Category: English

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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The moment I found out Elias had rushed out to bring his little assistant flu medicine, completely ignoring me—trapped in a broken elevator, my claustrophobia spiraling—I filed for divorce. Elias signed the papers without a second thought, a smug smile playing on his lips. I overheard him telling his friend, “It’s just a little tantrum. Her parents are gone, she has no one else. She’s not actually going to leave me.” “Besides,” he added, sipping his scotch. “There’s that thirty-day cooling-off period, right? When she regrets it, I’ll be magnanimous, forgive her little outburst, and she’ll come crawling back.” The very next day, he posted a photo of himself and the assistant, Piper, wearing matching sweaters. The caption: “Capturing all your sweet, shy moments.” I started counting the days. Calmly, methodically, I packed my things. Then, I dialed a number. “Uncle Robert, can you book me a flight to New York?” 1 “That’s wonderful, Audrey! After all these years, I’m so happy you’re finally willing to come home.” My uncle’s voice on the other end of the line was bright, soaring with genuine joy. The moment I hung up, the bedroom door opened. Elias walked in, trailing a sweet, unfamiliar cloud of cheap, cloying perfume. It was overpowering. “Who was that on the phone?” he asked, though he didn’t care. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, not sparing me a glance. Before I could answer, his phone rang. Piper’s excessively saccharine voice chirped from the speaker: “Mr. Thorne, thank you so much for bringing me those meds the other day! If it wasn’t for you, my cold would have gotten so much worse. I don’t know what I’d do without you!” Elias shot me a look, self-consciously lowering the volume. I clamped my mouth shut, feeling a profound sense of futility. We were getting divorced anyway, weren’t we? I went back to silently sorting through my belongings and warming a glass of milk. Elias finished his little moment of tender banter and settled onto the sofa to skim the Wall Street Journal. Out of habit, he reached for the ceramic mug where I usually placed his herbal tea, only to find the spot empty. Finally, he looked at me, his face tight with impatience. “So I didn’t come rescue you when the elevator stalled,” he began, his voice flat. “Piper’s cousin, who’s in med school, said your claustrophobia is just anxiety. It’s not a big deal, Audrey. Stop being so dramatic.” “Besides,” he added, tossing the paper aside. “You filed for divorce, and I agreed. Do you really need to keep that storm cloud hanging over the house twenty-four seven?” That night, I had worked late. When the elevator jolted to a stop and the lights flickered out, my phone was almost dead. The familiar, sickening surge of panic hit me. My hands trembling, I managed to call Elias. His response: “Can’t you figure it out yourself? I’m busy.” Then my phone died, and I blacked out. It was only later I learned he had given his assistant, Piper, a few days off—because he’d been busy delivering flu medicine to her apartment that night. I filed for divorce. “Don’t worry,” I said now, without looking up. “Once the divorce is finalized, you won’t have to look at my face at all.” I didn’t pause my packing. I thought he’d be relieved, but instead, Elias’s voice ratcheted up in volume. “You’d better not regret this, Audrey!” Seeing that I was only focused on my task, he slammed the door and was gone. I couldn’t summon the energy to dissect his emotions. I finished what I was doing, drank my milk, and took a long, hot shower before heading to bed. A text message from Elias buzzed on my nightstand: “Drunk. Come pick me up. Bring a sports drink.” I didn’t want to go. A second text followed immediately: “We haven’t gotten the certificate yet. You still have to fulfill your duties as a wife.” Exhausted, I gathered my things and drove out. When I reached the club entrance, the sound of Elias and Piper giggling was painfully clear, leaking through the heavy mahogany doors. I thought back to the night I first filed for divorce. He was drunk, and his friend had asked, “Elias, are you really going to let Audrey leave?” He had scoffed. “It’s just a fit of pique. Her parents are gone. She has no one. She’ll never actually divorce me.” “There’s a thirty-day cooling-off period. If Audrey backs out, I’ll be gracious and she’ll come straight home.” He thought my being an orphan was a reason for my dependency, never a reason for him to treat me with care and loyalty. I pushed the door open. Elias looked up, genuinely startled, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing here? Are you tracking me?” he demanded. I held up my phone. “You texted me to come.” Piper pouted, tugging on his arm. “Mr. Thorne, I just made a little joke about having Audrey come bring the drink. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” Elias’s tightly drawn eyebrows immediately softened. Strangely, I felt no surge of anger, no familiar urge to be hysterical over Piper’s taunt or Elias’s immediate deference to her. I merely nodded, indicating I understood. Elias, surprisingly, felt the need to explain. “Audrey, Piper was just here for a business dinner, it’s nothing—” I cut him off, reaching out and handing him the sports drink. He had been drinking and couldn’t drive. He settled Piper into a cab, then joined me. Our ride was waiting across the street. As I started to walk, Elias suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me back hard. I only then noticed the car that had whizzed past, barely missing me. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have been hit. “Watch where you’re going,” he scolded, his voice sharp with alarm. He didn’t let go, his hand gripping mine tightly. For a moment, I flashed back to every crosswalk we’d ever shared, his hand always finding mine. It felt like a lifetime ago—so long ago that the touch felt strange and foreign. Once we crossed, I subtly pulled my hand free. The next morning, I was getting ready for work. Elias offered to drive me. “I’ll take you.” His business the night before had kept me up late. Taking the subway would make me late now, so I didn’t argue. But as I opened the passenger door, I was assaulted by that same cloying, sweet perfume. The seat cushion was bright pink, with a plush Hello Kitty pillow wedged against the window. A small, glittery decal stuck to the dash read: “Piper’s Spot, Hands Off.” Elias, a man renowned for his rigid, uncompromising cleanliness and meticulous order, a man who received industry awards for his disciplined severity, was allowing this childish clutter in his car. It was utterly ridiculous. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face. He quickly explained: “Piper is just a kid, Audrey. Don’t read too much into it.” A “kid” he takes couple’s photos with? I didn’t voice the thought. The day after we filed for divorce, he’d posted those pictures with the caption: “Capturing all your sweet, shy moments.” Whether it was to punish me for leaving or something else entirely, his heart had moved on long ago. I was just catching up. I walked around the car. “I’ll sit in the back.” “You haven’t had breakfast.” Sensing the uncomfortable silence, Elias passed me a small bottle of chilled milk. I looked up. There was a clear plastic snack bin wedged into the center console, filled with an array of cookies, dried fruit, and gelatin cups. I remembered his severe germophobia, his steadfast rule: absolutely no eating in his car. Years ago, I’d had a sudden bout of low blood sugar in his car. My lips were white, my vision swimming. I had barely been able to whisper for a sip of my half-finished coffee, and he hadn’t allowed it. Now, Piper had easy access to an entire snack bar and his indulgence. Love and indifference are never subtle. I shook my head, declining the milk, and turned to watch the streaming traffic outside the window. We arrived quickly. I rushed to my desk. Logically, with the divorce pending, I should have submitted my resignation. But I was tied to two major projects, and my professional sense of responsibility dictated I finish them first. I worked furiously through the morning and into the afternoon. Lack of sleep made me feel foggy and slow. I reached for my mug to make coffee. Just then, a delivery guy brought in a massive haul of iced lattes and mini red velvet cakes. My coworkers immediately cheered. “Our boss is treating us to afternoon tea! He’s so generous!” “Are you kidding? It’s because Piper’s trying to diet and the boss felt sorry for her, so he bought her a treat and just included us as a bonus!” “Wait, isn’t Mr. Thorne married to Audrey?” “Keep it down, Audrey is right there!” “Audrey, we’re just kidding. Don’t take it personally.” I looked at the selection—every single coffee order was a specific iced latte, and every cake was Red Velvet. It was clearly for her. He worried about Piper’s diet, so he bought the whole company a treat. A testament to their love. I, however, was allergic to the kind of syrup in those lattes and hated red velvet. I remembered when Elias was courting me. It had been just as grand. He’d worried about me skipping meals, so he would invent reasons to keep me late and share dinner with him. Once, when I was sick but insisted on working, he’d secretly hidden my medicine in a small chocolate tart, tricking me into taking it just so he could watch my face scrunch up in surprise. Our relationship had made the dull office vibrant. Now, all that energy and sentiment had been transferred. I didn’t have time to dwell. The project was complex. I’d pulled several all-nighters for this. Tonight, it looked like I’d be staying late again. The outside world faded to black. I didn’t even notice Elias standing beside my desk until he spoke. “Audrey, still working?” I wasn’t sure what he wanted. “Mr. Thorne, do you need something?” He seemed thrown by my formal tone but ignored it, getting straight to the point. “I think we should hand this project over to Piper.” I had prepared myself for anything, but the request still felt like a physical blow. “Piper has been subjected to too much gossip lately. If this project is credited to her, it will silence the critics who question her ability.” He knew how hard I had fought for this account—the late nights, the marathon pitch meetings, the sheer exhaustion. And now he was casually suggesting I hand it over to shield her reputation. Every syllable was about protecting Piper from “gossip,” with zero regard for how profoundly unfair this was to me. I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. The irony was suffocating. “Fine,” I said. “Give it to her. Tell her to come see me tomorrow to transition the files.” I was done. I’d done my duty to the company. After tomorrow, I could resign, and she could deal with the messy follow-up. Elias was clearly surprised by my immediate acceptance. He pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket. “You always wanted a necklace from this designer, didn’t you? I haven’t been my best self lately. Girls like pretty things. I’ll make it up to you, slowly.” It was a brand I loved. I’d mentioned wanting one of their pieces months ago. But he hadn’t given it to me when I wanted it most, and now the gesture felt hollow. I disliked the pattern of being slapped, then offered a sweet reward. Once I agreed to the project handover, Elias’s voice became noticeably warmer. He draped his tailored suit jacket over my shoulders. “Stop being so difficult. What happened the other day was my fault. Let’s go cancel the divorce application this week. And you wanted to go to Napa Valley, right? I’ll take you.” I stayed silent. Elias took my quiet as assent and continued to ramble on about their plans. On the ride home, I checked my social feed. Piper had posted an hour ago. The exact same jewelry brand. The exact same box. But her necklace was the expensive, limited-edition piece. Mine was the complimentary gift included with the purchase. How pathetic. He knew exactly what I liked, yet couldn’t even be bothered to pick out a unique one for me. Tomorrow was the last day of the cooling-off period. After tomorrow, Elias and I would be finally, irrevocably finished. I stood on the balcony, watering the small herb garden I’d started. The wedding band on my middle finger suddenly slipped and clattered over the railing. Instinctively, I leaned over the edge to see where it had fallen. “What are you doing!” Elias’s voice was a roar. He yanked my arm, pulling me back violently. “Are you insane?! Do you know how dangerous that is?” His eyes were wide with genuine terror and concern. He still cared about me, after all. “My ring fell,” I murmured. It was a piece he’d custom-designed and helped make with his own hands years ago. I loved the sentiment, which was why I still wore it, why I’d been so reckless trying to find it. Elias let out a ragged breath. “It’s just a ring, Audrey. I’ll buy you a new one. Don’t risk your life over it.” “Just a ring.” I glanced at his middle finger. It was bare. He’d taken his off long ago. “Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary,” he said softly. “I’ll pick you up. Let’s spend it together.” How long had it been since we’d properly celebrated an anniversary? I considered it for a moment. I decided to view it as a final, quiet period to our marriage. The next day, our anniversary, I sat at the upscale downtown restaurant we’d reserved. I waited and waited. I was starving, but he never showed. I picked up my phone to text him. If he truly wasn’t going to come, he should have just said so instead of letting me waste my time. I tried calling several times—no answer. I unlocked my phone again and saw a flurry of activity in the company chat. An anonymous account had posted a long message. “Piper is a whore who seduced a married CEO! She uses her looks and body to climb the corporate ladder. Disgusting!” The post was quickly followed by evidence that I had handed the project over to Piper. While the message condemned Piper, every single line subtly pointed fingers at me. Minutes later, the restaurant door burst open. Elias stormed in, kicking the doorstop aside. “I thought you were mature enough to hand over the project gracefully,” he raged, his face blotched with fury. “I never imagined you were this venomous! You agreed to the handover just so you could stab Piper in the back and smear her reputation!” “Audrey, how can you be so disgusting?” Piper was hiding behind him, weeping inconsolably, as if she were the victim of a brutal assault. “It’s okay, Mr. Thorne,” she wailed, her voice thick with fake emotion. “I don’t need the project! I don’t care what people say about me, but Audrey! I thought we were friends! Why would you do this?” “It wasn’t me,” I stated calmly, the noise washing over me. “I agreed to give her the project. I have no need for these kinds of petty games.” “Who else would have a reason to target Piper?” “You are a phony, manipulative woman, Audrey!” “And after all the trouble Piper went to, finding this place and booking this table for us! You don’t deserve her kindness!” He was absolutely incandescent with rage on Piper’s behalf, and he picked up a nearby plate and threw it at the floor. Ceramic shards sprayed across the room. Twelve years of shared life, and he still didn’t trust my character. I took the signed divorce agreement from my purse. “In that case,” I said, sliding the papers across the table. “The thirty-day cooling-off period is up. You might as well sign this, too.” I placed my letter of resignation underneath the papers. He let out a cold laugh, snatched the pen, and signed with three furious, slashing strokes. “As you wish!” Then, he wrapped his arm around the sobbing Piper and hurried out. I remained seated, watching his back disappear. I suppose we wouldn’t be having that final anniversary dinner after all. I looked down at the cold pasta dish, picked up my fork, and ate it, bite by bite. When I was finished, I retrieved the small suitcase I’d hidden in the corner, hailed a ride-share, and headed to the airport. On the way, I sent one last text to Elias: “The keys are on the living room table. We are done. Don’t ever contact me again.” I switched off my phone and boarded the plane to New York.

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At our high school reunion, the guy I’d secretly loved for five years said he had a surprise for me. I went, heart fluttering, thinking he might feel the same way. Instead, I found our classmate, Regina, nestled in his arms. In front of everyone, she read aloud the love letter I had written to him. Luke played with a lock of her hair and smirked. “Babe, look at how pathetic she is.” 1 I sat awkwardly in the corner of the private room. “Dear Luke, I like you.” Regina was still reading the love letter I gave Luke. Her voice wasn’t loud, but everyone was weirdly quiet, holding their breath, waiting for the punchline. As soon as she finished the last word, the room exploded with laughter. The class brainiac acted like he just heard the funniest joke ever. “Finally know what ‘a toad wanting to eat swan meat’ means. Sarah is really teaching us by example.” The jock chimed in. “It’s not your fault you’re ugly, but seriously, do you have zero self-awareness?” “Damn, Sarah, if only I had skin as thick as yours.” … They discussed me brazenly, venting their primal malice. The admiration written with youthful tremors had become evidence of my cluelessness, nailing me to the pillar of shame. “Seriously, the audacity. Who do you think my Regina is?” Lily, Regina’s sidekick, grabbed a glass of juice and splashed it on me. I didn’t dodge in time and got soaked. Juice ran down from my head, ruining my makeup and staining my dress sticky. The look I spent hours preparing this morning now seemed like a joke. My fingers gripped the white dress until my knuckles turned white. Actually, I didn’t care about their mockery. I looked up at Luke. Regina was gently rubbing his lips, acting jealous. “Luke, Sarah likes you.” I caught his eye. “Just to make you laugh.” “Babe, look at how pathetic she is.” I once thought Luke was the only salvation of my youth. I was always introverted and plain, quickly becoming a target for bullies. When Lily cornered me again, kicking and cursing, he stepped in and shielded me. In the days that followed, under his protection and company, I gradually opened up, and feelings grew secretly. Even though he was an unreachable star, I wanted to get closer. I forgot the ending of a moth flying into a flame is burning to ashes. 2 I dragged my sorry self home. In the bathroom, looking at my ridiculous reflection in the mirror. Hair clumped with juice, ruined makeup covering my face, features indistinguishable. I opened my phone and saw Luke’s new post. “Honored to have you for the rest of my life.” I stared at that post blankly. Regina in the picture wore a butterfly necklace, smiling brightly. The background was the amusement park I’d longed to visit. Lily commented: “Bro Luke, you really surprised my Regina. I can rest assured handing her to you~” Luke replied instantly: “Of course, Regina cares most about rituals, surprises are essential.” So this was the surprise Luke talked about. The details in the pictures were mostly memories Luke left me. “Sarah, after finals, let’s go to the amusement park to relax, okay?” “This necklace is so pretty, it suits you.” I really fell for it, crying like a mess. I finally knew what it felt like for the person you like to be with someone else. The pain was ten thousand times stronger than the liking. But what right did I have to be heartbroken? I didn’t even have a status to be jealous. They were right, I really didn’t know my place. When my tears dried, I composed myself, went downstairs to a hair salon, and walked in. Since we couldn’t walk side by side, let’s part ways cleanly. “Oh my, Sarah, how did you get so messy? This hair is done for, I’ll give you a nice cut.” “Whatever you think is best.” With my consent, the barber chatted while snipping away. My hurt feelings were soothed. “Short hair looks sharp on girls, look how fresh this is.” “This cut is on the house, you’ve worked hard. We neighbors all see your diligence. Now that finals are over, you can relax.” “Young lady, you must have done well on the exam.” Facing kindness, I smiled. “It was okay, felt just like normal practice.” Actually, I was in great form for the exam, easily getting into a top university. But before I could share this joy with Luke, he revealed his true colors. We had agreed to go to the same university regardless of scores. Now it seems unnecessary. 3 The next day, I found a job as a hotel receptionist. Luke didn’t come to trouble me for a few days, and I worked diligently. Thought it was over. Unexpectedly, I bumped into the group shopping on my way to work. Wanting to avoid trouble, I lowered my head and quickened my pace, trying to get into the hotel before they saw me. But Lily grabbed my clothes right at the door. “Yo, isn’t this Sarah? You got pretty. I was wondering why you stopped clinging to Luke, turns out…” Lily pulled me, glanced at the hotel, and raised her voice gloatingly. “You come to this kind of place every day.” Passersby stopped and cast meaningful looks at me. But I was just here to work, yet I had to suffer groundless accusations. I was ashamed and humiliated, face burning. Looking up, I met Luke’s face, dark as a pot bottom. “Sarah, there are many ways to make money, no need to ruin your future like this. You’re young, what if you catch some disease?” Excuse me? Just one scene, and they assume I’m doing dirty work out of context. Ridiculous. Regina was watching the show with arms crossed, but hearing Luke, she threw a tantrum. “What, you feel bad for her?” He quickly hugged her to comfort her. “How could I? My princess, just advising her to have some self-respect for the sake of being classmates.” “After all, I don’t want to be laughed at for having a classmate who’s a hooker.” They spread rumors self-righteously while being affectionate. I suddenly didn’t want to clarify. “Didn’t brush your teeth? Mouth so foul. Who I’m with is none of your business.” “Worry about yourself first. Some people might not even get into college.” Luke knew what I meant. Lips pressed tight, a straight line showing his dissatisfaction. After all, his grades hovering around the cutoff line really couldn’t guarantee a spot. I turned and left. 4 “Sarah, sorry.” “It’s my fault, I didn’t know you worked here. I said those harsh words this morning because I was afraid you’d get hurt.” When I got off work, Luke blocked the hotel entrance. “So?” I was expressionless. Some hurts can’t be healed with a sorry. “Day after tomorrow is your birthday, I want to throw you an unforgettable party.” I was stunned. In the past years, I remembered his birthday, saved money to buy him cake and gifts. Today he offered proactively. The defense line I built with difficulty collapsed instantly. So cheap. Lowering my bottom line again and again, moved again and again. I’m so cheap. Seeing Luke’s sincere and eager eyes, I couldn’t help but remember the moments he protected me. I rubbed my eyes, holding back the sourness. “Luke, I never owed you anything. You pranked me repeatedly, I won’t say anything, let’s just pretend we never knew each other.” “Besides, you have a girlfriend, throwing me a birthday party is inappropriate.” Luke’s handsome brows furrowed, his fair slender hand approached my cheek, wanting to catch the tear about to spill. I sniffled, Luke knew I was going to cry. But he said, “Sarah, my girlfriend feels very guilty about what happened and wants a chance to make it up to you.” “Please, Sarah, just help me this once, okay?” So it was for his beloved. What was I expecting? I stared at him blankly for a long time. He was standing there, but I couldn’t see him clearly. I thought he wanted to celebrate my birthday because he cared. Even just as a friend. Forget it. Let the wrong story end. “I’ll help you one last time, don’t bother me again.”

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I was born an actress. I crave wealth and luxury, not sincerity. I went from orphan to the daughter of the richest family in town, but before I could even warm the seat, the Sterling family went bankrupt. Just as I was packing my bags to run, I overheard the family doctor whispering to my “dad”: “Aren’t you afraid of breaking the child’s heart?” Without hesitation, I spun around, rushed into the room, and hugged my “mom.” “Mom, a daughter doesn’t leave because her family is poor. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you both in your old age.” Poor for a moment versus poor for a lifetime—I, Chloe Sterling, can do the math. I caught a glimpse of the luxury watch on my dad’s wrist, hidden under his cheap shirt—worth enough to buy half a street. I smiled silently. 1 I dragged my legs, heavy as lead, back to the dilapidated rental apartment. Clutched in my hand was the hundred bucks I’d earned sweating it out as an extra on set. I went straight to the pharmacy to buy Dad’s imported medication, then detoured to that overpriced French bakery to buy Mom her favorite raspberry tart. It was tiny, but it cost me hours of work. I pushed the door open. Dad was slumped on the sofa, looking ashen, the collar of his cheap cotton T-shirt stretched loose. Mom sat beside him, her eyes vacant. I handed over the medicine and the exquisite little box, forcing my gentlest smile. “Dad, your meds. Mom, your favorite.” “Chloe, you…” Mom looked at my sweaty, disheveled state, then at the glaring scratch on my arm. Her eyes instantly reddened. “I’m fine, Mom,” I waved it off, pitching my voice to sound exhausted and hoarse. “I rushed back because I was worried about you guys.” I moved quickly to pour water and get Dad his pills. As I moved, I “accidentally” brushed my wound against the table corner and hissed in pain. “Oh my god! You child! Why didn’t you say you were hurt like that?!” Mom stood up in a panic. Dad struggled to sit up. “Quick, let me see!” I dodged them. “It’s really nothing, just a scratch. As long as you guys are okay, I’m relieved.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught it—the flash of an expensive watch under Dad’s cheap sleeve. I lowered my eyes to hide the smirk that almost escaped. Bankruptcy? What a setup. 2 I, Chloe Sterling, am a born actress. I want the high life, not true love. After getting lost at age five, the first old lady who picked me up fed me scraps and tried to make me a child bride for her idiot grandson. At her worst, she grabbed a stick, threatening to break my arm so I could beg on the streets. I used my acting skills to make her lower her guard, then called the police. I pointed her out as a trafficker and watched her get handcuffed without feeling a thing. Later, I ended up in an orphanage. Director Chen looked like a saint but was a sadist behind closed doors. When the whip came down, I didn’t cry or scream. Instead, I became her most “loyal” little shadow. I knew in a place like that, you had to cling to the one with power just to breathe. When the bigwigs came to inspect, the troublemakers who usually got beaten the worst were locked in the dark storage room. I stuck to the Director like glue, serving tea, smiling sweetly and timidly. While pouring water, I “accidentally” pulled up my faded sleeve, revealing a web of old scars. The leaders spotted it and asked what happened. I quickly pulled my sleeve down, shaking my head like a rattle drum, my voice trembling perfectly. “N-nothing, I fell. Director Mom… Director Mom is so good to us!” The leaders exchanged glances, their eyes full of pity for the “terrified child.” I timed my nervous glances perfectly, guiding their eyes to the locked storage room… The day Director Chen was taken away by the police, the whole orphanage celebrated like it was Christmas. Tiger, the biggest bully, apologized to me with a red face, saying he had misjudged me. I rubbed the arm he used to shove, smiling brightly. “What apology? I’m not a good person.” They laughed, surrounding me. “Chloe is joking again!” See? My acting was so good that no one believed the truth. I became their beacon of hope. Later, because that “whistleblowing” incident made the news, a talent scout spotted my terrified, makeup-free face, and I stepped into show business. The money wasn’t great, but I didn’t have to worry about my next meal. Until the billionaire Sterling family found me and took me home. The touching family reunion had barely lasted a few days when Dad cried and announced bankruptcy, then promptly “fainted.” Heh, I guess the acting talent runs in the family. 3 In the luxurious walk-in closet, I stuffed the last diamond necklace into my bag with practiced efficiency. I never enjoyed the wealth, so why should I suffer the poverty with them? Not happening. I tiptoed past the study. Through the crack in the door, Dad’s voice sounded weak but with an odd undertone. The family doctor was there too. The doctor sighed. “Aren’t you afraid of breaking the child’s heart?” The rest was muffled, but that sentence was crystal clear. I froze. Dad’s overly dramatic chest-clutching before he “fainted” flashed in my mind. In a split second, it clicked—a test! They were testing me! Human nature can’t stand up to testing, but my acting can. Sterling Method Acting, showtime! I kicked the full bag into a corner and sprinted for the master bedroom. Mom was staring out the window, her back looking desolate. “Mom!” I threw myself at her, my voice hoarse with suppressed tears, hugging her tight. “I’m not leaving! I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard it gets, I’ll stay with you. A daughter doesn’t leave her family because they’re poor. I’ll take care of you and Dad!” The tears came on cue, hot and heavy, soaking her silk robe. I looked up, my eyes full of desperate determination. Mom stiffened, then trembled violently. She hugged me back, sobbing, a flash of guilt in her eyes. “Chloe… my Chloe…” I felt her warmth, buried my face in her shoulder, and allowed the corner of my mouth to twitch up just a fraction where no one could see. Poor for a moment versus poor for a lifetime—I, Chloe Sterling, know how to count. 4 Back in the rental, Mom was still sniffing, touched by the fact that I bought her dessert despite being broke. I walked casually to the floor-to-ceiling window and peeked through the heavy curtains. Downstairs, a group of men in black T-shirts had gathered. They looked like thugs, except for the one in front. Lean but muscular, wearing a dark casual suit that screamed quality. His eyes were calm as a deep pool, no menace, just silent control. That air of certainty made the tension even worse. A test within a test? Impressive. Even hired debt collectors? “Mom,” I whispered, “Someone’s outside… doesn’t look good. You and Dad stay quiet.” Mom paled and nodded frantically. The knocking soon turned into violent banging! Bang! Bang! Bang! The cheap door groaned under the assault. “Who is it?!” Mom couldn’t help but scream. Too late! The moment the door cracked open, I “happened” to be behind it, “panicking” and trying to hold it shut with my body! A massive force slammed into the door! Thud! A dull sound. The door slammed into me. A sharp, exploding pain radiated from my nose! Warm liquid gushed out. The taste of rust filled my mouth. The door burst open. The tall, cold man stepped in first. He didn’t even look at me clutching my bleeding nose. His gaze cut toward Mom like a knife. “Mom, are you okay?” “Julian!” Mom rushed over to shield me. My nose hurt so bad I was seeing stars. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. Worth it. The bitter meat trick. 5 Warm blood dripped through my fingers, staining the white floor a shocking red. It really hurt. Stars were dancing in my vision. I ignored myself and immediately struggled to shield my trembling Mom behind me. My voice was nasal and blocked, full of anxiety. “Mom! Mom, are you okay? Are you scared?” Blood smeared all over Mom’s clothes, but she didn’t care. Mom looked at my state, gasping in pain, then turned and exploded at Julian. “Julian! Are you crazy?! Smashing the door down without looking? Look what you did to Chloe!” Julian stood backlit in the entryway, tall and imposing. His face was colder than his custom black shirt. He twitched his lips, eyes sharp. “Who knew someone was hiding behind the door? Didn’t make a sound, whose fault is that?” Liar. I bet he checked someone was behind the door before ordering the hit. I endured the pain, looking at furious Mom and frowning Dad with teary eyes. “Dad, Mom, don’t blame him… he was just worried about you…” Not time to call him “Brother” yet. Julian scoffed. He walked over slowly, looking down at me like inspecting a suspicious object. “A kid lost for over ten years, found just a few days ago.” He emphasized “few days.” “Deep feelings for parents you never knew? Knowing the family is in debt and you don’t run?” He paused, tone dripping with sarcasm. “These days, soft-hearted and filial girls like ‘Sister’ here are rare.” Sounded like praise, but every word was a thorn. I sniffled, more blood gushing out. My voice was thick with tears. “How can you say that? I always envied kids with parents. Even though it’s been short, Mom and Dad treat me so well… I have some savings from acting. Not much, but if we’re frugal, it can support Mom and Dad for a while…” I looked at Mom, eyes full of adoration and fragility. Mom broke down. She couldn’t act anymore. She hugged my bloody face into her chest and yelled at Julian. “Enough, Julian! Baby, don’t worry. The family is fine. The money issue is solved!” Avoiding the main point. Solved? Not “we didn’t go bankrupt”? Still testing me? I buried my face in Mom’s perfumed chest, almost laughing out loud. Good. Very good. Look at us. A whole family of gifted actors. A perfect match. Back at the villa, Mom was emotional, asking carefully, “Chloe, tell Mom, did you suffer a lot these years you were lost?” “Mom sees you hurt, your nose hit by Julian, and you don’t complain. You seem used to it… Mom’s heart hurts…” I stayed in her arms, not detailing the misery, just nuzzling her like a spoiled child. “Mom, it’s all in the past. My only regret is not finishing college. I always feel like something is missing…” As soon as I said it, I felt a heavy gaze on me. I looked up, straight into Julian’s bottomless eyes. He stared at me like a hunter watching a fox in a trap. Unblinking. 6 The swelling in my nose went down, leaving a faint bruise. The way Dad and Mom treated me changed visibly. The awkwardness of time apart was washed away by “shared hardship” and “guilt.” Limited edition bags, couture clothes, jewelry—they flowed into my room like water. I thought my turn for wealth and glory had finally come. Until tea time that afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the exquisite bone china. Mom put down her cup elegantly. “Chloe, your brother has been thinking about what you said regarding college. He… found you a top-tier tutor to help you catch up. Think of it as… learning a bit more.” My heart skipped a beat. Him? Being “kind”? While I was suspicious, the butler led someone in. Heels clicking on the floor, crisp and rhythmic. A woman in a sharp beige suit, gold-rimmed glasses, calm and sharp eyes. Elegant but distant. “Mrs. Sterling, Miss Sterling.” She nodded slightly, voice clear. My smile widened instantly. I jumped up in surprise, rushing to take her hand. “Mia? Mia Qin! Is it really you? Oh my god, it’s been so long since the orphanage!” Mia smiled too, a perfect, extremely “friendly” smile. “Yes, Chloe. Long time no see.” But the moment I touched her, her fingers brushed mine away. Lightly, but firmly. A flash of coldness. When the butler and Mom looked away, she leaned in close to my ear. In a whisper only we could hear, she spat out coldly: “Chloe Sterling, you’re still the same as when you were a kid!”

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