Category: English

My mother became a viral sensation because of a “Before and After” pregnancy video. She captioned it: “You see my mess today, but you forget I used to be a girl…” She used that viral fame to guilt-trip me into a life of indentured servitude. At six years old, I was responsible for the laundry, the cooking, and the cleaning. She never flinched, even when my hands were blistered from hot grease. “I was a rising star news anchor,” she’d remind me. “My career was destroyed because of you. Your physical pain is nothing compared to the death of my dreams.” She would break me down, then wrap me in a hug the moment the chores were done. She made me believe I owed her my life. I died on the third day of trying to hand-scrub a heavy area rug, my small heart simply giving out from exhaustion. But I woke up. I’m back. And as I watch her setting up her ring light for another “Before and After” video, I know exactly what I have to do. 1 “Look at the comments! Thousands of moms are crying with me, and the world is mourning who I used to be!” “My life ended the day I went into labor!” “If it wasn’t for you, Chloe, I’d be in a corner office at the network right now!” Hearing those words again made my vision blur. I looked over at Mrs. Gable, our nanny, who was busy in the kitchen. My small fists clenched. The universe had given me a second chance. I had worked myself to death for her, and now I was back at the beginning. In my past life, today was the day Mom posted the video that broke the internet. The caption read: “You see my mess today, but you forget I used to be a girl…” The video started with her current self: disheveled, unwashed, and nearly two hundred pounds. Then, a sharp transition to her “Before” life: a slim, polished, high-achieving local news anchor. The internet ate it up. “The ultimate horror story.” “If this is what happens to your body, I’m never having kids.” “Another day of being grateful for birth control!” The pity of strangers fueled her resentment. She looked at me and saw the thief who stole her beauty. She grabbed my favorite doll and smashed it onto the floor. “If I hadn’t carried you, I wouldn’t be this fat! I wouldn’t be this broken!” I burst into tears, which only made her angrier. “Cry! That’s all you do! Your screaming is why I don’t sleep! It’s why my hair is falling out!” But I remembered. Ever since I could walk, Mrs. Gable was the one who slept in my room. Mom only started “parenting” me this month when she decided we couldn’t afford the help anymore. I tried to run to Mrs. Gable for safety. I loved the smell of her fresh laundry detergent; it was the only thing that made me feel safe. But Mom wasn’t done. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be on the air! You ruined my future!” I shrunk into Mrs. Gable’s shadow. When it was time for her to go home, I tugged on her sleeve, begging her to stay. But Mom’s rage was a physical force, and Mrs. Gable, eyes full of pity, eventually had to leave. I hid in the corner, praying Dad would get home from the office early. Then Mom saw a notification on her phone—some new comment about how “brave” she was. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the laundry room. “Starting today, I’m going back to being the girl who never got her hands dirty. You’re the reason I’m in this mess, so you’re going to fix it. You’re doing the laundry from now on.” “Mom, I don’t know how…” I whispered. Her eyes flashed with hate. “Then learn. Are you stupid? You’ve seen the nanny do it a thousand times.” I started to cry, and she kicked the water bucket over. “Stop being a curse on this house! Wash the clothes, or you don’t eat!” I was six. I tried to hand-wash her silk nightgown and tore the delicate fabric. She went into a frenzy, grabbing Dad’s leather belt and striking me until I was curled on the floor, screaming for mercy. When Dad finally came home, they had a screaming match that shook the walls. “You hate me because I’m fat! Because I don’t have a career!” Mom shrieked. “I should never have had a kid! I have nothing left! I should just die!” I sobbed under my covers, terrified. The next day, they were suddenly “fine” again. But Mrs. Gable—the woman who had raised me since I was a baby—never came back. 2 Every time I asked for Mrs. Gable, Mom would guilt-trip me. “Don’t be so selfish, Chloe. You’ve already ruined my career. Do you want to kill your father with stress, too?” “Your dad works so hard. We can’t afford a nanny. You’re six; it’s time to be a big girl. You’re going to take care of this house now.” Then, she’d kiss my forehead. I was so desperate for her love that I’d just nod. I spent my afternoons after kindergarten scrubbing. She wouldn’t let me use the washing machine. “It ruins the clothes. Hand-washing is better,” she’d say. By winter, my hands were cracked and bleeding from the cold water and harsh soap. Then came the cooking. I was terrified of the stove. One night, the oil popped, and my arm was covered in painful blisters. I wailed in pain, but Mom just scoffed. “Useless. You can’t even do one simple thing right.” “Do you have any idea what I sacrificed for you?” I didn’t know what that meant. I just knew that when I used to fall down, Mrs. Gable would hug me. Mom just watched me bleed. When Dad came home from his business trip, I ran to him. Mom got there first, smiling sweetly. “Look at this little troublemaker! She tried to cook behind my back while I was resting!” I wanted to tell him the truth, but Mom pulled me into a hug. I breathed in her perfume and stayed silent. If working made her hug me, I’d work forever. I pushed myself to the limit for her. To clean the living room rug, I didn’t sleep for three days. I collapsed in the bathroom, my heart stopping before I even hit the tile. Mom found me. She checked my pulse. When she realized I wasn’t breathing, she panicked for a second—then she shoved my head into the water bucket. She waited ten minutes before calling 911. When Dad got home, she was a wreck, slapping herself and screaming. “I should have stayed awake! If I hadn’t been napping, she wouldn’t have been playing in the water!” “Chloe, you’ve broken my heart! Why were you playing with the bucket…” I wanted to scream the truth, but I was a ghost. She turned my death into a viral story about “The Grief of a Mother.” She made a fortune off the tragedy. Eventually, Dad found out the truth. He was devastated and tried to drag her to the police station. To save her career as an influencer, she caused a car accident that killed him, too. I hated her. Dad was the only one who actually tried. He’d hired help, paid for her therapy, bought her postpartum recovery classes. He took the night shifts so she could sleep. And she killed him. I snapped back to the present. It was the day of the viral video. If Mom thinks I’m a burden… then this time, I’m going to be a heavy one. 3 “Chloe! Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” I blinked, looking up at her with the most innocent, wide-eyed expression I could manage. “Mom… why don’t you just go back to work?” “I mean, Mrs. Gable does everything anyway, right? You don’t really do anything here.” She froze. Then, she stepped forward and slapped me twice. Hard. “You ungrateful brat! Am I in your way? Is that it?” “I deserve a break! Don’t come crying to me when you’re sick or need a field trip chaperone!” I felt a cold smile forming inside. Go ahead, try the ‘working’ excuse. She hadn’t been to a single school event in my last life anyway. Mrs. Gable rushed over and pulled me into a hug. “Chloe, apologize to your mother!” I didn’t cry. I looked at Mom with a spark of defiance she didn’t recognize. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, slipping down from Mrs. Gable’s lap and kneeling. “I said the wrong thing. Please punish me.” They both looked stunned. I looked at the clock. Dad would be home soon. I ran to the laundry room and grabbed a dirty shirt. “Since Mom is so tired, I’ll help. I’ll do the laundry from now on!” Mrs. Gable tried to stop me, but I insisted. “I want to be a ‘Big Girl,’ Mrs. Gable. I need to practice.” Mom sneered. “Fine. She’s six. She can wash her own clothes.” I didn’t tell her that I already knew how to do everything. I just waited. When the time was right, I took her favorite $300 silk dress—the only one that still fit her comfortably—and I shredded it against the washboard. I walked out to the dining room, holding the ruined dress, looking terrified. “Mom… I’m sorry. I broke it.” She saw the dress and her eyes turned red. She lunged at me, kicking me into the wall. “You useless brat! Do you know how much this cost?!” I shivered, sobbing for real this time. “I’m sorry, Mommy! I’ll do better!” She grabbed Dad’s belt, just like before. I checked the door. Click. The smart lock turned. Perfect timing. 4 “Vanessa! What the hell are you doing?!” Dad burst through the door just as the belt swung down. Mom froze. “Are you blind? I’m disciplining her!” “She insisted on doing laundry and ruined my $300 silk dress! Do you know how hard it is for me to find clothes that fit right now?!” I crawled to Mom’s feet, trembling. “I’m sorry, Mommy! Please give me another chance! I promise I’ll wash the rest perfectly!” I lifted my head just enough so Dad could see the red handprints on my face. Dad’s voice was low and dangerous. “Vanessa… who hit her face?” I cut in before she could lie. “Dad, please don’t be mad at Mom! I’ll work harder! I’ll do all the chores so Mom can rest!” Mom looked triumphant for a second. But Dad snatched the belt from her hand. “She’s six, Vanessa! You beat her like an animal because of a dress?” “Is the washing machine broken? Or are you just too lazy to use it?” I sobbed harder. “Dad, don’t fight. It’s my fault for being a burden… I’ll do everything, I promise.” Dad didn’t comfort her that night. He took me to the guest room, cleaned my face, and slept there with the door locked. The wedge was driven. Now, I just had to keep pushing. 5 The next morning, Mom tried to play the martyr. “Fine. Since I’m such a monster, I’m going out to find a job.” Dad frowned, about to say something, but I shoved a piece of toast into his mouth. “You can do it, Mom! I’ll stay home with Mrs. Gable and be a good girl!” Mom waited for Dad to beg her to stay. He didn’t. She slammed the door so hard the pictures rattled. Because I made it clear I “needed” Mrs. Gable, Dad didn’t fire her. Mom spent her days “job hunting,” but after seven years out of the industry, no one wanted her. She was bitter and out of touch. She’d come home and take it out on me. “I can’t find anything because I have a seven-year gap on my resume because of you!” “Even the receptionists look at me like I’m a joke!” “Why don’t you just disappear? If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be someone!” I hid in Dad’s arms. “Why is Mom so mean?” Dad’s patience was gone. “She’s not mean because of you, Chloe. She’s mean because she’s lazy. I paid for a nanny, I paid for her trainers, I did the night shifts—she chose to stay on the couch.” “Vanessa,” Dad said, his voice cold. “I want a divorce.” Mom froze. Then she started screaming. “You just want a younger, thinner woman! You’re abandoning me after I gave you a child!” “I’m leaving because you’re a monster to our daughter,” Dad said. “And I’m taking Chloe. You never cared for her anyway.” Mom lunged at me. “Chloe, tell him! You want to stay with Mommy, right? I gave you life!” I looked at Dad. “I want to stay with Daddy. I’m scared of Mom.” Mom’s face twisted. “You ungrateful little bitch! I should have strangled you the day you were born!” The divorce was quick. Dad gave her the house and a settlement just to get us away from her. We moved into a cozy apartment near his office. I thought we were safe. But Mom wasn’t done.

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For three years, the personalized license plate frame on my SUV that read “Mr. Bellweather’s Spot” was a permanent fixture. It was a small, silly symbol of my marriage to Isabelle, but it meant something. That’s why finding a pair of men’s athletic boxer briefs, definitely not mine, shoved under the passenger seat, felt like a physical punch. When I demanded an explanation, Isabelle—Izzy—was unnervingly calm. “An early birthday gift for you, Cal. Don’t overthink it.” It happened again at a high-stakes business dinner. My CEO wife, Izzy, picked up a slice of scallop from her own plate and, with a casual intimacy that made my stomach churn, fed it directly to her male assistant, Dustin Keller. The whole room paused. Her defense, delivered without bothering to meet my eyes: “Just showing concern for a hardworking subordinate. If you don’t like it, fire him.” But the next time I saw Dustin, he was holding Izzy’s prenatal sonogram photo, a smug, sickening smirk plastered on his face. I snapped. I lunged across the table and landed a punch square on his jaw. Izzy didn’t say a word. She just went back to normal. She clung to me, smothering me with affection, and in bed, she was more intense, more possessive than ever, driving us both to exhaustion until the early hours. A few weeks later, the kidnappings started. Seven times in one month. Each time, the tormentors were new, but the goal was the same: to inflict pain that bordered on the medieval. I endured non-human levels of physical and psychological torture. Then, my father died saving me. He was stripped of all dignity and brutally murdered right in front of me. My mother, unable to bear the trauma, retreated into herself and became catatonic. When I finally staggered back to my own home, bloody and barely conscious, I found Izzy’s inner circle playing a high-stakes game in our living room. “I’ll put five million down,” one of them drawled, “that Cal Mercer is so far gone he’ll forgive Sera even after he finds out everything.” “Two million says he not only forgives her,” another countered, counting out chips. “Sera schedules a kidnapping every seven days, and he’ll still crawl back begging for her attention.” I bit down hard, a cry catching in my throat. Tears, mixed with the grime and blood on my face, began to fall. It was always for him. Izzy had been getting revenge for the single punch I landed on Dusty. If I could just get away from her, seven days was all I needed. … I stood in my foyer, soaked in my own blood, watching Izzy carefully help Dustin Keller up the grand staircase. “Sera is so good to Dusty,” her friend marveled. “Dusty just coughed, and Sera’s hands were shaking. Now, just a little dizziness, and she’s already heartbroken!” “Seriously. Remember the last time she was pregnant with Cal’s baby? Dusty just frowned, and she terminated the pregnancy that same day.” “And after Cal hit him? Sera had people trash Cal’s parents’ house and told the men who kidnapped Cal to go hard. He’s paying a hundred times over.” Izzy descended the stairs a few minutes later, a fresh, fiery red mark visible high on her neck. Her friends started to tease, but she cut them off sharply. “Quiet down. Dusty’s asleep. Did you take care of my instructions?” “Consider it done. The new company is incorporated, and the hundred-million-dollar project is secured.” Izzy nodded, her expression cold. “From now on, you call him ‘Mr. Keller.’ I’m transferring the new company to him next week.” The friend hesitated. “Sera, what about… Cal?” Izzy’s voice was lethal. “The second his fist made contact with Dusty’s face, he signed his death warrant. He will suffer a hundred times the pain Dustin felt.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood pooling in my throat. “The deadline is approaching,” someone else asked. “When are we bringing him back? If he’s gone too long, he might get suspicious.” Izzy let out a cold laugh. “Suspicious? He’s in a cage, praying every hour for me to save him. When I show up, he’ll be so grateful he’ll worship the ground I walk on.” I clenched my jaw until it ached, the tears washing paths down my filthy cheeks. I should have known. The Mercer estate had state-of-the-art security and multiple bodyguards. Yet, the night I was taken, the house was empty. Izzy had eyes everywhere, but my parents were able to pinpoint my location? It was all a gift from their loving daughter-in-law. A sudden, sharp scream from upstairs ripped through the silence. Izzy’s face twisted with a genuine, raw panic I’d never seen before. She flew up the stairs. My chest seized. A swarm of private doctors rushed in on her heels. I learned the truth: Dusty had simply had a nightmare. Izzy’s enraged roar echoed through the massive villa. A long while later, she finally instructed the team. “Tell the next crew. Move the kidnapping up. The psychological damage Cal inflicted on Dusty? He has to suffer a hundred times that pain!” I froze, struggling to hold myself upright. My eyes landed on the raw, purple bruises visible on my arms. Izzy was the woman who once frowned if a mosquito bit me. Now, daily beatings and torment were her form of discipline. The author of my never-ending horror show was the same woman who promised to cherish me forever. I panicked, scrambling for an exit, but my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the concrete, shards of decorative gravel embedding themselves in my open wounds. The pain was searing. Izzy heard the commotion. She spotted me and froze for a brief, bewildering moment. Then, she rushed over and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Cal, you’re finally home! I’ve been searching for you day and night! Tell me who did this to you, and I swear, I’ll make them pay!” Her tears splashed onto my face, but I felt nothing. How had I been fooled by this performance for so many years? I choked back a sob, my body trembling. She helped me back to our bedroom. My gaze immediately fixed on the tightly closed door of the room opposite ours. Izzy’s composure flickered with a millisecond of fear. “That’s… that’s the nursery I was planning for our baby,” she said quickly. “I locked it up. Didn’t want you to be reminded, you know.” My body tensed, and a bitter laugh caught in my throat. Another lie. Looking at her perfect, beautiful face, the bloody vision of my parents’ final moments flashed across my mind. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I doubled over and vomited a black, tarry substance onto the expensive rug. Before I lost consciousness, I heard her cold, detached voice. “Take him out. Hit him hard. Not to kill, just to send a message.” This time, Izzy, perhaps fearing discovery, only allowed them to torment me for a day. She held my filthy, blood-soaked body against her chest, her expression a mask of anguish. “I’m so sorry. You were snatched while I was taking you to the clinic. Cal, who are you messing with? Tell me, I’ll help you get revenge!” I looked at the woman radiating righteous fury and let out a cynical, internal laugh. It’s true, I thought. A person really will do anything for the one they love. She didn’t keep me around because she loved me. She kept me around to savor my thousand-fold suffering. “The doctor will be here any minute. Just hold on.” I nodded listlessly. But the footsteps I heard in the hall didn’t stop. They all went past our room, into Dusty’s room. Blood saturated my clothing, sticking the fabric to my wounds, and the pain made me dizzy. She wouldn’t even spare me a single doctor. A wrenching bitterness tightened around my heart. I passed out several times from the pain. When I finally woke up, I slipped downstairs. A man was sitting on the sofa. The second he saw me, he started shaking with fear. Before I could react, Izzy rushed over and shielded him. “Cal, stop. Dusty is just staying here for a while. He won’t bother you.” I managed a weak pull at the corner of my lips, ignoring them both, and walked straight out the door. I drove to the funeral home. When I went to collect my father’s ashes, the attendant handed me a small, sealed vial of liquid. My eyes widened in disbelief. “What is this?” “A gentleman specifically ordered it,” the attendant explained. “He said the deceased had a lingering, vengeful spirit that needed to be neutralized. Said you needed to use this solvent to dissolve the remains. A woman came by with him, too.” My blood ran cold. I gripped the nearest wall, barely keeping myself from falling. Tears blurred my vision. I fumbled for my phone and dialed Izzy. The first sound I heard was the low, intimate moans of two people on the other end. I ignored the sudden wave of nausea and choked out a sob. “Izzy, where are my parents’ ashes? Why would you do this?” “Dusty was being tormented in his nightmares by your father’s spirit,” she said, her voice breathy, unhurried. “The medium said the bones had a curse, so I had people… neutralize them. Don’t worry, it was for your dad’s own good.” I hung up, my fist slamming into the wall. Back at the house, I went straight for Dusty. I grabbed his collar, but Izzy moved faster. She slammed her foot into my ribs. “Calvin Mercer, what the hell is wrong with you! It’s just a dead man’s ashes! Does it matter that much?” The pain was suffocating. Suddenly, Dusty dropped to his knees in front of me, feigning repentance. “Cal, it’s my fault. Don’t blame Sera. Just kill me!” My father’s bloody, bruised body flashed in my memory. This man was the cause of it all. Blood rushed to my head. I reached for the heavy crystal ashtray on the side table. Clang! Izzy snatched the ashtray first and smashed it onto my forehead. “You dare try to hurt Dusty in front of me? Who knows what you do when I’m not here!” She pulled Dusty into her arms, soothing him. She didn’t spare a glance for the blood streaming down my face, soaking my shirt, or the unbearable agony in my heart. I found the first aid kit myself and started to clean the wound, fighting back the tears. My phone vibrated. I saw the caller ID and finally let the tears flow. “Sylvie, I couldn’t even protect Dad’s ashes. Mom is gone. I’m done with Izzy…” The woman on the other end, my adopted sister, suppressed her fury. Her voice, however, was impossibly gentle. “Cal, I’ve booked you a flight for tomorrow night. Come to me. The Bellweather house is about to change hands.” Suddenly, a pair of soft, boneless arms wrapped around me from behind. I froze. Izzy frowned. “Who are you talking to?” “No one.” “Honey, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. Please don’t misunderstand. I have always loved you. But since you inflicted a trauma on Dusty, it’s my duty to care for him and atone for your sin.” I swallowed the nausea and nodded listlessly. Atonement? Right. She held me close while ordering clothes on her phone. She bought dozens of pieces of high-end designer wear, but the shipping name wasn’t mine. Only then did she select a few ordinary coats for me. Noticing my gaze, Izzy spoke awkwardly. “Dusty always felt unloved growing up. He needs the best of everything.” I looked away, my chest throbbing with sharp, familiar pain. My thoughts were interrupted by a terrified scream. Izzy bolted out of the room. I stared, stunned. A black viper was coiled in front of Dusty, its tongue flicking. Izzy, quick as lightning, slammed her high heel down onto the snake’s neck, snapping it in two. Dusty saw me and scrambled back, crawling on his knees, his body shaking. “Cal, I know you resent me for taking Sera, but we really haven’t done anything. Why would you sprinkle snake powder under my bed and lure a viper to harm me?” My pupils constricted. Before I could utter a defense, Izzy’s hand whipped out and struck my face. Hard. She grabbed Dusty’s hand and spun around. She looked at me like a stranger. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I don’t know how long I sat there. Finally, two figures grabbed me and dragged me to the backyard. I started to shake uncontrollably when I saw it. It was the snake pit Izzy had maintained for years. Before I could react, they threw me into the inky blackness. Hiss. I slammed against the door, my hands raw and bleeding. Snakes coiled around my legs, the slimy coldness making me pull at my own hair, desperate for comfort. Then, the monitor clicked on. “Cal, this is for your own good. You need to temper your temper. Attacking Dusty repeatedly won’t be tolerated. This is a warning.” I laughed, the sound tasting like blood. Izzy, you are pure cruelty. I was a fool to trust her. The emotional torture was worse than the physical. The monitor suddenly filled with the graphic, intimate sounds of Izzy and Dusty locked in a desperate embrace. Izzy was giving Dusty all the tenderness and passion she had never once given me. A huge python slid toward me. I closed my eyes in despair. When I opened them again, the world was completely dark. I fumbled for a light switch and fell out of bed. I realized I’d been blinded by a venomous bite. I sat on the floor, my eyes vacant. A familiar scent washed over me. “Cal, why are you so stubborn? Just apologize and beg for forgiveness. Dusty is a saint. He’ll forgive you.” Izzy looked at me, a flicker of genuine pity in her eyes. I ripped my arm away from her touch. Sensing my hostility, she fought to maintain her calm. “The venom wasn’t lethal; your sight will return in a couple of days. The snakes in the pit are normally harmless. I’ve already punished the person who introduced the venomous ones.” I already knew who it was, and I laughed bitterly. “Oh? How did you punish him?” “I forbade him from watching TV, using his phone, or racing his car for a week…” My cynical laughter made Izzy’s face turn crimson. “Calvin Mercer, don’t push me! Dusty didn’t mean to! He accepted his punishment; what more do you want?” She stormed out. My eyes burned, and my body shook violently. The day I was discharged, my vision still blurry, I felt my way home, determined to find my father’s dissolved “ashes.” As I stepped inside, Dusty was waiting, a knife in his hand. With Izzy gone, the facade dropped. He lunged, gripping my hair and twisting my head. His face was a mask of malicious joy. “She did all that to you, and you’re still back here? Why don’t you just drop dead like your old man?” I shoved him away and snatched up the few items I could manage. I went to the clinic, retrieved my comatose mother, and headed for the airport. Dusty watched my retreating back with pure venom. Then, he plunged the knife into his own thigh. Blood immediately saturated his pants. When Izzy returned, the sight terrified her. She drove to the hospital like a maniac. Dusty cried in her arms, feigning weakness. “Sera, don’t blame Cal…” At the airport, my mother and I were dragged out of the car and into a dark alley. “Calvin Mercer, right? Your mother is a lucky woman today. Someone paid us handsomely to make sure she never walks again, or worse!” My mind exploded. I desperately dialed Izzy. “Izzy, don’t hurt my mother!” “Dusty just got out of critical condition after you attacked him again. And you have the nerve to play the victim?” Before I could speak, the line went dead. The men behind me tore the phone from my hand and smashed it. They bound me tightly, loosened their belts, and advanced, grinning, on my unresponsive mother in the wheelchair. My eyes bulged. I let out a desperate, guttural howl. “Isabelle Bellweather, you will regret this!

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The day the long-lost true heir showed up on the Ashton doorstep, I demanded a paternity test. Any rational person could see that my features were a perfect blueprint of the Ashton line, while the supposed “true daughter” was a stranger. I was certain I would expose the imposter, but the man who loved me most—my grandfather, Senator Harrison “Harry” Ashton—refused without a second thought. He studied me for a long time, and the familiar, doting look in his eyes chilled to something hard and clinical. “The Ashton name carries a thin, fragile bloodline, Clare,” he declared, his voice a low, heavy rumble. “When we raised such a vibrant, healthy granddaughter as you, I thought our luck had turned. I was wrong. You were a cuckoo in the nest.” He gripped the ivory head of his cane. “You have taken from Tori for all these years. The debt you owe her must be repaid.” The next day, I—Clare Ashton, the celebrated darling of the Ashton dynasty—became nothing more than a personal assistant and glorified maid to Victoria “Tori” Harrington. My intended fiancé became her intended husband. When the delicate Tori decided she wanted a child, I was simply repurposed as an incubator. The day of the C-section, everyone crowded around Tori, who cradled the newborn and accepted the congratulations. No one paid any mind to me, bleeding out on the operating table. Only the doctor, clutching the laboratory report, went pale. The results confirmed it. I was the true heir of the Ashton family. … 1 The hemorrhage alarm blared in the operating room. A blankness washed over me, a sensation of my consciousness drifting away. A strange thought surfaced: This is fine. I’m fine dying like this. In the hallway, Senator Ashton’s face was the color of slate as he listened to the doctor’s urgent report. He glanced toward the surgical theatre, then gave a sharp, quiet order to his assistant. “Seal off all information.” “No one speaks a word of what happened today. Let it rot with you.” They saved me. But when the anesthesia faded, the incision burned with a relentless, liquid fire. The doctor couldn’t meet my eyes. He kept his head bowed, his voice a low murmur as he explained the damage. “Ms. Ashton,” he said softly, “your uterus bled out during the procedure. We… we had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy.” He paused, then delivered the final, crushing blow. “You will never be able to have children again.” I didn’t speak. The only sounds were the loud, celebratory noises drifting from the VIP suite next door. Tori was laughing. Many people were laughing with her. The sound sliced through the wall and hammered into my ears. They were celebrating the birth of the Ashton family’s first grandson. Senator Ashton finally entered my room. He wore his customary, impeccably tailored cashmere coat, but the aura of statesman-like calm was gone. He looked at me as if I were a piece of inert property. “Clare Ashton, the life you have is a gift from the Ashtons.” He stepped closer. “I have no interest in debating who the ‘true’ daughter is. I only know that the Ashton name cannot endure another scandal.” “I trust you understand what I mean.” I met his gaze, my silence a wall. He quickly looked away. The hospital’s lab reports were destroyed. To the outside world, I remained the cuckoo, the hired help. The child I had borne was officially Tori Harrington’s son. My biological parents—the couple who had swapped me—came to see me. They looked at my face, then quickly lowered their heads. The man I was supposed to call “Father” nervously wrung his hands, his voice trembling. “Clare, I failed you… but the Senator has spoken. You must be sensible, clear-eyed. Think about the family’s reputation.” The woman I was supposed to call “Mother” stood behind him, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. She said nothing. The family’s reputation. Whose family? Holden Becker stood at the doorway. He was Tori’s nominal husband and the child’s father. He looked at my pale face, the still-attached blood bags by the head of the bed, and then toward the noise next door. There was an indecipherable emotion lurking in his eyes, but I didn’t care to explore it. People came and went, but I remained mute. I simply stared out the window. A single, desiccated leaf hung precariously from a bare branch. A gust of wind made it tremble. I felt like that leaf. My life was just as fragile. 2 The day I was discharged, a black sedan waited at the hospital entrance. I was driven directly to a secluded Long Island estate. “The Senator wishes for you to recover here, in quiet,” the butler informed me. “Quiet” was a euphemism for house arrest. None of the windows could be opened from the inside. Aside from a housekeeper assigned to cooking and cleaning, my only company was a handful of silent security guards. I made one request. “I want to see my child.” The butler’s face was expressionless, like a piece of carved granite. “That is Ms. Harrington’s son, the Ashton heir,” he said flatly. He paused, then added: “He is not your concern.” For the first few days, I couldn’t eat anything. My stomach felt like it was packed with stones; the smell of food made me nauseous. Every night, I dreamed of a baby’s frantic cry. Holden, however, visited often. He always brought expensive supplements, silently handing them off to the housekeeper. Then he would make polite, stilted small talk, though he was the only one speaking. I never answered him. One afternoon, he looked at my wrists, tracing the shallow, discolored scars left by the needles from when I was used as a test subject for Tori’s fragile health. He suddenly choked up. “I’m so sorry, Clare. I never imagined they would go this far.” He started explaining, his words tumbling out disjointedly. The marriage alliance between the Ashton and Becker families had originally been intended for me. We had grown up knowing each other, and I hadn’t been opposed to the idea of marrying him. But after Tori was brought home, I hadn’t seen him again. The next time I saw him was the day of Tori’s wedding, when I was pushed into the honeymoon suite. Tori’s nominal husband was Holden Becker. I had resigned myself to my fate and allowed him to do as he wished, never noticing the flicker of love he claimed to have for me. He said he had always loved me. But what did any of that matter now? Among the things he brought were cans of formula, but my baby was nowhere near me. Wherever Holden was, Tori always arrived quickly. She followed behind two towering bodyguards and a nanny clutching a blanket-wrapped bundle. When she saw Holden and the things on the table, her face contorted instantly. She lunged forward, and her open palm landed a stinging, sharp slap across my cheek. “You trashy little incubator! Crawl off the operating table and try to steal my husband? You were born to be a cheap piece!” I didn’t flinch. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even look at her. I simply gazed past her at the bundle, at the tiny, exposed sliver of a face. My silence enraged Tori further. She raised her hand for another strike. Holden caught her wrist, stopping her. It was the first time I’d ever seen him truly furious with her. “Tori, that is enough!” She shrieked. “Holden Becker! You’re defending her? You’re defending this breeding tool? Have you forgotten I’m your wife?” Holden seemed about to say more, but the noise startled the infant, who began to cry. The focus instantly shifted back to the child. Everyone crowded around the baby and ushered him out of the room. Before leaving, Holden glanced back at me. His lips moved, but he said nothing. The door shut. I walked to the mirror. I stared at the woman with the red, swollen cheek and the dead eyes. That was Clare Ashton. That was me. I told the reflection that I had to live. I had to survive so that one day, I could openly and proudly hold my own son. 3 Tori soon found a new way to torment me: she used my child. She would have the nanny bring the baby out onto the estate’s lawn. I would stand at the second-floor window, watching through the cold iron bars as my son lay cradled in her arms. So small. So soft. And utterly beyond my reach. She would talk loudly to the baby, ensuring her voice carried up to my window. “Look, baby,” she’d coo. “That woman up there. She’s just a tool who lent us her stomach, a jar of meat that made you.” She would then turn her back to the window, smiling in triumph, before leaving. I made a quiet request to the housekeeper who looked after me. I didn’t want anything else. I just wanted a photograph of the baby. The housekeeper looked at me with a flicker of pity, didn’t answer, and left. A few days later, a photo was tucked beneath my pillow. It was creased and crumpled, as if it had been hidden and clutched for a long time. The picture was a blurry, stolen snapshot. All I could make out was a small, plump side profile of an infant. I tucked the photo deep into my clothing, keeping it close to my heart. Holden’s visits became increasingly secretive. He no longer used the main entrance. Once, he climbed the perimeter wall late at night, a fresh scrape visible on his face. He told me he had found a lead. “I found the nurse who delivered you and Tori all those years ago,” he whispered. “She quit years ago and went back home. My people are on their way to her.” He looked at me with an emotion I couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps, or something more. He made a solemn promise. “Clare, just give me a little more time.” “I swear, I will get you and the baby out of this hell.” His words became my only lifeline. I started counting the days. Then, Senator Ashton called. The estate’s only landline was in the butler’s office. The butler handed the receiver to me and stood nearby, watching. On the other end, the Senator’s voice was as commanding and devoid of warmth as ever. “Stay quiet and compliant. This estate is the best end you can hope for.” “Don’t forget, you owe Tori. This is your lot in life, and you will accept it.” “The Ashton family has been generous enough. Do not presume to ask for more.” Generous? I gripped the cold receiver, my knuckles white. I whispered into the phone. “If one day she asks for my life, must I accept that, too?” There was a dead silence on the line. Then, a sharp clack as he hung up. Holden finally got what he was after. He visited me late one night, a suppressed excitement radiating from him. He played a recording on his phone. It was a woman’s tearful confession. The nurse. She admitted that two decades ago, a woman claiming to be a distant Ashton relative had given her a massive sum to switch the two infants shortly after birth. Holden said he had given her more money and a plane ticket out of the country in exchange for her full testimony. “The evidence is secure,” he said. “Just hold on a little longer.” Meanwhile, Tori must have sensed the massive threat posed by Holden’s cold, distant attitude. Her eyes when she came to the estate were no longer purely envious or smug. There was a dangerous new edge. The security staff at the estate was replaced. Among the new guards were some of the men who always shadowed Tori. 4 Tori brought a document to Senator Ashton. It was a “Psychiatric Fitness Report.” The report claimed that I had suffered a mental breakdown following the trauma of childbirth and the revelation of my true identity, and that I had severe violent tendencies. She wept, kneeling dramatically before the Senator. “Grandpa, I’m so afraid. I’m scared she’ll hurt the baby.” “The way she looks at me… it’s like she wants to murder me. I can’t sleep, and the baby cries all the time because of her.” Senator Ashton looked at her for a long moment before speaking. “You have everything she had. What more do you want?” Unlike me, Tori appeared fragile but was fearlessly ambitious. “As long as Clare Ashton is alive, the Ashton family has a time bomb,” she insisted. “We will always be vulnerable to gossip and ruin.” The air in the library hung heavy with the scent of old wood and hushed secrets. Senator Ashton closed his eyes. After a long silence, he opened them, adjusting his silk tie. “The peace of the House is paramount, Tori.” “Do not overstep yourself on this matter.” This wasn’t a refusal. It was an endorsement. It was my death warrant. The next day, the housekeeper was gone. The only people left at the estate were me and the two guards. Even the butler who usually supervised me vanished. My three daily meals were replaced by cold, packaged containers, left by the guards outside my door. My every request to walk in the yard was refused. The internet was disconnected. I had no way to contact the outside world. Holden came several times, but was blocked, told I was “resting and unable to receive visitors.” He finally understood something was terribly wrong. He began using the full force of the Becker family to investigate my condition. But the Ashton sphere of influence, a tightly woven, impenetrable net, kept him out. The nights stretched long. I lay in bed, unable to sleep. In the small hours, I smelled it. Gas. I immediately tried the door. It was locked from the outside. The windows, permanently sealed, wouldn’t budge no matter how desperately I hammered the glass. Through a small gap in the curtains, I saw a black car parked some distance away. A shadow sat inside. Tori Harrington held a pair of binoculars, pointed directly at my room. She was waiting. Waiting for me to vanish. 5 The temperature in the room was rising. The dark night outside was now illuminated by a pulsing orange glow. Tori must have grown impatient. The fire arrived faster than I had anticipated. A thick plume of smoke, heavy with the stench of gas, instantly poured under the door. I coughed violently, my eyes streaming. I tore a bedsheet, soaked it in the bathroom sink, and pressed it tightly over my nose and mouth. I curled up in the corner farthest from the door, feeling the heat surge toward me in waves. The wall began to radiate warmth. I wasn’t afraid. I was only regretful that I had never truly held my son. Just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, I heard a massive impact. “CRASH—!” The estate’s heavy, wrought-iron gate was brutally smashed open by a speeding SUV. A figure burst out of the car. It was Holden Becker. Several people followed him, immediately turning their attention to fire suppression. Holden drenched himself, then kicked the villa door off its hinges and plunged into the smoke-filled house. He found me, huddled and barely conscious, in the corner. He lifted me from the floor, holding me tightly, so tightly that my ribs ached. When I was finally coherent, I was in his arms, standing on the grass outside. The clearing beyond the estate was lit up by camera flashes. The crowd surrounding us was a chaotic mix of Ashtons, Beckers, and countless journalists. Holden stood directly in front of the cameras, holding my frail body. He raised a phone and pressed a button. The nurse’s tearful confession echoed clearly across the night air. “…I took the money. I’m a monster, I switched the two children…” “The true Ashton daughter, the one they called Clare Ashton…” The journalists went wild. The shutters clicked in a blinding, deafening staccato. Holden had an assistant distribute a stack of papers to the crowd. They were copies of the long-destroyed paternity test. Everyone gasped when they saw the results. In the black sedan, now surrounded by reporters, Tori let out a piercing scream. She desperately tried to shield her face, but it was too late. Countless microphones and lenses were pressed against her window. Everyone knew exactly who she was. Senator Ashton arrived. His car stopped just outside the riot of people. He stepped out and saw the irrevocable damage, saw me held in Holden’s arms, and heard the constantly replaying recording. His body swayed violently. He nearly collapsed. Holden carried me through the crowd, step by step, toward the Senator. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, on the old man. “Holden, my boy. Don’t overdo this. It won’t look good. I’ll go to your father’s office tomorrow and we’ll talk.” The Senator coughed, attempting to regain control and calm Holden. But Holden wasn’t having it. He looked down at me gently, then back at the Senator. “Senator Ashton.” “Before we all go home, you need to answer one question.” “Who, exactly, owes whom?”

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A bizarre accident connected me with my seven-years-younger self. Hearing that the future me was about to get engaged to Nolan Shaw, she rolled around on her bed in excitement, declaring herself the happiest girl in the world. Happy? I offered a bitter smile and silently showed her the full extent of my own brutal reality. The gentle “Senior Shaw” she knew was long gone. In his place was the Nolan who repeatedly allowed others to call me a conniving opportunist, the Nolan who, right before our engagement, demanded I kneel and apologize to his first love’s entire family. “So, do you still want this future?” The light in the eyes of my younger self dimmed. The past was rewritten. Nolan, this time, we will never meet again. 1 At my engagement party with Nolan Shaw, the famous actress Skylar Brooks arrived with his family. Instantly, all eyes were drawn away from us. Nolan let go of my hand and, along with his mother, went to greet them. Mrs. Shaw, who had been wearing a stony expression a moment ago, immediately smiled and took Skylar’s hand warmly. “Skylar, you finally made it.” Skylar smoothly engaged them in conversation. Around us, confused guests began to whisper about our relationship. One of Nolan’s friends pointed at me and chuckled, “Oh, her? She’s the one who slept her way into the family.” It wasn’t a new story. Whenever someone didn’t know, they made sure to broadcast my “history.” In college, Nolan and I were in the same club. I pursued him for two years. He ended up dating his childhood sweetheart, Skylar Brooks. Seeing he was taken, I gave up. But then, at a club gathering, I somehow ended up in bed with him. That night, Skylar was overly enthusiastic about toasting Nolan and me. My tolerance for alcohol was low, and I got drunk quickly. I distinctly remember checking the room number; I was sure I was going back to my own room. The next morning, the door was thrown open. Skylar brought people in to “catch us in the act.” I was naked in Nolan’sbed, covered in bruises and hickeys. Skylar immediately burst into tears. Nolan quickly put on clothes and furiously interrogated me. In everyone’s mind, Nolan was the epitome of integrity and respect, while I was just a lovesick underclassman. No one believed my explanation. They all called me shameless, a manipulative opportunist. When I returned to campus, the rumors spread like wildfire in the school group chats. Later, Skylar broke up with Nolan and went abroad, and I became public enemy number one. Everyone rallied to defend Skylar, calling me a “homewrecker” and a “slut.” They successfully got my scholarship revoked and my graduate school recommendation canceled. Nolan initially planned to ignore me, but when he found out I was unexpectedly pregnant, he felt forced to take responsibility and be with me. But as everyone predicted, though he was with me, his heart wasn’t. The label of “opportunist who slept her way up” became an indelible stain on my life. Upon hearing the story, all the guests sighed. “I knew it. Why else would the Shaws marry a commoner?” “Look at her and her mom, so cheap. Without dirty tricks, they’d never get close to people like us.” My mom stood by me in the corner, her expression helpless. She whispered, “Maya, I’m so sorry. I wish I were more capable.” My nose stung, and my eyes welled up instantly. Mom worked as a server; she’d spent her life bending her back for others. That’s why she pushed me to study hard, hoping I’d never have to bow down to anyone again. Yet, here I was, at my own engagement party, dragging her into public ridicule. I wished she would just yell at me, but Mom never did. She just squeezed my hand tenderly, sighing over and over again. I had nothing to do with the actual engagement party; they were busy securing endorsements and resources for Skylar Brooks. It wasn’t until the end that Nolan and I returned to the Shaw residence. Once home, he went to bed early. I stepped onto the balcony. The night wind chilled me to the bone. I pulled out my phone and asked, “So now what? Do you still want me to stay?” On the other end was Maya from seven years ago. One of us was full of hope for the future; the other’s heart was already a dead husk. “Well, because of the misunderstanding, maybe Senior Shaw is just having a hard time letting go. You finally got engaged, shouldn’t you try to hold on a little longer?” The truth was, I had kept the phone line open the whole day. Even after hearing everything, she was still weakly trying to convince me. It was understandable—a story heard is never as deep as an experience lived. The Maya of seven years ago knew only the Senior Shaw who patiently tutored me and chased away the creeps. After a long pause, I let out a soft sigh. “Oh, you mentioned that Senior Shaw and I had a child, right? That baby should be seven now. Can I hear their voice?” Her voice was filled with excitement, but my reply was ice-cold: “He died years ago.” Skylar had debuted by then, and she had a few loyal fans on campus. They deliberately waited until I was heavily pregnant and pushed me down a flight of stairs. The child who was about to be born died. Nolan planned to seek justice, but Skylar, who was abroad, called and pleaded for her fans. Nolan dropped the case and forbade me from calling the police. He said it was my own karma that killed the child. The matter was ultimately dismissed. I stayed in the hospital alone, watching the sun rise and set, my eyes vacant. The doctor said I had severe depression and told me to relax and communicate more with my family. I nodded but told no one. For five years, no one ever noticed. 2 When I woke up the next day, I found Mrs. Shaw dining with Skylar Brooks downstairs. Skylar had returned to the country two years ago. The moment she did, Nolan mobilized all of the Shaw family resources to make her a star. Mrs. Shaw went further, bringing her home right in front of me, lamenting that she had been betrayed by an unscrupulous person like me. The two were deep in conversation when I approached. Skylar suddenly said, “I heard the Shaws have an heirloom bracelet passed down to the daughter-in-law. Auntie, why haven’t you given it to Maya?” Mrs. Shaw snorted. “Does she deserve it? A low-class opportunist. She’d contaminate the Shaw family’s heirloom.” Skylar looked troubled, though her eyes betrayed a hidden joy. “Auntie, she and Nolan are engaged. Isn’t that a bit harsh?” “What’s harsh about it? Skylar, rest assured, you are the only daughter-in-law in my heart. I will never recognize that woman.” Mrs. Shaw was likely quite angry. Despite the child being gone and Skylar having returned, Nolan still hadn’t dumped me and was even engaged to me. I was long used to this. I silently moved aside and started scrolling through my phone. The moment I opened an app, the top headline read: “Hot Actress Skylar Brooks Rumored to be the Future Daughter-in-Law of the Shaw Group.” Skylar had even liked the post with her private account. The comments section exploded with excitement; everyone was gushing about the perfect couple. Skylar’s fans were especially smug. “Our Skylar is simply the best! She even bagged the CEO, Mr. Shaw!” I quietly posted a comment: “But I often see Mr. Shaw with someone else. That must be his girlfriend.” The moment I posted, Skylar’s fans descended on me. “What kind of nobody is this, trying to steal our Skylar’s man?” “Sweetie, you must be mistaken. If he had a girlfriend, why would this trending topic stay up for so long?” “Exactly! Our Mr. Shaw must be jealous of all the handsome guys around Skylar and is secretly asserting his claim.” The replies multiplied. I scrolled down, losing strength with each one. I thought I had gotten used to this over the years, but my chest still felt heavy and suffocated. They were right. Wasn’t all this happening with Nolan’s silent permission? On the phone, seven-years-ago Maya kept trying to comfort me in a soft voice. She said those fans were talking nonsense and that Senior Shaw would definitely handle it if he knew. Nolan used to have many admirers. Once, when I was targeted by vicious rumors, he took me up to the person and slapped them. But that was a long time ago. “Senior Shaw…” I let out a short, cynical laugh. “Do you really think your Senior Shaw will care?” My past and future selves made a bet. The bet was simple: if Nolan made me suffer for Skylar one more time, she would lose. I demanded she stay away from Nolan and Skylar from now on. I was going to change the future from the past. A week later, the five-years-ago me would refuse the party invitation, cut off all contact with Nolan, graduate successfully, and secure my spot in grad school, never again having to live under a cloud of shame. 3 That evening, Nolan returned smelling heavily of alcohol. I immediately confronted him and demanded an explanation. He glanced at me. “Do you have to make a scene over something so trivial?” The hand hidden beneath my sleeve was trembling uncontrollably. In five years, this was the first time I couldn’t help but shout at him, “Nolan Shaw, if you can’t let her go, then just be with Skylar Brooks openly!” As soon as I finished, Nolan sneered. “Skylar and I have always been honest. It’s you who loves to play games and resort to cheap tricks behind people’s backs.” “Senior…” Nolan suddenly froze. It was the younger Maya’s voice calling out. Exhausted, I continued, “I don’t want to be trapped in the past anymore, trapped here.” I didn’t want to be plagued by nightmares every night, filled with the sound of a baby’s cries. I didn’t want to live like a criminal, subject to abuse from anyone. I had told them I truly went back to my own room, so why did no one believe me? Unexpectedly, Nolan’s face darkened menacingly. “Maya Shaw, you low-class tramp who slept your way into a man’s bed back then, what are you trying to prove now with this innocent act?” He gripped my wrist tightly, pinning me down on the bed. I struggled, begging him to stop, but Nolan’s movements became increasingly brutal. Everything only stopped when my lip was bitten through, and a tearing pain ripped through my body. Nolan, drunk, fell asleep quickly. I forced myself to get up, a bitter smile on my face, and announced, “Maya, you lost.” The other side was silent. After a long moment, she replied softly, “I understand. I will honor the bet.” … The next day was Mother’s Day. I went to my mom’s workplace, planning to pick her up to go out. I never expected three thugs to storm in and beat my mom to the ground. I rushed forward in a panic, trying to shield her. The leader of the thugs shouted, “You old fool! You raised a daughter who’s a homewrecking opportunist! I’ll beat you to death!” Bystanders who were about to help stopped, eyeing my mom and me strangely. The other two thugs dragged me away, pinning me to the floor, as the first one started landing punches on my mom. “Take it out on me! Let go of my mom!” I watched my mom get beaten, covered in blood, pleading until her voice faded. I cried, desperately yelling for help, but no one would intervene until security guards finally arrived and chased them off. Trembling, I called 911. At the hospital, a nurse told me they were short-staffed and the lead surgeons were all tied up in operations. I remembered the Shaw family knew several doctors. I rushed to find them, only to discover they were all gathered in one area. Skylar Brooks had an incident on set—she’d suffered a minor cut and was severely shaken. Nolan, worried sick, had summoned everyone to examine her. Outside the room, I watched Skylar tremble in Nolan’s arms. He was whispering reassurances, his expression filled with intense worry. I burst into the room, my voice hoarse. “Nolan, my mom is dying. Please, I need one doctor.” Skylar’s eyes immediately welled up. She clutched Nolan’s sleeve. “My heart feels so bad.” Nolan’s gaze was as sharp as a knife. “Maya, Skylar is like this, and you have to act out of jealousy now? Even using your mom as an excuse?” I dropped to my knees, grabbing his sleeve, pleading, “It’s true! I’m not lying! My mom is in critical condition!” Nolan said impatiently, “Wait.” Time ticked by agonizingly slowly. My heart was on fire. Skylar was completely unharmed but kept saying she felt unwell. Finally, I saw a doctor free up. Just then, the alarm for the emergency room blared. Ignoring everything, I sprinted toward the sound, but when I arrived, I watched the nurse slowly pull a white sheet over a body. The doctors and nurses apologized to me. I collapsed, looking at my mom lying motionless in a pool of blood. It was Mother’s Day. I was supposed to take her out to celebrate. After a while, Nolan arrived. He froze at the sight, realizing I hadn’t lied. He walked over to apologize, but I couldn’t hear a word. Just then, I received a call from the police station, notifying me that the three thugs involved in the assault had been apprehended. I wiped my tears and rushed over. I wouldn’t let them get away with it. Nolan also promised to help me seek revenge. But when we got there, we found Skylar Brooks already present. The moment she saw me, she rushed forward and knelt before me, crying. She claimed the man was her brother, who only wanted to defend her, and was then incited by others to do such a terrible thing. “Maya, I will compensate you. Please, let my brother go. He’s applying for a government job.” I shoved her hand away, feeling only absurdity. When she realized pleading with me was useless, she turned to Nolan. Nolan agreed. “Maya, let it go.” I screamed in complete breakdown, “How dare you tell me to let it go! I’ll never forgive any of them!” “Maya! If you hadn’t caused those problems years ago, your mother wouldn’t have been attacked!” My mind went blank. For the last time, I explained weakly, “How many times do I have to tell you, I went back to my own room that night!” 4 In the end, Nolan forced me to sign a letter of forgiveness. He said from now on, everything that happened in the past was to be forgotten. But what kind of sin requires the lives of my child and my mother as compensation? I walked alone, recounting what just happened to the Maya of seven years ago. This time, she didn’t say a word. If she had been reluctant at the start of the bet, now only a similar deathly silence remained in her heart. I hung up and found myself at the riverbank, where a drowning child was struggling in the water. Without a second thought, I jumped in and pulled him out. But as I reached the bank, my body gave out, and I passed out. I was unconscious for six days. When I woke up, I found Nolan by my bedside, his face haggard from lack of sleep. “Maya, I told you, let the past go. I will take good care of you, in your mom’s stead.” I paused, realizing he thought I had deliberately tried to drown myself to blackmail him. But who wanted his care? Who agreed to forget the past? Nolan signaled, and his and Skylar’s friends entered. They chatted with me in a friendly way and wished me happiness. But as soon as they left, I heard them gathering in the hallway to comfort Skylar: “Skylar, don’t let that manipulative opportunist get to you.” “Yeah, pulling a suicide stunt for sympathy. Disgusting.” “We’ll never forgive her for the nasty things she’s done.” It was ridiculous. Who needed their forgiveness? Under the guise of avenging Skylar, they mocked and abused me, got my scholarship and grad school recommendation canceled, and led the entire school to isolate me. After I started working, they would show up at every company I worked for and cause a scene, preventing me from getting promoted for five years, leaving me permanently in the lowest-level jobs. If I showed the slightest resistance, they would run to Nolan and play the victim. They called me a “green tea” (a phrase I’d translate as a ‘faux-innocent drama queen’), but they were the truly hypocritical and disgusting ones. Thankfully, I was about to be rid of them all. I checked the date. Tomorrow. It was finally going to end. I was discharged that day after being cleared by the doctors. Back at the Shaws’, the servants were much more respectful, and even Mrs. Shaw grudgingly spoke to me. Nolan probably thought this was the happy ending he was giving me. He and Skylar had forgiven me, and my social circle was willing to accept me. But for me, this was just the beginning. That night, after Nolan fell asleep, I made a phone call. The voice on the other end was relaxed. “Skylar Brooks has invited me to that gathering many times today, but I keep refusing. Don’t worry, I’m staying away from Nolan, from all of them.” She let out a long breath and finally said, “So, Maya, go forward.” My mother named me Maya, which means “awakening.” She wanted me to always have the resilient courage to endure winter and thrive in the spring. I shouldn’t be trapped here, carrying this heavy chain. That night, I stood on the balcony, watching the dawn break. In the final moments, I turned, looked at Nolan sleeping on the bed, and said calmly, “Nolan, goodbye. We will never meet again.” The next day, Nolan woke up and frowned at the empty space beside him. He’d had a nightmare yesterday. He dreamed I was disappearing, and he couldn’t hold onto me no matter what. Nolan quickly got up, looking around the room, feeling like something was significantly missing. He went downstairs and saw Mrs. Shaw elegantly eating breakfast at the dining table. “Mom, where’s Maya?” Mrs. Shaw looked at him strangely. “Who are you talking about, Maya?” He looked up at his mother, his voice laced with anxiety. “Mom, Maya Shaw is my fiancée. We’ve been together for seven years. Do you really not remember her at all?” Mrs. Shaw frowned, walking over to check his forehead. “Son, are you running a fever? Where did you get a fiancée?”

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Caleb Sterling realized that I had stopped consulting him about everything. When the company offered me an overseas assignment, I signed the papers before I even thought to ask for his opinion. When my best friend invited me to her wedding with a “plus one,” I attended alone and gave a generous gift. Even when it came to surgery and hospitalization, I handled the appointments and booked the bed myself. Caleb, being a doctor, frowned when he eventually found out. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Give me your records; I’ll make the arrangements for you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The moment those words left my mouth, we both froze. After all, only half a month ago, I was the “clingy giant infant” he complained about—the one who messaged him to ask which dress to wear on a date or what to eat for lunch. 1 “You want the surgery tomorrow? That’s sudden.” The attending physician handed me my chart, his voice tinged with confusion. “I recall Dr. Sterling is coming back from his seminar soon. You could wait for him to accompany you…” I interrupted softly, “It’s my own business. I can handle it.” The doctor looked surprised. After all, I was notoriously “delicate” in this hospital; even for a minor headache or a slight fever, I used to insist that Caleb stay by my side. Just as I stepped out of the clinic, I bumped into a familiar figure. Caleb was pushing a suitcase with one hand, looking like he had just rushed from the airport back to the hospital. Lydia Vance followed closely behind him, wearing a white lab coat with a black cashmere coat draped over it—the very coat I had given Caleb for our third anniversary. Caleb frowned. “What are you doing here? … Are you sick again?” Again. That familiar note of impatience made it sound as if I were a troublesome chore that needed handling. He snatched the medical records from my hand, scanned them briefly, and commanded: “I have things to do tomorrow.” “This isn’t an emergency. Move the surgery to next week, and I’ll go with you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The excessive politeness and distance made Caleb freeze. After all, the old me would cry and act spoiled over a paper cut. I used to bomb his phone with messages just to have him pick an outfit for dinner. From my three meals a day to major life decisions, I used to consult him on everything. Now, I was facing surgery alone without batting an eye. If we hadn’t bumped into each other by chance, my own boyfriend wouldn’t even have known. I snatched the records back, accidentally knocking a small box out of Caleb’s hand. The name on the box caught my eye—a pack of… birth control pills. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” Caleb leaned down to pick it up, his voice carrying a businesslike detachment. “Lydia has severe menstrual cramps. This is a common prescription to help.” Lydia pulled the coat tighter around her, explaining in a small, panicked voice: “I’m so sorry, Piper. Caleb was supposed to head home, but I was so useless—the pain was so bad I couldn’t stand, so I bothered him to help me get the prescription filled.” She paused, her tone full of sincere envy. “If only I could be as independent as you, Piper. Then Caleb wouldn’t have to work so hard running around for me.” Once, I had severe abdominal pain and asked Caleb which specialist I should see. What did the youngest deputy head of neurosurgery at a top hospital say? He said, “I don’t know.” When I complained about his dismissiveness, he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking at me like I was a nagging child. “Can’t you just Google something that small?” “You’re an adult. Can’t you be a little more independent? Stop relying on me like a toddler.” “I’m not your parent. I’m not obligated to teach you basic life skills.” How hilarious. He was a man of few words for his girlfriend, yet for his “junior,” he personally accompanied her to the clinic and filled her prescriptions. An outsider would have thought Lydia was his actual partner. If this were the past, I would have lost my temper and started a scene right there. But now, I just said, “Oh,” my voice flat. “Pills aren’t enough. You should also massage her stomach, hold her while she sleeps, and keep her hands and feet warm.” Lydia’s face flushed deep red. “Piper, I didn’t mean it like that…” My well-meaning advice was interpreted by Caleb as a tantrum. His voice turned cold. “Are you still throwing a fit? Just because I didn’t report every detail of my trip to you?” Half a month ago was his birthday. I had worked crazy overtime to finish a project so I could take time off. I cooked a whole dinner and picked up a custom-made gift, waiting to celebrate with him. I waited until midnight, and Caleb never came home. Only through Lydia’s Instagram did I find out he had left for an international exchange program. Caleb brushed it off later. “It was just a business trip. There was no need to consult you.” “Birthdays happen every year, but career opportunities don’t. I thought you’d be able to distinguish between what’s urgent and what’s not.” “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” My accumulated disappointment was like a bursting dam. I couldn’t help questioning him: “Caleb, is it because in your ‘urgent and important’ list, I am always the least urgent and most unimportant one?” Compared to my near-hysteria, Caleb just said one thing before hanging up. “You’re not being rational right now. We’ll talk when I’m back.” 2 Once I calmed down, I signed the transfer papers for the new job. My boss hesitated. “Transferring means moving to another city! You should consult your boyfriend about something this big. You’re a person with a partner; don’t be so reckless.” I signed my name briskly. “No need.” The last time I changed jobs, I held two offers and asked for his opinion. Caleb just glanced at them. “This is your career. You shouldn’t let me decide.” Yet, he patiently helped Lydia fill out her internship applications, helping her get into the best hospital program in the country. Caleb always said I wasn’t independent enough and complained about me being too “needy.” He would put on headphones to listen to medical podcasts while I was excitedly sharing my day, acting as if I didn’t exist. He would refuse to drive me when I was running late, emphasizing that his schedule couldn’t be disrupted for me. I wanted to join his gatherings with friends, but he said I should establish my own social life. I used to think Caleb was just naturally distant. And that I, through enough patience, could be the exception. Until Lydia appeared. She was the daughter of Caleb’s parents’ old friends, and he was entrusted with looking after her. I thought he would find it a chore, but he agreed readily. I didn’t expect that she would be the exception. Caleb responded to every single one of her complaints about her neighbors. When she wanted a trendy dessert for her birthday, he drove across town to get it. During her residency at the hospital, he actively introduced her to his colleagues: “This is my junior; take care of her.” Whenever I fought with Caleb about this, he would frown with disappointment. “She’s a kid. Are you a kid too?” “I’m looking after her out of responsibility. You’re actually jealous of this?” “How old is she, and how old are you? Why don’t you just compare yourself to a newborn?” But his “kid” was only three years younger than me. All the excuses I had made for him—it’s just his personality, he’s too busy, he hates clingy people… They all shattered in the face of the patience he showed another woman. That’s fine. After I have my surgery and leave tomorrow, Caleb will have nothing to do with me anymore. 3 My best friend Chloe knew I was having surgery and took time off to stay with me. “Get the guest room ready and prepare to welcome your personal nurse!” I laughed and said: “I’ve cleaned the room twice and bought new linens for you. I guarantee you’ll love—” The moment I opened the door, my words stopped. The brand-new linens I had prepared were bunched up on the floor. The guest room was filled with strange belongings, and a half-human-sized teddy bear was sprawled on the bed. It was a blatant declaration of ownership. The sound of the front door opening rang out again. Soft laughter floated in. “Caleb, thank you for taking me to that restaurant. It was delicious.” “My bad mood from being ignored by my classmates is totally cured by that dessert!” Caleb saw me and explained calmly. “Lydia had a falling out with her roommates and can’t stay in the dorm. She’s planning to move out.” “She hasn’t found a place yet, so she’s staying in the guest room for now.” I sneered. “Caleb, I told you a week ago that Chloe was coming to stay here.” Caleb paused. The expression on his face at that moment said everything. He had forgotten. When I had asked him, his voice had been full of impatience: “Decide that yourself. Don’t ask me about every little thing. It’s annoying.” Caleb pursed his lips, his voice dropping slightly. “Sorry…” He lifted the dessert bag in his hand, his tone softening. Like someone coaxing a cranky child: “The restaurant we went to today is the type you like. I’ll take you there this weekend.” I glanced at the logo on the bag. It was a restaurant I had repeatedly begged Caleb to take me to. He had always said he was too busy. I took the bag and tossed it into the trash. The breath Caleb was about to let out hitched again. Lydia stepped forward, her voice thin and airy. “Piper, it’s all my fault. I can squeeze in with your friend. I don’t mind.” I let out a cold laugh, grabbed Lydia’s sheets and her teddy bear, and kicked them out into the hallway. Lydia froze, her eyes filling with tears. “Piper, I need those for tonight. What am I going to do now?” I glanced toward the master bedroom and smiled. “You can squeeze in with Caleb. I don’t mind.” Lydia’s face flushed. “Piper! If you don’t want me here, just say so! Why humiliate me like this?” As if she had suffered a grand insult, her eyes turned red, and she ran off. Caleb frowned at me, though he didn’t chase after her. “Piper, she’s just clumsy and a bit childish. She didn’t mess up your things on purpose.” “If you don’t want her staying here, just say so. I can book a hotel for her. There’s no need to target her twice in a row.” I stopped smiling. “This is our home. Shouldn’t you consult me before bringing an outsider back?” Caleb’s frown deepened, as if I were being unreasonable. “Lydia is being isolated at school; she’s very low right now. I thought you’d at least have some empathy, but your first reaction is to calculate whether I consulted you.” “Besides, it’s just for two days. Does a minor arrangement like that really need a formal consultation?” “It’s like Chloe coming to stay—you don’t need to consult me for that, either.” The old me would have been impulsive enough to call a male friend to stay over that night just to see his reaction. But now, I just nodded calmly. “You’re right. There really is no need to consult.” Tit for tat. Then moving out of this city and breaking up with Caleb probably didn’t need a consultation, either. 4 “Go book the hotel for Lydia then.” I politely opened the door for Caleb and then laid out my suitcase to pack my clothes. He didn’t seem satisfied with my reaction. He grabbed my wrist. “She’s an adult; she can book it herself.” “But what about you? Why are you suddenly packing? Where are you going?” I shook him off. “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” Caleb paused. He likely remembered those were his own words to me. He fell silent for a moment. “I was wrong not to tell you about the trip. I’ll report my movements to you from now on.” “I have to go to the university tomorrow. Lydia’s conflict with her roommates escalated. The advisor wants to see the ‘parents,’ and her actual parents can’t make it, so I’m going in their place.” “Move your surgery to the day after tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” It seemed that in Caleb’s list of priorities, I was still at the bottom. I spoke calmly. “No need. It’s the same whether you’re there or not.” Caleb seemed to think I didn’t understand the difference. He explained patiently: “I can help you contact specialists and interpret the reports. At the very least, I can wait in line for you.” My second refusal was interrupted by his ringtone. Lydia’s tearful voice came through: “Caleb… it sounds like someone is picking the lock on my door… I’m scared…” Caleb’s face changed. He turned to leave in a hurry. I called out, “Wait.” Caleb stopped, his expression impatient. “Piper, do you think I need to report to you before I go save someone? I need to go now.” “This isn’t the time for a tantrum. She might be in danger. Can you please stop targeting her?” He sighed. “I’ll be there for your surgery. But right now, I need you to understand what’s urgent.” Caleb clearly misunderstood. I just wanted to emphasize that I didn’t need him there for the surgery. But he didn’t wait for me to speak and rushed out.

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On the day my husband, Dr. Caleb Sterling, died of AIDS, everyone was shocked. He was a leading expert in the field, with an unparalleled understanding of the disease. It seemed impossible for him to die this way. But only I knew the truth. Caleb had injected himself with the blood of his “white moonlight,” his first love, who had contracted the virus. On his deathbed, Caleb held her, heartbroken: “I researched AIDS for you. Since I can’t save you now, I’ll die with you!” My in-laws tried to comfort me, but I just smiled softly. After all, as a top medical expert, my husband left me a massive fortune. So by day, I scouted boy toys; by night, I played with them. Life was wild and free. I even died, eventually, on the eight-pack abs of a young lover. So when I was reborn, and my parents asked me to choose a husband, I didn’t hesitate to pick Caleb again. I didn’t expect the plot to change this time. 1 “Chloe, come take a look.” As soon as I walked through the door, my parents called me over. I knew they were trying to set me up on blind dates again. I walked over immediately, grabbed Caleb Sterling’s file, and said firmly, “Him. I choose him.” My parents were shocked. “Haven’t you always resisted marriage? Why so decisive this time?” Of course I was decisive. My parents had no idea what a good life I lived in my previous life. In my last life, on this very day, my parents gave me two choices and forced me to pick one to marry. I looked reluctantly for a while and finally chose Caleb. Caleb was a doctor. Later, he devoted himself to researching AIDS treatments, becoming a prestigious expert in the field and making a lot of money. Because of this, I lived a wealthy life. Although Caleb was cold to me, he was generous and never controlled my spending. Life went on like this until Caleb turned forty. Suddenly, I received notice of his death. The doctor told me Caleb died of AIDS. Everyone was shocked. How could Caleb, an expert in this field, be so careless as to get infected? But I knew. I saw him with my own eyes, holding his first love, Lily, heartbroken: “I researched AIDS for you. Since I can’t save you now, I’ll die with you!” Everyone told me to restrain my grief. My in-laws comforted me. I just smiled softly. Although Caleb was dead, as a top medical expert, he left me a huge inheritance. After that, I used the money Caleb left me to live it up. By day, I scouted boy toys; by night, I played with them. Life was wild and free. I even died, eventually, on the eight-pack abs of a young lover. Thinking back to my last life, the memories were endless! So, reborn, I still chose Caleb without hesitation. I can live happily for another lifetime! 2 The next day, arranged by the matchmaker, I met Caleb. Young Caleb was truly handsome, which was one of the reasons I chose him in my last life. Caleb was still cold to me. He just glanced at me and said, “If you think I’m okay, we can get the marriage license.” In my last life, I rolled my eyes so hard when I heard this. If my parents hadn’t told me how good Caleb was and how promising his future was, I wouldn’t have agreed. He felt like he was just marrying me to deal with his parents. Facts proved he was indeed marrying me to deal with his family. But this life was different. I nodded like a bobblehead: “Okay, okay, we can get the license anytime.” Caleb’s attitude was cold. He looked at me with slight surprise and said deeply, “However, I have to say some things upfront. I’m very busy. After we get married, I won’t have time to accompany you.” “Also, I’m not very keen on that aspect. I must make this clear to you beforehand. If you mind, then…” “I don’t mind! I don’t mind at all!” I said with a smile. With so many men to play with in the future, I wouldn’t be obsessed with doing that with Caleb. In my last life, we did do it, and it was Caleb who initiated it. No matter how deeply in love he was with someone else, he was still a man. It was normal for a man to have physical needs. But doing it with him wasn’t great. He just pumped away without talking, completely devoid of romance. Maybe I was too easygoing, because Caleb looked at me with even more confusion. I stopped smiling and explained: “Actually, I’m like you. I just want to find someone to marry to deal with my family. The reason I chose you is because you look mature and steady, not like a troublemaker.” “After meeting you, you are exactly as you appear in the photos.” “You can rest assured. Since I married you, even if there is no love between us, I will be responsible for our family and won’t do anything untoward.” Caleb’s expression relaxed slightly. He nodded: “I think so too. In that case, let’s settle the marriage.” “Okay!” My parents were thrilled when they found out I settled on Caleb. I was happy too. Both families discussed the wedding date. It was obvious that both sets of parents were anxious. The wedding was set for next month, but they said the day after tomorrow was a lucky day and asked me and Caleb to get the marriage license first. In my last life, Caleb and I had a decent wedding. Even though I didn’t like him at that time, I had natural expectations for a wedding, so I put a lot of effort into it. I discussed every detail with the wedding planner, what flowers to use, the design of the invitations… But from beginning to end, Caleb never showed up. I tentatively asked him: “Do you have any ideas about the wedding? How about we go to the wedding planner together tomorrow? What do you think?” Caleb’s attitude was distant and cold: “As long as you like it. I don’t have any ideas. And I’m very busy, I don’t have time.” Caleb only appeared on the wedding day. But as soon as the ceremony was over, he went back to the hospital, leaving me alone at the reception to greet the guests. At that moment, I actually regretted it. Even if two people who don’t love each other get married, they should at least act like a couple. But Caleb didn’t even pretend. He really didn’t care. That night, Caleb stayed in his lab and didn’t come home all night. When he came back the next day to wash up and change clothes, he handed me two cards. “This is my salary card, and this card has my savings. Buy whatever you want, you don’t need to ask me.” I checked the balance of these two cards. The salary card had over fifty thousand, and the savings card had much more. Later I learned that Caleb not only owned his own lab but also made investments and earned a lot of money. From then on, I lived the life of a wealthy wife. Choosing Caleb in this life was also to live that life again. As for the wedding… Who cares? “No need for a wedding, it’s too much trouble. Caleb’s work must be very busy. We can just register,” I said understandingly. Caleb turned his head and looked at me silently, the corners of his mouth curving into an imperceptible arc, and nodded. 3 Coming out of City Hall, Caleb and I became a legal couple. He handed me two bank cards and said the same words as in my previous life. I took them with excitement and smiled at him: “Thank you. Then go to work, I won’t disturb you.” Caleb didn’t turn around and leave like in my previous life. Instead, he looked at me, and after a while, nodded. “Okay, I’m leaving. I won’t drop you off.” He opened the car door, as if suddenly thinking of something, and turned to ask me: “Do you have a driver’s license?” I nodded: “Yes, why?” I don’t like cars and don’t like driving. But after the college entrance exam, my parents forced me to get a license, saying I might not use it, but I couldn’t be without it. Caleb said: “You can choose a car you like. It will be convenient for you to go anywhere in the future.” I was slightly surprised. In my last life, whenever Caleb went out for business or to meet friends, he would answer the phone and drive away, never thinking about how I would get around. In this life, he actually offered to buy me a car. Might as well take it. “Okay, thank you.” Caleb opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but eventually got in the car. I watched him leave and immediately called my friend to choose a car. My friend envied me to death when she heard what I said. “OMG, when will I meet such a peerless good man? No need to deal with him, no need to serve him, spend money freely, and be free as if unmarried, just with someone supporting you. This is simply my dream life!” She grabbed my arm and shook it vigorously: “Does your husband have any brothers? Or friends? Birds of a feather flock together, his brothers and friends should be his type too, right?” “No,” I said with certainty. I knew everything about Caleb in my last life. My friend pouted regretfully: “Forget it, not everyone is as lucky as you. I can only envy you.” I just smiled and didn’t speak. Actually, in the beginning of my previous life, I wasn’t this lucky, because… I fell in love with Caleb. Even though I initially just wanted to deal with my parents, after spending a long time together, I involuntarily discovered Caleb’s strengths. 4 Caleb’s biggest strength was his authority in his industry. Being a sapiosexual combined with admiration for strength made me start to worship Caleb, especially seeing him give reports on TV or doing experiments in his lab… Really handsome. Plus, he was generous to me. Knowing I didn’t like housework, he hired a maid directly. Gradually, I really fell for him. So when Caleb proposed to consummate the marriage, I agreed without hesitation. Even though it didn’t feel great, I thought it was a good start. At least Caleb had desire for me. Later, I got pregnant. I said to Caleb: “Can you spend more time at home with me during this period?” Caleb’s eyes were still cold and distant: “The maid will take care of you at home, or you can go back to your parents’ house. I’m really too busy to get away.” The child wasn’t saved in the end. When I was four months pregnant, I was pushed down the escalator by a brat in the mall, and the child was gone on the spot. My parents and Caleb’s parents called Caleb several times, even went to the hospital to find him, but Caleb didn’t appear in my hospital room until the next afternoon. I cried and questioned him: “Why did you just come? Do you know our child is gone? The doctor said I might never have children again!” Caleb stood by the bed, his expression unchanged. What was a huge event for me didn’t even make him frown. “It was my fault. I should have used protection. I won’t let this happen again.” “As for the child, I never thought about having children. Now that it’s gone, let’s just say this child wasn’t meant for us.” That was when I was most vulnerable. I picked up the pillow and smashed it on him repeatedly: “Caleb, are you human? How can you say such things? Do I have no place in your heart? You don’t care about my life or death, and you don’t like me at all, do you?” Caleb didn’t move, letting me hit him with the pillow. I was tired and told him to leave, and he really left. I stayed in the hospital for half a month, and Caleb didn’t visit me once. My parents regretted it, saying they shouldn’t have forced the marriage, and told me to divorce. Half a month later, I returned home. Caleb transferred the house to my name. He told me: “Chloe, this is all I can give you.” “If you want my heart, I can tell you clearly, I can’t give it to you.” “If you want a divorce, you can. I will leave the marriage with nothing.” At that moment, I completely gave up on him. But I didn’t divorce him. He had money and was generous. I just needed to guard the money. What sapiosexual? Sometimes it’s money-sexual!

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Just as we arrived at City Hall, Dominic leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Actually, I have a child.” He looked at me, his expression earnest. “This certificate… I can’t give it to you. But I can give you everything else.” I stared down at the marriage license application in my hand, my mind blank. It took a long moment before I could force out the words. “Why… why didn’t you tell me before?” Dominic shrugged, a smile playing on his lips that wasn’t quite an apology. “I thought you cared more about me than a piece of paper.” “What if I insist on the certificate?” My lips trembled as I asked. He couldn’t know. Without that piece of paper, he wasn’t just facing a broken engagement. He was facing one body, two lives. … Dominic didn’t answer right away. He just watched me, his gaze calm, as if my question was utterly redundant. After a long silence, he sighed and gently wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Her family saved my parents’ lives,” he said softly. “They’re old family friends. I love you, Anya, but she has to be my wife.” Rage, bitterness, and despair churned in my chest, a toxic bile rising in my throat. He guided my stunned form into his Maybach, continuing his explanation. “The child… it only happened because they drugged me. My family’s condition for letting you in was that I had to keep the child.” He paused, turning his head to look at me. “Anya, I have no feelings for her.” “You love me, not some piece of paper…” But it wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was my life. It was my right to stand by his side, the only thing that guaranteed the child in my belly could be born. The system’s cold, mechanical voice suddenly exploded in my mind, repeating over and over: MISSION FAILURE: TARGET ACQUISITION FAILED. TERMINATION IMMINENT. YOU HAVE 48 HOURS REMAINING. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing down the storm of emotions. I clutched his sleeve, my voice a desperate plea. “I don’t care about the other child. I just want the certificate.” Dominic’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. “You want me to risk my inheritance, to go home and start a massive fight to divorce her, all to give you a piece of paper?” “Anya, when did you become so selfish?” With that, he yanked his sleeve from my grasp. The sudden movement felt like a physical blow to my heart. I stared at the reflection of the man in the car’s mirror. He was still the picture of aristocratic grace, his features as handsome as ever. But the tender affection in his eyes had been replaced by a sharp edge of impatience. Tears came faster than thought, splashing onto my open palm. Dominic, seeing my tears, softened. He took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed my cheeks. “I promise you, I’ll be yours. The title of Mrs. Croft will be yours in all but name. Even my assets will go to you and our future children. Stop crying… please?” He spoke words he thought were the epitome of devotion, but they only silenced me further. He thought my obsession with the certificate was about the status and the inheritance it brought. “I’m giving you a choice,” he said, his index finger toying with a strand of my hair. He looked at me with absolute certainty. “Either we proceed with the ceremony as planned, or…” It was the same look he’d given me five years ago when he knelt before me with an armful of tulips, promising me a home. The same certainty that I would never, ever refuse him. Our eyes met. I said nothing. My hand rested on the slight curve of my stomach. I stroked it for a long moment, then nodded. Dominic, I’m giving you a choice, too. Either you be a father to my child, or you can prepare to bury us both. As if to punish me, Dominic dropped me off at my apartment and left immediately. I got into a taxi and followed him to Tulip Hills. The villa, which I had suggested multiple times as our marital home, only to be refused, now held the silhouette of another woman. The moment Dominic’s car stopped, she threw herself into his arms. He expertly scooped her up, carrying her through a sea of flowers glowing in the sunset, before pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. I watched, frozen, from the window of the taxi, tears blurring my vision. The driver, seeing my distress, silently passed me a tissue. “Miss, it’s not a good life, being the other woman…” My lips trembled. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t the other woman. I was the one he loved. But the words that came out were a choked whisper. “Who said they were… husband and wife?” The driver chuckled softly. “In my line of work, you learn to read people. The way that man looks at her, it’s like he’s devouring her with his eyes. Who wouldn’t believe they’re married?” I slowly covered my mouth, tears seeping through my fingers. He was right. Only a fool like me would have believed Dominic’s lies about not loving her. It all made sense now. The few days every month he would disappear. The unanswered calls, his secretary’s feigned ignorance. The way he’d lounge on the sofa, telling me I was being too picky about the wedding details while I was drowning in arrangements for the venue, the photos, the invitations. It made sense why the jewelers looked at me with such pity when he brought me in to design our rings. Why his friends always called me the “little wifey”—I thought it was because I was young, but it was because he already had the real one. It made sense why his parents always looked down their noses at me. Who wouldn’t despise the homewrecker who was ruining their son’s marriage? I pulled my gaze away and wiped my face. “Let’s go, sir.” As the engine rumbled to life, a message from Dominic popped up on my phone. Meeting with a client. Don’t wait up for me. Sleep well. As he typed that message, he was holding her, his eyes soft with a love I now knew was a lie. For the first time, I didn’t reply. I just turned off the screen. The system, I remembered, had given me two targets at the start. If he had just been honest with me, I wouldn’t have clung to him like this. Five years. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days. He’d had countless chances to tell me the truth. But he hadn’t. He had just wrapped me in a cocoon of false tenderness. I stumbled out of the taxi, feeling hollowed out. As I looked up, I saw Dominic standing at the door to my apartment, already changed into casual clothes. Seeing the look on my face, he rushed over, taking my coat with one hand and wrapping the other around my waist. I couldn’t stop the image of her, smiling in his embrace, from flashing in my mind. A wave of nausea rolled through me. As he leaned in to kiss me, I shoved him away. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until nothing but bile was left. Dominic pounded on the door, his voice frantic. “Anya! Anya, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” “Open the door! I’ll take you to the hospital!” Involuntary tears mixed with the saliva at the corner of my mouth. I remembered a camping trip, back when we first met. I had a fever of 104. He had been just as frantic then, carrying me barefoot from the mountaintop all the way down to the base. It wasn’t until I was on an IV drip that I saw his feet were covered in blood. I’d told him to get them treated, my eyes red with worry. He had refused, insisting on waiting until I fell asleep. The entire city’s elite envied me for finding such a devoted man. He’d buy out entire auctions for me. Luxury cars and jewelry were delivered like groceries. He had broadcast his proposal on every public screen in the city. He even had my initials tattooed over his heart. The irony was crushing. He was already someone else’s husband, someone else’s father. When I finally opened the door, my composure was back in place. Dominic pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you answer me? You scared me to death…” I pushed away and held out the pregnancy test in my palm. I asked him one last time, my voice deceptively calm. “This child. Are you willing to give him a name?” Dominic stared, then his brow furrowed. He didn’t take the test. There was no surprise, no shock, no joy. Just a complex, scrutinizing look. “Anya. To get a certificate, you’d go this far? You’d fake a pregnancy to trick me?” He grew more agitated as he spoke, not giving me a chance to defend myself. “My mother was right. People from your background… your worldview is just too small.” Without another glance, he swatted my hand away. The pregnancy test clattered to the floor. Like my shattered heart. I instinctively bent to pick it up, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over. I sniffled, bit my lip, and looked at the man standing under the lamp. “You never trusted me,” I said, my voice shaking. “In your eyes, I’ve always been nothing more than a gold-digger.” “That’s why you feel no guilt, even after deceiving me for five years with a wife and child.” “That piece of paper you dismiss so easily? To me, it represents two lives. Two futures. What’s wrong with fighting for the child I’m carrying, for the five years of love I gave you?” “Dominic, you shouldn’t have done this to me.” I didn’t want to cry. But I couldn’t stop. The tears streamed down my face and into my mouth, a taste more bitter than the death I’d faced from terminal illness in my original world. I clutched the test stick and stared at him. The warm light was the same. He was the same man. But the tenderness was gone from his face, replaced by an expression of utter disbelief. Even his voice was laced with accusation. “Anya, what are you talking about? What lives? What futures?” “I understand you’re angry, but I gave you a choice. You agreed to proceed as planned. Why are you throwing this insane tantrum now?” “First a fake pregnancy test… what’s next? A forged doctor’s report?” As he spoke, he scanned the room, and his eyes landed on a document on my vanity. He shoved past me and snatched it up. Without even looking at it, he ripped it to shreds. As the paper fragments snowed down around us, his voice was tight with suppressed fury. “Take the next two days. And calm the hell down.” His footsteps faded, followed by the slam of the door. I was left frozen in place, still clutching the test stick. Outside, the city lights twinkled. Inside, the proof of my child’s existence lay in pieces on the floor. I knelt, slowly gathering the scraps, trying to piece them back together. But they were too small, too torn. Impossible to restore. Just like us. No matter how much Dominic pretended, he couldn’t change the fact that he was a liar and a cheat. And just like my child and me. No matter how hard I fought, I couldn’t change the fact that his father didn’t want him, and that we were both about to die. The apartment was silent, except for the incessant pinging of my phone. Several messages from Dominic. I’m sorry, Anya. I was angry just now. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. But I don’t want to hear any more of that crazy talk. Just wait, and be my beautiful bride. The dress and rings are ready. The invitations have been sent. I’ve invited hundreds of media outlets. The day after tomorrow, I will make you the happiest woman in the city. Almost simultaneously, a dozen texts came in from an unknown number. Anya, you’re so pathetic. The man you’re so proud of? I’ve slept with him. The wedding dress you’re so excited about? I’ve already worn it. The ring? I’ve tried it on. Do you even know what the day after tomorrow is? It’s my son’s birthday. You’re having your little ceremony on my son’s birthday. Dominic really put a lot of thought into this for you, didn’t he? I stared at the words for a full fifteen minutes. I thought I would be heartbroken, that I would cry. But all I felt was a profound numbness. Dominic, your thoughtfulness deserves a special gift in return. MISSION FAILURE. 12 HOURS UNTIL TERMINATION. I ignored the system’s warning, swinging the hammer in my hand with all my might. The clay figurines we had made together shattered into dust. I took a pair of scissors to the giant wedding portrait, leaving it in tatters. I emptied the closets, donated the jewelry, and threw out the custom-made dolls he had given me. This apartment, the one he used to call our “love nest,” was now an empty, desolate ruin. At 8 PM, right on schedule, Dominic called. “Anya. Tomorrow is our big day. Are you happy?” “I’m at my parents’ house tonight. I’ll go straight to the venue tomorrow and wait for you.” His voice was as calm and confident as ever. He knew my deep-seated craving for a family, a product of my loveless past. He was certain I wouldn’t abandon him now. This was just a routine check-in call. “I’m happy,” I heard myself say, my voice flat and distant. “Good. Get some sleep, rest up. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He muffled the receiver, but I could still hear the tinkling laughter of his wife, Seraphina, in the background. I hung up and closed my eyes, letting sleep take me. I paid no mind to the system’s relentless countdown. The next day was bright and sunny. The venue was filled with the city’s elite. I heard someone whisper, “Dominic is so generous. Throwing such a lavish party for a mere mistress…” “It’s not a wedding, you fool, it’s a public declaration. He’s solidifying his position as heir while keeping both women. Don’t you get it?” I acted as if I heard nothing, walking toward the man on the raised platform. Standing beside him was a woman and a young boy—Seraphina and their son. His parents stood behind them. A perfect three-generation family. And I, the bride, looked like the third wheel who had crashed their party. The moment Dominic saw me, his expression changed. “Anya, why aren’t you wearing the white gown?”

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1 The day I got my cancer diagnosis, I practically skipped home with the report in my hand. When the front door swung open, my parents and my brother were huddled around the girl who had taken my place, Seraphina, cooing over her and trying to make her smile. Same as always. I stormed in, slapped the papers down on the polished mahogany table, and announced, “Mom, Dad, Spencer. I have stomach cancer. It’s terminal. I’ve got less than three months.” They froze. I waited, my heart pounding with a strange, vindictive excitement. I imagined their faces crumbling with regret, the remorse they should have felt for years finally hitting them. I pictured them on their knees, begging for my forgiveness, and I knew, even then, I would never grant it. But the scene I had so vividly imagined never played out. They passed the diagnosis report between them, a heavy silence filling the grand living room. Finally, my father spoke, his voice void of any emotion. “What kind of urn do you want?” My mother was next. “In three months, it’s Sera’s eighteenth birthday gala. Your funeral can’t be a big affair. It would cast a shadow on her celebration.” There was no gut-wrenching moment of regret from my family. On the day of Seraphina’s lavish party, I died alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they first brought me home. … My stomach was still twisting with a phantom agony, but the world around me had erupted into chaos. My eyes snapped open to the sight of Seraphina sobbing in my mother’s arms. Before the dizzying reality of my rebirth could even settle in, a violent shove sent me stumbling to the floor. I looked up into the hostile glare of my brother, Spencer. “Let me make one thing clear,” he snarled. “Sera is my only sister. I’ll destroy anyone or anything that hurts her.” The gears of my mind, rusty from death, began to turn. I remembered this. This was the first day. The day my birth parents, the Baldwins, finally brought me home after sixteen years of hell. I’d been abused my entire life, so when they found me, I foolishly believed I had found a safe harbor. I thought I would finally receive the affection, the love, the everything I had only ever dreamed of. I never imagined they already had a replacement, an impostor daughter who had been living my life, basking in the warmth that should have been mine. In my first life, when Spencer pushed me, sixteen years of bottled-up grief and injustice exploded out of me. I collapsed into a pathetic, weeping mess, snot and tears streaming down my face as I demanded they throw Seraphina out. I thought they didn’t know what I’d been through, so I tore open my old wounds for them to see, my words practically dripping with blood. “Seraphina’s mother did it on purpose! She switched us at birth, she admitted it to my face!” “She broke my ribs three times! My right arm was dislocated twelve times, and my thighs and chest… they’re covered in burns…” “When I was seven, she sold me to a grimy traveling circus! I had to eat and sleep with the animals, forced to bark like a dog on stage for scraps of food, to jump through rings of fire…” I was screaming, clawing at my own clothes in a desperate, undignified plea. “Mom, Dad, Spencer, look! Look at my scars! It hurt so much, it hurt so, so much…” “Please, just have a little pity on me… Send her away. Please don’t let her call you Mom and Dad and Spencer. Please?” I looked up, my vision blurred with tears, desperately hoping to see a flicker of compassion, to feel a gentle hand wipe my face. But my parents just looked… awkward. And in my brother’s eyes, I saw a flash of pure disgust. He was the one who spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Even if any of that is true, what does it have to do with Sera? She was just a baby. She didn’t know anything. She’s the innocent one here. Imagine how she feels, suddenly finding out she’s not related to us. I bet she’s hurting a lot more than you are.” My tears froze on my cheeks. I stared at him, searching for any sign he was joking, but there was none. My head swiveled to my parents, the very people who had brought me here. My mother, Isabelle, who had been weeping with pity just moments before, was now clutching Seraphina, her expression troubled. “He’s right, Aurora. Spencer has a point. Sera is innocent in all this. Can’t you try to be a little more understanding?” My father, Arthur, delivered the final verdict. “Enough. You’ll both stay. The Baldwin family can afford to support two daughters. Now get up off the floor and change into something decent. You’re making a scene.” And so, on my very first day home, I became the enemy. The next three years were a blur of constant, bitter conflict. One thousand and ninety-five days. And in all that time, I never won a single battle against Seraphina. Not one. That’s why, when I saw the cancer diagnosis, my first feeling wasn’t fear or sadness. It was relief. A vicious, liberating relief. I hoped my death would be the ultimate punishment for my biased parents, the final blow that would make my hateful brother drown in guilt. But I gambled with my life and still lost everything. On Seraphina’s eighteenth birthday, my urn was quietly buried. No memorial, no eulogy. No one even came to say goodbye. Oh, Mother. Father. Spencer. This time around, I don’t want your love. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I looked up at my furious brother and said calmly, “Mr. Baldwin, I have no intention of being your sister.” Spencer stared, dumbfounded. Even my parents, still comforting Seraphina, turned to look at me in shock. 2 My father’s brow furrowed, his voice cold. “Aurora, that’s enough.” “This is the Baldwin estate. What Sera has, you will have too. We won’t neglect our own flesh and blood.” My mother’s gaze softened as she took in my frail frame, a flicker of pity in her eyes. She let go of Seraphina and knelt to help me up. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, darling,” she murmured. “Besides, you’re not an adult yet, and you have no money. If you don’t come home with us, what will you do? Go back to that circus? Be paraded around like an animal for the crowd’s amusement?” Even though I had already died and come back, her words still stung, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. You see, that was my mother. She knew the depths of my suffering, knew my dignity had been stripped away for sixteen years. Yet she could still weaponize my trauma with such casual cruelty, wrapping it in a guise of concern. In my last life, I was so desperate for her love that I never saw the cold indifference hiding beneath the surface. But now… I steadied myself and gently pushed her hands away. “I’m serious,” I said, my voice level. “No one outside this house knows I exist. You can just tell people you’re sponsoring a scholarship for an underprivileged student from the countryside.” Before they could argue, I pressed on. “Besides, I don’t know any of your etiquette. I can’t tell a Merlot from a Cabernet, I don’t know the first thing about flower arranging… I’d only embarrass the Baldwin name if my identity got out.” The protests died on their lips. My parents exchanged a look, and both fell silent. I lowered my head to hide the bitter, knowing smile that touched my lips. It was just like last time. Seraphina would drag me to elegant galas just to watch me make a fool of myself. And with every clumsy mistake, the guilt and pity my parents initially felt for me slowly evaporated, replaced by shame. Terrified of losing them completely, I had driven myself to the brink, staying up all night, cramming years of culture and etiquette into my exhausted mind. Eventually, I could navigate those shark-infested waters with grace, even outshining Seraphina. I thought they would be proud. I thought Spencer would finally see me differently. But all it took was a single tear from Seraphina, and all my hard work turned to ash. Spencer cut up all my evening gowns. My parents fired my tutors. And Seraphina? She was rewarded with a private piano concerto, a lavish affair that I later heard cost them nearly a million dollars. A million dollars. If I remembered correctly, my urn cost just over a hundred. It was clear now. In my past life, I was too naive, too consumed by my own sense of injustice. I fought, I clawed, I demanded. And all I got were more scars, without earning a single drop of their sympathy. What was the point of it all? Aurora, what was the point? You fought until your last breath and couldn’t even earn yourself a decent funeral. Breaking the thick silence, my father finally spoke. “Fine. We’ll do it your way for now. We’ll hire the best tutors for you. When you’re ready, we’ll hold a proper reception to announce your identity as a Baldwin.” I nodded curtly. “Thank you, Mr. Baldwin.” He frowned at the formality. “You’re home now. You don’t have to be so distant. You can call me Dad.” I shook my head, offering a faint, detached smile. “No, I’d better stick with Mr. Baldwin. I wouldn’t want to get too comfortable and let it slip in public.” I turned to my mother, Isabelle, adopting the same formal address. “And thank you, Ms. Baldwin. I only require your support until I turn eighteen. I won’t be a burden for long.” A pale shadow crossed my mother’s face. She forced a smile and reached for my hand again. “Aurora, you don’t have to be like this. You’re my daughter, after all. We…” I pulled my hand back. I was tired, so tired of their hollow words. Slinging my tattered bag over my shoulder, I started walking toward the guest rooms on the first floor. Behind me, Seraphina’s small, timid voice piped up. “Aurora… sister… I’ve already moved my things out of my room for you. You can… you can take it. I’ll just stay in the guest room.” I paused but didn’t turn around. “Don’t bother. After all, you’re the rightful daughter of this house right now.” A few steps later, I heard Spencer’s voice, laced with anger. “Sera, just ignore her. She won’t even call them Mom and Dad. Who does she think she’s fooling with this pathetic act?” “If she wants to suffer, let her. She shouldn’t even get a guest room.” “Mrs. Gable!” he barked. “Get the key to the storage closet. Let her sleep in there.” I felt their eyes on my back, a collective weight of judgment. I didn’t look back. I didn’t argue. I just followed the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, in silence to collect my key. 3 I ate dinner alone in the storage closet that night. As I passed the dining room to get my food, I could hear Seraphina laughing with my parents and brother. As if on cue, their cheerful chatter grew louder the moment I appeared. Spencer was practically feeding Seraphina by hand. Last time, that kind of deliberate exclusion would have shattered me, sparking a huge fight that left everyone miserable. This time, I simply gave the happy family a polite nod and walked away. I had bigger things to worry about. A full health check-up, a fitness regimen, my studies, and most importantly… college entrance exams. I had no time or energy to waste on people who didn’t matter. It was August, with a month left before the school year started. I immediately got a comprehensive medical exam. Seeing the clean bill of health for my stomach, I breathed a sigh of true relief. The cancer hadn’t started yet. I drafted a strict daily schedule for myself and requested all the textbooks for the next two years of high school. Every morning, I was up and out for a run before anyone else in the Baldwin house had stirred. I would time my return perfectly, finishing breakfast just before they came downstairs, and then retreat to my room to study. Isabelle tried, on several occasions, to bring me a glass of milk and chat, but my cool, indifferent responses always shut her down. Eventually, she seemed to get the hint, or perhaps took offense. Her visits grew infrequent, and soon it was Mrs. Gable who brought the milk. One night, my head swimming from hours of calculus, I glanced up and saw the glass of milk under the warm glow of my desk lamp. It was stone cold. A sardonic smile twisted my lips. That was my mother in a nutshell. You couldn’t say she was heartless; she always offered these tiny gestures of hope. A glass of milk, a moment spent brushing my hair, a cup of ginger tea she brewed herself when I had cramps. But you couldn’t say she was caring, either. She never knew I was lactose intolerant. She never knew I was allergic to ginger. And whenever I had a breakdown, she would simply leave me alone to pick up my own pieces. In my last life, I was driven mad by that hollow, performative version of motherly love. Sometimes I wondered if she even wanted me back. If my very existence, a living reminder of her failure, was just an embarrassment to her in front of her high-society friends. Otherwise, why would she be so cruel? … Time slipped away, silent and unnoticed, like the milk poured down the drain. When Arthur asked which high school I wanted to attend, I chose Seraphina’s without hesitation. Spencer scoffed. “So the quiet act is over, huh? I almost believed you were the type who didn’t like to compete. What’s the plan? Finally ready to go make Sera’s life miserable at school?” I met his gaze directly, my own calm and unblinking. “I chose that school because it’s the best in Crestwood City, with the strongest faculty. And Mr. Baldwin, my college exams are extremely important to me. Rest assured, I won’t jeopardize my future over the kind of petty drama you’re imagining.” Spencer’s face darkened, but I saw Arthur glance at me, a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes. “Sister, don’t talk to Spencer like that,” Seraphina interjected, her voice soft and placating. “He’s just worried about me. And Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I know the school inside and out. I’ll take good care of my sister.” Her words smoothed over the awkward tension. Isabelle beamed, pulling Seraphina into a hug. “That’s my sweet girl. Always so thoughtful.” The scene that used to pierce my heart now felt like a distant echo, causing no ripple within me. My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and smiled. It was the school. My application for a dorm room had been approved. 4 When we got in the car for the first day of school, Seraphina offered graciously, “Sister, you and Spencer should take the back. I can sit up front.” But before she could even take a step, Spencer grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? You’re sitting with me. The front seat is for outsiders.” He shot a pointed look at me from the corner of his eye. To his disappointment, I didn’t look hurt or angry. In fact, I was relieved. I gave him a polite nod. The very thing I had begged for in my last life was something I now desperately wanted to avoid. The car purred smoothly onto the school grounds. As expected, Seraphina and I were placed in the same class. During gym class, she brought her whole clique over to meet me, a mix of popular boys and girls. Of course, she wasn’t being kind. In my first life, I had suffered immensely at the hands of these “friends.” I looked up at their familiar faces. Back then, desperate to beat Seraphina at her own game, I had tried to win them over. I poured my heart out to them, acting like a pathetic, loyal puppy, eager for their approval. I later found out they had a private group chat. Its name was “Taming the Mutt.” In that group, they circulated humiliating photos of me from my circus days and brainstormed new, cruel “games” to play with me. Then, the day before the final college entrance exams, they executed their masterpiece. They printed out compromising photos of me, along with screenshots of all the degrading things I’d done to please them. They loaded them onto a drone and showered the entire school campus with them. And just like that, the girl who had clawed her way to the top of the school rankings for two years, the student the teachers were certain would get into an Ivy League school, never even made it to the exam. I ran through the hallways, dodging the strange looks and whispered insults, and confronted them. “Why?” I cried, tears streaming down my face. “Why would you do this to me? Wasn’t I good enough to you?” They just laughed. One of them casually plucked a flyer out of the air and threw it at my face. “Just look at yourself. You’re pathetic. How could you even think someone like you deserved friends?” “We feel sick just breathing the same air as you.” “This is your punishment for making Sera sad.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. Seraphina was already putting on her wounded expression. “Sister… do you not like my friends? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just saw you were all alone and I thought…” I stood up, cutting her off. “They’re your friends. You have fun with them. You don’t need to worry about me.” But this time, my coldness seemed to pique their interest. They spent the rest of the day trying to talk to me, offering me snacks, inviting me to eat with them, even ignoring Seraphina in the process. I looked down, a scornful smile playing on my lips. What a performance. I hadn’t planned on getting involved with them again in this life. But since they insisted on playing this game, well, I might as well give them a parting gift. Just like last time, the driver took Seraphina home after school without waiting for me. I knew exactly what she was planning. In my first life, she had intentionally drenched herself in the rain and gone home in tears. When my frantic parents and brother asked what was wrong, she had played the part of the reluctant victim, eventually confessing that she knew I resented her. She claimed that even though she knew I had paid some bullies to lock her in a bathroom and pour water on her, she didn’t blame me. When I heard her lies, my face flushed with rage. “She’s lying! I didn’t—” But my denial was met not with trust, but with a sharp, stinging slap across the face. They didn’t even bother to listen to my side of the story before passing judgment. That night, I was locked out of the house, forced to endure a torrential downpour. But this time, I had a feeling no one would be in the mood to appreciate Seraphina’s little act. Instead of taking the bus home, I had a quiet dinner, found a spot in the library to study, and waited. Sure enough, just before seven o’clock, my phone began to vibrate violently. I let it ring for a moment, then answered. On the other end, I heard my mother’s voice, choked with sobs. “Aurora, something’s happened. You need to come to the hospital. Now.”

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Of all the second-generation billionaires in my circle, I chose the only doctor for our arranged marriage. Only after we were married did I realize—he’s exactly like the doctor best friend in every romance novel who gets dragged out of bed at 3 AM to treat the female lead! After witnessing this happen multiple times, I decided to scrap my plan of trying to make this marriage work romantically. I mean, seriously. Who wants to compete with a billionaire’s love interest? But I never expected one thing: he can read my mind. For people like us, we always knew an arranged marriage was coming. It’s fine, really. We enjoy so many privileges; it’s only fair we pay a price. I was lucky enough to choose my own partner—from a pool of eligible heirs, of course. Honestly, it didn’t matter who it was. Everyone knows these marriages are just for show, a way to cement business deals between families. But since I had a choice, I wanted someone… normal. According to my intel: One guy is still obsessed with his ex who’s studying abroad. Hard pass. Another is playing some “cat and mouse” game with his kept woman. Pass. And a third just started sponsoring a D-list actress. Definitely pass. After picking through the lot, I landed on Caleb Vance. The few memories I had of him were of a refined, elegant man. His name sounds like a classic CEO, but he’s actually the only one in the group who isn’t. Caleb is a doctor. A genuine academic who got into the top medical school in the country on his own merit, completing his MD and PhD in one go. He fits the image perfectly: gentle, polite, always looking clean and sophisticated. Every time I see him, he’s wearing white or light-colored suits. With his doctor filter, he almost seems saintly. Our engagement went smoothly. Our parents hit it off immediately. I heard Caleb agreed without hesitation. So, in just a month, I went from single since birth to a married woman. From the day of the wedding, I moved into the house he bought for us. The beige interior suited him perfectly. That day, after giving me a tour, Caleb led me to the master bedroom. His voice was warm and gentle: “Even though this is an arranged marriage, I don’t want it to be just for show. I hope we can take things slow, get to know each other, and build a real relationship.” He pointed to the guest room across the hall. “I’ll sleep there. Don’t be nervous. I won’t force anything until we’re both ready.” I went into the master bedroom and closed the door. Honestly, he was better than I expected. I always assumed that even without scandals, his friends were all typical rich playboys with their “pets.” Birds of a feather, right? Even though he seemed different, I didn’t have high hopes. I just wanted a peaceful marriage. As long as no one caused trouble in front of me, I wouldn’t care what he did outside. Two months passed in a blink. One night, after a shower, I lay in bed staring at the scandalously skimpy nightgown beside me. My heart started racing. Look, Caleb might be a gentleman with no impure thoughts. But I am not! I’ve been single for over twenty years and barely held a man’s hand, but my mind is definitely rated R. With a legitimate, handsome husband right here, why should I live like a nun? Plus, over the last two months, he’s come home at 6 PM every day. We’ve had cozy dinners, gone shopping on weekends, and he’s even waited patiently while I got my nails and hair done. We’ve binged cheesy soap operas on the couch together. I have to admit, I’m kind of falling for him. One day, I was out shopping with friends and realized it was 5:30 PM. My first thought was, I need to go home. I paused, realizing I truly saw that house as my home. I felt a sense of belonging I hadn’t expected. Seeing the chaos in our circle—including my own parents’ dramatic affairs and illegitimate children popping up—I thought I had no hope for love or family. But the quiet consistency of our life was powerful. Thinking about Caleb’s character, I felt a surge of confidence. I wanted to gamble on this. Maybe trusting someone, trusting in love, could actually work out? Caleb’s parents are one of the few happily married couples in our circle. Surely, the son they raised is trustworthy… right? Even if it’s a trap, maybe it’s one everyone has to walk into eventually. I put on the black lace nightgown, tiptoed to Caleb’s door, struck a pose I learned online, and knocked lightly. The door opened. Caleb froze. He looked left and right, clearly searching for something to cover me with, but failed. Our eyes met. His gaze darkened. Finally, his voice raspy, he asked, “Chloe, are you sure?” With my nod, he swept me up and carried me to the bed. The room was dim, lit only by a warm bedside lamp. The weight of another person pressed down on me. His warmth on my face, shoulders, back, and waist… his hands, his kisses… everywhere he touched burned. I felt like I was melting. My brain turned to mush. I was pliable as water under him. Turning my head, I saw the pristine white sheets and had the inappropriate thought: If we make a mess, it’ll be really obvious. But I didn’t get to find out. Just as I had turned into a puddle and Caleb was about to take off his shirt, his phone rang. Caleb took a few deep breaths, exhaling hot air. He propped himself up on one arm and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. “Dr. Vance, Mr. Sterling drank too much and is in severe pain. Can you come over?” The anxious male voice on the other end sounded familiar. I think I’d heard him with one of the other CEOs. Caleb paused. When he spoke, his voice was incredibly hoarse. “I know. I’ll be there.” I snapped out of my haze. I grabbed his half-removed shirt. “Don’t go!” Caleb met my eyes. He lowered his head, gently biting my lip, and coaxed, “Be good. I need to check on him.” Watching him get dressed, anger flared in my chest. I stared at his back, cursing internally: Be good? I’ll go check? Ha! Who knows if you’re checking on a bro or a babe. He froze, stuttering in his movements, and turned to look at me with a complicated expression. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He shook his head and continued dressing. I kept up my internal monologue: Go ahead, go. Who can stop you, Mr. Saint? Ambulances are useless, hospitals are useless. You must have magic powers if only you can save him… I felt better after venting silently. But as he left, I saw him stumble. Must have been my imagination. After all, he’s famous for being unflappable. Before closing the door, he said, “Chloe, I’ll be back soon.” I don’t know when I fell asleep, but he hadn’t returned. When I woke up, he was sleeping beside me, back in his pajamas from last night. Seeing him just made me angrier. Seriously? You can just leave in the middle of that? Even when he reached over me for the phone, I could feel the heat radiating off him. I angrily chewed on my toast. Caleb walked out. Seeing my face, he chuckled softly. He hugged me from behind and whispered in my ear, “Sorry. Sterling is in a bad spot. He had gastric bleeding recently, so I was worried.” It happened. I didn’t want to dwell on it. But after he left for work, I watched a drama on TV. The plot involved a CEO chasing his runaway lover. The female lead got hurt, and the CEO called his doctor friend to treat her. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. The plots of all those romance novels I’d read flooded my brain. Wait. Isn’t Caleb exactly like that poor doctor friend who always gets called in the middle of the night? We have plenty of CEOs around us. Gastric bleeding? Check. Doctor friend? Check. Midnight call? Check. I imagined Caleb being summoned by this CEO today, that CEO tomorrow… a pitiful tool, running around like a tired puppy. I couldn’t help but laugh. That night, I didn’t make a move. But Caleb knocked on my door. His hair was styled, and he smelled of cologne. He looked at me with smiling eyes. “Can you take me in tonight?” I raised an eyebrow. “No one needs a checkup tonight?” He didn’t speak. He cupped my face and kissed me, gentle and teasing. With the previous night’s experience, things went smoother. Until he took off his shirt. We both froze, terrified the phone would ring. We looked at the phone, then at each other, and almost burst out laughing. He leaned in close, his voice thick with amusement, hot breath tickling my ear. “I’m not leaving tonight.” My face burned. Jeez, making it sound like I’m the desperate one. That night taught me a lesson: don’t judge a book by its cover. Caleb is a good person. Objectively speaking. Professionally, he’s dedicated to curing incurable diseases. Personally, he has a great temper, is filial to his parents, loyal to his friends, and takes excellent care of me. However, being too good has its downsides. It’s not the first time. Just as we’re about to celebrate an anniversary or go on a trip, a friend calls. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s always at the worst time. The assistants’ voices on the phone are always trembling and pitiful. Sometimes a CEO has gastric bleeding from drinking. Sometimes a CEO’s “forced love” antics have left someone physically collapsed. What can I do? They make it sound life-threatening. I can’t stop him. Though I’m speechless. Is calling an ambulance that hard? Does it have to be Caleb? I laughed thinking he was a tool in a novel. But this is reality. Not calling the police or going to a hospital? Even though he rushes back every time, the mood is ruined. Today is our first wedding anniversary. Last night, I specifically told Caleb I didn’t want any interruptions today. His lab has made progress recently, so he’s been busy. We went grocery shopping together, a rare treat. On my birthday, Caleb surprised me by cooking. It was amazing—restaurant quality, and all my favorite dishes. When we first confessed our feelings, we made a big deal out of every holiday. But for this anniversary, we just wanted to shop and cook a quiet dinner together. Watching Caleb busy in the kitchen, I felt dazed. A year ago, I never imagined my married life would be like this. Not explosive, but warm. I walked over and hugged his waist from behind, rubbing my face against his back. He chuckled and was about to speak. The phone rang. I pressed my lips together. I have PTSD from his ringtone now. I listened against his back. “Dr. Vance, please come quickly…” Rage flared. I snatched the phone. “Can you not call an ambulance? Can you not drive him to the hospital yourself?” The voice on the other end choked. I hung up, still fuming. “That was Sterling’s assistant, wasn’t it? I recognize his voice. You really believe that playboy is drinking himself to death over a woman?!” Caleb frowned. “I heard he really cares about someone recently…” “He’s cared about a busload of people over the years!” I gritted my teeth. “If you go, we’re done. Your bros are clearly more important, so go live with them.” He went anyway. Even though he coaxed me gently, “I’ll just take a look. I’ll be back before you finish one episode, okay?” I was disappointed. My heart sank. Compared to the tear-jerking, life-or-death love stories of others, our journey was too smooth, too plain. My only complaint was wishing these grown-ass CEOs would grow up. Stop with the “kidnapping” and “fatal illness” tropes that drag Caleb into their mess. But I realized something. Even if my “rivals” are these unexpected men, Caleb’s attitude matters. I’ve heard rumors. Some of these illnesses are fake. Tricks to win sympathy. Tricks to fool the board. They’re lies. I can tell some of them apart now. I don’t believe Caleb can’t. I’m not smart, and I hate trouble. My solution to difficult things is usually acceptance or avoidance.

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1 In the dead of night, my husband’s assistant sent him a sultry selfie, masking it as a work update. “Mr. Wheeler, I can’t sleep. Are you up? I hope the old lady next to you isn’t snoring too loud.” I took Marcus’s phone, screenshotted the photo and the chat, and blasted it to the entire company’s group server. The next morning, my husband woke up to the 999+ notifications lighting up his phone. He simply gave my ponytail a gentle tug. “Juliet, she’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better. You, on the other hand, are a grown woman. You shouldn’t let your temper get the best of you.” He deleted his assistant’s contact information right in front of me, as if that erased the whole affair. Then came our wedding anniversary. He booked the entire top-floor restaurant and invited every employee from his company. He presented me with a breathtaking bouquet, its fragrance filling the air. “Happy anniversary, my love.” “I just need to step out and meet someone,” he said, his smile never wavering. “I’ll be right back. I have one more big surprise for you. Just wait here.” The moment he was gone, a stranger in a sharp business suit walked directly to my table and pulled a document from his briefcase. “Mrs. Wheeler, you’ve been served. This is a court order.” … “A court order?” I took the document. The text was stark against the white paper. Lily, his assistant, was suing me for defamation and demanding a public apology in front of the entire company. Just then, Lily herself appeared, her arms crossed smugly. “Juliet,” she sneered, “you tried to ruin my reputation in that group chat, made me the office laughingstock. Tonight, you’re going to apologize for it. Publicly.” The burly men standing behind her took a menacing step forward, their eyes locking onto me like predators. The room erupted. “So it was the boss’s wife who sent that picture! I thought he’d just fat-fingered it.” “This is better than a movie. The wife versus the mistress, and it looks like the mistress is winning.” “I knew Lily wouldn’t just let it go. She was just waiting for the right moment.” “Look at Mrs. Wheeler. She’s frozen in fear. She’s probably going to have to get on her knees and beg.” I slowly lowered the document, my gaze calmly sweeping over Lily’s triumphant face. And then, Marcus returned. He snatched the “court order” from my hands. “Lily, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice feigning surprise. Lily’s expression instantly crumpled into one of heartbreaking vulnerability. She threw herself into Marcus’s arms. “Marcus, I didn’t want to do this, but your wife left me no choice! She’s destroyed my name at the company! How am I supposed to face anyone?” Dressed in an innocent white dress, tears streamed down her face. “Juliet, I’m so sorry, but we had no other option.” “I know you don’t like me,” she sobbed, “but you can’t just ruin my reputation—and Marcus’s—out of jealousy.” She took a small step back, and Marcus wrapped a protective arm around her, gently patting her back. But the look in his eyes wasn’t one of concern; it was pure, unadulterated adoration. He turned to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Juliet, look at this mess you’ve made.” “Lily is young. She made a silly joke. Did you have to take it so seriously? Now you’ve dragged the company’s name through the mud.” “Just apologize to Lily and we can put this all behind us.” Every eye in the room was on me, waiting for my humiliation, waiting for me to grovel. With the entire party watching, I started to laugh. 2 “Sue me?” I rose from my chair, my eyes fixed on Marcus. “On what grounds, Marcus? Tell me.” He said nothing, just stared at me with cold detachment, as if I were a lunatic having a tantrum. But Lily, ever the actress, snatched a dinner fork from the table and pressed the tines against her own throat, her voice breaking with manufactured hysteria. “Juliet, I have severe depression! I just wanted you to admit you were wrong… You’ve been stalking me, sending threatening texts, spreading vicious rumors about me and Marcus… I can’t take it anymore! If you don’t apologize to me right now, I’ll…” She made a show of pressing the fork harder into her skin. “Lily, stop!” Marcus lunged forward, wrestling the fork from her hand. He spun around and roared at me. “Have you lost your mind, Juliet?” “I told you she was just a kid! Why do you have to make everything into a war? You just had to escalate things, didn’t you? Are you happy now?” “I’m giving you one last chance. Do what Lily asked.” “Or we’re going straight from here to a lawyer’s office, and I will make damn sure you walk away with nothing. Let’s see how a pampered housewife of five years survives on the street!” Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, designed to hit where it hurt most. He was so certain of his power over me, so sure that I was too dependent on him, that I would swallow any humiliation to preserve the illusion of our perfect marriage. But he had no idea. He had no idea that the only reason he’d gone from a broke startup founder to the CEO of a publicly-traded company in three short years was because of my family’s resources. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “It’s over. Mr. Wheeler is really choosing the new girl.” “What a fool. If you can’t win, you should just endure it. Now she’s going to be thrown out with nothing.” “Look, I think she’s about to cry.” I slowly lifted my head, looking at the two utterly clueless people before me, their faces glowing with the smug satisfaction of having won. Marcus’s eyes were still burning with his threat. “What are you waiting for? Cat got your tongue? Say it!” I looked at him, and finally, I spoke. “Alright.” The smile on my face deepened. I stood up, my gaze sweeping across every single person in the room before I spoke again, my voice clear and steady. “I apologize.” Satisfaction bloomed on both Lily’s and Marcus’s faces. I paused for effect, then continued, enunciating every single word. “I’m sorry that I discovered your affair, which has been going on for three years.” “I’m sorry that I found out you, Marcus, have been using the money I brought into this marriage to buy your little mistress here apartments, cars, and luxury goods.” “But most of all, I am so, so sorry for speaking up and interrupting your precious, true love.” 3 “Juliet, what the hell are you talking about!” Marcus strode toward me, his hand raised. A sharp crack echoed through the suddenly silent hall as his palm connected with my cheek. My ears rang, and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. For a split second, I was no longer in the restaurant. I was a girl again, stepping into the fighting pits for the first time. A Pierce must always know how to handle themselves, my father’s voice echoed in my memory. I’d been trained by the best since I was a child, mastering blades, firearms, every form of combat. I didn’t flinch. I wanted to remember the sting of this slap. “Are you insane?” Marcus screamed, his finger jabbing at my face. “Spouting this nonsense in front of everyone! You may have no shame, but I do!” I touched my burning cheek, my eyes fixed on the man I had loved for so long. I had grown tired of the violence and shadows of my family’s world, which is why I’d hidden my identity to build a normal, quiet life with him. When he wanted to start his own business three years ago, I pulled every string I had to support him from behind the scenes. The physical pain was nothing. But the ache in my chest was a suffocating tide. Seeing her chance, Lily rushed to Marcus’s side, clinging to his arm. “Marcus, please don’t be angry. Don’t fight with Juliet because of me.” She pleaded softly, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. Then, she turned to the audience. “Everyone, I know this is hard to believe, but the person who has been cheating… is Juliet!” As if on cue, the massive screen behind the main table flickered to life. A slideshow of photos began to play. There I was, having dinner with another man. Then at an art gallery. There was even one, shot from a sly angle outside a hotel, where I was intimately helping him adjust his tie… The lighting was dim, the framing deceptive, each picture carefully crafted to scream infidelity. “Here’s all the proof you need!” Lily’s voice trembled with fake indignation. “She was the one who betrayed our marriage, and then she tried to blame me and Marcus!” “And it’s not just cheating! She’s been abusing him! Look!” The screen switched to photos of Marcus with “injuries.” Red marks on his wrist. Scratches on his neck. Lily cried, “Marcus kept quiet to protect the family, to save her from embarrassment! He endured it all in silence! But she only got worse! I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen any longer!” In an instant, the crowd’s sympathy for me curdled into contempt and disgust. “I can’t believe it. She looks so poised and gentle, but she’s actually that kind of person.” “Poor Mr. Wheeler. She’s a viper, cheating on him and then trying to frame him.” “She has that expensive look, but her actions are just trashy.” “Wait… that man in the photos. He looks familiar… I just can’t place him.” The room buzzed with judgment. I stood alone, an island in a sea of scorn, painted as the most vile, shameless woman alive. Lily sidled up to me, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “The bouquet smelled lovely, didn’t it, Juliet?” “I did give you a chance.” Just as a surge of fury rose within me, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed into my chair. 4 “You vicious woman! A simple apology won’t be enough!” Before I could even process what was happening, a gaudily dressed middle-aged woman burst from the crowd, shoving guests aside as she stormed toward me. She pointed a finger in my face, spittle flying from her lips. “You shameless harlot! You can’t keep your own husband satisfied, so you slander my daughter!” It was Lily’s mother, Brenda. “Mom, don’t!” Lily cried, pulling at her arm while shooting me a tearful look. “Juliet didn’t mean it…” “You be quiet! It’s because you’re too kind that this witch takes advantage of you!” Brenda shoved her daughter away, her eyes raking over me with pure malice. Suddenly, her gaze fell upon the long, white-clothed table in front of me. It was laden with fine china, crystal glasses, and a magnificent five-tiered cake inscribed with “Juliet & Marcus, Happy 5th Anniversary.” With a guttural scream, Brenda seized a corner of the tablecloth and yanked with all her might. CRASH! Everything on the table—the cake, the champagne tower, the silverware—went flying. Expensive crystal shattered, and a sticky mess of wine and frosting covered the floor. The plaque celebrating our five years of marriage lay in pieces. The entire hall was a scene of chaos. Everyone was stunned into silence. Brenda, however, was just getting started. She grabbed me, her voice a shrill command. “Get on your knees!” “Kneel in this mess and beg my daughter for forgiveness!” “Mom, please, stop! She’ll get hurt…” Lily protested, but as she spoke, she subtly kicked a razor-sharp shard of broken glass directly in front of my knees. The shard’s edge glinted coldly under the ballroom lights. Finally, a few guests started to murmur. “My God, this is too much.” “Kneel on broken glass? They’re trying to cripple her!” “Well, she’s the one who blew up the company group chat over nothing. You could say she brought this on herself.” “Mr. Wheeler, isn’t this… going a bit too far?” “Seriously, if she kneels on that, her legs will be shredded.” Marcus had watched the entire spectacle with cold indifference. Only when Brenda looked ready to physically force me onto the glass did he leisurely stroll over and wave a dismissive hand. “That’s enough, Brenda.” Everyone assumed he was about to defuse the situation. “Kneeling won’t be necessary,” he said, his tone one of magnanimous mercy. Then, he scanned the room, a smirk playing on his lips. “However, we can’t let this evening’s entertainment go unpunished. A little lesson is in order.” “Let’s play a little game,” he announced. “We’ll hold an auction. Bidding starts at one dollar. The highest bidder… gets the privilege of disciplining my unruly wife on my behalf.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine, and added, each word a drop of poison: “Hit her wherever you like.” The entire room stared at Marcus as if he were a madman. That shock quickly morphed into a low, excited murmur. “Two dollars!” A greasy man with a beer belly was the first to raise his hand, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “Fifty!” another man shouted, his gaze crawling greedily over my body. “Eight hundred!” … I was the main attraction at a grotesque carnival, a piece of merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder. My husband of five years was personally grinding my dignity into the dirt for public amusement. The greasy man who started it all won the bid for a thousand dollars. He rubbed his hands together, waddling toward me with a lecherous grin. “Mrs. Wheeler, no hard feelings. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to slap a high-class woman like you…” His sweaty, fleshy hand rose high, preparing to strike. My body was weak, my heart a dead, cold stone.

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