Category: English

My boyfriend, Ethan, went missing after a wilderness survival trip on a deserted island. I spent every single penny of my savings, searching for him like crazy, but found absolutely nothing. Until two months later, on my way to work, I saw him. He was laughing and joking with his friends, bragging: “Missing? Of course it was fake. My girlfriend was getting way too clingy. I had to teach her a lesson.” “I had Julian cover for me. She didn’t suspect a thing.” Julian is his best friend. I pretended I didn’t hear a word. When I got home, Julian hugged me gently from behind. “Any news about Ethan today?” “No.” I kissed Julian, pretending to be heartbroken, and said: “He was probably eaten by wild beasts on that island. I’m done looking for him.” “Julian, let’s make us official.” When I first saw Ethan on the street, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I was about to walk over to get a closer look, but then I heard him bragging to his friends. “Ethan, since you ‘went missing,’ even we barely get to see you.” “Can’t help it,” Ethan said, leaning back with a smug smirk. “Chloe was getting too clingy, always trying to control me. I had to teach her a lesson.” “How did you even come up with the missing stunt?” “I came up with it, obviously,” The girl sitting next to Ethan said, raising her eyebrows proudly. “With his brain, do you think he could think of something this brilliant? He has to rely on me.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re the smartest,” Ethan smiled at her dotingly. I recognized that girl. Sienna, the only girl in Ethan’s tight-knit friend group. “But still, playing this big of a prank… isn’t Chloe going to get suspicious?” “I had Julian cover for me. It’s totally fine.” Everyone suddenly understood. “No wonder. With Julian backing you up, who would ever doubt it?” “Julian is always the reliable one.” Sienna let out a soft snort. “Honestly, it’s just because Chloe is an idiot.” I waited for Ethan to defend me. But instead, he just leaned in and coaxed her softly: “Exactly. She’s nowhere near as smart or beautiful as you.” The rest of the group started cheering and teasing them. As if they were completely used to this. “Ethan, why don’t you just date Sienna already? Why even bother having a girlfriend?” “I don’t hook up within the inner circle.” “Get lost, I wouldn’t want you anyway,” Sienna replied. They pretended to be disgusted with each other. But under the table, their legs were playfully rubbing against each other. Near the end of their chat, someone asked: “You can’t stay ‘dead’ forever, Ethan. When do you plan on going back?” “I’m waiting,” Ethan said with absolute confidence. “I’ll go back when Chloe is completely driven crazy by losing me.” I was actually on my way to the police station to file a Missing Persons Report today. Now, I changed my mind. I went to buy my favorite snacks. Then, I treated myself to a luxurious spa day. By the time I got home, it was already evening. The lights in the apartment were off. I thought Julian had already left. Just as I stepped into my slippers, someone wrapped their arms around me from behind. My body stiffened slightly. I asked, “Have you been drinking?” Julian didn’t answer directly. “What did you do today? You didn’t pick up my FaceTime calls.” “Sorry, I wasn’t looking at my phone.” “Any news about Ethan?” “Sigh, no,” I said, my voice filled with fake disappointment. Julian held me even tighter, his warm breath brushing against my neck. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t dragged him to that island for the camping trip, he wouldn’t have gone missing.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. —If only his warm tongue hadn’t just grazed my earlobe. Julian is one of Ethan’s best friends. After Ethan “disappeared,” they split the roles—one stayed in the shadows, the other in the light. Julian was supposed to play the “guilt-ridden friend.” But Ethan probably didn’t know. His dear brother’s… Way of showing remorse… was a bit unconventional.

Julian’s family background was even wealthier than Ethan’s. In public, he was always cold, distant, and completely out of reach. I used to think so, too. Usually, when we were in private, Julian and I barely spoke a word to each other. After graduating from college, I got a job. As fate would have it, the company turned out to be one of the subsidiaries of Julian’s family conglomerate. Julian became my young boss. That made the distance between us feel even wider. We only started getting close about a month ago. When I suddenly got the news of Ethan’s disappearance, I completely broke down for a while. Julian, acting as the initiator of the trip, felt extremely guilty and offered to take care of me in Ethan’s place for a while. But he was a bit too attentive. He insisted on cooking all three meals himself and serving them right to me. It made me feel so embarrassed. I said: “Julian, you can’t blame yourself for this. Ethan always loved extreme outdoor sports. Even without your invitation, he would have explored that island on his own eventually. “His parents didn’t say anything to blame you, so of course I won’t either. “You should go back to your busy life. I really don’t need you to… put down that piece of clothing!” I took a giant step forward. And snatched my bra right out of his hands. “I can wash my own underwear!” Julian looked at me with a deadly serious face. “I wash things cleaner. Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” “Absolutely not!” I was so embarrassed at the time that I didn’t notice. He hid his hands behind his back. And rubbed his fingers together in regret. So how did I discover Julian’s other side? It was probably one night, around midnight, when I got up to use the restroom. I realized Julian was still staying over at my place, refusing to leave. I decided to go ask him about it. But just as I approached the cracked door of the guest room, I saw it. He was shirtless, showing off his lean, muscular upper body. In one hand, he was holding my lace camisole. His other hand was blocked by the wardrobe. Under the dim, warm light, Julian’s back muscles were completely tensed, the veins on his arms bulging. I was completely shocked by the scene. I couldn’t help but make a sound. Julian whipped his head around instantly. The moment he saw me. He tilted his head back. A low, trembling groan escaped his throat. I discovered Julian’s secret. And from then on, I hopped onto his boat. I knew I should have pushed him away. I shouldn’t have allowed his hugs and kisses. But I couldn’t control myself. Probably because, when I was crying my eyes out over Ethan, Only Julian was there, silently keeping me company. And more importantly— I had already begun to suspect that Ethan’s disappearance was a total scam. What kind of parents wouldn’t report their own son missing, and even stop me from calling the cops? What kind of friends would throw wild parties and live in luxury right after their best buddy went missing? All these doubts were finally confirmed today. All of them had teamed up to put on a show for me. And Julian was a major actor in this play. Back to the present. Julian still refused to let go of me. Feeling a bit exhausted, I said, “Did you cook? I’m starving.” “Yes, all your favorites.” “Go heat it up.” “Okay.” Julian immediately went to heat up the food. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with me speaking to him in such an commanding tone. After dinner. I took off my cardigan and threw it at him. “Go wash it.” Julian paused. “Am I allowed to?” “Yeah. I’m tired today, too lazy to do it myself.” Like he had just received an award, he happily carried the clothes into the bathroom. I knew he wouldn’t be out for at least twenty minutes. After successfully sending Julian away. I unlocked his phone, which he had left on the table. Sure enough, Ethan had created a burner Snapchat account and had been keeping in touch with them the whole time. During the first few days, Ethan actually asked about me. [Ethan: How is Chloe?] [Julian: She cried for a long time today.] [Ethan: It’s fine, she’s always like that, crying over everything is so annoying. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.] [Julian: When are you ending this joke?] [Ethan: ?] [Julian: If you don’t like her, just break up. There’s no need to play her like this.] [Ethan: It’s not that I don’t like her. I just think she controls me too much. She wouldn’t even let me go out drinking at midnight. Sienna is right, she needs to suffer a bit to learn how to behave around me.] Julian didn’t reply after that. With a ding, a group chat popped up, catching my attention. The group name was— Princess Sienna and Her Three Minions.

[Princess Sienna: Fresh news! Chloe was crying again yesterday, her coworkers saw her!] [Minion #1 Ethan: I heard about that too.] [Princess Sienna: See? My method works like magic~ Ethan, you owe me a fancy dinner.] This was the group chat of Ethan and Sienna’s little clique. There were four guys in the group. Three of them were labeled as minions. The extra one was Julian. He was the only one using his real name. I remembered Ethan telling me before. Julian had joined their group halfway through college. No one really knew why. My guess was that because Julian’s family business was massive and involved heavy investments, Ethan and his friends had actively tried to suck up to him. Julian rarely spoke in the group. It was mostly Ethan responding to Sienna’s every word. [Minion #1 Ethan: A fancy dinner? Haven’t I treated you enough? You literally have one of my credit cards. Chloe used to throw tantrums all the time because of that.] [Princess Sienna: Omg, thinking about that still makes me laugh.] [Princess Sienna: We’ve been best friends since we were kids! Who does she think she is to get jealous? Rolling eyes emoji] [Princess Sienna: Honestly, she’s probably just jealous that I have so many guy friends.] Ethan sent a “Protect the Princess” meme. [Ethan: Alright, don’t get mad. From now on, any gifts I buy for her, I’ll let you pick what you want first. Satisfied, Princess?] [Princess Sienna: Hmph, that’s more like it.] I felt sick to my stomach. I scrolled up further. They literally talked every single day. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were dating. It turned out that every single time Ethan was late for our dates, it was because of Sienna. Even when I was sick and sitting alone in the ER getting an IV drip, He was out shopping with Sienna. Even the Valentine’s Day gift he gave me Was just something Sienna didn’t want. … Another new notification popped up. Ethan had sent Julian a private message. [Ethan: Hey, I just remembered something.] I imitated Julian’s short, cold texting style: [?] [Ethan: Two months ago, on Sienna’s birthday night, I got totally wasted… and ended up staying over at her place. Make sure you don’t let that slip.] [Ethan: Remember, if anyone asks, I was with you that night.] I slowly typed out four words: [Did you two actually?] [Ethan: Ugh, didn’t we agree not to bring that up again?] [Ethan: Sienna and I are pretending nothing happened that night.] [Ethan: Otherwise, how can we still be friends?] Julian came out of the bathroom. The clothes were already washed. His expression was calm, but the corners of his eyes were still slightly flushed. I smirked at him. “Are your hands useful?” Julian froze. Even though I had already busted his secret, And accepted his hugs and kisses, We had never actually taken the next step. “Is there,” I pointed at my clothes, “anything stained on it?” “…I washed it clean. You can check.” “Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” I looked Julian up and down. Six-foot-two, with a practically perfect physique. No matter how you looked at it, he was ten times better-looking than Ethan. “I might have to trouble you to wash a dress for me in a bit.” “What?” Julian looked down at me. Before he could process what I meant, I had already slipped out of my robe, stepped up on my tiptoes, and actively kissed him. “Julian, Ethan might actually be dead.” I said in a sweet, vulnerable voice, “Can you stay with me tonight?”

After that night. Whenever I wriggled my finger, Julian would come over. We had an incredible connection. Way better than what I ever had with Ethan. Julian cared deeply about how I felt. So in terms of experience, it was on a whole different level. I actually enjoyed it. Plus, his stamina and body were in a completely different league. I actually started to regret it. Why didn’t I make this move earlier? Why did I waste so much time on a dead weight like Ethan? Julian didn’t notice anything unusual. Mainly because I had deleted that chat log. Whenever I got the chance, I would use his phone to check their group chat. Since I stopped looking for Ethan’s whereabouts these past few days, Ethan started to panic. He tagged everyone in the group chat. [Ethan: What’s going on? Why did Chloe suddenly stop searching for me?] One friend replied: [Don’t worry, Ethan. She’s probably just exhausted lately and has no energy.] [Ethan: No way. No matter how tired Chloe is, she would never stop looking for me!] [Ethan: Maybe I should go back now?] [Princess Sienna: Hold on! Ignore her for a bit longer. If you go back now, all our efforts will go down the drain.] [Ethan: No, I have to go back and check on her tomorrow.] [Princess Sienna: Ethan, are you out of your mind? I spent so much time planning this for you, and now you won’t even follow it? What do you take me for?] [Princess Sienna: As a woman, I know exactly what she’s playing. She probably heard some rumors and is trying to force you to show up.] [Princess Sienna: Just watch me teach her a lesson!] Ethan remained silent for a while. In the end, he submitted. [Ethan: Fine, we’ll do it your way.] Despite saying that, Ethan was still anxious. That night, he secretly called Julian. When the call came in, I happened to be sitting on Julian’s lap. It showed as an unknown number. I actively pressed the answer button and held the phone to Julian’s ear. “Hey, bro, I’m just worried, so I wanted to ask. “How has Chloe been lately?” Julian thought I couldn’t hear the voice on the phone. He answered vaguely, “She’s… doing fine.” “Holy shit, Julian, what’s up with your voice? Is there a woman next to you?” “…How can you tell?” “I can hear it instantly, man. You’re getting lucky! Am I interrupting something good? You gotta bring her out to meet us next time—” Before Ethan could finish his sentence, I suddenly spoke up, looking at Julian: “Are you done with the call? Focus on me.” The phone went dead silent. When Ethan spoke again, his voice had completely changed: “Julian, who the hell are you with right now?!”

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My husband was sleeping with his company’s intern. He actually smuggled her into our apartment inside a giant suitcase just for some sick, kinky thrill. In my past life, I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and caught them red-handed. When I confronted them, my husband panicked. He pushed me out of our twelfth-floor window. I fell to my death instantly. After I died, he used my inheritance to marry that intern. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the exact day my husband dragged that massive suitcase home. He looked at me nervously and warned: “There’s dangerous, hazardous material inside. It’s highly toxic. Don’t touch it under any circumstances!” I nodded obediently. But the second he walked out the door, I called a junk removal service and sent the suitcase straight to the dump. The worker asked me, “What’s in here? It’s incredibly heavy.” I raised an eyebrow and said, “Just hazardous waste. Take it to the incinerator and destroy it completely.”

Seeing Carter drag that familiar, oversized suitcase through the door, I realized I had been reborn. Before I could even speak, Carter barked his warning: “Don’t touch this suitcase. Seriously.” In my past life, when he said this, I didn’t ask questions. I stupidly assumed it was some confidential equipment for his work. Looking at the absurdly massive suitcase now, I realized how laughably naive I used to be. Amber, his young intern, was hiding inside right now. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Forcing a warm smile, I spoke. “Why can’t I touch it? What’s inside, Carter?” I reached out, pretending to help him lift it. Carter shoved my hand away, his tone growing sharp and irritated. “Are you deaf? I said don’t touch it!” “It’s highly toxic chemical waste from the lab. If it leaks and gets exposed to light, it releases lethal gas. You’ll die if you breathe it in!” “I’ll handle the disposal later. Just leave it alone.” Toxic waste? Honestly, that was a pretty accurate description of her. I sneered inwardly, but put on a terrified face and scrambled backward. “Why would you bring something so dangerous home? What if it leaks?” Seeing that I bought his lie, Carter’s face filled with smug satisfaction. “Relax. I know exactly how to handle ‘it’.” “Just mind your own business.” He heavily emphasized the word “handle,” and casually tapped the side of the suitcase with his foot. The suitcase trembled slightly. It looked like whoever was inside was trying desperately to hold in a laugh. My eyes turned icy cold. Bringing your mistress home in a suitcase for a thrill? They really thought of me as a prop in their little bedroom game. The phantom pain of my bones shattering against the concrete in my past life surged through my body. I looked up at Carter. “Then you’d better make sure you handle ‘it’ thoroughly.” Carter let out his first genuine laugh since entering the house. Whistling a tune, he dragged the heavy suitcase into the study. That night, I lay in bed and pretended to be fast asleep. Before long, Carter slipped out of bed, creeping out of the room like a shadow. The light in the study flickered on. Following the faint glow shining through the door crack, I walked barefoot down the hallway. I pressed my back against the wall, holding my breath. Amber’s whiny voice drifted out of the room. “You took forever, Carter! I was practically suffocating in that stupid bag.” Carter laughed. “Hey, you were the one who wanted a thrill. Wasn’t it exciting?” Amber giggled coyly. “It’s only exciting when you’re making me feel good.” In my past life, I had woken up to get water, noticed the light, and heard their flirtatious whispering. My mind had gone completely blank. I threw the door open and saw Amber and Carter naked, wrapped around each other. I lost my mind, screaming and hitting them. Carter pretended he wanted to “explain” while backing me toward the window. Then, he suddenly slipped behind me and shoved me out. Afterward, Carter bribed a shady psychiatrist to falsify a medical report, claiming I had severe clinical depression and had jumped to commit suicide. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. The memory of my bones breaking screamed in my head, making my whole body shake. Carter and Amber’s voices drifted out again. “You’re so much fun, Amber. Clara is like a block of wood in bed. Every time I suggest something new, she acts like it’s disgusting.” “If I didn’t need her money, I would have dumped her a long time ago.” Amber whispered, “If you want her money so bad, why don’t you just poison her? There are drugs online that leave no trace.” “I’ve been slipping stuff into her vitamins for six months, but the bitch hasn’t had any reaction. I think I got scammed by the dealer.” “Besides, I saw on the news that toxicology reports can detect that stuff now. I don’t want to risk it.” Carter had been poisoning me for six months?

I looked back toward the kitchen. On the counter sat the daily vitamin supplements. Carter had told me they were custom-made organic vitamins he imported from Europe to help with my skin. But I had always been skeptical of supplements, so I never actually swallowed them. To keep him from getting suspicious, I had always pretended to take them and flushed them down the sink when he wasn’t looking. It turned out those were actually slow-acting poison. Amber’s voice rose, sounding annoyed now. “So when are you going to make us official?” “I’m telling you, Carter, I don’t have patience. Plenty of guys are begging to take me out.” Carter chuckled wickedly. “Don’t worry. I found a doctor who’s willing to sign a fake depression diagnosis for Clara. I’m meeting him tomorrow morning.” “So what if she has depression?” “So what? Have you looked at our apartment windows? The glass panels go all the way down to the floor, and the safety railing is barely knee-high.” “If she’s standing by the window, and I give her a little push from behind… what do you think the police will say when they find the diagnosis?” Silence fell over the room for a second, followed by their giggling. My skin crawled. So, he didn’t push me out of the window in my past life just because I caught them. He had planned to kill me all along. My sudden interruption had just forced his hand before he could secure the fake medical files. I crept back to bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, my mind racing. An hour later, Carter slipped back into bed. Seeing my eyes closed, he let out a quiet, dismissive snort. Tomorrow morning, Carter was going to meet that corrupt doctor. He would definitely take the suitcase with him when he left. Now that I knew his entire plan, he wouldn’t get another chance to hurt me. But what should I do? Just get a divorce? The memory of my body hitting the pavement echoed in my ears, giving me a splitting headache. No. A divorce was way too easy on them. I wanted them to rot. Carter was exhausted. Within minutes, his heavy snoring filled the room. I checked my phone. It was 4:00 AM. Carter’s appointment with the doctor was at 7:30 AM. He had mentioned the doctor warned him not to be late, or the clinic would be too busy to fake the files safely. I quietly got out of bed and closed the bedroom door behind me. I went to the walk-in closet, grabbed piles of clothes and shoes, and dumped them all over the living room floor. Then I threw all the sofa cushions and covers on top. I went to the kitchen. I emptied the trash cans, spilled spices, flour, and rice, and scattered rotten fruits and vegetables from the fridge over the pile. Finally, I went to the study. Ignoring the suitcase, I dragged dozens of heavy books off the shelves and scattered them across the floor. Looking at the chaotic mess, I went down to the building’s dumpster, dragged up three bags of actual garbage, tore them open, and scattered the filthy contents everywhere. A horrific, nauseating stench immediately filled the apartment. Once everything was ruined, I put on a face mask and sat right in the middle of the trash pile. At 6:30 AM, the bedroom door opened. Carter stumbled out, half-asleep. The moment he saw the living room, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “Clara! What the hell are you doing?!” “Jesus Christ, what is that smell? Did you take a bath in a dumpster?!” I wiped some sweat from my forehead, looking exhausted. “I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep. I figured I’d do some deep cleaning.” “I wanted to empty the trash bins, but I tripped and spilled everything. Carter, I didn’t realize summer trash could rot so fast…” Carter grimaced, his eyes darting frantically from the study door to the front exit. The pathway was completely blocked. If he wanted to get the suitcase out, he would have to carry it. But the piles of garbage and heavy books were over a foot high in some places. There was no way he could carry a heavy, 110-pound suitcase over all that clutter by himself.

Carter was losing his mind with rage. “You turned the apartment into a landfill! I can’t even roll my suitcase out!” I blinked innocently. “Oh, did you need to take that suitcase today? I had no idea.” “Carter, why don’t you help me clean up? We can finish before noon.” Carter checked his watch, his face twisting in panic. “I don’t have time! I have to leave by 7:00, that’s ten minutes from now!” I nodded. “Okay, go do your thing. I’ll finish cleaning before you get back.” “Actually, can you call a junk removal service for me? It’ll be much faster if they haul all of this away.” Carter, desperate to leave, nodded quickly and pulled out his phone. “Hey, JunkBusters? I need an emergency pickup at Evergreen Crest Apartments, Unit 1202. There’s a massive pile of trash. Please send a crew up immediately!” I tilted my head and looked at him. “Are you sure there’s nothing in here you want to keep?” Carter yelled in frustration, covering his nose, “It smells like rot! Just have them throw everything away! Don’t leave a single thing!” I smiled gently. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Carter slammed the front door behind him, muttering, “Ruined my whole morning. Unbelievable.” Ruined his morning? Oh, honey, the show hasn’t even started yet. Once the door clicked shut, I took off my mask and gloves. I stood up from the pile of garbage. I walked over to the study door, leaning against the frame, staring intently at the massive suitcase. Faint, muffled snoring was coming from inside. In my past life, when Carter pushed me out the window, Amber had poked her head out to wave at me. “Bye-bye, old lady~” Amber, you never would have guessed that right now, you and I are the only ones left in this apartment. The doorbell rang. Two muscular junk removal workers stood at the door, staring at the chaos inside in utter shock. “Are… are we throwing all of this away, ma’am?” I nodded. “Yes. My husband said to get rid of everything. Leave nothing behind.” The workers began making trips back and forth, clearing a path from the study to the front door. I walked into the study and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. Amber’s muffled, sleepy voice came from inside. “Carter? Are we finally leaving?” “Shh,” I whispered quietly. She fell silent instantly, thinking it was her boyfriend playing along. I wheeled the heavy suitcase out of the study, into the elevator, and down to the parking lot where their giant junk truck was parked. The radio on the truck was blaring a loud commercial: “Got junk? Call JunkBusters! We handle all your hazardous and unwanted waste!” One of the workers walked down with the last load of trash, looked at the suitcase in my hand, and called out: “Ma’am, this suitcase looks brand new. Are you sure you want to toss it?” I nodded solemnly. “Yes. It contains highly hazardous biological waste. Please be extremely careful not to open it. My husband warned me that if it’s exposed to light, it will release lethal gas.” The worker nodded seriously. He called his partner over, and together, they hoisted the heavy suitcase and threw it into the back of the garbage compactor truck. As the suitcase tumbled into the dark steel container, I thought I heard a muffled, high-pitched shriek. But with the loud commercial music playing, I couldn’t be sure. I went back upstairs, mopped the floors, and used an untraceable burner phone to contact a digital media agency based in Europe. Once everything was set, I poured myself a cup of tea and sat comfortably on the couch with a book. At 9:00 AM, the electronic lock beeped. Carter walked in, humming a cheerful tune. I looked up at him. “You look happy.” Carter gave me a smug, knowing smile. “I’m about to get rid of a massive burden. Of course I’m happy.” “Is that so? Well, congratulations.” I looked back down at my book. Carter practically skipped toward the study. The second he opened the door, his humming stopped. He rushed inside, tearing the room apart, but found nothing. “Clara! Where’s my suitcase?! Where did you put it?!” Carter ran back to the living room, sweat pouring down his face. I took a slow sip of my tea. “Oh, you mean the suitcase with the hazardous waste?” “The junk disposal crew came. I had them take it away to be incinerated.”

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The day we signed the final divorce papers outside the courthouse, I looked at Ethan and asked, “Next time we meet, could you bring me some flowers?” Before Ethan could answer, Brooke, who was clinging to his arm, smirked and chimed in. “Chloe, you and Ethan are officially divorced now. It’s really not appropriate for him to be buying you flowers anymore.” I looked at Ethan. He turned his head away, remaining silent. I lowered my eyes. Over the past three years of our marriage, Ethan had never bought me a single flower. Yet, he sent flowers to Brooke every single day—even rare, expensive orchids. Whenever I brought it up, he would always say: “Brooke is my late mentor’s daughter. I promised Professor Vance I’d take care of her. Flowers make her happy. They keep her from missing her dad so much.” Eventually, I stopped asking. I finally realized that in Ethan’s eyes, I simply wasn’t worth the effort. So, when Ethan had asked me a few weeks ago: “Brooke’s mental health is in a terrible state. She’s been crying and screaming, begging me to divorce you.” “Chloe, can you just play along with the divorce to calm her down? Once she gets through this phase, we’ll get remarried.” I agreed. But he had no idea that this would be our last meeting. Because the flowers I was asking for were meant for my funeral.

Brooke flashed a triumphant smile. “Chloe, is there anything else? Ethan and I have reservations at a rooftop restaurant. Too bad it’s only booked for two. We can’t take you along.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I have no intention of tagging along.” I pulled my purse higher up on my shoulder. “I’m good. I’ll head out first. Have a nice date.” My unusually cold attitude made Ethan frown. He grabbed my wrist. “Don’t talk like that. I only look at her like a little sister.” “I made extra food this morning. It’s in the fridge. Just microwave it when you get home.” “Your period is coming up. Since I won’t be home tonight, don’t you dare drink iced soda.” Looking at Ethan’s concerned face, a wave of bitterness rushed over me. He was always like this. He claimed Brooke was just a sister, yet he abandoned me for her time and time again. I forced a faint smile. “Understood.” Ethan’s lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but Brooke pulled his arm. She intertwined her fingers with his. “Ethan, I’m starving. Let’s go eat.” “Back when my dad was alive, he never made me wait this long for dinner.” Ethan’s attention immediately shifted back to her. “You’re being spoiled!” “Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry earlier? You know you have low blood sugar.” Seeing Brooke giggle, he tapped her forehead affectionately with his other hand. “Still laughing! If anything happens to you, how am I supposed to face your mother?” Brooke bit her lip playfully. “Okay, okay, I get it!” As she spoke, she threw a smug, sideways glance at me. Ethan, however, never looked back at me again. I watched their retreating figures and walked in the opposite direction. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a Snapchat from Ethan. “She’s young and childish, but she doesn’t mean any harm. Don’t take it personally.” I locked my screen. Suddenly, everything felt so pointless. Brooke put on this dramatic show every few days, yet Ethan fell for it every single time. One threw a tantrum, the other enabled her. Without me in the middle, they actually looked like a perfect couple. It was already 8:00 PM when I got home. Clutching my aching stomach, I opened the fridge to find something to eat. But when I saw the empty shelves, I froze. The “extra food” Ethan had made was already sitting in the trash can, ruined. Brooke had timed it perfectly. My phone buzzed with a Snapchat message from her: “Chloe, I went over to play with Ethan this morning when you weren’t home. I thought those leftovers in the fridge were meant for the trash, so I threw them out. My bad!” “I guess you’ll have to whip up something else for yourself.” At the very end of the voice note, I could hear Ethan’s fond voice in the background: “Are you happy now, you little troublemaker?” The sharp pain in my abdomen became so intense I could barely stand. I slid down to the kitchen floor, clutching my stomach. Summoning every ounce of strength, I dialed Ethan’s number. “Ethan, my stomach hurts so badly… Can you… can you take me to the ER? I…” Before I could finish, a sweet, mocking voice answered. “Chloe, Ethan is in the shower.” “Also, if you’re sick, call 911. Why are you calling your ex-husband?” The call went dead. I whispered to the empty room, “But… I’m actually dying.”

Ethan didn’t show up at the hospital until the next afternoon. After a night of IV fluids, I was feeling slightly better, though my face was still ghostly pale. He came in carrying some breakfast and ruffled my hair. “How are you feeling? Any better?” My eyes were cold as I looked at him. “Ethan, last night, I had to call the ambulance myself.” Ethan paused, his voice turning low and raspy. “Brooke only told me you had a stomachache after we finished dinner.” “You always had a sensitive stomach. I thought it wasn’t a big deal, so I drove her home first.” He looked at me, a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. “Chloe, she’s just an immature girl. We shouldn’t drop to her level.” The resentment I had suppressed for months finally exploded. I slapped the cup of milk out of his hand. The sudden movement pulled the IV needle straight out of my vein. “Ethan, when Brooke’s blood sugar drops even slightly, you lose your mind!” “But when it comes to me, it’s always ‘nothing major.’” My voice choked up. “You ‘thought,’ you ‘thought’… You always think you know everything! But do you have any idea that I—” “Chloe Carter!” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, cut me off abruptly. “Can we please not fight over this again?” “You know how much Professor Vance did for me back in college. Why do you always have to make things difficult for Brooke?” He sighed deeply, his gaze falling on the blood dripping from my hand. “I’ll go get the nurse.” Watching his back as he walked out, my vision blurred. I suddenly remembered when we first started dating. Professor Vance was still alive then, and Brooke hadn’t been “entrusted” to Ethan yet. Back then, even if I got a tiny papercut, he would freak out. But after Brooke arrived, everything changed. When I cut my hand, he said it was fine. When my stomach was in agony, he said it was fine. And now, when I was actually dying, I couldn’t even get the words out. The door pushed open. Ethan returned quickly with a nurse. The irritation on his face was gone, replaced by his usual calm, attentive demeanor as he explained my condition to the nurse. My attending physician happened to come in for rounds. Seeing Ethan next to me, he paused. “Are you her husband?” Ethan nodded. The doctor looked at my swollen, red eyes, and his tone turned harsh as he addressed Ethan. “Do you have any idea how critical her condition is right now? She needs to avoid any emotional stress.” Before Ethan could reply, his phone rang. The screen showed: Brooke. I couldn’t hear what Brooke was saying on the other end, but the moment he hung up, Ethan grabbed his coat. “Doctor, I have an emergency to take care of right now.” “We can discuss Chloe’s condition later.” The doctor tried to call him back, but within seconds, Ethan had already rushed down the hallway. I stopped the doctor. Watching Ethan’s familiar, disappearing back, I forced a weak smile. “It’s okay, Doctor. I’m used to it.” “Just tell me directly. How much time do I have left?”

After the doctor and nurse left, the room fell into a suffocating silence. Occasionally, patients walked past the window, accompanied by their doting husbands. I couldn’t help but feel incredibly envious. Two months ago, I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. At the time, I felt like my world was ending. I called Ethan, sobbing. But Brooke was the one who answered. “Chloe, Ethan is cooking for me. You know my blood sugar is low, and he won’t rest until he watches me finish my meal.” “He won’t be coming home to tuck you in tonight. If you have a message for him, I can pass it along.” My fingers had gone numb as I held the phone. My lips trembled, but I couldn’t utter a single syllable. Ever since Professor Vance passed away and left Brooke in Ethan’s care, my husband no longer belonged to me. He would be summoned straight from work to cook for her, because if Ethan didn’t go, she would starve herself. He would come home at 11:00 PM, stay for less than half an hour, and then leave again because Brooke claimed she was too scared to sleep alone. The first month, I tried to be understanding. The second month, during another late-night call, I blocked the front door as he tried to leave. “Ethan, don’t go!” “She is a grown woman! Why can’t she take care of herself?” “And you are married! How do you expect me to feel about you staying overnight with another woman?” I thought he would understand. But Ethan just stood there, staring at me for a long time. Then, one by one, he pried my fingers off his waist. “Chloe, I have to go.” After that, we fought constantly. Even when I threw tantrums and refused to eat, Ethan never looked back. It wasn’t until my terminal cancer diagnosis two months ago that I finally realized how foolish I had been. From that day on, I stopped begging Ethan to stay. I even started handing him his coat when he got those late-night calls. Ethan finally smiled at me again. “Chloe, you’ve finally grown up.” He kissed my forehead. I watched him leave, but all I wanted to do was laugh. I hadn’t “grown up.” I had just realized that I needed to start loving myself. But the realization came too late. I only had one month left to live. When I got home that evening, Ethan wasn’t back yet. I opened Instagram and saw Brooke’s latest post. “My personal chef is making me homemade lasagna from scratch. Let’s stay like this forever.” In the photo, Ethan wore an apron, a tender, loving smile on his face—a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in a very long time. Many of our mutual friends had commented: “Now that Professor Vance is gone, Ethan really stepped up to take care of you~” “You two look so good together.” “Honestly, you guys look like a married couple.” Reading those comments, my already numb heart ached with a dull, throbbing pain. Ethan had replied quickly to one of the comments: “She’s shy, don’t tease her like that.” I looked at his profile picture—it was still a photo of the two of us. Slowly, I typed a comment of my own: “You really do match. Wish you both the best.” I wiped the tears from my face, locked my phone, and went to take a shower. When I came out, my screen was flashing relentlessly. 18 missed calls, all from Ethan. Since I didn’t pick up, he had sent a barrage of Snapchats. “Why are you joining in on their stupid jokes?” Five minutes later: “Brooke is crying in her room because of your comment. She’s terrified people are going to think she’s a homewrecker.” “I told you, she’s just a sister to me. There is nothing going on. Delete the comment, now.” Two minutes after that: “Chloe, Brooke refuses to eat and her blood sugar is dropping. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!” The most recent one was sent just a minute ago: “Unless you delete the comment and make a public apology saying you were just being dramatic…” “Don’t even think about us getting back together.” The sound of cold wind rushed through Ethan’s voice note. In the noisy background, I heard the shouting of a street vendor from a bakery we used to visit. That bakery was fifty miles away from our apartment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who Ethan had driven all that way for in the middle of the night. I slowly typed back: “Then let’s not get back together.” “But the house and the car go to me.”

Ethan replied with a single question mark. He tried to FaceTime me, but I declined. I turned off my phone. The world seemed to hit a pause button, finally falling silent. Ethan probably couldn’t comprehend how the Chloe who once swore she would never leave him had suddenly changed so much. Truth be told, I couldn’t comprehend it either. But there was no time left to dwell on it. In the limited time I had left, I wanted to secure as much as I could. At the very least, I needed to make sure my parents would be financially taken care of in their old age. I sat on the balcony, burying my face in my knees, occasionally looking up at the stars. I wondered which star belonged to my grandpa. I believed that when the day came, he would be there to guide me. I sat there all night. The sound of Ethan’s key turning in the lock never came. After tidying up, I went to the most prestigious law firm in the city. “Under these circumstances, what are my chances of getting the majority of our marital assets?” “Ms. Carter, I can’t guarantee anything, but I will do everything in my power to build a strong case,” the lawyer replied. I nodded. When I stepped out of the law office, the overcast morning sky had cleared up. As I was about to hail a cab, I saw Ethan leaning against his car across the street, watching me. The ground around his feet was littered with cigarette butts. I walked over in silence and stood before him. “Chloe.” His voice was hoarse. “I want an explanation. If you give me one, I’ll believe you.” I looked up, my face entirely calm. “An explanation for what?” “Why are you pushing for a real divorce? And why are you hiring a lawyer to take all my assets?” I blinked, suddenly remembering that Ethan had a friend who worked in this building. He must have heard about it. But there was nothing to hide anymore. “I need a lot of money.” Ethan let out a bitter laugh. “And why is that?” My voice remained flat. “Because I’m dying.” Ethan froze, and then a wave of pure fury took over his expression. “Chloe Carter! Are you seriously making up a terminal illness just to compete with Brooke for attention?” “Have I spoiled you so much over the years that you think you can lie about something like this?” I gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. My voice was still quiet, steady. “Ethan, I’m telling the truth.” “If I die, will you bring me some flowers?” Ethan’s lips twisted into a sneer. He looked at me with a look of utter disgust and took a step back. “Never!” He got into his car and sped off, my reflection growing smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. After a long moment, I whispered to myself, “Okay.” It was probably for the best. In our next life, we wouldn’t have any ties left. Summoning the last of my strength, I opened my Snapchat conversation with Ethan. I clicked on his profile, and blocked him. “Ethan, goodbye forever.” When I got home, I started packing. I didn’t have much to take. I planned to list everything of value on eBay. By the time I finished packing, it was already past midnight. I stared at my wedding ring for a long time before sliding it off. I dropped it into the box of things to be sold. Then, I booked a one-way flight back to my hometown. For my final days, I wanted to spend them with my parents. The gravel roads of my quiet hometown in Vermont hadn’t changed at all. As I got out of the taxi with my suitcase, I looked up and saw my parents waiting at the end of the driveway, looking around anxiously. My eyes welled with tears instantly. I used to think life in a small town was too slow, but now that my time was running out, I realized how much I had missed. I stayed with my parents for a month. I grew thinner by the day, unable to keep any food down. I knew my time was almost up. Wrapped in my parents’ tearful embrace, I used the last of my strength to hug them back. “Mom, Dad… I’m going to find Grandpa now.” “If there’s a next life, I want to be your daughter again.” With those words, I slowly closed my eyes, and a single tear slipped down my cheek. The world went completely silent.

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Everyone could see the glowing countdown timer above my twin sister Clara’s head. Everyone knew she was destined to die the year she turned eighteen. Because of this, Clara was the absolute center of our universe. The TV remote was always hers. The first bite of any delicious meal was always hers. And our parents’ undivided, suffocating love was entirely hers. I knew it wasn’t her fault. But I couldn’t help the bitter envy that grew inside me. Finally, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Clara made a wish. She wanted to die in a place closest to the sky. So the family planned a trip to Aspen. Everyone went—except me. Before they left, my parents looked at me as I lay in bed, coughing violently. My mother frowned, her voice cold. “Chloe, watch the house. And do not open the door for anyone!” I rasped out, “Mom, please… can you take me to the hospital? My chest hurts so bad…” My mother pursed her lips and sighed. “Chloe, where would we get the money for your hospital bills? Do you have any idea how expensive this trip to Aspen is?” “But my lungs… they burn…” No one answered me. The only response was the heavy thud of the front door locking from the outside.

The agonizing pain suddenly vanished. When I opened my eyes again, the breathtaking, sacred snow-capped mountains of Aspen stretched out before me. My parents were sitting in the first-class cabin of a plane. Premium meals were laid out on the trays in front of them, but every single plate was pushed toward Clara. My mother coaxed her gently, her voice dripping with warmth. “Clara, sweetheart, which one do you want to try first?” My father pushed a glass of fresh juice forward. “Here, Clara. Have a sip to wet your throat first.” Clara looked at the gourmet food and offered a weak, fragile smile. She whispered, “Mom… Dad… did we leave any food for Chloe before we left?” The smiles on my parents’ faces instantly froze. Clara continued softly, “Chloe was so sick. I’m worried she won’t be able to cook for herself. And… she said last week that she was tired of canned soup.” A pang of sadness hit my chest, but no tears fell. “She’ll eat when she gets hungry enough,” my mother answered dismissively. She scooped up a spoonful of creamy pasta and brought it to Clara’s lips. “Come on, Clara, just eat. It breaks my heart to see you starving yourself.” My father chimed in, “You are just too sweet, Clara. Even at a time like this, you’re still worrying about her. But look at her—does she ever think about you? She knew we didn’t have much money, yet she still threw a fit because she couldn’t come with us.” “She didn’t even stop to think about how much time you have left…” My father sighed, cutting himself off. My mother started dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and Clara had no choice but to stay quiet. But I noticed Clara’s clenched fingers. They betrayed her anxiety. Clara grew up surrounded by the family’s ultimate devotion. Because of that, she was the only one who truly understood how deeply I was neglected. When we were kids, a neighbor brought over two beautiful dresses, saying there was one for each twin. But my mother took both and gave them to Clara. “Our Clara has so little time left. If she doesn’t experience these things now, she’ll never get the chance.” That night, Clara asked me, “Chloe, do you want the dress?” I nodded. Without a word, Clara spilled permanent blue ink all over one of the dresses. With no other choice, my mother had to let me have the ruined one. But when I looked into Clara’s eyes, I knew. She had done it on purpose. Even though I got the dress, Clara wasn’t happy. She kept apologizing to me. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. I could only give you the dirty one. I always make you suffer…” We were so young, yet we both understood a cruel truth: only the broken, ruined things would ever be passed down to me. The suppressed resentment kept building inside me until it finally exploded when we were ten. On our tenth birthday, Clara and I went down to play in the backyard of our apartment complex. After just a few minutes, Clara got tired and wanted to go back inside. But I hadn’t had enough. I threw a tantrum, demanding to stay out longer. My mother tried to reason with me, but I refused to listen. I couldn’t understand why absolutely everything had to revolve around Clara. In a fit of rage, I shoved Clara hard, sending her crashing to the ground. I screamed through my tears, “I don’t want to go home! I want to play! If you want to go back, go by yourself! Why do I always have to listen to you? Why?!” I can’t remember what was going through my head back then. Maybe it was a sense of unfairness, or maybe it was just pure jealousy. I screamed and rolled on the grass, crying at the top of my lungs. Like any obnoxious, desperate child, I thought throwing a massive tantrum would get me what I wanted. But my mother didn’t back down. She stared at me, her eyes turning bloodshot. She raised her hand high and slapped me across the face. “Chloe Miller! Do you have any idea that your sister only has eighteen years on this earth?! You have a whole lifetime to play! Why do you have to fight her for this single moment? How much time do you think she has left?!” My father stood by, his eyes red and watery. He didn’t stop her. I wailed from the pain of the slap. Clara immediately threw herself over me, shielding me from my mother. She cried, “Mom! I want to play too! We don’t have to go home. Please, don’t hit Chloe!” That night, after my mother applied ointment to my bruised cheek, Clara crept into my room. I turned my head away, refusing to look at her. But then, a warm tear fell onto my shoulder. I turned back and saw her tear-filled eyes. She handed me a fancy mechanical pencil—one I had wanted for months. She whispered, “Chloe… I’m so sorry…” She didn’t know what else to say, and I didn’t know how to answer. An apology like that shouldn’t have come from her. It shouldn’t have come from me, either. It should have come from our goddamn fate. But fate was silent. So Clara had to carry the guilt. Back in the first-class cabin, my mother wiped her tears and put another piece of grilled chicken onto Clara’s plate. “Clara, stop thinking about it. Here, eat.” “You’re such a good girl. But Chloe… she’s just too rebellious.” Rebellious? Was I? I didn’t know. When I was little, I used to cry because of the favoritism. As I grew older, I learned to cry in secret. I wanted to scream back, to tell them that I was good. That I could stay home alone, cook for myself, and comfort myself when I was scared. But even though I spoke, no one heard me. Then, my final memory flashed through my mind. It was the copper taste of blood bubbling up from my lungs. Coughing it up onto the floor. And then, collapsing into complete darkness. Oh. I see. I was already dead.

I watched Clara quietly. The suffocating countdown timer that used to hover over her head was completely gone. When we were kids, that timer was the very first thing I learned to hate. I remember asking Clara what those numbers meant. Clara had bit her lip and told me, “It’s a countdown for me to become a princess. When the time runs out, I’ll turn into a princess.” I had looked at her, confused. “Then why are Mom and Dad always so sad?” Clara stroked my hair, her voice incredibly soft. “Because once I become a princess, I’ll turn into sea foam, just like the Little Mermaid. I won’t be able to see you anymore.” But back then, I refused to accept that. I knew what princesses were. Being a princess meant being happy. It meant having a prince who loved you, countless jewels, and all the expensive raspberry gelato you could eat. Every summer, my mother would buy gourmet raspberry gelato. But it was always reserved solely for Clara. My mother would tell me, “This is too sweet for you, Chloe. Don’t eat it.” “But I love sweet things!” I would argue. But my mother always pretended not to hear. I couldn’t understand it. If Clara was going to become a princess and live in luxury, why did I have to give up my few miserable pieces of happiness to her now? So I ran to my mother and declared, “I have a countdown over my head too!” “When my time runs out, I’m going to turn into a princess!” “I want the raspberry gelato too!” The spoon in my mother’s hand froze. She stared at me, her entire body trembling with rage. She rasped, “What did you just say?” I screamed, “I have a countdown too! I’m going to turn into a princess! When that happens, I’ll leave you guys, and I’ll eat tons of raspberry gelato!” Slap! My mother slapped me hard across the face. She broke down sobbing, “Are you trying to drive me to my grave?!” “Do you really think that countdown is a good thing?!” Clara heard the commotion and rushed over to pull my mother away. But my mother seemed to have lost her mind. She started slapping her own face, screaming. “I’m useless! I’m a terrible mother!” I watched in absolute terror, unable to comprehend why she was reacting this way. Wasn’t becoming a princess a good thing? That night, I overheard my father comforting my mother in their room. “Chloe is still young… she doesn’t understand…” My mother sobbed hoarsely, “But what am I supposed to do? There are only ten years left… In ten years, our Clara will be gone forever…” It was only then that I finally understood. The end of the countdown didn’t mean becoming a princess. It meant leaving this family forever. Clara was actually going to die. Back in first class, Clara finished her meal and drifted off to sleep. My mother bit her lip and turned to my father. “David, how do you think Chloe is doing at home? Does her chest still hurt?” My father sighed. “There’s no signal on the plane. I’ll call her as soon as we land.” My mother said softly, “Let’s call her tomorrow… Today… is Clara’s last day.” My mother turned her head to look out the window, her voice cracking with emotion. “Chloe will understand. She’s about to lose her sister forever.”

The plane landed. My mother took Clara to the duty-free shops to distract her. My father hesitated for a long time before finally pulling out his phone to call me. The call didn’t go through. His brow furrowed slightly, and he tried again. Actually, it was hard to tell if he was genuinely frowning. He frowned so much over the years that a deep crease had permanently etched itself between his brows. He always looked unhappy. The second call went unanswered too. He opened Snapchat and typed: [Chloe, are you awake? Did you eat anything?] I floated right in front of him, waving my ghostly hands. “Dad, I didn’t eat. But I’m not hungry anymore. Please, just come home and check on me.” [Chloe?] He sent another message. But he couldn’t see me, and he couldn’t hear me. Finally, he let out a long sigh and locked his phone. He muttered to himself, “If only I could make more money… If only we could have brought Chloe along too. Well, Chloe still has a long life ahead of her. I’ll bring her next time.” With that, my father stood up. I watched his retreating back and whispered, “Dad, I don’t have a ‘next time’ anymore.” “I only have the past.” My mother and Clara walked out of the duty-free shop. My father immediately took the shopping bags from Clara’s hands. My mother asked, “Did Chloe pick up?” My father pursed his lips. “It didn’t go through.” My mother sighed. “That girl… she’s throwing a tantrum again.” My father led Clara forward, while my mother pulled out her phone and sent me a text: [Did you eat?] Still, no response. She opened her Venmo. She had a little over seven thousand dollars left in her balance. She muttered, “Three thousand for the hotel, two thousand for food, two thousand for Clara’s emergency medical reserve…” Gritting her teeth, she Venmoed me five hundred dollars with a note: [Chloe, stop being mad at me. Take this money and go buy some medicine.] But the money remained unclaimed, and the message went unread. My mother huffed in annoyance, “She’s really getting out of hand!” She shoved her phone back into her purse and walked away with giant strides. I stared at her back and whispered, “Mom, I can’t accept it anymore.”

Clara had an amazing time. Through their eyes, I also got to see sights I had never experienced in my life. We lived in the warm south, and I had never seen real snow. But today, I saw the majestic, snow-capped peaks of the mountains. When they returned to the resort after a day of sightseeing, my mother’s phone suddenly rang. It was the HOA representative from our apartment complex. “Hello, Mrs. Miller. We’ve received several complaints from your neighbors about a terrible odor coming from your unit.” My mother’s eyebrows knitted together tightly. “An odor?” My father muttered, “Could Chloe be doing something stupid just to spite us?” My mother’s face instantly darkened. She opened our chat history. The five hundred dollars she had sent on Venmo had just been automatically returned to her account because it went unclaimed for too long. Tears instantly spilled from my mother’s eyes. “She’s doing this on purpose!” “She chose this exact moment to pull this stunt! She wants to ruin her sister’s very last day! She wants to make sure Clara doesn’t have a single moment of peace!” My mother sobbed louder and louder, and my father rushed to comfort her. The HOA representative on the phone sounded incredibly awkward. “Is there anyone home? We’ve been knocking on your door for hours, but no one is answering.” “Also, several neighbors mentioned that your younger daughter hasn’t been seen leaving the apartment for days.” My mother lost her temper and screamed into the phone, “If she wants to stay inside, let her stay inside! Even if she dies in there, it has nothing to do with me!” I watched her quietly. She couldn’t see me. I let out a soft sigh. “Mom, I actually am dead.” The shouting woke Clara up. She pushed open her bedroom door, her voice groggy. “Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you so angry?” My parents froze. My mother flew across the room and locked Clara in a desperate, crushing hug. “Clara… my Clara… you’re still here…” “Thank God, you’re still here…” She held Clara so tightly, as if she wanted to fuse Clara into her own flesh. Even my father, who always tried to play the tough guy, began to weep silently. The HOA representative, still on the line, asked, “Should we go ahead and open the door then?” My mother snapped, “Open it! I want to see what kind of sick game Chloe is playing!” The representative started a FaceTime video call to show them the entry. They unlocked the door and pushed it open. The moment the camera panned inside, the hysterical relief on my mother’s face vanished. Her mouth hung open, but no sound came out. She could only make raw, choked noises from the back of her throat. “How… how…”

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My boyfriend had a massive inferiority complex. Every time I tried to initiate things in bed, he rejected me. When I finally reached my limit and was ready to agree to an arranged marriage with someone else, I found his diary. “Vivian’s stepsister told me that since I’m a virgin, I’ll be terrible in bed. She said Vivian won’t like me.” “But do I really have to go sleep with other women to get experience? It feels so disgusting.” The last entry was written in a messy, hurried scrawl. “I don’t want Vivian to have a bad experience. I’m going to find someone to practice with.” I was so angry that I shoved him onto the bed, straddled his waist, and said to him, word by word. “The most important thing for a man is to keep himself clean, got it?” His hands hesitated on my waist, but in the end, he pushed me away, his voice hoarse and muffled. “Not yet.” I was completely out of options. I turned around and texted my arranged marriage match. “I hate dirty men. Are you clean? If you are, we’re getting engaged immediately.”

I closed the diary. I looked up at the man standing not far away. Julian, who usually never talked to other girls, had actually turned his head to talk to the girl next to him. Even though his expression was cold, every time she spoke, he replied. I almost laughed out of sheer anger. So, the only reason Julian Sterling had rejected me so many times was because my stepsister, Tessa, told him he was inexperienced? And he actually planned to find another woman to practice with? I took a deep breath and decided to go talk to him. To be honest, I was very satisfied with Julian in every other aspect. He was gorgeous, had a great body, came from a prestigious family, and was always attentive. My family had originally scouted an arranged marriage partner for me, but because of Julian, I had repeatedly refused to meet that guy. My parents figured that since the Sterling family was also incredibly powerful, they let me have my free will in dating. But I was at the age where marriage was on the table. Julian kept refusing to take the final step with me. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had some medical issue or some deep-seated psychological trauma. But he never talked to me about it. Just when I was about to give up on him, I found this diary. It was fine. This was still salvageable! So what if he was inexperienced? I would teach him myself. Having him shaped by my own hands was exactly what I wanted. I walked over to Julian. He lifted his dark eyes. His fingers twitched slightly before he took my hand and pulled me down to sit beside him. I glanced at the girl next to him. She smiled at me. “What are you guys talking about?” I asked. The girl grinned. “It’s a secret~ You should ask Julian. See if he’s willing to tell you.” I looked at Julian. He said, “Nothing.” Then, he gripped my hand tighter and pulled me even closer to his side. Smelling the faint scent of cedarwood on him, my anger softened slightly. I whispered, “I need to talk to you.” Hearing this, Julian pulled me over to a quieter corner. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a high nose bridge. When he looked down at me, his dark eyes were completely focused and sincere. My aching, angry heart softened even more. I chose my words carefully. “Tessa came back for her break recently. She hasn’t been bothering you, has she?” Julian replied, “No.” I frowned. While I was lost in thought, he rested his chin on my shoulder. Julian whispered, “I love you.” I sighed. “I love you too.” Under the light, I could see the tips of his ears turning red again. Every time we got a little intimate, he would react this way. I stared at him for a long moment. My negative emotions evaporated, and I teased him just like I used to. “Why are you blushing again, babe?” Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He locked his fingers with mine. Whatever, I thought helplessly. I just wouldn’t bring Julian to any family dinners in the future. As long as he and Tessa didn’t meet, his mind couldn’t be poisoned by her, right?

But the very next day. I saw an unexpected figure right next to Julian. He and Tessa were standing together, whispering about something. I didn’t expect them to meet in private. Tessa was smiling, her eyes crinkled, seemingly teasing him. I had clearly told Julian before that I despised my stepsister. She had loved stealing my things since we were kids. But Julian had always been extremely cold to her in the past, making her look foolish multiple times, so I had let my guard down. I stayed silent, quietly taking a few steps closer to them. I heard their voices. Tessa laughed, her tone confident. “You’ll definitely give her a terrible experience, and you’ll completely ruin your perfect image in her mind.” “…” “I know Vivian. She will definitely find you pathetic,” Tessa paused for a moment. “She might even dump you on the spot.” Julian’s tall frame leaned against the wall. He kept his head down, so I couldn’t see his face. “Julian,” Tessa looked at him. “You don’t even know how to talk dirty to Vivian, do you? Ugh, you have zero game. I don’t even know how she’s tolerated you for this long.” Julian still didn’t speak. Tessa said casually, “Vivian must have complained about your kissing skills, right?” His fingers twitched. After a long silence, Julian lifted his head, his voice slightly raspy. “Then what should I do?” “It’s simple,” Tessa said. “Didn’t you get along great with my friend Chloe last night? Keep practicing with her.” My temples throbbed with rage. After what felt like forever. Julian said, “Okay.” “Oh, by the way,” Tessa sighed. “Make sure to keep this from Vivian. Otherwise, our plan is ruined… and more importantly, your relationship with her will be over.” Julian turned to leave, his tone returning to his usual coldness. “I know.”

I sat on the couch, waiting for him. The moment Julian pushed the door open, he saw me. He froze for a second, then sat down next to me. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” My face was expressionless. “Where were you? Who did you meet today?” He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. His voice was steady. “I went back to my parents’ house. My grandfather’s birthday is coming up, so I went back to discuss the party with my parents.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” He gently hooked his pinky finger with mine, seemingly confused as to why I was asking. I leaned in close to him. Close enough to feel each other’s breath. Under the dim, warm light, Julian’s eyelashes fluttered. He stared straight at me, his ears flushing red again. “Vivian.” I sniffed the air, making my point clear. “The perfume on you smells exactly like Tessa’s.” He knitted his brows, looking genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” Then he added, “Maybe I just brushed past someone.” I looked at him, slowly clenching my fists. When we did anything slightly intimate, he got so nervous his ears turned red. Yet now, when he was lying straight to my face, his heart rate didn’t even skip a beat. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him down onto the couch right then and there. “Let’s do it,” I said flatly. As I spoke, I reached to unbutton his shirt. Julian caught my hands. Just like every other time, we ended up in a tense stalemate. My throat felt dry. “Do you not love me?” “How is that possible?” He answered instantly, then pursed his lips. After a long silence, he finally said, “Vivian, I love you. Only you.” I accused him. “If you love me, why won’t you sleep with me?” Julian tightened his grip on my wrists, refusing to let go. I took a deep breath. “What, are you planning on sleeping with another woman…” “No,” he cut me off. Julian whispered, “Don’t accuse me of that, Vivian.” I looked him dead in the eye, repeating my words slowly. “A man’s best quality is his purity, got it?” I thought about it and added, “Everything else can be learned and practiced slowly. I don’t care about that.” His fingers hesitated on my waist. Just when I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I had successfully convinced him. He still pushed me away, his voice muffled and tight. “It’s not time yet.” Julian stood up and walked toward the bathroom with his long strides. “I’m going to shower.” I was pushed to the side, sitting frozen on the couch. I had been rejected by him countless times. For a long time, I had felt so defeated, deeply doubting my own attractiveness. Listening to the sound of the running water from the bathroom, I suddenly felt incredibly exhausted. I picked up Julian’s phone. I unlocked it and found Tessa in his contacts. I didn’t even know when they had added each other on Snapchat. But their chat history was completely blank. He had intentionally deleted it. I stood up and walked out of the apartment.

Julian and I entered a cold war. Well, not exactly. It was just me giving him the cold shoulder. He still sent me messages every day. Since I usually got embarrassed and acted cold to him after he rejected me in the past, he assumed this was just another one of those times. He tried to coax me like he always did. “Vivian, don’t ignore me.” “I miss you so much, baby.” Then he sent me money via PayPal. I didn’t reply. My mind was a chaotic mess. Until one night. I instinctively drove to an upscale lounge that was under Julian’s family’s company. Remembering I still had an expensive bottle of wine stored there. I went in, planning to open it. As I walked in, I saw someone come out of the most exclusive VIP room at the very back. That room was reserved solely for Julian, me, and our close friends. If I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t usually use it. I walked toward it. The staff there all knew me, so nobody stopped me. I gently pushed the door open, leaving a small crack. Inside, the lights were flashing. It was crowded with guys and girls, very lively. And then I saw Julian. He had a girl sitting on either side of him. He was leaning back against the sofa, his long legs crossed, looking completely bored and detached. The girl on his left, Chloe, Tessa’s friend, said something that made the whole room burst into laughter. Julian still had no reaction. He looked completely out of place in that lively room. Until she took a sip of her cocktail, turned to him with a sweet smile, and whispered something. Then, she grabbed Julian by his collar. He didn’t dodge. Instead, he reached out his hand and wiped a trace of alcohol from the corner of her lips. I took a step back. Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. I whipped my head around and met Tessa’s smug eyes. She paused for a second. “Don’t look at me like I’m your worst enemy, Vivian.” I said nothing. She mocked, “Are you angry?” I let out a cold laugh, cutting straight to the point. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. You think I don’t know you set this up?” Tessa was taken aback for a moment, but then she smiled, her voice dripping with deep sarcasm and disdain. “What does this have to do with me? Deep down, you know the truth. Do you really think I can control the great Julian Sterling’s actions?” She took a step closer to me and whispered. “Why don’t you just go in there and tell him you don’t care if he’s bad in bed? Beg him to sleep with you so he stops hanging out with other girls. Wouldn’t that solve everything?” I turned to leave. Tessa grabbed my arm, enjoying my misery. “Did I hit a nerve? Are you embarrassed now? Vivian, don’t you think you’re pathetic?” In the struggle, I shoved her. She shoved me back. The commotion must have been loud. The VIP room door swung open. A broad-shouldered, tall man stood at the door, looking irritated. Behind him, several curious eyes peeked out. “Vivian?” Julian looked surprised, his cold dark eyes softening instantly. He didn’t ask questions. He grabbed my hand and led me directly up to the private lounge upstairs. The moment the door closed. His long arm wrapped around my waist. He pulled me into his arms, pressing me against his warm chest. Then, he planted a kiss on the corner of my lips. Seeing no reaction from me, he parted his lips to gently tease mine. It was a test, an attempt to seduce. I stood completely still. My eyes fell on the slight wrinkles on his collar, the exact spot where that girl had grabbed him. Was this the result of his “practice” over the past few days? A long silence fell. I reached up and touched his ear. His body temperature was normal. His ears weren’t burning red like they used to. This gesture seemed to encourage him. His cool fingertips slipped under the hem of my shirt. The moment he touched my skin. My phone buzzed with a notification. I took a step back, breaking the embrace, and looked down at my phone. My arranged marriage partner had finally replied to the message I sent him half an hour ago. “You’re that blunt?” “I’m clean.” “Then let’s meet up tomorrow?” Dissatisfied, Julian grabbed my wrist, his eyes landing on my screen. “Who is that?” Before he could read the screen, I locked my phone. “No one.” He frowned, staring at me with an obsessive, possessive intensity. I didn’t wait for him to question me. “I have things to do. I’m leaving.” Julian’s voice trembled slightly. “Did I… not satisfy you just now?” My eyes met his. His dark eyes still reflected only me, so focused, so intense. But I felt like something had changed. We could never go back. I reached out and straightened his messy, slightly wrinkled collar. Then I turned and walked away. Without answering his question.

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At 2:00 AM, I scrolled past a viral post. The headline read: **[My husband’s first six wives are all dead. I’m number seven.]** It was posted three years ago. The account had already been deactivated. But screenshots of the post had been reshared over thirty thousand times. I stared at the image on my screen, a cold shiver running down my spine. It wasn’t because of the text. It was because— The face of the woman in that screenshot looked exactly like mine. My name is Hazel. I’m twenty-eight. Three months ago, I married Julian Vance. He is fifteen years older than me. He is a prominent tech mogul in Seattle—elegant, generous, and incredibly charming. He spent two whole years chasing me before I finally said yes. Everyone told me how lucky I was. “Hazel really hit the jackpot. How did she land a guy like him?” “He’s handsome, filthy rich, and completely devoted. He’s a catch of a lifetime.” “I heard his late wife passed away years ago. He stayed single for so long, and now he’s finally moving on.” Hearing those words always made my heart flutter. Julian really was perfect. He remembered every little thing I liked. He would drive thirty minutes in the middle of the night just to get me my favorite dessert. He would bring warm takeout to my office when I worked late. He would hold me and soothe me until midnight whenever I was upset. From the day we met to the day we married, he had never once raised his voice at me. On our wedding day, he looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red. “Hazel,” he whispered, “I’ve finally found you.” I thought this was what perfect love looked like. Until today. It was the weekend. Julian had gone to the office for a meeting, leaving me home alone to clean up the study. Usually, he didn’t let me in here, claiming it held highly confidential business documents. But today, he had smiled and told me I could tidy it up if I wanted to. I began taking the books out one by one to dust them. When I reached the third shelf, I noticed a hollow panel behind a row of encyclopedias. Inside the hidden compartment was a thick, heavy manila folder. I hesitated for a second, but curiosity won. I opened it. Inside were six sets of files. On the first page of each file was a small passport photo. Six different women. Different faces, different ages, but all strikingly beautiful. Attached to the back of each file was a series of documents. A copy of a marriage certificate. A death certificate. A deed to a cemetery plot. The very last page was a handwritten spreadsheet. Name, age, date of marriage, date of death, cause of death. First wife: Audrey, 26. Married: 03.12.2015. Died: 01.08.2016. Cause of death: Car accident. Second wife: Chloe, 25. Married: 06.21.2016. Died: 02.14.2017. Cause of death: Drowning. Third wife: Brooke, 27. Married: 09.03.2017. Died: 05.19.2018. Cause of death: Fall from a balcony. Fourth wife: Diana, 26. Married: 11.11.2018. Died: 07.23.2019. Cause of death: House fire. Fifth wife: Elena, 28. Married: 01.05.2020. Died: 10.30.2020. Cause of death: Carbon monoxide poisoning. Sixth wife: Fiona, 27. Married: 04.17.2021. Died: 02.08.2022. Cause of death: Accidental fall. My hands began to shake violently. Julian had told me he only had one late wife, who died of an illness. But there were six. Six women. Six wives. Six death certificates. The longest marriage lasted a year and two months. The shortest was only nine months. Was he marrying them? Or was he murdering them? I flipped to the very last page. The seventh wife. The page was mostly blank, except for one completed row: Name: Hazel. Date of Marriage: 03.12.2024. Date of Death: — Cause of Death: — I stared at the blank spaces, and my blood ran absolutely cold. Right then, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the house. Julian was back.

I frantically shoved the folder back into the hidden compartment, threw the books back into place, and stood up just as the study door swung open. Julian stood in the doorway, watching me. He was wearing a dark gray dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a warm, gentle smile on his face. “Hazel, what are you doing in here?” “I… I was just cleaning up the study,” I said, my voice tight and strained. “You said I could, right?” “I did.” He walked into the room, cast a brief glance at the bookshelf, and then looked back at me. “Are you tired?” “No.” “Why is your face so pale?” “Maybe… maybe a slight dizzy spell. My blood sugar might be low.” He immediately stepped forward, gently gripping my shoulders. “Then stop cleaning. Go sit on the couch. I’ll get you some orange juice.” His hands on my shoulders were warm and firm. Just like they always were. But right now, his hands felt like the claws of a predator, ready to tighten at any second and snap my neck. “Okay,” I whispered. He guided me out of the study, pressed me gently into the living room sofa, and walked into the kitchen to grab the drink. I sat there, my entire body stiff. My mind was screaming with the details of those six files. Six women. Six accidents. Seven years. An average of one death per year. Every single one of them died in a way that left his hands completely clean. What was he? How did he do it? Why did no one ever notice? How was he still walking free? Julian walked back into the living room, sat down beside me, and handed me the glass. “Drink it slowly.” I took the glass and took a small sip. The juice was sweet. But I couldn’t taste a thing. “Hazel,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet. “Did you find something?” My hand jerked. The juice almost spilled onto my lap. “W-what?” He looked at me. His eyes were incredibly gentle, like he was looking at a piece of fragile porcelain. “I saw the study door open,” he said. “Did you open the hidden compartment?” I raised my head to meet his eyes. His eyes were a deep, warm hazel, catching the light like polished amber. There was no malice in them. Only a calm, quiet curiosity. As if he were simply asking what I wanted for dinner. “I…” The words caught in my throat. He let out a soft sigh. He reached out, gently took the glass from my hands, and set it on the coffee table. “Hazel,” he said, “I was planning on telling you eventually.” Telling me what? That you killed six people? Or that I’m supposed to be number seven? He took my hand in his. His hand was large and warm, completely wrapping around mine. “Those women,” he said. “You saw them?” I nodded slowly. “Do you think I killed them?” I couldn’t speak. He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Hazel, if I told you I didn’t kill them, would you believe me?” I stared at him, my mind blank. He sighed again. Then he pulled out his phone, scrolled through it for a moment, and turned the screen toward me. On the screen was a post. The headline was: **[My husband’s first six wives are all dead. I’m number seven.]** It was the exact same post I had seen at 2:00 AM. The username of the poster: Hazel. Date of post: Three years ago. I froze.

“Three years ago,” Julian said, “I stumbled across this post online.” He swiped down on the screen. “The poster used your name, and the photo attached was your face. But back then, I didn’t even know you existed.” I stared at the photo on the screen. The face was undoubtedly mine. But the eyes were different. The woman in the photo had cold eyes. Cold as a frozen lake in the dead of winter. “I was shocked,” Julian said. “Because every single detail in this post was absolutely true.” He scrolled down to the comments section. *[Is the husband the tech mogul from Seattle? I think I saw his late wife’s obituary in the news.]* *[Six wives are dead? That’s too much of a coincidence.]* *[OP, you need to run! Are you waiting to become number seven?]* *[I looked it up. There are indeed five public obituaries. The sixth one hasn’t been made public yet.]* *[Is OP okay? Can someone update us?]* The very last comment was from the original poster herself: *[I managed to escape. But he is hunting me. If anything happens to me, please send this thread to the police.]* The reply was timestamped three years ago, on a cold winter night. After that, the account never logged in again. Julian slid his phone back into his pocket and looked at me. “Do you understand now?” I didn’t. I didn’t understand at all. “The woman who wrote that post,” he said, “looked exactly like you. She went by the name Hazel. She was my sixth wife.” The sixth one. Fiona. But the name on the spreadsheet was Fiona. “Wasn’t her name Fiona?” I whispered. “That was the alias she used after she ran away,” Julian explained. “She was terrified I would find her.” My brain was spinning out of control. “Then where is she now…?” “She’s dead,” Julian said quietly. “Three years ago, she died in a car accident in your hometown.” A car accident. But the cause of death listed for the sixth wife was an accidental fall. Not a car accident. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re wondering if I’m lying. You’re wondering if someone else killed her.” I remained silent. He stared at me, his gaze incredibly complex. “Hazel, have you ever wondered why you look exactly like her?” I froze. “Have you ever wondered why your parents died when you were just a toddler?” “What are you trying to say?” He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his words made my entire body go numb. “Hazel isn’t your real name. You aren’t who you think you are. You are someone else entirely.” *** *(Paywall Cliffhanger)*

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While I was bleeding out on the delivery table, Julian was screwing another woman. He thought I was stupid. He thought he had me completely under his control. Maybe he was just too confident in his Oscar-winning acting skills. He let his mother, Eleanor, walk all over me while pretending to be the doting husband, showering me with fake affection. He only regretted it when he lost everything. But I’ve finally woken up. I don’t want to be the sweet, stupid wife anymore. I’m going to be his worst nightmare. Right before I was wheeled into the OR, I finally got through to Julian. Over the line, I heard a woman’s breathless, needy moan. “Julian… slow down… you touched your phone…” “Forget the phone, babe. Let’s keep going…” Then came the sound of wet, messy kisses and the tearing of clothes. Neither of them cared who was calling, or why. My husband, the famous Hollywood star who told me he was stuck on set overnight, was currently in another woman’s bed. I recognized the voice. It was Serena, his co-star in his new blockbuster movie. They threw morals out the window, completely lost in each other. I could feel the blood slowly draining from my body. I was drenched in sweat, my tears mixing with the cold perspiration on my face. The noises from the phone kept playing. But the white-hot pain, like my bones were being crushed, made it impossible to think. I only heard the doctor scream, “Hurry! She’s hemorrhaging!” I was rushed into the OR. No one was by my side. No parents, no husband. I felt completely abandoned by the world. As the doctors frantically worked on me, the darkness finally swallowed me whole. Right before I lost consciousness, a single thought crystallized in my mind: I had to leave Julian. When I finally woke up from the anesthesia, a lone nurse was changing my IV drip. Seeing me open my eyes, she looked at me with deep pity. “Don’t worry, the baby is healthy. A very loud, cute little boy.” “But your husband’s mother took the baby home. She insisted she could take better care of him.” Panic and fury instantly flooded my brain. I screamed at the nurse, demanding to know how they could let her take my baby without my consent. Ignoring the agonizing pain from my C-section incision, I struggled to get out of bed. My baby—whom I had just risked my life to bring into this world—had been taken by a woman who hated my guts. I couldn’t tolerate this for even a second! The nurse was terrified. She slammed the emergency call button and summoned the doctors. It took four of them to pin me down and inject a sedative to finally make me stop thrashing. But the struggle had already torn my stitches, and blood was seeping through the bandages. Over the next few days, despite my constant screaming and fighting, the hospital finally let me sign the AMA forms on the seventh day. As they discharged me, they kept warning me that they wouldn’t be liable if anything happened to my torn stitches. I hated them, but to get my baby back, I didn’t waste any time arguing.

During those seven days, Julian had sneaked into my room once, wearing a black mask and sunglasses. Seeing me acting like a hysterical woman demanding to be discharged, his face filled with disgust. “Chloe, when did you become so trashy? When you were writing screenplays, didn’t you hate characters like this?” “My mom only took the baby because you’re in no condition to care for him. Can you stop making a scene?” He didn’t ask if I was in pain. He didn’t comfort me for having my baby snatched away. He just stood firmly on his mother’s side, coldly accusing me of being unreasonable. He didn’t even bother to explain why he wasn’t there when I was giving birth. I didn’t say a word to this man who had been sleeping with another woman while I was dying. I just kept demanding the doctor sign my discharge papers. Seeing me ignore him, he adjusted his mask and left in a hurry. I stared at his retreating back and let out a cold laugh. My heart was completely dead. He claimed he was busy with the movie, but he was probably just rushing back to pamper Serena. The first time I met Serena was during the lowest point of my life. That day, Eleanor had told me Julian was coming home for dinner and ordered me to cook a massive feast. At that point, I hadn’t seen Julian in six months. He had been cast by Director Miller in a massive romantic franchise. Aside from occasional brief phone calls, he barely even replied to my Snapchats. I knew he was busy, so I tried to be understanding and didn’t bother him. I handled everything at home by myself. Even when Eleanor treated me like garbage, I never complained. Because I knew how much Julian cared about his career. I had seen him on set. He was so dedicated, practically glowing under the spotlights. As his biggest fan and his wife, I felt it was my duty to be his perfect supporter. So, I spent the entire day preparing a gourmet dinner. Everything was Julian’s favorite. Eleanor actually praised me for once, but the moment she saw what I was wearing, her face fell. “Look at you. You look like a maid. Your hair is so greasy you could fry an egg on it, and you smell like a kitchen.” “Julian used to talk about how talented you were, what a great writer you were. Now you look no different from a homeless person on the street.” She took a step back, her disgust obvious. I looked down at myself. I was soaked in sweat, and my clothes smelled like grease and oil. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t find the words to argue back. I remembered the girl who used to stand confidently in front of cameras, talking about her screenplays. She felt like a completely different person now. I could only nervously rub my apron. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Julian, and next to him was a flawlessly dressed, stunning girl. Her features were striking and elegant, her outfit simple yet expensive. I stood there, frozen in embarrassment. Compared to her, I really did look like a paid maid. And that was exactly how Eleanor introduced me. Eleanor smiled, pulling Serena into the living room, showering her with warmth and compliments she had never shown me. Serena obviously understood the underlying meaning. Though she acted coy, she handled Eleanor perfectly. The two of them sat together. Serena looked far more like the daughter-in-law of this house than I did.

As for Julian, from the moment he walked in, he didn’t look at me once. He agreed with everything his mother said, playing the perfect host, pouring water and peeling fruit for Serena. They left me standing there like a clown. Until finally, the tears in my eyes could no longer be held back. I swallowed my humiliation and hid in the kitchen. Listening to their laughter from the living room, I wiped my tears and started packing up the leftovers. That night in our bedroom, I asked Julian why he hadn’t introduced me as his wife. “You worked so hard in the kitchen all day, you deserved a break. Let Mom and me handle hosting the guests.” Julian’s answer was warm and gentle. He didn’t mind my greasy hair. He ran his fingers through it and smiled softly. In that single moment, all my resentment vanished. As long as Julian loved me, it didn’t matter how much Eleanor hated me. After all, I was Julian’s legal wife. But Eleanor’s attitude still stung. Later that night, I finished the vile holistic fertility shake Eleanor had prepared for me. The bitter aftertaste clung to my throat. It was a special recipe Eleanor had gotten from some sketchy holistic guru. She claimed it guaranteed a baby boy. She blamed me for not getting pregnant sooner. But we had only been married for a year, and Julian had been away on set for eight months of it. I couldn’t explain my innocence, so I just drank the bitter shakes every day. The drink was incredibly vile. I didn’t know what was in it, but the first time I drank it, I threw up my stomach lining. But to please Eleanor, and to have a baby soon, I forced it down every single day despite the nausea. I just could never get used to that lingering bitterness. So that night, I went to the kitchen to grab one of the grapes left over from Serena’s visit to wash out the taste. Just to get a little sweetness back in my mouth. As I passed Eleanor’s bedroom, I heard her complaining to Julian. She said my family had no money, that I was plain-looking, and had zero class. She said only a true high-society heiress like Serena was worthy of him. She said if I didn’t get pregnant soon, Julian should just divorce me so I wouldn’t waste his prime years. I couldn’t hear Julian’s response. But when he returned to our room that night, he acted completely normal. He even held me tight, saying we should try harder to have a baby. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t confront him. Because I believed Julian understood my struggles. Back when he asked me to give up my screenwriting career to become a housewife, he had promised me: No matter what I looked like, he would love me, just as I loved him. But now, recalling Julian’s disgusted, biased accusations in the hospital… And thinking of the breathless moans and wet kisses on the phone right before my surgery… I could no longer lie to myself. No man who loves his wife would be in another woman’s bed while she was giving birth. And he certainly wouldn’t let his mother steal my baby. … When I reached the front door of our house, the warm sound of baby talk and laughter drifted through the cracks. I didn’t open the door. I just stood there, listening quietly. “Say mommy, sweetie~ Look, this is your mommy now, okay?” Hearing Eleanor’s voice made my blood run cold. I wanted to burst in and rip my son out of her arms. I had to dig my nails into my palms to keep myself from screaming. I quietly pulled out my phone, turned on the voice recorder, and held the mic close to the door. “Serena, dear, now that we have the baby, Julian can divorce Chloe very soon.” “If Julian hadn’t been worried about your body, not wanting you to go through the pain of pregnancy, he would never have touched a stupid woman like Chloe.” “She actually believed Julian loved her. She even went through all the pain of egg retrieval and IVF just to give Julian a child.” Eleanor didn’t even try to hide her malice. She was using my open wounds to please Serena. Serena seemed highly satisfied with both Julian’s and Eleanor’s attitude. She kept teasing my baby, whispering, “Call me mommy.” Every single “mommy” felt like a knife twisting in my heart. I could accept my mother-in-law hating me. I could accept Julian’s betrayal and divorce. But my baby—the one I had risked my life to carry—I would never, ever let them have him. I remembered the excruciating pain of the egg retrieval process, and the sheer joy when the embryo transfer succeeded. And now, the throbbing pain of my C-section scar flared up. I closed my eyes and forced back my tears. When I opened them again, they were cold, burning with a desire for vengeance. I stopped the recording and saved the audio. I backed it up to the cloud. I would make them realize that a “stupid woman” like me was more than capable of dragging them straight to hell.

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At my engagement party, in front of all our family and friends, my fiancé, Ethan Carter, suddenly projected a massive, detailed Excel spreadsheet onto the giant screen. “Chloe, since we’re getting married, we need to settle our accounts for the past three years.” “During our relationship, you drank 152 Starbucks lattes. I don’t drink sweet stuff, so you owe me for all of them.” “We stayed in hotels 58 times. You were the one who wanted to use condoms to avoid getting pregnant, meaning you were the sole beneficiary. So, you need to cover the full cost of those.” “And about that ultra-thin condom we used last night? It cost five dollars. You still haven’t Venmoed me your $2.50 share.” The ballroom fell into dead silence. I stared at his smug, self-righteous face. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a Venmo request from him. At the same time, a notification popped up on Instagram. Ethan had just posted a new story. It was a screenshot of his unpaid Venmo request to me. His caption read: *“Marry a wife, not an ancestor. Even brothers keep clear accounts! Avoid women who try to leech off you for $2.50!”* The comment section was already flooded with his friends calling me a “gold digger” and a “freeloader.” I stared at the Excel sheet on the screen and laughed. “Fine. Since you want to settle accounts…” “Let’s talk about how much rent you owe me for living in my apartment for the past three years.”

“Condoms.” The moment that word left his mouth, my mom almost fainted. But Ethan didn’t show a hint of shame. He stood there, microphone in hand, oozing confidence. “Over the last three years, we used exactly seven boxes.” “Chloe, let’s be logical. They were used to keep *you* from getting pregnant.” “Biologically speaking, you are the primary beneficiary of this product.” “Without them, you would have faced the risk of an unwanted pregnancy and medical procedures that would harm your body.” “So, logically, you should pay for them.” He paused, seeing that I remained silent, and clicked on the very last row of the spreadsheet to show the details. “The ultra-thin one we used last night was five dollars.” “You still owe me $2.50.” “According to our 50/50 rule, even if it was our last night before marriage, we have to keep the accounts clean.” The guests gasped in disbelief. Then, my phone buzzed again with social media notifications. Ethan had just posted a screenshot of the unpaid Venmo request on Snapchat and Instagram. His caption: *“Marry a wife, not an ancestor. Even brothers keep clear accounts! Avoid women who try to leech off you for $2.50!”* His toxic bros were already hyping him up in the comments. *“Bro, you’re a legend! Setting boundaries!”* *“Modern women are so entitled. Trying to get a free ride over a few bucks.”* *“Don’t let her leech off you, man!”* Looking at those comments, I suddenly burst out laughing. Ethan thought he had intimidated me. “Chloe, don’t play dumb,” he said, adjusting his collar. “The total is twenty-three thousand, four hundred and eighty-two dollars and fifty cents.” “Send it over, and we can go ahead with the wedding.” “But under one condition: after we marry, my mother will manage our finances.” “We will establish strict household rules. Everything will be 50/50.” “However, since you’re the woman, the chores are naturally your responsibility. That part won’t be 50/50.” The sheer audacity was mind-blowing. He wanted to split the bills 50/50, but wanted me to do 100% of the labor. I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen. Ethan’s eyes lit up as his phone buzzed. But the moment he saw the notification, his smile froze. It was a payment of $2.50. My note on Venmo read: *“Breakup fee. Keep the change.”*

“Chloe, what is the meaning of this?” Ethan snapped, his face turning red. “Are you treating me like a beggar?” I calmly walked up to the stage and took the microphone from his hand. “Ethan, didn’t you want to settle the accounts?” “That $2.50 is my share for the condom last night.” “As for the rest…” I swept my gaze over the whispering crowd, my voice echoing clearly through the speakers. “I drank those lattes, yes. But the designer sneakers I bought you cost two thousand dollars.” “You were the one who booked the hotels, but the gaming gear and top-ups I bought you cost at least five thousand.” “And the custom-tailored suit you are wearing right now? I paid eighty-eight hundred dollars for it.” “What’s wrong, Ethan? Is your Excel broken? Does it only calculate what you spend, but conveniently glides over what I spend?” Ethan gasped, momentarily speechless. But quickly, his embarrassment turned into pure rage. He yelled: “Those were gifts! You gave them to me voluntarily! You can’t ask for gifts back!” “But the money I spent was on things *you* consumed! It’s entirely different!” “Besides, you only bought me those things to suck up to me because you wanted to marry into my family!” “Now you want to use them to write off your debt? No way!” The double standards were truly spectacular. I sneered. “Marry into your family?” “With that cramped, run-down studio apartment of yours in the sketchy part of town?” “Or with your pathetic brain that makes you beg for $2.50 in public?” I hit him right where it hurt. Ethan’s biggest insecurity was his family background, and his biggest pride was his self-proclaimed identity as a “finance elite.” “Chloe Miller! Don’t you dare push your luck!” “Let me tell you, a materialistic woman like you will never find anyone else if you leave me!” “You’re already twenty-six! In a couple of years, you’ll be expired goods!” “I’m doing charity work by marrying you!” “Transfer the twenty-three grand right now, get down on your knees, and beg my mother for forgiveness. Then I might overlook this.” “Otherwise—” Before he could finish his sentence, I threw my glass of champagne right into his face. Ethan stared at me as if I were a lunatic. “Chloe! Did you just throw a drink at me?!” “You deserved it.” “Ethan, let me make this official.” “The wedding is off.” “Take your mother, take your Excel spreadsheet, and get the hell out of my sight.” I turned to my parents. “Mom, Dad, let’s go. This party is over.” My dad, who had been holding back his temper the entire time, finally lost it and flipped the main table. Ethan’s mother, who had been smugly watching the drama, immediately threw herself onto the floor, screaming and crying. “Assault! They are attacking us!” “They are abusing a poor widow and her son!” “Fine, the wedding is off! But you must pay us for emotional damages! Pay us!” The ballroom erupted into chaos. Ethan wiped the champagne from his face, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture of me. “Fine, Chloe. You think you’re tough.” “Just wait. I will make you crawl back and beg for my forgiveness.” “When that time comes, the prenup will be even harsher, and your parents will have to apologize to me on their knees!” I didn’t even give him a second glance as I walked out of the venue.

The next morning, a loud, violent pounding woke me up. I didn’t even need to look at the security camera to know who it was. I lived in a luxury penthouse in the city center, over 3,500 square feet, with a private elevator entrance. I owned this entire place, but I had never told Ethan. To protect his fragile ego, I had lied and told him I was renting it, claiming I had begged the landlord for a massive discount. Ethan always complained that I was terrible with money and that renting a luxury penthouse was just pure vanity. Yet, when he moved in, he enjoyed it more than anyone. I opened the door. Ethan stood at the front. Behind him was his mother and his freeloader younger brother, Tyler. “Chloe, what took you so long?” Ethan pushed past me impatiently, acting as if nothing had happened last night. To him, my anger was probably just a temporary tantrum. “What do you think you’re doing?” I blocked the entryway, staring cold-bloodedly at them. Ethan assumed his “lord of the house” posture. “Since you decided to ruin the wedding, we need to talk about our post-breakup arrangements.” “Even though you rent this place, I lived here for three years.” “Now that I’m moving out, I need to take what’s mine.” He waved his hand at Tyler behind him. “Tyler, go inside and grab anything valuable.” Tyler grinned. “You got it, bro! Man, this place is huge! My sister-in-law really lived like a queen!” Ethan’s mother pushed her way in, her greedy eyes darting around the living room. “Oh my, this leather sofa looks expensive.” “And look at this TV! It must be worth thousands!” “Chloe, you’re just a single girl now. Keeping such a huge place is a waste.” She walked toward the living room as if she owned the place. I was stunned by their shamelessness. “Stop right there!” I barked. “This is my apartment. Who gave you permission to enter?” “This is trespassing. I will call the police.” Ethan turned around, looking at me as if I were stupid. “Chloe, you’re renting this place. It’s not even yours.” “Besides, we haven’t officially broken up yet.” “Even if we do, I’ve wasted three years of my youth on you. You paid the rent, but I paid with my time.” He walked over to the Italian leather sofa and plop down. “It works out perfectly. Tyler is getting married next month, and his fiancée wants a nice place.” “Since you’ve already paid the rent, it’ll be a waste to leave it empty.” “Tyler can use this as his wedding house for the next six months.” “You have plenty of money anyway. Consider this your compensation to the Carter family.” I laughed out of sheer anger. What kind of parasites were they? Not only did they refuse to leave, but they also wanted to steal my home for his brother’s wedding? Looking at Ethan’s smug face, I decided not to kick them out immediately. If they wanted to play dirty, I was going to ruin them. I quietly reached into my pocket and turned on the voice recorder on my phone. “Ethan, let me get this straight. You want to live here?” “And you want your brother to use my apartment for his wedding?” Ethan nodded. “Exactly. Be generous, Chloe.” “You embarrassed me in front of everyone last night. I haven’t even settled that score with you yet.” “Letting my brother use this place for six months will make us even.” “Oh, and you’ll need to prepay the rent for the next six months.” “If you don’t, I’ll go to your company and make a scene. I’ll tell everyone how you led me on and ruined my life.” I suppressed my rage, baiting him to say more. “And what if I say no?” Ethan’s mother rushed over, pointing her finger at my nose. “Say no? Who do you think you are to say no?” “My Ethan spent three years of his life with you! We’re being nice by not suing you for wasting his youth!” “If you don’t agree, I’ll move in today and never leave!” Ethan smiled triumphantly. “See that, Chloe? We have nothing to lose.” “You’re a professional woman. You wouldn’t want to make a public scene, would you?” “Be smart. Pack your things and get out.” “Oh, and leave your car keys behind. Tyler needs a nice car for his wedding convoy. Your BMW will do nicely.” I looked at the three of them. My heart grew colder and colder. Since you want to be criminals, don’t blame me for sending you to prison. I turned off the recording and pulled a can of pepper spray out of my bag. “You want my apartment? You want my car?” “Sure.” “Let’s see if you have the lives to enjoy them.”

Ethan laughed when he saw the pepper spray. “Chloe, who are you trying to scare with that toy?” “I dare you to spray me.” “I’ll sue you for assault and take every single penny you have!” His mother chimed in, “Exactly! You little bitch, you want to fight?” “Tyler, teach her a lesson!” Tyler had been waiting for this. He stepped forward. “Chloe, don’t make this hard on yourself. Give me the car keys, or I’ll make you.” I gripped the pepper spray, calculating the distance. But before Tyler could grab me, Ethan stepped in and held him back. “Tyler, don’t use violence. We are civilized people.” He turned his phone screen toward me and smirked. “Chloe, do you remember these?” I looked at the screen. It was a photo of me right after a shower, wrapped in a towel, wearing a face mask. Although it wasn’t explicit, the angle he took it from was extremely suggestive and malicious. I feigned panic. “Where did you get that? What do you want?” Ethan was extremely satisfied with my reaction. “Nothing much. But if you don’t agree to our terms…” “I will send these photos to your company’s Slack channels.” “And your building’s WhatsApp group. And your college alumni network.” “The headline will be: *’High-flying corporate female executive leads a double life, trying to seduce her boyfriend’s younger brother.’*” “Do you think you’ll still have a job after that? Will you even be able to show your face in public?” I sneered inwardly. He called *that* an intimate photo? Seducing his brother? His logic was truly pathetic. But on the outside, I kept up the act of a terrified victim. “Ethan, you are despicable! This is illegal!” Ethan laughed out loud. “Illegal? We were dating. It’s just a little couple’s fun. How is that illegal?” “But I don’t want to ruin you completely, Chloe.” “So, in addition to the apartment and the car…” “You will sign a promissory note.” “Five hundred thousand dollars. As compensation for the emotional distress you caused me over the past three years.” “Sign it, and I’ll delete the photos.” Ethan’s mother’s eyes turned green at the mention of half a million dollars. “Yes! Five hundred thousand! Not a penny less!” “With that money, Tyler can pay his wedding deposit!” Tyler smirked. “Just sign it, Chloe. Buy your peace.” “Otherwise, if the whole internet sees your body, how will you ever find another man?” I hesitated for a moment. “Fine. I’ll sign. But you have to promise to delete everything.” Ethan immediately pulled a pen and paper from his bag. He had come prepared. The note was written exactly to his specifications: *“I, Chloe Miller, due to personal relationship disputes, voluntarily agree to pay Ethan Carter $500,000 as compensation for emotional distress.”* I signed my name. Ethan’s grin was so wide it almost reached his ears. “See? If you had cooperated earlier, we wouldn’t have had to do this.” “Now, go pack your bags.” Looking at his triumphant back, a cold smile crept onto my face. Extortion. Blackmail. The amount involved was half a million dollars. In this country, that’s a grand larceny extortion charge. That’s ten years in federal prison, minimum. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Ethan frowned. “Who is it?” “Movers,” a loud voice called out. Ethan blinked and looked at me. “You called movers? Well, at least you’re quick.” He opened the door. Four burly men in matching professional moving uniforms stood outside. The leader looked at his clipboard. “Are you Ms. Miller?” Ethan pointed at me. “She is. But I’m in charge of this place now.” “You guys are here to move stuff, right? Move everything from the master bedroom down to the basement storage.” The mover ignored Ethan and looked directly at me. “Ms. Miller, as per your request, we are clearing out the entire apartment, correct?” I nodded. “Yes.” “Pack up everything. Except for the people and the trash. Take it all away.” Ethan froze. “What do you mean clear out the apartment? Chloe, what are you doing?” I walked to the entryway. “It means I’m moving out.” “And as for you guys…” “Since you love this place so much, you can enjoy living in an empty shell.” Ethan panicked. “No! Stop! You can’t take the furniture! If you clear the place, how is my brother going to get married?” He tried to block the movers. The lead mover, a six-foot-three giant, easily shoved Ethan aside with one arm. “Sir, do not interfere with our work.” Ethan’s mother immediately threw herself onto the floor, preparing to scream and cry. But a mover placed a massive wooden crate right next to her, almost pinning her foot down. “Watch out, lady. We’re moving a heavy cabinet here.” Ethan was crimson with rage. He pointed his finger at me. “Chloe Miller! Don’t tempt me! I will leak the photos right now!” I pulled out my phone and waved it. “Go ahead. And while you do that, I have some files to send to your company.” “For example, the audio recording of your extortion just now.” “And a photo of this signed promissory note.” Ethan’s face went pale. He clutched the note in his pocket, his eyes turning vicious. “You set me up? Tyler! Lock the door!” “Nobody leaves this apartment today!” “If you want to play dirty, let’s go down together!” The movers stopped, startled by the sudden escalation. I was slightly surprised. I didn’t expect them to be stupid enough to attempt false imprisonment. “Chloe, I wanted to leave you a way out,” Ethan snarled. “But you chose death.” “If you don’t wire the half-million dollars right now, you aren’t leaving this room!” The atmosphere turned incredibly tense. Suddenly, a loud, heavy banging rattled the front door.

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My cousin framed me for faking cancer. The day I finally saved $100,000 after working hard for seven years, I was diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer. To cure it, I needed at least $300,000. To save my life, my parents sold their car, mortgaged our house, and emptied their entire life savings. They begged every relative they knew to scrape together $200,000. On my way to the hospital for surgery, I bought a random scratch-off lottery ticket at a gas station. I won $300,000. Right then, Helen called me, sobbing. She said David had a sudden stroke, and his emergency surgery would also cost $300,000. Without a second thought, I wired my entire $100,000 savings to them. I felt so incredibly lucky. With this lottery win, both my dad and I could survive. But when I went to the lottery office to redeem the ticket, the clerk looked at me with pity. He told me it was just a prank card bought off Amazon. It was completely worthless. Crushed and hopeless, I dragged myself back home. Just as I reached the door, I heard my parents praising my cousin. “Chloe is so smart. With just one fake scratch-off card, she got Avery to hand over that $100,000.” “That ungrateful brat actually forged a terminal cancer diagnosis just to scam money from us! Thank God Chloe has sharp eyes and saw right through her!” But I had never lied. And tonight was my last chance to see the specialist. Without that surgery, even if I got the money later, it would be too late.

“That wretched girl must be out of her mind!” “Faking a terminal illness just to scam us for money to put into her bad investments! How could she?!” Through the thin door, I heard my parents’ furious shouts. My cousin, Chloe, sighed and chimed in. “I never expected Avery to do something so foolish either.” “That was a whole $100,000! If she threw it all into that sketchy startup, your family would have been ruined…” My parents looked at Chloe with immense gratitude, still shaking from the scare. “We owe you everything this time, Chloe. If it weren’t for you, our family would really be over…” My heart squeezed painfully. Since we were kids, my parents always believed Chloe over me. Chloe’s mother passed away early, so my parents showered her with extra love to make up for it. Over the years, their attention was always on her. They thought she was sweet, sensible, and incapable of lying. Even when Chloe blamed her own messes on me without any proof, they believed her unconditionally. Usually, I could swallow the unfairness. But this time, it was about my life. Why couldn’t they just ask me first? I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached for the doorknob, wanting to confront them. But then, I heard Chloe speak again. “So, what are you going to do with Avery’s $100,000?” David fell silent. After a long pause, he sighed heavily. “We’ll put it in a savings account for her, of course.” “It’s a lot of money. She worked so hard to save it.” “We only tricked her into giving it to us to teach her a lesson…” “Once she realizes her mistake and stops being foolish, we’ll give it back to her.” My hand slowly fell from the doorknob. Memory flashed back to the day I told them about my diagnosis. My parents’ eyes had turned red. They stared at the medical report for a long time. Then, Helen held me tight, crying. “Don’t be scared, sweetie. Mom and Dad will figure this out.” “We can find the money. Don’t worry.” After that, they secretly mortgaged their house and sold the car. To borrow enough money, they spent nights swallowing their pride, begging distant relatives and even applying for high-interest loans. “Avery is so young. We can’t just watch her die!” “Please, help us…” That was the most desperate, humbled version of my parents I had ever seen. They lowered themselves to the dirt for me. Even though they were biased toward Chloe, they did love me. Besides, I had already missed my scheduled surgery. I was doomed to die anyway. Maybe letting them believe this lie was for the best.

I gave up on telling them the truth. I didn’t go inside. Instead, I took a high-risk gig as an extreme stunt double. The jobs were dangerous—jumping off buildings, falling off cliffs, car crashes. But the perk was a massive life insurance policy. If I died on set, the payout would be over a million dollars. Irony of ironies, I proved to be incredibly hard to kill. I ended up with countless bruises and fractures, but nothing fatal. A month later, I received my first $10,000 paycheck. I immediately wired all of it to my parents’ account. I thought I could make a few more transfers before my time ran out. But that night, lying in my cheap, moldy rental room, I suddenly started coughing up blood. My body went ice-cold. After a long, agonizing struggle in the dark, I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, my body felt weightless. The excruciating pain of cancer was gone. I floated in the air, looking down at my own body. I was slumped next to a dirty toilet. My clothes and the floor were stained dark red. I wasn’t sad. I actually felt a wave of relief. At least I managed to send that money to my parents first. Just then, my phone buzzed on the floor. A message from my parents popped up. “Don’t think sending us some money will make us forgive you for lying!” “Until you learn your lesson, we are keeping this $100,000!” I wanted to reply so badly. *It’s okay.* *Keep the money for your retirement.* *I don’t need it anymore.* But I couldn’t touch the phone. My hand passed right through it. My parents waited for two days. Seeing no reply, they got angry. “Ignoring us now? Still trying to play games?” “Or do you just not want your savings back at all?!” I still couldn’t reply. A few more days passed, and they tried to provoke me. “Fine! Since you don’t care about this money, we’ll spend it!” “Your cousin wants to start a business, and she’s $50,000 short.” They wired $50,000 to Chloe and sent a screenshot to my phone. When I still didn’t reply, they found other ways to spend it. They booked a $10,000 luxury cruise for themselves and Chloe. They took Chloe to expensive dinners and bought her designer jewelry. They took screenshots of every transaction and sent them to me. I grew anxious. My soul drifted onto the cruise ship, trying to warn them. “That money is for your retirement! You can’t waste it like this!” “And definitely don’t give it to Chloe!” “She is using you! She won’t take care of you!” But no matter how loud I screamed, they couldn’t hear me. By the time the cruise ended a week later, and there was still no word from me, Helen finally started to worry. “It’s been almost two months. She hasn’t come home. Could something have happened to her…?” David frowned, dismissing her. “She’s an adult. What could happen?” “She’s doing this on purpose to make us worry.” “She wants us to feel guilty so she can scam us again!” “Since she wants to play dead, I’ll force her hand!” David went home and made a viral TikTok video. He accused me of faking a terminal illness, stealing my family’s savings, and running away. He even posted my full name and workplace online. Overnight, I became the most hated person on the internet.

[How can anyone steal from their own parents? She’s a monster!] [She took their house and car! Left her elderly parents in debt… She deserves to rot in hell!] [Why isn’t she in jail? Someone find her!] [She should be locked up for life!] My company quickly posted a public statement online, saying I had resigned a month ago and that my actions had nothing to do with them. Dozens of strangers found my number and flooded my phone with abusive texts and calls. Some people even Photoshopped my face onto funeral portraits and spammed them in the comments. I couldn’t stop it. I could only watch the endless stream of hate notifications light up my dead screen. I smiled bitterly. *Well, at least they already made the funeral photos. They’ll need them soon.* Back home, my parents weren’t idle either. They threw out all my belongings and let Chloe move into my room. “Since you refuse to come back, your room is Chloe’s now.” “We’re throwing your stuff out if you don’t come get it by tomorrow!” I didn’t have much. Most of it was sentimental—birthday gifts my parents gave me, family photos, and school trophies. Things they used to display proudly in the living room were now shoved into a trash bag, sitting next to the garbage bin outside. When Chloe brought her bags in, she “accidentally” knocked over the trash bag. My things spilled out, mixing with the garbage. Chloe stepped right on them. The music box my dad had carved for me shattered. Our family photo was ruined by her dirty boot print. “Stop! Don’t touch that!” “Those are my memories! You have no right!” I tried desperately to block her. But my transparent hands just passed through her body over and over. Chloe deliberately ground her heel into my photos a few more times. When my parents opened the door, she quickly feigned panic. “David, Helen, I’m so sorry…” “I didn’t see the bag on the floor.” My parents looked uncomfortable for a second, but then they quickly brushed it off. “It’s fine. It’s just trash anyway.” “As long as you didn’t hurt yourself.” They welcomed Chloe in, helped her unpack, and cooked her favorite dinner. They looked so happy. Like they were the real family. The next day, when I still didn’t show up, my dad sent one last text. “You really hate us that much, huh?” “Fine. From this day on, we don’t have a daughter!” And they kept their word. They blocked my number and focused entirely on Chloe, pouring their remaining money into her business. They treated her like their only daughter. Until a month later, when the police finally discovered my body. The officer called my parents. “Is this the family of Avery Jiang?” “We found her body in a rental apartment. We need you to come identify her.”

Silence stretched over the phone line. After a long pause, Helen finally spoke. “You… must have the wrong person.” “My daughter is perfectly fine. She can’t be dead!” “Exactly!” David agreed loudly. “There are plenty of people with that name. You got the wrong number!” But despite their harsh words, panic flashed in their eyes. They hung up quickly. Chloe, who had listened to the whole call, had a flash of joy in her eyes before masking it with worry. “Do you think Avery is mad because I took her room? Maybe she hired actors to fake her death to scare you guys?” “I mean, she faked a whole cancer report before.” “Faking her death doesn’t seem out of character for her…” My parents looked at each other. Their faces hardened. “You’re right! That girl is a pathological liar!” “She’s ungrateful! We should have never had her!” Just then, the phone rang again. It was the police. “Sir, we ran a DNA match. There is no mistake.” “The deceased is your daughter, Avery Jiang.” “Cut the crap!” David spat into the phone. “We only have one daughter, and she is sitting right next to us!” “Whether Avery is dead or alive is none of our business!” “If she really died out there, just cremate her and throw her ashes in the trash!” “Don’t call us again!” David hung up and immediately blocked the number. Even though I knew they said this out of anger and misunderstanding, my soul still ached. I wanted to tell them. *Mom, Dad, I didn’t lie.* *I’m really dead…* *Please stop listening to Chloe…* *Why can’t you believe me just once?* Chloe brought them two glasses of warm water. “Helen, David, don’t be angry.” “Avery is just confused… Don’t worry, even if she doesn’t come back, I will take care of you guys forever.” “Good girl, thank God we have you.” Helen’s eyes softened as she held Chloe’s hand. “From now on, you are our real daughter.” “That ungrateful brat doesn’t deserve our thoughts.” Determined to cut me out of their lives, my parents deleted all my contact info. They even started discussing putting Chloe’s name on the deed of our house. Until two police officers showed up at their front door, holding my ID and photos. “We are the officers who called you earlier.” “Please look at these photos. Are you absolutely sure the deceased, Avery Jiang, has nothing to do with you?” “Her body has been in the morgue for too long. If you don’t claim her, we will have to handle it as an unclaimed body.”

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I was scrolling through a post, and the description felt like a mirror image of my life. “He works late until ten every night, smells like a strange perfume, and changed his phone password.” The comment section was filled with people telling the author to run. With trembling hands, I kept scrolling. Until I saw the latest update from the author: “Thank you for the concern, everyone. Today is our third anniversary, and he has a surprise ready for me.” Meanwhile, my husband was currently in the kitchen, cooking our anniversary dinner. A sudden chill crawled up my spine. The light from my phone screen cast a ghostly glow on my face in the dimly lit living room. My thumb swiped mindlessly until a title caught my eye: *Three Years of Marriage, and He’s Changed.* Impulsively, I tapped on it. The very first line made my heart skip a beat. “He works late until ten every night. When he comes home, he carries a sweet, unfamiliar perfume scent that makes my head spin. He even changed his phone password. It’s no longer our anniversary.” My blood rushed to my head, then drained just as quickly, leaving behind a cold, numb sensation. I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Lately, Liam had indeed been saying his company projects were keeping him busy. And when he came home, he often carried a sweet, floral-fruity scent… a perfume I never used. I had thought I was just being paranoid. Holding my breath, my trembling fingers scrolled down. The comment section was lively, filled with unanimous warnings: “Girl, run! This is a classic textbook case!” “Don’t hesitate. Start gathering evidence!” “I feel so bad for you. Dump him!” “Perfume smell + password change = he’s cheating. Period.” Every single comment felt like a block of ice slamming onto my heart. Yes, with such obvious signs, how could I… how could I still hold onto such ridiculous hope? My throat tightened. Almost self-destructively, I kept pulling the screen down, desperate to reach the end of the post. And then, I saw the author’s latest reply from just a few minutes ago: “Thanks for the concern, everyone. But maybe I’m just being too sensitive. Today is our third wedding anniversary. He just mysteriously told me he’s cooking dinner tonight to give me a surprise.” Our third wedding anniversary. Those words felt like a poisoned dagger stabbing straight into my eyes. Today was also my third wedding anniversary with Liam. Almost at the same moment, a soft clatter came from the kitchen—the sound of a spatula hitting the pan. Then came Liam’s cheerful voice, slightly muffled through the sliding glass door: “Chloe, just a little longer! It’s almost ready! I’m going to show off my chef skills tonight!” I turned my head stiffly. Through the glass, I could see his tall, familiar figure busy at work. The rich aroma of steak seared in butter drifted through the air—my absolute favorite. Yet, the palm gripping my phone was slick with cold sweat. No… something was wrong. I whipped my head back and stared intensely at the author’s username on the screen. It was just a random string of letters and numbers, completely unremarkable. But in the corner of the profile picture, there was a tiny, uncropped hint of a light-blue wavy border. It struck my brain like a bolt of lightning. I was the one who helped her set up that specific border. She had laughed and said back then, “This color is our little secret. Only you and I know it.” This account… belonged to Vanessa. Vanessa. My one and only best friend. My heart felt like it was grabbed by an invisible hand and wrung dry. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. My vision blurred, and a loud buzzing filled my ears. Every sound from the kitchen felt distant and distorted. Liam was in the kitchen, preparing our third-anniversary dinner. Vanessa was posting on Whisper, describing a cheating husband, and claiming “he” was preparing a surprise for their third anniversary today. The late nights, the strange perfume, the changed password… Every single memory flashed before my eyes, perfectly aligning with every word in Vanessa’s post. It wasn’t a coincidence. Absolutely not. — ### Chapter 2

“Chloe?” Liam slid open the kitchen door. “What are you daydreaming about? Are you hungry? It’ll be quick. The soup just needs to simmer a bit longer.” He looked at me, his eyes seemingly filled with nothing but love. I watched him wipe his hands naturally and walk over. I looked at his slightly open collar—where another sweet scent might have lingered just hours ago. And on my phone, the post Vanessa made was silently screaming, ripping apart this warm, loving illusion. I instinctively flipped my phone face down on my lap. Liam didn’t seem to notice my reaction. He bent down close to me. “What’s wrong? You look a bit pale. Are you feeling okay?” His voice was dripping with concern. I flinched back, dodging his touch. The movement was too sharp. Liam froze for a second, a flash of confusion crossing his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a smile. “Really starving, huh? Hang in there. Your man is making you a feast.” He turned around, humming a tune, and went back into the warm light of the kitchen. The glass door slid shut, separating his back from me. I picked up my phone again. I unlocked it and opened the post once more. Vanessa’s reply, those few words, burned into my eyes like hot iron. *Third anniversary… surprise…* I looked up at the kitchen. Liam had his back to me, focusing on the soup pot. He occasionally tasted it with a spoon, his side profile looking incredibly patient and focused under the light. What a heartwarming picture. What a perfect surprise. A deep chill settled into my bones. My best friend. My husband of three years. When did they start? In the places I couldn’t see, how were they celebrating another anniversary surprise? My finger hovered over the direct message button on Vanessa’s profile. But I didn’t tap it. I just locked the screen and gripped the phone tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping me from shattering right then and there. Then, I slowly straightened my back, took a deep breath, and swallowed the bitter taste in my throat. “Liam,” I called out, my voice so calm it surprised even me. “Do you need me to set the table?” “No, no! You’re the queen today. Just sit and relax.” He waved his sauce-stained fingers, his eyes overflowing with tenderness. “Oh, by the way, that white wine you wanted to try last time? I chilled it. Should I open it now to let it breathe?” We had passed by that wine in the supermarket last month, and I had casually mentioned it would go well with steak. He actually remembered. I recalled him just giving a lazy grunt back then while looking at his phone. I had assumed he wasn’t even listening. A wave of bitterness rushed up my nose. “Sure,” I replied in the same light tone, even forcing a smile. “Whatever you think is best.” He answered happily and turned to grab the wine from the cabinet. The glass door reflected his humming silhouette. The clinking of silverware echoed as Liam began to set the dishes on the table. A perfect anniversary dinner. Every detail showed immense effort. If I hadn’t seen that post ten minutes ago, I would probably have thrown myself into his arms, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. But now, every exquisite dish felt like a silent slap to my face. “Here, take a seat.” Liam pulled out a chair for me, his hand naturally brushing my shoulder. I lowered my eyes, avoiding his gaze, and sat down. He sat opposite me. He had just lit the candles, and the flickering flames made his handsome face look even more deep and romantic. He raised his glass, looking at me intensely. “Happy third anniversary, Chloe. Thank you for these three years… I’m so glad to have you.” “This looks amazing. When did you secretly learn how to cook like this?” I asked, cutting my steak, trying to sound casual. “Oh… just lately. I’ve been looking up recipes online, wanting to surprise you today.” He smiled, but his eyes seemed to drift for a fraction of a second before he looked down to sip his soup. “I’m glad you like it.” *Lately, looking up recipes.* My heart sank. When did Vanessa start posting? It seemed to be… *lately* too. — ### Chapter 3

“Is work still that busy? You’ve been staying so late every night.” I looked up, staring straight at him. Liam’s hand cutting the steak hesitated for a barely noticeable second. “Yeah. A major project is wrapping up, and it’s been a headache.” His tone was perfectly normal, even carrying a hint of playful complaining. “Once this phase is over, I’ll take you on a trip. I’ll make it up to you.” “Oh.” I nodded, acting casual. “By the way, you always have this scent on you lately. Did the office get a new air freshener? It’s pretty unique.” His hand holding the fork went stiff. He looked up at me, a flash of panic crossing his eyes before he quickly covered it up. “Really? Maybe… it’s a colleague’s perfume. The office air gets pretty mixed up.” He forced a smile, looking a bit strained. “You don’t like it? I’ll be more careful.” A colleague’s perfume. A sweet, fruity scent. Vanessa’s absolute favorite style. I didn’t push further. I just ate in silence. The dinner ended in an almost suffocating quiet. Suddenly, Liam put down his utensils and stood up. “I almost forgot. I have another surprise.” He walked into the study. When he came out, he was holding a beautifully wrapped velvet box. He walked over to me and got down on one knee—just like when he proposed three years ago. He opened the box. Inside was a diamond necklace with a star and moon pendant, sparkling brilliantly under the candlelight. It was gorgeous, and very expensive. “I saw you dog-eared this page in a magazine last time. I figured you’d like it.” He looked up at me, his eyes full of sweet anticipation. “Do you like it, Chloe?” I looked at the necklace, then at him. The dog-eared magazine… right, I did do that, but even I had forgotten about it. In this moment, a massive wave of absurdity and disgust washed over me. He remembered a dog-eared magazine, he remembered a casually mentioned wine, he remembered every superficial detail. But he had given his true passion, and perhaps another “anniversary surprise,” to Vanessa. “It’s beautiful,” I said dryly, without reaching out to take it. The excitement on Liam’s face slowly froze, turning into confusion and a hint of anxiety. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick? Or… do you not like the design?” I took a deep breath and finally looked him dead in the eye. “Liam,” my voice was quiet but crystal clear. “Is this your only surprise?” He froze. I picked up the phone that had been sitting on my lap, unlocked it, and turned the screen toward him. The Whisper post, specifically Vanessa’s latest comment about her “third-anniversary surprise,” was displayed clearly in front of his eyes. Time seemed to stop. The color drained from Liam’s face instantly, leaving him deathly pale. Watching him react like this, the last shred of my hope withered away. “This necklace,” I said slowly, each word dropping like ice on a stone floor. “Does Vanessa have one too? Or did you get her something even more special for your other ‘surprise’?” — ### Chapter 4

“Chloe, let me explain…” He suddenly snapped out of it, trying to stand up and grab my hand. I dodged him. I stood up and looked down at him. “Explain what?” A bitter, ugly laugh escaped my lips. “Explain how you can cook an anniversary dinner for me while spending another ‘third anniversary’ with my best friend? Explain the perfume, the changed password, and all those nights you ‘worked late’?” I picked up the expensive diamond necklace, put it back in its box, and pushed it across the table to him. “Liam, both of you make me sick.” “I have nothing going on with her! I didn’t betray you!” Liam almost yelled. He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Vanessa… she’s just… she’s delusional! She made those posts up on purpose to show you! She’s trying to break us up, Chloe, you have to trust me!” Trust him? With what? “And the perfume?” My voice was quiet, but it cut right through his shouting. “That sweet scent she always wears. How did it get on you? Over and over again.” Liam’s lips trembled violently. His eyes darted around, avoiding my gaze. “I… I don’t know! Maybe in the elevator, or during meetings! The office is crowded, plenty of people use the same perfume!” “Why did you change your password?” I pressed on, giving him no room to breathe. “I… I just felt the old password wasn’t secure! I wanted to change it! What’s wrong with that? Don’t I even have the freedom to change my own phone password?” “Really?” I looked at him, my heart sinking to the absolute bottom. “Then what is your new password? Our anniversary, or her birthday?” That question hit him like a sledgehammer. His face turned from pale to ash-gray. His mouth opened, but not a single word came out. His sudden rigidity and guilt spoke volumes. “All those nights you ‘worked late’ until ten,” I continued, my voice growing colder and steadier. “Where were you? Who were you with? Should I call Vanessa over to clear this up? Or should we check your car’s dashcam and your credit card history?” “Chloe!” he snapped, his voice cracking with sheer panic and anger. “Do you have to be like this?! Do you have to investigate me? Is there no trust left between us?! I work my ass off out there every day for this home, for you! And you don’t even trust me?!” Trust. He actually dared to bring up trust at a time like this. I watched his flushed, agitated face. He looked like a clown, trying his hardest to perform a monologue full of plot holes. He didn’t offer a single real explanation. He just denied, accused, and tried to guilt-trip me with his “sacrifices for the family.” I saw the anger drain from him like a deflating balloon, leaving only panic. The last tiny spark of warmth in my heart died in this dead silence. “The password.” “Show me now. Or,” I paused, “you pack your bags and get out tonight.” Liam stood there, frozen, as if pinned by my words. “Chloe… do you really have to push me like this?” His voice sounded like sandpaper. “It’s my privacy…” “Privacy?” I took a step closer, staring into his dodging eyes. “You have two choices. No third option. Right now.” A few seconds of silence felt like an eternity. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out his phone. `[Paywall Node]` He closed his eyes and pressed his thumb hard against the screen. The phone unlocked, and the screen lit up.

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