Category: English

I found a Chanel bag left in the breakroom. Being nice, I snapped a quick photo and sent it to the company group chat on Snapchat: “Whose bag is this? I left it at the front desk.” The owner replied in literally two seconds: “Did you go through my bag?! Are you freaking starving for cash? You got caught trying to steal from me, and now you’re acting like a Good Samaritan?” “We need to fire this thief immediately. Our company shouldn’t be keeping parasites!” Forty people in the Snapchat group. Not a single person said a word. I looked at my desk and smiled. My family literally owns this entire conglomerate. I only took this job for the work experience. Since someone is begging for a reality check, I guess I’ll play along. My keyboard clacked rapidly as rows of numbers filled the spreadsheet. A salary of $2,500 a month, barely $2,000 after taxes. That wouldn’t even cover half a tank of gas for my Maybach. My phone on the desk was vibrating like crazy. Brooke Davis was typing like her hands were on fire, spamming the Snapchat group with text after text, every single one loaded with exclamation marks. I could feel the sheer malice radiating through the screen. “Chloe Miller, did you lose your tongue? Too scared to admit you’re a thief?” “Everyone, watch your wallets. This girl has a history of sticky fingers!” “If you’re this broke, don’t come to an office. Go back to your trailer park!” “My bag costs $5,000. That’s more than you make in two months. Jealous much?” I glanced at the screen, my fingers never leaving the keyboard. Jealous of a $5,000 bag? If I picked any random clutch from my walk-in closet at home, it would be enough to buy every single bag in this office. But I didn’t say anything. Not because I was holding back, but because I just couldn’t be bothered. I kept working on my spreadsheet, my fingers moving even faster. Numbers don’t talk back, and they don’t lie. They are a million times more pleasant than Brooke. Finally, someone else in the group chat chimed in. Carter from Marketing added: “No wonder I lost a hundred-dollar bill last week. Don’t tell me it was…” He left the sentence hanging, but the implication was loud and clear. It was a perfect piece of low-key slander, throwing dirt at me while leaving himself an escape route. Vanessa from Finance jumped in even faster, her typing speed matching her accounting skills: “I mean, she only carries those cheap canvas tote bags. Of course she’d lose her mind when she saw a Chanel. I wouldn’t even dare to touch one at the mall, but some people just help themselves.” The new intern, Hailey, probably trying to suck up to the older employees, added: “People from that kind of background just have no morals.” I counted. Six people had spoken up. Three of them had personally received help from my dad’s company. Vanessa’s kid was extremely sick last year, and the Miller Corporate Foundation approved a $10,000 emergency medical grant. She had literally cried and begged at the foundation’s office door, her sobbing echoing through the entire floor. Carter’s younger brother was currently working at Miller Logistics. My dad had personally bypassed the HR screening to slide him in. And Hailey? Her dad was the security chief at one of the Miller-owned shopping centers. Last year, I was the one who signed off on his double-month holiday bonus. Six people. Six ungrateful parasites. I let go of my mouse, leaned back in my chair, and stared at the ceiling for three seconds. There were over forty people in that chat. Not a single one stood up for me. Not even a simple “Maybe we should check the security cameras first.” Well, this is human nature. I’ve seen it all. My dad has been in the business world for thirty years. I grew up listening to his dinner-table stories about how quickly people turn on you. My ears practically had calluses from those tales. But seeing it play out in real life was still pretty entertaining. It was like watching a documentary on wild animals.

At two in the afternoon, I walked into the breakroom with my coffee cup. As soon as I pushed the door open, I saw Brooke standing there. She had her two loyal minions with her, arms crossed, completely blocking the exit. “Chloe Miller!” she yelled, her voice piercing enough to wake the dead. “This isn’t over! I’ve already called the cops! You’re going to jail! A $5,000 bag is grand larceny, honey. Enjoy prison!” I opened my thermos, took a slow sip of my coffee, and looked at her calmly. Her makeup was flawless—Chanel lipstick, Dior foundation, all luxury brands. A standard administrative supervisor making maybe $5,000 a month, yet she was wearing over $10,000 worth of luxury goods. I had never paid attention to those details before. Now, I did. “You called the cops?” I set my thermos down. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone outside the door to hear. “Perfect. Let’s have them pull the security footage and see who’s actually lying.” She clearly hadn’t expected that reaction. Usually, when innocent people are accused, they cry, scream, or beg. She had probably prepared a whole script to counter my tears. But I wasn’t playing by her rules. She froze for a split second, then her voice went an octave higher, so loud I felt the coffee cups on the counter vibrate. “Are you still trying to play dumb?! I’ve seen plenty of trailer trash like you! You see luxury and you can’t help yourself! You thief! Have you no shame?!” I laughed. Not a cold sneer, but a genuine laugh. “Brooke,” I tilted my head, looking at her with genuine curiosity. “You do realize this is Miller Enterprises, right?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Like I give a crap! It’s not like you own it! If you were actually the Miller heiress, then I’d be the CEO’s wife!” “Right. You’re absolutely right,” I said, picking up my coffee and turning around. “Like you give a crap.” Behind me, she exploded into a storm of curses. Some of the slang was so creative I hadn’t even heard it before. She definitely had a colorful life background. I didn’t bother listening. As I stepped out of the breakroom, several colleagues were standing in the hallway, pretending to make phone calls or grab water, but their ears were practically twitching. The moment they saw me, they quickly averted their eyes. I walked past them, catching a whiff of cheap perfume. Back at my desk, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my dad on Snapchat: “I heard you’re having some trouble at the office?” The message was sent five minutes ago. The building management must have tipped him off. This entire skyscraper was crawled with my dad’s eyes and ears—the janitors, the security guards, the receptionist, they all worked for him. I typed back: “Just a minor issue. I’m handling it.” “Don’t let them push you around. Our family doesn’t need to put up with that garbage.” “I know.” After sending that, I added another text: “Dad, have you looked into Brooke Davis?”

The screen went quiet for about thirty seconds. Then Dad replied: “Just did. Quite interesting. Let’s talk at home tonight.” I stared at the words “Quite interesting” for five seconds. Whenever my dad said something was “interesting,” it meant things were about to get messy. At five-thirty, I packed up my things to head home. I shut down my computer, washed my mug, and locked my drawers. I had been doing this routine for three months, and it was pure muscle memory now. A few colleagues were standing by the elevators. When they saw me approaching, they quickly took a step back, as if I carried some kind of plague. I pressed the button for B2. One of them, a girl named Sarah, smirked. “B2 is reserved for executive parking. Did you press the wrong button?” I didn’t answer. Right before the elevator doors slid shut, I heard Sarah whisper to the person next to her, “Is she trying to sneak down there to steal something from the nice cars? Only the executives park on B2.” Then came a chorus of hushed snickers. The doors closed. I leaned against the elevator wall, watching the numbers tick down. B2. The doors slid open. The underground parking garage was dimly lit, smelling of concrete and exhaust fumes. My black Maybach sat quietly in its reserved spot, the license plate bearing my birthday. My chauffeur, George, was already standing by the door in his sharp suit and white gloves. He smiled when he saw me. “Rough day, Miss Miller?” “Got called a thief all afternoon. What do you think?” I climbed into the back, the premium leather seats instantly making me feel at ease. “Who had the nerve? Should I inform your father?” “No need. Just take me home.” George closed the door, walked around to the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The Maybach glided silently out of the parking space and up the ramp. As we cleared the garage, the evening sun flooded the car, forcing me to squint. I dialed my dad’s number. “Dad, is everything set for tomorrow?” My dad’s deep, calm voice came through the speaker with a hint of amusement. “Everything is set. HR, legal, and security are fully coordinated. Tomorrow morning at eight-thirty sharp, the hammer drops.” “And,” I paused, “what did you find out about Brooke?” The line went quiet for a beat. “Apex Corp,” my dad’s voice turned cold, losing its warmth. “Three months before Brooke joined our company, someone from Apex took her out to a very expensive dinner. Shortly after, a hundred thousand dollars was wired to her account.” My fingers tightened, my nails digging into my palm. “A hundred thousand?” “Yes. Wired in two transactions, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ She’s an admin supervisor. What could she possibly consult on? It was a blatant bribe.” I leaned my head back, staring out the sunroof. Outside, the downtown skyline was gray and overcast. “So today wasn’t just a random tantrum?”

“It was completely premeditated,” Dad’s voice was as cold as marble. “When you picked up that bag, she was watching from around the corner. She left it there on purpose. She stood in the hallway for three minutes waiting for you to go in before she walked away.” Outside, the traffic was heavy. I stared at the red brake lights of the car ahead of us. “How far are they planning to take this?” “Apex promised Brooke half a million dollars, split into four payments. She got the first hundred grand. The rest is contingent on her completely ruining your reputation. Ideally, she wants to force you to quit after making a massive scene, and then take the whole thing viral online.” “Viral?” “Yes. They want to paint a story about the ‘spoiled Miller heiress abusing common workers’ to get it trending. They’ve already lined up several trashy gossip accounts, just waiting for you to snap. The moment you argue back or hit her, they will edit the video to make you look like the villain. I bet they already have the headline written: “Billionaire Heiress Crushes Working-Class Employee Because of Her Family’s Wealth”.” I closed my eyes. What a brilliant plan. If I didn’t fight back, Brooke would brand me a thief. If I did fight back, Apex would drag my family’s name through the mud online. They thought they had me in a corner. “Half a million dollars,” I repeated. “Just to ruin me?” “Just to ruin you,” Dad said. “Because you are my daughter.” I rolled the window down an inch. The cool autumn wind rushed in, blowing my hair across my face. “Dad, why is Apex trying so hard to destroy us?” “They want to force us to sell.” My dad’s voice was flat, as if he were reading a financial report. “Miller Enterprises owns three prime development projects right in the heart of downtown. Apex wanted to build a luxury complex there, but they couldn’t get the land. They tried to buy us out, and I rejected them. Then they sent brokers to negotiate a hostile takeover, and I laughed them out of my office.” “So they want to tank our stock price by ruining our family reputation, forcing us to sell cheap?” “Smart girl.” Dad sounded proud. “The business world is much dirtier than you think, Chloe. They don’t actually need to hurt you physically. They just need to make the public hate us. If our reputation goes down, banks will tighten our credit, partners will back out, and our stock will plunge. That’s when they’ll swoop in and buy us out for pennies.” I rolled the window back up, shutting out the city noise. “So, tomorrow…” “We go ahead as planned,” Dad said, a smirk in his voice. “If Apex wants to play dirty, we’ll show them how it’s done. Our family has plenty of money and time. They can’t afford a war of attrition. We can.” “And Chloe,” Dad added, “when you get to the office tomorrow, don’t explain anything. Let them scream. Let them make the biggest scene possible.” I smiled. “I get it, Dad. Get some rest.” “You too. Lily missed you today. She said her mommy hasn’t colored with her in days.” My chest tightened.

Lily, my three-year-old daughter. Every morning when I left, she was still asleep, and by the time I got home, she was already in bed. For three straight days, the only interaction I had with her was a quick kiss on her forehead before I walked out the door. “I’ll be home early tomorrow, I promise,” I said, my voice a little thick. “Don’t push yourself too hard. She needs her mom.” “I know.” After hanging up, I leaned back and closed my eyes. By the time I reached home, Lily was already asleep. The nanny told me she had waited up for two hours, holding her coloring book on the couch until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She insisted on waiting for mommy to color the cat with her. I walked softly into her room, watching her sleep with her tiny fist still clutching a crayon. A bit of drool was on her cheek. Her coloring book was lying by her pillow. On the open page, there was a horribly lopsided drawing of a cat, with two words scribbled next to it: “Mommy Cat”. I sat by her bed for five minutes. Then, my phone buzzed again. Brooke was still posting in the Snapchat group, like she was on some kind of upper. “Chloe Miller, you better not show your face tomorrow! If you do, I’ll personally throw you out! This company doesn’t tolerate thieves!” I didn’t reply. I locked my phone, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes. Tomorrow was going to be fun. The next morning at eight-thirty, I was sitting in the Starbucks right below our office building, sipping a latte while watching the security feed on my phone. The Starbucks was owned by a subsidiary of our company. The manager knew me, so he always gave me an extra shot of espresso for free. On the screen, Audrey, our HR Director, was walking through the front lobby with two corporate lawyers, right on time. Upstairs, Marcus, our department manager, was probably sipping his morning tea, thinking about what to get for lunch, when his office door was thrown open. “Come in,” Marcus’s voice carried through the microphone, sounding full of himself. Audrey walked in and dropped a folder onto his desk. “Marcus, this is to inform you that effective immediately, Brooke Davis is terminated. This is a direct order from corporate, signed by Mr. Miller himself.” On screen, Marcus jumped up so fast he knocked his tea over, soaking a stack of files. “What?! Terminated?!” Marcus’s chair banged against the cabinet behind him. “What did she even do?” Audrey pointed at the paperwork, her face completely expressionless. “She committed a severe breach of company policy during her contract—specifically, malicious harassment and defamation of a colleague, causing severe reputational damage to the company. It’s in black and white, right there in the employee handbook she signed.” She pulled a second document from her briefcase. “Additionally, the Legal Department has officially filed a lawsuit against Brooke Davis on behalf of Chloe Miller. This is a copy of the legal notice. Hand it to her when she arrives.” Marcus’s face turned white as a sheet, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Chloe Miller? She’s just a entry-level clerk. How does she have the corporate Legal Department fighting her battles?!” Audrey leaned in, lowering her voice. “Marcus, let me give you a heads-up. Chloe Miller is the only daughter of Arthur Miller. Our CEO. He personally called me about this. You might want to tread very carefully.”

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My mother was a liar. When I was eight years old, she told me she was going to the big city to work. She said she was going to save up for my college tuition and would come back once I graduated. “Chloe, sweetheart, you have to be a good girl for Grandma.” I clutched the hem of her jacket, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, please don’t go.” She wiped my tears away. “Don’t be silly. Mom will buy you sweet taffy and pretty floral dresses. Just be good, and I’ll be back before you know it.” Grandma stood at the doorway, wiping her eyes with her apron. But after my mother left, she never came back. There was no sweet taffy, and there were no pretty floral dresses. The only proof that she was still alive was the meager allowance wired to Grandma’s savings account every month. Grandma always said, “Your mother is having a hard time. She’s suffering out there in the city to support us. Don’t resent her.” I didn’t resent her. I just missed her so much. Ten years flew by. I was eighteen, a senior in high school. Grandma was getting old. Her back was bent like the old weeping willow at the edge of our driveway, and her steps were shaky. She would often sit on the porch, staring down the road that led out of our small town, her cloudy eyes filled with endless yearning. “Your mom… she should be coming home soon, right?” She would mutter to herself, sometimes asking me, sometimes asking the wind. I would lay down my study guides, walk over, and gently massage her shoulders. “Yeah. She’ll be back soon.” I whispered the reply, but my heart felt like it was pressed under a cold, waterlogged stone. Ten years. She hadn’t returned even once. Her phone calls had grown fewer and farther between. It went from once a month, to once every three months, and finally, to just a brief call on my birthday every year. “Happy birthday, Chloe. Study hard.” The background noise was always deafening—sometimes sounding like a noisy construction site, other times like a roaring factory assembly line. Her voice was always exhausted, raspy, and heavy with fatigue. She would hang up after just a few hurried sentences. I once asked her, “Mom, when are you coming home?” She would always give a vague answer. “Soon. Just after this busy season… Do you have enough money? Tell me if you need more…” Then came the notification sound of the bank transfer. She seemed to believe that money could make up for everything. Grandma’s health got worse and worse. She coughed violently and could never sleep peacefully at night. I begged her to go to the hospital, but she always shook her head. “It’s just an old ache. Why waste money on that? Your mother works so hard for every dollar…” Every penny she saved went into buying my SAT prep books, fresh groceries, and a warm winter coat. Yet, she herself still wore the old clothes my mother had left behind ten years ago, patching them up over and over again. Under the dim light, I watched Grandma hunching over, using her rough, calloused hands to stitch a tear in my school hoodie. Her fingers looked as dry and cracked as tree bark. My heart ached terribly. I had torn that hoodie earlier that day while helping our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, unload heavy grocery crates. Mrs. Gable had slipped me two warm, homemade blueberry muffins and whispered, “Chloe, don’t push yourself too hard. Your grandma… is relying on you.” I knew. I knew better than anyone. I had been holding this house together for a long time. The money my mother sent was never enough. I spent my weekends working at the local diner, and my summers picking berries on the farm. My hands were covered in layers of calluses. But I never told my mother any of this. She already sounded so tired over the phone. Three months before my final exams, Grandma collapsed. She was coughing up blood. The local clinic doctor looked grim and told me to get her to the county hospital immediately. I was terrified and completely lost. For the first time in my life, I initiated a call to my mother. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. The background was loud, filled with the roar of heavy machinery. “Hello? Chloe?” My mother’s voice was breathless, as if she was running. “Mom… Grandma is coughing up blood…” I sobbed into the receiver. There was a sudden silence on the other end, followed by even heavier breathing. “Coughing up blood? Is it bad? Have you seen a doctor?” “The clinic doctor said we need to go to the county hospital… Mom, I’m so scared…” I couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into tears. My mother’s voice instantly shot up, filled with a panic and sharpness I had never heard before. “Don’t be scared! Chloe, listen to me! Get Grandma to the county hospital right now! I… I’ll wire you the money immediately! Find the best doctor! Use the best medicine! If it’s not enough, just tell me! We have to save her!” She spoke so fast she was almost incoherent. Before I could say anything else, she hung up. A few minutes later, my phone pinged. A massive wire transfer had arrived—far exceeding any amount she had sent in the past ten years.

I froze. A tiny, dark doubt began to creep into my mind. What kind of job could allow her to pull out so much cash in an instant? But Grandma’s condition didn’t give me time to think. I asked Mrs. Gable to watch the house, hired a local driver, and rushed Grandma to the county hospital that very night. Tests, admission, medical bills. The money my mother sent flowed out like water. The doctor said it was severe physical exhaustion, a critical lung infection, and other complications. She needed long-term care and rest. I stayed by Grandma’s bedside, looking at her thin, pale face. Holding her hand, I whispered over and over, “Grandma, you’re going to get better. Mom sent the money. We’re using the best medicine…” Grandma opened her hazy eyes weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t… don’t tell your mother… don’t make her worry… She has it so hard…” My tears fell onto the back of her hand. Even at a time like this, the only person she cared about was the daughter who hadn’t returned in ten years. Grandma’s condition fluctuated, and she ended up staying in the hospital for over a month. My mother wired money several more times, each amount larger than the last. Whenever I called to update her on Grandma’s health, she would answer in a rush. The background was always a chaotic mess of noise. She would ask a few quick questions, tell me to “use the best medicine” and “don’t save on expenses,” and then hang up. She didn’t even ask how my studies were going. It was as if she believed money could solve everything. A week before my final exams, Grandma’s condition finally stabilized, and she was cleared to recover at home. I brought her back, settled her in, and then locked myself in my room, studying like crazy. I had to get into college. I had to get out of this town. I had to… find my mother myself and get some answers. The day of my final exams, the weather was beautiful. Walking out of the exam room, I felt like I had just survived a brutal battle. When I got home, Grandma was in high spirits and had made me a bowl of pasta. “My Chloe is definitely going to pass,” she smiled, her wrinkles blooming like warm autumn flowers. As I ate the pasta, my heart felt both sweet and incredibly heavy. When it came time to submit my college choices, I didn’t hesitate. Every single college I applied to was in the city my mother’s money orders came from—New York. Based on the blurry address on the wire receipts, that massive, unfamiliar metropolis was my only lead. When the acceptance letters came, I got a full scholarship offer from a top university in New York. Grandma laughed and cried at the same time, clutching my hands. “Good, good… You’ll finally get to see your mother… Tell her not to work so hard. Tell her we are doing just fine at home…” I hugged the acceptance letter, a storm of emotions raging inside me. The night before I left for New York, I was packing my bags. Grandma fumbled around and pulled out a thick cloth pouch. She unwrapped it layer by layer to reveal a stack of crumpled bills—mostly fives, ones, and a handful of quarters. “Take this. The city is expensive… Don’t starve yourself…” She shoved the money into my hand. It was warm with the heat of her palm. I knew this was money she had saved dollar by dollar, quarter by quarter. It felt a thousand times heavier than the massive transfers my mother had sent. My nose stung. I tried to push it back. “Grandma, I have money. Mom sent plenty…” “That’s your mother’s hard-earned money. It’s different… This is from me…” she insisted, her thin, frail hand surprisingly strong. In the end, I took the pouch, but I secretly slid it back under her pillow before I left. The next day, I boarded the Greyhound bus to New York. I watched the farmlands, small towns, and mountains fade away outside the window. I was moving further from the only home I knew, and closer to the mother who lived in a web of lies. I was excited, but I was also terrified. Excited to see her. Terrified that she wouldn’t be the mother I had imagined. New York was massive and overwhelming. The towering skyscrapers and endless traffic made my head spin. Following the blurry address on the wire receipts, I eventually found an old, gritty industrial area. The address pointed to a run-down walk-up apartment building. The stairwell was dark, cluttered with trash, and smelled heavily of mold. I knocked on the rusted iron door. My heart was pounding against my ribs. The door creaked open.

A woman with messy hair, wearing a cheap bathrobe and holding a half-burnt cigarette, poked her head out. She looked at me with annoyance. “Who are you looking for?” I stared at her, frozen. It wasn’t my mother. My heart sank. “Is Sarah living here?” I asked, using my mother’s name. The woman sized me up, her eyes filled with suspicion and judgment. “Sarah? She moved out ages ago! Left without paying months of rent! What are you to her?” She ran away? Left unpaid rent? My brain went completely numb. “Do… do you know where she went?” “How should I know?” The woman blew a cloud of smoke and scoffed. “She didn’t look like she had any money anyway. Working multiple jobs just to act rich. I heard she was trying to put a daughter through college or something.” I couldn’t hear a single word after that. “Multiple jobs,” “acting rich,” “putting a daughter through college”… Those words pierced my ears like sharp needles. What kind of life was my mother actually living? Wasn’t she constantly sending us huge sums of money? How could she have fled from unpaid rent? Where on earth was she? Standing on that unfamiliar street, watching the crowd rush past, I felt utterly lost and helpless for the first time in my life. My mother was gone. In a city of millions, I had lost my only lead. I had no choice but to report to my university first. I started my college life just like any other freshman. Except, there was a heavy boulder weighing down on my chest every single day. I used all my spare time to work. Tutoring, handing out flyers, waiting tables at restaurants. I wanted to earn my own living. I couldn’t take my mother’s money anymore. Not that she had sent any more transfers anyway. I even began to question how she had made those massive sums of money in the first place. But I was too afraid to dig deeper into that thought. Occasionally, I would call Grandma. She would always ask, “Did you see your mother? How is she? Did she gain some weight, or is she skinnier?” Holding the phone, my throat would tighten, and I could only lie. “Yes… I saw her. She’s great… Just very busy with work… She’ll come back with me during the holidays…” The moment I hung up, my tears would fall uncontrollably. “Mom, where are you?” Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. I gradually adjusted to city life and made some new friends. But I never stopped looking for her. I visited job centers, asked employment agencies, and even kept an eye on missing person flyers on the streets. Nothing. She had vanished like a drop of water in the ocean. One weekend during the spring semester, I was working at a high-end restaurant in Manhattan. It was an expensive place, filled with wealthy, well-dressed people. I was carrying a heavy tray, carefully navigating through the tables. And then, I saw her. She was sitting by the window. She wore an elegant emerald green velvet dress, her hair pinned up beautifully, her makeup flawless. She was laughing softly, talking to a distinguished-looking middle-aged man in a tailored suit. The profile of her face was so gentle, so painfully familiar. It felt like a lightning strike. The tray in my hands nearly crashed to the floor. “Mom?” “Is that my mother?” The mother in my memory wore washed-out clothes, had dry, rough skin, and carried an air of permanent exhaustion. The mother who hadn’t come home in ten years because she was supposedly “suffering to make ends meet”? How could this be… She looked so elegant, so poised, as if she had belonged to this wealthy world her entire life. The man sitting with her looked rich and influential. The intimacy between them didn’t look like a casual friendship. A horrible, poisonous thought crawled into my mind. She had lied to Grandma.

She had lied to me. She had lied to everyone. She wasn’t working hard or suffering at all. She was… with a rich man? Living a life of luxury? Is that why she hadn’t come home for ten years? Is that why she neglected us, throwing money at us just to keep us quiet? Those massive wire transfers… were they all from this man? No wonder… No wonder she could suddenly send so much cash… A wave of intense anger and the agonizing sting of betrayal washed over me. Blood rushed to my head, and my vision went dark. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. I couldn’t go over there. I couldn’t tear open this ugly truth in a place like this. Stiffening my back, I turned around and practically fled to the kitchen. “What’s wrong? You look pale,” the manager asked with concern. I shook my head, my voice trembling. “I’m… I’m fine. Just felt a bit dizzy.” I asked to leave early. Stepping out of the restaurant, the afternoon sun was blindingly bright, but I felt freezing cold. I walked down the street like a ghost, my mind in complete chaos. The image of her in that emerald green velvet dress and the memory of her walking away in her ragged clothes ten years ago clashed violently in my head, suffocating me. “Mom.” “My dear mother.” “So this is the ‘faraway place’ you worked so hard in. This is your ‘suffering.’” “Then what about Grandma and me?” “What were we to you?” “Just some shameful baggage you left in the countryside?” “Did you send money just to ease your guilty conscience?” Tears blurred my vision. I squatted on the busy sidewalk, buried my face in my knees, and sobbed silently. I didn’t confront her right away. Instead, like a pathetic detective, I started tracking her. I found out the places she frequented: that restaurant, an upscale art gallery, a high-end yoga studio. And… that man’s house, a beautiful, multi-million-dollar brownstone in the heart of the city. She was living a wonderful life. A thousand times, ten thousand times better than mine. She would hold his arm, walking in and out of luxury establishments with a graceful smile on her face. She looked so happy. It was blindingly painful to watch. Every time I followed her, it felt like a slow execution of my heart. My longing for her slowly distorted into hatred and resentment. “Why?” “Why did you abandon us?” “Why did you lie to us?” If you were living such a great life, why didn’t you visit Grandma even once? Grandma missed you so much! If you had so much money, why did you always act so exhausted over the phone? Was it guilt? Or shame? Or did you think we weren’t worthy of being part of your glamorous new life? Countless questions swirled in my head, tightening like a noose until I could barely breathe. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. One evening, I watched her get out of the man’s car and walk alone into a nearby park. Taking a deep breath, I followed her. The park was quiet, the setting sun casting long shadows on the grass. She sat down on a bench, watching some children playing in the distance. In the twilight, her face looked soft, but also… incredibly lonely. I stepped closer, my heart beating so hard it felt like it would burst out of my chest. I stopped right in front of her. Sensing someone’s presence, she looked up. The moment her eyes met mine, her expression froze. Surprise, panic, disbelief, and a trace of… sheer terror? She stood up abruptly, her lips trembling. “Ch… Chloe? Why are you here?”

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My boyfriend, Austin Carter, had a female childhood friend he grew up with. On his birthday, I rushed back from a business trip just to celebrate with him. She looked me up and down, letting out a sharp scoff. “I’ve seen plenty of girls like her. Straight out of some cheap socialite boot camp!” “They target rich guys like you, Austin. She’s probably memorized all your likes and dislikes. This whole relationship? A tailor-made trap!” Hearing this, I smirked. She was only half right. I was indeed a high-society heiress. But Austin? He wasn’t worth the effort of a “tailor-made” trap. I walked over, sat directly opposite her, and sneered, “And which Madame trained you, then? You seem to know an awful lot about that industry.” Hearing this, she grabbed Austin’s arm, whining, “Austin, I told you we shouldn’t have invited her! But you insisted I help you check her out!” Austin glared at me, his eyes cold and stern. “Chloe, that’s out of line!” I couldn’t believe my ears. It wasn’t out of line when she insulted me, but the moment I fought back, I was the bad guy? “Austin, did you leave your brain at home today?” “You asked her to ‘check me out’? What, is there something about me you don’t know that you need her as your consultant?” Austin stood up, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Chloe, stop pretending. Tell me, where did all your designer clothes come from? And that luxury car you drive—the one you swap out every few weeks? Where did you get the money for that?” “You told me your family was in business, ranked in the top three of the city’s wealthiest. But guess what? There’s no one named ‘Sterling’ on that billionaire list!” “Chloe, you’ve disappointed me so much.” With every word he spoke, my fists clenched tighter. But when he mentioned that there was no “Sterling” on the billionaire list, I almost burst out laughing. I took my mother’s last name. Is that a crime? Ashley Vance, his little green-tea bestie, sighed dramatically. “Austin, forget it. It’s good you saw her true colors early. Some gold diggers just don’t know their place.” I raised an eyebrow. “Gold digger?” Austin cleared his throat. “Alright, Chloe. Now that we’ve exposed you, stop acting. Today is my birthday. Don’t make a scene.” “Make a scene? Austin, I cut my business trip short and flew back just to celebrate with you, and you bring this toxic snake to slander me?” “I must have been blind to ever date you. You really think you’re something, don’t you?” Before he could reply, I grabbed my wine glass and splashed the red wine right in his face! “You want a scene? I’ll give you one. And remember—I’m dumping you!” Ashley screamed in horror. “How dare you splash him!” “Oh right, I almost forgot about you!” Before she could react, I swung my arm and delivered a harsh, echoing slap right across her face! Then, I grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open, and poured a dirty glass of ashtray water right down her throat! “Clean your mouth out. It reeks, and I wouldn’t want it ruining your precious Austin’s night.” Ignoring her gagging and hysterical screams behind me, I slammed the door and walked out. In my world, Chloe Sterling never wastes time arguing. If I can swing a punch, I do. Otherwise, a loser like Austin would have never gotten a chance with me in the first place. On my drive back, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Austin: “Chloe, you’ve gone too far! Ashley is calling the cops. Just you wait!” I let out a cold laugh. Did he really think I was afraid of the police? What a coincidence. I was going to report them too. Slander has consequences. I spun the steering wheel and drove straight to the police station. As soon as I walked in, I saw Ashley. Her face was swollen, tears welling in her eyes as she hid behind Austin. Seeing me, she whimpered, “Chloe, physical violence is wrong. I only pointed out the truth. You are psycho!” The officer nearby turned to me. “Ms. Sterling, this lady is filing a report against you for assault.” “I did it. I hit her,” I admitted outright. “But…” I paused, pulling out my phone. “…it was with provocation. She defamed me and tried to seduce my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend now. That’s why I reacted.” I pressed play, and Ashley’s voice from the VIP room echoed through the station. “She claims I went to a ‘socialite boot camp.’ Unless she can present solid proof, I will be suing her for defamation. Sure, I slapped her. At most, I’ll pay a minor fine for a misdemeanor. But as for her swollen face? Who knows how many times she slapped herself to make it look worse for the cops.” “Why don’t we check the venue’s security cameras?” Ashley’s face paled instantly. “No! That’s… that’s not necessary. We’re all friends here.” She tugged at Austin’s sleeve. “Austin, it’s your birthday. It’s all my fault we ended up at the police station.” Austin’s expression softened immediately. “It’s not your fault, Ashley.” He then looked at me coldly. “Chloe, Ashley is being generous enough not to press charges. Let’s just drop this.”

“Drop this?” I sneered at her. “She might want to drop it, but I don’t! Slander and defamation—I’m taking this to court.” “Then what the hell do you want?” Austin snapped. “A 3,000-word written public apology from her!” Ashley’s eyes flared with anger, but with Austin watching, she had to play the victim. She bit her lower lip, trembling. “Austin… I really didn’t know speaking the truth would get me treated like this.” I scoffed. “You better make sure it’s the truth before you open your mouth. You dragged me down in front of him just to get his attention, didn’t you? What, every woman in the world is a gold digger except you?” Her body went rigid. She quickly deflected, “Austin, your girlfriend is just jealous!” Austin grabbed my wrist. “Enough, Chloe! She was just joking. We’re all friends!” He turned to the officer. “Officer, I’m sorry. My girlfriend is just having a tantrum.” Before I could speak, Austin clamped his hand over my mouth. “That’s enough, Chloe. Stop embarrassing me. Fine, I’ll make her apologize to you!” Ashley immediately bowed to me. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sterling. I just have a big mouth. Please don’t be mad. It’s really bad of us to waste public resources over such a small thing.” I couldn’t take her fake, nauseating act anymore. I swung my studded handbag and whacked Austin right in the face. The sharp metal studs left a bright red scratch across his cheek. He went ballistic. “Chloe! Know your limits!” “Shut your mouth, you bastard!” I turned to the officer. “Officer, Ashley Vance intentionally fabricated and spread rumors to damage my reputation and character. Under state law, that constitutes criminal defamation. Am I correct?” Seeing that I knew my rights, the officer nodded. “Yes. Young lady, the demand for a written apology is very reasonable. Miss, you should write it. Defamation can lead to serious legal consequences.” Ashley looked like she wanted to murder me, but she had no choice. I pointed at Austin. “This is between me and Ashley. I have the receipts. If you say one more word, I’ll have my lawyers charge you as an accomplice!” Austin was shaking with rage. “Chloe, you are completely delusional! Don’t you dare come crawling back to me!” “We are broken up, Austin. Who the hell would crawl back to you?” He was speechless. A calculating gleam flashed in Ashley’s eyes before she quickly masked it with tears. Reluctantly, she sat down and wrote the apology. Once it was done, I took the police report and the signed apology, walked out, and slammed my foot on the gas pedal of my car. Since I had returned early, the expensive birthday gift I had bought for Austin was still in my bag. I immediately listed it on eBay, sold it within minutes, and called my friends out for drinks. When they heard I had broken up with Austin, they all laughed. “Chloe, stop playing!” “Everyone knows you treated him like a prince. Last time we said he was a jerk, you almost fought us. Now you’re broken up?” “Give it two days, and you’ll go crawling back to him once you calm down.” I sighed. I couldn’t believe they saw me as some desperate, lovesick girl. “I’m serious this time.” “Well, Austin is hot,” one of my friends shrugged. “Good looks are rare these days. It’s fine if he has an attitude. But if you really dumped him, please tell me you slept with him first. Otherwise, what a waste!” I shuddered at the thought. “Just thinking about him and his ‘childhood bestie’ makes me want to throw up. Sleep with him? I’d rather not catch an STD.” My best friend burst out laughing. After a long night of drinking and two days of rest, I packed up everything Austin had ever given me and threw it in the trash. Finally, I opened my phone. The first thing that popped up on my feed was a cozy picture of Austin and Ashley together on Instagram. Childhood friends, my foot. They hooked up faster than a microwave meal. I was about to block them, but then I stopped. I’d keep them unblocked—for the free entertainment.

After sorting out my personal life, I headed to the Art Exhibition Center. My business trip had been to organize this very art exhibition, specifically to invite the world-renowned painter, Mr. Raymond, to the city. As the chief director of the project, I was overseeing the entire setup. Today was the grand opening, and visitors were already pouring in. I finally let out a breath of relief. But as I turned around, I ran straight into two very familiar, very annoying faces. Ashley was clinging to Austin’s arm, walking toward me. Talk about a small world. I looked Ashley up and down. In just three days, she had completely upgraded her wardrobe. She was covered in designer logos from head to toe, though all those luxury brands couldn’t hide the cheap, manipulative scent rolling off her. Austin stepped up to me, a smug smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Chloe? Dumped me and couldn’t wait to find another rich guy, so you sneaked into a high-end place like this?” “Can’t you have some self-respect? Do you really have to be a gold digger?” To him, I was just a girl wearing fake designer clothes. He assumed I was here to hunt for a sugar daddy. I chuckled. “To be fair, I couldn’t ‘dig’ anything out of you anyway. With your net worth, buying me a single bag almost gave you a heart attack. Now that you have a new girlfriend, try not to be so cheap.” His face darkened instantly. “So you admit it! You’re just a gold digger. Everyone attending this exhibition today is from high society. Are you trying to bag a billionaire?” Ashley chimed in, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Ms. Sterling, as a fellow woman, you are an embarrassment to our gender. Trying to stage an ‘accidental meeting’ here is just pathetic.” “Now that you’ve lost Austin, you’ll never find a man as good as him. Do you really think these billionaires are stupid? Why would they ever look at a cheap girl like you?” She raised her voice, deliberately drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd. Austin wrapped his arm around her waist, looking down at me. “Chloe, if you don’t want to ruin your reputation even more, get the hell out of here. It won’t look good when security drags you out.” I almost laughed. “And who are you to tell me to leave?” “Based on the fact that we were invited,” Austin sneered, pulling out an elegant invitation card. “Do you even have one of these?” Ashley smirked. “Yeah, do you? This is an exclusive invitation. Hand-written by the eldest daughter of the Harrison family—the richest family in the city. Do you have one?” Hearing this, I remembered. When we were preparing for the exhibition, I had indeed hand-written a few invitations because my assistant was overwhelmed. Later, I got too tired and stopped. I didn’t expect one of those rare hand-written invitations to end up in his hands. It must have been a mistake by the PR department. The crowd began whispering, looking at Austin with admiration. “To receive a hand-written invitation from Ms. Harrison herself… Mr. Carter must be someone truly special.” “If that girl doesn’t have an invitation, security should throw her out. She’s obviously here with bad intentions.” “She thinks she can get away with anything just because she has a pretty face.” Austin glared at me. “Chloe, get lost! This is a high-end art gallery, not a place for trash like you.” “Just wait until the museum director gets here. Let’s see how tough you act then!” Right on cue, Director Jenkins walked over in a hurry. Seeing the crowd gathered, he frowned, and his eyes landed on me. He froze. Ashley immediately pointed at me. “Director Jenkins! This girl is a gold digger who sneaked in to harass the guests. Please have security throw her out so she doesn’t ruin the experience for everyone else!” Others joined in. “Yes! She looks decent, but her morals are trash!” “How did someone like her even get past the door?” “She’s an eyesore!” I scoffed. “Throw me out? You blind fools wouldn’t know class if it hit you in the face.” The crowd gasped in outrage, demanding the guards remove me. But Director Jenkins stepped forward, his voice booming over the chatter. “Silence! Ms. Sterling is the chief director and organizer of this entire exhibition! Without her, none of you would even be standing here looking at Mr. Raymond’s masterpieces!” The gallery fell into a dead silence. Ashley’s eyes widened in shock, and she shrieked, “I wondered why you were so confident, Chloe! You must be sleeping with the Director and Mr. Raymond!” “Wow, Chloe. You must be really busy serving both of them!” Her eyes were filled with pure jealousy and malice. I smiled coldly. “I am busy. But I always have time to slap a bitch.” “SMACK!” An incredibly loud slap echoed through the entire gallery. Ashley’s scream pierced the air!

Before she could even start cursing, I swung my hand back and delivered another brutal slap. Both of her cheeks instantly turned a violent red. Austin tried to lung at me, but the security guards tackled him to the ground immediately. I pulled out a silk handkerchief, calmly wiping my hands as I looked around the room. My voice was ice-cold. “You people really never learn, do you?” “Ashley, the last time you slandered me, the police made you write a 3,000-word apology. Yet, here you are again. Let me educate you on the law. If someone repeatedly and intentionally defames another person, the court doesn’t allow out-of-court settlements. You’ll be facing real jail time. Still want to keep talking?” Ashley trembled, her mouth hanging open but no words coming out. Director Jenkins was furious. “I have worked for the Harrison Group my entire life, and I have never been so insulted!” “I will not let this slide. You, and you—for accusing me of having an affair with Ms. Sterling, my lawyers will be contacting you. Security, drag them out!” The guards immediately grabbed Austin and Ashley, dragging them toward the exit. Austin screamed like a wild animal. “Chloe! You bitch! How dare you lay a hand on her! Just you wait!” I scoffed. “Wait? You aren’t even worth my time.” I turned back to the guests who had joined in on the insults. “As for the rest of you, I’ve memorized your faces. The Harrison Group’s legal team will be sending you letters shortly.” “And anyone who spoke ill of me today—your companies will never, ever partner with the Harrison Group again.” The crowd gasped, utterly terrified. I nodded to Director Jenkins and turned to leave. Behind me, whispers broke out: “Who is she? How can she be so powerful?” “What is her relationship with the Harrison Group?” “Wait… she looks familiar. Isn’t she the heiress of the Harrison Group?” “But her last name is Sterling!” “You idiot, she took her mother’s maiden name! Helena Sterling!” The regrets and groans behind me were satisfying, but it was already too late. Once outside, Austin and Ashley were nowhere to be seen. I smiled coldly. This was far from over. Later that evening, Mr. Raymond sent me a text asking if I was alright. He had heard about the incident. I apologized profusely and assured him everything was under control. I couldn’t believe those two idiots had brought their drama in front of him. And of course, Ashley wasn’t done. The next day, she tried to start a smear campaign against me on TikTok. She posted a video of herself crying to the camera, claiming she was a victim of bullying. She even hinted that I was a home-wrecker. “I was at the New World Art Center, and I experienced the most humiliating moment of my life. I simply pointed out her true colors, and she had me assaulted and thrown out!” “As a woman, I’ve always believed in female empowerment. I only advised her not to be a gold digger. But what did she do? She seduced my boyfriend, and when I confronted her, she beat me!” “We are both women, yet your actions are an embarrassment to our entire gender!” Using the banner of “female empowerment,” she whipped up a massive wave of outrage online. She painted me as a gold-digger who went to a socialite boot camp, a girl wearing fake luxury items who specifically targeted wealthy men. With Austin backing her up and posting old photos of “their beautiful memories,” the video went viral. They leaked my name, and within hours, my social media was flooded with hate. However, they hadn’t managed to dig up my real identity. To the internet, I was just a nameless high-class escort. I compiled all the screenshots and handed them straight to my family’s lawyers. When my parents saw the news, they were furious. They demanded to handle it, but I told them I wanted to settle this myself. First, I had Ashley’s TikTok account permanently banned. Then, I pulled every single corporate contract and partnership Austin’s company had with the Harrison Group.

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After I died, Victoria finally smiled. It was a smile of pure relief, a look I had never seen on her face in my entire life. She held Lily’s portrait tightly against her chest. The resentment and hatred that had etched deep lines between her eyebrows seemed to vanish the exact moment I drew my last breath. “Lily,” Victoria whispered, her voice cracking with a fragile, broken tenderness. “That nuisance is finally gone. Now, it’s just the two of us left in this house. Aren’t you happy?” I floated in the air. My translucent soul was pierced by the warm glow of the living room lights, yet I couldn’t feel a single ounce of warmth. My body was still locked inside the tiny utility closet next to the kitchen, a space less than twenty square feet. My flesh had already grown cold. The skin that had been burning with a high fever just hours ago was now losing the last trace of human temperature. And the reason for my death? It was simply because, at my sister’s memorial dinner, I had asked a single question: “Victoria… can I please have a tiny piece of cake?”

Today would have been Lily’s tenth birthday. It was also the third anniversary of her death. The living room was decorated like a fairytale kingdom. There were streamers, balloons, and a custom eight-tier fondant cake. Standing on top of the cake was a delicate sugar figurine in a princess dress, looking seventy percent like Lily. David had invited many guests. They were all his business partners, and they had brought their children along. Victoria wore an elegant evening gown. Holding a champagne glass, she mingled effortlessly among the guests, a polite but distant smile plastered on her face. None of the guests knew that beneath that perfect smile lay a heart shattered and filled with venomous hatred. As for me, I was like a mismatched ghost at this grand party. I had been ordered to stay in my bedroom and not make a single sound. I pressed my face against the crack of the door, greedily sniffing the sweet, rich scent of buttercream drifting from the living room. I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. Ever since I was seven, when I handed Lily my favorite nut chocolate—unknowingly triggering her severe nut allergy, which led to fatal anaphylactic shock—all “sweetness” had been stripped from my life. Victoria said Lily loved sweets. She said a murderer like me didn’t deserve to taste anything sweet ever again. All my allowance was confiscated. The housekeeper was strictly instructed never to give me any food containing sugar. My plate always held nothing but bland, unseasoned pasta and boiled broccoli. Sometimes, when the hunger became unbearable, I would sneakily pick up candy wrappers David had thrown in the trash can, licking the residual sweetness left on the plastic over and over again. Tonight, that sweet aroma was like an invisible hand, clawing at my empty stomach. I heard the guests singing the birthday song in the living room. Children giggled, crowding around Victoria as she cut the beautiful cake. Possessed by hunger, I turned the doorknob. The waves of laughter and music instantly drowned me. Everyone was immersed in the joy. No one noticed the extremely skinny girl standing in the corner in a faded, oversized pajama set. My eyes were glued to the cake. Victoria was cutting the largest slice, carefully placing it onto a delicate pink porcelain plate. She carried it over and set it gently in front of Lily’s portrait. “Happy birthday, Lily. Look, I made your favorite strawberry cake,” Victoria’s voice was so soft it could melt. Watching her back, my throat tightened. My feet moved on their own, drawing me closer. Perhaps my gaze was too intense. Victoria suddenly turned around. The moment she saw me, the warmth and tenderness on her face froze. It was instantly replaced by a bone-chilling disgust and hatred. “What are you doing out here? Get back to your room!” she hissed through her teeth, keeping her voice low. The noise of the party seemed to fade into a mute background. My entire world shrank down to her freezing glare. I clutched the hem of my shirt. My lips trembled for a long time before I finally managed a tiny, pathetic whisper. “Victoria… can I… can I please have a small piece of cake? Just a tiny bite…” “SLAP!” A sharp, resounding slap echoed through the room. The pink porcelain plate slipped from her hand, shattering on the hardwood floor. The perfect slice of cake fell into the dirt and ruins, becoming a messy, ruined heap. My cheek burned with a stinging pain. My ears rang violently.

Victoria’s eyes flushed a dangerous red, like a cornered lioness. She grabbed me by my hair, dragging me brutally off the floor, and hauled me toward the utility closet next to the kitchen. “Cake? You think you deserve to eat Lily’s cake? You killed your own sister! Why didn’t you die instead of her?!” Her hysterical screams shattered the harmony of the party. The guests turned to look in shock. David’s face darkened. He quickly stepped forward to stop her. “That’s enough, Victoria! The guests are still here!” “Get off me!” Victoria shoved his hand away. “I’m going to teach this brat a lesson today! She dared to show her face on Lily’s anniversary. She wants me dead, doesn’t she?!” A look of exhaustion and annoyance flashed across David’s face, but in the end, he chose to avoid a scene. He cast a cold, detached glance at me, as if looking at an inconvenient piece of trash. “Maybe locking her inside to reflect is a good idea,” David murmured. He condoned Victoria’s cruelty. The utility closet door slammed shut with a heavy “BANG”, followed by the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock. The world plunged into absolute darkness and silence. I curled up on the cold floor. The stinging pain on my cheek gradually went numb, replaced by a familiar, bone-deep chill. This dark closet had been my most frequent shelter for the past three years. Whenever I upset Victoria, I would be locked in here. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. At first, I used to cry. I would bang on the door, screaming for David and Victoria. But later, I realized my cries only brought worse abuse from Victoria and longer lockups. So, I learned to be quiet. I hugged my knees, waiting for the time to pass as I always did. But today, my body felt wrong. Since the afternoon, my head had been heavy and dizzy, my limbs weak. Now, locked in this damp, freezing closet, the chill was creeping up my spine like a thousand icy needles. My forehead burned hotter by the minute. The darkness began to spin. I realized I had a high fever. Using the last of my strength, I raised my hand and tapped weakly on the wooden door. “Victoria… David… I feel sick…” My voice was hoarse and dry, a whisper so faint it barely left my throat. Outside, the party seemed to have ended. I could hear David saying goodbye to the guests, followed by Victoria’s muffled, bitter weeping. Nobody came for me. The fever began to consume my consciousness. A suffocating pressure rushed over me like a tide. In my haze, I thought I saw Lily. She was wearing her beautiful princess dress, holding the nut chocolate I had given her, smiling at me innocently. “Chloe, this chocolate is so good. Let’s share it, half and half, okay?” I shook my head violently, tears pouring down my face. “Don’t eat it… Lily, I’m sorry… I didn’t know you were allergic… I’m so sorry…” This apology, three years late, was something I only dared to whisper in my dreams, during the countless nights I spent locked in this dark room. I wanted to tell her that if I could, I would gladly trade my life for hers. Just like Victoria had cursed me to do, a thousand times… In the final moments of my consciousness, I heard David’s exhausted voice from outside the door. “Victoria, stop crying. Is it really worth torturing a living child for the sake of one who is already gone?” Victoria snapped back sharply, “A living child? David, don’t forget, Chloe killed our Lily! She doesn’t deserve to live!” Ah. My name is Chloe. It had been so, so long since I heard anyone call me by my name. They usually called me “that thing,” “the brat,” or “the murderer.” My body felt lighter and lighter. My soul, like a wisp of smoke, drifted gently out of the closet, leaving my physical shell behind. I was dead. I died during my sister’s tenth birthday party. And my mother, after cursing me one last time, finally smiled with relief.

David finally opened the closet door. It was noon the next day. After the housekeeper finished making lunch, she habitually asked, “Mr. Miller, what about Chloe’s lunch…?” Victoria was arranging a fresh bouquet of flowers. Hearing the name, she didn’t even look up. She sneered, “Let her starve to death. It saves me the headache of looking at her.” David’s brow furrowed slightly. Without a word, he walked over to the utility closet, took out the key, and unlocked the cold brass lock. The moment the door swung open, he froze. Floating right behind him, I clearly saw his pupils contract with terror. Inside the tiny closet, I was curled up in the corner. My body was stiff in an unnatural posture, my face a sickening shade of blue-purple, my lips cracked and dry. I looked like a withered flower, forgotten in a dark corner. “Chloe?” David called out experimentally, his voice trembling with a hint of fear he didn’t even realize he had. He reached out, placing his fingers beneath my nose. There was nothing. Just cold, lifeless stillness. David’s body shook violently. He stumbled back two steps, crashing against the hallway wall. All color drained from his face. From the living room, Victoria seemed to notice his silence. She called out impatiently, “What’s wrong? Is that brat playing dead again?” David’s lips trembled, but he couldn’t make a sound. He suddenly lunged forward, slammed the closet door shut, and locked it again. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he walked back to the living room. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice incredibly hoarse. “She’s sleeping.” He didn’t dare tell Victoria. He knew that if Victoria—whose mental health was already extremely fragile—found out I had died this way inside their own home, she would completely lose her mind. For the past three years, he had been walking a tightrope, trying desperately to keep this broken family together. He was both an accomplice and a victim. He turned a blind eye to Victoria’s abuse, yet spent his nights drinking glass after glass of whiskey in front of Lily’s portrait. He loved Lily. And once, he had loved me too. But that love had been completely eroded by daily arguments, his wife’s endless tears, and the constant misery in the house. Now, he just wanted to protect what was left of his marriage. He wanted to protect Victoria, his only remaining family. Even if the price was erasing every single trace of my existence. That afternoon, David claimed he had an urgent matter at the office and rushed out. I followed him. I watched him drive to a hardware store in the suburbs, where he bought a brand-new shovel and several heavy-duty black trash bags. My heart sank. What he was about to do was obvious. That night, after Victoria had taken her sleeping pills and fallen into a deep slumber, David unlocked the utility closet once again. He didn’t turn on the lights. Using only the faint glow of his phone screen, he struggled to stuff my cold, stiff body into the largest black trash bag.

As he pulled the zipper shut, his hands shook violently. I saw a hot tear drop onto the black plastic bag, disappearing instantly into the dark material. Was that a tear? David, are you crying for me? I wanted so badly to ask him, but I was just a silent spirit. Like a thief in the night, he hoisted the “trash bag” onto his shoulder and carried it to the backyard, walking toward the large maple tree. This had been Lily’s favorite spot. She used to love playing on the swing set here. David began to dig, one shovel of dirt at a time. The night was deep and quiet. The only sound was the muffled “thud” of the shovel slicing into the damp earth. His movements were clumsy and strained. Sweat soaked his dress shirt, clinging to his back and outlining his tired, slouched shoulders. He had once been a sharp, successful businessman. But in the last three years, he had aged decades. Finally, a deep pit was ready. He gently lowered the black bag into the earth. But when he raised the shovel to throw the first pile of dirt back in, he stopped. He knelt by the edge of the pit and lit a cigarette. The tiny red ember glowed in the darkness, illuminating his tortured, twisted face. “Chloe,” he finally spoke, his voice incredibly cracked. “Don’t hate me… I had no choice… Victoria… she can’t take any more shock.” “Do this for the family. For me and Victoria. Just… rest in peace. I hope you find peace in your next life, and get a better family next time. Don’t come back to us.” He inhaled the entire cigarette in one long drag, then crushed the butt into the dirt, as if extinguishing the last spark of guilt in his heart. Then, he began to shovel the dirt back in frantically. Shovel after shovel, until the pit was completely filled, burying me and every trace of my existence deep beneath the dark earth. He even transplanted a patch of sod from another part of the yard, patting it down until the grave looked completely invisible. When it was over, he collapsed onto the grass, panting heavily. I floated among the branches of the maple tree, watching him silently. I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel hatred. Only a vast, endless sorrow. So, my death really was a relief to them. I was the most unwanted piece in this household. Maybe this was for the best. Now that I was dead, Victoria wouldn’t scream at the sight of me, and David wouldn’t have to choose sides anymore. Was my sin finally paid for?

Over the next few days, a strange, eerie peace settled over the house. A long-lost smile returned to Victoria’s face. She hummed tunes while gardening and happily researched new recipes. She never mentioned my name, as if I had never existed. Only in the dead of night would she hold Lily’s photo album, stroking the pages and whispering, “Lily, look. Without that nuisance here, isn’t our home so much happier?” David, on the other hand, became even more silent. He went to work on time, ate dinner with Victoria, and watched TV. But his mind was always elsewhere. He would often stare blankly out the window for hours. I knew what he was looking at. He was looking at the maple tree in the backyard. The place where my bones were buried. Guilt was like a weed, silently wrapping around his heart in the dark. But this artificial peace was shattered on the third day. The doorbell rang. It was my teacher. She was a gentle woman, and beside Lily, she was the only person who had ever shown me any kindness in this world. She was the one who noticed when I forgot my lunch and would secretly slide a sandwich into my desk. She was the one who saw the bruises on my wrists, pulled me into her office to apply ointment, and gently tried to ask about my home life. But I had been too terrified to say anything. I was afraid that if I spoke, Victoria would lock me in the closet for even longer. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, hello,” Ms. Gable stood at the door, a polite but worried smile on her face. “I’m here for a home visit. Chloe hasn’t been to school for three days, and my calls went unanswered. I was getting worried.” Hearing my name, the smile on Victoria’s face instantly vanished. She shot Ms. Gable a cold, sharp look. “What could possibly be wrong with her? She’s probably throwing a tantrum and hiding somewhere. Just ignore her.” David quickly stepped forward to smooth things over. “Ms. Gable, I’m so sorry. Chloe… we sent her to her grandmother’s cabin upstate. We’re planning to transfer her to a school up there. It was a rushed decision, so we forgot to notify the school.” It was a lie full of holes. My grandmother had passed away five years ago. Ms. Gable clearly knew this. Her smile faded, and her eyes grew sharp and serious. “Really? Because I spoke with her grandmother—your mother—just yesterday, and she knew nothing about this.” David’s face turned paper-white. “And…” Ms. Gable stared dead into David’s eyes, “some of Chloe’s classmates mentioned that on the night of the party, she was beaten by Mrs. Miller and locked up.” “Is that true, Mr. Miller?”

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Three years of marriage, and I thought my husband, Sergio, and I were perfect. I worked as an elementary school teacher, and Sergio was a product manager at a smart home tech company. That afternoon, school let out early. I gave Sergio a call and asked him to pick me up on his way home. His black Audi pulled up quickly. I opened the passenger door and slid in, a practiced routine. “Hey, babe. Hard day?” Sergio smiled, handing me a steaming cup of coffee. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” I took the cup, about to answer, but my body suddenly froze. Something was wrong. The seat position was off. I’m only 5’4″. I always keep the passenger seat pulled all the way forward so I can reach the dashboard to set my phone down. But right now, the backrest was tilted way back, and the seat itself had been pushed back at least four inches. “Did you move my passenger seat?” I turned to look at Sergio. “Huh?” Sergio blinked, then tapped the steering wheel as if suddenly remembering. “Oh, right. Eric rode with me the day before yesterday. He probably adjusted it. You know how tall he is. He definitely wouldn’t fit in your usual spot.” Eric. Sergio’s childhood best friend. At 6’1″, he would indeed be cramped in my seat. The explanation was perfectly logical. But a voice inside my head whispered—no, it’s not. Sergio and I had been together for five years. He had one rule he never broke: Eric always sat in the back. Sergio used to say the passenger seat was my exclusive spot. No matter how close he was with his friends, they sat in the back. Eric even used to tease us about it, saying I demanded VIP treatment. “Since when does Eric sit shotgun?” I kept my voice casual. “His car was in the shop on Tuesday, and I picked him up to go talk about a potential partnership,” Sergio said, driving smoothly. His tone was incredibly natural. “It was just the two of us. He couldn’t exactly sit in the back like I was his Uber driver, right?” It made sense. It made total sense. But wait. Didn’t I remember Eric driving his white BMW to pick us up for dinner just last weekend? “What happened to his car?” I took a sip of my coffee, acting indifferent. “Transmission issues, I think,” Sergio replied quickly. I nodded and said nothing more. The car fell silent, save for the occasional chime of the GPS. I stared at the city streets rolling past, my mind racing. A broken transmission takes at least three to five days to fix in a shop. Tuesday was two days ago. Today was Thursday. Even if Eric’s car really broke down, did the timeline actually add up? And then there was the seat. I pressed my hand against the leather backrest. It still felt faintly warm. I inhaled gently. There was a faint scent in the air—not my usual jasmine perfume, but a stronger, sweeter citrus note. Not many men wore that kind of scent. Eric certainly didn’t. He was a rugged guy who always smelled of cheap cologne and tobacco. “Sergio,” I said suddenly. “Yeah?” “Where did you and Eric go for that meeting on Tuesday?” Sergio’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. It was a tiny gesture, but I caught it. “The tech park over in Silicon Valley,” he said. “A new startup. Eric wanted to get me in on the investment.” “How did it go?” “Still thinking about it.” Sergio turned and smiled at me. “It’s a big investment. I need to do more research.” We stopped at a red light. I looked down and noticed the glove compartment was slightly ajar. Peeking out from the gap was a pink hair tie. I never used pink hair ties. All of mine were black or dark navy, neatly arranged on my vanity at home. My heart began to thud violently against my ribs. “What’s this?” I picked up the hair tie, my voice trembling slightly.

Sergio glanced over, his brows knitting slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe you dropped it a while ago?” “I don’t wear pink.” “Then maybe…” Sergio paused, thinking. “Oh, right! It must be Belle’s. Eric brought his daughter along in my car last week. That little girl loves going through my stuff.” Belle was only five years old. Would a five-year-old wear an adult-sized pink scrunchie? The light turned green, and the car surged forward. I clutched the pink scrunchie, my knuckles turning white. Outside, the world was bustling and normal, but I felt like my entire life was quietly fracturing. When we got home, I slipped the pink scrunchie into my purse. Sergio started making dinner like usual. He was a great cook, which was one of the reasons I fell in love with him in college. The rich aroma of searing steak filled the kitchen. He was even humming a song, looking completely normal. I sat on the couch, my phone screen lighting up and going dark in my hands. Taking a deep breath, I opened Instagram. Eric’s last post was from three days ago—a gym selfie captioned “Monday Motivation.” Monday. That was four days ago. Scrolling further down, he indeed had posted a picture of his BMW last weekend, showing off a new dashcam he’d installed. Broken transmission? I switched to Sergio’s Instagram. On Tuesday, he had posted a photo of a coffee cup and a contract, captioned “Busy day.” The location tag was his office downtown. No Silicon Valley. No tech park. “Scarlett, dinner’s ready!” Sergio called from the kitchen. I locked my phone, stood up, and walked to the dining room. The table was set with all my favorites. Sergio pulled out my chair, his actions tender and sweet, just like any other day. “Tired? Did those little monsters at school give you a headache today?” he asked. “Not too bad.” I cut a piece of steak. “By the way, driving to Silicon Valley on Tuesday must have taken over an hour, right? Was the traffic bad?” “Yeah, pretty brutal,” Sergio replied smoothly. “But chatting with Eric made the time fly.” “What exactly is the project about?” Sergio hesitated for a fraction of a second, then laughed. “Since when are you interested in my work? You usually say tech talk bores you to death.” “Just curious,” I smiled back. “If we’re investing our savings, it’s a big deal for our family.” “It’s not that complicated. Just smart home integration systems,” Sergio explained seamlessly. “Great market potential, but the upfront cost is high. That’s why I’m hesitant.” Smart home integration. It sounded plausible, and he had the details down. But something still felt deeply off. “Is Eric’s car really having transmission trouble?” I asked casually. “Is it fixed yet?” This time, Sergio’s fork paused in mid-air. It was only for half a second, but I saw it clearly. “Should be soon,” he said. “I didn’t ask for details.” “You should ask him tomorrow,” I said with a smile. “I want to invite him and Jenna over for dinner this weekend. It’s been a while.” A flash of unease crossed Sergio’s face, quickly masked by a warm grin. “Sure. I’ll ask them tomorrow if they’re free.” After dinner, I offered to do the dishes. Sergio curled up on the couch to watch a football game, cheering occasionally. He looked exactly like the perfect, loving husband. I stood by the kitchen sink, watching his reflection in the dark window pane. Sergio picked up his phone, tapped it a few times, then set it down. A moment later, he grabbed it again, stood up, and walked into the bedroom. I turned off the faucet and quietly crept to the bedroom door. The door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Sergio with his back to me, speaking in a hushed, urgent whisper. “Yeah… I know… let’s lay low for a few days… I’ll handle it…”

My heart sank into a cold abyss. Who was he calling? If it was work, why hide from me? If it was Eric, why was he whispering? The call ended quickly. The moment Sergio turned around, I slipped back to the kitchen and pretended to wipe down the counter. “Scarlett, what movie do you want to watch tonight?” Sergio walked out, looking relaxed. “I saw some new releases on Netflix.” “Whatever you want,” I said. “You choose.” That night, we snuggled on the couch just like we always did. My head rested on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around my waist. It felt intimate and safe. But I didn’t process a single scene of the movie. My mind was consumed by the pink scrunchie, the adjusted seat, and that whispered phone call. At 2:00 AM, Sergio was fast asleep, his breathing heavy and steady. I quietly slipped out of bed and picked up his phone. Using his face ID while he slept, I unlocked it. We had always shared our passcodes—it was supposed to be a symbol of our trust. His call history looked perfectly normal. Just clients, friends, and family. His messages seemed fine too. The most recent thread was planning a game night with Eric and discussing a project with a colleague. I scrolled back to Tuesday night. At 8:30 PM, he had sent a voice note to Eric: “Are you free tomorrow?” Eric replied: “What’s up?” Sergio: “I have a project I want to pitch to you.” Eric: “Sure. My car is getting serviced anyway, pick me up.” The conversation seemed normal. The timeline matched. But my heart was still hammering. Because when I played the voice note and heard Sergio’s voice, his tone was far more formal than how he usually talked to his best friend. It sounded… rehearsed. Like he was put on the spot. Then, I scrolled further down. I saw a system notification in a Snapchat thread. “You cleared a chat.” The chat had been cleared today at 6:00 PM, right before he picked me up. The name of the contact was hidden or deleted. I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling. Why delete it? What was in that chat? Who was he talking to? “Scarlett?” Sergio’s groggy voice suddenly startled me from behind. I froze, almost dropping the phone. “Why are you awake?” Sergio asked, rubbing his eyes. “What are you looking at?” “I… I wanted to check something,” I lied quickly, locking the screen. “I suddenly remembered I needed to prep some lesson plans for tomorrow.” “Can’t you use your own phone?” Sergio asked. There was a subtle, sharp edge of suspicion in his voice. “My battery is dead.” I handed his phone back to him. “I’ll just use my laptop. Go back to sleep.” Sergio took the phone, giving me a look that made my skin crawl. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded. “Don’t stay up too late.” He turned back into the bedroom. I sat in the dark living room, listening to the pounding of my own chest. From that moment on, a wall of secrets stood between Sergio and me. He had his secrets, and I had my suspicions. And our home was slowly turning into a stranger’s house. The next morning, Sergio left for work as usual. He kissed me goodbye and told me he’d be home early. I smiled, waved, and watched his car pull out of the driveway. The second the elevator doors closed, I pulled out my phone. Texting Eric would be too obvious, so I messaged Jenna instead. Jenna and I had always been close. “Hey Jenna! Are you guys free this weekend? It’s been too long, let’s grab dinner,” I texted. Jenna replied almost instantly. “Omg yes! I miss you guys. Let me know the time and place, and I’ll tell Eric.” “By the way,” I probed casually, “did Eric get his car fixed? Sergio mentioned his transmission blew.”

On the screen, the typing bubble flickered for what felt like an eternity. My throat went completely dry. “Transmission?” Jenna replied with a confused emoji. “No, his car is totally fine. Are you sure you didn’t misremember?” I stared at the text. My fingers froze over the screen. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing the breath out of my lungs. “Maybe I did,” I typed back quickly. “Let’s do Saturday night then. Our usual spot?” “Perfect! See you then!” Jenna replied with an OK emoji. I let my phone drop onto the couch and collapsed backward. His car wasn’t broken. It was never broken. So who did Sergio pick up on Tuesday? Who sat in my passenger seat? And who owned that pink scrunchie and that citrus perfume? I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Don’t panic, I told myself. You need to stay calm. You need more facts. On Saturday night, we met at our favorite Italian restaurant downtown. Eric and Jenna were already there with their five-year-old daughter, Belle. Belle had her hair up in twin pigtails, secured by blue butterfly clips. No scrunchies. “Auntie Scarlett!” Belle squealed, running into my arms. I hugged her tight, but my eyes were locked on Eric’s face. He looked completely relaxed, chatting with Sergio about a football game. There was zero awkwardness. If they were hiding something together, they deserved Academy Awards. “So, Sergio, have you made up your mind about that smart home project?” Eric asked after we ordered our food. I froze. Sergio paused for a second, then chuckled. “Still looking into it. Don’t rush me, man. It’s a big chunk of cash.” “What project?” Jenna asked curiously. “Smart home tech,” Eric explained. “I got a few guys from my firm to invest, and Sergio is the last one holding out.” “Ooh, that sounds like a great market,” Jenna said, intrigued. “Maybe we should put some more money in too.” “What do you know about tech?” Eric teased, waving his hand. “The risk is high. Sergio’s right to be cautious.” I listened quietly, pretending to play with Belle, but every ounce of my attention was on Sergio. He spoke naturally. His conversation with Eric matched up perfectly. If this was a staged act, they had rehearsed it to perfection. “Oh, by the way, Eric,” I spoke up suddenly. “Did you ride in Sergio’s car on Tuesday?”

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My boyfriend’s nephew had severe trauma and desperately needed professional therapy. But I was given a fake address. And my boyfriend, Julian, used my absence to let Grace, an intern, take my place. Julian is an illegitimate son. He wanted to use this chance to crawl back into the wealthy Sterling family and kiss up to Grace at the same time. His intentions were so transparent. I packed my things and left the therapy clinic that very day. I was done cleaning up this family’s toxic mess! When the session ended, the little boy forced a smile, and Grace acted like she was the queen of the world. But I knew better. It was all an illusion. His psychological trauma had only gotten worse. Meanwhile, Julian looked at me with pure disgust: “Don’t think this clinic can’t run without you! If you keep causing trouble, you can hand in your resignation!” He was so eager for his future billionaire life, and so eager to get closer to Grace. What he didn’t know was that a massive disaster was waiting for him right around the corner!

Noah, Max’s seven-year-old son, had been brutally mauled by a stray dog for nearly fifteen minutes. Since he was rescued, he had suffered from severe PTSD. He needed someone watching him 24/7 to prevent self-harm or suicide attempts. With my strong credentials and expertise, I had become a well-known child psychologist in the city. The moment Max heard about me, he came running for help. I stayed up for nights analyzing hundreds of similar cases and spent a lot of time building trust with Noah. Finally, after nearly three weeks, I developed a customized treatment plan for him. But just as I was about to start his first session, Julian left me a sticky note with a new address. Wealthy people have multiple properties, so I didn’t think twice about it. I took an Uber immediately. But when I arrived, there was no sign of anyone from the Sterling family. I quickly called Max, but he immediately lost his temper and screamed at me through the phone: “What kind of professional therapist are you? You almost killed Noah!” “You’ve been in contact with him for a month, and you did absolutely nothing! He got even worse today!” “If Julian hadn’t brought another therapist in time, I can’t even imagine what would have happened!” Only then did I learn that Noah had another severe self-harm episode this morning. He hallucinated that he was surrounded by wild dogs and almost jumped from the balcony. Fortunately, Julian and Grace arrived just in time to stop him. Because of my “mistake,” Grace was now the one treating Noah! But Grace was just an intern with zero clinical experience. How could she handle such a high-risk patient?! If she made even one mistake, it could cause irreversible damage to Noah! My professional ethics wouldn’t let me walk away from a child in danger. I rushed back immediately, but I got stuck in heavy traffic. By the time I arrived, the session was already over. Max was personally escorting them out the door: “Thank you both so much. If it weren’t for you, I might have lost Noah forever.” His eyes were bloodshot. There was no denying he was a loving father who cherished his son more than life itself. Grace squeezed out a few fake tears. “I’m just glad we could help, Mr. Sterling.” Max nodded: “Don’t worry. I keep my promises. Once Noah’s condition stabilizes a bit more, I will call my father.” A promise? Julian and Grace had cut a deal behind my back? This was a blatant violation of professional ethics. I marched over, burning with anger, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “Why did you give me the wrong address today?!” Julian looked just as furious, putting on a show: “I think you just realized you’re incompetent! You worked with Noah for so long without any progress, so you got scared and chickened out!” His raging face looked completely foreign to me. I froze for a long time before asking, “What are you even talking about?” Julian sneered, “Do you have any idea? Grace only took thirty minutes to stabilize Noah’s condition today!” “He’s even willing to go outside now!”

I looked at Noah, who was standing nearby. His face was completely blank, and his small body was shivering violently. Grace brushed it off, stepping closer to him. “It’s fine. Shivering is a normal reaction. He just needs to get used to it.” “The fact that he’s willing to come outside is already a huge step forward.” Noah forced a stiff smile at me. Max was so moved that tears welled up in his eyes. But in Noah’s eyes, I didn’t see the warmth of recovery. I only saw a dark, empty void—like he had completely given up on life! That look of sheer despair made it hard for me to breathe, yet everyone around him thought he was getting better. Grace, especially, was smugger than ever: “Well, Maya has always been the star of our clinic. It’s natural for her to be overly cautious.” Max looked at me with nothing but disgust: “I think she’s just been put on a pedestal for too long. She thinks nothing can function without her!” “To think she would make up such a pathetic lie to cover up her own mistake. Truly pathetic.” On the drive back, Noah’s expression haunted me. He was only seven. How could he have such a hopeless, forced smile? I turned to Grace and demanded again, “What exactly did you do to therapy him?” Grace sighed, looking helpless: “I know you’ve always looked down on me because I’m just an inexperienced intern.” “But it was an absolute emergency, and you weren’t there. I had no choice but to step up.” “I was terrified too, okay? It was so much pressure.” “If I messed up and angered Max, Julian would never have a chance to get back into the Sterling family.” Julian chimed in, his face serious. “Maya, stop acting so self-righteous!” “You’re the one who failed to show up, and Grace cleaned up your massive mess.” “Instead of thanking her, you’re here acting like some moral guardian.” I pulled out the sticky note. “I didn’t fail to show up! You gave me this fake address!” Julian denied it instantly. “I never wrote that. Stop trying to drag me down. This is a critical time for me, so stop playing your petty mind games.” No matter how much I questioned them during the rest of the drive, they both ignored me. I didn’t know what kind of deal they had made with Max, and I didn’t know what Grace had done to Noah. It was like they shared a dirty secret. Julian was my boyfriend, but the way he looked at Grace was filled with affection, while he looked at me with nothing but absolute disgust! When we got out of the car, I watched Grace casually wrap her arm around his. Julian beamed, announcing to the entire clinic staff: “Grace did it. She saved Noah Sterling!” Deafening applause erupted around me. “I knew Grace had it in her!” “Mr. Sterling is loaded. He might even invest in our clinic now!” Looking at the clinic I had worked myself to the bone to build, I suddenly felt like an outsider who needed to leave. I had been so busy designing the perfect therapy plans that I hadn’t even noticed when Grace and Julian had become so close! Our clinic wasn’t huge, but it had a stellar reputation. For the past few years, I had worked day and night, treating every single patient with care to get us to where we were. I strove for perfection, but my strict attitude had apparently rubbed many of my colleagues the wrong way. These people had probably been waiting for me to fail so they could push me out. From a distance, I saw Grace blushing, practically burying herself in Julian’s chest. She said, “It was all thanks to Julian.” “And guys, we might not even need outside investors anymore.” “Because Julian is actually Max Sterling’s brother!” More gasps of admiration followed. They started whispering about how successful Julian was, giving up his inheritance just to experience the life of a regular guy. Someone even said: “Now I know why Mr. Sterling didn’t go to those world-class clinics and chose us instead!” “It’s because Julian is his brother!” My credentials, my hard work, and the clinic’s reputation had been built brick by brick by me! Yet, with just a few sentences, they erased every single ounce of my effort over the years!

My eyes burned with unshed tears. I suddenly remembered that not long ago, when Max first reached out to me for a consultation, Julian had been furious. He had demanded to know how I got in touch with Max. He had even started toxic rumors: “Max’s wife died shortly after giving birth, and he hasn’t remarried. Are you trying to sleep your way into a billionaire family?” We had a huge fight over that, and he slammed the door, staying out all night. When he came back the next morning, there was a glaring hickey on his neck. At the time, he claimed it was an insect bite. I was so focused on Noah’s therapy plan and so hurt by his wild accusations that I didn’t look into it. Now it was obvious that Julian and Grace had already hooked up back then. I had been with Julian for years. He had always told me he was an illegitimate child who grew up without a father’s love. I felt so much pity for him back then, trying my best to make up for his childhood trauma. I completely forgot that I was just a young girl myself back then. Later, he said he wanted to start his own business to prove himself to the father who abandoned him. So, without hesitation, I quit my high-paying job at a major hospital to help him build this clinic. But as the clinic grew and we hired more staff, his heart changed. He didn’t want to be a therapist anymore. Maybe we had already started drifting apart back then. Yet, like an idiot, I thought he was just getting closer to his dreams! Over the years, I had healed so many patients, but I completely ignored the rot in my own relationship. The sticky note with the wrong address was undoubtedly a setup by the two of them. They wanted to bypass me, strike a deal with Max, and get Julian back into the Sterling family trust. From then on, he would have an easy life, leaning on the Sterling empire. Sitting in my car, tears finally streamed down my face. These two were rotten to the core! For their own selfish gain, they had harmed a defenseless seven-year-old child! During my weeks with Noah, I knew he was an incredibly sweet boy. The signals he gave me showed he wanted to survive, he wanted to get better. But now, that tiny spark of hope had likely been crushed by Grace. Even though Max’s trust in me was at rock bottom, I couldn’t just stand by and watch Noah walk into a trap. I called Max repeatedly, hoping to talk to him. But Max just yelled at me again and blocked my number. I understood Max’s desperation. He was known to be a deeply devoted husband who had never been with another woman since his wife passed away seven years ago. Noah was the proof of their love, so of course he would protect him at all costs. I couldn’t bear to think of what would happen to Max if Noah actually got hurt. To prevent a tragedy, I had to try one more time. After all, Max had come to me first. I couldn’t let an innocent child become collateral damage in their greed. I went back to the Sterling estate, hoping to see Noah. I needed to know how Grace was treating him. If I could figure out her method, I might be able to find a way to reverse the damage. Unsurprisingly, Max refused to see me, and his security wouldn’t let me near Noah. After being kicked out, I stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the window with security bars. Noah was standing right there. I forced a warm smile and waved at him. Noah tilted his head, watching me. I saw his lips move, silently saying, “Not scared.” That was what I had told him every day for the past month. He remembered. Tears of relief rushed to my eyes! He was still in there! He could still be saved! Even from a distance, I tried my best to communicate with him, trying to give him the will to hold on. But Julian quickly caught up to me. He dragged me toward his car, ignoring my struggles. When I resisted, he slapped me across the face. I cried out in pain. In the next second, Noah began banging violently on his window. He had been mauled by wild dogs; he couldn’t stand witnessing violence. The trigger sent him into a panic, and he pointed at me, screaming at the top of his lungs. I knew he was trying to protect me, but Max, who rushed in hearing the noise, completely misunderstood the situation. “Do you have to kill my son to be satisfied?!” Max roared.

Noah tried to explain, but the family doctor quickly administered a sedative, and he soon fell asleep. Julian forced me back to our apartment. It was the first time he had ever been violent with me. I sat there in shock for a long time. He glared at me, hissing, “You almost ruined our chances, and now you sneak over to their house to cause more drama!” “Are you trying to get Max to ruin us?!” He had become a complete stranger. I stared at him, trying to connect this monstrous face with the gentle boyfriend I used to know. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Didn’t you use to call Max Sterling a hypocritical, fake-ass husband? Why the sudden change of heart?” Julian’s eyes darted away, and he raised his voice: “Are you just terrified that I’ll dump you once I’m back in high society? Is that why you’re trying to ruin me?!” If I wanted to ruin him, I would have never sacrificed everything to start over with him! I wouldn’t have worked myself to the bone for the clinic! At that moment, I saw him for what he truly was. In the face of money and status, I was just disposable trash. I wiped my tears and asked, “You used to be a therapist too. Have you forgotten why we started? Letting Grace treat Noah is going to destroy him!” Julian scoffed, “I don’t care about the details. I only care about results.” “Noah went outside, his symptoms are improving, I’m getting what I want, and Grace gets a huge boost on her resume.” “It’s a win-win for everyone. You’re just bitter because you didn’t get a piece of the pie!” I couldn’t listen to him anymore. “Julian! You’re out of your mind!” Julian yelled back, “Yeah, I am! I was out of my mind when I chose to be with you in the first place!” Finally, the truth came out. He had climbed onto my shoulders to reach the top. And instead of showing any gratitude, he calculated my worth, drained me of my last bit of value, and discarded me. I choked back my tears. “Fine. Let’s break up.” I was so glad we were never married. It was just a breakup, not a messy divorce. Julian didn’t look sad at all. If anything, he looked relieved. “Fine by me.” “You’re too selfish anyway. You only care about your own fame and refuse to see that your methods don’t work for everyone!” I laughed coldly. “I treated hundreds of patients before this, and you never said my methods didn’t work.” “Now that Grace is here, suddenly I’m the incompetent one?” Julian frowned. “Stop twisting my words! You brought a massive PR disaster to my clinic. How are we going to settle that?” He was forcing me out of the relationship, and now he was forcing me out of my job. “I’ll resign tomorrow,” I said. But Julian couldn’t wait another second. “No need. The clinic is mine. I’m approving your termination right now. Pack your shit and get out.” Back then, he told me he would handle all the administrative work so I could focus entirely on being a therapist. But he had been planning this all along, quietly cutting me out of the business operations so he could kick me out when the time was right! What a perfect snake. I stood up and violently shoved him out the front door. “You’re the one who needs to get out! I bought this apartment with my own money! I’ll throw your trash into the hallway tonight!” Julian, fully believing he was about to become a billionaire, sneered, “Keep your shitty apartment! I don’t need it!” I packed every single thing that belonged to him and threw it out. Having his things in my space made me feel physically sick.

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I accidentally found a pair of black lace stockings in the nightstand of our master bedroom. They were torn to shreds. And only my girlfriend, Charlotte, and I had the keys to this apartment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened here. Holding those torn stockings, my hands shook uncontrollably. Eight years of chasing her and two years of dating felt like a complete joke at this moment. I snapped a photo and sent it to Charlotte, waiting for her explanation. But she didn’t even seem to care. “My friends all said I needed a ‘test-drive’ with another guy before getting hitched, just so I wouldn’t have any regrets after marriage.” “If it really bothers you that much, you can go find some girl to sleep with too. Let’s just call it even.” Yet later, when I actually went out with my billionaire heiress fiancée, Charlotte went completely insane, crying and begging for my forgiveness. When Charlotte rushed over, I was already instructing the movers to throw that massive bed out and change the door locks. She stood at the doorway, her face turning pale as she watched the moving company carry the bed out. “Anthony! Have you lost your mind?!” “That bed cost over three thousand dollars, and I only slept on it once! Do you really have to be this petty?” She spoke with pure annoyance, as if she expected me to immediately start coddling her to stop her from throwing a tantrum. In the past, I would have been terrified of her anger. I would have rushed over, desperate to make her smile. But now, I was done begging. After ten years of devotion, just when I thought I was finally going to make her my wife, she gave me the ultimate betrayal. What kind of man could tolerate the woman he cherished sleeping with someone else? My mind kept flashing back to those ripped stockings. I could easily picture how wild they had been. How was I supposed to swallow this?! I glared at her, my eyes burning with pure hatred. “This is my apartment. Getting rid of trash is my right.” She instantly flared up. “What is wrong with you?! This is our home! I cleaned up the bed after I was done. How is it dirty?!” So, even now, she still believed she had done nothing wrong. I couldn’t help but roar, “You know exactly what you did!” “There’s no need for a wedding anymore. I bought this place with my own money, so it is *my* home!” Charlotte stared at me in disbelief. “What did you just say?! You’re calling off our wedding over something this stupid?!” Stupid? I couldn’t believe she saw this as a minor detail. I couldn’t believe the woman I had loved for ten years was actually this disgusting. She looked like a total stranger to me. Where was the innocent girl I fell in love with in high school? The pain in my chest was unbearable. I didn’t know whether to feel lucky for seeing her true colors before marriage, or to grieve for the ten years I had wasted on her. But I knew one thing for sure—I was never looking back. My voice was ice-cold and resolute. “Yes. The wedding is off. Since you love ‘test-driving’ so much, I’m giving you all the time in the world to do it!” Seeing the cold determination in my eyes, Charlotte finally realized I wasn’t joking. Her tone softened, and she looked at me with a pout. “Anthony, all my friends had one last wild night before their weddings. I just didn’t expect you to find out.” “If you’re really that upset, just go find a girl and do the same. I promise I won’t say a word! Just stop being mad at me.” She was constantly crossing my boundaries, chipping away at the last bit of love I had left for her. I let out a mocking laugh. “It’s fine. We’re over. You can sleep with whoever you want now. It has nothing to do with me.” Seeing that I wasn’t taking the bait, she lost her temper again. “Anthony! I’ve already lowered myself to apologize, and I even said you could sleep with someone else! What more do you want?!” “If it weren’t for the fact that you chased me for ten years, do you really think I would have agreed to marry you?!” “There are plenty of men out there who are way better than you!” So, she never married me out of love. She only wanted to marry me because I tolerated all her tantrums and spoiled her rotten. This sudden realization cut me deeper than anything else. My eyes welled with tears. “Then let’s break up. I won’t hold you back from finding those ‘better’ men.” Charlotte stomped her foot in anger. Before storming off, she hissed through gritted teeth: “Fine! We’re broken up! I might as well tell you—that man was Donald, and he’s back!” “Anthony, you’re throwing away your only chance to marry me. Don’t you dare regret it!” So, her high school sweetheart, Donald, was back. No wonder she was so eager to “test-drive” him.

Charlotte, Donald, and I went to the same high school. I had a crush on her back then. Charlotte was the school sweetheart, and Donald was the golden boy. They were a perfect match. When we went to college, they naturally started dating, and I could only watch from the sidelines as a loyal friend. But by the end of freshman year, Donald ghosted her completely. He moved abroad, leaving no return date. Charlotte was devastated and almost took her own life. I was the one who stayed by her side, comforting her day and night. I knew she loved romantic gestures, and I knew she loved showing off. So, on every holiday, I bought her the most expensive flowers and exquisite gifts to satisfy her vanity. I chased her like a shadow for three years before she finally agreed to be my girlfriend. I genuinely believed I had finally replaced Donald in her heart. But a first love is always a first love, apparently. The moment he returned, she threw everything we had built out the window for him. After calming down, I called my parents to let them know the wedding was off. I expected them to lecture me. After all, as a billionaire’s son, I had spent ten years acting like a beggar for a woman who ended up cheating on me. It was humiliating. But my parents simply sighed with relief. My mom laughed. “Finally woke up, huh? Marriage isn’t a game.” My dad added, “Marriage is a lifelong commitment. Choosing the wrong person leads to a lifetime of misery.” “Whatever you decide, we’ve got your back.” Yeah. Some people see marriage as a sacred promise, while others treat it like a joke. If she could cheat before the wedding, there was no way she would stay faithful after. Talking to my parents made me feel a lot better. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I thought it was Charlotte, but it was actually a Snapchat message from Donald. “Anthony, it’s been a while. Come out for a drink tonight. All the old high school crew is here.” It turned out they had organized a high school reunion to welcome Donald back. The way he phrased it made it clear he was daring me to show up. Well, I wanted to go see just how shameless they could get. I also wanted to clear things up in front of everyone so nobody would make a laughingstock out of me behind my back. When I arrived at the VIP lounge, Charlotte and Donald were already sitting together, flirting openly. She was leaning heavily against his arm, laughing provocatively. Donald looked extremely smug, his arm casually brushing against her chest. If this had been the past, I would have punched him in the face immediately. To me, Charlotte had been a goddess who shouldn’t be touched by anyone else. But now, she was nothing to me. She was no longer the innocent girl from my memories.

As some old classmates greeted me, Charlotte finally noticed my arrival. A look of mockery washed over her face. “Anthony, I knew you’d crawl back. I knew you’d regret it!” “Let me tell you, if you don’t buy me that new limited-edition Chanel bag, I am never forgiving you!” I glanced at her coldly. “I’m not here for you. Donald invited me, so I decided to drop by.” Donald stood up, walking over to shake my hand with a wide, fake grin. “Anthony, you finally made it! Charlotte and I were just talking about you.” I chuckled coldly. “Talking about what? How she couldn’t forget you even after being with me for years? Or how you two got back together?” “Or perhaps you were talking about how shameless you both are, screwing on my new bed and tearing her black stockings to shreds?” The noisy room instantly fell dead silent. Our classmates, who had been laughing and drinking, stopped and stared at each other in shock. Donald’s smile froze, his expression darkening. “Anthony, I invited you here out of goodwill. What the hell are you talking about?!” Charlotte stood up too, her voice screeching. “Anthony! Shut your mouth! Don’t ruin this for everyone!” “Apologize right now, or don’t expect me to show up at the wedding in a few days. I’ll make sure you become the joke of the town!” A joke? I was already the joke. Everyone in this room knew Charlotte had dated me after Donald left. They all knew we were supposed to get married in a few days. Yet here she was, openly flirting with Donald in front of everyone. Since she wanted to play dirty, I was going to rip off her mask completely. I stared at Charlotte with an icy gaze until she began to look nervous. She stammered, “Why… why are you looking at me like that?! You’re the one being petty and making a scene!” Seeing my silence, she assumed I was backing down, just like I always did. She raised her voice, getting bolder. “Apologize to Donald right now and buy me that Chanel bag. Maybe then I’ll consider marrying you.” I laughed out of sheer anger. I had been so blind not to see how greedy and shameless she truly was. She cheated on me, and she expected me to buy her a luxury bag to apologize? Donald chimed in with a patronizing smirk. “Anthony, don’t be so dramatic. We’re all old friends. Charlotte and I are just close.” “We were just having a few drinks earlier. We didn’t do anything else. You’re out of line for taking your anger out on her.” Looking at his punchable face, the rage I had been suppressing finally boiled over. Before anyone could react, I lunged forward and threw a massive punch straight at his jaw! I pinned him to the floor, raining blows down on his face. By the time our classmates finally pulled me off him, his face was swollen like a balloon. Charlotte’s eyes ran red with tears for Donald. She flew into a rage and lunged to slap my face. I caught her wrist in mid-air, twisted it back, and shoved her away. She stumbled and fell hard onto the floor. “That’s it,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like ice. “Ten years of dealing with your garbage, and now we are even.” “Remember this: I am the one dumping you. The wedding is off. Don’t bother showing up.” “From now on, you’re dead to me. You can ‘test-drive’ whoever you want!” Charlotte clutched her bruised wrist on the floor, looking at me in absolute shock. She pointed a finger at me like a madwoman.

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My startup had finally taken off. I rushed home with gingerbread cookies and gifts to celebrate, only to find my wife, Mila, packing up everything we owned. The moment she saw the gingerbread in my hands, she snatched it and threw it straight into the trash. “I get sick just looking at your stupid cookies! I want a divorce!” She had no idea that the very cookies she just threw away were the hot-selling product that had made me a millionaire. When she finally found out the truth, she actually had the nerve to demand: “You became successful after you divorced me? By what right?” I smiled and replied, “Yeah. I made my fortune with the very gingerbread you despised.” Regrets? Too late. After working non-stop for weeks, I finally closed deals with several major distributors today. But when I arrived at my front door, holding the signed contracts and a diamond necklace I bought for Mila, I found the house completely ransacked. The living room was a mess, and two strangers were carrying my TV out the door. My first instinct was that we were being robbed, until I saw Mila standing there, directing them. Thinking I had been too busy lately with my new gingerbread recipes and investor meetings, I asked, “Mila, what’s going on? Are we moving?” Mila finally noticed me. Her eyes instantly filled with disgust and anger. “Yes, we are. But only I am moving. Because I’m divorcing you!” Since I started my business, we had been fighting constantly. She always nagged that I had no future spending all day baking cookies, and complained about the business loans I took out. Mila continued sneering: “I’m taking all the valuable appliances. At least I get some assets out of this marriage.” “If I wait until your business completely crashes, I won’t get a dime. I might even end up drowning in your debts.” The truth was, the business loans were solely under my name and had nothing to do with her. Plus, I had been giving her my monthly salary to maintain her high standard of living. My startup was never as pathetic as she claimed, even if I wasn’t rolling in cash yet. And now, on the exact day I struck gold, she wanted a divorce. Since the final contracts were just signed and the massive wire transfers hadn’t cleared yet, this money would legally be my post-divorce personal property. She wouldn’t get a single penny.

Her eyes traveled down and landed on the gingerbread box in my hand. She rushed over and knocked it to the floor. “I get sick just looking at your trash cookies!” The necklace box fell alongside the cookies. I knelt down, picked it up, and offered it to her, thinking of it as a final parting gift. Under the dim hallway light, I noticed a gorgeous gold necklace already resting on Mila’s neck. It was brand new. I had never seen it before. Mila looked incredibly smug, and I even caught a flash of shyness in her eyes as her hand gently touched the gold chain. She scoffed, “What kind of cheap junk could you possibly buy with your pocket change? Throw it away.” To give myself one last reason to let go, I asked, “If my business succeeds, will you stay?” She let out a harsh laugh. “Spencer, wake up. How could you ever succeed?” “With your stupid gingerbread? Dream on!” With that, she spun around, grabbed her pre-packed suitcases, and headed for the door. Since things had come to this, there was no point in begging a woman who despised me to stay. On her way out, she kicked the fallen box of gingerbread aside. “Get out of my way, eyesore.” One of the movers picked it up. “Wow, this gingerbread looks so beautiful. It must taste amazing. Why throw it away? Do you guys not want it?” I smiled, happy that my handmade craft was appreciated, and was about to thank him. But Mila cut in. “Take it if you want. He has tons of those trash cookies that he can’t sell anyway.” I choked up, holding back my words. I wanted to tell her that my gingerbread had just received hundreds of thousands of pre-orders. I wanted to tell her that I succeeded, and we could buy a mansion in the suburbs. But clearly, she no longer deserved to share this joy with me.

Mila left in a luxury sports car driven by another man. They were incredibly intimate. I didn’t know him, but the way Mila looked at him was entirely different from the cold glares she gave me. Before leaving, she repeatedly warned me to show up at the courthouse at 9:00 AM sharp the next morning to sign the divorce papers. She was clearly desperate to get rid of me. Since divorce is a major life event, I suggested at the courthouse entrance if we should talk to her parents first. Mila’s face immediately twisted in anger. “Let me tell you, Spencer, don’t try to stall. My parents have been sick of you for a long time.” I didn’t say another word. We walked in, signed the papers, and had the judge sign off on the divorce. The moment she got her copy, Mila smiled wider than she did on our wedding day. Without even looking back at me, she ran toward a waiting car, waving the papers in the air. The man inside rolled down his window, smiling at her. I recognized him. He was the guy who picked her up yesterday. I went back to my empty house and opened Instagram. Mila had just posted a new update. The caption read: “Beginning of our happiness. Happy 600th day anniversary, babe!” The post featured a selfie of them cuddling, next to a massive bouquet of red roses. I remembered giving her roses on Valentine’s Day. She had called them tacky and claimed she hated roses. Turns out, she just hated them when they came from me. I looked around the empty house and told myself: it’s time to start a new life.

The contract was finalized, and the first wave of payments cleared. I had never seen so much money in my bank account before. I immediately distributed holiday bonuses to my workers. Making gingerbread for Christmas meant they had to work overtime while everyone else was on vacation. I put the old house on the market with an agent and bought a brand-new, modern condo for myself. I had no time to wallow in the divorce. With Christmas just around the corner, I was busy 24/7. My handmade gingerbread was selling like crazy. The only reason it hadn’t before was a lack of marketing channels. Now, we had to expand the factory. My distributors called constantly to restock, and multiple major corporations reached out for partnerships. Watching the numbers in my bank account grow daily gave me endless energy. One day, I personally went with my delivery team to drop off a massive order. The address looked incredibly familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t until I stood at the office building’s entrance that I realized—it was Mila’s company. To ensure our VIP clients received their holiday gift boxes in perfect condition, I always personally supervised large deliveries. The CEO of her company had ordered these gingerbread gift boxes for all the employees. Everyone was lining up in an orderly fashion to get theirs. It was very professional and quiet. Until someone recognized me and broke the silence. “Wait! Aren’t you Mila’s husband? I remember you used to bring her lunch all the time.” Mila walked over, following the voice. The moment she saw me, her face fell as if she had just seen a plague. “Why is there always gingerbread wherever you go? Do you have to stalk me?” Her colleagues quickly chimed in, smiling. “Mila, did your husband deliver these just to see you? That’s so sweet! You have such a loving husband.” “By the way, this handmade gingerbread brand is so famous right now. Can you ask your husband to get us a few more boxes?” I watched as Mila clenched her jaw, snatched the box from her hand, and threw it at her colleague. “We are divorced! He’s just a low-level delivery guy! Stop talking about him!” To make her point clearer, she pointed at me with utter disgust. “Look at him. Does he look like he’s even in my league?”

Mila’s screeching voice was so loud that it drew everyone’s attention in the lobby. The colleagues fell into an awkward silence. Realizing she had made a scene, Mila quickly turned and ran back to the elevators. After completing the delivery, the final payment cleared instantly. Looking at my casual clothes, I decided it was time to upgrade my wardrobe. I had been invited to an elite industry Christmas gala, and I needed some high-end suits. While driving, my business partner called. “Spencer, check your Snapchat. I sent you a screenshot of a new product.” I opened it and saw a product image. It looked exactly like my handmade gingerbread, with only a tiny, barely noticeable tweak in the design. The brand name was “SWEET.” It was a blatant, shameless copycat designed to mislead consumers. Although copycats are common in the food industry, I would never allow someone to steal my hard work. I drove to a high-end shopping mall and walked into a luxury boutique I had never set foot in before. Because I was wearing simple casual clothes, none of the sales associates came to greet me. Meanwhile, a young couple nearby was surrounded by three attentive staff members. The woman turned around, and our eyes met. It was Mila. She was shocked to see me there. With my past income, I could never afford to step into a place like this. After her brief shock, she turned to the sales associate and said, “Does your store just let anyone walk in these days?” She fanned her nose in disgust. “I smell trash.” The man beside her was the guy from her Instagram post. Once he realized who I was, he walked up to me with a provocative smile and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Alex, the owner of SWEET.”

I stared at him and nodded. Small world. I had met the plagiarist face-to-face. Just as I reached out to politely return the handshake, he suddenly pulled his hand back, leaving mine hanging in the air. “Excuse me, staff? Why is there trash standing in your store? Can you sweep him out?” He laughed, looking at me like I was a joke. The sales associate walked over to me, looking uncomfortable. “Sir, if you aren’t buying anything, please leave.” I pointed at the entire row of suits behind them. “Who says I’m not buying? Pack all of these in my size. I’ll take them.” Mila and Alex laughed even harder. “Babe, did you hear him? He said he wants to buy all of them! That is hilarious!” Mila sneered, “Do you think this is a thrift store where everything is ten dollars? A single jacket here costs more than your monthly salary!” None of the staff moved. They obviously didn’t believe I could afford them. “Is this how you treat customers?” I said coldly. “I can easily file a complaint with your corporate office.” Fearing a complaint, the staff finally started moving. Mila scoffed, “Keep acting, Spencer. I can’t wait to see how you pay.” It took an hour to pack all the clothes. When it came time to pay, they all gathered around, waiting to watch me embarrass myself. Even the cashier looked ready to unpack the bags. A few seconds after I tapped my phone, the card reader beeped: Transaction Declined.

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A week before our wedding, my fiancé suddenly changed our wedding venue to the beach. At his bachelor party, one of his friends teased him. “Just because Chloe likes the ocean, you changed the entire wedding venue? Without even telling Clara? What if she doesn’t show up?” “I heard she had her heart set on that Aspen snowy mountain chalet.” My fiancé just shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “Please. She loves me so much she literally went blind for me. When has she ever said no to me?” “Besides, she’s been dying to marry me for years.” I stood just outside the door. I froze. I didn’t say a word. I just quietly turned around and left, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. On the day of the wedding, Julian called me from the venue, his voice frantic. “Clara! Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you here yet?” I looked out the window of my hotel room at the falling snow. “I’m already here.” The Aspen mountain wedding was something I had planned from the very beginning. It held a special meaning for Julian and me. But Chloe Bennett had made one offhand comment about loving the ocean, and Julian had thrown all my plans in the trash. My hands trembled. I remembered standing outside that dressing room door a week ago, too terrified to make a sound. Julian’s friend, Carter, had frowned in confusion. “Man, a wedding is a two-way street. Shouldn’t you at least tell Clara? How is she supposed to get ready?” Julian had waved his hand impatiently. “There’s nothing to get ready for. Aspen is freezing. Malibu is so much more comfortable.” “But still, changing the entire venue without a word? That’s a massive lack of respect, don’t you think?” Julian scoffed. “If she knew, she’d ask a million questions. She might even throw a tantrum, and then I’d have to waste my time comforting her. It’s too much drama.” “She’s obsessed with me anyway. She’ll get over it. Don’t forget, she practically went blind for me. Swapping a venue is nothing compared to that.” One of the other guys grinned wickedly. “Oh, we get it. This is all for Chloe… I mean, who could say no to a bombshell like her?” “Honestly, we all thought you’d end up marrying Chloe back in the day. She’s gorgeous and comes from a crazy rich family.” Julian’s face darkened at that. “Shut up. Don’t let Clara hear that kind of talk. If she starts drama, you guys are paying for it.” The group burst into laughter. “Alright, alright. We get it. You’ve got Clara wrapped around your finger anyway.” Suddenly, Julian’s phone buzzed on the table. The caller ID read Chloe. The guys smirked. “Speak of the devil. Your real wife is calling.” Julian didn’t even bother to correct them. He answered, his voice instantly softening. “Hey, Chloe.” Chloe’s giggling voice echoed through the speaker. “Julian! Did you seriously get me that couture gown? I heard the waitlist for that designer in Milan is at least six months!” “Yeah. I had a friend pull some strings and had it flown in. It should arrive next week.” “Oh my gosh… wasn’t it insanely expensive?” “It was only seventy thousand dollars. If you love it, it’s worth every penny.” Chloe gasped, sounding deeply moved. “You are too good to me. I’m definitely wearing it for you on the wedding day!” Julian smiled warmly. “I can’t wait to see you in it.” The moment he hung up, his friends started hooting again. “Damn! She’s going to totally outshine the bride! Julian, are you marrying Clara or Chloe?” Julian just chuckled casually. “Clara and I have been together forever. It doesn’t matter what she wears. Chloe is different. She needs to feel special.” I stood outside the door, a bitter smile on my face. My own wedding dress was bought off-the-rack from a local boutique. On the day I tried it on, my eyes hadn’t fully recovered. I had asked Julian to help me choose. After I tried on three different cheap dresses, he had sighed impatiently.

“They all look great. Just pick one. It’s not like you can see the details clearly anyway.” He hurried to swipe his card. The receipt showed it cost exactly three hundred dollars. So, he was capable of planning grand, thoughtful surprises. He just didn’t want to waste them on me. On my drive home that day, I bit my lip until it bled, but the tears still spilled over. Five years. For five whole years, I was stupid enough to think he truly understood me. When I first told him I wanted a wedding in the snowy mountains, he had smiled, ruffled my hair, and said, “Whatever you want, babe.” At that moment, I was so touched. I thought he remembered. I thought he cared. I thought he remembered that the mountains were where we first met. He had forgotten how I had scraped myself bloody trying to pull him up from a ledge, how I had held his hand in a freezing blizzard and whispered, “Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.” But he didn’t remember. Or rather, he just didn’t care. I remembered my doctor’s warning: heavy emotional stress would ruin my optic nerve recovery. I forced myself to look up, trying to swallow my tears, but my throat ached with a suffocating tightness. Julian called me later. The background noise was deafening, the bass of the music shaking the speaker. “Clara, Carter and the guys are throwing me a bachelor party tonight. I’m not coming home.” I paused for two seconds. “Okay.” This “bachelor party” had already lasted three days. At 1:00 AM, unable to sleep, I opened Snapchat. Carter had posted a story with the caption: My brother’s last night of freedom! In the center of the screen was a photo of Chloe, her cheeks flushed, drunk and clinging tightly to Julian’s chest. Julian’s hand was resting casually on her waist. Underneath the post, several of their friends had commented: “They look like a power couple. Honestly, what a waste.” “They’re childhood sweethearts, you guys. Stop stirring the pot.” “@Julian Watch yourself, man. Don’t make Clara mad!” Julian had replied directly under that comment: “Clara won’t care. If she wants to pick a fight over this, then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all.” I double-tapped the post to leave a like, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. He was so sure I would just take it. Just like I took him changing the venue, just like I took him spending seventy thousand dollars on another woman’s dress, just like I took every single “she’s just a friend” excuse. But this time, I was done. The next day, I went to the hospital for my follow-up exam alone. The doctor frowned when he saw me. “I told you last time, your vision is highly unstable. You need someone to accompany you.” I offered a polite smile. “I can handle it on my own.” As I left the clinic, it started pouring rain. Across the street, inside a cozy café, I spotted two familiar figures. Julian was holding up his phone, and Chloe was leaning against his shoulder, flashing a peace sign as they took a cozy selfie. Clung to Chloe’s shoulder was a brand-new designer bag—the very one Julian had claimed last week was “for a client.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh, pulled up my hood, and walked home through the freezing rain. When Julian finally came home, I was just changing out of my soaked clothes. He blinked in surprise. “Why are you so wet?” “I had my hospital appointment.” Julian froze. “That was today?” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Yeah. I reminded you three times.” Julian ran a hand through his hair, looking annoyed. “I’ve been crazy busy lately. It slipped my mind. Besides, your vision is mostly back. Missing one appointment isn’t going to kill you.” I stared at him quietly. “The doctor said my optic nerve is still degenerating.” Julian choked on his words. He was silent for a moment before his face hardened with irritation. “Are you seriously trying to guilt-trip me again? Are you going to bring up the fact that you got hurt for me?” Ah. So that was it. In his eyes, my permanent medical condition was just a tool I used to demand attention. Seeing my silence, Julian’s annoyance flared into anger. “Don’t give me that silent treatment! I forgot one time. Why do you always have to make a federal case out of everything?”

I looked at his collar and spoke softly. “You have blueberry jam on your shirt.” Julian’s hand flew to his collar, and he stiffened. “You…” “Chloe’s bag is really nice, by the way,” I added casually. Julian’s face flushed red with embarrassment and anger. He pointed a finger at me, raising his voice. “Were you stalking me?! Seriously, Clara? She was having a bad day and just needed to vent!” “You know what her family situation is like. I’m all she has!” “Can you just be a little more open-minded? This constant jealousy is getting exhausting!” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “How ironic… because during my doctor’s appointment today, I was the only one I had, too.” It was as if my words had pierced a nerve. Julian stammered, looking defensive. “That’s different… you have people who care about you…” Suddenly, his phone rang. It was Chloe again. Julian answered immediately. Chloe’s sobbing voice filled the quiet room. “Julian… I fell down the stairs. It hurts so bad…” “Don’t panic. I’m on my way right now.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and headed straight for the door. Right before he left, he paused and looked back at me. “You need to cool your head and think about your attitude. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the bakery to choose the wedding favors.” “And stop stalking me. You’re making yourself look pathetic.” The front door slammed shut. But his words kept ringing in my ears. Pathetic? He was right. I was pathetic. I was only surprised it had taken me this long to finally see it. I guess I really had gone blind a long time ago. The next day, the drive to the bakery was suffocatingly quiet. I put in my AirPods, closed my eyes, and ignored him. Julian kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly anxious. “The weather lately is perfect for a beach trip…” I could feel his eyes drifting toward me. When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I heard the Malibu Ocean Resort is super popular right now. A ton of celebrities have had their weddings there.” My eyes remained closed. I just let out a soft hum. Julian frowned, his tone turning sharp. “Clara, are you even listening to me?” I opened my eyes slowly. “I am. So what?” Julian choked on his words, looking lost. “…Nothing. Just making conversation.” The cool breeze drifted in through the window, clearing my head. “Julian,” I turned my head to look at him. “Is there anything about the wedding you want to tell me?” This was the first time I had asked him directly. It would also be the last. He avoided my gaze, letting out a nervous laugh. “Everything is in your hands, babe. I trust your judgment.” I lowered my eyes, the last shred of my hope dying. He was still playing games. Even now, if he had just been honest with me, I might have… No, I wouldn’t have. I clenched my fists. Trust was such an easy thing for him to trample on. Julian let out a dry laugh, his heart pounding with unease. She definitely knows, he probably thought. She’s just sulking. I’ll make it up to her later. When we walked into the bakery, I saw the custom cookies I had ordered. They were beautifully crafted in the shape of snowy mountains. Just as I was about to taste one, a familiar, high-pitched voice came from behind us. “Julian? Did you come to buy me those cinnamon rolls?” My chest tightened. Why was she always here? Chloe looked at me, covering her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my gosh, Clara! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there…” “Wait, are you guys picking out wedding favors? This place has the best cinnamon rolls! Julian brings me here all the time!” My fingers curled tightly. Julian had brought her here countless times, while I only found out about this place from my best friend, Becca.

Chloe picked up a new pastry from the display. “Clara, you should try this one! It’s perfect for a beach vibe, especially paired with champagne!” I took a step back. “No, thank you. I’ve already made my choice. Enjoy your dessert.” Chloe blinked, her face instantly melting into a look of hurt innocence. “Are you… mad at me? I-I should just leave.” Julian immediately grabbed Chloe’s wrist. “Clara didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to leave.” He turned to me, his eyes hard. “Clara, Chloe is going to be your maid of honor. Don’t be so harsh. You’re scaring her.” I froze. When had this been decided? Wasn’t the maid of honor supposed to be my choice? But then I mocked myself. He could change the entire wedding venue without telling me. Why would he need my permission for a bridesmaid? I looked at them blankly. “This is just how I am. If you don’t like it, don’t look.” Both of them stared at me, clearly shocked by my coldness. Chloe’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Never mind. I should go. I don’t want to ruin your day.” But Julian didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, his fingers slid down, interlocking with hers. “Clara, you’re about to get married. Why are you acting so childish?” “Ever since we set the date, you’ve been throwing tantrums left and right. Is this fun for you?” Chloe pulled at his arm, whispering, “Julian, don’t…” but she only leaned closer to his shoulder. Julian was practically shaking with anger. “No, Chloe! I’m sick of this!” “Clara, keep pushing me. Keep acting out. Don’t come crying to me when you cry yourself blind again!” The entire bakery fell dead silent. The staff lowered their heads, pretending to be busy. My heart felt like it had been dropped into a bucket of ice water. So, in his eyes, my blindness… was just a result of me “crying over jealousy.” And to think I had actually hoped he would remember what the snowy mountains meant to us. How many times had Chloe called him away for a “migraine” or “low blood sugar” during our dates? Julian had dropped everything every single time. When I had a 102-degree fever, Julian had gone shopping with Chloe, texting me a simple: Drink some water, babe. I’ll check on you later. He never showed up. And whenever I complained, he would snap at me. “Why can’t you be more understanding? Chloe actually needs me!” On our anniversary, Julian had promised to take me to see the mountain sunrise. I had spent weeks preparing a gift, only for him to forget the date entirely. “It’s just a calendar date, Clara. Why do you have to be so dramatic?” Yet, for Chloe’s birthday, he booked a Michelin-star restaurant a month in advance, bought her a designer gift, and posted it on Instagram. Happy birthday to the most important person in my life. I looked at the two of them standing hand-in-hand. I was so tired. I should have walked away a long time ago. I turned and walked out. Julian didn’t follow me. He only threw one last line at my back. “She’s probably just stressed about the wedding. Don’t take it personally, Chloe.” Through the glass window of the bakery, I saw him pick up a fork and feed Chloe a bite of the cinnamon roll. They looked like the perfect couple. That night, Julian sent me a voice note. “Clara, stop being mad.” “I’m working so hard, trying to balance my job and take care of both of you. Can’t you show a little appreciation?” “We’re about to be husband and wife. I need you to grow up.” He sounded slightly drunk, his voice slurring as he rambled on. I deleted the voice note without finishing it. He was right. He had it so hard. So, I was going to make things incredibly easy for him. I was going to take myself out of his equation entirely. The day before the wedding, Julian finally called me, sounding anxious.

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On our seventh wedding anniversary, Carter gave me a very special gift. A divorce agreement, and a stack of printed Snapchat messages showing me “cheating.” In the photos, I was chatting flirtatiously with a college boy named Zev. Carter stood in the living room, looking down at me with utter disgust. “Since you’re so desperate for a man, sign this and walk away penniless. I’m doing you a favor by letting you be with your hot college kid.” Looking at those explicit chat logs, I didn’t defend myself. I just picked up the pen and signed my name. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, I heard Carter on the balcony, making a phone call. His tone was light, dripping with the smugness of someone who had just won a grand prize. “You were right, Sam. Telling me to create an alt account to bait her was a genius move. That old hag hooked right onto a few sweet words.” “Now she’s leaving with absolutely nothing. I’ll marry you tomorrow.” The winter wind outside was freezing, but I didn’t look back. Honestly, I had known Zev was Carter from the very beginning. In the scenic photos he sent me, the reflection in the glass clearly showed the expensive watch I had gifted him. I just didn’t call him out. I played along with his little cyber-love game every single day. Why? Because after being diagnosed with severe heart failure, I didn’t even have the energy to argue anymore. Through the fake “Zev,” I felt like I was seeing the Carter from seven years ago again—the boy whose eyes used to be filled only with me. Now that the papers were signed, it was time to wake up from the dream. For the rest of my numbered days, I just wanted to die in peace, alone.

As I dragged my suitcase out of the gated community, Gary, the security guard, poked his head out. “Heading out so late, Mrs. Vance?” I paused, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to call me that anymore, Gary.” He blinked, utterly confused. I didn’t explain. I just hailed a taxi. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You look really pale, miss. Do you need me to take you to the hospital first?” “No, thank you.” I pressed my hand against my chest. The doctor said my heart was failing. Actually, it had just loved Carter for seven years, and now, it was finally tired of beating. The cab pulled up to an old apartment building downtown. This was the place my parents had left me. A small two-bedroom apartment with peeling yellow wallpaper. The living room light flickered three times before finally staying on. I pushed my suitcase against the wall and sat on the couch, waiting a long time to catch my breath. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Carter. [Daisy, you signed the agreement yourself. You chose to leave penniless.] [Don’t come crawling back to me crying later.] Staring at the screen, I suddenly laughed. Seven years ago, he used to text me like this, too. One message after another. When he was pursuing me back in college, on his first day of a business trip, he sent me ninety-nine Snapchats. [Daisy, did you eat yet?] [Daisy, it’s raining outside. Remember to bring an umbrella.] [Daisy, I miss you so much.] Later on, he rarely called me Daisy. It became “Daisy Vance,” “Mrs. Vance,” or simply, “Can you stop annoying me?” Until Zev appeared. That account used a profile picture of a puppy soaking in the rain. The first time he added me, he messaged: [Hi. I saw you at the convenience store today. You looked really sad.] I shouldn’t have accepted the request. But that day, I had just returned from the hospital. The doctor had slid the report in front of me, his voice incredibly soft. “Miss Vance, your end-stage dilated cardiomyopathy has reached its final phase.” “If you don’t get a transplant, the risk of sudden death is extremely high.” “Where is your husband? In this situation, it’s best if your family hears this together.” I held the report, freezing for a long time. Then I said, “I don’t have one.” The doctor glanced at the wedding ring on my ring finger but didn’t ask further. That night, Zev sent his second message. [It’s cold. Remember to bundle up.] It was a very ordinary sentence, but I stared at it for a long time. Because seven years ago, Carter used to nag me the exact same way. He would wrap his scarf around my neck, layer after layer, scowling as he scolded me: “Daisy, do you think you’re made of iron? If you freeze and get sick, I’m the one who’s going to suffer.” I replied to Zev. [Who are you?] He replied quickly: [Just a passerby. And someone who really wants to make you smile.] Actually, I knew something was off back then. But I kept talking to him anyway. Because the real Carter hadn’t spoken to me like that in years. My phone lit up again. This time, it was Zev. [Daisy, did you make it home?] My fingertips hovered over the screen. After a long pause, I typed one word. [Yeah.] A few seconds of silence on the other end. [Did he treat you badly again?] Staring at those words, my eyes suddenly welled with tears. Carter was using his alt account to ask if he himself was treating me badly. How ridiculous. I slowly typed back: [No. I’m free now.] Zev replied almost instantly: [That’s good. I’ll be here for you from now on.] I flipped the phone face down on the table. There was no need. I didn’t have a “from now on” anymore.

The next morning, Carter had his lawyer send me an addendum to the divorce agreement. The lawyer’s tone was strictly professional. “Daisy, Mr. Vance said that if you record a video admitting to cheating during the marriage, he will give you an extra million dollars.” Clutching my water mug, I asked, “And if I refuse?” “Then the chat logs, the hotel photos, and the agreement you voluntarily signed will be sent to both of your families and friends.” The lawyer paused before adding, “Mr. Vance also said if you don’t cooperate, he will leak these to your company, your Snapchat group chats, and your late parents’ old friends.” Hearing him mention “hotel photos,” I looked down and smiled bitterly. That day, Zev had asked to meet me at a coffee shop downstairs from a hotel, claiming he was in a terrible mood. I never went inside. I only stood at the entrance for two minutes, took an emergency call, and left. So, even those two minutes could be captured and framed as evidence. I nodded. “I’ll record the video.” The lawyer let out a visible sigh of relief. I hung up, opened my laptop, and saved the call recording into an encrypted folder. At ten in the morning, I went to the hospital. Looking at my charts, Dr. Evans’ frown deepened. “Have you been under a lot of emotional stress lately?” I remained silent. “Daisy, you need to be admitted immediately.” He tapped my chart. “This isn’t just a regular heart condition anymore. You could have acute heart failure at any moment.” “If a matching donor becomes available, do you still want to go through with the transplant?” I looked down at my hands. Carter used to love holding my hands. He said my fingers were long and perfect for rings. Later, he took off his own ring and threw it in my face. “Daisy, who are you wearing that ring for every day? It makes me sick just looking at it.” I looked up at Dr. Evans. “If I don’t do the surgery, how long do I have?” Dr. Evans froze. “Maybe a few months. Or you could just slip away suddenly.” I nodded. “Then I won’t wait.” Dr. Evans’ voice grew heavy. “You’re only twenty-nine.” I smiled softly. “But I’m so tired.” When I walked out of the hospital, I saw Samantha’s new Instagram post. In the photo, she was standing in my old walk-in closet, wearing my silk nightgown. Her caption read: [Some spots belong to those who actually deserve to be loved.] I stared at it for two seconds and liked the post. Not long after, Carter called. His voice was laced with anger. “Daisy, what the hell is your problem?” “My finger slipped.” He let out a cold laugh. “Stop playing dumb. Do you think your passive-aggressive behavior is going to make me feel guilty?” I took a shallow, painful breath. “Carter, I’m not that free.” He went quiet for a second, probably catching the strain in my voice. “Are you sick?” “No.” His tone turned irritated again. “Stop talking to me with that half-dead voice.” I looked out at the gloomy, overcast sky. “Then hang up.” He was silent for a moment before saying coldly, “You sure got brave after leaving me. I hope you keep that energy.” He hung up. Three minutes later, Zev sent a message. [Have you been crying?] Staring at the words “been crying,” a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. I fumbled for my pills and swallowed two. Then I typed: [Zev, can you accompany me somewhere tomorrow?] He replied almost instantly. [Of course. Anywhere you want to go, I’m there.]

I asked Zev to accompany me to the local university campus. Of course, we weren’t actually meeting in person. I told him I wasn’t comfortable meeting internet friends in real life, so having him chat with me on my phone was enough. Zev was incredibly sweet about it. [If you don’t want to meet, I won’t show my face.] By the time the bus dropped me off at the campus gates, the snow had just stopped. The crepe food truck at the entrance was still there. The owner’s son had taken over, but the sign remained the same. I bought two crepes. One spicy, one plain. Seven years ago, Carter couldn’t eat spicy food at all. But I would always buy the spicy one just to tease him. He’d take a bite, his ears turning bright red from the heat, and still act tough: “It’s not even that spicy.” I would laugh so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Flustered and embarrassed, he would grab my backpack and run off. The sun had been so bright that day. His white shirt billowed in the wind like a young boy’s wings. By the time I reached my third lap around the campus track, my chest began to tighten. I gripped the metal railing, leaning over to catch my breath. Suddenly, a pair of black leather shoes came to a stop nearby. I looked up. Carter was standing behind a tree. He was wearing a dark grey trench coat, car keys dangling from his hand. As our eyes met, his expression shifted slightly. I spoke first. “Are you stalking me?” He frowned. “Stalking you? Please. I have a business meeting nearby.” The excuse was exactly the same as seven years ago. Back then, he would sneak onto campus just to see me. When I caught him, he would always say, “Who’s here to see you? I was just passing by.” Back then, I would have thrown my arms around him. Now, I just wanted to walk away. Carter grabbed my wrist. “Daisy, are you really this desperate to reminisce about the past?” I looked down at his grip. “Let go.” He sneered. “What, did your little college boyfriend stand you up?” I waved my phone. “Actually, he’s chatting with me right now. He’s much better company than you.” Carter’s face darkened. How pathetic. He was actually getting jealous of a fictional character he created himself. “Daisy, you really are pathetic.” The moment those words left his mouth, a sharp spasm ripped through my chest. I couldn’t hold it in. I bent over, coughing violently. Carter froze. “What’s wrong with you?” I brushed his hand away. “None of your business.” He wanted to say something else, but his phone rang. Samantha’s name flashed on the screen. He hesitated for a second before answering. I couldn’t hear what she said, but his expression softened immediately. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” After hanging up, he looked back at me, his face turning cold and distant again. “Stop playing victim, Daisy. No one is buying your act anymore.” I nodded. “Then leave.” He stood there, unmoving. I looked up at him. “Isn’t Samantha waiting for you?” It was like I had touched a nerve. His face twisted in anger, and he finally turned and walked away. My phone buzzed. Zev had sent a message. [Did you just run into him?] I watched the red taillights of Carter’s car fade into the distance. [Yeah. He still hates me.] Zev replied quickly: [No, he doesn’t. He’s just an idiot.] [If he regrets it in the future, would you ever forgive him?] Sitting on the cold bench, my fingertips were stiff from the freezing air. After a long time, I replied: [No. I don’t have a future anymore.]

A week after the divorce, Carter sent someone to collect the keys to the house. I put the keys in an envelope, along with my wedding ring. It was our matching set. I had no idea where his was anymore. I had worn mine for seven years. When I pulled it off, it left a pale, faint indent on my ring finger. Right after the courier left, Samantha called. Her voice was sweet and dripping with triumph. “Daisy, I got the package. But didn’t you leave something behind?” “What?” I asked. “The wooden box in Carter’s study.” She giggled. “The one filled with your old, trashy photos. It’s giving me bad vibes.” “If you still want it, come get it yourself.” My parents’ old photographs were in that wooden box. When I rushed to the house, Samantha was lounging on the living room sofa. She was wearing my silk nightgown, and the wooden box sat by her feet. The photos inside had been messily rummaged through. A photo of my parents had fallen to the floor, the corner of it trapped under her slipper. My expression went cold. “Move your foot.” Samantha looked up, her smile innocent. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see it.” She slowly dragged her foot away, leaving a sharp crease on the photo. I bent down to pick it up. Suddenly, she kicked the wooden box away with her toe. Photos and letters scattered all over the floor. “Daisy, I actually kind of admire you,” she said, leaning in. “Kicked out of the house, and you’re still this calm.” “Is it because that college kid is treating you so well?” My hands paused as I gathered the photos. Samantha laughed harder. “But you really are pitiful. Did you know Carter created that alt account just to mess with you?” “When you were texting him ‘goodnight’ every day, do you have any idea how much we laughed at you?” I didn’t look up. “Are you done laughing?” My calmness clearly irritated her. Her smile faltered. “What are you pretending for? Do you think you’re losing with dignity?” “You’re just an unwanted, abandoned wife.” I placed the last photo back into the box and finally looked up at her. “Samantha, are you trying this hard to prove you won because Carter still hasn’t married you?” Her face paled. Just then, footsteps sounded at the door. Carter walked in and frowned the moment he saw me. “What are you doing here?” Samantha’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She rushed over and clung to his arm. “Carter, I just wanted to give her things back, but I think Daisy misunderstood me.” Carter looked at the mess on the floor, then at the wooden box in my hands. His tone was freezing. “Daisy, do you have to make such a scene?” Suddenly, I felt incredibly exhausted. In the past, I would have explained myself a thousand times over. But Carter never believed me. I clutched the wooden box to my chest and started walking toward the door. Carter blocked my path. “Apologize.” I blinked. “What?” He looked at me with pure annoyance. “Apologize to Samantha.” Samantha lowered her head, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. I stared at Carter for what felt like an eternity. So long that my chest grew heavy and a loud ringing filled my ears. Then, I laughed. “Carter, do you remember?” “Years ago, you wouldn’t even let anyone touch a hair on my head.” His eyes flickered slightly. I continued, “And now, you’re demanding I apologize to the person who just stepped on my dead parents’ photo.” He looked down at the creased photo on the floor, his face shifting. Samantha rushed to explain, “I didn’t mean to—” “It’s fine,” I interrupted her. “My parents have been dead for years anyway. They can’t see it.” Carter’s throat bobbed. “Daisy…” I ignored him. Just as I reached the foyer, a sudden, agonizing pain gripped my heart. The wooden box slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor as the photos scattered once again. I leaned heavily against the wall, my vision turning pitch black. Carter rushed forward to catch me. “Daisy!” With the last of my strength, I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.” His hands froze in mid-air. I fumbled through my purse, pulled out my pills, and swallowed them dry. Samantha stood behind him, whispering, “Is she just faking it?” This time, Carter didn’t immediately side with her. He stared at the prescription bottle in my hand, his face turning pale. I didn’t look back as I walked out. In the back of the cab, I opened my Snapchat chat with Zev. He had just sent a message: [My chest hurt so bad just now. Are you hurting too?] I stared at it for a long time, then smiled. I sent him a screenshot. It was the photo of the river nightscape he had sent me last week. In the reflection of the glass, half of Carter’s face was clearly visible, along with the watch I had bought him. And Samantha’s hand, resting heavily on his shoulder. The “typing…” indicator on the other end stopped. I slowly typed: [Carter, your acting is terrible. I’ve known Zev was you since day one.]

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