Category: English

“The System told me to raise a child. Me? The person who spent their entire childhood goofing off? One day, the little villain came home waving two test papers with perfect scores. “”I’m going to Harvard!”” I shoved a controller for Call of Duty into his hands. “”What’s the use of Harvard? Help me rank up first!”” After finals, he hung his head in despair. “”I got first place in the grade, but my score dropped by one point. I want to sign up for tutoring.”” I mumbled “”Sure”” through a mouthful of takeout pizza. The next day, I enrolled him in a gourmet cooking class. When his rebellious phase hit, he said he was going to an internet café. Worried he’d start trouble, I tailed him. Only to watch him sneak into… the library. Me: “”…”” Years later, the Ivy League-graduated villain became a business tycoon. Returning to his alma mater for a speech, someone asked the secret to his success. He looked down at the VIP seats, where I was chewing on sugarcane, playing a mobile game, and listening to an audiobook about face-slapping revenge. He smiled faintly. “”I have a fun-loving aunt.”” Me: “”?”” 1 When the System dropped me in front of Silas, he had just lost his mother. Wearing a black armband, he sat quietly at his desk, doing homework. Hearing me, he lifted his thin eyelids, gave me a dull look, and buried his head back in his books. System: “”Okay, your identity is his…”” I cut in: “”Auntie.”” “”?”” System: “”Wouldn’t ‘stepmother’ be cooler and more dramatic?”” Me: “”What do you know? ‘Auntie’ is the coolest figure in every childhood. Trendy, rich, and fun. I worshipped my aunt growing up! It’s the best way to bond!”” I flipped my wavy hair, strutted over in four-inch heels, and flashed a dazzling smile. “”Silas?”” The skinny boy didn’t stop writing. A faint “”Mhm.”” “”It’s almost New Year’s, why are you still studying?”” I reached out to pat his fluffy head. “”So good…”” The moment my hand touched him, Silas flinched violently. He wrapped his arms around his head, eyes squeezed shut, trembling uncontrollably. I froze. Before I could ask what was wrong, I saw the bruises on his exposed wrist. Stark purple against pale skin. The System explained: After the divorce, Silas’s mom developed mental health issues. Her moods swung wildly. On good days, she cooked and cleaned. On bad days, seeing a 99% on a test paper made her lash out with a willow switch. She’d scream hysterically while hitting him: “”I work myself to death for you, and this is how you repay me? “”Don’t do anything but study! You’re all I have left. If you’re useless, I’m finished!”” Then her voice would drop to a creepy, gentle whisper: “”Silas, does it hurt? Come here, Mommy will rub it better…”” Silas would crawl up from the floor. Limping, with angry red welts on his skin. He didn’t cry or hide. He let her vent, then whispered, head down, “”It doesn’t hurt, Mom. I’m going to study.”” He’d sit straight at his desk. Even though his shoulders hurt too much to lift properly. He’d grip the pen and start writing, his handwriting shaky. 2 After hearing the story, I was silent. Honestly, I felt a bit relieved. His mom leaving was actually… Sorry. Buddha, forgive me. 3 I might not know how to raise a kid. But I used to be one. I decided to give Silas the happiest, most unforgettable childhood ever. I grabbed the System by its ankles and shook it violently. A stack of cash and a Black Card fell out. “”Thanks, bro.”” The System hugged my leg, sobbing. “”Host, that’s my private stash!”” I gaslit him: “”I’ll pay you back! When the mission is done, you get half the gold coins!”” Gold coins are way more valuable than human money. The System immediately straightened up, energetic. “”Spend it all! Don’t hold back!”” That night. I kicked the door open, pushing a cart and carrying a giant bag of snacks. “”Silaaaaaas!”” I dumped the snacks on his book-cluttered desk and unloaded the newest iPhone, iPad, MacBook, and every gaming console known to man from the cart… I shoved them all into his arms. “”Here, Auntie’s New Year gifts.”” Silas was stunned. His dark eyes darted between me and the pile of loot on his bed. After a long pause. He pursed his lips, voice flat. “”Thank you, Auntie. I will study hard.”” He bent down to pick up his pen, ready to resume solving equations. It was heartbreakingly obedient. I grabbed his arm. “”I didn’t buy these to motivate you to study!”” Silas blinked, confused. I pulled him up. “”Stop studying. Come on, Auntie’s taking you to have fun!”” When it comes to playing, I’m a pro. Growing up, I did everything except study. My parents were chill. As long as I was alive and happy, they were good. I agreed. Being alive is already a win. 4 I dragged Silas to play video games, eat snacks, and do karaoke until midnight. We even set off fireworks downstairs. Silas needed to sleep. I yawned. “”Auntie is old, I can’t pull all-nighters anymore.”” I crashed on the sofa. The System collapsed at my feet. “”You really know how to party…”” I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Silas’s room was still lit up. Through the crack in the door, I saw the boy in a white shirt, shoulders thin, expression cold, head down writing. The clock said 3:30 AM. I pushed the door open without hesitation. “”Silas!”” He jumped, turning to look at me with hidden fear in his eyes. “”I’m almost done reviewing this week’s content. I won’t play anymore. Auntie, please don’t be mad…”” I was confused. “”What are you talking about? I just want you to sleep…”” The System whispered in my ear: “”His mom used to take him out for a day, then beat him at night, forcing him to make up for the ‘wasted time’ by studying all night…”” Oh. Silas had PTSD. He subconsciously thought I’d do the same. He was tiptoeing around me. Even with his mom gone, the shadows remained. My heart ached. I walked over and took his pen. “”You did great, but rest is more important. Health comes first. I don’t care about grades. Auntie just wants you healthy and happy.”” Silas blinked, not quite understanding, but nodded obediently. “”Okay. Thank you, Auntie.”” System: “”He didn’t listen. His mom’s influence is too deep.”” I smiled. “”It’s fine. We have time.”” 5 Another late night. In my daze, I heard the System memorizing vocabulary. “”Hysterical… what’s ‘hysterical’ in English?”” I mumbled with my eyes closed: “”‘Hysterical’ is a breakdown, ‘delicious’ is a breakdown…”” Wait. Something was wrong. I snapped my eyes open. The System was holding a book, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, acting like a scholar. I kicked the book away. “”What are you doing? Prepping for grad school?”” The System adjusted its glasses. “”Seeing Silas study moved me. I don’t want to be illiterate anymore. I want to improve myself.”” I caught the key point: “”Silas is still studying!”” I looked at the clock. 4 AM. Good lord. I rushed to Silas’s room. There he was, burying his head in books. “”No, no, no. This kid is going to study himself to death.”” I made a pact with Silas. Studying stops at midnight. Or Auntie blasts karaoke in his room. Silas frowned but agreed. System: “”Hehe, Host, do you know why he agreed so fast?”” Me: “”Why?”” System: “”Because your singing is truly terrible.”” Me: “”Just you wait.”” 6 For Silas’s birthday. I baked a strawberry cake. It said, in crooked icing: “”Happy Birthday Silas!”” I forced the System to transform into a tuxedo cat. Silas’s eyes lit up when he saw the kitten in my arms. I shoved it at him. “”Pet it all you want!”” The System, unused to hugs, opened its mouth to bite Silas. I coughed loudly. The System closed its mouth sullenly and glared at me. Candles lit. Warm yellow light reflected in the boy’s dark eyes. “”Happy Birthday to you~”” System: “”Meow meow meow meow~”” I cut a slice. “”For our cute birthday boy!”” System: “”Meow meow meow meow meow!”” Silas looked at the cake, hesitated, then took it and started eating small bites. Satisfied, I went to cut another piece. Thud. Silas collapsed, eyes closed. Red rashes spread rapidly up his pale neck. Me: “”!”” System: “”Meow!!”” I slapped the cat. “”You’re too old to act cute! Call 911!”” At the hospital, we learned Silas was allergic to milk. When we got back from the doctor… The boy in the bed was awake. His small face was pale and sickly under the cold lights. His dark eyes flinched when they met mine. I rushed over with the cat carrier, tears in my eyes. “”Silas!!!”” Silas’s lips trembled, looking panicked. “”Auntie, I’m fine. It won’t affect my studies. I can go home now…”” Before he finished. He felt warmth. He looked up into my concerned eyes. I was draping a bright red floral quilted jacket I bought from a convenience store over him. “”Here, lift your arms.”” Silas was confused but obeyed. I buttoned him up, stepped back to admire, and burst out laughing. “”Very festive.”” Silas: “”…”” “”Warm now? We left in a hurry, didn’t bring coats.”” Silas nodded hesitantly. “”Auntie, sorry for wasting your time…”” I rubbed his head. “”Nonsense. “”Did you know you were allergic to milk? You have to remember that. You scared me to death…”” “”I knew.”” My smile froze. “”What?”” Silas turned his head, lashes trembling. “”I knew I was allergic.”” “”Then why did you eat it?”” I was furious. Was he doing this on purpose? “”But you spent a long time making that cake…”” I froze. The noise of the hospital faded. Warmth spread from my chest to my eyes. I sighed and patted his head. “”This was Auntie’s mistake for not asking. “”And, I made the cake because I wanted to. Not to guilt-trip you into eating poison. “”Auntie wants you to love yourself, not prioritize other people’s feelings. “”Understand?”” Silas nodded. I didn’t know if he truly understood, but his eyes seemed a little brighter. Like snow on a roof reflecting winter sun.”

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When the heatwave apocalypse hit, I got into a huge fight with my roommate because I wouldn’t let her open the window. While I was out on the balcony collecting laundry, she locked me out. Outside, it was 122°F (50°C). Inside, my roommate blasted the AC and laughed at me through the glass. “Bitch! That’s what you get for not letting me open the window!” I pounded on the door, begging, but she ignored me. I died of heatstroke on that balcony, never making it back inside. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. And this time, I decided to build a secret bunker and survive this apocalypse alone! 1 “Why won’t you let me open the window? Do you know how stuffy it’s been in here for days? How am I supposed to live?” My roommate, Lisa, stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me with pure venom. “It’s scorching outside. If you open the window, the inside temperature will match the outside in minutes. Our dorm will turn into a sauna,” I tried to reason with her, keeping my voice calm. “Why is no one else saying anything? Why are you always the one with a problem?” “What if we get sick from the bacteria in here because we don’t ventilate?” “If something happens to us, are you taking responsibility?” “Or do you just want us to die in this dusty room? You got your grad school acceptance, so why care if we live or die, right?” “If you hate being here so much, why don’t you just go die?” Why don’t you just go die? That sentence shattered my last line of defense. My heart went cold. I looked around at my other roommates. They sat at their desks, glued to their phones, pretending not to hear a thing. I was used to this. Ever since I told them I got accepted into grad school with a full ride, their attitude did a 180. At first, I thought I was being sensitive. Now I knew—they really wanted me dead. Tears rolled down my face. Lisa just sneered. “Crying again? What, gonna go tattle to the RA? Not like you haven’t done that before.” “Let’s see if she believes us or you this time.” I didn’t have the energy to fight Lisa anymore. The weather was getting hotter by the day. Clothes hung on the balcony dried in less than thirty minutes. This temperature spike wasn’t normal. The dorm AC was blasting at 64°F (18°C) 24/7, but it still didn’t feel cool enough. I looked at the laundry I’d washed an hour ago on the balcony and decided to bring it in. In this weather, you didn’t even need to leave the building to be drenched in sweat; just a few steps would do it. Lisa had followed me. The moment I stepped onto the balcony, I heard the click of the lock. She stood behind the glass door, staring at me coldly. The sheer malice in her eyes gave me goosebumps. “Lisa, open the door! Let me in!” The heat outside was unbearable. Just standing there, the sunlight felt like it was burning my skin. My forehead was already dripping with sweat. Because of the extreme heat and the enclosed nature of the balcony, I quickly found it hard to breathe. But Lisa wasn’t listening. She crossed her arms and smirked. “Don’t think you’re so special just because you got into grad school. Who gave you the right to order me around?” “Think about that while you cool off out there!” 2 I never imagined that the roommates I’d lived with for four years, people I was about to graduate with, could harbor such evil. I banged on the door, screaming their names. “Chloe! Sarah! Say something! Open the door, please!” But they kept their heads down, scrolling on their phones like I didn’t exist. Not a single person looked up. I deeply regretted not moving out sooner. The temperature kept climbing. I looked outside. The sun was blinding, but a strange fog covered the ground, obscuring everything. A loud bang echoed from below. I squinted—an electric scooter parked outside the next building had exploded from the heat. I grabbed a clothes hanger and tried to smash the glass door. If I could break it, I might survive. But no matter how hard I hit, the glass didn’t even crack. I smashed until I was exhausted and soaked in sweat. The oxygen on the balcony was thinning. I tried to crack open the outer window for air, but the moment I did, a wave of heat hit me like a physical blow. I felt like I was being boiled alive. The air was too hot to breathe. Lisa’s voice came from inside. “Hey, didn’t you say not to open the windows for ventilation? What are you doing?” I tried to turn my head to look at her face, but I had no strength left. I collapsed, dehydrated. Before I blacked out completely, I heard Lisa say to the others, “Don’t worry, she’s faking it. Just trying to trick us into opening the door.” I watched the world spin and distort. People fighting for water, corpses drying in the sun. Social order collapsed. People killed for a sip of water. I don’t know how long passed before I opened my eyes again. The burning sensation was gone, replaced by the cool comfort of my blanket. I grabbed my phone. Was it all a dream? I climbed out of bed carefully. Lisa was sitting in her chair, gaming. Seeing me, she shot me a nasty look. “Jenna, can I open the window? It’s stuffy in here.” The exact same words. I checked the date: July 20, 2025. I was reborn, back before I died. I didn’t try to reason with her this time. I tossed the AC remote at her. “Whatever. Open it if you want. Don’t ask me.” Lisa looked surprised, then grabbed the remote, turned off the AC, and ran to open the balcony door. The moment she opened it, she screamed. “Holy sh*t! Why is it so hot outside?!” The others, hearing her, put down their phones and walked to the balcony. “It’s roasting. Why is this summer so hot?” “This isn’t normal. Let’s not go out for hotpot at noon. Let’s just order delivery.” Lisa nodded. “Yeah, I’ll call the restaurant and cancel the reservation.” I looked at them. When did they plan a hotpot lunch behind my back? Maybe realizing something, they suddenly turned to look at me. Chloe said awkwardly, “Jenna, you’ve been so busy with grad school stuff, we thought you wouldn’t have time to eat, so we didn’t ask.” 3 I didn’t show any hurt like I used to. “It’s fine. I am busy. I’m going to the library to check some materials my advisor sent. You guys want to come?” Lisa rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with acid. “We’re not special like you. We didn’t get into grad school. Are we even worthy of the library?” I didn’t bother responding. I grabbed a few bottles of water and left. I am a nepo baby. A genuine, loaded nepo baby. But I got where I am without using a dime of my family’s money. To spite my family, I secretly changed my college application preferences and ran off to a university in the South. My mom, unable to stop me, secretly deposited 10 million dollars into my account behind my dad’s back. For years, out of stubbornness, I never touched a cent. I went to the bank and checked the balance. Then I walked out, relieved. Originally, I planned to take my roommates to live off-campus. Now I realized what a saintly idiot I was. They were jealous, plotted against me, and now they weren’t even hiding it. My nails dug into my palms. I was shaking. In my past life, they locked me on a balcony to die. In this life, why should I care if they live or die? Since God gave me a second chance, I was going to survive with the people I loved. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. My hands were trembling. The call connected, and a familiar voice came through. “Sweetie, is that you?” My mom sounded cautious. I took a deep breath, my voice thick with tears. “Mom, it’s me!” “I have something important to tell you!” Hearing me cry, my parents immediately started comforting me. I checked into a nearby hotel. “Mom, Dad, listen to me. The world is about to change. Something big is happening.” “You need to reinforce the house immediately. A heatwave apocalypse is coming.” “In a week, temperatures will hit 158°F (70°C). Anyone outside will die instantly.” “Then comes a global drought. At first, people will survive on stored food.” “Later, people will die on the streets looking for supplies.” “We need to prepare now.” I didn’t know if they’d believe me. After I told them everything about my past life, there was silence on the other end. A few minutes later, my dad spoke. “Sweetie, I’m calling contractors now to reinforce the villa. We’re installing industrial AC and insulation panels.” “When are you coming home?” “We really miss you.” I was grateful for their unconditional love. But I had my own plans. I wasn’t going to let those girls in the dorm get off easy! When I got back to the dorm, the windows were shut. They were laughing until I walked in, then silence fell. I paused at the door, then walked to my bed. As I climbed up, I felt a wet spot. Lisa walked over, arms crossed. “Jenna, it was too hot, so we sprayed some water to cool down. You don’t mind, right?” 4 I held my breath, face turning red. I looked up to see Lisa’s smug face. “I didn’t mean to, Jenna. Maybe you should sleep somewhere else tonight.” She sounded so self-righteous. I looked at the other two. “You guys think this is okay?” They turned away. Lisa was the aggressor, but their silence was just another form of violence. I nodded. “Fine.” “But before I go…” I took out my phone, climbed onto my bed, and took photos of all the wet bedding. “This set cost $4,500. It’s dry-clean only. Please pay up.” I pulled up the receipt on my phone. “And these plushies? That’s another $400. Pay me, and I’ll leave.” Ignoring Lisa’s shocked expression, I shook my phone impatiently. “Hurry up. Or I’ll post this in the RA group chat, the department chat, and the class chat. Let everyone see what kind of person you are.” Lisa glared, hands on hips. “Who knows if you’re lying! How can a student afford this? My monthly allowance is only $200!” “Who knows if some sugar daddy bought that for you?” I looked her up and down with disdain. “I didn’t tell you my family was rich because I didn’t want you to feel insecure.” “Turns out my kindness just made you entitled.” Lisa lunged at me. Luckily, my dad forced me into Taekwondo as a kid. I was rusty, but the muscle memory was there. I flipped her onto the floor. “Not paying?” “Fine. Wait for it.” I grabbed my bag and walked out, uploading the photos and videos to the group chats as I went. Seeing me leave, Lisa scrambled up, grabbed my phone, and smashed it against the wall. “Why is your life so perfect?!” “A kept woman like you doesn’t deserve grad school!” I didn’t want to argue. I shook her off to leave. But Lisa grabbed my hair and yanked me back. My scalp burned. I kicked her hard, then grabbed a basin and went to the bathroom. I filled it to the brim and dumped the water all over Lisa’s bed. The AC was on, but I felt a fire burning inside me. The two silent roommates finally spoke up. “Jenna, Lisa, stop fighting.” “What will the other dorms think? We’ll be a laughingstock.” I pointed at Chloe and Sarah. “You two hypocrites. You enjoyed the show while we fought, pretending to be dignified!” “You poor, nasty bitches. Just wait to roast to death in a few days!” I grabbed my bag and slammed the door, ignoring their protests. Outside, a heatwave hit my face. I gasped for air. The apocalypse was really coming. School wasn’t out yet. When the end came, schools and densely populated areas would fall first. People would loot, or die trying. Humanity’s ugly side—and its good side—would reveal itself in an instant.

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On our wedding anniversary, Julian Marriott—a man meticulous in all things—stood me up for the very first time. He was at a welcome-home party for his ex-wife. In a video that was already circulating, Julian, a notorious germaphobe who loathed physical contact, was seen embracing everyone in the room. When he reached his ex-wife, he paused for a moment before pulling her into a tight, lingering hug. A smile touched the lips of the man whose face was usually a mask of perfect composure. It was then I realized with a sickening lurch that in five years as his wife, I had never once seen a real, unguarded emotion cross his face. But I am Elara Vance, the sole heiress to the Vance fortune. I get what I want. And I would never stoop to the clownish drama of fighting another woman for a man. 1. A photo of their embrace, snapped by some socialite, quickly found its way online. Rumors of a rift in the marriage of the Marriott empire’s crown prince shot to the top of every major newsfeed. Before I could even react, the trending topic, which had been marked with a blazing “EXPLODING” tag, vanished. The Marriott Corporation’s official account released a crisp statement. The most rabid posters were served with court summonses. The entire affair was sterilized from the internet in less than ten minutes. Julian Marriott would never allow anything to threaten the alliance between the Marriott and Vance families. Just as I shut my phone, my name was splashed across every billboard in the city. A grand, public display, affirming my status and the respect due to Mrs. Marriott. But I just stared at the neon lights, lost. In five years, this was the first time. The first time the ever-punctual, ever-organized man had missed our anniversary. The next morning, as I was about to leave, I saw Julian’s car pulling into the driveway. He stepped out, a child’s brightly colored backpack—a stark contrast to his usual refined elegance—in one hand. In the other, he held the hand of a little girl. He knelt, pulling the child into a hug, his eyes filled with a softness I had never seen before. Following behind them was a woman in a simple white dress. I recognized her. Julian’s ex-wife. He saw me standing by my car and froze for a second before stopping. “Elara,” he began, his eyes downcast as if in explanation, “Lily has to attend school here in the city. It’s an issue with her records.” Before I could speak, the woman beside him cut in. “Mrs. Marriott, I’m so sorry. I’m raising her on my own, I really had no other choice.” I looked down at her from the slight advantage of my heels, my voice dripping with scorn. “My husband and I are speaking. Who gave you permission to interrupt?” Julian frowned slightly but said nothing. As the woman’s face flushed with humiliation, I turned to my husband, my expression hardening. “Because of this morning’s photos, the joint Vance-Marriott enterprise has already dropped ten percent.” My cold stare was enough to make the little girl in his arms burst into tears. “Go away! He’s my daddy!” Julian’s frown deepened, and he quickly patted Lily’s back to soothe her. He looked at me with a weary sort of helplessness. “Elara, it was just a hug. And I’ve already had my team handle the crisis with the company.” His tone was exasperated, but it was a familiar one, and it made my chest tighten. It was the same as it had been for the past five years. He would always protect my public dignity as Mrs. Marriott. But he seemed to forget that I needed to be loved, too. I had once tried to teach him how to make me happy. But now I realized that if a relationship needed to be taught, it was already a failure. “Have them gone by the time I get home tonight,” I said, turning my back to him, and drove to my office. As the Vance heiress, I had little time to waste on intruders. I worked until midnight. When I finally returned home, I was certain that the ever-pragmatic Julian would have handled the situation. That certainty shattered the moment I opened the door. “Mrs. Marriott,” Mona said, having changed into a rather provocative silk nightgown. “You’re back. I’ll have the butler prepare dinner for you.” My eyes narrowed. Was she playing lady of the house? I walked towards her, a mocking smile playing on my lips. I hooked a finger under the strap of her nightgown. “A fan of hand-me-downs?” Mona’s face stiffened, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction to her provocation. “Can you just give him back to me?” she pleaded, her voice suddenly trembling. “There’s no love between you. But my child needs her father.” I paused on the stairs and turned, one eyebrow raised. “A family heiress needs profits, not love,” I said, my smile turning derisive. “Your worldview is rather limited, isn’t it?” The disdain in my eyes was a direct hit to her fragile pride. The color drained from her face. I was about to turn away when she lost control and blocked my path. “You know he was with me last night, don’t you? But do you know what we did?” She flashed her phone screen at me. A picture of a rumpled hotel bed filled the display. “Are you really that tolerant, Mrs. Marriott?” I glanced down. I recognized Julian’s hand instantly. The ring on his finger was the one I had placed there myself. My own fingers curled into a fist, just for a second. But on the surface, I was still the cool, untouchable Elara Vance. “After a steady diet of caviar, I suppose even he craves something… common.” Mona gasped, her face turning crimson with humiliation. Back in my room, I looked at the man already asleep in our bed. His usually perfect hair was mussed, falling softly across his forehead. I unconsciously touched the ring on my own hand. My fingers traced the line of his brow, down the bridge of his nose, and came to rest on his thin lips. Julian, don’t let me down. 2. The next morning, I woke to an empty space beside me. I opened the bedroom door to the sound of laughter. A sound this cold, silent villa had never known. I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down. Julian, the man who hadn’t set foot in our kitchen in the five years we’d been married, was frying eggs. The innocent-looking woman and the sweet little girl were playing happily on the sofa. A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips, and my eyes began to sting. For a sickening moment, I felt like I was the intruder. The harmonious atmosphere shattered the moment I reached the bottom of the stairs. “Elara,” Julian said, carrying a plate, his expression perfectly normal. “When are you sending them away?” I asked. It was the first time I had ever used such a tone with him. He didn’t answer. Instead, he placed Lily in her high chair, made sure she was settled, and only then did he look up at me. His eyes held that restrained, tightly controlled impatience I had come to despise. “I told you. She needs to go to school here.” A flash of irritation went through me. “Don’t tell me the great Julian Marriott can’t handle a simple school enrollment! Are you trying to keep the child close, or the woman?” “Elara!” he cut me off, his voice a low warning. “Watch your tone. Mona is Lily’s mother. The child is too young to be separated from her.” At the sound of our raised voices, the little girl shrieked and flung a bowl of hot porridge directly at me. “I hate you!” she wailed. “You’re the bad lady who broke up Mommy and Daddy!” A searing pain shot through my leg. I winced, my eyes flashing towards her. “I’m so sorry, she didn’t mean it. She just misses her father so much,” Mona said, quickly stepping in front of the girl, blocking my view. I struggled to breathe past the tightness in my chest. It was only then that I saw it clearly. The three of them looked like a perfect family. And I was standing on the opposite side, a ridiculous obstacle. A wave of fury washed over me, and I lost my composure. I stared coldly at Mona. “Do you really think the Marriott family would want an heir who, at five years old, is still a rude, ill-mannered little brat—” “Elara Vance!” Julian’s voice was like ice, instantly extinguishing my anger. He faced me, his expression colder than I had ever seen it, devoid of any emotion. “Lily is my daughter. As my wife, you will accept her presence. And today, you were unbecoming.” With that, he scooped up the tearful little girl and walked away. Mona, naturally, picked up his briefcase. She glanced back at me, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. The noisy villa fell silent once more. A bitter taste filled my mouth. In Julian’s eyes, I was the perfect Vance heiress, his elegant and composed wife. I wasn’t allowed to have my own emotions. I was never, ever to lose my composure. As the sound of the car engine faded, the strength seemed to drain from my spine, and I slumped forward. Julian, you let me down after all. Five years ago, during the global financial crisis, the Marriott and Vance families, the two titans of the city, had proposed a marriage alliance to fight off foreign capital. As the only Vance daughter, I chose the recently divorced Julian Marriott. I knew he had an ex-wife and a daughter. But I thought, who doesn’t have a past? Who doesn’t have someone they remember fondly? In our marriage, Julian was a near-perfect husband. But now that a true exception to his perfectly controlled world had appeared, I realized I wasn’t as calm as I thought I could be. … The next day was the Marriott family patriarch’s birthday banquet. As Julian’s wife, my attendance was required. That evening, Julian arrived at the villa precisely on time. In the car, an invisible wall stood between us. After a long silence, Julian seemed to relent. He sighed, raised the privacy divider, and moved to sit beside me. “Elara,” he said, breaking the silence. “The title of Mrs. Marriott will always be yours.” I felt the warmth of his hand covering mine and was momentarily dazed. I knew this was his way of making peace. The city lights flashed across his handsome face, and for a moment, his deep eyes reflected only me. He held my hand all the way into the banquet hall, and I felt a flicker of hope. But that hope was quickly extinguished. “Julian,” a voice called out. Mona, dressed in a stunning traditional gown, was greeting guests as if she were the lady of the house. She smoothly took the birthday gift from his hand before turning to me with a look of feigned, timid surprise. “Oh… Mrs. Marriott.” I frowned but kept my composure in the crowded room. My eyes, however, demanded an explanation from Julian. “She is Lily’s mother,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “It’s Grandfather’s birthday, and he wanted to see his great-granddaughter.” The fragile hope that had just begun to bloom within me withered and died. “She’s standing here, in the Marriott family home, playing hostess. Where does that leave me?” Julian finally seemed to register my words, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. I pulled my hand from his, the warmth instantly replaced by a spreading chill. A man like Julian Marriott, a perfect heir forged in the brutal wars of high society, couldn’t possibly be blind to Mona’s intentions. He wasn’t intervening. He was allowing it. Feeling the curious stares of the other guests, I forced the bitterness from my face and became the perfect marriage partner once more. The lights and chatter swirled around me, my thoughts a tangled mess. Before I knew it, I had wandered out to the long veranda in the back garden to clear my head. This was where Julian and I had first met. Our story began in the deep autumn, we came together in the summer, and now, in the dead of winter, we were drifting apart. “The great Elara Vance, being provoked to her face and still holding back?” a low, magnetic voice teased from behind me. I turned. It was Caleb Blackwood, the current head of the Blackwood family. “This isn’t like you,” he said, draping his jacket, which smelled of pine, over my shoulders, chasing away the cold. “Just say the word, and I can make her disappear.” I didn’t find the offer strange in the slightest. In our world, if you weren’t ruthless, you became a casualty of family politics. “There’s no need. She’s not a real threat.” Caleb suddenly moved closer, his cool presence enveloping me. “Then why are you out here drinking your sorrows away?” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “When you chose your marriage alliance, I was too slow to deal with the obstacles in my own family. But now… can you consider me?” Caleb had always been a charming rogue around me. Seeing him so serious now, I was struck by how much he had changed from the boy I once knew. “I’m still married to Julian, you know.” He shrugged. “I’m willing to be the other man. I’d be honored.” I laughed and playfully punched his arm. I was about to reply when a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back. Julian stood there, his face dark, glaring at Caleb. The temperature around the two alpha males seemed to drop several degrees. “We’re going home,” Julian said, his voice clipped. In the car, he raised the divider. Then, to my astonishment, he leaned over me. This was nothing like his usual tender kisses. This was a brutal, bruising claim that made me wince. After a long moment, he pulled back, panting, his deep eyes swirling with an emotion I had never seen before. “Elara,” he rasped, “stay away from him.” 3. The pain on my lips made me push him away, a surge of anger rising within me. I had merely exchanged a few words with Caleb. He, on the other hand, had paraded his ex-wife and child through my home. What right did he have to make demands of me? “Why should I?” I asked, my voice cold. Julian looked up, his dark eyes like whirlpools, pulling me in. “Because you are my woman.” I frowned. “No, I’m not. Mona is.” He actually chuckled, the usual frost on his face melting into something softer. “Mrs. Marriott, you’re jealous.” I shoved him away, my actions fueled by a childish petulance I despised in myself. “Send them away.” The atmosphere instantly froze over. The smile vanished from Julian’s face, as if the brief warmth had been a figment of my imagination. “Elara,” he said, loosening his tie with a sigh of immense weariness. “She is not a threat to you. Besides, Lily is my daughter. I can’t just abandon her.” I stared out the window at the passing city lights, which were beginning to blur. A light rain had started to fall, smudging my view. “I never told you not to take care of Lily.” Julian looked at me as if I were a petulant child. “Mona raised our daughter alone overseas for five years. I owe her.” A bitter, indescribable ache spread through my chest. “So you’re telling me I just have to accept her presence in my life?” He looked down, then turned my body to face him. His hand gently covered my eyes, which I knew were turning red. “I need you to understand. No matter what, you will always be my wife.” His evasive defense of her felt like a betrayal. Suddenly, the whole thing felt pointless. All the moments I had genuinely tried, all the effort I had put in, seemed utterly meaningless. In this grand performance I had hoped for, he had let me down yet again. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. [Miss Vance, Julian and I were inconsiderate today. I’m sorry.] Attached was a photo. In it, Julian was holding Lily under the moonlight, while Mona stood beside them, smiling. I narrowed my eyes. My chest felt tight, constricted. It was a cheap trick, but a brutally effective one. I tossed the phone to Julian, my voice devoid of emotion. “It seems I’m the third wheel in your relationship, aren’t I?” He looked down at the phone, and his first instinct was still to defend her. “She probably just felt you’d be upset and wanted to apologize.” I laughed, a sharp, angry sound. “Julian, are you playing dumb, or are you really this blind? Do I have to catch you in bed with her to get you to admit what’s happening?!” “Elara,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Watch what you say. Nothing inappropriate has happened between Mona and me.” I let out a cold laugh, a sob catching in my throat that only I could hear. “Nothing inappropriate? So it only counts if you’re naked?” The car fell silent. When I looked at Julian, his eyes were filled with a coldness I had never seen directed at me before. “Elara Vance, you are Mrs. Marriott. Show some damn grace!” I don’t know how to describe the feeling of that moment. The garden I had cultivated for him in my heart had turned to barren wasteland. I fought back the bitterness, my eyes burning. “I have no grace? Ha…” “If I had no grace, I would have thrown them out the very first night! Would she have even had the chance to shove her bed photos in my face?” “If I had no grace, when the photos of you two hit the internet, the Vance family would have already made her disappear!” The sudden emotional outburst was fueled by the raw pain of being so completely misunderstood. It was like being pricked by the thorns of a rose. All anyone else saw was the beautiful flower, but all I felt was the piercing pain. Julian looked stunned, his gaze fixed on my tear-filled eyes. “I…” I turned away and rolled down the window, letting the fine rain mist my face, hiding the pathetic tears. “Do you know why my parents named me Elara?” I asked, speaking to no one in particular. “They said it’s because I was their one and only. Unique.” I took a deep breath, pulling the dignity of the Vance heiress around me like a shield. “So, if to you, I am just a disposable piece in a game of profit and loss, then we are done.” Hearing this, a panic he didn’t understand seized him. He turned and pulled me into a fierce embrace. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 4. The moment we stepped into the villa, Mona appeared, holding a crying Lily, her face a mask of fragile distress. “Julian, Lily won’t stop crying for you, I…” But this time, Julian didn’t take the child. Instead, he had the nanny take her back to her room. Then, under Mona’s bewildered gaze, he threw my phone at her. “Apologize,” he bit out. The sudden fury in his voice left Mona stunned. She glanced at the phone, her eyes flashing with jealousy. Julian looked at my cold, impassive face and lost his patience. “Elara is my wife. Don’t send her things that could be misunderstood.” Perhaps it was the first time she had ever seen him so stern. Mona’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Miss Vance,” she sobbed, a picture of wounded pride. “My wording was inappropriate. Please forgive me.” I met her gaze, my own eyes cold. I stepped forward and tilted her chin up with one hand, my voice dripping with contempt. “‘Miss Vance’? If the words ‘Mrs. Marriott’ are too difficult for you to say, I don’t mind having someone pry your mouth open.” I looked down at her. “Drop the act. Or I will show you just how many arrogant little fools are locked away in the Vance family’s basements.” Mona swayed, her face pale as a sheet. Julian frowned and stepped in. “That’s enough. She knows she was wrong. I’ll buy a separate house for you and Lily. Don’t come here or to the main estate again.” He stood up, subtly shielding Mona from my gaze. Mona looked at him in disbelief. Tears streamed down her face as she took Lily and left the villa. But the very next evening, she was back, kneeling before me, her face streaked with tears. Julian stood beside her, his expression grim. “Mrs. Marriott, I was wrong! I never should have disturbed your life! But Lily is innocent! She’s just a child! I’m begging you, please let her go!” I frowned, my face a mask of ice. “Watch your mouth. Who do you think you are, trying to pin something on me?” Julian, who had been silent, stepped forward, his face darker than I had ever seen it. “The kidnapper’s phone was traced back to the son of your family’s butler.” He closed his eyes, fighting for control. “Elara, the child is innocent. Hand her over to me, and I can let this go.” I stared at him in disbelief. “You think I’m that kind of person?” Perhaps my expression was too full of pain. He looked away. “I have to believe the evidence.” In that instant, our five-year marriage felt like a joke. It took me five years to understand that some people, some things, should never have been a part of my life. I reined in my emotions, my voice flat. “Julian Marriott, in the end, you still managed to disappoint me.” Seeing the confusion in his eyes, I added, “If Elara Vance wants to get rid of someone, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to use her own servants.” I turned to the trembling Mona. “Even a viper doesn’t eat its own young. You’re a special kind of monster.” I looked at the two of them standing side-by-side, my heart filled with scorn. As I left, I called my assistant. “Prepare divorce papers for Julian Marriott and myself. And,” I closed my eyes, opening them again to reveal nothing but cold resolve, “pull all domestic Vance investments from Marriott Industries. Divest from our overseas joint enterprise. Contact the Blackwood family. I want Marriott Industries’ stock to hit rock bottom. Within three days.” I hung up. Outside the car window, the rain had stopped. “Julian Marriott,” I whispered to the empty car. “I’m going to show you what regret really means.”

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We were getting ready to move our residency registration when we hit a snag. The clerk told me there was a 12-year-old kid registered under my name. Turns out, someone had secretly registered their kid under my name to mooch off the top-tier school district associated with my property. I was furious. So I flipped the script. I called the cops, claiming my “child” was missing, stolen by traffickers. With police assistance, I brought the kid straight home to my house. Now it was the other family’s turn to lose their minds. I just smiled darkly. “You haven’t seen anything yet. I’m already processing the paperwork to renounce his citizenship.” 1 We were at the city clerk’s office, ready to transfer our household registration, when the staff dropped a bomb. The paperwork was incomplete. Apparently, there was a 12-year-old child under my name, and I needed his documents too. My wife and I were stunned. We’d only been married a few years. Where the hell did a 12-year-old come from? My wife burst into tears right there in the office, screaming at me, accusing me of having a secret love child, threatening divorce. I swear I don’t have a secret kid. I don’t even have a secret pet! It took everything I had to calm her down. The clerk insisted. According to the system, there was indeed a 12-year-old boy named “Gavin White” registered under my household. He should be in elementary school right now. “You must be mistaken,” I argued desperately. “I don’t have a kid. And my last name isn’t White, it’s Ray!” “Not my problem,” the clerk said flatly. “The system says what it says. We follow the system.” Her indifference made my blood boil. “Can you check when this kid was added to my registry?” “No.” “Can you see where he lives now?” “No.” “Can you just delete him from my household?” “No. You need to provide proof of non-paternity before we can remove him.” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the counter. Proof of non-paternity? I’ve never met this kid. Today is the first time I’ve heard his name. I don’t know where he is or when he was added to my file. How am I supposed to prove he’s not mine? Should I forge a document? “Can you at least give me some details about this child?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. The clerk scoffed. “You’re funny. You don’t know your own kid, so you ask a stranger? Is he your son or mine?” “Nowadays, you see all kinds of crazies. Asking strangers about their own kids.” I pride myself on being a civilized man, but being publicly mocked like that broke something inside me. Bang! I slammed my fist on the desk, making the clerk jump. “Tell me the kid’s information,” I growled, eyes red with rage. 2 Walking out of the government building, I immediately called a buddy who works in the police force. He’s seen it all; maybe he’d have an idea. After hearing my story, he pinpointed the issue immediately. “They’re after the school district,” he said. “Your property is zoned for the best schools.” It clicked. Why else would anyone give their son to a stranger on paper? My family doesn’t have a throne to inherit. It had to be for the school district spot. I used to think stories like this were urban legends—people buying a house just for a school spot is one thing, but stealing a spot? Now it was happening to me. It felt ridiculous and surreal. Our current apartment is in a prime school district. My wife and I worked our asses off for over a decade to afford it. To scrape together the down payment, we emptied our savings and borrowed heavily from both sets of parents. To pay the mortgage, we lived like monks. No vacations, no fancy meals, not even decent gifts during the holidays. We lived in this run-down, cramped “old shoe-box” apartment solely so our future child could have access to top-tier education. We wanted our kid to win at the starting line. But now? Our kid isn’t even born yet, and the spot has been hijacked by some stranger? The frustration was immense. It felt like raising a daughter for eighteen years only to watch her marry a deadbeat with a mullet. I gritted my teeth so hard I thought they’d crack. I wanted to grab a knife and turn these people into mincemeat. Thankfully, my cop friend was calmer. He talked me off the ledge. On his advice, I didn’t go looking for blood. I went to a law firm instead. 3 The lawyer offered some comfort. The situation wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed. If the extra kid was a clerical error by the census bureau, it was an administrative mistake. The department had a duty to correct it, and we could even sue for damages. But if it wasn’t an error—if someone did this deliberately—that was fraud. Specifically, school district fraud. We could sue for damages and press criminal charges once we had evidence. “I suggest you gather evidence quickly and file a lawsuit,” the lawyer advised professionally. “This will minimize your losses and prevent further complications.” My wife and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Suing them? That was too merciful. Leaving the law firm, I called my cop friend again to check on his investigation. “Bad news,” he said. “I found the clerk who handled that district back then. He’s retired, senile, remembers nothing. But looking at the digital trail… this wasn’t an accident. It was definitely intentional.” Hearing this, my wife and I shared a look. We had a plan. We went straight to the police station to file a report. “Officer, our child is missing. We think he’s been kidnapped by traffickers.” 4 We spun the story we’d rehearsed. “The kid was playing downstairs. It got dark, and he never came back. We searched everywhere.” The police immediately pulled surveillance footage. But they hit a wall. Our old neighborhood was ancient. Aside from being near a top school, it had zero amenities. The few cameras that existed were broken or pointed at nothing. Useless. The officer asked for a description. We gave vague answers—”average height, average looks.” Watching the police mobilize to find “our” child, my wife and I exchanged a satisfied glance. This was exactly what we wanted. If they put the kid under my name, then fine. I’ll take the kid. I won’t abuse him, but I sure as hell won’t send him to that fancy school. We’ll see who cracks first. As for whether the other family wants to hand him over? Not my problem. What proves you are you? Your ID card. What proves your mom is your mom? The household registry (Hukou). If the kid is in my registry, legally, he’s mine. If they refuse to hand him over, I have the law—and the police—on my side. 5 A few days later, the police called. “Mr. Ray? We found the child. But… the situation is a bit complicated. You need to come down here.” When I arrived at the station, the young officer looked confused. “Mr. Ray, are you sure this is your child?” “Of course he is! Why else would he be in my household registry? Who adopts a stranger’s kid for fun?” “Here’s the thing,” the officer explained. “We found the boy in the home of a couple named White in the south district. The man, Mr. White, insists Gavin is his son, not yours.” I nodded calmly. “Expected.” “We asked the boy. He also insists the Whites are his parents.” The officer looked at me skeptically. I was prepared. I paused, acting thoughtful. “Is it possible… my son has been brainwashed? Or manipulated?” “Brainwashed?” The officer blinked. “Yeah. Cults do it. If these people are pros at manipulation, and my son is young and impressionable… maybe they mentally controlled him.” “That’s… theoretically possible,” the officer said, clearly not buying it. The Whites didn’t look like cult leaders. “But why is his last name White, not Ray?” “Feng Shui,” I lied smoothly. “He lacked ‘water’ in his astrological chart. ‘White’ corresponds to metal, which produces water. So we gave him that surname.” “But…” “Officer, isn’t this ridiculous?” I cut him off. “Legally speaking, if he’s in my registry, he’s my son.”

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It was just after the New Year when my cousin was sentenced to prison for hitting and killing a heavily pregnant woman with his car. The victim’s family was demanding a multi-million-dollar settlement, and I was the only lawyer in the city willing to take the case. After days without sleep gathering evidence, I was about to rush to the courthouse in my cousin’s car when my aunt stopped me. “Seriously? Another poor relative showing up only to beg for money or borrow a ride?” She planted her hands on her hips, her expression a sneer. “You think just because my son is easygoing you don’t even need to ask to take his car? Who gave you the audacity! This is a custom-spec G-Wagen. Even if I charged you a thousand an hour—ten thousand a day—you’re not driving it off this property without cash.” Court was about to start. I held up the files, trying to reason with her. She looked at me with open disdain. “A lawyer who graduated from some third-rate college thinks she can handle my son’s case? Are you kidding me? The heavy-hitters from the top White-Shoe firms were just having dinner with him yesterday!” “I see what this is,” she accused, narrowing her eyes. “You just want to drive my son’s car to look important, don’t you?” I shook my head urgently. “Aunt Brenda, no. Wesley is in serious trouble, I need to—” I didn’t even finish the sentence before she slapped me. “Stop with the nonsense! You already drove the car out of the garage. If you don’t pay me now, you’re not leaving this driveway!” As she yelled, she snatched the evidence—the one thing that could save my cousin—and ripped it to shreds. Watching my all-night effort get destroyed, I heard my phone vibrate repeatedly with calls from the courthouse. I simply offered a faint smile. “You don’t need me? Fine. I won’t go. Let’s see how long it takes for my cousin to come home.” 1 “Sienna, I hit someone. Every lawyer in the city is refusing to help me. I have nowhere else to turn!” “The victim was pregnant, two lives, Sienna. And I swear I wasn’t drinking, but they found alcohol in my system. Please, you have to get back here, or my life is over!” My cousin, Wesley, had called me in the middle of the night. I’d flown back immediately. It was just after the New Year holiday. Wesley was driving to his company to hand out employee bonuses when he collided with a heavily pregnant woman. She died instantly, a double fatality. Worse, when the police arrived, they charged him with a DUI, compounding the felony. Wesley insisted he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. He’d thrown half his company’s operating budget at high-profile connections, but no reputable attorney would touch the case—everyone considered it a guaranteed loss. That’s when he finally called me. After days of relentless investigation, I’d found the smoking gun hidden in his bathroom: a bottle of potent, alcohol-based mouthwash. It was the only way to challenge the DUI charge. If I could clear him of drunk driving, we could focus on a settlement and securing forgiveness from the victim’s family to reduce the sentence. I checked my watch. One hour until the hearing. I didn’t have time to go home for my own car, and catching a ride-share was too risky. I grabbed the keys to Wesley’s G-Wagen and prepared to leave for the courthouse. That’s when Aunt Brenda materialized, blocking the driveway and motioning for me to get out. “Another broke relative. Always hitting my son up for a loan or his car. Get out!” I rolled down the window. “Aunt Brenda, I’m on my way to a crisis. I’ll explain everything later.” She didn’t care. She reached in, yanked the door open, and physically dragged me out of the driver’s seat. “Your crisis is not my problem! You’re just trying to drive my son’s car for clout while he’s gone, aren’t you?” she spat. “My Wesley is too good-natured, he lets all you poor relatives walk all over him. But why did you pick his most expensive car? How dare you! If you put so much as a scratch on this, your annual salary wouldn’t cover the repair bill!” Assuming she still didn’t know the extent of Wesley’s trouble, I tried to stay patient. “Aunt Brenda, I’m not lying. I’m going to handle something urgent for Wesley. If I’m late, he’s in serious trouble…” She threw her head back and laughed maniacally. “You mean my son begged you to handle something for him? You’ve got some nerve trying to flatter yourself like that!” “What are you, anyway? He has no need to beg you. Stop trying to con me. This car is imported, it’s expensive. Fine, since we’re family, I’ll charge you a thousand-dollar rental fee per hour. If you’re not back by noon, that’s ten thousand dollars!” She stood directly in front of the vehicle. “You pay me what you owe before you leave this spot.” 2 I was genuinely stunned. I rarely interacted with Wesley’s family and had never, as she claimed, borrowed anything from them. If I hadn’t been cutting it so close, needing to avoid the risk of traffic or a canceled ride-share, I never would have taken Wesley’s car. I had zero interest in taking advantage of them. And honestly, if Wesley hadn’t always been relatively decent to me growing up, I wouldn’t have taken this toxic, high-risk case in the first place. He was the one who was begging me, and she was demanding an exorbitant rental fee? I anxiously checked my watch again. Another ten minutes wasted. If I was late, Wesley wouldn’t have a defense lawyer. The outcome was predictable: either the death penalty or life imprisonment. “Aunt Brenda, I am telling you the truth. Wesley hit someone. The court opens in fifty minutes. I am his defense attorney. You have to let me go.” She froze for two seconds. Her expression suggested she registered the seriousness of the situation. I thought, This is it. She’s going to move. But just as I reached for the door handle, she roared with laughter and slammed the door shut on my hand. My fingers throbbed instantly. “Aunt Brenda, what are you doing?” She stared at me with contempt. “Doing? You have the wildest stories! My son was just out of the city on a business trip two days ago. How could he have hit someone?” “Besides, even if he did hit someone, he knows dozens of high-powered lawyers. Why would he need you, a fresh graduate from some online degree mill?” “I bet you’re the one who’s desperate. You probably begged him, and he threw you a bone, didn’t he? Don’t you dare curse my son again! See how I deal with you!” I was numb from her abuse. She’d always looked down on my side of the family. My studying abroad was dismissed as attending a “fake foreign university.” Because Wesley had dropped out and made a pile of cash, she felt she was superior, that no one could measure up to her son. What she didn’t know was that I earned just as much as Wesley, and I definitely preferred my own reliable sedan to her son’s ostentatious G-Wagen. I couldn’t waste any more time arguing about status. I decided to drop the bomb. “He hit someone and was charged with a DUI. Right now, no one except me will touch his case!” Seeing her hesitation, I immediately pulled the case files from the car to show her. “Look, Aunt Brenda, this is the official filing. My name and Wesley’s are on it. Please, let me go. I have less than half an hour now!” The seconds were dissolving. I was terrified of failing my cousin, of going back on my word. His fate rested entirely on my shoulders. Aunt Brenda snatched the file. She looked at it, not with understanding, but with sheer fury. “Settlement with the family for two million dollars! Sienna Thorne, you’re trying to use Wesley’s absence to steal his company stamp and scam money, aren’t you? Pay the car fee immediately, or I’ll make sure you regret this!” 3 Aunt Brenda held my wrist, her fingernails digging into my flesh, refusing to let go no matter how much I protested. The phone in my pocket vibrated incessantly. It was the court clerk. They were probably calling to remind me, seeing as I was late. I thought, If she hears it from the court, she has to believe me. “The court is calling! If you don’t believe me, listen!” I answered quickly, put it on speaker, and held it near her ear. The clerk’s frantic voice cut through the air. “Ms. Thorne, why aren’t you here? The court is about to start! Your client’s position is already tenuous. If you’re a no-show, sentencing is a certainty. It’s either the death penalty or life without parole. If you have any evidence, get here immediately!” I hung up, thinking, Now she finally gets it. Instead, she burst into high-pitched laughter. “Sienna Thorne, you cheap tramp! You’re really desperate, aren’t you? Spending all that money to hire actors to trick me and my son? How many more do you have lined up? Bring them all out!” “And you, a lawyer from a diploma mill? You think you even qualify to step into a real courtroom?” “Without my son, all of you would starve!” I was stunned. I regretted everything. If I hadn’t already promised Wesley, I’d wash my hands of the whole toxic family right then. Aunt Brenda pointed triumphantly at the G-Wagen. “You drove my son’s car out of the garage. It’s sitting here baking in the sun. I bet you bumpkins don’t know how bad that is for the paint and the interior.” “So?” I asked, confused about what else she could possibly want. “So, ten thousand dollars is no longer enough! You owe me an extra five thousand for the detailing and maintenance fee!” “And I’m warning you—you drag this out any longer, and you’ll owe me the full purchase price of the car!” Looking at her face, I knew arguing was pointless. I still had fifteen minutes. If I drove fast, I might still make it. I grit my teeth. “Fine, I’ll transfer the money.” Everything could wait until after Wesley’s initial hearing. I quickly transferred the funds to her account and reached for the car door to leave. I hadn’t even sat down when she grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me out of the car with all her strength. The pain was blinding. I landed hard on the asphalt. A vicious look was in her eyes. “Did I say you could leave? You paid the rental fee, but we still have to settle the matter of you trying to scam me and my son out of two million dollars!” I was horrified. I genuinely couldn’t believe her level of delusion and malice. When had I tried to scam them? That was the settlement money for the victim’s family! Two million dollars couldn’t buy back a life, and the family might not even accept it! My scalp was throbbing. “I am telling you, I didn’t try to steal your money! If you don’t believe me, call Wesley right now!” 4 “Oh, I will call my son right now!” The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. It was Tiffany, Wesley’s wife. “Hello, Mom? What’s going on?” Hearing her voice, a wave of despair washed over me. I’d forgotten that Wesley hadn’t taken his phone with him—he’d called me from his assistant’s line. Aunt Brenda glared at me. “This tramp, Sienna Thorne, says my son hit someone with his car. Is that true?” On the other end, Tiffany was immediately agitated. “Nonsense! My husband said he had an urgent matter to deal with two days ago! There’s no way he hit anyone!” “Mom, don’t you dare let that foul-mouthed woman get away with this! The New Year hasn’t even passed, and she’s already cursing my husband!” “Don’t worry. I won’t let her!” I pulled out the mouthwash bottle. “This is the evidence I found…” I didn’t get another word out. Aunt Brenda slapped me hard across the face in a burst of sheer rage. “You tramp, still trying to fool me? I’ll tell you something right now! Even if my son did hit someone, they must have been standing in the road and deserved it! It’s their own fault for getting in the way of my son’s business!” “With all my son’s connections in this town, you think he can’t handle a little thing like that?” I couldn’t help but recoil. “Aunt Brenda, that was a pregnant woman. Two lives. How can you say that?” If this was Wesley’s attitude, there was no way I would help him. She kicked me hard in the stomach. “Are you trying to teach me a lesson? It’s the truth! In this world, the poor have cheap lives!” “And you poor relatives are all the same, like parasites living in the sewer! You can’t survive without my son!” She snatched the bottle of mouthwash from my hand and raised it high. Seeing her intention, I screamed desperately. “Don’t break it! That is the only evidence proving Wesley wasn’t drunk driving! You will regret this!” She was resolute. “What kind of damn evidence? You think I’ll still believe you?” Crash! The bottle shattered, the glass fragments and the clear, strong-smelling liquid scattering across the asphalt. It was the end of the only defense we had. Seeing my panic, Aunt Brenda looked even more pleased. “You told me not to break it, so I did.” I tried to ignore the pain and reached for the case files. They couldn’t be damaged, or Wesley would be completely doomed. But Aunt Brenda got to them first. She tore them to pieces while shouting: “Let’s see how you lie now! No wonder my son says you’re the worst of the lot, thinking you’re hot stuff just because you went to college!” “He always dreaded getting a call from your family—it always meant you were asking for money!” I suddenly understood. No wonder he never answered my calls or holiday texts, only replying days later that he was “too busy.” He didn’t want to talk to me because he was afraid I was going to ask him for money. He was just too cheap. My phone rang again. It was the court clerk. “Ms. Thorne, did you run into an emergency? Should I ask the judge for ten more minutes?” Aunt Brenda lunged for the phone. “Ten more minutes of what? You’re saying my son will be sentenced in ten minutes?” She laughed loudly, treating the call like a silly prank. “I’d like to see that! I want to see what happens to my son in ten minutes!” I made up my mind. My voice was calm and steady. “No, thank you. Could you please tell my cousin that Aunt Brenda insisted I stay, so I won’t be coming.” The moment the words left my mouth, Wesley’s enraged shout echoed over the line: “Mom, shut the hell up! I’m serious, I’m in deep trouble! Sienna, my good cousin, don’t listen to her! Get here now, you’re my only chance!” 5 Aunt Brenda snatched the phone back and listened intently to Wesley’s voice. Her certainty wavered. Her face went from flushed to pale. “That… that’s my son’s voice? How can that be?” She immediately shook her head. “Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Sienna Thorne, how much did you pay for that AI deepfake of my son’s voice? It must be worth it, considering the two million dollars you’re after.” “My son’s voice has a rasp. He’s a long-time smoker, he always has a little cough. You can’t fool me!” I found her ridiculous. Wesley was under police custody. Of course, he couldn’t smoke. His voice would naturally sound clearer. Wesley, who had heard the entire exchange, became even more frantic. “Cousin! Explain it to her! Mom, please, shut up! Are you trying to kill me?” “I bet you have a secret child out there, and you’re trying to get me out of the way!” Wesley screamed, his panic making him lash out. He couldn’t have realized in that moment that the person pulling the last life raft from his hands was his own mother. Stung by his accusation, Aunt Brenda looked ready to jump through the phone and tear him apart. “Don’t you dare talk nonsense! I’ll rip your mouth off! I don’t have a secret child, and my son is perfectly fine!” “I AM YOUR SON! Don’t you understand me? I’m about to be sentenced to death! If I go down, your comfortable life goes down with me!” Wesley was right about that. Aunt Brenda’s family used to be dirt-poor. If Wesley hadn’t struck out and found success, starting his own business, she would never have lived this life of a suburban socialite, thanks to my lazy, good-for-nothing uncle. She was the one stopping me from saving him. I was now morbidly curious to see the look on her face when she realized she was responsible for her son’s ruin. “I’m about to go to trial, you need to immediately transfer…” Wesley’s words were cut off as Aunt Brenda furiously hung up the phone. She muttered curses under her breath. “The New Year isn’t even over and he’s cursing himself? My son is not in trouble!” She was utterly convinced. I snatched my phone back from her. Her eyes held a menacing glint, reminding me of a protective mother wolf I’d seen as a child in the countryside. “Sienna Thorne, you malicious bitch! How dare you curse my son! I almost fell for your trick!” She raised her hand to hit me again, but this time I grabbed her wrist and shoved her back hard. “You almost had a chance to save your son,” I said, my voice flat. I sighed dramatically. “Well, I guess fate decided otherwise. The two million dollars you didn’t want to pay? You don’t have to pay it now.” She sneered. “You know you can’t scam me, don’t you? You think you can overpower me because you’re young? I’m calling everyone outside! I’ll make sure you can never work in this town again!” She stormed out of Wesley’s mansion and yelled at the top of her lungs: “Everyone come look! My husband’s nephew’s shameless daughter drove my son’s car without permission—and that’s not all! She hired someone to impersonate my son and tried to scam two million dollars from us!” Within minutes, a crowd gathered outside Wesley’s house. I knew exactly what Aunt Brenda was doing. Wesley lived in a wealthy, exclusive enclave. These non-profit, high-net-worth neighbors were my potential clients. Ruining my reputation here would dry up my business pipeline. Too bad her plan was flawed. With my current standing and connections, I didn’t have time for these small-scale local cases anyway. The crowd buzzed with gossip: “That young girl, so malicious?” “Two million dollars! That’s felony territory. She dared to try that?” “Why wouldn’t she? Young girls these days all try to be mistresses. I caught one just last week! Scamming a little money is nothing. She’s just unlucky to be caught.” Aunt Brenda put on a poor victim act. “You all know how generous my family is to relatives. I never thought she’d take advantage of us like this.” “Look closely, everyone! She’s a lawyer! If you ever need legal counsel, you better be careful!” She gave me a smug, victorious look. “She’s a lawyer? I heard that crowd is nothing but trouble.” “Tell me about it. The lawyer my husband hired last month was a young thing. She even dared to text me and provoke me! This one probably just wants to be a homewrecker, too.” “If she’s trying to scam money, she’s probably been a mistress as well.” “Let’s take pictures quickly so we can warn our friends.” Aunt Brenda beamed as they snapped photos, feeling completely vindicated. Take your pictures, I thought. My assistant has plenty of time to file defamation lawsuits against every single one of you. I’ll make a profit on it. Someone eventually called the police. A siren wailed in the distance. Two officers arrived, asked a few simple questions, and escorted both Aunt Brenda and me to the precinct. I glanced at my watch. Wesley’s hearing had definitely ended.

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At Thanksgiving, my Grandpa said, “Glad you’re enjoying the college fund we set up.” I blinked. “What fund?” My dad went pale, my mom dropped her fork, and Grandpa’s face shifted from proud to confused. 1 So, I, 22 male, always the responsible one, while my younger brother Tyler was a complete mess—failing community college, getting in trouble, generally being useless. I worked construction for three years to pay for my mechanical engineering degree. 18 bucks an hour swinging hammers, mixing concrete, coming home covered in dust and cement burns. Meanwhile, Tyler got everything handed to him. My parents constantly bragged about how independent I was. Mom would tell anyone who’d listen how I never asked for money, how mature I was compared to other kids. She drives a brand new BMW X3, gets her nails done at expensive salons, shops constantly. I’m driving a beat-up 2003 F-150 with 200,000 miles, rust spots, and duct tape holding the bumper on. No AC, radio only gets AM stations, I have to hit the dashboard to make the speedometer work. My best friend Alex, trust fund kid whose parents aren’t even as wealthy as mine, always thought something was fishy. “Bro,” he’d say, “My dad makes half what your dad makes at the plant, and he still covers my car insurance, phone bill, gives me spending money. Something’s really weird about your family’s money situation.” I always defended them. Told Alex they were teaching me responsibility, building character, preparing me for the real world. Looking back, I was a complete idiot. Dad makes $80,000 a year as a plant supervisor, plus overtime and bonuses. But somehow there was never money for their supposedly beloved, responsible son. Turns out there was a very good reason for that. And when I found out the truth, I made sure the entire town knew exactly what kind of people my parents really were. So Thanksgiving rolls around last year. We always do this massive family dinner at my grandparents’ house. Grandpa Bill and Grandma Ruth. These are genuine salt-of-the-earth people who worked their whole lives, saved every penny, and never bought anything they couldn’t afford twice. Grandpa was a union electrician for 40 years, worked through three recessions, never missed a day unless he was literally in the hospital. Grandma was a school secretary for 35 years, knew every kid in town, helped raise half the neighborhood. They’ve always been super tight with money, but incredibly generous with family. The kind of people who’ll slip you a twenty and tell you not to tell anyone. Their house is this old two-story farmhouse that Grandpa basically built himself in the 1970s. Everything solid wood, built to last forever, immaculately maintained. Grandma still has the same furniture from when they got married, not because they can’t afford new stuff, but because it still works perfectly fine. The dining room table is this massive oak thing that seats 12 people comfortably. And every Thanksgiving it’s absolutely loaded with food. Dinner’s going completely normal. Turkey that Grandpa spent two days brining and smoking, Grandma’s famous stuffing that has some secret ingredient she’ll never reveal. Football on the old tube TV in the living room. My cousin Emma talking about nursing school and how hard organic chemistry is. Tyler’s there looking tired as usual, probably hungover from whatever he did the night before. Mom’s complaining about something stupid like how the grocery store was out of the specific brand of cranberry sauce she wanted. Dad’s arguing with Uncle Steve about politics and whether the plant’s going to get that new contract. Standard Peterson family chaos. Then Grandpa stands up to give one of his traditional speeches. He gets really sentimental at holidays; it’s actually pretty sweet. The man fought in Vietnam, worked dangerous jobs his whole life, but holidays make him tear up every single time. He’s talking about being proud of his grandkids, watching us grow up into good people. How blessed he feels to have family around the table. All that good grandfather stuff that normally makes everyone smile and nod along. Then he looks directly at me with this huge proud smile and says, “And Adam, I’m just real happy to see that college fund we set up is helping you get through engineering school without drowning in debt like so many kids these days. Makes all those extra shifts I worked worth every penny.” The entire room went dead silent. Like, you could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen silent. I’m staring at him like he just spoke a foreign language. My brain completely stopped working for a second. “What college fund?” That’s when I notice Mom’s fork frozen halfway to her mouth, mashed potatoes still stuck on it. And Dad suddenly becomes intensely interested in studying his plate like it contains the secrets of the universe. Tyler’s the only one still eating, completely oblivious as always, making gross chewing noises that suddenly seem incredibly loud. “The fund we started when you were born,” Grandpa says, looking genuinely confused by my reaction. “Been putting money in every birthday and Christmas for 22 years. Your Mom said you were doing great managing it for college expenses. Should be around $65,000 by now. Maybe more with the interest.”

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During Freshman Orientation, my roommate’s shirt was always soaked, radiating a faint, sweet scent of peaches. Watching the boys on campus go feral over it—including Liam, the rich frat president—she was incredibly smug. I recognized it instantly. It wasn’t some magical pheromone. It was pus from a rare form of skin cancer. I warned her to get treated. She called me jealous but secretly went to the doctor. The diagnosis was cancer. She had to get a double mastectomy to survive. Without her “peach scent,” Liam, who had been obsessed with her, dropped her cold. Her other simps vanished into thin air. Unable to handle the fall from grace, she blamed it all on me. “If you hadn’t been a busybody and made your mom cut my breasts off, Liam wouldn’t have dumped me!” She grinned maniacally as she shoved me into a drainage ditch and watched me drown. Even my mother, the surgeon who performed the operation, was doxxed, fired, and died of depression. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day the peach scent first appeared. … 1 “What is that smell? It smells amazing!” My roommate, Vicky, walked into the dorm carrying a bag of snacks. She sniffed the air, eyes lighting up. “Is that peach perfume? Or some new drink?” Then she spotted the open bottle of ‘yogurt’ on Lexi’s desk. “Smells good! I’m gonna try it!” Before Lexi could stop her, Vicky grabbed the bottle and took a massive swig. The next second, her expression froze. She doubled over and started heaving dryly. “What the hell is this?! It tastes rancid!” Lexi rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “Some people wish they could drink it, but they can’t.” Vicky’s face went pale. “Lexi, did you do that on purpose just to gross me out?!” “If I get food poisoning, I’m taking you down with me!” She rushed to the bathroom to make herself throw up. Watching this familiar scene, I confirmed it. I was really reborn. The suffocating feeling of drowning from my past life felt terrifyingly real. “Sarah! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t opened your big mouth and made your mom operate on me, I’d still be with Liam! You ruined my life, you deserve to die!” The person who killed me wasn’t a stranger. It was my roommate, Lexi. In my past life, I realized that the fluid leaking from her chest—the stuff all the boys were crazy about—wasn’t a “gifted body fragrance.” It was a secretion from a rare malignant skin tumor. I advised her to get treated and asked my mom, a top surgeon, to look after her. She cursed me for being jealous but got the surgery. When the truth came out in my past life, Vicky didn’t defend me. She joined the internet trolls and kicked me while I was down. Thinking of this, I let out a cold laugh and spoke up. “Vicky, what’s with the attitude? Lexi didn’t do it on purpose.” “Besides, who told you to be so greedy and drink it without asking?” 2 Vicky froze, looking at me in disbelief. “She left that disgusting stuff on the desk and I drank it! And you’re defending her?!” “Sarah, is your brain broken?” I smiled. “Vicky, don’t say that. Lexi said it wasn’t intentional. Besides,” I paused, my gaze sweeping over Lexi’s chest. “That peach scent… people would kill to smell like that naturally. It’s better than smelling like sweat, right?” Seeing me take her side, Lexi’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! I didn’t mean to! Sarah is right, it smells good!” “I think you’re just jealous of me!” She shot Vicky a nasty look. Vicky was furious. She pointed at us, stammering, “You… You guys…” but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she stomped her foot and slammed the door, storming out to clean the vomit off herself. With Vicky gone, Lexi tossed her head triumphantly and dug something out from the bottom of her closet. My pupils shrank. It was that pale pink bralette. Lace detailing, a bit sexy. I bought it online freshman year because it was cheap. But the underwire was brutal, and the straps dug into my skin, so I threw it in the bottom of my closet and never touched it again. Now, it was in Lexi’s hands. And there was a distinct pink stain on it. In my past life, when I saw this, I vomited from disgust and got into a huge fight with her about stealing my things. That argument became one of the reasons she wanted to kill me. This time, she held up the bra, looking shy. “Sarah, I was thinking of wearing this and taking some selfies to post in the freshman group chat. What do you think?” I immediately plastered a sincere smile on my face and exaggerated my praise. “That bra fits you perfectly! The color, the design… it’s like it was made for your aura! Sexy but innocent!” “It really highlights your… assets! If Liam sees this, his eyes are gonna pop out of his head!” I knew she wanted to use this to bait more attention. In the past life, she blamed me for ruining her luck with men. This time, I was going to help her get exactly what she wanted. Lexi’s face flushed red with excitement. “Really, Sarah? You think it looks good?” “Absolutely!” I nodded firmly. Just then, Jessica, the roommate who usually stayed neutral, spoke up. “Sarah, that looks like your bra. Didn’t you say it was uncomfortable and packed it away?” “Did Lexi steal it from you?” Lexi’s smile vanished instantly. I quickly jumped in to cover for her, looking earnest. “Oh! That one! It looks similar, but mine was trash quality. I threw it out ages ago.” “The one Lexi has looks way more high-end! Besides, if Lexi likes it, what’s the problem with giving it to her? Good things belong to those who fit them best!” The wariness in Lexi’s eyes turned to delight. She lifted her chin at Jessica. “See? Jessica, what’s your problem? Sarah said she gave it to me!” “Besides, Sarah is too flat to fill this cup size anyway.” “If you talk trash again, watch your back!” Lexi rushed into the bathroom to try it on, desperate to prove it to Jessica. Once the door clicked shut, I started packing my suitcase. I needed to move out immediately. The peach-milk scent in the room was cloying and nauseating. If I stayed any longer, I’d be implicated when things went south. But just as I was halfway through packing, Lexi caught me. 3 “Sarah? What are you doing? Are you moving out?” Lexi yanked the bathroom door open, sticking her head out. She was wearing the cheap bra. The scratchy lace was straining against her breasts, which were swollen significantly larger than usual. The thin straps dug deep into her flesh. Under the collarbone, the pink staining on her skin looked more pronounced under the bathroom lights—like mold spreading on fruit. There was a flicker of nervousness in her eyes; she was afraid of losing her new ally. I paused, thinking fast. I put on a look of embarrassment. “Actually… I have a rare skin condition. It’s not serious, but with so many people in the dorm, I don’t want to risk infecting anyone…” Lexi instinctively took a step back, her nervousness turning to caution. “Skin condition?” “Yeah,” I sighed, looking helpless. “But if you guys don’t mind, I can stay…” Lexi cut me off immediately. Her face feigned concern, but her tone screamed get out. “Oh, no, you should definitely move out! Treat it first, then come back! Health is important! We’ll wait for you!” I sneered internally. The person with the real disease was wearing stolen underwear and dreaming of bagging a billionaire. As I grabbed my bag to leave, I pretended to gossip. “By the way, I heard a rumor that Liam is planning something huge tonight.” Lexi’s eyes lit up. “What is it? Tell me!” Jessica perked up too. I leaned in, acting mysterious. “I heard from the guys’ dorm that Liam bought 9,000 roses! He’s going to publicly confess to a girl!” “I’m guessing the goddess is right here in our room. I mean, to deserve that kind of effort, the girl must have something… special about her, right?” I pointedly glanced at Lexi’s swollen chest. Lexi’s face turned beet red. She covered her mouth, voice trembling with excitement. “Really?! 9,000 roses?! Oh my god! It has to be for me!” “Sarah, you’re my lucky charm! I need to get ready! I’m going to be the main character tonight!” She dove back into her closet, frantically searching for a better outfit. “Which one… this is too plain… this doesn’t show enough cleavage… Ah! This sheer top! With the bra Sarah gave me, Liam will…” Watching her manic excitement, Jessica looked at her with undisguised disgust, typing furiously on her phone. A second later, my phone buzzed. Jessica: Are you serious? Liam is confessing to HER? With roses? Is he blind? She leaks weird fluids and smells funky. I looked down and replied. Me: Who knows? A rich boy with weird fetishes and a girl with ‘peach milk’? Match made in heaven. Just watch the show. I was genuinely curious. Without me interfering this time, would her dream of marrying rich actually come true? 4 By evening, the campus square was packed. Liam, dressed in a tailored white suit, held a massive bouquet of red roses, walking toward Lexi, who was standing in a sea of petals. Lexi had taken my advice. She was wearing a black sheer lace camisole. Underneath, my cheap, structured bra was clearly visible. Her face had a sickly, feverish flush. She walked a bit strangely, occasionally using her arm to support her chest, as if she were in pain. The crowd was cheering. “9,000 roses! That’s so romantic!” “Lexi looks so hot today! Liam is so handsome!” Hearing the praise, Lexi looked smug. The pain seemed to fade. She lifted her chin, waiting for Liam to approach, ready for her Cinderella moment. But as Liam got closer, the look of obsession on his face froze. He smelled it. The scent coming off Lexi wasn’t the sweet peach aroma from before. It was a mix of metallic blood and rotting meat. It wasn’t surprising. Lexi’s condition was terminal. Combined with the summer heat, the early-stage sweet smell of bacteria had turned into the stench of necrosis. She was rotting from the inside out. Liam’s face twitched. He took a half-step back, covering his nose. His voice held a trace of disgust. “What is that smell?” Lexi’s smile stiffened. She instinctively covered her chest, where the pink stain was darkening and spreading. “I… Liam, listen to me…” Before she could finish, something on her chest snapped. RIIIP. The cheap, overloaded lace bra finally gave up the ghost. Freed from constraint, two swollen masses covered in dark red patches and visible veins flopped out for the world to see. The crowd’s envy turned to shock, then to a horror that defies description. Then, under everyone’s gaze, the translucent, tight pustules in the center of the dark red patches… exploded. A geyser of pink-white fluid, mixed with chunks of pus and blood, sprayed out with a nauseating stench. And standing right in the splash zone was Liam. He was coated, head to toe, in the hot, rotting discharge. A few drops even flew into his mouth, which was hanging open in shock. Liam froze, turning into a statue.

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The college reunion was exactly the high-wattage, performative social minefield I’d expected. I declined the glass of Pinot that Leo—the perennial Campus Heartthrob—held out to me. Lowering my gaze, I idly scrolled through my phone. On my feed, a discussion post immediately caught my attention: [I’ve been in a cold war with my ex for five years. She still won’t drink the wine I pour for her. Should I finally break and forgive her?] I froze, my eyes drifting across the room to the man across the table, who was typing furiously on his own phone. After a moment’s pause, I tapped out a comment beneath the post: [Is there a chance, perhaps, that she’s pregnant?] 1 The user, the original poster, shattered immediately. A cascade of frantic, typed-out retaliation followed. [What are you even saying? She’s so in love with me—there’s no way I would be pregnant, much less her! She’s definitely just mad at me still.] Before I could even reply, the comment thread had exploded with people piling on him. [Stop being so ridiculous. People are already showing by now, and you still haven’t moved on.] [The undisputed Self-Delusion Champion. We recommend seeking immediate medical help for that level of denial.] [Um, OP, is it possible that a ‘cold war’ of five years isn’t a cold war, but a breakup?] [LMAO, I am dead. The sheer audacity of this man’s main character syndrome.] […] The poster was active, replying to every single comment with a furious, eloquent defense of his position, determined to prove he was right. Directly across from me, Leo, hammering away on his screen, grew visibly paler. His brow furrowed into a deep, frustrated V. It was an unnerving, almost comical parallel. I’d always known Leo possessed a certain level of self-absorption, but this… this felt like a mirror I hadn’t wanted to look into. I was pregnant now. And no, the child was not his. 2 The small drama had barely caused a ripple in the reunion’s loud festivities. Harper, the one who’d always been the most gregarious, raised her voice over the noise. “Leo, you big shot! An award-winning actor! You’re the biggest success story here. You owe us all an autograph before you leave.” Leo gave a non-committal hum, still staring at his phone, a faint, stormy cloud around his head. Harper smoothly pivoted, looking at me. “But the biggest change has to be Eve here! That time abroad did you well, girl. You look incredible. Not just the figure, but you have this… this gentle aura. What’s the word… right! A certain maternal glow.” My hand instinctively moved to my lower abdomen, and I offered a soft, quiet laugh. Before I could comment, Harper winked conspiratorially. “I remember you two were quite the item back in the day. Still look like a power couple!” It was then that Leo finally looked up from his phone. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice flat. “Some people aren’t even willing to accept a drink from me anymore.” His tone was mild, yet the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, challenging arc. It was the first time he’d truly smiled all night. I ignored his veiled accusation. I met the eyes of the group and simply shook my head. “You’ve got it wrong,” I explained, the smile staying put. “I have a boyfriend now.” Truth be told, it was more accurate to say ‘husband-to-be’—we were legally married, but with the big wedding reception still to come, I chose the simpler, more diplomatic title. The next second, the sharp crack of glass hitting the floor sliced through the air. Leo’s tumbler shattered. Wine splattered his expensive shirt. His faint smile vanished. His eyes, now dark and opaque, fixed on me as he stood up. His hands, hanging at his sides, clenched so tight I could hear the faint, sickening click of his knuckles locking. “I need to step out and clean this up,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “before I further offend some people who feel the need to invent boyfriends to spite me.” He turned sideways and walked straight out of the door. He didn’t look at me again. The room settled into a low hum of hushed conversation. Then, my phone vibrated. It was Rhys. While Leo was frantically typing earlier, I had messaged Rhys to pick me up. He was waiting downstairs. Perfect timing. I grabbed my bag and stood up. “Excuse me, everyone,” I announced. “My boyfriend is here. I have to run.” Harper looked genuinely surprised. “Wait, I thought you were just messing with Leo! You’re serious? Who is this guy? Who managed to outshine King Leo?” Her eyes were wide with genuine gossip hunger. Thinking of Rhys, I couldn’t help but picture the way he’d kissed me last night—a tender, possessive kiss born of a simple, silly jealousy. My face warmed. “He’s… a very accomplished man,” I said, blushing slightly. “And he’s incredibly kind to me.” Before leaving, I reached into my bag and pulled out a stack of pristine, crimson wedding invitations. I distributed them to the circle of classmates. “Rhys and I are getting married next Friday at the Skylark Room. I’d love for all of you to join us.” A moment of stunned silence gave way to an explosion of excited congratulations. Harper was the loudest, immediately asking for the address. But then, her gaze—and mine—landed on the one empty seat at the table. The one seat that had no invitation waiting. It was Leo’s. “Him?” I shook my head without hesitation. “No. Not him.” I didn’t want a single memory, especially a bad one, of him mixed into the perfect celebration I was finally getting. 3 To be fair, not all memories of Leo were bad. The beginning of any relationship is always coated in a thick, unrealistic layer of sugar. In college, I was quiet and frankly, a bit dull. My only real escape was drawing clothes on scrap paper—one sketch after another. I wasn’t a design major, but I loved it. Unlike me, those clothes had color. They had a future. They possessed an unlimited potential that I lacked. It was my roommate—who was in the modeling club—who accidentally found my work. She immediately submitted the sketches for the club’s next show, which was lacking a theme. “Eve, you have such incredible talent,” she insisted. “How can you bury it like this?” I was overwhelmed. Talent was a word I had never associated with myself. The show was held under the stars at a mountain clearing, illuminated by a bonfire—the theme was ‘Cosmos.’ I was backstage, the designer, trying desperately to keep up with the demands of the models. My last piece—the one I was proudest of, the centerpiece of the whole show—was meant to be showcased by Leo. He was the club’s star, the one eighty percent of the audience came to see. My hands were shaking as I tried to adjust his necktie. “Nervous?” Leo caught my hand and straightened the knot himself, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I’m the one walking out there, and I’m not nervous. Why are you?” He paused, then leaned in, close enough that I could smell his cologne. He was impossibly charming, the kind of flirt who knew exactly how attractive he was. “Or is it…” he whispered, “because I’m just too handsome?” Confidence on most men tips quickly into arrogance, but Leo, well, he genuinely was that handsome. Staring up at his perfectly symmetrical face, I couldn’t form a coherent word. I was suddenly dizzy with nerves. It was time for his cue. He nodded, then turned to walk onto the stage. But he stopped just as he brushed past me. He turned his head and gave me a genuine smile. “Just kidding,” he murmured. “Don’t worry. This is the best design I’ve ever seen.” In that instant, my heart hammered against my ribs like a frantic bird. I watched him walk out. The firelight flickered across the fabric of the coat, making the sequins look like a thousand stars had coalesced around him. The crowd went silent. Leo was transcendent. The performance was a dream. And when the dream ended, I reverted back to my quiet, unremarkable self. But then, at the after-party, Leo came over and sat right next to me. I instinctively shifted away. He propped his elbow on the table, challenging me with a raised eyebrow. “What, nervous again?” He closed the distance. My heartbeat immediately stuttered. Perhaps it was the slight buzz from a few too many drinks. Or maybe it was a moment of reckless abandon. I lifted my chin and dared to say the most outrageous thing of my life. “What, do you like me?” The moment the words left my mouth, I felt a wave of shock, and Leo clearly felt it too. We stared at each other in a silence that stretched for several awkward minutes. The air between us grew thick, hot, almost tangible. The distance narrowed, unconsciously, then purposefully. Until a soft warmth landed on my lips. If that kind of heady anticipation could be spun into silk, we would have been wrapped in layers of cotton candy. I heard his soft whisper against my ear. “Eve, do you know how beautiful your eyes are? They’re brighter than the stars.” I had never known that. Just as I had never known two people could start a relationship so haphazardly. We became a couple, year after year. That year, we were secretly voted the “Impossible Couple” on campus—the most unexpected combination: the unremarkable me, and the dazzling Leo. But as time went on, and all the naysayers graduated, people got used to us. Until our final year, when a talent scout discovered Leo, and he stepped into the world of entertainment. 4 Entering the industry came with a hundred caveats. Fortunately, Leo had a brilliant and ruthless agent, a woman named Ms. Thorne, who controlled everything. But she had one iron rule: No public relationship exposure. The subtext was clear: he could not have a visible girlfriend. Leo argued with Ms. Thorne repeatedly. During the most tense period, she completely shut down all his ongoing projects. We were living together in a small apartment off-campus. Though Leo pretended to be carefree, saying he could use the time to practice lines, his frustration and palpable anxiety were a constant presence. I eventually gave in. “Don’t worry about me,” I told him. “Just do what you need to do. I’m busy working on my portfolio here anyway.” “We can still be together privately,” I added. “And when you get through the early stages…” I was cut off as Leo wrapped his arms around me from behind. He buried his head in the hollow of my shoulder, rubbing against me like a grateful, furry dog. “Eve, why are you so good to me?” His voice was muffled, thick with emotion. “So good that… I feel like I don’t deserve you.” “Once I’m a star, I’ll announce you to the world,” he promised. “Heaven itself won’t be able to stop us. We’ll get one of those big villas with the garden you love…” The dampness on my neck was cold, but my heart felt incandescently warm. Yet, it’s hard for a person to empathize with their past self. As time wore on, Leo acted in a few web dramas and started to gain a little fame. At parties, people who knew us would ask about our relationship. I could only offer an awkward silence and gulp down my coffee. God, that coffee was bitter. It was so bitter that I felt my eyes prickle with tears. The truth was, it was different. And I wasn’t as unbreakable as I thought. Rumors started circulating on campus that we had broken up. I stopped going to school as often, staying home instead. I buried myself in my design drafts, and waited for Leo. But the more famous he got, the less he was home. Soon, he appeared on the screen more often than he appeared in real life. His striking looks landed him mostly romantic leads. Hugs, passionate gazes, and kiss scenes became the norm. I watched him on screen, delivering deep, soulful promises to other women. I had to admit, he was a brilliant actor. So brilliant that one night, I couldn’t hold back. I cornered him when he was home and asked the question that had been eating at me. “Be honest. Do you ever catch feelings for the people you act with?” Leo paused, then quickly leaned in and kissed me fiercely. “What are you thinking? Of course not.” he said. And I believed him. But in the deep, quiet hours of the night, a creeping dread always returned. That feeling peaked the following year when the high school drama he starred in became a massive hit. Their ‘love theme’ song was playing everywhere. One night, he returned home from a celebratory dinner with the cast. He was so drunk he forgot to take off his clothes or wash up. I struggled to get him settled and finally managed to pull him onto the bed. It was then that Leo suddenly gripped my wrist and pressed a lingering, soft kiss to my hand. He used to do this often when he was being affectionate. But this time, he was laughing a silly, drunken laugh, tears shining in his eyes. “Seraphina,” he mumbled, his voice thick. “Let me kiss you, please don’t leave me.” I had watched all of Leo’s shows a hundred times. I knew the line—it was a key piece of dialogue from the hit drama. But the name wasn’t. Seraphina was the name of his co-star, the girl who played the lead role. I don’t remember how I managed to finally drag him into a sleeping position. I only remember that he called out Seraphina and Fish (the character’s nickname) repeatedly that night. Suddenly, a quote I’d seen online years ago flashed into my mind: “They wear other people’s costumes, but the tears they cry are their own.” And then, my tears—my own tears—started to fall. People always say you have to give yourself security. But facing yourself is the hardest part. 5 I stayed awake until dawn. When Leo finally woke up, I lost all composure. I stared at him, desperately, hysterically demanding to know what had happened the night before. I demanded an explanation of his relationship with Seraphina. This time, he didn’t try to soothe me. Leo sighed, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Have you finally finished with the drama?” His tone was quiet, but his face was etched with exhaustion and annoyance. “I’ve explained this a hundred times, Eve. I’m done explaining. If you’re going to constantly doubt me, what’s the point of us being together?” I gave a dry, choking laugh. “You’re right. There’s no point anymore.” That simple agreement seemed to finally anger him. His eyes turned to chipped ice as he stared at me. He stood up and slammed the door behind him on his way out. Moments later, I received his text: [When you figure out what you want, I’ll be back.] But someone else returned before Leo did. His agent, Ms. Thorne. Ms. Thorne was, indeed, a very responsible professional. She brought a bank card. She placed it on the table without preamble and laid out the facts. She knew I was working on my portfolio for a Master’s application. This money, she stated, was more than enough to cover my schooling abroad. The one condition was simple: I had to leave Leo. “Ms. Hu,” she said, her voice measured. “You’re a smart woman. You need to think about the long-term.” Her sharp, astute eyes swept over me. She saw through me completely. “The drama blew up. Shipping him with his co-star is inevitable. If you can’t handle this now, how will you handle the constant scrutiny later?” She leaned in, her voice softening, but her words gaining an insidious weight. “You know, Leo has already wasted several opportunities because of you. Do you truly want to keep doing this, for both his sake and yours? This is the best choice for both of you.” As she left, she paused and gave me a long, assessing look. She whispered one last piece of advice into my ear: “Go look in the mirror.” It sounded like a sneer. But when I walked to the mirror, I saw how truly awful I looked. My eyes were swollen and red, my hair a tangled mess. I felt cornered, pushed to the edge of a cliff, completely out of options. Big life choices are often made in a split second. I picked up the card, dragged my suitcase out the front door, and took one last, self-deceiving action. I called Leo one last time. He didn’t pick up. I switched to a text message: [We’re done. Take care of yourself.] After I sent it, I felt a flicker of cruel humor. He was a grown man. What was there to take care of? Our relationship ended in a simple text message. It had started with a meaningless flirtation, and it ended with a meaningless text. Perhaps this was the most appropriate end for us.

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I abruptly pulled my hit novel from publication right as it reached the climax. The internet exploded with outrage, but I ignored it all. Instead, I dragged two rising stars—one from the music industry and one from the art world—off to a mountain villa. We spent our days hiking, relaxing, and playing poker. But back home, the so-called “genius heiress” was panicking. Our simultaneous hiatuses and the lackluster work she was now putting out were drawing heavy criticism online. In our past life, the three of us were crucified for plagiarism. We were buried under a landslide of cyberbullying and massive lawsuits. My parents disowned me, my reputation was destroyed, and debt collectors eventually drove me to my death. Her suitors, eager to please her, poisoned the singer’s voice and severed the tendons in the artist’s hands. We tried to clear our names, but no matter how brilliant our work was, it could always be traced back to something the “genius heiress” had published just days before. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the night before her rise to fame. 1 Staring at my computer screen, I saw that my novel was nearing its end. In my past life, this story had racked up millions of views as soon as I published it. It was even adapted into a blockbuster movie, a household name. But this time, I wasn’t going to follow the original plot. I paused and sighed. Relying on my memories, I counted down the seconds and searched the web. Sure enough, at 6:03 PM, a novel appeared on an obscure website. My hands trembled as I clicked on it. Even knowing what I would find, my heart still skipped a beat. The content was eerily similar to mine, released exactly three days before I planned to publish my chapters. It was complete, save for the ending. My heart sank. If I followed the path of my previous life and published this book, I would be stepping into an abyss. “Is the ending done?” my editor messaged. “Check for typos and upload it ASAP. I can’t wait for it to go live!” Even through the text, I could feel her excitement. In my past life, we both had such high hopes for this book, eagerly awaiting its explosion in popularity. “Sorry, babe, I need to make major changes to this book,” I typed, a bitter smile on my lips. “But it’s already perfect…” she replied, confused. “Trust me, I can make it even better.” I smiled, a new plot already forming in my mind. I looked at the screen, right-clicked on the original file, and sent it to the recycling bin. I am Sarah Shen, the fake daughter of the Shen family, switched at birth. When the real daughter, Serena Shen, returned, I didn’t cling to my position. I was ready to return to my rightful place as agreed. But my parents, sentimental about our years together, kept me. The reason was simple: I had brought them honor over the years. More importantly, when their business failed, I used my writing savings and scholarships to help them pull through. I was known as the genius girl of the Shen family, the pride of our social circle. I never expected that the real daughter, brought back from the outside, would accuse me of plagiarism at the height of my glory. She projected comparison charts in front of everyone, tearfully accusing me of stealing her work. The characters, the main plot—everything coincidentally matched hers. Instantly, reporters swarmed me like sharks smelling blood. 2 Her novel had been published three days before mine. Although it wasn’t popular and the writing was immature, the plot and characters were nearly identical to mine. “I was abandoned and never received the education my sister did.” “But sister, this is my hard work, written stroke by stroke.” “You have fans, resources. You’ve occupied the nest for so long and gained so much glory.” “I’m nobody, but you can’t just suck my blood like this.” The abuse was overwhelming. “She’s so shameless! Stealing someone’s parents wasn’t enough; she has to steal their work too.” “Just because her sister has no connections or resources, she deserves to be bullied like this?” “Evil capitalism! Thank god Serena is the real daughter! She kicked an iron plate this time!” “I support Serena! Take down this plagiarist!” The internet was filled with crusades against me. I sighed. Because of this book, I fell into a trap of self-proof. But no matter how I tried to prove myself, she was always one step ahead. I tried to build story after story, but traces of them could always be found in her posts from three days prior. It was as if she could predict my every move. “Our Serena is a true talent. She can write, sing, and paint.” “It’s obvious who’s real and who’s fake.” Later, I discovered her online portfolio wasn’t limited to literature. It extended to music and art. Rising music star Ryan Luo’s new album “Stardust” and art prodigy Lily Jiang’s painting “Sunflowers” both bore striking resemblances to songs Serena casually recorded and doodles she posted on Instagram—always published exactly three days before their official releases. Those three days were enough to leave us defenseless. Overnight, Serena became a genius girl. Everyone believed our works were derivatives of hers. We were splashed with dirty water we could never wash off. My parents and brother kicked me out, leaving me to fend for myself. 3 Massive compensation demands and overwhelming slander drove me to the rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day before my deadline. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I deleted the original content and wrote a new draft. I constructed the story again, making it even more compelling. But when I reached the ending, I hesitated. Before I could even write it, Serena published another new book online. The serialized content, apart from slight differences in writing style and character names, followed my new plot almost exactly. And her update schedule mirrored mine perfectly—always three days ahead. A chill ran down my spine. I searched my room for bugs or cameras. I checked my computer and the room thoroughly but found nothing. Forcing myself to calm down, I stopped writing the ending and walked out of my room. When I have writer’s block or feel down, I like to grab a drink from the fridge to take the edge off. My mind was a mess; I needed alcohol to think. The weirdest part was that if I didn’t publish, I couldn’t find any trace of her work. Her work only appeared after I updated. But then I saw Serena in the living room. She closed her laptop and smiled at me sweetly. “Sister, still awake so late?” Before I could speak, I heard a faint electronic voice. “Host, still no search results for the ending of Sarah Shen’s novel updated in the next three days.” “System, can you only search three days ahead? Not longer?” “Yes, Host. Being able to predict three days into the future is enough for you to be a genius in this world.” “I will temporarily block her updates. Her content will only appear after you upload yours.” 4 My heart skipped a beat. I could hear her thoughts! So Serena had a cheat code! From their conversation, I learned everything. Since she was brought home, she had awakened this system. It was like a search engine for the future, capable of finding any content from the next three days. I finally understood why she could predict everything. Songs and paintings could only be copied roughly. After all, Serena didn’t have a heavenly voice or solid painting skills. But text could be copied word for word. That’s why in my past life, my work received the most hate. Looking at the work I’d agonized over these past few days, I could only contact my editor and pull it prematurely before trouble found me. “Sarah, what are you thinking?!” “There’s nothing wrong with this work… why pull it again?” “Last time too… what happened?” “…Is my pressure for drafts too much for you?” “You don’t have to be such a perfectionist.” I sighed and forwarded Serena’s website to her. Sure enough, she fell silent. “Your writing is better than hers. If we hadn’t built the plot together, I would have been confused.”

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My “perfect” husband started acting weird the moment my ex-boyfriend came back to town. Then, I found his diary: What do I do? That jerk is back! Will they get back together? After all, he’s the kid’s biological father! No, she’s responsible! She wouldn’t just abandon me! But they are the real family! Waaaaah, what do I do? I’m losing my wife and kid! I don’t want to live anymore! I exploded. “You can eat whatever you want, but don’t go putting imaginary green hats on your head!” My husband, eyes red and full of humiliation, whispered, “You and I both have double eyelids. Our son has monolids. Isn’t that from his biological father?” I went feral. “I GOT SURGERY, OKAY?! I’m confessing! Is getting double eyelid surgery a crime?! Did it eat your rice?!” “…” 1 My ex, Alex, is back. He’s been abroad for years, making a name for himself. Now he’s a big shot, and our mutual friends are throwing a welcome back party. I was invited. At first, I said no. My son, Leo, has a charity sale at his preschool this Friday, and I was busy making display boards. But my friends kept calling. “Come on, come on! You’ve been a stay-at-home mom for years. Come out and see the gang!” I sighed. “I’m really busy lately!” Being a working mom is exhausting. Even with a husband who helps, raising a kid is no joke. A friend teased, “Are you afraid of old flames reigniting? Is that why you don’t want to see Alex?” What kind of talk is that? That’s ancient history. My hands were full, so I had the phone on speaker. To avoid them saying more embarrassing things, I just agreed. “Fine, fine. See you tomorrow.” After hanging up, I heard a crisp crack. I turned around. My husband, Ethan, had crushed a glass in his hand, expressionless. “?!” 2 “Are you okay?” I rushed over to bandage his hand. “Bro, how can you be so careless?” Ethan’s face was dark. It took him a while to snap out of it. Ignoring his injury, he hugged me tight. I asked, puzzled, “Are you… in a bad mood lately?” We’ve been married four years. Ethan has always been mature, generous, and emotionally stable. But lately, he’s been weird. Recently, he refused to renew a contract just because the client praised Alex’s award-winning jewelry design. He even fired a designer who was a fan of Alex and praised him too loudly in the office. His secretary, Mary, told me all this. She hinted that President Ethan has been moody lately, throwing tantrums for no reason. “Ma’am, modern people have mood disorders… it’s normal. The President is busy, so… cough… bad moods happen.” She was basically telling me to take him to a shrink. “…” Is this my steady, domineering CEO husband? He seems like a different person. I’m usually pretty dense. But thinking back, there were signs. His weirdness started the day Alex announced his return! 3 I turned my head slowly. Was Ethan… jealous? This was getting interesting. After finishing Leo’s sign, I stretched. Ethan had cleaned up and was giving Leo a bath. My best friend, Sarah, called. “Rose, I heard you’re going to Alex’s party tomorrow?” Do these people have radar? News travels fast! “Yeah,” I said casually. Sarah drawled, “Alex just won an award abroad. Why come back now? Honestly, is it for you?” “…” What does it have to do with me? Yes, Alex and I were childhood sweethearts. We were even engaged once. When I was six, my first wish was to be his bride. But I moved on ages ago. Why hasn’t everyone else? Is it because… our breakup was so messy? 4 Four years ago, I was Alex’s fiancée. Our families have been close for generations. We were the classic childhood sweethearts. Adults joked about arranging our marriage when we were kids. Growing up, we were the golden couple. I dreamt of marrying him countless times. Unfortunately, dreams are beautiful; reality is… speechless. Alex was gentle, considerate, and romantic. Being his girlfriend was great. But he was an artist. Naturally flirtatious. He liked me, but he liked all beautiful things. Besides me, he had tons of “female friends.” Even after we got engaged, he didn’t stop. Bars, clubs, flirting—he had zero guilt. We fought thousands of times. He’d swear to change, then do it again. The last straw was catching him making out with a girl at a bar. Seeing the lipstick on his face, I didn’t feel anger. I felt exhaustion. I was done. Life is long. I have better things to do than play cat and mouse with Alex forever. “Let’s cancel the engagement. We’re done,” I said calmly. Alex pushed the girl away, panicked. “Babe, I was drunk! Don’t be mad!” I said, word for word, “Stop explaining. I don’t want to hear it. This is the first time I’ve said break up, and it’s the last. I mean what I say.” Alex freaked out. He hugged me, begging like a maniac. “Rose, I was wrong! Forgive me just this once! Twenty years of feelings!” No matter how I hit him or scolded him, he acted like a desperate dog, promising loyalty. But I couldn’t trust him anymore. To make him give up, I flash-married Ethan. Two dates, then marriage. At my wedding, a drunk Alex crashed the party, crying and causing a scene. It even trended online. [Rich Couple Splits: Man Regrets, Acts Like Dog.] 5 Maybe out of shame, Alex went abroad soon after. And I settled into a happy life with Ethan. These four years have been great. Soon after marriage, I got pregnant with Leo. We went from a couple to a family of three fast. Leo was a tough baby. Cried all night. Exhausted me, my mom, and the nanny. Only Ethan could soothe him to sleep. Seeing this tall, handsome man tenderly rocking the baby, humming lullabies… The contrast was insanely attractive. I wanted to jump him right there. Yes, our sex life has been great too. I love Ethan’s scent. No cologne, just a warm, sunny smell. It intoxicates me. Actually, I don’t know if he truly loves me. We married for convenience, after all. But I think he likes me. Lately, I’ve been busy with Leo and work, so we haven’t been intimate. Decided. After the party tomorrow, candlelit dinner and a bath with Ethan. Using his favorite “Cherry Blossom” bath bomb. 6 The next day, I picked my outfit. “Honey, wear that Italian suit,” I told Ethan. He was silent. I walked into the living room and saw his pale face. “I’m not going. I’ll watch the kid.” Usually, husbands worry when wives see exes. He’s so generous! I pouted. “Really not going?” I was looking forward to that bath. Ethan took a deep breath. “You… come back early. I have work.” I glanced at him sideways. I picked sexy purple lingerie. I leaned in close. “Should I wear the white dress or the red one?” White is slightly sheer. Red is sexy. Normally, he’d be all over me. But now, he just looked at me with loss in his eyes, then turned to play blocks with Leo. “…” Married a few years and he’s already bored of me?! 7 I drove to the club alone. I was distracted the whole way, thinking about Ethan’s expression. Why did he look at me like that? Like he was losing me? Arriving at the venue, I sighed. I couldn’t do it. I turned the car around, planning to go home and talk to Ethan. But Alex was already at the door. Is he a doorman now? He blocked my car, looking guilty. “Rose, I’ve been waiting. You’re here, why leave? Do you… still not want to see me?” “…” You think too much. I just said, “Something came up. Next time.” Ignoring his dejected look, I floored it home. But the house was dark. Kid gone. Husband… gone. Nanny said she took Leo to my mom’s. Where’s Ethan? Mary told me. “Ma’am, the President went on a last-minute trip to London. Didn’t you know?” I closed my eyes in anger. London, without a word. Does he only tell me if he goes to Mars? Do I even matter to him? Fuming, I went upstairs. Passing his study, I walked in. What is he thinking? Why is he acting so weird? Randomly searching the bookshelf, I found a thick diary. He keeps a diary? How old school. It has a lock! If it wasn’t locked, I might not care. But hiding it makes me curious. Password? His birthday? No. Leo’s? No. Mine? No. Hmph, men. Suddenly, I tried the date we first met. Click! Inside, dense handwriting. Bold and wild. Every word was about me. Rose was happy today. Did I do good? She likes mature men. Better than that childish ex! Keep it up! Leo is cute. If I care for him like this, he’ll love me, right? Nurture over nature? What do I do? That jerk is back! Will they get back together? No, no! Even if she doesn’t love me, she’s responsible! She won’t abandon me! But they have a child! They are the real family! Waaaaah, what do I do? Losing wife and kid! I want to die! I put down the diary, stunned. He thinks the kid isn’t his? He thinks I don’t love him? 8 Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. But living under the same roof, sharing a bed… how can there be such a huge misunderstanding? We are different species! Compared to Alex, Ethan is deep and introverted. But I never expected his imagination to be this wild! I thought he was just jealous of my ex. I didn’t think he suspected the son he raised from birth! Leo does look more like me. But sons look like moms, right? Leo has Ethan’s mannerisms. They both hate cilantro. Can’t he see that? A man’s heart is a needle in the ocean! Who knows what he’s thinking! Besides, am I, Rose Song, the type to trap a man? If the kid wasn’t his, I would have said so! The more I thought, the angrier I got. I wanted to fly to London and scream at him! But it was late. Work tomorrow… kid at mom’s. Fine. I’ll wait. He better come back!

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