Knight for eight years. What is your take on that?” My gaze skipped past them, locking briefly with Sienna, who stood watching the scene with cool detachment. My body felt instantly rigid. The questions were like shards of glass, but my mouth was too dry to form a single defense. When they didn’t get the answer they wanted, the reporters grew more aggressive, nearly shoving me to the cold concrete floor. That’s when Sienna pushed through the crowd and stepped in front of me. “Gentlemen,” she said, her voice low but carrying the non-negotiable weight of her rank. “This is between Owen and me. It is also a funeral home. Respect the departed and their work. Disperse.” The journalists grumbled and backed off. In the wind-whipped snow, only a few of us remained. I felt the tension drain from my shoulders and was about to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of the embalming room. “Owen…” Sienna began. I forced the stiffness out of my shoulders, meeting her eyes. “Is there something else, Commander Knight?” Hearing my formal address, she flinched slightly. Slowly, she asked, “After all these years… are you… doing well?” The question, coming from her, was an absurdity so profound it was almost comical. She closed the gap between us, reaching out, presumably to brush snow from my shoulder. I recoiled. The instinctive physical flinch threw me off balance, and I didn’t see the small wicker basket of candles and incense by my feet. CRASH— The basket tumbled to the ground, scattering wax and sticks of incense. I landed hard, palms scraping the cold cement. A splash of melted wax left a stinging red patch on my skin. She rushed forward, her expression filled with concern. “Are you okay? Here, let me—” I scrambled back, planting my hands on the cold concrete to steady myself, not wanting to be anywhere near her touch. My fingertips were dusted with ash. “I’m fine…” I quickly managed, ignoring the look of shock on George’s face. “Commander Knight, if there’s nothing else, I have a cleanup to get back to.” Sienna’s eyes were wounded. She reached out again. “Owen, do we really have to be like this? You don’t know what I’ve been through these years…” Her words were cut short by a high, childish voice. “Mommy! Daddy and I missed you so much!” An eight-year-old boy rushed forward and threw himself into Sienna’s arms. Vaughn walked up, escorting my parents, Patricia and Robert. He squeezed Sienna’s hand and spoke with a mock-chiding tone. “Sienna, why didn’t you tell me you were coming to see Master? Mom and Dad were so worried when they heard you came to this… dreary place alone.” Then he smiled at me, a sharp, condescending glint in his eyes that spoke of his complete, sickening victory. He glanced pointedly at my work uniform. “Hope you don’t mind, Master. The kid misses his mom. And the little one she’s carrying… well, he’s probably been missing his dad, too.” My eyes involuntarily dropped to Sienna’s flat stomach. The reporters’ gossip about Sienna waiting for me, Vaughn’s open pining, and now this—the facts were a brutal, overwhelming mockery. I recalled how Vaughn had been injured on duty and sent to a recovery retreat for a year before my court-martial. Conveniently, Sienna had been stationed abroad that same year. They must have started their sick little game back then, leaving me clueless, a blind man walking toward the gallows. Before I could speak, my mother, Patricia, launched into a furious tirade. “Owen, you have the audacity to be alive! You’ve ruined the Knight name. You’ve soiled the family’s honor!” “Three years ago, your father had a major heart attack. If Vaughn hadn’t been visiting and called the paramedics, he’d be in the ground right now! How dare you stand here, a disgrace, looking him in the eye!” I looked at their graying hair and tired faces. Years of failing to be the son they needed twisted a painful knot in my chest. But seeing them defend Vaughn and Sienna like this was a cold, sharp stab. If they knew that the people they were praising—Vaughn and Sienna—were the ones who had destroyed an entire elite unit and then framed their son, what would they feel? My father’s gaze was ice-cold, filled with disgust. “Sienna, a traitorous disgrace like him isn’t worth your worry. He soiled the family’s honor. If it had been me, I would have put a bullet in my own head years ago!” My mother chimed in, stepping deliberately further away from me, her voice filled only with disappointment and contempt. “We consider Vaughn our son. You’re still our daughter-in-law, Sienna. We don’t have a son anymore.” George watched my parents’ bitter attack, then glanced at my calloused hands. He sighed, the gesture heavy with complex emotions, and silently knelt to help me pick up the scattered candles. I had nothing left to say. The slight trembling in my hands was not fear, but the deep-seated chill of total despair. Sienna watched my reaction, then offered a low, forced explanation. “They’ve been through a lot, Owen. They’ve been ostracized for years. Don’t blame them.” She soothed my parents with soft words. As they turned to leave, she turned back to me. “What happened back then, I owe you. My number hasn’t changed. Call me if you need anything.” I gave a mechanical nod, saying nothing. The last thing I wanted was to contact her. I just wanted them all to disappear. After they left, George put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take it to heart, son. You’ve got to keep living.” He didn’t ask any questions, but I knew something fundamental had broken. Sure enough, the next morning, George called me into his office. “Owen, it’s not that I want to run you off,” he said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes red-rimmed and full of genuine distress. “After yesterday’s circus, too many families have called. They say they don’t want the traitor’s hands touching their loved ones. They say the departed won’t find rest.” I looked down at the complaint forms—Refusal of Owen Knight’s Services—the words were ice in my gut. My only sanctuary, the quiet, solitary work I’d used to hide from the world, was gone. “I understand, George.” The calmness in my own voice surprised me. “I’ll pack up and leave today. I won’t cause you any more trouble.” George tried to protest, but I shook my head. I couldn’t let my reputation destroy the business he had spent his life building. As I packed, a profound emptiness settled over me. This room had been my only refuge since leaving the brig, and now it was lost. Three days later, I was still searching for work. In this small, border town, everyone knew who the “traitor” was. No one would hire me. That’s when Sienna called. “Owen, I’ve secured you a position as a Tactical Instructor at the Special Operations Academy. My transport will be there for you in three days.” “Commander Knight!” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “I can’t afford your ‘kindness.’ Just leave me alone.” “Leave you alone?” Sienna’s voice was flat but carried an unyielding authority. “I’m trying to help you, Owen. I was trying to save you from yourself.” “I remember the pride of the Special Forces Captain you were. If not for…” She paused, clearly avoiding the full truth, then continued, “I know you hate me, but you can’t just throw your life away. If you don’t want to be an instructor, you can be a Tactical Consultant for Vaughn. He just got promoted to Captain of his own unit. You were his mentor; it’s the perfect fit.” I clenched my jaw, fighting the nausea her suggestion brought on. “I appreciate the offer, but I just want a quiet life.” She didn’t argue. She simply informed me. “I know you’re still bitter about the past. But now is not the time for you to be so stubborn. You will understand my decision later.” I almost laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “Your decision? Is that to keep me close, so I can continue to be a pawn in your cover-up? To continue to be Vaughn’s stepping stone?” “Owen!” Her voice cracked like a whip, the full military authority back in her tone. “I warn you—watch your words.” “You will take this consultancy. You have no choice.” “Unless… you want your parents to be run out of the Military Retirement Community. You know how quickly those things can be arranged.” My body went cold. She always knew my weakness.

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My whole family transmigrated into a book. My mom was a scammer, my dad was a thief. My sister had a body count (literally), and my brother sold the hard stuff. I was the only one who started as a fictional character—specifically, the tragic heroine of a angst-filled romance novel. The male lead stormed into my house, ready to force me into a “relationship.” As soon as he stepped through the door, my entire family was there, sharpening kitchen knives with murderous glints in their eyes. “So, you’re the punk making our girl cry?” 1 My life sucks. My dad is a gambling addict. But he thinks he’s a god at poker. The reason he loses nine times out of ten? Because my mom and I are “bad luck.” So every time he loses his shirt, he comes home and uses us as punching bags. But a year ago, he suddenly changed. He quit gambling. Quit smoking. Quit drinking. Every time he came home, he brought stacks of cash for my mom. He even bought me a Cartier bracelet and a Hermès bag. Said they were vintage, but guaranteed authentic. My mom thought he’d been possessed. She was so happy, like a freed slave. She hugged the bracelet and bag, hyperventilating with joy. Then she passed out from excitement. When she woke up… She changed too. Her eyes, usually clear and foolish, suddenly held a depth I couldn’t read. The first thing she said to me was: “Little girl, give me a hundred bucks. Auntie will help you get a Lululemon haul for zero dollars. Trust me, I’m a pro.” Before I could process that, my usually whiny, green-tea sister spoke up in a voice like a foghorn: “I want one. If you dare scam me, I’ll kill you. Don’t test me, I have a record.” She was playing with a kitchen knife. A chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, my brother slid up next to me, flashing a small packet hidden in his sleeve. He whispered: “Pure stuff. Top-tier high. You want some?” I was stunned. Petrified. “Bro, weren’t you trying to sell me off for a dowry to get a wife? Since when did you start dealing?” He rubbed his nose. “Sorry, occupational hazard. I meant to ask… do you want some catnip?” … My house was chaos. I decided to just roll with it. 2 That night, we had a family confession circle. Dad said: “I was a thief. Fell into an open manhole after a job one night and woke up here.” Sister said: “I was a murderer. The prison food was too good, I ate too fast and choked to death. Poof, here I am.” Brother said: “I was a drug dealer. Got shot during a deal gone wrong because the buyer tried to rip me off.” Mom said: “I was the last great MLM queen of Indonesia—” Dad, Brother, Sister, and I yelled in unison: “Tell the truth!” Mom twiddled her thumbs honestly: “Fine. I was a scammer. Got punched in the face while begging with a fake baby at a KFC. Woke up here.” Wow. A family of villains. I teared up. My original life config was: Gambling Dad, Sick Mom, Green Tea Sister, Jerk Brother. Now updated to Version 2.0: The Suicide Squad. My life sucks even more. I trembled. “I don’t have much money. I have three hundred bucks from shaking milk tea. Take it all, just please spare my life.” The four of them froze. Sister spoke first: “What are you talking about? We’re here to save you. You’re the heroine of a tragedy novel. Your future is miserable. Dumped, beaten, framed, forced, miscarried, imprisoned, wrist-slashed, jumping into the ocean. Why should everyone else enjoy life while you suffer?” She propped her leg on the coffee table. “I’ve got experience chopping people. I’ll just hack that guy, Christian, and solve the problem once and for all!” Dad looked serious. “Not ideal. I say I tunnel into his mansion and steal everything he owns. Make him poor. Robbing the rich to feed the poor is my specialty.” Mom nodded in agreement. “You steal the assets, I’ll drain his bank accounts. I have a thousand scam scripts; one of them will work on him.” Brother was succinct. “Too much hassle. I’ll just shoot him up with something strong. Let him OD.” I was moved, but shook my head frantically. “I don’t want you guys committing crimes for me. I promise I’ll stay far away from him.” Sister patted my head. “Don’t worry, sis. With us here, no one can bully you.” Dad pulled a handful of luxury watches from his pocket. “Dad’s treating. Hot pot tonight.” Brother pulled a stray calico cat out of nowhere with the catnip. “Here, a gift. For you to play with.” Mom leaned in close with a sincere smile. “Lend me that three hundred. Seriously, I’ll get you that Lululemon. I have a feeling that brand is gonna blow up.” “…” 3 Dad gave me a lot of pocket money. I saved it all. Just in case the family needed bail money someday. I kept shaking milk tea. Before, I worked to support the family. Now, I worked hoping they’d retire from crime early. To avoid the “Male Lead” they talked about, I barely spoke to any men. But I still fell into a trap. At a team-building event, I was forced to drink a shot of something strong. Blacked out. Woke up in a hotel suite. Clothes scattered. Hickeys everywhere. A man with an overpowering aura looked down at me with cold eyes. “I’ve seen plenty of women like you, scheming to climb into my bed. Not bad, though. Name your price.” In the past, I might have accepted my bad luck and asked for enough money to stop my dad from gambling or cure my mom. But now? This guy was just annoying. I put on my clothes calmly and said: “Let’s just say fate brought us together for a nap. Don’t worry about it, I don’t need money. Just don’t bother me again, or my family will be upset.” The man clearly didn’t expect that. Before I could leave, he grabbed my wrist. He frowned. “That’s not a normal reaction. What if I said you’re pretty enough to be my mistress?” He seemed to expect me to be thrilled. Instead, I checked the time. “It’s late. My mom’s calling me for dinner!” I wasn’t lying. I checked my phone outside. Over a hundred missed calls. Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister. Everyone was blowing up my phone. WeChat was exploding. Dad: [Who stays out all night at 23? Ask around!] Mom: [Baby, if he’s a good guy, use protection. If it’s Christian, go for the eyes then kick the balls.] Brother: [Send location. I’m coming to get you.] Sister: [SIS!!! WHERE ARE YOU!!! DID CHRISTIAN EAT YOU??? I told you I should have chopped him up!!! AHHH—] I went home guilty. I said I got drunk and crashed with a female coworker. The family sighed in relief. But while I was showering, my sister came in to brush her teeth. She saw the marks. She exploded. Screaming as she ran out. “Code Red! Code Red! That bastard Christian got to her! AHHH—” Twenty minutes later. The whole family sat around my bed, looking disappointed. I lowered my head, ready for a scolding. Dad raised his hand. I flinched reflexively. But his hand landed gently on my head, ruffling my hair. “We didn’t protect you well enough. Dad should have picked you up.” Mom sighed. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Brother said seriously: “Your coworkers probably set you up. I’ll investigate.” Sister grabbed a cleaver and headed for the door. “I’m killing him.” Brother dragged her back. I tried to tell myself it was just bad luck. But my eyes welled up. So this is what having a family feels like. I sniffled. “I won’t be careless again. I’m staying home.” Sister stood like a philosopher. “You can hide for a day, but not forever. Christian’s type? He’ll dig you out of the ground. We need a plan. We fight back!” The family agreed. They made a group chat immediately. Group Name: “Operation Castrate Christian.” The next second. The doorbell rang. My house was surrounded by men in black. 4 The leader claimed to be Christian’s butler. “Ms. Wen, Mr. Pei suffers from chronic insomnia, but he slept soundly with you. He would like to hire you as his exclusive sleep companion.” Behind the door, my family was rolling their eyes so hard they almost fell out. I asked: “What if I refuse?” The butler smiled silently and glanced at the goons behind him. Meaning: come willingly or be dragged. Sister gritted her teeth. “Let me chop him.” I gave everyone a reassuring look. We have a plan. Let’s do this. In the car. I kept updating the group chat. [This Rolls Royce is nice. Brother would love it.] [The estate is huge. Dad could plant so many flowers here.] [The snacks are delicious. Mom would love them.] [These dresses are expensive and pretty. I stuffed a few in my bag for Sister.] No reply. Twenty minutes later, I checked again. Still nothing. I told myself they were busy. But I felt uneasy. Stylists swarmed me. By the time they were done, it was late. I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging my knees, waiting. I hid my phone behind the tissue box. If Christian tried anything, I’d record it. 1 AM. Christian woke me up. He was in a bathrobe, freshly showered, smelling of expensive cologne and arrogance. I gripped the sheets. He leaned into my ear, chuckling darkly. “Thought you were playing hard to get? Yet here you are.” His voice was deep, vibrating in my chest. I scooched away. “Mr. Pei, let’s be clear. I’m here to help you sleep, not sleep with you.” He sneered and grabbed my chin. “Who do you think you are? Serving me is your honor.” He bit my lip hard. A warning. I tasted blood and struggled. But he pinned my hands. I remembered Mom’s advice. Just as I was aiming for his crotch… CLANG. A silver tray smashed into the back of Christian’s head. His eyes went wide, and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes. I kicked him aside. There was my mom, wearing a maid’s uniform, casually dusting off the tray. “Mom!” I whisper-shouted. “Why are you here?” Mom smirked. “Saw they were hiring. Came to protect you.” I was shocked. “Don’t they have high standards?” Mom blew on her nails. “Nah. Just fluent in eight languages, housekeeping, etiquette, and martial arts.” I gaped. “You know all that?” Mom said: “I know how to lie a little.” She pulled out another tray loaded with desserts and a pot of Earl Grey tea. “Baby, what do you want for breakfast? Order the expensive stuff. Mom will make the chef cook it.”

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Chapter 1 I deliberately swapped my smartphone for a busted old Nokia brick that couldn’t connect to the internet, let alone Apple Pay. I wasn’t panicking. But Tiffany, our high school Prom Queen, was losing her mind. In my past life, right after finals, Tiffany used my phone to drain my accounts of millions. She treated the whole class to a graduation trip, leading them on a psychotic shopping spree the second we hit the tourist traps. She maxed out my cards and left me ten million dollars in debt. When I confronted her, threatening to get lawyers involved, she flipped the script. She put on her best victim face and cried to the whole class. “Savannah, just because you got scammed, you can’t frame me! You’re trying to pin this massive debt on me? You want to ruin my life forever?” She sobbed fake tears, and the class turned on me instantly. “You’re just stupid for not watching your wallet. Trying to frame Tiffany? You’re shameless.” “Tiffany is an angel. You’re trash.” While we were arguing on the edge of a scenic cliff, they shoved me. I fell. I died. And the whole class testified it was an accident. That I slipped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day Tiffany offered to pay for the graduation trip. I felt the Nokia in my pocket and smiled. “Graduation trip? Let’s go.” “Yes! School’s out! Let’s all go to Dubai to celebrate!” Hearing Tiffany’s familiar, high-pitched voice, I realized I had been reborn. The phantom pain of my bones shattering at the bottom of that cliff still lingered, making me tremble. I looked around at the familiar faces. Nobody responded to Tiffany at first. I knew what they were worried about. They were broke high schoolers. They couldn’t afford a trip to Dubai. But then Tiffany dropped the bomb that made the room explode. “It’s on me. I’m covering round-trip flights and all expenses for everyone.” Boom. Suddenly, she was a goddess. The room erupted in applause. The ass-kissing began immediately. “Omg, Tiffany, you’re the GOAT!” “Tiffany is literally Santa Claus. Thank you so much!” Everyone was screaming. Tiffany’s vanity was being fed like a hungry beast; she was beaming. I stood there, stone-faced. In my last life, it happened exactly like this. Just before boarding the plane, Tiffany borrowed my phone, claiming hers was dead and she needed to call her parents. I didn’t think twice. But once we landed and the spending started, my phone went crazy. Transaction notifications blew up my screen. I couldn’t stop it. I watched my inheritance burn until I was in debt. Later, a tech guy told me my phone had been infected with a keylogger virus. Only Tiffany had touched my phone. When I confronted her, she gaslit the hell out of me. “Savannah, I invited you out of pity! Now you’re framing me?” The class sided with her. They smashed my phone to destroy the evidence. They pushed me off a cliff. They lied to the police. Because it was a foreign country with no cameras on that cliff, the case went cold. They even told my parents I committed suicide because I was broke. My family is the richest in the state. Ten million was nothing to me. But my parents didn’t know that—they believed the lie and died of broken hearts. I clenched my fists. I looked at these demons in human skin and smiled. “Sounds great. Thanks for the charity, Tiffany.” Tiffany linked her arm with mine, acting like we were besties. “No problem! We’re classmates. You have to come, Savannah.” She needed her cash cow. “Don’t worry,” I said, my smile not reaching my eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I had to go. I had to watch her burn. That night, the group chat was buzzing. Tiffany was reminding everyone to bring their passports. “Don’t be late, guys!” “We won’t! We’re packing right now!” I stayed silent, lurking like a ghost, monitoring their every move. The next morning at the airport, I showed up last, just barely making the cutoff. My laziness pissed everyone off. “Why did Tiffany even invite her? She’s such a buzzkill.” “Tiffany is just too nice. She doesn’t want anyone left out.” “Some people have zero self-awareness.” One guy yelled at me, “Hey! Can you hustle? Making everyone wait… you think you’re the main character? You don’t have the money to act this entitled.” I was about to clap back when Tiffany rushed over to save her piggy bank. “Guys, chill! Savannah is just shy. You’re making her uncomfortable.” “She should stay home if she’s shy! You spoil her too much, Tiff.” “Someone needs to apologize.” Chapter 2 Tiffany looked at me with fake concern. “Savannah, maybe just apologize to the group? So we can move on?” I scoffed. “Why? I’m not apologizing. I’m going home.” I turned to leave. Panic flashed in Tiffany’s eyes. She grabbed me. “No, no! It’s fine! I’ll apologize for you!” She turned to the group, acting the martyr. “Sorry guys! I apologize on Savannah’s behalf. Please, do it for me?” “Ugh, Tiffany, you’re a saint.” “Fine, but only because you asked.” Tiffany wiped her imaginary sweat. “Okay, let’s go! Boarding time, ladies and gentlemen!” She herded us toward the gate. Just as we were about to board—the moment of truth. Tiffany looked distressed. “Savannah, my phone just died. Can I borrow yours? I need to call my parents and tell them I’m leaving.” Here we go. The classic move. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the Nokia brick. “Sorry, Tiff. I forgot to charge my smartphone last night. I’m using my grandma’s emergency burner. It’s got like 2% battery and no signal in here.” Tiffany’s face dropped. It was glorious. She gritted her teeth. “Oh… okay.” She didn’t talk to me for the entire flight. I put on my eye mask and slept like a baby. When we landed in Dubai, Tiffany was back to her fake cheerful self. “Savannah! I booked the rooms. To save money, we’re pairing up. You’re with me!” “Also, I made an itinerary. We leave early tomorrow, so I’ll make sure you’re up.” She wanted to keep me close. She was planning to steal the phone while I slept. I glared at her. “Fine.” The peanut gallery chimed in again. “What is her problem? Freeloading off Tiffany and still giving attitude.” “Trashy behavior.” “If I were Tiffany, I’d leave her in the desert.” Their insults were loud and clear. I snapped. “Are you done running your mouths? Do I need to sew your lips shut?” “Oh, you wanna go?” “Trash!” They wanted to fight, but Tiffany jumped in again. “Stop! Everyone stop! We’re here to have fun!” I could see them whispering, plotting to “teach me a lesson” later. But I’m paranoid now. I don’t go anywhere alone. They couldn’t touch me. So they switched to the silent treatment. Isolating me. Perfect. I treated them like air. Chapter 3 The next morning, Tiffany rallied the troops. “Breakfast first, then we hit the mall! Buy whatever you want, it’s on me!” “Yasss! Queen Tiffany!” The worship was real. Their smiles were disgusting. “Savannah, sit with me.” Tiffany was sticking to me like glue. “Okay.” After eating, Tiffany led us to the most expensive shopping district. She hired a local guide to take us to the luxury flagship stores. The moment we walked in, the greed on everyone’s faces was palpable. They didn’t care about the architecture or the culture. They just wanted free Gucci. Tiffany waved her hand like a billionaire. “Shop away! Grab whatever catches your eye.” She glanced at me, her eyes saying, It’s your money anyway. I smirked back. Let the games begin. Tiffany shadowed me through the store. She was piling jewelry on herself, looking at me. “Savannah, you’re not getting anything?” I shook my head. “Too flashy. Not my style. I’m gonna look over there.” “Wait!” She panicked. “Stay here! Help me pick something out!” A second later, she tried again. “Savannah, seriously, can I borrow your phone? I need to tell my parents we landed safely. Strict household, you know?” I looked around. The class was piling up boxes of luxury goods. I smiled and pulled out the Nokia. “Here.” Tiffany stared at the plastic brick like it was a bomb. “What the f*ck? You’re still using this piece of junk? How do you even FaceTime?” I shrugged. “I’m broke. This is durable. Deal with it. Or borrow someone else’s.” “Borrow my ass!” She snapped. She was losing her cool. Her scream attracted the whole class. “Who uses a burner phone in 2025?” “Omg, she’s so broke it’s embarrassing.” “If it wasn’t for Tiffany, she’d never leave her trailer park.” They thought roasting me would make Tiffany happy. But Tiffany was holding her head, looking like she was about to have a stroke. “Shut up!” Tiffany screamed. “Shut the hell up! If you keep talking, return your stuff and get out!” The class went silent. They’d never seen the “angel” rage before. Just then, the store manager approached, smiling that polite, customer-service smile. “Miss, your group has reached the purchase limit for holding items. Would you like to settle the bill before continuing?” Chapter 4 Tiffany froze. She tried to play it cool, channeling her inner Karen. “What’s the rush? You think I can’t afford it? We’re still shopping. Are you trying to kick us out? Do you know who I am?” The manager, terrified of losing a whale, bowed. “I apologize profusely! Please, to make up for my rudeness, everything today is 20% off. Please, continue.” Tiffany let out a breath she was holding. She shot a smug look at the group. “That’s better.” The manager ushered them back into the VIP lounge. Tiffany was sweating. I could see the gears turning in her head. She was screwed. I watched her pretend to browse. She started putting things back on the shelves surreptitiously. She whispered to the group. “Hey guys… I think this stuff is fake.” The classmates paused. “What? No way. This is a flagship store.” Tiffany nodded seriously. “Trust me. It’s knockoffs. Put it back. I’ll take you to the real high-end district later.” The classmates were gullible. They started putting things down. The manager noticed. “Is something wrong?” Tiffany stayed silent, face red. But her “friends”—the loudmouths—betrayed her instantly. “The lady said your stuff is fake!” “How dare you sell us dupes!” The manager was furious. “I swear on my life, if there is a single fake item here, I will eat it!” He slapped the authenticity certificates on the table. The classmates believed the paper. “Tiffany! It’s real! Can we get the stuff back?” Tiffany was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I stepped forward. “No, you can’t. Because she has no money.” Silence. Then chaos. “Tiffany, tell her she’s lying!” “You’re rich, right? You promised!” Tiffany looked like she wanted to vomit. A few of the guys got aggressive. “Yo, are you pranking us? You dragged us to Dubai for this?” “Did you act rich just to clout chase?” Tiffany stayed silent. “Damn, she’s broke. Let’s bounce. This is embarrassing.” The guys started to leave. Tiffany’s minions—the pick-me girls—panicked. They blocked the exit. “Wait! Let Tiffany explain!” “Maybe her bank froze her account because she’s spending too much! It happens to rich people!” I almost laughed out loud. They were digging her grave for me. Tiffany’s eyes went wide with pure hatred toward her “friends.” But she had to play along. “Yes! That’s it! My card got flagged for suspicious activity!” She squeezed out a few tears. The class softened immediately. “Oh, see? Just a misunderstanding.” “Poor Tiffany.” I watched them comfort her, suppressing a laugh.

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“Your insurance card. Let me use it for the paperwork.” Derek was lying in the hospital bed, his face a sickly yellow. I looked at him. “The total treatment is going to be around $120,000,” he said. “My coverage won’t touch that.” “What about your savings?” He was silent. I smiled. A slow, cold thing. Married for five years, living AA for five years. He made $6,000 a month; I made $4,500. Mortgage split fifty-fifty. Living expenses split fifty-fifty. I thought it was called fairness. Until today, when I learned the truth— He had saved $220,000. I had saved $8,000. 1 Three days ago, Derek was diagnosed with lung cancer. Mid-stage. The doctor said we needed surgery immediately, followed by aggressive chemotherapy. “What are the likely costs?” I asked. “Surgery and chemo, conservatively, between $100,000 and $120,000.” My mind went instantly blank. A loud, high-pitched ringing. Derek squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, Ava. We’ll face this together.” I nodded. When we got home, I started to crunch the numbers. My savings: $8,300. Credit card limit: $3,000. Total: a little over $11,000. A drop in the bucket. I called my mother, Eleanor. “Mom, Derek’s sick. We might need to borrow some money.” She didn’t hesitate. “Your father and I have $12,000 in the emergency fund. I’ll transfer it tomorrow.” My throat tightened. That evening, Derek’s mother, Lydia, called. “Ava,” his mother’s voice was anxious, “How are you going to treat Derek’s illness?” “Surgery first, then chemo.” “Do you have enough for the expenses?” “I’m working on it.” Lydia paused for a moment. “Your father-in-law and I have $25,000 set aside. It’s all yours.” A wave of warmth washed over me. “Thank you, Lydia.” After hanging up, I added it all up. My parents’ $12,000, his parents’ $25,000, my $11,000. $48,000. Still short by at least $50,000. I looked at Derek. “How much do you have saved?” He hesitated. “I… I’ll have to check my accounts.” “Roughly?” “Maybe… thirty, forty thousand?” Forty thousand, plus the $48,000 we had. That was $88,000. Still short by a third. I sighed. “I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and see about a personal loan.” Derek didn’t say a word. The next day, I took time off work and rushed between three different banks. The most I could get for a personal loan was $30,000, and the interest rate was brutal. I bit down on my lip and signed the documents. Back at the hospital, Derek was on the phone. “…I know, but now’s not the time… Just leave it there. Don’t touch it…” He quickly ended the call when he saw me walk in. “Who was that?” “A colleague,” he said. “Asking about the diagnosis.” I didn’t think much of it. That evening, I told him about the loan. “$30,000. Thirty-six months to pay it back. It’s going to be $1,000 a month.” Derek frowned. “The interest is that high?” “We don’t have a choice. This is life or death.” He nodded. “Thank you, Ava. I know this is hard.” I took his hand. “We’re husband and wife.” He looked at me, his eyes reddening. In that moment, I felt that our five years of AA, of splitting every bill, had been worth it. At least in a crisis, we were in this fight together. But I didn’t know the real ledger—the one I hadn’t seen yet. 2 The surgery was scheduled for three days later. We needed a $30,000 deposit before they would start the procedure. I transferred the entire $30,000 from the new loan. Once the payment went through, I felt a slight easing of the pressure. Around noon, I went home to grab a change of clothes. Derek’s phone was sitting on the nightstand. The screen lit up. A text notification from an account simply labeled “M.” The message read: “$220,000. Confirmed receipt.” I froze. $220,000? What was $220,000? I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It was locked. I tried his birthday. Wrong. I tried our wedding anniversary. Wrong. I tried his mother’s birthday. It opened. I tapped the message thread with “M.” The more I read, the more my hands shook. “Derek, your brokerage account is killing it. Almost double in five years.” “Not bad. Started with $120k. Now it’s $220k.” “Does Ava know?” “No. We’re AA, separate accounts, separate lives. I keep my earnings to myself.” “Smart man. That’s real economic independence.” “Haha. The key is I know how to invest. With her salary, she can’t save much anyway.” I scrolled up. Older messages. “Every month I get my $6,000 paycheck. I send $700 to my mom, put $3,000 into my investment account, and keep $2,300 for myself. It’s perfect.” “What about the mortgage?” “AA, right? She pays half, I pay half. $1,200 each.” “And living expenses?” “Also AA. $600 each.” “So how much does your wife save a month?” “She makes $4,500. $1,200 for the mortgage, $600 for living, $400 for her parents. She spends maybe $800 to $1,000 on herself. She probably saves $1,300 to $1,500.” “So you save $3,700 a month, and she saves $1,500?” “Roughly. But she doesn’t invest, so her money just sits in the bank, earning nothing.” “You’re a piece of work, man.” I put the phone down. My hands were trembling. Five years. He saved $3,700 a month. I saved $1,500 a month. He saved $220,000. I saved $8,000. All because he was a “savvy investor.” And where did my money actually go? I pulled out my own phone and opened my banking app, checking the spending log. Mortgage: $1,200. Check. Living expenses: I realized I paid far more than my $600 share. Groceries, utilities, cleaning supplies, paper towels—I bought all of it. The holiday gifts for his parents, the nice shirts and shoes I bought him. The “joint account” $600 only covered basic produce. Everything else was my personal expense. At least $800 more a month out of my pocket. Plus the $400 for my parents, the travel expenses, and gifts for family gatherings. If I was lucky, I was saving $600 to $800 a month. Five years. I saved $8,000. He saved $220,000. That was his definition of “fairness.” That was AA. I sat on the edge of the bed and laughed out loud. I laughed until the tears started to fall.

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I received a call from a scammer and transferred $10 million to them without hesitation. When the police called to tell me I’d been scammed, I didn’t panic. But my “rich girl” roommate sure did. In my past life, on the first day of the semester, my roommate stole my Black Card and took the whole class to a high-end charity auction, engaging in a bidding war just to show off. She drained over a hundred million dollars from the card, freezing my family’s company assets and pushing us to the brink of bankruptcy. When I confronted her and demanded repayment, she threw herself into my boyfriend’s arms, sobbing. “Maya, you can’t just accuse me because your family is broke!” My boyfriend slapped me across the face and yelled, “Maya, you spent the money yourself! How dare you try to make Chloe take the fall? Have some shame!” When I went to the bank to get the transaction records as evidence, my roommate ran me over with her car. My boyfriend and the entire class testified that I was mentally unstable and had jumped in front of the car myself. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my roommate offered to take the whole class to the auction. Chapter 1 “Hey everyone! Are you free tomorrow? I’m taking the whole class to the charity auction downtown. My treat. Put it all on my card!” Hearing Chloe’s voice, I shivered. I realized instantly that I had been reborn. Suddenly, Chloe linked her arm through mine. “Maya, I heard you have a VIP pass for that auction. Can I borrow it? That way we can all sit in a private box.” Chapter 2 Hearing those words, the phantom pain of being crushed to death flooded back. In my last life, Chloe used the excuse of borrowing my VIP pass to steal the Black Card my dad gave me. I didn’t realize until my dad called, furious, asking why I had drained over a hundred million dollars in one night, cutting off the company’s cash flow. When I confronted Chloe, she cried in my boyfriend’s arms. “Maya, you can’t just frame me because your family is going bankrupt!” My boyfriend, Tyler, slapped me hard. “Maya, have some shame! You spent that money yourself, and now you want Chloe to take the fall?” I went to the bank to get the statements. Chloe ran me over with her car, reversing over my body to make sure I was dead. My parents tried to get justice, but Tyler and the whole class testified for Chloe, claiming I was desperate for money and committed suicide by jumping in front of her car. Thinking of this, rage burned through me. I gripped my handbag tightly and said coldly, “I lost my pass. I can’t lend it to you.” Tyler snatched my bag from my hands, unzipped it, and dumped everything onto the floor. He picked up the gold VIP card lying on the ground and handed it to Chloe. “Here, Chloe. Use this.” Chloe hugged Tyler’s arm, her voice sugary sweet. “Tyler, you’re the best! Thank you so much.” Tyler beamed at her, then looked at me with disgust. “Maya, when did you become such a liar? You clearly had the card. Why didn’t you want to lend it?” I slapped Tyler across the face, then snatched the card back from Chloe. “Tyler, who gave you the right to touch my stuff?” Tyler’s eyes widened in shock. “Maya, are you crazy? Did you just hit me?” I slapped him again. “Yeah, I hit you. So what?” Chapter 3 Chloe immediately stepped in front of Tyler, looking like a martyr. “Maya, it’s all my fault. Blame me if you want, but don’t take it out on Tyler.” I looked at her coldly and slapped her too. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you out. You two deserve each other. Stop acting like victims in front of me. It’s disgusting.” Tyler’s face turned red with anger. He shoved me hard, knocking me to the ground. My back hit a desk, and I gasped in pain. “Maya, you’ve crossed the line! How dare you hit Chloe!” I rubbed my back and glared at him. “Are you deaf? She asked for it. I was just obliging her.” The other classmates started chiming in. “Maya, that’s too much. You can’t just hit people for no reason.” Chloe was crying hysterically now. “I’m sorry, everyone. Don’t blame Maya. Tyler and I are innocent, he just treats me like a little sister…” Tyler hugged Chloe tightly, comforting her. “Chloe, you’re too kind. You’re being bullied, and you still blame yourself.” I watched them, my fingers trembling with rage. Tyler glared at me. “Maya, drop the spoiled princess act. This is college, not your house. No one is going to pamper you. Give the card to Chloe right now and apologize, or we’re done. I can’t have a girlfriend who acts like a barbarian.” Chapter 4 I laughed out loud. “Fine. We’re done. Go be happy with your precious ‘little sister.’” Chloe looked at me with big, teary eyes. “Maya, don’t be impulsive! You and Tyler have been together for three years. You can’t just break up like this. I’d feel so guilty.” Hearing this made me even angrier at myself for being blind enough to love scum like Tyler for three years. Suddenly, Chloe grabbed my arm. “Maya, how about this? Lend me the VIP card. All the points from our purchases will go to your account. That way you can upgrade your membership status.” Tyler looked at Chloe with admiration. “Chloe, you are literally an angel. She bullies you, and you still look out for her.” Then he turned to me, impatient. “Maya, Chloe is being incredibly generous. Don’t be ungrateful.” I sneered. “No thanks. I can’t afford your ‘kindness.’” A flash of malice crossed Chloe’s eyes, but she hid it quickly. “Maya, I really want to use this chance to bond with the class. If you lend me the card, I’ll buy you two items from the auction. Anything you want. Consider it a rental fee.” The classmates gasped. “Maya, take the deal! Auction items start at like ten grand. Chloe is giving you two for free! You’re making a killing!” “Plus you get the points! It’s a win-win. Why are you refusing?” Tyler mocked me. “Maya, you’re just greedy, aren’t you? Only Chloe is nice enough to tolerate you. Take the offer before she changes her mind.” Chapter 5 I rolled my eyes. “Do you guys not understand English? I said no. I don’t want to lend my card.” Chloe’s expression darkened. The next second, she wiped her tears and turned to the class, looking devastated. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I wanted to take you all to the auction to bond, but Maya is unhappy about it. I guess we can’t go. I shouldn’t have promised anything.” She burst into tears and collapsed into Tyler’s arms. Tyler looked at me with pure hatred. He slapped me across the face, then kicked me in the stomach. I curled up on the floor, gasping for air. “Maya, you did this on purpose! You just can’t stand seeing Chloe do well! You think you’re so special because your family has money, walking around in designer clothes. Now that you know Chloe is rich enough to treat the whole class, you’re jealous!” A classmate grabbed a water bottle and threw it at my head. “Maya, have some shame! We finally had a chance to see the high life, and you ruined it!” “Just because you carry last season’s Chanel bag, you think you’re better than us?” Chapter 6 “You’re so ‘rich,’ but you only ever bought us Starbucks. Do you think we’re beggars?” She splashed her leftover soda on my face. Others followed suit, dumping their drinks on me. In an instant, I was soaked and humiliated. I struggled to my feet, grabbed a chair, and smashed it on the floor. Everyone jumped back, cursing at me. “Maya, are you crazy?” I ignored the pain and pulled out my phone, dialing 911. “Yes, I’d like to report an assault. A group attack. The address is…” Hearing me call the police, Tyler rushed over and smashed my phone on the ground. “Maya, are you sick? You actually called the cops?” I glared at him. “You dared to hit me. Why wouldn’t I call the cops?” Tyler raised his hand to hit me again. I looked him dead in the eye. “Touch me one more time. Every hit is just more evidence.” The police arrived in ten minutes. The professor ran in behind them. The police saw it as a minor dispute since I wasn’t seriously injured and suggested a settlement. The professor glared at me, warning me not to make a scene. I demanded $1,000 from each person involved for emotional distress. The police agreed. The class started cursing me out. The officer looked at them coldly. “Settle privately, or go to court and get a criminal record. Your choice.” They all shut up and reluctantly transferred the money. $1,000 was half a month’s living expenses for most of them. It hurt them. After the police left, I picked up my stuff. My bank cards were still there. I sighed in relief, went back to the dorm to change, and called the professor to move off-campus. As I was packing to go home, I noticed my bag had been rifled through again. But nothing seemed to be missing.

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At our wedding, Damian’s “one that got away” crashed the ceremony in a bridal gown. “Damian, if you still love me, leave with me right now.” Damian didn’t hesitate. He took her hand. He left me standing there alone, facing a sea of pity and ridicule. Everyone thought I would be devastated, that my world would end. Little did they know… My “one that got away” had just come back, too. Damian was just a cheap knockoff. I didn’t need him anymore. 1 I was with Damian for seven years. But nobody thought we’d actually make it down the aisle. It was an open secret in our social circle: Damian was only with me because I was a dead ringer for his first love, Heather. When we first started dating, he would stare at me, lost in a trance. When he got drunk, he’d whisper while looking at my face, “Heather, I love you.” But Heather had gone to Europe and married someone else. I am Sierra. So, the person he loved wasn’t me. But I didn’t care. When he called out the wrong name, I corrected him, patiently, over and over again. He loved rare scotch, so I traveled the world to fill his cellar. He liked the look of black hair and white dresses, so I stopped dyeing my hair and filled my closet with pale silk and chiffon. Everyone said I was obsessed with Damian. My friends tried to warn me. “Don’t waste your youth on him, Sierra.” Heather had once saved his life. First love, married away, life-saver. She had the “tragic heroine” buff stacked to the max. “Back then, Damian loved her loud and proud. When Heather got married, Damian practically flatlined in the hospital from the stress.” “Sierra, to be blunt, he’s just using your face to mourn her.” “You guys have no future. Cut your losses.” I ignored them all. For seven years, I played the perfect partner. And eventually, Damian seemed moved by it. On my twenty-seventh birthday, he proposed. Under the soft glow of the chandelier, in a white tuxedo, he knelt on one knee. He looked devastatingly handsome. “Sierra, will you marry me?” His eyes were swimming with tenderness. It looked like love. My gaze lingered on the corner of his eye as I smiled gently. “Yes.” That night, he held me tight, whispering that he loved me. I thought it was real. But three days before the wedding, Heather got divorced. And Damian didn’t come home all night. 2 That night, I called Damian non-stop. Eventually, I got a text back. Not from him. “He’s asleep. What do you want?” Attached was a photo. Heather, with her dark hair splayed over her shoulders, her neck covered in hickeys, a post-coital flush on her cheeks. And Damian, sound asleep in her arms. It was obvious what they had been doing. My heart gave a little jump. I typed back: “Where is he?” A voice memo came back instantly: “Still haven’t given up? Come see for yourself then.” Then came the address. It was Heather’s penthouse. When I arrived, Heather opened the door. She was wearing flimsy lingerie. She looked me up and down and scoffed. “You really do look like me. No wonder Damian kept you around.” “But now that the real thing is back, it’s time for the cheap knockoff to exit the stage.” Her tone was pure arrogance. I frowned slightly. “Where is he…” Before I could finish, Damian walked out from behind her. He was holding his suit jacket, which he draped naturally and intimately over Heather’s shoulders. “Heather, you’re barely wearing anything. You’ll catch a cold…” When he saw me, he froze. “Sierra? What are you doing here?” Damian was fully dressed. He didn’t look like he’d just woken up at all. Whatever was in that photo was staged. It hit me instantly. This was a setup by Heather. She wanted to provoke me, make me lose my cool so she could play the victim and gain Damian’s sympathy. But she underestimated how calm I could be. I looked up and saw the flash of disappointment in Heather’s eyes. Damian noticed me staring at her and stepped in front of me, his voice hard. “Sierra, I’m taking you home.” I glanced at him and turned to leave. But Heather grabbed Damian’s hand, looking up at him with wide, teary eyes. “You aren’t staying? I’m scared to be alone.” I looked back. Damian looked at me, then at Heather. Finally, he peeled her hand off his arm. “I need to take Sierra home first.” In that moment, he chose me. It seemed that to him, I was more important than Heather. But on the drive back, he was distracted. The silence was heavy until a piercing ringtone shattered it. “Damian! Get to the hospital! Heather just tried to kill herself!” 3 That day, Damian kicked me out of the car on the side of the highway. It was pouring rain. When I finally got home, I was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. I wrapped myself in a duvet and stared at a photo on my phone. My finger traced the small beauty mark—a teardrop mole—under the man’s eye. I touched the screen gently, afraid I might startle him. I drifted into a feverish sleep and dreamt of my sophomore year of high school. The mid-term results were posted. I was Valedictorian again. Standard procedure. But then, a boy blocked my path and extended his hand. “Hi, Sierra. I’m Jax. I’m the guy who’s been stuck in second place behind you for eternity. Maybe you’ll remember me this time.” He was handsome, with eyes that crinkled into crescents when he smiled. The sunlight hit him from behind, giving him a golden halo. I couldn’t look away. Before graduation, we lay on the school rooftop, staring at the blue sky. He said, “Sierra, my dream is to be a cop. To serve the people… and to be on call for you, 24/7.” Later, I saw him in his uniform, standing tall as a pine tree, looking at me with that familiar gentleness. “Sierra, when I get back from this mission, let’s get married.” But he never came back. It has been ten years. I woke up crying. Outside, the sky was pitch black. The moonlight spilled through the window. I reached out to grab it, but my hand closed around empty air. I suddenly felt… That the thing I cared about most, I would never get back. I curled up on the bed, my heart aching physically. My hand gripped my phone tight. Like I was holding onto the last shred of light. “Jax…” 4 Damian came home the day before the wedding. I was at the bridal salon, trying on my dress. When the curtains pulled back, there he was. He looked at me with genuine awe. “Sierra, you look beautiful today.” I smiled politely, but my eyes were fixed on my reflection in the mirror. There was no joy in them. On the ride home, the car was silent. I watched Damian’s reflection in the window. My gaze settled on his sleek, sharp eyes. There was no mole under his eye. He wasn’t Jax. A wave of bitterness washed over me. I knew Jax could never be replaced, not really. But I had been clinging to Damian like a lifeline anyway. Even though his heart belonged to someone else. I suddenly spoke up. “Damian, since Heather is back, maybe we should cancel the wedding. You still love her…” He cut me off sharply. “I don’t love her.” I froze. I looked into his eyes. He seemed incredibly serious. “The one I love now is you, Sierra. I was only helping her because I owed her for saving my life.” My heart trembled. Shocked. “Really?” He nodded without hesitation. “Really.” He repeated it several times. I didn’t know if he was trying to convince me, or himself. I looked at his face for a long time. Finally, I sighed.

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Ash Rhodes chased me for five years. The day after I finally said yes, I scrolled past a post from his childhood friend. [Ten years of secret love, finally over.] [My best friend since childhood is in a relationship. But it’s not with me.] [We were a story of missed timing and near misses. The most intimate we ever were was that kiss I stole when he was drunk.] [It’s a strange feeling, letting go of a decade of emotion. I’m heartbroken, but I’m also happy for him.] [If I had been the one to give him that piece of candy back then, would I be the one he loves now?] The comments section was full of people commiserating over her decade of silent heartbreak, admiring her dedication and the courage to finally let go. Ash’s reply sent the post’s engagement through the roof. He wrote: [I would.] I stared at that one word and let out a soft breath. Well, there was my reason to break up with him. 1 I sent the post link to Ash. “We’re done. I’m letting you have your ten-year-delayed happy ending.” Then I blocked him. It felt like a massive stone had been lifted from my chest. When I agreed to date him yesterday, I saw the shock in his eyes, and I definitely didn’t miss the flicker of regret that followed. He hadn’t seemed all that thrilled by my “yes.” But then, just as quickly, he’d squeezed my hand and pulled me into a tight hug. I instantly tensed up, biting back the urge to pull away, trying to coach myself. I said yes. Just try it. Maybe the feelings will come later. I woke up the next morning thinking: I want to break up. I simultaneously condemned myself as a terrible person while searching a popular social app for “how to dump your one-day-old boyfriend without seeming like a monster.” But soon, my attention was snagged by the bizarre, brightly colored world of other posts, and I forgot what I’d opened the app for. There was one post, ten thousand likes and climbing, with comments lamenting a ten-year crush. I glanced at the poster’s profile picture and my heart gave a jump. I switched to my texts. Ash’s profile picture was his Samoyed, the same dog his childhood friend had done a digital painting of for him. He’d sent me the artwork a while back, joking: “Serena Price loves all this over-the-top stuff. I still think your drawing style is better.” I’d been busy then, took a quick look, and didn’t reply. He had changed the subject shortly after. That artwork was warm and vibrant. I remembered it well. It was identical to the profile picture on the post. My suspicions piqued, I checked the IP address and clicked on the top reply—Ash’s infamous “I would.” The reply’s content was empty, but his saved bookmarks were full of restaurants Ash had once shared with me. I froze for a moment. The top commenter was the boyfriend I’d just officially confirmed. The poster was my new boyfriend’s childhood friend. They had a decade of painful history, a tragic missed connection. It was truly a shame. Could I, a genuinely good person, stand by and watch this tragedy unfold right in front of me? My lips curved into a wild smile as I typed a new comment: “Oh my God, that’s terrible! You should have said something sooner. I was already rooting for you guys!” “It’s not too late. I’m breaking up with him right now. You two are meant to be. Congrats on your forever!” 2 After sending Serena my blessing and blocking Ash, I crawled back into bed for a proper rest. Regret over saying yes to him yesterday had kept me up all night. Now, with my conscience clear, I fell into a deep sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. It felt like only minutes had passed when a relentless pounding on the door and the frantic ringing of the doorbell woke me up. I walked to the entryway, my face wooden and a fire of pure irritation burning inside me. I peeked through the security hole and saw two figures. A frantic Ash. A despondent Serena Price. I checked my phone. The Threads app was blowing up with messages. The “tea” was boiling over, and strangers were flooding my DMs. My blocked number was getting an endless stream of calls and texts. All of them were Ash begging me to reconsider. I grabbed a handful of my hair in exasperation. What the hell? They finally got their wish. Why weren’t they making out somewhere instead of showing up at my door to whine? The banging switched to knocking. Ash yelled, “Sky, it’s not what you think! I only love you!” The moment he yelled my name, I pictured how I’d have to face my neighbors later, the strange looks and the whispers. “Yeah, that’s her. The one with the crazy drama on her doorstep. Tsk, tsk.” A chill ran down my spine. I flung the door open. “Shut up!” Ash’s eyes immediately lit up. “Sky, I brought Serena here so we could explain. There’s nothing between us. We’re just friends.” Serena, red-eyed and pale, managed a bitter smile and a nod. “He’s right. Just friends.” But my focus was entirely on— My nosy neighbor’s door, which had just creaked open a crack. 3 I didn’t want to bring them inside. I was terrified that if they got too emotional, I’d end up as a neighborhood news item. So, I kept the door open, letting my neighbor eavesdrop to their heart’s content. “Okay, are you done explaining? Anything else?” I hissed, urging them in a low voice, “If that’s it, then please leave. I’m begging you.” Ash’s face was even more anguished than mine. He grabbed my hand desperately. “Please don’t break up with me. It’s all a misunderstanding. Serena doesn’t have feelings for me anymore. Nothing is ever going to happen between us. We grew up together. I only think of her like a sister. If I had ever…” The line was so cliché I couldn’t help but interrupt. “If you had ever, you’d be together already, and I wouldn’t be standing here, would I?” Ash was speechless. Serena’s face paled further. She stared blankly at the ground, then suddenly spoke up. “He’s right. I don’t love Ash anymore.” That declaration made Ash flinch. His expression turned dark, a hint of genuine anger lurking beneath the surface. He forced a smile for me. “See? Sky, you heard her. I’m completely innocent. I chased you for five years. You know how I feel.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching their subtle, dramatic exchange. Such touching melodrama. “The kind of innocent that involves stolen kisses?” Ash frowned, looking at Serena. “I had no idea she did that. It was something she did in secret.” Serena stubbornly fought back tears. “It’s true. On his birthday this year, he was drunk, and I kissed him while I was taking care of him. He didn’t know.” I’d been at Ash’s birthday party this year. It was loud, with tons of friends. But I hated the atmosphere, the way everyone kept trying to push Ash and me together, so I made an excuse and left early. A thought struck me, referencing her post. “Ash, you love me because of that candy—you’d love anyone who offered you kindness when you were at your lowest. Your reply to Serena confirms that you’re still looking for that feeling, no matter who offers it. You’re not completely over her.” A flicker of hope crossed Serena’s eyes. Ash vehemently denied it. “No! I only said I would to comfort her! I swear, if I had even an ounce of romantic feeling for her…” “Stop it!” Serena’s shout was louder than my earlier command to “shut up.” The neighbor’s door even shuddered slightly. Ash looked at Serena in surprise. Serena took a deep, shaky breath, looked at me, and her expression became one of absolute resolve. “I will never see Ash again. If I ever try to have a relationship with him, I’ll swear to whatever curse you want. Are you satisfied?” I frowned. “I already told you I broke up with him…” She closed her eyes, wiping away a tear. “If you’re satisfied, then stop this whole drama. He truly, genuinely cares about you.” Serena didn’t look at Ash again. She simply turned and walked away. Ash watched her retreating back, lost in thought for a long moment. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Does she not understand basic English?” My remark made Ash turn back. His eyes were tired, and his voice was raw. “There. Sky, are you satisfied now?” I took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll admit it. The post isn’t the only reason I broke up with you. The truth is, I just don’t like you that much. And you clearly still have some kind of feelings for Serena, don’t you? I’m bowing out. You two get together. It’s a win-win-win. Everyone’s happy, right?” The fatigue vanished from Ash’s face. It turned an unhealthy shade of green. “What did you say? You don’t like me?” I guess I couldn’t get out of this without revealing myself as the bad guy. I nodded weakly. “Yes. I know I’m not a great person, but you and Serena weren’t exactly innocent, either. Pot calling the kettle black. Let’s just call it even and move on!” Ash looked at me, utterly disbelieving. “You’re saying you don’t like me?” Me: … 4 A string of muffled laughter came from behind the neighbor’s door. The person inside tried to cover it up. “That main character is a total zero, tsk.” I coughed loudly, and the neighbor finally closed the door. Ash’s face was grim, his body faintly trembling. I was genuinely afraid he might try something, and I slowly shuffled backward into my apartment. Ash clenched his fists, staring deeply at me. “I know you’re upset about Serena’s post. You don’t have to make up excuses. I’m giving you time to think clearly.” He turned and walked away, his posture just as resolute as Serena’s. I stood silently for a moment. I went back to my room, miserable, and opened my phone. My Threads DMs were flooded with drama-hungry strangers. I clicked on Serena’s post. It had been updated ten minutes ago. [Yes, I loved him for ten years, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to be a prop in their little drama. Do they need to insult me to prove their relationship is real?] [Ten years, I was completely blind.] [My love gave him a filter. Now that the love is gone, he’s nothing special.] [Since it’s come to this, I wish you a long and happy life together. Your business is no longer mine. Stop bothering me.] Every sentence was a targeted blow. The mob was already coming for me. [She had a secret crush, and she was letting go. You didn’t have to humiliate her.] [Wifey needs to control her man. She just wanted closure, and your boyfriend was the one who ran over to reply ‘I would.’] [(Insert Viral Reaction GIF here)] Are these people serious? I was so angry I threw a quick set of air punches. I slipped on my house shoes and knocked on the next-door neighbor’s door. The drama-lover on the other side was surprisingly reluctant to open up. I knocked for three minutes before he slowly opened the door. “You two were yelling so loud. Is it my fault I overheard everything…?” I cut him off. “Hurry up. Give me the recording.” The camera by my door was broken; the new one was still in the mail. He paused, glancing at the camera with the blinking red light. “What happened?” I rolled up my sleeve, gritting my teeth. “An epic battle with a pair of total drama llamas. Eight hundred rounds of mutual roasting.” 5 In under three minutes, I received a video file from Dean Wallace. A gamer’s hands are certainly fast. I walked back toward my place, downloading the file. Dean followed me. “Where did you have this fight? Let me in on it. I’m excellent at trash talk. Hello…” I shut the door on him. Is being the subject of an online witch hunt something to be proud of? I edited the video, censoring the faces, and uploaded it. I tagged Serena and Ash with the caption: “Are you two for real?” Dean’s video only showed Serena walking away. The crowd rushed in: [Classic: ‘She’s just like a sister to me.’] [And the ‘Stop making drama’ line.] [Who exactly was using who as a prop in the end…] [Sending signals to a crush when you have a girlfriend is trashy. Boyfriend is 100% the villain. Confirmed.] [How do we define ‘stolen’ kiss? If you steal it then post about it online, is it really stealing?] [I wanted to say this after the first post: Asking if he would love you instead when he’s currently dating someone is so cringe. Who are you trying to annoy?] I felt the pressure in my chest release a little. I started replying to everyone who had insulted me. [Humiliate? Sweetie, the childhood friends ganged up on me. The nice girl finally fought back.] [Wifey? That’s my ex. Keep calling me that, and you’ll be calling your own husband names.] [(Insert Viral Reaction GIF here)] I was in the middle of my glorious comeback when the system notified me the post had been taken down. A slight regret. My phone started buzzing with texts. I checked. It was Dean Wallace sending me a screenshot. It was Serena’s post. He wrote: [In case you rage-quit, I archived it for you.] This guy was actually experienced at online drama. I sent him a fist-bump emoji: [You’re a man of integrity.] He replied with a reaction GIF. Wait a second. How did he find the post? [How did you find that?] This guy is a tech expert. Did he hack my phone? The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Dean Wallace: [It popped up under ‘Nearby People’ recommendations.] …Oops. I guess my paranoia is a little over the top. 6 My phone started ringing. I have three rules for calls I won’t answer: No answer for numbers without a contact name. No answer for suspected spam or scam calls. No answer for calls I just don’t want to take. This call met all three criteria. I waited for it to go to voicemail. I let out a sigh of relief. The next second, it rang again. I bit my finger, waiting for it to automatically hang up. I sighed again. Then the number sent me a text message: [No one is innocent in this online war, but you’re the culprit. Aren’t you afraid you’ll wake up screaming in the middle of the night?] Attached was a photo of a rooftop taken from a downward angle. Did I commit a federal crime by dating someone for half a day? Relationships are my doom. I immediately unblocked Ash and sent him a screenshot of the text: [Your childhood friend is about to jump off a roof.] Then I called the police. The photo included a landmark, so the location wouldn’t be hard to find. I changed clothes and headed out, running into Dean Wallace as he was going to take out the trash. He looked surprised. “What’s the occasion? The Mole has surfaced?” I work from home, and my work attire is pajamas. I barely leave the apartment once a month. I gave him a look, like I’d just tasted something foul. “I’m about to go down without taking the stairs or the elevator.” Dean looked thoughtful. “The Bat-Woman.” I quickly walked toward the elevator. “I’m not the one flying. Someone is about to jump.” Dean grabbed his trash bag and hurried after me. “Who? The Ten-Year-Crush, or The ‘Will’ Guy?” I pressed the elevator button. “The Ten-Year-Crush.” I bit my tongue. What terrible nicknames. And I was using them, too. Dean followed me into the elevator and immediately pressed the button for the underground parking garage. “You’re taking the trash to the garage?” He looked at me righteously. “Is trash more important than a human life? Trust me, if I didn’t love gaming more, I’d be a race car driver.” I glanced at him. The words thrill seeker were practically glowing above his head. But I didn’t call him out. I got into the passenger seat of his car. He threw the trash bag in the back seat. With one step on the gas pedal, we were off like a shot. I was the first to arrive. On the rooftop, Serena was sitting on the ledge. I spoke hesitantly. “Serena, it’s not worth it for any man. Really.” Serena looked out at the distance and spoke softly. “Do you know how long I loved him? Ten years… How many decades does a person get? And now that entire decade of devotion has become a source of shame.” “Do you know how crushed I was when I found out he liked you? But you don’t even appreciate him. What I desperately wished for, you treat with indifference…” “Five years. I watched him pursue you for five years, and you never said yes. I waited and waited, hoping he would finally give up on you. But you changed your mind, and my hope was crushed all over again.” I licked my lips. What comforting words could a reclusive mole person possibly offer? I nudged Dean with my elbow. He nodded at me, giving me a determined look. Hope surged in my chest, and then I heard him say: “You’re waiting for him to finally notice you, right? If you jump, what you’re really waiting for is for him to come visit your grave every year.”

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My job was office provisioning, specifically the daily afternoon pick-me-up. The budget? Five dollars per person. To maintain the company’s image of sophistication and generosity, I hunted down coupons, negotiated bulk discounts, and leveraged every deal I could find, somehow making that five dollars feel like fifty. Then, the bomb dropped. Veronica Jensen, the Director of Operations, sent a message to the company’s five-hundred-person Slack channel, tearing into the artisanal boba tea I’d purchased. She called it “unhealthy,” an “unauthorized, no-name brand,” and—the thinly veiled accusation that hit hardest—she publicly suggested I was taking kickbacks, ordering me to write a formal letter of self-criticism. The entire office’s gaze shifted, their expression curdling with suspicion. I laughed, but only in my head. You give me a Dollar Store budget and expect a Fifth Avenue experience? Fine. Don’t blame me when I give you the bulk-buy, bottom-shelf reality. 1 At three-fifteen that afternoon, the office was permeated with the sweet, creamy scent of tea. “Anya, this boba is incredible! Where did you even find this place?” “Seriously, the taro is so velvety. One hundred times better than those big chains!” I watched the satisfied smiles of my colleagues, and the tight knot in my stomach finally eased. I’d practically worn out the soles of my shoes tracking down this new, independent tea shop near the office. Its decor was small-batch and artisan, but the ingredients were premium. I’d charmed and haggled with the owner, securing a massive internal discount in exchange for guaranteed, large-volume, long-term business. Seeing everyone so happy made all the effort feel worthwhile. Amidst the chorus of praise, my phone screen flashed. The company-wide Slack channel. I clicked it open, still smiling. The next second, the blood drained from my face. The message was from Veronica Jensen. @Anya. Regarding the procurement for today’s afternoon perk, I have several serious concerns. First, the sugar content of this tea does not align with the company’s commitment to employee wellness. Second, why was an obscure, non-standard vendor chosen over established, hygienic, and brand-appropriate chains? The choice of vendors must reflect the professional image of this company. Anya, please prepare a detailed statement addressing these issues, including whether there were any unauthorized procurement processes or—most seriously—any misappropriation of company funds. I expect it on my desk by 9 AM tomorrow. Misappropriation of funds? The phrase echoed in the sudden, deafening silence of the office. My colleagues, who moments ago were raving about the creamy taro, were now hunched over their keyboards, fingers flying across the keys in a sudden, fake frenzy of work. Veronica’s words were a poison dart. She hadn’t said kickbacks directly, but “improper protocols” and “misappropriation” were enough to paint a vivid picture. She was publicly assassinating my character in front of five hundred people. The replies were already piling up beneath hers. Is that Anya from Admin? She always seemed so sweet, but wow… Over a few cups of coffee? Seriously? The whispers started immediately, coming from every corner of the cubicle farm. I couldn’t make out the specifics, but I felt the weight of their scrutiny—the suspicion, the judgment, and the subtle, cold contempt—pricking my back. I thought of the months of hustling. The endless energy spent trying to maintain a precarious balance: the company’s pathetic budget versus its lofty demands for “image.” The Five-Dollar Rule. For months, it had never changed. I chose that small artisanal vendor precisely because independent owners were more willing to negotiate outside of corporate price sheets. How else could I buy anything beyond a cheap soda at that price? Six months ago, when I inherited this ridiculous task, the outgoing HR rep handed me a ledger. The budget was highlighted in bold red: $5.00 per person/per day. Five dollars. For the first month, I spent every night running mental calculations on what five dollars could possibly buy. I sweet-talked the manager at the corner bakery, leveraging the promise of our large, stable corporate account for an “employee-only” discount. My phone was loaded with every delivery and coupon app imaginable, and I set a dozen different daily alarms for “Flash Sales” and “Limited-Time Bulk Offers.” I was constantly fronting money myself to meet minimum order requirements for discounts. I had been scrimping and hustling, turning a starvation budget into a genuine perk. All that effort, all the personal money I had fronted, the sheer, exhausting mental energy, had been reduced to three insults in one message: low quality, unhealthy, and corrupt. The same colleagues who had called me “Queen Anya” and praised the treats as “better than Google’s” were probably now in their private chats debating how much money I had managed to skim. Veronica’s personal message popped up. Anya, don’t forget to write the self-criticism. You’ll be delivering it to the entire staff at the morning meeting. I took a deep breath, pulled up my procurement logs for the day, and marched to her office. Veronica was lounging back in her leather chair, wearing a sheet mask and looking utterly relaxed. She didn’t even lift her chin when I knocked. “Is the statement written?” she asked, her voice muffled. “Director Jensen.” I laid the folder on her desk, trying to keep my voice even. “Regarding the concerns in the chat, I’d like to explain. This vendor has all the necessary health and operating permits, and the sugar levels are customizable.” “I chose them because they were the only vendor willing to supply us within the mandated budget. All the ‘established brands’ exceed the five-dollar limit by two or three times. I simply couldn’t negotiate them down.” I finished, my chest heaving slightly. She picked up the folder, flipped through a few pages, and tossed it back onto the desk. She leaned back, folding her hands over her stomach. “Anya, you’re missing the point.” “The company pays you to solve problems, not tell me how difficult they are. Everything you’ve just said is an excuse.” I raised my voice, unable to help it. “The budget is the problem! I’ve done everything I could within the constraint. All the records are here—” Veronica cut me off, her tone sharp with impatience. “That is your failure! Are you questioning the company budget?” I stood my ground. “I am stating a fact.” Her voice became thin and grating. “When the budget is insufficient, you find a solution, not lower the standard! As an Administrator, failing to secure resources is professional negligence!” “The entire company is talking about how Admin is buying low-grade junk food. Do you know the damage this causes to our reputation?” “Per policy, you will forfeit this month’s entire performance bonus, plus a fine of three hundred dollars.” My head buzzed. Three hundred dollars. I was planning to ask for an advance for my mother’s surgery next month. Veronica’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. She leisurely picked up her water tumbler. “Of course, the company is not without compassion.” “You have two options. One: you present a deeply remorseful public apology at the morning meeting, admit your error, and the matter is closed. Two: you go to accounting and pay the fine immediately.” I looked at her face—smug, victorious—and my hands and feet went ice cold. I couldn’t speak a word. The next morning, I stood at the front of the conference room, clutching that single sheet of paper. Veronica stood beside me, arms crossed, radiating triumph. I took a breath and began to read. “To our leadership and esteemed colleagues, good morning.” “I am here to offer a deep apology for the serious oversight in my work concerning the recent afternoon perk procurement…” With every word I spoke, I felt the hundreds of eyes on me—some pitying, some judging, many simply enjoying the spectacle. As I walked down the aisle, I heard the murmurs. “See? I told you she was taking kickbacks. Why else apologize?” “It’s disgusting. For a few dollars, she ruined her reputation.” “She looked so put-together, you never know who these people really are.” The same people who had called me “Queen Anya” were now judging how much I’d stolen. Back at my desk, I opened my phone, my expression blank. I deleted every item from my saved carts—the artisan yogurts, the craft coffee pods, the specialty pastries. It was three o’clock. Time for the company’s reliable afternoon perk. I appeared right on schedule. My assistant and I wheeled in two flat carts. They were heavy, but the contents were stark. My colleagues looked up, a blend of curiosity and anticipation in their eyes. After yesterday’s drama, they were waiting to see what the newly shamed “kickback girl” would offer up. We opened the boxes and began distributing the items. In moments, every desk held the same exact items: a single bottle of plain bottled water and a small, sealed packet of store-brand chocolate chip cookies. The kind you could find at any gas station. The office plunged into a weird, tense silence. Everyone stared at the generic water and the cheap crackers. A young woman broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “Anya? Is… is this it for today?” I nodded, offering a perfect, professional smile. “Yes.” I gestured to the clear branding on the bottle and the packet. “Strictly adhering to Director Jensen’s directives. It’s purified water—zero sugar, zero calories, perfectly healthy.” “And it’s all major, reputable brands. Absolutely top-tier image. Fully compliant with the five-dollar budget.” After a beat of shock, the low, angry buzz began. The quiet murmurs quickly swelled into open complaining. “Seriously? This is insulting!” “We have a water cooler! Why would I want this?” “I’d rather have that ‘unhealthy’ boba tea again,” another colleague muttered, sounding genuinely upset. “I have no flavor in my mouth! How am I supposed to work all afternoon?” The complaints grew louder, losing all restraint. The noise quickly reached Veronica’s office. She burst out, her face a mask of thunder. She strode right up to my cubicle, pointing a furious finger at the water and cookies. “Anya! What is the meaning of this? Is this some kind of passive resistance?!” “The company tasked you with the afternoon perk, and this is what you call a perk?” I sat quietly at my desk. “Director Jensen, I am strictly executing your requirements.” I pointed to the two bulk boxes. “Each bottle of water cost $1.50. Each packet of cookies cost $3.50. Total: $5.00.” “The water is purified—perfectly healthy. The cookies are chocolate—energy boosting. Both are nationwide, known brands—very reputable.” I paused, emphasizing the final point. “Fully compliant with the budget.” Veronica choked on her anger, her face turning crimson because she knew every word was true. Her rage overwhelmed her logic. “This is childish! You’re throwing a temper tantrum!” “You’re deliberately making everyone miserable!” I didn’t argue. I just softly repeated my core truth. “I am simply following company policy.” Veronica’s accusation echoed through the office. But then, the murmurings shifted again. This time, they were not aimed at me. “Wait, $5.00?” “The budget is only five dollars?” Someone whispered, shocked. “No way. We were getting boba and specialty coffee before that.” “The artisanal snacks… was Anya footing the bill for all of that?” The murmuring colleagues fell silent. A complex mix of shame and dawning realization washed over their faces. Some were discreetly calculating the cost of their previous treats; others avoided my eyes. They were finally realizing the absurdity of a five-dollar-per-person budget. They realized the “employee benefit” they had enjoyed was not corporate generosity. They were finally connecting the dots between their beloved $30 lattes and my disgraced reputation. It turns out, I thought, a cold satisfaction settling in my gut, I was not the fool here.

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Chapter 1 It was the third year since my brother and I were kidnapped and taken to a hellhole in Southeast Asia. His fate was unknown, while I had been tortured into a living corpse. The rotting flesh on my body reeked permanently. The rusted shackles on my ankles had grown into my skin. To fill my stomach, I had fought stray dogs for scraps. After countless failed attempts to escape or call for help, I finally gave up. Despair consumed me. I just wanted to die. But just as I swallowed a handful of stolen pills, waiting for the darkness to take me, I heard an argument outside my cell. “She’s your own sister! You ruined her future after she got into Stanford just for that charity case you took in. Why do you have to torture her like this?” Suddenly, my missing brother, Liam, kicked the door open and scooped me up. His voice was frantic, yet filled with anger. “She knew I’d always provide for her, that grades didn’t matter. But she just had to show off and score higher than Vanessa, triggering her depression again. I’m just teaching her a lesson. I needed to humble her.” “Vanessa graduates in a month. I was going to take Riley home then anyway. A little suffering builds character. What’s the big deal?” The realization hit me like a physical blow. No wonder… no wonder I risked my life searching the entire compound for him and never found a trace. It turned out that from the very beginning, this was all his doing. A punishment for upsetting his precious foster sister, Vanessa. I coughed up blood and laughed until tears streamed down my face. Liam, the punishment is about to be over. Forever. And I’m never going home with you. … The smell of antiseptic in the hospital room was suffocating. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my stomach churning with nausea from the charcoal they had pumped into me. Liam pushed the door open, holding my medical chart. Watching the person I had spent three years searching for walk toward me so casually… My pupils trembled. A tsunami of emotions crashed over me. I stiffened my neck, refusing to let the tears fall. He stared at me, suppressing his rage. We both knew the score. Neither of us wanted to speak first. Finally, our eyes met. I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling. “Liam…” But my voice only ignited his fury. He slammed the gastric lavage report onto my face. “Riley! Have you made enough of a scene? You knew this was just a punishment, so you swallowed pills to force me to come out? You’d risk your life just to make me feel sorry for you?” “It was just a few years of hardship. I specifically told those people not to permanently damage you. Painting fake wounds on yourself won’t work—it just makes you look pathetic!” I froze in disbelief. The agony stuck in my throat. For three years, I dreamed of finding him. I imagined our reunion a thousand times. I thought I would be excited. I thought I would cry in relief. I never imagined… his first words would be a dismissal of my torture and his habitual distrust. After a few seconds of silence, Vanessa walked into the room. She smiled sweetly and handed me an invitation. “Riley, I’m graduating soon. Come to my party. I don’t blame you for what happened in the past.” I stared at Liam with bloodshot eyes, my hands motionless. Vanessa instantly lowered her head, wiping away a tear. “Liam, it looks like Riley still hates me. Don’t worry about me. Cancel the party. Just take Riley home. I… I’ll leave the family.” Liam’s heart broke instantly. He glared at me, his fists clenching tighter and tighter, until he roared. “Riley! You’re still this stubborn? You still won’t accept Vanessa? You know she has severe depression, yet you still make her cry!” “It seems the punishment wasn’t enough!” Liam immediately ordered his bodyguards to throw me out of the hospital. “Let her suffer on the streets for another month. Maybe then she’ll learn her lesson!” It wasn’t until Liam drove off with Vanessa, the exhaust fumes hitting my face, that I snapped back to reality. I looked blankly at the bustling street. The banners hanging from the lampposts were all celebrating Vanessa’s graduation. The massive screen on the mall across the street was playing a video of Liam’s graduation gift to Vanessa: a chest full of jewelry and two island villas. Passersby were whispering, envious of how much Liam spoiled her. I suddenly laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. Tears flowed uncontrollably. It turned out, during those three years where I lived a life worse than death… During the three years I risked everything to find him… During the three years I prayed for rescue… He was out here, treating Vanessa like a princess. Chapter 2 I wandered the streets aimlessly. My body was covered in hideous scars, and I was wearing a blood-stained t-shirt in the freezing winter wind. Everyone looked at me like I was a monster. But I didn’t care. I just stared at the river in the distance and kept walking. There was a faint sense of relief in my heart. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. I instinctively dropped to a crouch, covering my head in terror. “Don’t hit me! Please don’t hit me! I’ll be good…” The person frowned, eyes full of confusion. “Riley? Is that really you?” Hearing a familiar voice, I peeked out cautiously. It was Ms. Clarke, my favorite teacher from high school. “What happened to you? Does your brother know? He used to value you more than his own life.” Hearing her words, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. From the day Liam brought Vanessa home, I was no longer the sister he valued more than his life. Back then, Vanessa framed me constantly. Today, I slapped her; tomorrow, I tore her dress; the next day, I orchestrated bullying against her. Every single time, Liam believed her without question and scolded me. When I tried to explain, he would get angry, accusing me of being vicious and a liar. Finally, he slapped me hard across the face. “Riley! I give you this privileged life to give you confidence, not to give you the audacity to bully the weak!” “I’ve spoiled you too much! You need a lesson!” He locked me, knowing I was claustrophobic, in the basement for a week. From then on, I stopped talking to him. For six months, silence. Until I got the highest SAT scores in the state. Liam said he wanted to take me on a graduation trip to make amends. I knew he was trying to coax me. We were siblings, after all. There was no deep hatred. But on the day of the trip, we were bagged and dragged away to that camp abroad. The next day, Liam vanished. I was terrified something had happened to him. I searched the compound even as my flesh was whipped raw. Old scars hadn’t healed before new ones were added. But no matter how much it hurt, I never stopped looking for him. Once, after being branded with a hot iron for running away and nearly fed to the pigs, a kind older woman whispered to me: “Little girl, stop looking. People who disappear here… they’re usually dead.” In that moment, my heart died too. I drowned in guilt. If I hadn’t held a grudge, he wouldn’t have planned this trip to appease me. If it weren’t for me, my brother wouldn’t be dead in this hellhole. I stopped fighting. I numbly accepted the daily beatings. I numbly accepted the scars. I became numb enough to want death. Finally, I found a bottle of sleeping pills. Just as I was about to be free… I heard the truth. A truth more painful than death. Everything I suffered was because I scored higher than Vanessa, triggering her insecurity. It was Liam punishing me because his heart ached for her. As I recounted this to Ms. Clarke, my smile turned grotesque, and the dam holding back my tears broke. Ms. Clarke’s eyes were red. Her lips trembled, trying to speak but failing. Finally, she just hugged me tight. “Tell me what you need. I will do everything in my power to help you.” I shook my head bitterly. “I don’t need anything anymore.” In a way, I was already dead. I didn’t want this empty shell of a body anymore. If Liam hadn’t “saved” me, I would already be free. Chapter 3 No matter how much I refused, Ms. Clarke insisted on buying me a warm coat. She took me for the fullest meal I’d had in three years. Before leaving, she bought me a bag of snacks and told me to call her anytime. Watching her walk away, my heart ached with sourness. Back in school, when Vanessa framed me, my own brother didn’t ask a single question before punishing me. But Ms. Clarke had chosen to believe me. Three years ago, she was the only warmth I had. Unexpectedly, three years later, she still was. A thought sparked in my dead mind. Before I die, I want to repay her. I want to thank her for her help. I decided to buy her a bouquet of flowers. I had no money, and my broken body couldn’t handle labor. So, I walked around collecting plastic bottles and cans to sell. But every time I managed to fill half a bag, someone would snatch it and dump the contents into the river or a dumpster. At first, I chased them, shouted at them, and then resigned myself to starting over. After it happened several times, I finally collected enough cans. I sold them immediately, terrified of another “accident.” Clutching the cash, I bought a single bouquet. Just as I was dialing Ms. Clarke’s number… The flowers were snatched from my hand, thrown to the ground, and crushed under a polished leather shoe. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, lunging forward. The man kicked me aside, sneering. “This is the price of offending Mr. Hart. He paid me a lot of money to watch you. You aren’t allowed to have a single penny.” I froze. I remembered Liam saying he wanted me to suffer a bit more. I still couldn’t believe it. He was my brother! Was he really going to stomp me into the mud for Vanessa? My head buzzed. Without thinking, I grabbed a rental bike and rode straight to the Hart estate. Vanessa’s graduation party was in full swing. It was lively, opulent. I didn’t care about anything. I grabbed a glass of wine and hurled it at Liam. “Was Myanmar not enough?!” My scream silenced the entire party. “Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead?” Liam turned, frowning at me. His tone was cold, casual. “What’s with all this talk of death? I just wanted you to suffer a bit, to smooth out that attitude of yours.” “Enough. Vanessa’s party ends tonight. The punishment ends tomorrow. I’ll bring you home then. I’ll give you whatever you want. Why are you making a fuss over some trash you picked up?” Trash? I looked around the venue. A single bottle of wine here cost thousands. This party cost millions. And all I wanted to live for… was to trade recyclable trash for a bouquet that cost twenty dollars. The things he sneered at were things I had to bleed to obtain. At that moment, Vanessa walked over in a princess gown, glowing. She patted Liam’s back gently, looked me up and down, and sighed. “Riley, everything Liam does is for your own good. Why can’t you understand his good intentions?” Chapter 4 She stepped forward and took my hand, her face a mask of innocence. “Today is my graduation party. Since you’re here, celebrate with me. I won’t hold your past bullying against you.” “For Liam’s sake, I hope we can get along in the future.” Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Ms. Clarke returning my call. I stared at the screen, about to answer. Vanessa suddenly shrieked, slapping the phone out of my hand. “Ah! Riley! Why are you still in contact with Ms. Clarke? Are you two plotting how to hurt me again?” Before I could react, she started bowing to me frantically, acting like a terrified victim. “I’m sorry! Riley, I shouldn’t be in the Hart family. I shouldn’t be an eyesore to you. I understand now… only if I die will you be satisfied!” She turned, wiping fake tears, and ran toward the river opposite the villa. Chaos erupted. Liam’s face went pale with terror. He sprinted after Vanessa without hesitation. Just as Vanessa climbed onto the railing, Liam tackled her, pulling her back to safety. She wept in his arms like a fragile flower. “Liam, why did you save me? Why won’t you let me die? I don’t want to relive that nightmare. Only death will set me free.” Liam’s eyes were red. Along with his heartache for her, there was an intense rage directed at me. He choked back tears, comforting Vanessa. Then he turned, marched over to me, and slapped me across the face with all his strength. “Riley! Wasn’t it enough that you and that teacher bullied Vanessa into depression back in school?” “You just got back, and you’re already trying to kill her! You are incurable!” My head snapped to the side. I clutched my burning cheek, standing there, stunned. Why? Why is it always my fault? I didn’t do anything! I looked up, a trace of stubbornness in my eyes. “I never hurt her. What do I have to do for you to believe—” But when I saw the sheer disappointment in his eyes, it overlapped with every moment from the past. I laughed at myself. The words died in my throat. There is no “why.” If you don’t want something anymore, you treat it like trash. The last thread of familial love in my heart snapped. I stared at him blankly. “Your punishment is almost over. Can you promise me one thing? Send flowers to Ms. Clarke for me.” He scoffed, full of contempt. “Once the punishment is over, as long as you don’t team up with her to bully Vanessa, I’ll give you whatever you want.” You won’t have to worry about your precious sister being bullied anymore. And aside from those flowers, I don’t want anything. “You keep your word.” My heart was completely empty. I lowered my head and turned toward the secluded part of the riverbank. Liam watched my retreating figure—walking like a corpse—and his heart gave a sudden, violent lurch. An unprecedented uneasiness welled up. He was about to chase after me when a soft cough from Vanessa pulled him back. He immediately picked her up and rushed her to the hospital. I waited by the river until late at night. When no one was around, I climbed over the railing. Looking at the dark water, I closed my eyes, finally feeling relief… To soothe Vanessa, Liam stayed with her for a full week. Checking his phone, he realized my birthday was approaching. He decided to bring me home and give me all the birthday presents he missed over the last three years. But just as he was about to dial my number, a news alert popped up on his phone. [Breaking: A decomposed female body was recovered from the Linlang River today. Identity confirmed as the former top scholar who vanished three years ago, Riley Hart!]

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