Category: English

In our circle, Bob Bright and I were the golden couple, the one everyone knew was meant to be. But one month before our wedding, he called it off. He was going to marry Amy Reed, a scholarship student my parents had sponsored. When I confronted him, his excuse was pathetic. “If I don’t marry her, she’ll be forced to marry that paraplegic her family arranged for her.” He had the audacity to look at me with pleading eyes. “Sienna, you’ve always been the kindest person I know. You understand, don’t you?” “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I agree.” Relief washed over his face. Bob leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek, then pulled me into a hug. “I knew you would. Don’t worry, Sienna. As soon as this is all over, I’ll divorce her and come back to you.” I gently pushed him away, wiping the lingering dampness from my skin, and pulled an invitation from my pocket. He took it, his smile bright until he read the names engraved on the card. Then, his face froze. 1. “Sienna Williams… what… what is this?” “It’s written right there,” I said, my expression unreadable. I offered no explanation. He flipped the invitation over and over, his confusion turning to a cold sneer. “Is this a joke, Sienna? It’s not funny.” “Very convincing performance,” he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Scheduling your fake wedding for the same day as mine. And to Damian Thorne, of all people.” “I know you’re still angry with me, but I’ve been perfectly clear. I’m just helping Amy out of a jam, and then it’s over. Is it really so hard for you to show a little understanding?” Just as he finished his rant, a soft knock came at the door. Amy entered, her eyes red and puffy from crying. “Bob,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Maybe… maybe we should just forget it. It’s okay if I have to marry him… It’s just that… I…” A wave of pity crossed Bob’s face. He moved to her side, patting her back gently. “Don’t even think that,” he soothed, his voice impossibly tender. “I promised I would help you, and I will.” I had no interest in watching this melodrama unfold. I had delivered the invitation, but I had one last piece of business at his company. I walked around them and out of the office. “Sienna, where are you going?” Bob called after me. I didn’t answer. I could hear Amy’s soft, wounded voice behind me, followed by Bob’s hushed murmurs of comfort. He wasn’t coming after me. Even though I had already made my decision to let him go, the reality of it still stung. Bob and I had grown up together, our friendship seamlessly blossoming into love. Our families were close, and they had started planning our wedding the moment we were old enough. But Bob was fiercely ambitious. For years, he’d used his company’s growth as an excuse to postpone our marriage. At first, I was his biggest supporter. I even put my own family’s business on the back burner to come and help him build his empire. Everyone in our circle envied us. We were the couple they all wanted to be. Until Amy showed up. My parents had sponsored her after a near-accident on the way to the airport. They saw how hardworking and honest she seemed, and her family was genuinely struggling. They never imagined they were funding a viper. After graduating, she got a job at Bob’s company. They didn’t interact much at first, not until she came to our house one evening to borrow money from my parents. Her father, she claimed, had a medical emergency. Bob overheard and, without a second thought, gave her the cash. Soon after, he promoted her to be his personal secretary. As they spent more time together, I noticed their relationship growing closer, more intimate. They started spending time alone, without me. I remember at the company’s annual gala not long ago, Amy was plastered to Bob’s side, laughing at something he’d said. I stepped in. “We’re engaged, Bob,” I reminded him quietly. “If people see you this close to Amy, the gossip will make it impossible for her to find a boyfriend later on.” Amy looked up at me, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Sienna, I know you’re Bob’s fiancée. But I’m his secretary. We have a purely professional, friendly relationship. How could you think something so… sordid?” Purely friendly? Anyone with eyes could see she was playing a game. But Bob, instead of creating distance, turned on me. “Sienna, why do you always have to make things so ugly?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how hard Amy has been working? She just got this promotion, and people are already trying to sabotage her. I was just offering some support. Is that a problem?” He shot me a look of pure annoyance. “If our families hadn’t arranged our engagement, did you really think I would have chosen to marry you?” I froze, watching them walk away together. In that moment, I knew it was over. The sweet nothings he used to whisper in my ear were just echoes now. The adoration that once filled his eyes was now reserved for someone else. I could hear the whispers of the other guests. “What’s Bob Bright doing with that little secretary? Isn’t he about to marry Sienna Williams?” “Are you blind? Who could put up with Sienna’s temper? The secretary is so sweet and gentle.” “But their engagement is public knowledge. The Williams family promised an entire subsidiary company as a dowry.” “If he calls it off, the Williams will be completely humiliated.” Even strangers could see the writing on the wall. I’m sure Bob could too. The simple truth was, he didn’t love me anymore. And now, I was fine with that. I dropped off my resignation letter with HR and headed for the elevator. As I passed the emergency exit, I heard voices from behind the door. Through the small glass window, I saw them. Amy was nestled in Bob’s arms, gazing at him with pure adoration. The look he gave her back was anything but innocent. She tilted her head up, offering her lips. Bob’s eyes glazed over. For a second, a flicker of reason seemed to hold him back, and he pushed her away slightly. “Amy, we can’t… we…” But before he could finish, her mouth was on his. He resisted for a moment, then melted into the kiss, pulling her closer. They clung to each other like two parched travelers finding an oasis. “Oh, Bob,” she breathed, “I’m sorry, I just can’t control myself. I love you so much. I only wish I’d met you sooner.” “Amy, I…” I didn’t need to hear the rest. I glanced down at the ring on my finger, the one Bob had made himself when he proposed on my eighteenth birthday. It meant nothing now. I slipped it off and dropped it into the trash can by the elevator. The doors opened, and I turned to find Bob standing there, his eyes blazing with anger. “Sienna, did you just quit?” I shot him a sidelong glance and jabbed the ‘close door’ button. He lunged forward, squeezing in just before the doors shut. “The company is in a critical growth phase! It’s almost the end of the year, where am I supposed to find a replacement on such short notice?” “You have Amy, don’t you?” I said coolly. He had praised her work ethic to me more than once. Now was her chance to shine. An uncomfortable look flashed across his face. “Amy’s capable, yes, but the company still needs you,” he said after a pause. “Are you still mad? Sienna, I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m only marrying her to fool her parents. I swear, the moment it’s resolved, I’ll divorce her.” I was tired of hearing it. Ding. The elevator arrived at the underground parking garage. I strode out, quickening my pace. Bob hurried after me, but I was faster. I reached my car, unlocked it, and slid inside, pulling away just as he reached for the handle. “Sienna Williams, you’ll regret this!” he shouted after me. “Do you think the Williams family can maintain its standing without me?” My parents had worked themselves to the bone for years, but now they were older, and the company was struggling. Bob had been using that as leverage, holding it over my head again and again. He seemed to forget that if I hadn’t joined his company to save it from the brink of collapse, I would have taken over my own family’s business years ago. It was the Bright Corporation that had been failing before I stepped in. After I officially took over Williams Industries, I was busier than ever, with no time to even think about Bob. Until a party brought us all back into the same room. I rarely attended such events, but as the new CEO, I needed to network. Unsurprisingly, Bob and Amy were there. While Bob was busy charming some heiresses, Amy sidled up to me. “So what if you grew up with him, Sienna?” she sneered. “In the end, he’s marrying me.” With that, she “tripped,” sending her glass of red wine splashing all over her own dress. The glass shattered on the floor. Right on cue, Bob appeared, gently brushing shards of glass from her clothes. Amy shot me a triumphant look before turning her tear-filled eyes to Bob. “Bob, don’t blame Sienna. I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it.” Bob glared at me, his face a mask of fury. “Haven’t you had enough, Sienna? Are you still playing these childish games? Do you think this is going to win me back? I’m warning you, if you ever lay a hand on Amy again, I won’t care about the history between our families.” I laughed. I walked toward them, my eyes locked on his. “Lay a hand on her?” I said, my voice dangerously low as I stopped in front of Amy. “Watch closely. This is laying a hand on her.” I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. “Do you see the difference now?” I asked, my voice ringing with cold finality. “Consider that my wedding gift. A long and happy life to you both.” Bob stood there, stunned into silence, long after I had walked away. The next day, I went directly to the city’s most exclusive bridal couture and jewelry designer. Because Bob had always been “too busy,” I had handled all the wedding preparations myself. To protect his fragile ego, I had even commissioned a magnificent heirloom-style tiara. And because I had a fondness for historical fashion, I had a custom, hand-embroidered gown made. Now that the wedding was off, I was here to reclaim my things. The boutique owner looked deeply uncomfortable. “Mr. Bright already picked up the gown and the tiara,” she stammered. “He had the order form… we assumed you were too busy and had sent him…” Of course. He chose this exact moment to collect them. His intentions were obvious. I could write off the gown as a loss, but the tiara was non-negotiable. It was set with a priceless, heirloom Williams family sapphire, a stone that was literally irreplaceable. I called him. His response was a thinly veiled threat. “You want the tiara back? Fine. But you know that project your parents just partnered with us on? There seem to be some… complications.” He was threatening me. I let out a cold laugh. His tone softened. “Sienna, it’s not like you need this one tiara. When we get married, I’ll have a new one made for you. Just let Amy have this one. I just want her to have a respectable wedding.” This time, his sheer nerve actually made me laugh out loud. Hearing my silence, he pressed on. “Sienna, our wedding is just around the corner. If you’d like to come…” “No, thank you,” I cut in. “I don’t think I’ll have the time.” “Busy with what?” he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. “My parents are planning my wedding,” I said calmly. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s for the best,” he said, misinterpreting completely. “You always were the thoughtful one. Okay, I’ll adjust the wedding schedule accordingly.” Before I could correct him, he hung up. It didn’t matter. There was only one thing on my mind: getting that sapphire back. And I knew just the people to handle it. Our weddings were set for the same day. Early that morning, a procession of hundreds of luxury cars snaked through the city streets, heading for my family’s estate. The route took us directly past the hotel where Bob and Amy were getting married. As our fleet of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys glided by, I saw her. Amy, stepping out of her wedding car, wearing my custom gown and… my family’s sapphire tiara. She was nestled against Bob’s side, beaming, soaking in the envy of the crowd. But in the next second, the triumphant smiles on both their faces froze.

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On my son’s fifth birthday, I found messages on my husband David’s phone about a hotel room with another woman. He called her baby, bought her jewelry, and promised a Disney trip after our party. I confronted him. He admitted to cheating but swore we were his real family. After eight years of marriage, I couldn’t ruin our son’s birthday, so I pretended nothing happened. Then a voice message played aloud: “David, I’m on the roof. I’ll jump if you don’t come now!” He bolted for the door. I told him coldly, “If you leave, we’re done.” He froze, but didn’t look back. … 1 Unlocking David’s phone had been an accident. But seeing the messages from a girl named Lily was not. They stretched back to last March, a relentless, daily stream. When it was windy, she’d remind him to wear a jacket. When it rained, she’d share a picture of the new umbrella he’d bought her. On Valentine’s Day, she’d sent a photo of herself wearing the necklace he’d given her, shyly modeling a new piece of lingerie. And then there was today’s message, sent with a cute kitten emoji: “When is your son’s party over? I’ve already booked the hotel at Disney. We can leave tonight.” … I scrolled through their so-called love story for half an hour and still hadn’t reached the beginning. The old me would have thrown this phone at his face, screamed “You bastard!” and walked out without a second thought. But that was then. Now, we’ve been married for eight years, and today is our son’s fifth birthday. Both our families are here at the hotel, ready to celebrate. The party starts in less than an hour. And this is the moment I find proof of his affair. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart, a searing, relentless pain. But I didn’t have time to cry. My five-year-old son was waiting for me in the living room. It was his day. The minutes ticked by. I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, fixed my hair, and then walked out to the living room. I called David, who was helping Tim open a new Lego set, into our bedroom. I laid it all out for him. I didn’t ask him who she was. I just asked him, “Tim is only five. What are you going to do?” The smile vanished from David’s face. His hands trembled as he pulled out a cigarette, then another, and another, until the entire pack was empty. He didn’t move until our son knocked on the door, his small voice asking when we were leaving for the party. That seemed to snap him out of his trance. His voice, hoarse from the smoke, was strained. “I admit it, I cheated. But you and Tim are my real family.” “It will never happen again.” Right there, in front of me, he opened his messages, blocked her number, and deleted the chat history. As if he could erase it all like a bad dream. I wiped my own tears, fixed my makeup, and opened the bedroom door with a smile plastered on my face. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then hoisted Tim onto his shoulders and carried him out to the car. As if nothing had ever happened. It wasn’t until eight o’clock that night, when the waiter rolled in the birthday cake and the lights dimmed for the candles, that the illusion shattered. David’s phone lit up, and a voice message played loud enough for the whole table to hear: “David, I’m on the roof. If you don’t come, I’m going to jump!” 2 The clatter of a bowl hitting the floor shattered the moment. As David lunged to his feet, a tureen of steaming hot soup sloshed over the table, right onto our son’s arm. A piercing scream cut through the room, and everything descended into chaos. My parents rushed to pour cold water on Tim’s arm. His grandparents were already in tears, trying to soothe his hysterical crying. And David, the cause of it all, just stumbled back, a flicker of apology in his eyes before he turned and ran out of the room without a second thought. His younger sister, Sarah, looked terrified, rushing to cover for him. “Lily is… she’s one of his junior employees. Something awful happened with her family, she’s not doing well. As her boss, he can’t just ignore it… I’m sure he’ll be right back.” Lily? So she even knew the girl’s name. What else had she been hiding for him? Sarah was five years younger than David. When I married him, she was just starting college. She used to follow me around, calling me her big sister, promising we’d be best friends for life. Now, that same girl couldn’t even meet my eyes as she stammered, “Chloe, you and my brother have been married for so long… You understand, right?” My throat felt like it was clogged with stones, raw and aching. I didn’t answer her. I just reached out and pulled my son into my arms. “We’re going to the hospital.” At the emergency room, the diagnosis came back: second-degree burns. Blisters of all sizes and angry red welts covered his entire arm. He had cried himself into exhaustion. My parents were furious, their voices shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “This is insane! What kind of employee is more important than his own son? Tim is only five! Why should he have to suffer like this?” David’s parents were deeply ashamed, trying to comfort me while urging Sarah to call him. “Get that worthless boy on the phone right now! My grandson is seriously hurt. He needs to be here!” But for three hours, through five bags of IV fluids, David didn’t answer a single call from any of us. Instead, a friend request popped up on my phone. [This is Lily. I’m pregnant.] 3 I accepted her request. In the suffocating silence of the hospital room, her first message came through. It was an ultrasound report. Thirteen weeks. Doing the math, she would have conceived around the time David’s mother was in the hospital for back surgery. He’d said he was too busy with work to help. So I was the one who juggled taking care of a five-year-old Tim while running back and forth to the hospital. The second message was a picture of a two-carat diamond ring. It wasn’t massive, but it wasn’t cheap, either. The design was one David had sketched himself. I’d found the drawing in his desk drawer right before our anniversary. He told me it was a surprise he was designing for a friend’s proposal. Before I could even open the third message, David finally showed up. His clothes were disheveled, and the guilt in his eyes as he looked at me and Tim was impossible to hide. Our parents quietly left the room, telling David to comfort our son and apologize to me properly. David nodded and sat down, his hand hovering over Tim’s sweaty forehead. After a long silence, his voice came out, strained and heavy. “She’s pregnant.” My fingertips trembled. “And?” “She’s so young. An abortion would be really hard on her body. I… I think she should have the baby.” For a moment, I felt like my brain just shut down. I asked, my voice hollow, “What about Tim? What about our son? What happens to him?” David looked startled, as if the thought had never crossed his mind—or maybe it had, and he just didn’t care. “Tim is our legitimate son. Nothing will happen to him. He’ll be fine.” The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face, washing away my makeup and revealing the broken mess underneath. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I opened the third message from Lily. It was a picture of a crumpled piece of paper. I could see the hospital’s logo on the back; it looked like a blank prescription pad she’d torn off a desk. Scrawled all over the small sheet were lists of names. [These are the names David picked out for our baby.] As I stared at the list, David’s anxious voice filled the silence. “Lily said she doesn’t want status or money. It’s just… when it’s time to register the baby’s birth certificate, she hopes I can… temporarily divorce you…” I let his words sink in, a roaring sound filling my ears. In such a short time, he had already planned out their entire future. We had been in love for ten years, married for eight. And it was all undone by an eight-month affair. My eyelashes fluttered, sending a chill straight to my soul. I looked at my son, asleep in the hospital bed, his little brow furrowed in pain even in his dreams. Then I looked at David—at his guilty, pleading, and ever-so-slightly impatient eyes. And just like that, the storm inside me stilled. I knew what I had to do. I put down my phone and spoke softly. “David, we’ve been together for more than ten years now.” “I remember when you first asked me out. You were twenty years old, clueless about girls and romance. But you saved up for weeks to buy me a gift. That necklace was truly hideous, but it was from you.” “I remember our wedding day, how you panicked when you couldn’t find my shoes, terrified you wouldn’t be able to marry me.” “And when I was pregnant, you never missed a single doctor’s appointment. When my feet swelled up so badly I couldn’t sleep, you’d get up without complaint, comforting me, massaging my legs, telling me you would only ever love me…” I paused, my gaze fixed on him. “David, tell me. Do you still love me?” He couldn’t, could he? Otherwise, how could he have shattered our family so completely on our son’s birthday? His eyes reddened. His lips parted, then closed, over and over again. Finally, only three words came out. “We’re family.” Family. Like a blow to the head. It shocked me out of my memories and back into this cold, sterile reality. I didn’t say another word. I told him to leave the room. Then I texted my best friend. “Help me find a lawyer. I want a divorce.” 4 Getting a divorce is never easy. Especially when there’s a child involved. The moment I got the separation agreement, my parents got wind of it and rushed over to talk me out of it. “He was wrong to let Tim get burned, Chloe, but he’s still his father. Please, don’t do anything rash.” Sarah showed up too, with my in-laws in tow. “Chloe, I yelled at him yesterday, I really did. He knows he messed up. He even had me order a new birthday cake for Tim.” My mother-in-law chimed in. “Yes, he did! It arrived first thing this morning. It’s still in the box.” Sarah placed the cake box on the coffee table and opened it. The air in the room froze. It was a gaudy, multi-tiered cake with “Happy 80th Birthday!” scrawled across it in bright pink frosting. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the picture before he ordered it. A bitter, cynical laugh almost escaped my lips. I looked away and went back to packing my suitcase. Sarah was on the verge of tears, stammering out excuses for him. “The delivery guy must have mixed up the orders! My brother loves Tim so much, he would never—” The sound of a key in the front door cut her off. David was home. And he was holding Lily’s hand. In his other arm, he carried several bags overflowing with maternity and baby supplies. The silence was absolute. Every eye in the room was fixed on Lily’s swollen belly. Sarah’s voice trembled. “What is she doing here?” My mother’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled Tim into a tight hug. “Who is she?” The question I hadn’t asked, my mother asked for me. David didn’t answer. He let go of Lily and grabbed my suitcase. “Where are you going?” I wanted to give him a dignified smile, but I realized he didn’t deserve it. My voice was flat. “Somewhere my son and I belong.” His eyes widened in panic. “Just… just for a little while, then? I’ll come get you. We can…” “Ow!” Lily cried out, interrupting him. “David, my stomach hurts.” He instantly forgot about me, his face flooding with panic. He swept Lily up into his arms and started carrying her toward our bedroom. “Daddy!” Tim’s small voice cut through the tension. The white gauze on his arm was a glaring reminder of everything that had happened. “Daddy, are you still going to celebrate my birthday with me?” The childish innocence of his question stunned everyone into silence. My father-in-law closed his eyes in defeat. Sarah turned away to hide her tears. My dad picked up my suitcase. His voice was low and firm. “Let’s go, Chloe. We’re going home.” David’s arms seemed to slacken around Lily. “Wait!” He pushed Lily away and stood in front of me and Tim. “Lily has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. After it’s over, I’ll come straight to your parents’ house to pick you both up.” I stared at him, bewildered. “You don’t have to—” He cut me off, barreling ahead with his own plans. “That villa we looked at in South Hills, the one you said you liked? I bought it. You and Tim can move in there.” “You always wanted a garden. I already had the property manager plant those pomegranate trees you love.” I frowned. “David, really, you don’t—” “And Tim,” he continued, his voice softening as his gaze fell on our son’s bandaged arm. “I had my assistant contact a specialist. We have a consultation this weekend. I promise, he won’t have a single scar…” “David.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I cut him off, pulled the divorce papers and a pen from my bag, and signed my name right there in front of everyone. “If you really want to make it up to me, then sign this. Now.” “Let’s get a divorce.”

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I had been with Christopher for over five years. That day, I came home with the freshly printed wedding invitations, planning to surprise him. The kitchen light was warm and inviting. He was laughing and joking with the new housekeeper. She took a spoonful of soup from his bowl, tasted it, and then playfully tapped his chest. “You’re lying. It’s not salty at all.” My fingers tightened, crumpling the invitations into a ball. I walked straight to the trash can and threw them in. “Looks like my fiancé is getting a new girlfriend.” 1 Sarah had only been with us for a month. She was the cousin of our regular housekeeper, Mrs. Davis. A few weeks ago, Christopher had gone skiing and broken his leg. The doctor had ordered two months of strict bed rest. Just then, Mrs. Davis had a family emergency and had to leave in a hurry, so she asked her cousin to fill in for her. I was away on a business trip when she arrived. With Christopher unable to travel, I, as the vice president, had to oversee the company’s out-of-state projects. During that time, he mentioned her a few times in our chats: “Sarah is really efficient. And she’s a great cook.” I assumed she was around Mrs. Davis’s age and mentally filed her under “dependable, middle-aged housekeeper.” But when I got home and opened the door, the woman I saw was only a few years older than us. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her apron was spotless, and her expression was neutral. I set down my bag and smiled. “Sarah, I picked this silk scarf out for you at the mall. Thank you for taking care of Christopher all this time.” I took a gift box out of my bag. It was originally for Mrs. Davis. I always brought her a small gift when I returned from a trip, partly as a bonus, and partly because she’d been with us for four or five years and felt like family. Sarah looked at the box but didn’t reach for it. The silence stretched for a moment. “Please, don’t feel obligated,” I added. “It’s just a little something extra. It won’t be deducted from your salary.” She looked up. “Miss Vance, this is my job. I haven’t done anything to deserve a gift. You don’t need to give me anything; I will do my job well regardless.” The sound of our voices must have reached the bedroom. Christopher wheeled himself to the doorway. I instinctively moved to help him, but before his wheelchair had even stopped, Sarah was already there, her hand on the handle. My outstretched hand hovered in the air for a second before I pulled it back. I told myself she was just a no-nonsense, efficient person. “What’s wrong?” Christopher asked, looking up at me. I smiled. “Nothing. I was just giving Sarah a gift I bought for her.” I held out the scarf. He took it, glanced at it, and nodded. “Claire always has excellent taste. This will look great on you, Sarah.” He then handed the box directly to her. This time, Sarah didn’t refuse. She accepted it naturally. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes.” She paused, then nodded at me. “And thank you, Miss Vance.” I mumbled an acknowledgment and took my laundry to the bedroom, making a mental note of the exchange. The gift had ended up in her hands, but who it came from clearly mattered. “Claire, you’re in for a treat tonight. Sarah is an amazing cook,” Christopher said from his wheelchair, holding my hand. From the open door, I could faintly hear the clatter of pots and pans. “Did you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” I reminded him. “Of course. You think I’d forget something like that?” he said, tapping the tip of my nose with a familiar, playful gesture. His easy manner made me smile, and I pushed the earlier flicker of annoyance aside. A moment later, the door clicked open. “Sir, dinner is ready,” Sarah announced as she walked in. I had just gotten out of the shower. The bathroom was still steamy, and my hair was dripping as I was about to change. She had entered without knocking. I quickly clutched my towel tighter, my expression hardening. “Why didn’t you knock?” It had always just been me, Christopher, and Mrs. Davis in the house. Mrs. Davis was meticulous about etiquette; she would knock even if she was just bringing a glass of water. I’d gotten into the habit of not locking my door at home. Sarah looked taken aback for a second, a hint of embarrassment on her face. “We’re all women. It’s not a big deal.” A retort died on my lips. I was still undressed. I took a deep breath. “Could you both please leave?” Sensing my mood, Christopher quickly intervened. “Sarah didn’t mean anything by it. We’ll wait for you outside.” He gestured for her to push his wheelchair out. The door closed, and I heard the sound of the wheels fading down the hallway. I took another deep breath, grabbed my loungewear from the chair, and quickly dried my hair and got dressed. My reflection in the mirror was still tense. It wasn’t just about the small incident; it was the feeling of my boundaries being so easily crossed. 2 When I walked into the living room, Christopher had already started eating. Sarah was also seated at the dining table, her head bowed over her plate. The four dishes and soup were still steaming. My spot was empty. There wasn’t even a place setting for me. “When Mrs. Davis was training you, did she not mention that you’re not supposed to sit at the table with your employer without permission?” I asked, my voice tight with displeasure. It wasn’t that I was being unreasonable. I had invited Mrs. Davis to eat with us before, but she had always insisted on following the rules, citing professional boundaries. Sarah, however, seemed unfazed. “This is how I’ve been eating this whole time. Mr. Hayes said it was fine.” Christopher chimed in. “It’s no big deal, Claire. Come on, sit down and eat.” I didn’t move. I just stood there, looking at them. In the silence, the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain sounded jarringly loud. Christopher, sensing my anger, wheeled himself over and looked up at me. “Claire, don’t be mad. Please, sit.” “Tell her to leave the table,” I said. “Claire…” he started to argue. “Tell her to leave the table,” I repeated, leaving no room for negotiation. After a tense moment, he relented. “Sarah, would you mind eating in the kitchen?” Sarah’s face tightened. She scraped her chair back, a short, sharp sound against the floor. She seemed to have grown accustomed to her easy dynamic with Christopher, and my return had disrupted it. A flicker of emotion crossed her face before she suppressed it and prepared to stand. “Wait,” I said, turning to Christopher. “Did you not tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” He finally looked down at the table. Almost every dish was sprinkled with it. “Uh…” He was at a loss for words. “Miss Vance, it’s not Mr. Hayes’s fault,” Sarah cut in quickly. “I forgot while I was cooking. I added it out of habit.” “Then remake it,” I said flatly. “Claire, let it go. Just pick it out tonight. Sarah will remember next time,” Christopher tried to placate me. I didn’t say another word. I walked to the table, picked up the dish closest to me, and dumped its contents into the trash can. The sound of the sauce splattering was sharp and clear. “Then no one eats.” Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Claire, what are you doing?” He bit back the rest of his sentence, knowing, ultimately, that this was Sarah’s mistake. I ignored them both, grabbed my car keys and purse from the entryway, and left. I didn’t go back that night. Instead, I stayed at my small apartment near the office for a few days. I’d bought it for late nights during a big project. It was sparsely furnished but was only a five-minute walk from work. For days, Christopher bombarded me with messages: What time are you getting off work? Have you eaten? When are you coming home? Normally, he would have just driven over and waited for me downstairs. But with his leg, he was stuck at home, his frustration channeled into a relentless digital assault. I didn’t block him, but I rarely replied, occasionally sending a curt “Busy.” On the sixth day, he sent a longer message, asking if I wanted to look at wedding venues with him that weekend. He said he’d contacted several planners, checked on dates and budgets, and wanted me to pick my favorite. His tone was sincere, and I didn’t want to drag out the stalemate. I decided to accept the olive branch and went home. 3 When I walked in, a floor lamp cast a soft glow across the living room. On the balcony, Sarah was watering the plants. She glanced up when I entered but said nothing. I didn’t greet her either and went straight to the bedroom. Christopher was on the sofa, a stack of brochures from wedding planners on his lap. They were filled with photos of chapels, outdoor lawns, and grand hotel ballrooms. He saw me and immediately beckoned me over. “Claire, you’re finally back. Come, see which one you like.” I sat down and flipped through a few pages, nodding as I looked. “Don’t be so hard on Sarah,” he began. “She had a tough time. Her ex-husband was abusive, and she finally got a divorce. It’s not easy raising a kid on her own.” I stopped turning the pages and looked at him. “Are you defending her?” He quickly changed his tone, a mix of pleading and placating, and took my arm. “Of course not. I’m always on your side. I already told her, no more cilantro in the food.” His hand was warm, his voice soft. I looked at him, and the anger inside me began to dissipate. “Fine,” I said, my voice still a little cool, but the tension was gone. Just then, there were two knocks on the door. “Sir, Miss Vance, dinner is ready.” This time, she was perfectly polite. She waited for us to come out before she brought the food from the kitchen, and she didn’t sit at the table. After setting down the dishes, she recited the menu, adding pointedly, “None of these have cilantro.” I glanced at the plates. The seasoning had indeed been changed. Christopher took the opportunity to add, “Try it today. If you don’t like it, we can adjust it.” I nodded and sat down. The atmosphere was still a bit strained, but it was an improvement. I put the brochures aside to look at after dinner. After eating, I went to my room to catch up on some emails. As I relaxed, a wave of drowsiness washed over me, and I lay down for a quick nap. I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard a clattering sound from my nightstand, like someone was rummaging through the drawer. I shot up, fumbling for the bedside lamp. In the sudden light, an eight-or-nine-year-old boy was crouched by the nightstand, my lipstick and a bottle of perfume in his hands. “Who are you?!” I jumped out of bed, blocking the door. The boy glanced at me, said nothing, and bolted for the living room. I chased after him and grabbed his arm. “Who are you? Who let you in? Sarah! Sarah!” I yelled. The sudden confrontation scared him. He threw himself on the floor and started kicking and screaming. I was stunned by his reaction. Just then, I heard footsteps. Sarah came in from outside, saw the boy, and immediately rushed to his side, shielding him. “Miss Vance, what happened?” she asked, her eyes wary. The boy, seeing a familiar face, dropped the act, scrambled to his feet, hid behind her, and made a face at me. “Did you bring him here?” I demanded. “He’s my son,” she replied. “There was no one at home, so I picked him up from school and brought him here for a little while.” Before I could say anything, she added, “I already asked Mr. Hayes. He said it was okay.” A surge of anger rose in me. I went to the study and dragged Christopher out. He had no idea what was happening. “What’s wrong?” he asked, bewildered. “This child. You said he could come into our home?” I pointed to the living room. He nodded. “Sarah had no one to watch him. He’s too young to be alone.” I didn’t argue. I just pushed him back toward the bedroom. “Then how are you going to take responsibility for this?” He followed my gaze to my vanity and froze. It was a disaster. Foundation, blush, and brushes were scattered everywhere. Several lipsticks were broken. Two perfume bottles were open, their contents spilled on the floor, the strong scent overwhelming. One of them was a new Chanel I had just bought.

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When I started college, my mom came up with the brilliant idea of giving me my allowance in “installments.” “Penny, you’re all grown up now. To help you develop financial planning skills, I’ve decided to give you your allowance in installments.” At first, I thought she meant monthly, or maybe even weekly. But on move-in day, after she toured the cafeteria, she Venmoed me exactly $1.05. I was confused. “Mom, did you send the wrong amount?” She smiled and shook her head. “Silly girl, that’s for your lunch today. I checked the prices; you can get the cheapest meal deal at that one stall.” “From now on, just submit an expense request to me for every meal based on this standard.” I stood there, completely dumbfounded. So when she said installments, she didn’t mean monthly or weekly. She meant per meal. By the third day, I was standing in the breakfast line, short 25 cents for a boiled egg. When I texted her, instead of sending money, she replied: “I bought your brother a house in cash yesterday. I’m tight on funds right now. Skipping a meal won’t kill you.” The cafeteria lady’s look of surprise and pity burned a hole through my fragile self-esteem. That day, holding the egg the lady gave me for free, I went on a job search site and found work. But later, when I finally stopped needing her, she panicked. Chapter 1 On the fourth day of orientation, I agonized over the text, deleting and retyping before finally hitting send. “Mom, there are still a few days of orientation left. If I don’t eat breakfast, I won’t have the energy to train.” “Can you send me two dollars?” To my surprise, she replied instantly. But when I read the message, my heart sank. “Two dollars? Isn’t an egg like a dollar fifty? Why do you need so much? Are you trying to scam me?” Sweat trickled down my forehead. My stomach was cramping from hunger. Still, I explained carefully: “One egg isn’t enough. I want to buy a bagel too.” This time, she didn’t reply for a long time. My roommates had already finished their breakfast and were heading to the field for drills. I clutched my empty stomach, my eyes drifting involuntarily to my roommate’s desk. There sat a box of delicious-looking muffins. Chloe, who slept in the bed next to mine, was a pampered rich girl. On the first day, her parents had frowned at our six-person dorm room. Worried their daughter wouldn’t sleep well or would clash with her roommates due to her “unique” personality. I still remember her mom, a powerful CEO type, tirelessly asking the rest of us to look after her daughter. It was a side of a mother I had never seen in my own. Right now, Chloe was complaining about a hole in her uniform. I thought about it, then tossed my shattered pride to the wind. I picked up my uniform and said to Chloe, “Chloe, I’ll trade with you. But can you… give me a muffin?” Instantly, I felt burning gazes on my back. Then came the snickers. “Is she starving or something? Does her family not feed her?” My face burned, but I couldn’t say a word. Because since I started college, they really didn’t want to feed me anymore. Just as I thought Chloe would mock me like the others… I felt a warmth in my palm. I looked up. A muffin had been placed in my hand. Chloe didn’t say a word. She swapped our uniforms and left the room. As I ran to the field gnawing on the muffin, I got a text from my brother. “Penny, heard you asked Mom for money this morning. She was so upset she couldn’t even eat. I have to say something.” “Mom’s been stressed about the renovation costs lately. You shouldn’t keep asking her for money. Here, I’ll send you a little to tide you over. Don’t bother Mom for a while.” I stared at the two messages, frozen. Finally, I wiped my stinging eyes. I accepted the five dollars my brother sent. Yeah, enough to get me through the rest of orientation. But I still never expected my mom to love me this little. Halfway through training, the RA suddenly called me out. She asked me seriously, “Did you scam money from your family?” Chapter 2 I looked at the RA blankly. “No, I didn’t.” Her expression darkened. “You’re Penny Zhu, right? Your mom just called me, naming you specifically, saying you tricked your brother into sending you money behind her back.” “Student, online scams are serious. If you have financial trouble, tell your parents first. If not, come to me. Don’t go down the wrong path!” Her words felt like a bucket of ice water. So that’s it. I took my brother’s money, yes, but I never tricked him. To prove my innocence, I pulled up the chat history with my brother. “RA, I really didn’t scam him.” The young woman in front of me, only a few years older, looked surprised after reading the messages. “Five dollars?” I nodded. Just then, my brother called. With the RA’s nod, I answered. Immediately, my sister-in-law’s voice screeched through the phone: “Penny, what is wrong with you? You know your brother and I are stressed about renovation costs, and you still ask him for money?” “Send it back right now!” Embarrassed, I lowered my voice. “I didn’t ask him for it. He gave it to me voluntarily.” But she wasn’t listening. She cursed into the phone, “Your mom was right, you’re just a money-loser! If you hadn’t jinxed your dad to death, would your brother and I be struggling like this?!” Of course. Family knows exactly where your weak spots are, and where to pour the salt. Hearing her mention Dad, I shook with rage, clutching the phone. “Shut up!” That was probably the first time I ever spoke to her like that. There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then she exploded, spewing every curse word imaginable. But what hurt the most wasn’t her words. It was Mom’s voice in the background. “Yes, scold her good.” “She took money she shouldn’t have. She deserves it!” The call ended with a click. I stood there, legs trembling. Seeing the RA’s complicated expression, I instinctively apologized, “Sorry RA, causing you trouble…” But she interrupted me. When she looked at me again, her eyes were full of gentleness. “It’s not your fault, Penny.” “I’ll testify for you. You didn’t scam them.” She took my phone and, before I could react, opened my Venmo QR code. “Five dollars isn’t enough for anything. If you have trouble in the future, come to me first.” A notification chimed. “You received $50.00…” I waved my hands in shock. “No, RA, I can’t take your money.” She shook her head, face serious again. “What are you thinking? Consider it a loan.” I didn’t cry when I starved for three days. I didn’t cry when my sister-in-law cursed me out. But feeling the kindness from an RA I’d only known for three days, tears streamed down my face. With her help, I ate full meals for the next few days and finished orientation. Job hunting went smoothly too. Passing out flyers at the mall, $15 an hour. I calculated I could pay the RA back in a week. But the day I got my first paycheck, Mom called. “Penny, did you sneak out to work part-time?” Chapter 3 I was in disbelief. Aside from my roommates, I hadn’t told anyone about the job. Suddenly, I realized something. Yesterday was Saturday. I left early and tried to be quiet, but I still woke Chloe up. She snapped immediately: “Penny, are you sick? Why are you making so much noise this early? Don’t you know I’m sleeping?” I was in the wrong, so I apologized patiently: “Sorry, I’ll be more careful next time.” But she wasn’t satisfied. She rolled her eyes as she got out of bed. “Parents send you to college and you run off to hand out flyers. How pathetic.” That was my first taste of Chloe’s temper. I didn’t have the standing to fight her. Besides, she was right. I was pathetic. I just wanted to eat. But would she tell my mom? Confused, I heard my mom say, “Since you can make money now, I’ll pause your allowance.” I sighed in relief. But after hanging up, she sent me a “bill.” Black and white, listing eighteen years of raising me. I owed her $180,000. “Repayment Installment Plan: Penny pays $1,000 a month.” I tried to type, but my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. Mom sent another voice note. “Considering you’re still young and can’t earn much, I’ll give you a discount. Just pay me $700 a month during college. After graduation, you’ll have to pay more.” The more I listened, the dizzier I got. When I was born, no one told me my life came with a debt. Or maybe I really did owe her. After all, three years ago, I was indirectly responsible for Dad’s accidental death. It was the first semester of tenth grade. I got into the city’s top high school. Everyone was happy, especially Dad. But back then, Dad’s project payment hadn’t come through. To scrape together my $200 monthly living expenses and the $1,000 for books and dorm fees… Dad took a temp job at a construction site. On the phone, he sounded happy, saying he’d be home with the money in three days. But fate played a cruel joke on me, and on my honest, hardworking father. He never came home with the money. An accident kept him forever at that sun-scorched construction site. That’s why I accepted Mom’s “installment plan” for my allowance. But now, three years later, the bullet fate fired finally hit me right between the eyes. I realized belatedly that there are mothers in this world who truly don’t love their children. Fine. Since I owe her. Once I pay it off, I’ll be free, right? In one week, I applied for financial aid and studied like my life depended on it between shifts. Fueled by spite, I forced myself to stand outside the mall all day. I wanted money. Lots of money. But back then, I didn’t realize that just burning through your health doesn’t equal making money. On the fourteenth day of working, my blood sugar crashed. Through blurry vision, I saw a white-haired old lady saying something to me. But before I could respond, I face-planted onto the ground. When I woke up, a kind stranger had taken me to the hospital. And with that, I met my first turning point. By my bedside, the first person I saw was that old lady. Yesterday, I helped her push her recycling tricycle across the street. Today, she held my hand, eyes full of tears. “Nana, you’re awake?” “Grandma has been watching over you. Don’t be scared, don’t be scared.” Chapter 4 I looked at her in confusion. Before I could ask why she called me “Nana,” Mom called. Answering, I still held onto a sliver of hope that she might care. But she was just here to collect. “Penny, you’ve been working all weekend, right? You must have made some money. Remember to transfer it at the end of the month. Oh, just send it directly to your brother.” The smell of disinfectant was sharp. My eyes watered. Just as I was about to tell her I fainted and was in the hospital… The door burst open. A young man in a suit rushed in. He looked expensive. Who was he here for? I watched as he walked over. “Grandma, why did you run off again?” “I heard you were at the hospital, you scared me to death!” I realized. He was the old lady’s grandson. I thought he would take her away. But the man stared at me blankly. Then, his eyes turned red. “Grandma, the ‘Nana’ you talked about… is her?” I was lost. While still confused, I was handed a contract. This time, not a repayment bill. But a “Sponsorship Agreement.” Grandma held my hand, not looking away for a second. The man’s mouth moved: “I’m Chen. My grandma misses her late granddaughter and mistook you for Nana. She’s been looking for you for days.” “As for just now, I heard your phone call. You seem to be in a tough spot. Maybe this contract can help you, and help us.” Feeling like I was in a dream, I read the contract. Chen was telling the truth. Three years ago, his sister Nana died in a car accident near that mall. Grandma couldn’t handle the grief and started collecting recyclables around the mall every day. By chance, she saw me handing out flyers and mistook me for Nana. Because Nana had been working part-time there when the accident happened. She had been looking for me for three days. Today I fainted, and she just happened to find me. This time, she finally saved her “granddaughter.”

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After I closed a $50 million deal for the company, my boss told me: “Honestly, you’re really not as outstanding as Tiffany.” Who? The intern I’ve been mentoring? Seeing my confusion, he doubled down: “Isn’t it true?” “We’ve worked together for years, but you’re always strictly business. No personal touch at all.” “Unlike Tiffany. She hasn’t even gotten her first paycheck, yet she paid out of her own pocket to buy everyone a latte.” “She understands the principle of ‘being a person before doing business’ better than you do.” I suddenly understood. You prefer a $3 latte over a $50 million contract, right? No problem! Right in front of his face, I dialed a number. “Is this Sarah? About that job offer you mentioned last week… I’m in.” “Yes, I’m bringing a $50 million contract and over a hundred client accounts with me.” 1 The final signature was inked on the project proposal. The $50 million letter of intent was a done deal. I dragged my exhausted body back to the office, feeling like I was about to fall apart after three consecutive all-nighters. My temples throbbed painfully. Just as I sat down, before the chair even warmed up, Tiffany walked in carrying a huge bag of coffee. She breezed through the cubicles and headed straight for the boss’s office. Her voice was crisp, laced with that specific, careful eagerness to please that interns have. “Mr. Wallace, you’ve been working hard. Have a coffee to perk up.” Soon, a cup of cheap coffee appeared on everyone’s desk in the office. $3 a cup, thanks to a coupon deal on DoorDash. Tiffany used her meager intern salary to treat the entire team. For a moment, the office was filled with the sound of straws piercing lids and murmured thanks. My boss, David Wallace, walked out of his office holding that cup of coffee, his face glowing. He cleared his throat, and the air in the room seemed to freeze for a second. “Everyone got their coffee, right?” “This is from Tiffany, out of her own pocket. She said it’s a treat for everyone’s hard work lately.” He raised the paper cup like he was making a toast. “This spirit Tiffany has is something we should all learn from.” “An intern who hasn’t even been paid yet, but knows gratitude, knows how to give back to the team.” “What is this called? This is called knowing how to be a person! She has a bright future!” His gaze swept across the room, pausing on me for barely a second before moving on, as if I were just a potted plant on a desk. There was no praise in that look, no acknowledgment, not even a ripple of emotion. For this project, I led the team through a month of overtime, sleeping in the office for the last three days. The $50 million deal I secured was enough to support half the company’s revenue for the coming year. Yet in this moment, the value of all that seemed to vanish into thin air. The air was thick with the cloying scent of cheap creamer, drilling into my nose and making me nauseous. Colleagues around me sipped their coffee, heads down. No one looked at me—maybe they didn’t dare, or maybe they felt it wasn’t necessary. Tiffany stood beside the boss, head slightly bowed. A shy, proper smile played on her lips, like a newly bloomed, harmless white lotus. The sheer absurdity of it washed away all my exhaustion. I stood up, washed my face, grabbed the signed contract, and knocked on David Wallace’s door. “Come in.” I placed the contract on his desk, concise as always. “David, it’s done. Take a look.” He leaned back in his chair, slowly took a sip of his latte, and then flipped through the contract. He didn’t read the specific terms, just flipped to the signature on the last page, nodded, and pushed the contract aside. Then he looked up, scrutinizing me. My expression was probably blank. I couldn’t even squeeze out a perfunctory smile. He saw it. He put down the coffee, interlaced his fingers on the desk, leaned forward slightly, and adopted a “fatherly advice” posture. “Jane, sit.” I didn’t move. He didn’t care and started talking anyway. “Are you upset because I praised Tiffany out there and didn’t mention your contribution?” 2 I remained silent. He sighed, as if disappointed by my lack of understanding. “Jane, to be honest, you really aren’t as outstanding as Tiffany.” He said this as casually as if commenting on the weather. I looked at him—this boss I had followed for seven years, helping him grow the company from a tiny workshop to its current scale. His face wore an earnest look of “I’m doing this for your own good.” “We’ve worked together for so many years, but every time, you’re strictly business. No personal touch at all.” “Project finished, report submitted, and then what? Nothing.” “Have you ever thought about how to win people’s hearts? How to build team cohesion?” He pointed at the latte on the desk, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “Unlike Tiffany. She hasn’t even gotten her paycheck, yet she paid out of her own pocket to buy everyone a coffee.” “It’s not much money, but that thoughtfulness? How many people can do that?” “She understands the principle of ‘being a person before doing business’ better than you do.” I listened expressionlessly, my heart calm, even finding it a bit funny. So the $50 million I exchanged for my health and energy was worth less to him than a $3 latte. He seemed to forget that the project bonus for everyone in the team would be enough for them to buy a franchise of that coffee shop. I looked at his self-righteous face, slightly puffy from years of wining and dining. Suddenly, everything became clear. Moments from the past that I had deliberately ignored, comforting myself with “he’s just focused on the work,” now flashed through my mind like a movie reel. This wasn’t the first time. Shortly after Tiffany arrived, we were bidding for a municipal project. He asked me to mentor her. Since she was new, I didn’t dare give her core tasks, just let her review materials from my past projects to get familiar with the workflow. Meanwhile, I locked myself in a conference room with two others, grinding day and night for half a month to produce the bid proposal. Every figure was accurate to two decimal places; every plan had a risk assessment. Tiffany, finding the work I assigned too easy, spontaneously made a “conceptual” presentation using a PowerPoint template—only a dozen slides, but with beautiful graphics and cool animations. But at the final internal review meeting, David slammed my proposal on the table and pointed at Tiffany’s PowerPoint. “Jane, look at this! This is visualization! This is user experience!” “Your report is hundreds of pages of dense text. Who has the patience to read that?” “Learn from her! Highlight the key points, make it clear at a glance!” He publicly praised Tiffany for being “inspired” and “understanding communication,” completely ignoring my painstaking cost-benefit analysis. In the end, he demanded I “optimize” my proposal according to Tiffany’s PPT style. I told him many ideas in that PPT were flashy but impractical and impossible to implement. He called me stubborn, inflexible, and “too rigid.” I compromised. I spent two days stuffing my hard work into that hollow, flashy shell. We won the project, of course, because the core data and plans were mine. But at the celebration dinner, David specifically called Tiffany to the main table and said in front of everyone: “We won this thanks to Tiffany’s creativity. Young people have such lively ideas.” 3 Another time, to land a difficult client, I studied all their public information beforehand, even reading several industry papers the client had published. At the negotiation table, I pinpointed his pain points and proposed a partnership plan he couldn’t refuse. On signing day, the client privately told me: “Jane, your professional capability is the strongest I’ve seen.” The company held a celebration dinner. During the meal, Tiffany went around toasting the leaders, spouting flattering words that made David beam with joy. She even remembered David didn’t eat cilantro, silently picking it out of the dish in front of him. After the dinner, in the parking lot, David stopped me, reeking of alcohol. “Jane, look at Tiffany. She knows how to handle people.” “And you? You just buried your head and ate the whole time. The client was sitting next to you, and you didn’t even chat with him.” “Business isn’t just about professional skills. When will you learn how to navigate social situations?” In that moment, I felt incredibly tired. I won the client with professionalism, by creating value for them. Not by flattering them at a dinner table or remembering their dietary restrictions. It’s not that I can’t do these tricks; I just disdain them. I thought that in the workplace, ultimately, results speak for themselves. Now I understand, I was wrong. In David’s world, capability is important, but that’s the baseline, taken for granted. The “social skills” that satisfy his vanity as a boss, making him feel respected and surrounded by admirers, are the bonus points. He doesn’t need a warrior who can conquer territories; he needs a servant who knows how to kowtow. The company’s business model is mature, the client base stable. In his eyes, my value has been squeezed dry. I am a high-speed machine that can now be replaced by countless younger, cheaper, more “personable” parts. He no longer needs a hero to open new frontiers; he needs a courtier to sing his praises. I watched his mouth still moving, spewing clichés about “growth” and “long-term vision.” I confirmed it. The time had come. Seven years. I spent my best years here. I charged into battle for him, cleaned up countless messes, and created countless profits. I hold over half the company’s core client resources in my hands and know the critical points of every link in the business line. I thought this was my career, the fruit of my blood and sweat. But now it seems I was just a self-important employee. Fine. I interrupted his lecture, my voice calm enough to surprise even myself. “…Mr. Wallace, you’re right.” He was still droning on, spittle almost flying onto my face. Those grand principles about “big picture,” “EQ,” and “team cohesion,” coming from his greasy mouth, tasted like chewed-up sugarcane—flavorless. I looked at him and nodded solemnly during a pause in his speech. My face showed a perfect expression of “sudden realization” after being enlightened. “Mr. Wallace, I understand now.” A smug look appeared on his face. He was about to add a few concluding remarks to wrap up this “teaching moment” perfectly. But I didn’t give him the chance. Meeting his surprised gaze, I took my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it, found a number, and pressed dial. The call connected almost instantly. “Hello, Jane? Have you thought about it?” A capable, steady female voice came from the other end. I glanced at David. His expression shifted from smugness to shock, his brows furrowing tightly, eyes full of confusion and wariness. He thought I was acting, threatening him in a childish way. I put it on speaker. The voice wasn’t loud, but clear enough for the other person in the office to hear. “Sarah, about the job offer you mentioned last week… I’m in.” 4 David’s pupils constricted sharply. I continued, my tone as calm as if confirming a regular order. “Yes, I can bring a $50 million annual contract and over a hundred core client resources I’ve maintained for years with me.” “I’ll email you the specific handover list and resource assessment tomorrow.” “That’s wonderful! Jane, I knew I didn’t misjudge you!” Sarah’s voice was filled with undisguised joy. “Don’t worry, the salary and position will definitely satisfy you. We’ve reserved the largest share of the option pool for you. You are welcome anytime!” “Okay, thanks Sarah. I’ll come over once I finish the procedures here.” I hung up and put the phone back in my pocket. The whole process was smooth, without a single hitch. Deathly silence filled the office. David’s face had gone from shocked to completely livid. His chest heaved violently, as if punched in the gut, unable to catch his breath. He stared at me, eyes a mix of disbelief and rage. “Jane!” He slammed the table, making the latte jump. “What is the meaning of this!” “Literal meaning.” I said. “Mr. Wallace, you taught me: be a person first, then do business.” “I think I should change places and learn how to ‘be a person’ properly.” “You…” He was shaking with anger, pointing at my nose, lips trembling, unable to form a complete sentence. He probably never imagined that I, the stable, reliable, even “rigid” machine in his eyes, would one day pull my own plug. His anger finally found an outlet. He grabbed the internal phone, his voice shrill with rage. “Call everyone! Conference room! Now! Immediately!” Ten minutes later, the entire department sat in the conference room, looking confused. The air was heavy; everyone sensed the storm coming. I walked in last and found a seat in the corner. David stood at the head of the table with a dark face, pacing like an enraged bull. He opened with a thunderous accusation. “I called everyone here today to announce something, and to let everyone see someone’s true colors!” His gaze was like a knife, shooting straight at me. “Jane, from our department. An old employee the company spent seven years cultivating.” “Just now, for a meager salary increase, decided to betray the company and jump ship to our competitor!” Gasps filled the room. Everyone’s eyes focused on me, filled with shock and confusion. “That’s one thing. Everyone has their own aspirations, and I, David Wallace, won’t force anyone to stay!” He got more agitated as he spoke, his voice getting louder. “But what is she doing? She wants to take the company’s biggest order and most important client resources with her!” “What kind of behavior is this? This is naked betrayal! Ingratitude! Commercial theft!” He pounded the table, heartbroken, painting himself as a benevolent victim stabbed in the back by his most trusted subordinate. “Did I treat her badly? Which project did the company shortchange her on?” “Relying on a bit of performance, she became self-righteous, arrogant, with zero team spirit!” “The company isn’t hers alone; it belongs to everyone!” “By doing this, she wants to destroy our entire department and smash everyone’s rice bowl!” His speech was impassioned and inflammatory. Colleagues’ expressions shifted from shock to doubt, then from doubt to condemnation. Just then, Tiffany, who had been sitting in the crowd, stood up with red eyes, timing it perfectly.

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I tried to hit on a beautiful woman, and she had me arrested. At the station, the cop asked me, “What exactly did you do to her?” I answered honestly. “I asked for her number. She ignored me. I gave my butt a pat and walked away.” The words were barely out of my mouth when the beautiful woman, who had been silent until now, leaped to her feet and pointed a finger at me. “You son of a bitch, you patted my ass!” she shrieked. “Officer! He slapped my ass! And he squeezed it! A few times! You have to help me!” 1 I was at a bar when I saw her in the booth across from me and fell instantly in love. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw back two shots of whiskey for courage. Just as I stood up, ready to make my move, a voice echoed in my head. The brave step I’d just taken, I silently took back. My buddy, seeing me sit back down, was baffled. “What? You’re over her in five minutes?” I sighed. “Nah, man. I just remembered… I’m not divorced yet.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t get you. You’re too damn honest. You said you’d be faithful, and you actually are?” he scoffed. “For all you know, that woman’s got a whole secret family on the side. Besides, you’re divorcing her tomorrow. You’re just getting a number, not proposing. She’ll never know. It’s fine.” I hesitated. “Just go for it, dude,” he urged. “You look sharp tonight. Sharp enough to make a nun question her vows. Don’t let it go to waste.” He had a point. Convinced, I grabbed my phone and stumbled over to her table. Before my brain could catch up and stop me, I blurted out, “Hi, could I… could I get your number?” She stopped swirling the drink in her hand. For a long moment, there was silence. Then, she reached into her purse and pulled out two marriage certificates. She lifted her chin, her expression a strange mix of pride and detached coldness. “Married.” I was floored. Seriously? Who the hell comes to a singles’ night at a bar when they’re married? Who the hell carries their marriage certificates around with them? Who the hell uses their marriage certificates to ward off unwanted advances at a bar? Seeing my stunned silence, she must have thought I didn’t believe her. She opened one of the certificates, showing it to me under the dim bar lights. Her movements were dramatic, almost like she was showing off. “See? It’s got the official seal. 100% legit. We’ve been married for seven years.” Oh. Literally no one cares. I pursed my lips and turned to leave. 2 When I got back to our booth, my buddy was gone. There was no one to share my moment of utter humiliation with. I grabbed the rest of the liquor on the table and downed it, trying to numb the sting of rejection. But the more I drank, the fuzzier my head got. I touched my cheek. It was burning up. Crap. I was drunk. I have a tendency to run my mouth when I’m drunk, and to avoid another soul-crushingly embarrassing incident, my only thought was to get home. Fast. I called my buddy. No answer. I looked down at the sofa. Of course. His phone was in his jacket, and his jacket was right next to me. I waited a bit longer, but he didn’t come back. I had no choice but to go find him. I pushed myself up and staggered through the maze of tables, plunging into the crowd. The bar was dark, and my slight nearsightedness, amplified by the alcohol, made it impossible to recognize faces. I could only look for his clothes. After weaving through half the bar, I finally spotted his back on the terrace. White shirt, black pants. That was him. As I got closer, I saw he was facing away from me, a cigarette between his fingers, head slightly bowed. He looked completely absorbed, like he was trying to pull off some kind of brooding, handsome poet vibe. It was so not him. Trying to look all deep and mysterious without me, huh? I let out a low snort. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. My eyes traveled down his back, stopping when they reached his ass. I grinned. I strode forward, wound up, and with all my might, I brought my hand down flat on his perfectly round, firm-looking butt. SMACK! The sound was crisp and loud. He froze, his whole body tensing up from the shock, his ass muscles clenching tight. Mission accomplished. My hand was still pressed against him. The texture was soft and springy, with just a hint of startled rigidity. Well, I’d already slapped it. It felt so nice… one little squeeze couldn’t hurt, right? I couldn’t resist. I gave it a couple of squeezes. As I did, I looked up with a goofy grin. “Feel good?” “Are you sick?” My voice and a voice that was definitely not my buddy’s rang out at the same time. But even faster than the voice was the face that loomed into view—a beautiful, furious face. Her brows were knitted together, her eyes blazing with a rage she was barely containing. I knew that face. It was the woman who had just shut me down with her marriage certificate. Shit. Wrong person. I yanked my hand back and hid it behind me like a guilty child. She turned to face me fully, dropped her cigarette, and ground it out with her shoe. She didn’t say a word. She just took a long step toward me. I instinctively took two steps back. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I… I thought you were someone else. I didn’t mean to… your, uh, your ass is just so… springy…” Her expression turned to ice. My drunk brain, now under the pressure of her murderous glare, was short-circuiting. I couldn’t form a single normal sentence. Her chest heaved with fury. She clutched her offended butt, the tips of her ears turning a deep, telltale red. “You again?” she seethed. “Didn’t I tell you I was married? Harassing a married woman… have you no shame? Do you not understand English? Or did you not get a good enough look at the certificate? You want to see it again?” She started digging in her purse for the certificates again. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, no, that’s okay! I wish you and your husband a long and happy life together. I’ll just be going…” “Wait,” she snapped, cutting me off. “You’re not going anywhere.” I looked up. Her expression was dead serious, but there was a flicker of desperation in her eyes, a tremor of panic in her voice. “My marriage certificates are gone.” 3 She frantically patted down her pockets and rummaged through her purse, her panic growing more visible by the second. Finding nothing, she grabbed my arm. “When you slapped me… did you steal them then? I swear they were in my purse when I grabbed my cigarettes! Give them back! They’re really important to me!” I panicked too. Because I honestly hadn’t taken them. I held up my empty hands. “No, miss, I swear, I didn’t take them!” I was wearing a jacket with shallow pockets; there was nowhere to hide them. She was clearly past the point of believing me. “You’ve been trouble since the moment you walked up to me. You don’t look like a good person. Hand them over now, before I call the police.” “I really don’t have them…” “I’m counting to three. And I really don’t want to get physical with you.” I was getting desperate. I wanted to suggest we check the security cameras, but the alcohol had other plans for my mouth. “I’d only be interested in stealing them if you had a Black Card tucked inside,” I slurred. “It’s not like you’re the only one with a marriage certificate.” I’m married too, you know! Who gives a damn about yours? A cold, humorless smile spread across her face. It was the smile of someone who had just been pushed too far. “How did you know there was a Black Card inside?” she asked, her voice dangerously soft. “So you did take it. And now you’re denying it. Fine. Fine.” She pulled out her phone and dialed 911. “That card was for my husband. I have to give it to him tomorrow. I can’t face him without it.” “Hey! You can’t just call the cops!” I lunged for her phone, but she sidestepped me. My momentum carried me forward, and I lost my footing, crashing to the ground. My face scraped against the rough concrete, and a sharp pain shot through my body. By the time the fog of drunkenness and pain cleared, I was in a police station. 4 In the mediation room, a police officer opened his notebook. “Mr. Evans,” he said, getting straight to the point. “What exactly did you do to her?” I’ve always been terrified of cops. My heart started pounding. I was in deep trouble. I quickly replayed the events in my head, reminding myself to keep my mouth shut about the stupid, embarrassing parts. I rubbed my throbbing head, trying to fight back the waves of nausea. “Well… I asked for her number. She ignored me. I gave my butt a pat and walked away.” Seemed accurate enough. I figured bringing up the whole mistaken-ass-slapping incident would be humiliating for me and inappropriate for a married woman like her, so I glossed over it. But the moment the words were out, the beautiful woman, who had been sitting silently beside me, shot to her feet. “You son of a bitch, that was my ass you patted!” she shrieked, pointing at me. “Officer! He patted my ass! And he squeezed it! A few times! You have to do something!” I just sat there, speechless. The officer gently pushed her pointing hand down. “Ms. Wright, please, calm down.” She shook him off, her voice getting louder. “I can’t calm down! I’m a married woman! My husband has never even touched my ass, and this guy gets to first? My chastity is ruined! And my marriage certificates are gone! They’re the most important things I own!” A small crowd of onlookers had gathered outside the door, whispering among themselves. “She’s this worked up over a marriage certificate? Must really love her husband.” “Loves her husband but goes to a bar? Sure.” “Didn’t she say a Black Card was missing too? Probably more worried about that.” “I don’t know, she keeps talking about the certificates.” “She must love him. Who else carries them around all the time?” “What would that guy want with her marriage certificate, anyway?” “Jealousy, probably. Wants to tear them up so he can make a move.” The buzzing voices were driving me crazy. I’d had enough. “It’s just a marriage certificate!” I snapped. “You lose it, you get a new one! What’s the big deal? You acting like you need it to get a divorce tomorrow or something?” The woman froze. She stared at me. “How did you know I’m getting a divorce tomorrow?” I froze. The onlookers froze.

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Julian Thorne and I were both kids when we were kidnapped by the same trafficking ring. Years later, his wealthy biological parents found him. As they tried to take him away, Julian clamped his hand around my wrist, his grip bruising. He looked his parents dead in the eye. “I want her to be my sister. I want to protect her for the rest of my life.” Later, I realized I didn’t want to be his sister anymore. I had fallen in love with him. But Julian shut me down. “That can’t happen, June.” Unable to bear the growing love that felt like a secret sin, I left him in pain. Five years later, we met again. My boss shoved me into the empty seat next to Julian Thorne at a gala. “You look exactly like the ‘one that got away’ on Mr. Thorne’s lock screen,” my boss whispered frantically. “He’s going crazy looking for her.” “Seize the opportunity! You can pull off the ‘long-lost love’ act. I know you can.” I shook my head so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash, wishing I could vanish into the floorboards. “Absolutely not. Boss, trust me, he is not into my type.” Chapter 1 I never dreamed I’d run into Julian Thorne like this. I was accompanying my boss, Mr. Henderson, to a high-stakes investment dinner. Henderson told me there was a billionaire investor worth hundreds of billions who was notoriously difficult. He said I was the only one who could handle it. He promised me a promotion and a raise if I closed the deal. I thought he valued my negotiation skills. Turns out, he was hoping I’d use my face to run a seduction game. The moment we walked into the VIP room, Henderson pointed at the man’s back and winked at me frantically. “That’s him. Whether we land this whale depends entirely on you tonight.” “I did my research. You look exactly like the woman on Mr. Thorne’s lock screen. Use that. Work the ‘replacement lover’ angle. You got this.” Just from his back, I recognized him. The youngest heir to the Thorne Empire, and my brother in name only—Julian Thorne. I shook my head violently, looking for an exit. “Absolutely not. Boss, this is a bad idea. He doesn’t like my type.” “I suddenly have a stomach ache. I need to go. Don’t stop me.” But Henderson grabbed my wrist faster than I could bolt. He dragged me toward Julian, whispering aggressively in my ear. “Where are you going? How do you know if you don’t try?” “I asked around. Julian is known in the circle as the ‘Ice King.’ Dozens of women throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t even blink.” “His best friend, Carter, got drunk once and spilled the beans. He said, ‘You idiots, you don’t know how to give gifts. You want to please him? Find him the girl on his phone. Julian is going crazy looking for her. He calls her name in his sleep.’” “If you didn’t look like his ‘white moonlight,’ this opportunity wouldn’t have fallen into your lap. The future of this company is on you.” Henderson might look like he runs on kale smoothies, but his grip was iron. He shoved me into the empty chair to Julian’s left. Then, pressing down on my shoulder, he put on his best salesman smile—looking entirely like a pimp. “Mr. Thorne, this is our company’s secret weapon, Sarah Lane. Our top manager.” “Don’t let her age fool you. Her skills are impeccable. She handled all my toughest projects.” My heart was in my throat. I regretted leaving the house today without checking my horoscope. Out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but steal a glance at the man I had spent five years trying to forget. His face was still devastatingly authoritative. One look, and I was drowning again. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, looking like the ultimate ‘Old Money’ CEO—forbidden, restrained, with a hint of quiet madness underneath. My mind went blank. I was debating whether to say hello to my long-lost… brother? Ex-crush? But before I could speak, the assistant on his right stood up and snapped at us. “Mr. Henderson, what is the meaning of this?” “Don’t you know Mr. Thorne’s rules?” “No women sit next to him. Especially not cheap knock-offs with plastic surgery trying to copy that face.” “You think playing the doppëlganger card will work? Get out!” Chapter 2 I didn’t just get plastic surgery; I changed my name and my entire identity. I used to be June Thorne. After leaving the Thorne family, I found my biological parents. Now, I am Sarah Lane. No wonder Julian didn’t react when he heard my name. He sat there like an immovable statue, letting his assistant drive away the unwanted pests. He didn’t even spare me a glance. His assistant, Chase, stared at my face like he was appraising a counterfeit handbag. “Miss Lane, you’ve had work done, haven’t you?” “I studied medicine. I can tell at a glance where the knife went in.” “Unfortunately, you’ve miscalculated. The girl in Mr. Thorne’s heart cannot be replaced by a look-alike.” “If she could be replaced, she wouldn’t be ‘the one that got away,’ would she?” “Mr. Thorne doesn’t do rebound romances. He finds them repulsive. You walked right into the firing line. Now get out.” I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles. Why did everyone keep saying I was Julian’s “one that got away”? If only I really was his type. In his eyes, I was clearly destined to just be a sister. Forever. We weren’t related by blood. We were both abducted as children. We spent three years in the hands of traffickers, depending on each other for survival. When I was beaten, he would hug me tight, taking the whip for me. Letting those agonizing strikes land on his small back. When he had a fever, I stayed up all night, changing wet towels on his forehead over and over. When we were starving and managed to snatch a packet of instant noodles, he made me eat the noodles while he drank the soup. We lived in a place worse than a pigsty. One night, a snake bit me. Without hesitation, Julian bent down and sucked the venom from my ankle. I cried, “Julian, am I going to die?” He hugged me and said, “I won’t let you die.” Later, his wealthy biological parents found him. I huddled in the corner, thinking we were finally going to be separated. But Julian clamped his hand around my wrist, looking at his parents with a fierce stubbornness. “I want her to be my sister. I want to protect her forever.” His parents weren’t thrilled. So Julian said: “Then I’m not going back either. Where she is, I am.” “No one separates us.” I was shocked and overjoyed. That’s how I became the adopted daughter of the Thorne family. Julian’s most cherished sister. He really spoiled me. Even though he was just a kid himself, he taught me to read and write. Whatever elite lessons the family arranged for him, he dragged me along. He bought me the prettiest dresses, the rarest toys. He even learned to braid my hair. He raised me from a dirty, scared little girl into a polished, educated eighteen-year-old debutante. Everyone in our circle knew I was the apple of Julian’s eye. Privately, they whispered, “That’s not an adopted daughter; that’s a child bride Julian is raising for himself.” Back then, my heart fluttered. I was secretly happy. I didn’t mind the gossip at all. Because I loved him. I wanted to grow up and marry him. So we could be together forever. But when I finally gathered the courage to confess my feelings… Julian said: “No, June. That can’t happen. You will always be my sister.” His words were a bucket of ice water, chilling me to the bone. But I couldn’t suppress the love that grew daily. You can’t control how you feel. I didn’t want to watch him marry someone else. I couldn’t accept another woman spending her life with him. Unrequited love would eventually make me ugly and jealous. So, I chose to leave. I thought maybe if we were apart, I could curb this almost obsessive need for him. I never expected that five years later, we would meet like this. Being called a shameless “knock-off” by his assistant. Chapter 3 I didn’t dare say a word. I was terrified that if I opened my mouth, he’d recognize my voice. Honestly, this was for the best. He was exactly as the rumors said—high above the masses, uninterested in romance. Dismissive of any woman trying to get close. He had loyal dogs to bark and set the rules for him. I took a deep breath, swallowed the heartache, and bolted faster than a rabbit. When I left five years ago, I decided I would never appear in front of Julian again. Because every time I saw him, my heart relapsed. I couldn’t forget him. I couldn’t stop loving him. Unrequited love is a lonely war, and I was tired of fighting it. Better to stay apart and be safe. I found a bar nearby and started drinking alone. Glass after glass, trying to drown the fire in my chest. I often dreamed of kissing Julian in the dead of night. Things I didn’t dare do in reality, I was a beast about in my dreams. Dream-Julian never rejected me. He would gently pat my head and let me pin him down anywhere. Like against that grand piano in the northeast corner of the living room. After we were taken to the Thorne mansion, he loved pulling me to the piano, teaching me hand over hand. Those were beautiful times. In my dreams, I loved pushing him onto the keys. Taking off his gold-rimmed glasses, unbuttoning his shirt. He always had that faint, lazy smile on his lips. He’d whisper in my ear, “You want to kiss me? How much?” I’d cry and say, “So much.” Julian would use a low, bewitching voice: “Then kiss me, okay?” Dreams blurred reality and gave me liquid courage. I’d pull off his tie, blindfold him, bold and reckless. I’d say, “Okay, don’t move.” But every time, right before my lips touched his… I woke up. It made me so angry I’d throw my pillow across the room. Then I’d close my eyes, trying to replay the scene, trying to fall back asleep and finish what I started. It never worked. Not once. I was drunk now. My hands got itchy. I logged into my old social media account. I hadn’t logged in for years. It was full of my teenage angst, thoughts about Julian I shouldn’t have had. I tried to seal it away, but seeing him tonight churned everything up. I couldn’t help but post one new status: [Everyone says I’m the irreplaceable love of his life.] [If only that were true.] [But only I know, I can never be anything more than his sister.] I didn’t know that one small post would cause a tsunami. Chapter 4 Suddenly, Henderson called me. “Sarah! Where are you? Go to a bar called ‘Serendipity’ right now!” “Mr. Thorne is rushing to Serendipity. This is your last chance!” “He didn’t see your face earlier. As long as he sees your face, you still have a shot!” I lay on the bar counter, slurring my words. “Boss, please, let me off the hook. His assistant already warned me. The doppelgänger trick won’t work.” Henderson wasn’t listening. He was frantic. “You don’t get it! Hard-to-get works! There is no such thing as a bad substitute, only a lazy one!” “He might resist once or twice, but seven or eight times? He’s a man!” “Trust me, I know men. When you can’t have the real thing, a painting of a plum still quenches the thirst.” “I’ll let you in on a secret. Just now, Julian Thorne stood up so fast he shattered his wine glass.” “His assistant asked what happened.” “Thorne’s voice was shaking. He said: She’s online. She’s nearby.” “Turns out, his ‘long-lost love’ logged into an old account and posted something.” “Thorne didn’t even eat. He tracked the IP address personally. It pinged at a bar near the restaurant.” “He looked like he wanted to fly there. He’s on his way now.” “I bet the girl doesn’t want to see him. Otherwise, why stay away for years?” “When he gets there and realizes she won’t go back with him… that is your moment to strike!” I sobered up instantly. Julian was coming here? Who gave Henderson this confidence? Why was he so delusional? Wait. Julian found my burner account? That meant all my girlish pining, my darker possessive thoughts… they were all laid bare before him? My head was splitting. I wanted to delete everything and bury the phone. I stood up, stumbling toward the exit. I needed to flee the scene. But before I reached the door, I heard Julian’s voice. Cold. Controlled. Terrifying. “Lock down the bar. Not even a fly gets out.” His assistant, Chase, followed, promising, “Don’t worry, Mr. Thorne. I have bodyguards at the front and back.” “We will find Miss June this time.” Then Chase saw me. “Hey! Miss Lane! Why are you here?” “Do you not understand English? Still haven’t given up?” “Get out!” A bodyguard hesitated. “Chase, Mr. Thorne said no one leaves…” Chase pointed at me, sneering. “She’s the exception. This Miss Lane wants to play copycat.” “The person Mr. Thorne wants to see least right now is her.” Julian didn’t look at me. Hearing “Miss Lane,” he deliberately averted his gaze, his body language screaming disinterest in any substitutes. He walked straight to the bartender, holding up his phone screen. “Have you seen the girl in this photo?” I kept my head down and fled. I walked out unimpeded. I stumbled out the door, thinking I was safe, only to crash right into Henderson, who had followed the drama. He blocked me. “My dear Sarah! Why are you running out?” “Get back in there! This is a godsend!” He grabbed my arm and tried to drag me back in. I was genuinely drunk now. My brain was foggy, and I was getting agitated. “Mr. Henderson, let go! I’m drunk!” “You know what happens when I lose control!” “If I do something to Mr. Thorne and offend him, don’t blame me!”

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In the fourth year of our marriage, I realized I didn’t love my husband at all. His hand on my waist made my skin crawl. Our nightly goodnight kiss felt like torture. Even his clothes, fresh from the laundry, seemed to carry a foreign, unpleasant scent. But I was the one who had pursued Nick Shaw so relentlessly. This was the bed I’d made, and now I had to lie in it, even if it meant choking back tears. My unhappiness grew, and I wasted away, day by day. Until one afternoon, I saw a conversation on his phone: 【How could you run out on me at a time like that!】 【She’s too in love with me. What if she couldn’t live without me? I can’t be that cruel.】 【If I hadn’t stepped aside back then, would you have chosen me?】 【Yes.】 That day, my mood lifted for the first time in months. I devoured three whole bowls of egg fried rice. 1 The sofa felt crowded. When Nick sat down, his long legs, clad in tailored trousers, naturally pressed against mine. I quietly shifted two inches away, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. He didn’t seem to notice, surrounded as he was by a circle of fawning acquaintances. This reunion had been orchestrated by an old classmate who needed a favor, and Nick was, without question, the center of attention. He carried himself with an easy confidence, a calm that bordered on aloofness. His usual cool demeanor. “You’re a dark horse, man! A rising star in the business world in just a few years. Leaves the rest of us in the dust!” “Anna, you’re the one who really hit the jackpot! But you’d better keep a tight leash on him. Nick was getting love letters by the bundle back when he was a broke student. Now that he’s made it, the women out there must be throwing themselves at him!” “What’s to be afraid of! The way Anna chased Nick back then was legendary! Now she’s gone from a feisty girl to a gorgeous socialite. She can handle any stray butterflies that come fluttering around!” Amid the chorus of flattery, a woman in the corner let out a sharp scoff. It cut through the noise. “Some people just have all the luck, I guess. It’s amazing how a rich girl stealing someone’s man can be spun into a fairytale romance. I guess it’s true what they say—everyone celebrates the new love and forgets the one who was left crying.” The words hung in the air, and an awkward silence fell over the group. I turned to look at the speaker. I recognized her as one of the many girls who had sent Nick love letters back in the day. Her face was flushed crimson; she was clearly drunk. Nick said nothing, merely lifting his wine glass for a slow sip. I understood his silent command: Stay quiet. Don’t engage. Normally, I would have obeyed. But not this time. “The way you say that,” I said, tilting my head, “you’d almost make people think you and Nick were a couple and I broke you up.” The woman froze, her face turning an even deeper shade of red. “I never said that! Don’t twist my words. I was talking about someone else! Are you going to deny that you took advantage of the situation and snatched him from her?” All eyes were on me now, gleaming with the thrill of impending drama. Her words were nasty, and even if I didn’t want a fight, I had to set the record straight. I looked directly at her. “Sorry to disappoint you, but when Nick and I got together, he was one hundred percent single. And if by ‘someone else,’ you mean—” “That’s enough.” Nick’s voice was sharp, laced with annoyance. He set his glass down on the table with a soft thud, the red liquid sloshing inside. “Anna, it’s just a joke between classmates. Don’t be so dramatic. You’re making a scene.” At his words, the other woman shot me a look of triumphant disdain. I pressed my lips together. Dramatic? Someone insults me, and I’m not supposed to defend myself? But as I opened my mouth to argue, a familiar sensation washed over me. It happened all the time lately. A certain phrase from Nick, a specific gesture, sometimes just the sound of his voice would trigger this strange feeling inside me. It was like the seventh bite of a cake that’s suddenly too sweet, a balloon shriveled and wrinkled, the bitter aftertaste of tea left out overnight. All flavor was gone, leaving only a dull disinterest. Suddenly, the whole argument felt pointless. I closed my mouth. The reunion ended on a cheerful note, with everyone saying their goodbyes. As we turned to leave, Nick reached to put his arm around my waist. I subtly sidestepped, avoiding his touch. His lips thinned. He gave me a long, hard look. 2 Later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, Nick emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp. He was an incredibly disciplined man. Despite his demanding work schedule, he never skipped a workout, maintaining a lean, muscular physique. He was tall, with handsome features that could rival any movie star. There was a time when I was completely captivated by his looks. But now, the moment the door opened, I silently turned off my phone and closed my eyes. I felt the mattress dip beside me, his hot breath ghosting across my ear. “Anna, are you asleep?” His voice was deep, heavy with desire. As his fingers began to explore, I opened my eyes and pressed his hand down. “I’m a little tired today.” He froze for a second, his voice tight with frustration. “You’re tired every day.” “Yes,” I said, pushing his hand away and pulling the covers tighter around me. “I’ve been getting tired easily lately. I’m sorry.” He was silent for a long time, unmoving. I let out a sigh of relief and prepared to drift off. But then, he spoke into the darkness. “You don’t have to be like this.” I was half-asleep. “Like what?” A low, cold laugh. “This act you’ve been putting on lately, in public and in private. It’s all because of Sylvia, isn’t it?” 3 I was stunned, unsure why he was suddenly bringing up Sylvia. It took me a moment to understand what he meant. Sylvia. Nick’s old flame. The “someone else” the woman at the reunion had been talking about. The first time I saw Nick, he and Sylvia were standing side-by-side on a campus path, each holding a stack of books, watching me argue with someone. My new car had knocked over a fruit vendor’s cart, and he was wailing for me to pay for damages and his medical bills. No one in the crowd believed me when I said he’d deliberately run into my car. They all accused me of being a rich, arrogant bully. Just as I was about to be swallowed by their accusations, a clear voice cut through the noise. “Since when is fault in a traffic accident determined by who’s rich and who’s poor?” I whipped my head around and saw him. Nick, in a white shirt, dappled in the light filtering through the trees. Tall, lean, and clean-cut. In that one glance, he found a place in my heart. Before I decided to pursue him, I made a special trip to find Sylvia, the campus beauty from the civil engineering department, and ask what their relationship was. They were always together, and everyone assumed they were a couple. Sylvia toyed with a lock of her long hair, thought for a moment, and smiled. “We’re just classmates from the same hometown.” When Nick heard her answer, he was silent for a few seconds before stating, expressionless, “It’s just like she said.” I grew up wealthy, pretty, and bright. My parents taught me to be brave in expressing my love. I had never met a boy like Nick before. Satisfied with their answers, I launched a full-blown, public campaign to win him over. Nick had fought his way out of a poor, rural town and possessed a fierce pride. He rejected me, saying he wouldn’t date anyone until he’d paid off his ten years of student loans. But back then, my world revolved around him. A rare smile, an occasional agreement to have dinner, a casual show of concern—any of these could send me into a state of euphoria and fuel my determination. I chased him for two years, and for two years, he rejected me. What finally broke through his defenses was his mother’s sudden illness. His entire family was helpless in the face of the thirty-thousand-dollar medical bill. As Nick grew thinner with each failed loan application, I took out my entire personal savings and gently asked him to accept it. That day, for the first time, I saw his helplessness, his vulnerability, and his gratitude. Three months later, he appeared below my dorm with a bouquet of roses. I ran into his arms, my face burning. I was trembling with happiness, and his eyes were red-rimmed too. “Anna, how can you love me so much? How did I get so lucky?” At Sylvia’s wedding, when she saw Nick and me arrive hand-in-hand, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face. Later, coming out of the restroom, I saw them standing together on the balcony, talking. It was just like the day I first met them. The wind carried snippets of their conversation to me. “…I was waiting for you to say something back then…” “…Anna is a good girl…” “…I guess we just weren’t meant to be…” At the time, I thought, everyone has a youthful crush. She was married now, and Nick was good to me. We were on our own paths. That was all that mattered. But I never anticipated that life could fire an arrow backward, and that it would come with such devastating force. Six months ago, Sylvia got divorced. She had rushed into a marriage with a trust-fund kid, only to suffer infidelity and domestic abuse. He took their child and his family schemed to leave her with nothing. She found Nick, looking haggard and broken. A man always holds a special place for the girl he crushed on when he was poor. The first time she called, Nick was completely thrown. Perhaps to make up for a past regret, or perhaps to show off how successful he’d become, he threw himself into helping her. For the past six months, he has practically dropped everything for her—paying for lawyers, running around gathering evidence, confronting her ex-husband’s family, even spending holidays with her and her child. At first, I told him how uncomfortable it made me. He looked at me with disappointment, his voice cold. “Sylvia is from my hometown, and she was our classmate. She’s a woman who’s been abused and had her child taken from her. She’s at the end of her rope. Shouldn’t I help her?” So, time and time again, I was left behind. Time and time again, when I couldn’t reach him, I’d see him on Sylvia’s social media feed. A photo of his back as he helped her look for an apartment. His suit jacket draped over her sofa. Four hands playing with her golden retriever. Slowly, I stopped saying anything. When Nick didn’t come home, I went to bed early. When he spent a holiday at an amusement park with her and her son, I bought myself a very expensive handbag. Sylvia’s posts no longer stirred anything in me. I almost liked one out of habit. Nick was pleased with my understanding nature and bought me a large diamond as a gift. I expressed the appropriate surprise and gratitude, but when he leaned in to kiss me, I instinctively coughed and turned away. He froze, a complex expression on his face. And it was from that day on that I had a shocking realization: I think I didn’t love Nick anymore. The thought sent a wave of panic through me. No wonder I recoiled from his touch. No wonder his voice grated on my nerves. No wonder his clean clothes smelled so strangely repulsive to me. I didn’t love him anymore. But I didn’t know what to do. Divorce? On what grounds? That I’d fallen out of love? Marriage wasn’t a game, and I was certain no one would believe that reason. In everyone’s eyes, including Nick’s, I was madly in love with him. Because we didn’t get along? Nick wasn’t an expressive person by nature, but objectively, he treated me well—better after marriage than before. When my father’s company faced a crisis two years ago, he didn’t hesitate to invest heavily to save it. Because of Sylvia? I knew Nick. He wasn’t impulsive. Despite their recent closeness, I was sure nothing physical had happened. At least, not yet. I truly didn’t know what to do. I was trapped. I grew more unhappy, thinner. A pupa in a cocoon, seeing only a gray, hopeless world. Tonight. Now. Hearing Nick mention Sylvia’s name, I felt a sudden urge. My parents taught me to be brave in expressing love. Shouldn’t I be just as brave when the love was gone? “Nick.” My voice was steady in the darkness. “Maybe we should—” He cut me off with a sharp click of his tongue. “Alright, I don’t want to explain anything more about Sylvia.” He rolled over, his voice laced with impatience and restraint. “It’s Mom’s birthday this weekend. Pull yourself together. Don’t show up looking like this and make her worry.” I gazed at the pale moonlight outside the window. A soft, silvery light, just like Sylvia’s name. I let out a long, quiet sigh. 4 I own a small art gallery. It was a twentieth birthday gift from my mother. When a girl is unhappy, she’d said, she needs a place she loves to go to. In the last two years, I’ve been spending more and more time there. On the day of my mother-in-law’s birthday, I was a few minutes late to the restaurant because I was overseeing the delivery of a new collection of paintings. The moment I walked into the private room, I saw Sylvia. She was holding my mother-in-law’s arm affectionately, chattering away in their hometown dialect. They were both laughing heartily. Nick was sitting on a nearby sofa, legs crossed, smiling as he sipped his tea. When he saw me, his brow furrowed slightly. “Anna, I told you to be here early. What could possibly be more important today?” I handed the gift to my mother-in-law and offered a brief explanation. She didn’t take it, just glanced at me from under her heavy eyelids. “Her own mother-in-law isn’t as important as some outsider. I guess she looks down on me for being from the countryside.” I didn’t respond. I simply placed the gift in front of her and found a seat. This was how she always talked. For a long time after we got married, her passive-aggressive comments used to hurt me so much I’d cried to Nick about them several times. I didn’t understand it. Even if we weren’t family, she owed her life to the money I’d given her. Why was she so hostile? Nick’s response was always the same. “My mom had a hard life. For my sake, just try to be more understanding.” But a few months ago, I’d suddenly stopped caring about her attitude. Her barbs and glares bounced right off me. It was like watching a stranger, an old woman talking about someone else’s family. Sylvia smiled. “Anna, your mother-in-law insisted I come and join the fun today. I hope you don’t mind.” I looked at her and smiled back. “Not at all. The more the merrier.” “And please don’t be upset about all the times I’ve had to bother your husband lately,” Sylvia added. “I’d hate for my problems to affect your marriage.” “Don’t be silly. You’re from the same hometown, you were classmates. It’s the least he can do,” I said, popping a Shine Muscat grape into my mouth. I was parched from unloading the paintings. “Oh, and I should let you know, I couldn’t get a cab earlier, so I had Nick pick me up. I told him we should swing by and get you too, but he said it was too far out of the way. He’s still the same old Nick, so careless about things like that!” Sylvia said, beaming. I ate another grape. “I have my own car, it’s more convenient. If you ever need him in the future, just call him. You don’t have to tell me.” A flicker of surprise crossed Sylvia’s face. She paused, then gave a hesitant laugh. “Oh, I couldn’t do that.” “It’s really not a big deal.” As I finished speaking, I turned and saw Nick staring at me, his gaze deep and tinged with displeasure. I had no idea what I’d said wrong this time. But the confusion lasted only a second before I dismissed it. Throughout the meal, the three of them conversed entirely in their dialect. I kept my head down, silently scrolling through my phone. Suddenly, a glass of green juice appeared beside my hand. Nick’s voice was gentle. “I saw you enjoying the grapes, so I had the waiter juice some for you.” I was taken aback. “You juiced Shine Muscats? But I like eating them whole.” I looked up and saw Sylvia staring at the glass in front of me, her eyes gleaming. “Do you like this?” I asked her, pushing the glass in her direction. “You can have it.” Nick abruptly stood up, his voice cold. “I’m going to the restroom.” Later, I stepped outside to take a call from an employee. As I returned to the room, I heard my mother-in-law’s voice, loud and shrill in her dialect. “Four years and she can’t even produce a child. What’s the use of keeping her?” I froze, my hand on the door. Yes, I could understand their dialect. When we first got married, I did many things for Nick. To improve my relationship with his mother, I had secretly learned their language. Nick’s voice was firm. “Mom, I’ve told you before, don’t say things like that. Anna loves me very much, and she’s relied on me even more since her mother passed away. She wouldn’t be able to handle hearing you talk like that.” His mother sighed. “If it wasn’t for my illness holding you back, you wouldn’t have had to sacrifice your own happiness to be with her, and Sylvia wouldn’t have married that scumbag. But it’s not too late. Things are different now. Back then, her family had money. Now, you’re the one supporting her. Just give her a generous settlement in the divorce!” Sylvia’s voice was soft. “Auntie, you shouldn’t say things like that.” My eyes widened. If Nick agrees… A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. The room was quiet for a moment. Then, Nick’s voice, cold and resolute, rang out. “I can’t betray Anna! We’re husband and wife. Mom, she helped you once. Don’t ever say anything like this again!” My feelings were a tangled mess. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. 5 The final, explosive fight between Nick and me was, predictably, about Sylvia. And her dog. I came home one day to find Sylvia sitting on my sofa, the golden retriever from her social media posts lying at her feet. She smiled and explained, “Nick forgot a legal document at home, so I came back with him to get it.” My gaze fell on the crochet toy the dog was viciously tearing apart. It was a knitted rabbit my mother had made for me on her deathbed, forcing her weak hands to work. “I’ve given you many things, but they were all bought with money. Before I go, I want to make something for you with my own hands. Every stitch is my love for you. When you see this little rabbit, it will be like seeing me.” After she died, I placed the rabbit on the TV stand in the living room so I could see it every day. I barely dared to touch it, afraid of getting it dirty or frayed. Now, that rabbit was in the dog’s mouth, being kicked and shredded. The yarn was broken, the cotton stuffing spilling out like snow. A roar filled my ears. I couldn’t speak. I moved stiffly, trying to pry the dog’s jaws open. My mind was blank, filled only with the sound of Sylvia’s shocked cries, the dog’s frantic barking, and Nick’s sharp yell as he rushed out of the study. “Anna, are you crazy! It’s just a cheap toy, what does it matter!” Trembling, I held the tattered remains of the rabbit up to his face and shrieked, “A cheap toy? This is what you see? A cheap toy!?” He seemed to suddenly remember where the rabbit came from. A rare look of panic crossed his face, and he reached for me, flustered. “I’m sorry, Anna! It’s okay, we can fix it, I promise I’ll get it fixed for you!” I gritted my teeth and slapped him across the face. “Get out!” I screamed. “Both of you, get out!” His head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Five red finger marks quickly bloomed on his pale skin, stark and shocking. He stared at me, frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Nick, are you okay?!” Sylvia rushed over, her hands hovering nervously over his face. She turned to me, her voice a furious hiss. “I’ll pay you back! I’ll buy you a hundred, a thousand of them, alright? My dog ruined your toy, why are you hitting him?! Do you have any idea how hard he works every day? Are you even his wife?!” I felt as if I were trapped under a glass dome. The sounds of the outside world grew distant and muffled. The scene before me fractured into a series of still frames. The dismembered rabbit. Sylvia’s red lips opening and closing. Nick’s incredulous eyes. My vision went black, and I fell backward. “Anna!”

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A month before my 35th birthday, a letter arrived informing me that I was to inherit one million dollars from my late parents. I spun around, a grin spreading across my face, ready to share the incredible news with my husband. Mark was just opening his lunchbox when he spoke, his voice flat. “You know, you’re actually kind of an embarrassment to me.” My smile froze, the joy evaporating into confusion. He set his lunch aside and looked at me, his expression calm, almost detached. “Your cooking is decent, I’ll give you that. But compared to Claire? It’s not even close.” “You’re like some tiresome, nagging maid.” The words were spoken so lightly, yet they plunged into my heart like daggers. He continued, lost in his own monologue. “You take good care of me and Lia, I’m not denying that. But when it comes to her education, you’re miles behind Claire. I know Lia’s grades aren’t great, but you don’t have to be so harsh on her.” And just like that, I understood. He was still holding a grudge because I’d lost my temper with Claire—his widowed sister-in-law—for wearing my mother’s necklace to our daughter’s parent-teacher conference, a conference she had attended in my place. His simple words drained all the strength from my body. I felt utterly, completely exhausted. 1 I turned, grabbing my purse, needing to get out. Mark frowned, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist. “Are you going to start making a scene just because I told you the truth?” “Yes.” My mother-in-law, who had clearly heard everything, merely glanced over before returning to her phone. My father-in-law sat fiddling with his radio, completely absorbed. Mark looked at me as if I were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “What is your problem now? Am I wrong? Claire was just trying to help you out by going to the conference for you. So what if she wore your necklace? Can’t you be a little more considerate of others for once?” He was so earnest, as if he were prosecuting me for some heinous crime. Our daughter was falling behind in school, but his family did nothing but coddle her, showing zero concern for her future. Every time I tried to be the “bad guy” and enforce some discipline, Claire would swoop in with her lectures on “positive reinforcement” and letting kids be kids. And my own husband had not only let her go to the conference in my place but had also let her wear the last precious thing my mother had left me. All I had done was mutter a few resentful words, and he had held it against me ever since. “Is it time for lunch? Lia and Leo must be starving.” Claire walked in with the two children, her eyes widening as she sensed the tension. My father-in-law put down his radio and immediately went to his grandson, Leo, ruffling his hair. “Leo, you’re back! Come tell Grandpa where you went to play.” He casually led Leo away from the conflict. Our daughter, Lia, after a hesitant look in our direction, quietly followed them. A pang of bitterness shot through me as I watched my own daughter fade into the background. “Alright, Lydia, stop it. We’re about to eat. Hurry up and get things unpacked,” Mark said, releasing my arm. His tone was not a request; it was a command. Claire stepped forward to help, but Mark stopped her. “Don’t, Claire. You go sit down and rest. This stuff is greasy. You don’t want to get your hands dirty.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Did he ever once think about my hands? I looked at the man I shared my life with and saw a complete stranger. The silence from my in-laws was their verdict. Still, a part of me refused to surrender. “Can you help me, then?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Mark turned to me, a small smile playing on his lips. Hope, fragile and foolish, flickered within me. If he helps me, I thought, I’ll tell him about the money… But his next words plunged me into an icy abyss. “Stop playing the victim.” “You’ve been doing this stuff for years. Why are you being so dramatic now? Claire is gracious enough to offer, and you’re actually going to take her up on it?” “You can’t expect everyone to do everything for you.” His voice was gentle. But the pain in my chest was sharp. I had had enough of his endless, crushing comparisons. 2 Rage, pure and hot, flooded my senses. The picnic lunch I’d been preparing since dawn was sent crashing to the ground. The tent I’d spent an hour meticulously setting up was torn down in a single, violent motion. My rampage was brought to an abrupt halt by the stinging slap of Mark’s hand across my face. “Are you insane?! You’ve completely ruined a perfectly good family outing! Why did I ever marry a woman like you!” “If you can’t handle being here, then get out! Stop acting like a lunatic!” The thread I had been hanging by finally snapped. But in its place, a strange, new feeling washed over me. Relief. An incredible, weightless relief. It was as if those were the words I had been longing to hear. I looked around at them: my father-in-law, a passive observer; my mother-in-law, her face a mask of disgust; and Claire, busy comforting the two children. I suddenly realized that in this family, I had always been the outsider. A hollow laugh escaped my lips, but my heart felt like it was being torn apart. “Fine. As you wish.” I stumbled as I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” My mother-in-law’s voice cut through the air. She grabbed my arm. “What do you think you’re doing?!” “My son has supported you all these years while you haven’t worked a day! And now you do nothing but cause trouble for him! Have you ever once thought about this family?” She softened her tone, a caricature of remorse. “Is it because I didn’t help you unpack? It’s my fault. I apologize. Here, let this old woman help you with your things.” “From now on, I’ll take care of everything, alright?” Claire came over, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Mark is just angry. He didn’t mean it. Don’t take it to heart.” “He already explained about the necklace. He said it was an accident.” “You’re a family. You should talk things through.” “Go on, go say something nice to Mark. Ask him to forgive you.” They were all trying to placate me. But I was the one who was bleeding. “That won’t be necessary.” “I can walk back by myself. That should make you all much happier.” 3 After Mark’s older brother passed away, Mark brought a pregnant Claire to live with us. With two daughters-in-law expecting at the same time, the grief in the house was momentarily overshadowed. My in-laws treated us with a semblance of equality. But the moment Claire gave birth to a son, the scales began to tip. And when I held my newborn daughter in my arms and heard their quiet sighs of disappointment, I knew the fragile peace I had fought so hard to maintain was about to shatter. My daughter and I were their family too. Didn’t I deserve a basic level of respect? But what power does a woman with no income and no support system really have? I tried crying. I tried screaming. All it did was cement my reputation as a shrew. My desperation at his coldness was framed as me being crazy, and my “craziness” became his justification for pushing me further away. They relied on me for every practical need while emotionally exiling me. I became the family maid. It escalated to the point where Mark had Claire attend our daughter’s parent-teacher conferences. Because Claire had a job, dressed well, and looked more “presentable” than I did. They burdened me with endless chores with one hand and condemned my disheveled appearance with the other. The constant psychological pressure wore me down until their rare praise became my only goal in life. And in the end, I still had nothing. No one saw my exhaustion. No one cared. So, let it end. I shook Claire’s hand off my arm. “The range hood in the kitchen is broken. Remember to call a repairman.” “And Mark’s suits should be kept with matching ties. It makes it easier for him in the morning.” “Since you all agree I can’t compare to Claire, I guess these things are her responsibility now.” A flicker of triumph flashed in Claire’s eyes. I felt a strange sense of release. “You don’t need to look so smug about ‘winning.’ You’re just the ‘nice guy’ who swoops in after every fight we have. But when a real problem comes up, you’re never the first one to solve it.” “Doesn’t it get exhausting, being like that?” Looking at this family of hypocrites, I realized that fighting with them was a complete waste of my life. I stormed over to my father-in-law and smashed the radio on the ground. I had bought it for him. He was so picky that I had scoured half the city to find one that met his ridiculous standards. Then, I marched over to my mother-in-law. I yanked the gold bracelet off her wrist and put it on my own. She gasped, reaching for it. “That’s my bracelet!” I deftly dodged her. “This was part of my dowry. You just liked it so much you decided to wear it yourself.” Next, I pulled the jacket off Mark’s shoulders and threw it into a puddle. It was his last birthday present from me. He was furious. “You shrew! You’re being completely unreasonable!” “I bought all of these things.” “Well, didn’t I…” Mark started, then clamped his mouth shut. What could he say? In all our years of marriage, he had never once given me a gift. The few pieces of jewelry I owned were all from my family, from before the wedding. 4 My actions stunned them into silence. I had made scenes before, but they always ended with me trying to win back their approval. My mother-in-law’s chest heaved with rage. My father-in-law’s face was a thundercloud. Seeing her chance, Claire nudged her son, Leo, who immediately ran to his grandparents and hugged their legs, babbling sweetly. My daughter, Lia, started to step forward too, but they deliberately ignored her. As Leo charmed them with his antics, the tension in the air magically dissipated, replaced by warmth and laughter. And Lia just stood there, lost and alone. Just like me. An outsider. I had always known they were biased, but seeing it so plainly still felt like a knife twisting in my gut. How ridiculous. They could be so prejudiced against their own flesh and blood, all because I had given birth to a girl. I had tried to gently bring it up with Mark once. I stated it as a simple fact, but he met me with icy indifference. He asked me, his voice calm, if it wasn’t the truth. If I had given him a son, he said, his family would have treated me just as well. They drove me to the brink of madness, then calmly painted themselves as the victims of my insanity. I never brought it up again. Mark’s eyes were soft as he ruffled his nephew’s hair, but his face darkened the moment he looked at me. If anyone else had been there, he would have pointed at me with that weary, long-suffering sigh. “See? She’s at it again.” But this time, I didn’t scream. I calmly took my daughter’s hand. The sight of me preparing to leave with Lia seemed to finally rattle him. “Alright, alright! I shouldn’t have said those things, okay?” “I’m sorry.” “Now, shouldn’t you be the one to apologize to everyone?” He sounded like he was patiently mediating, but he was just trying to provoke me further. This time, he was destined for disappointment. “Lydia! Don’t push your luck!” He clearly thought his “apology” was a grand gesture, and he was furious that I wasn’t gratefully accepting it. “Move.” The single, cold word slipped from my lips. His anger finally boiled over. “What the hell do you want?! Do you expect the entire family to get on their knees and beg for your forgiveness?!” I looked at him, my face a placid mask. “Could you please get out of my way?” He stared at me, uncomprehending for a second. Then, his rage exploded. Without another word, he slapped me again. “Lydia! If you walk out that door today, don’t even think about coming back!” My cheek burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. He knew. He knew my parents were gone, that this family was all I had left. And he was using it to force me to submit. But I was done submitting. 5 “Mark, let’s get a divorce.” The toxic sludge that had been clogging my heart for years finally dissipated with those words. Claire rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Lydia, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed your lives. If it weren’t for me, you two would never have reached this point.” “If you really can’t stand having me and Leo here, we’ll move out. Please, don’t say things you’ll regret, like getting a divorce.” Her words sounded sincere, but every sentence was designed to drive a deeper wedge between us. It worked. Mark became even more agitated. “No! I promised my brother I would take care of you and his son! If you move out, I’ll be breaking my promise!” Claire wiped a tear from her eye, her gaze full of sorrow as she looked at Mark. “It’s okay. I can raise my son alone. You two can’t get divorced because of me.” Mark whirled on me, his eyes full of venom. “Will you be happy once you’ve torn this family apart?! You want a divorce? Fine! You’ve got it!” “But let me make one thing clear. You haven’t earned a single penny in all these years. When we’re divorced, don’t expect to get a dime from me. We’ll see how you feel then. Don’t come crying back to me.” I looked at his ugly, contorted face and spoke coldly. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for a cent. And I’m taking Lia with me. We won’t be a burden to any of you.” “I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers and send them to your email. See you at City Hall in a month.” With that, I took my daughter’s hand and walked away. A month later, I was waiting outside City Hall as promised. Mark arrived, his eyes darting around, unable to meet my gaze. “You need to be sure about this,” he mumbled. “You can still change your mind.” I didn’t even look at him. “Why are you wasting my time?” I pushed our documents across the counter, urging the clerk to hurry. The moment the divorce certificate was in my hand and I stepped out of that building, I tasted freedom for the first time. At the same instant, my phone buzzed. A new message had arrived. It was the notification that the one million dollars from my parents’ estate had just been deposited into my account.

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I’m a small-time gaming streamer. I have zero mechanical skill, yet somehow, I’m on a massive winning streak. Even with my mods spamming gifted subs, my channel was pretty dead. That is, until I got matched against a pro player, and my viewer count exploded. But before I could even get excited about the clout, a loud crash came from my living room. Chat started spamming “LUL cat is destroying the house,” but I just picked up my sleeping kitty from my lap, held her up to the cam, and waved her paws. “Nope, Mittens is right here. I live alone.” The chat went dead silent for a solid minute. Then, the messages came flooding in: Who is in the living room? I calmly closed my eyes, did a quick mental reading, and said, “Oh, don’t worry. It’s just a serial killer.” Chat instantly exploded. They asked how I knew. I kept my eyes on the game, farming minions. “I manifested the answer.” Before chat could roast me for capping, the door behind me slowly creaked open. A man stood there, knife in hand, staring at me with dead, cold eyes. Chat screamed at me to run. I shrugged. “It’s fine. Let me win this match first. I’m laning against a pro.” Chat: “???” 1 I’m a variety streamer. Specifically, the kind who sucks at games but somehow never loses. My mechanics are trash—I flash into walls constantly—but I have an edge: I’m psychic. I literally predict when the enemy jungler is ganking, or exactly when they’ll start Baron. So, yeah, I win. I can’t help it. I’m the top prodigy of the mystic arts. I spent my whole youth studying the occult and working in the field. My only dream now is to be a degenerat—I mean, a gamer. Streaming is just a side hustle because my clients threatened to hunt me down if I didn’t give them a way to contact me. I refuse to go back to a 9-to-5 exorcism job. So, I stream. Thanks to my clients whaling on donations, I get on the front page sometimes, but I never really went viral. Until today. I queued up for a ranked match, and suddenly 50,000 people flooded the lobby. I thought my mods bought view-bots again, so I ignored it and locked in my champion. Halfway through the game, I noticed the chat warring. “This is sus. How does she know exactly when to dodge?” “First time? I’ve watched her for six months. She literally never loses.” “Scripting? Or is the enemy team wintrading?” “Are you dumb? Look who she’s playing against. That’s Cloud. You think a World Champion is wintrading for a 20-viewer Andy?” “True… if Cloud wasn’t on the enemy team, I wouldn’t even be here.” I glanced at the chat, did a quick calculation on my fingers, and giggled. “Oh, so that’s Cloud? Nice. Looks like I’m beating a pro today.” Chat immediately turned on me. “She’s hot, but delusional.” “Waste of a pretty face.” “You’re down 2k gold and think you’re gonna win? Stick to Just Chatting.” “Cloud is gonna stomp you. FF at 15.” 2 I ignored the haters and focused on my lane. I already foresaw the outcome. I’m winning this. Who’s gonna call me trash when I solo kill a World Champ? The trolls got bored when I didn’t rage bait, so a lot left. Only the loyal fans and the confused Cloud viewers stayed. Mid-game, someone typed: “It’s super loud on your end. What’s that banging?” “Does she have a dog?” “She has a black cat. Maybe it knocked over a shelf?” “LMAO go check, sounds like your apartment is getting wrecked.” I recalled to base to heal and saw the message. I picked up Mittens, my black cat sleeping on my lap, and held her up like Simba. “Mittens is asleep, guys. And I live alone.” Crash. Bang. The noise from the living room got louder. Like someone ransacking the place. Chat went silent. Then the panic set in. Who is out there? I kept farming. “Oh, that? Don’t worry. It’s just a serial killer.” Chaos. Absolute chaos. Maybe someone in Cloud’s chat mentioned it, because my viewer count doubled instantly. “??? Is this a bit? Lock the door! Call 911!” “She’s joking, right? How would she know it’s a serial killer without looking?” “Not funny. I almost called the cops.” “Is she okay in the head? Pretty privilege really lets you say anything.” “I came for the cat, leaving because of the cringe.” “Focus on the game, streamer. You don’t need to make up stories for clout.” I didn’t look away from the screen. “Huh? I’m not lying. I divined it.” Before chat could flame me again, the door behind me creaked open. In the webcam frame, a gap appeared. Then a face. Then a knife, glinting in the LED strip lights. 3 Chat went nuclear. “WTF” “Is that a paid actor??” “BEHIND YOU! LOOK BEHIND YOU!” “RUN! HE HAS A KNIFE! IT’S REAL!” “Forget the game! Someone doxx her so we can send the cops!” “She’s so calm… it has to be a skit.” “Bro, who skits a home invasion? Real or not, someone call the police!” “Wait, isn’t she in LA? There’s been a slasher news story recently… the guy hasn’t been caught.” “OMG IT’S HIM. I RECOGNIZE THE HOODIE.” “Stop playing! He’s inside!” “I can’t watch this.” I dodged a skill shot, glanced at the second monitor, and said flatly, “Chill. Let me win this. It’s Cloud.” Chat: “???” “Is she insane?! RUN!” “Brain damage confirmed.” “HE’S RAISING THE KNIFE!” “HELP HER!” The cam clearly showed the man creeping up. On screen, Cloud’s character stopped moving. He started typing in All Chat. C9_Cloud: Mid laner, drop your address. I’m calling 911. C9_Cloud: Don’t type it. Just say it. My stream is watching. We got you. 4 The game paused. Even my teammates stopped moving to ask what was happening. I sighed. “Fine. Guess we’re pausing.” I swiveled my chair around to face the man. He realized I was streaming. He saw his own face on my monitor, and the wall of text screaming POLICE. He laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. “Stupid bitch. Living alone with zero awareness. I’ve been in here for thirty minutes.” He gripped the knife tighter, veins popping. “Well, you showed my face. I can’t run now. So I’m gonna peel your skin off while your fans watch.” He looked terrifying. I wasn’t scared. I reached out and turned off the webcam. “Mittens. Sick ’em.” Chat couldn’t hear me anymore. They just saw the screen go black. The text scrolled so fast it was a blur: WHERE DOES SHE LIVE? SAVE HER! The killer looked at the tiny black cat by my feet and sneered. “The cat? Really? Go ahead and scream. I’m gonna leave you in pieces.” “Holy shit, this guy is psycho. I called the cops!” “Guys, Cloud says he lives in the same complex! He’s running down right now!” “Please be okay…” “Cloud better bring a bat or something.”

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