Category: English

My luck turned the day I found a stray poodle. It wasn’t just landing the company’s biggest account and getting a promotion with a hefty raise. The matriarch of a powerful family, Eleanor Wayan, hand-picked me to be her daughter-in-law. She offered me a car, a house, and promised to transfer all her assets to my future child. I was ready to refuse, but then she showed me a photo of her son, who was away on business overseas. And I, a total sucker for a handsome face, was sold. The wedding was arranged in a flash, but the groom missed his flight and didn’t make it. My mother-in-law had me walk down the aisle holding the poodle instead, and to make up for it, she transferred an extra million dollars to my account on the spot. Just like that, I married into high society. A few days later, my roommate pushed me off our apartment building’s rooftop. “We saw that dog together! Why do you get to marry a billionaire while I get nothing?” she screamed, her face twisted with rage. “If you die, I get a do-over!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the beginning. And this time, I let her have the dog. 1 “Oh, you poor little thing! Are you lost?” My roommate, Sophie, who was normally a notorious neat freak, scooped up the filthy poodle that was circling our feet. Before I could even react, she shot me a look, her voice sharp. “Diana, I’m keeping this dog, and you can’t have him!” I saw the fierce determination in her eyes, a stark contrast to how things played out the first time. I knew instantly. She’d been reborn, too. Sophie watched me, a smug smile playing on her lips. “I just feel a connection with this dog, you know? Like he’s a lucky charm. Maybe he’ll bring me good fortune.” She feigned concern. “I know you wanted him too, but you already have two dogs. You probably can’t handle another one, right?” I glanced at the poodle in her arms and gave a nonchalant shrug. “You’re right, I’ve got my hands full. If you want him, he’s all yours.” In my past life, I only took him in because he followed us all the way home. He was a mess, so I gave him a bath and some food out of pity, and he refused to leave. I never imagined that simple act of kindness would completely derail my life. At my words, Sophie could barely contain her glee. “You promise? No take-backs!” she chirped. “Even if he helps me marry… well, anyway, you can’t get jealous!” She caught herself, afraid of revealing too much and making me change my mind. Only after I swore a solemn oath that I wouldn’t regret it did she happily cradle the dog and head home. At that exact moment, a notification materialized in my mind. Congratulations. You have been granted a second chance. Upon the death of the key individual from this timeline, you may return to this moment and change your fate. The message was a revelation. The starting point wasn’t random; it was tethered to this specific moment. And the trigger was simple: the other person’s death. No wonder Sophie had shrieked, If you die, I get a do-over! She’d been given the same chance. But from her reaction just now, it was clear she had no idea I was back, too. The moment I stepped through the apartment door, Sophie blocked my path. “Diana, did you just hear a weird voice?” Her expression was a mix of panic and confusion. I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I just furrowed my brow. “What voice? Is someone breaking in?” “No, not like that. It was… robotic. It said something about a second chance… and death.” I gave her a dismissive look. “Have you been reading too many web novels, Sophie? There’s no such thing as rebirth in the real world. Stop daydreaming.” She scrutinized my face, searching for any hint of a lie. Seeing none, she let out a sigh of relief and headed to her room, humming a cheerful tune. I watched her go, a cold smile touching my lips. She had no idea that some poodles have a dark side. I just hoped she was ready to pay the price for adopting him. 2 That night, just as I was about to go to sleep, a frantic knock rattled my door. “Diana, wash this beast for me, and make sure he’s spotless!” Sophie demanded. For some reason, the mere thought of touching that poodle made my skin crawl. I felt a primal urge to stay away. “I can’t,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “I have a report to finish for work.” I tried to close the door, but she stuck her hand in the way. “What’s with the attitude?” she snapped. “You’d better watch your tone with me. Don’t be an idiot. Once I’ve made it, you’ll be lucky if I hire you to be my dog’s nanny!” As if on cue, the poodle trotted out of the bathroom and started humping her smooth leg. Sophie let out a cry of disgust and kicked the dog away. It yelped in pain as it hit the corner of the wall. I frowned, my heart twisting with a flicker of pity, but I forced myself to remain cold. “If you can’t handle it, just take him to a groomer. They’re professionals.” After I shut the door, I could hear her cursing me out in the hallway. In the days that followed, she not only started mimicking my style of dress, but she also began bringing the dog to the office. At first, our colleagues cooed about how kind-hearted she was. That lasted less than a day. Sophie didn’t use a leash or a crate, and the poodle, clearly in heat, became a menace. He was peeing everywhere, leaving little presents under desks, and constantly trying to mount people’s legs. “Sophie, can you please control your dog? Look, he got my pants all wet!” “Ugh, he just tipped over my trash can and now there’s garbage everywhere.” “Damn it, Sophie! He just shredded the documents I finished printing!” Sophie ignored the chorus of complaints. Our manager was already on edge because a major client was scheduled for a visit that day. When he walked in and saw the state of the office, he exploded. “Sophie, who the hell gave you permission to bring a pet to work?” he roared. “Do you have any idea how important today’s client is? The company’s entire second half depends on this deal! You have ten minutes to clean this mess up, or you can take your dog and get out!” But Sophie was completely unfazed. She wasn’t even afraid of the manager she used to tremble before. “I know exactly who’s coming,” she said with an air of superiority. “That’s precisely why I brought my dog today.” She smirked. “And just so you all know, without me, you won’t be closing that deal. So I’d advise you to stop yelling at me. Otherwise, when this is all over, I might just make sure you don’t have a manager’s job to yell from.” A stunned silence fell over the office, followed by snickers of derision. “Has she lost her mind? She’s just an intern, talking to the manager like that.” “I think she’s finally cracked. Earlier, she was going on about marrying into a rich family and telling us not to get on her bad side.” “She’s delusional. Her? The girl who budgets every single takeout order? Marry into wealth? The only ‘rich’ she’s getting is rich in crazy.” But I knew. I knew Sophie wasn’t bluffing. Because the important client arriving any minute was the dog’s original owner—Eleanor Wayan, the formidable chairwoman of the Wayan Corporation. The manager, though furious, was a seasoned veteran of the corporate world. Seeing Sophie’s unwavering confidence, he decided to play it safe. “You’d better be right about this, Sophie. Or else…” After ordering the cleaning crew to blitz the office, he straightened his tie just as Eleanor Wayan walked in, flanked by a group of executives. The poodle immediately scampered over to her, nipping at her trouser leg and yapping excitedly. Eleanor Wayan’s expression shifted, and a wave of panic washed over the room. The manager rushed forward, bowing his head. “Mrs. Wayan, I am so terribly sorry. I’ll handle this immediately. Sophie, get over—” But before he could finish, Eleanor bent down and lifted the poodle into her arms. She examined it closely for a moment before turning to Sophie. “Is this your dog?” Sophie stepped forward, her voice a picture of shy humility. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. He’s usually very well-behaved. He’s such a poor, sweet thing. He would have starved to death if I hadn’t found him. Please, don’t hurt him.” Eleanor’s eyes scanned Sophie from head to toe. “Hurt him? Why would I do that? On the contrary, I should be thanking you for taking him in. This is my lost dog.” Her voice was smooth as silk. “You have a kind heart. Name your reward. Anything you want, I can provide.” Watching the scene unfold from this new perspective, I couldn’t shake a strange feeling. Eleanor’s gaze wasn’t one of gratitude or admiration. It felt… predatory. As if she were a hunter, dangling the perfect bait to lure her prey. Sophie suppressed a shiver of excitement, her face lighting up with feigned surprise. “Really? What a coincidence! I only took him in because I fell in love with him, I never expected anything in return.” She paused, as if struck by a brilliant idea. “But if you really want to thank me, maybe you could give our company’s proposal a serious look during the meeting. I’m the one who pulled all-nighters for weeks to write it.” The people around us gasped, their eyes darting to Sophie in disbelief. 3 Someone started to speak up, but the manager silenced them with a sharp glare. Eleanor Wayan seemed momentarily surprised by the request, then nodded. “Since you’re in charge of the project, let’s just sign the contract. I’m sure a person as kind as you must be equally dedicated to her work.” She turned to leave, then paused at the door and looked back. “Sophie, was it? Join me for dinner tonight. I’ll have my driver pick you up.” The look of pure ecstasy on Sophie’s face was impossible to miss. Our manager beamed as he escorted Eleanor out. The moment she was gone, he turned to the staff and announced Sophie’s immediate promotion from intern to full-time employee. “Diana,” he said, his tone brisk. “Hand over your files to Sophie. She’ll be handling the project from here on out. You’re off it.” “But sir, that proposal was—” one of my colleagues started to protest on my behalf. I saw the manager’s face darken and quickly grabbed my friend’s arm, shaking my head. I gathered my materials and handed them to Sophie. The manager’s expression softened instantly. “See? Diana understands the bigger picture. When the company thrives, we all thrive.” After he left, Sophie sauntered over to my desk, preening like a peacock. “I bet you’re regretting it now, aren’t you, Diana? Too bad. You’re the one who gave him up,” she gloated. “Are you angry? Do you feel humiliated? Watching a project you slaved over for six months become mine? Good. I’m glad. This is payback for refusing to help me yesterday!” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Just so you know, I’m going to be Mrs. Julian Wayan very soon. And you? You’ll be stuck as a corporate drone, slogging through a 9-to-5 for the rest of your life!” Then she turned to the rest of the office. “And as for the rest of you peasants, you’d better start showing me some respect. Once I’m a Wayan, if I’m in a good mood, I might throw a big client or two your way.” With that, she flounced out of the office. Her arrogant demeanor left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth, and the complaints started immediately. “She found a lost dog, so what? The woman is repaying a favor, and Sophie actually thinks she’s about to become a princess?” “What is wrong with her? Stealing Diana’s project and acting like one stroke of dumb luck makes her better than everyone else.” “She’s living in a fantasy world. A rich woman says a few polite words, and suddenly she thinks finding the dog means she gets to marry into the family? Get real!” “Don’t let it get to you, Diana,” a colleague said, patting my shoulder. “We’ll just wait for reality to hit and watch her come crawling back.” I just smiled without saying a word. Because I knew that tonight, Eleanor Wayan really would ask Sophie to be her daughter-in-law. That’s why she was acting so invincible, looking down on all of us. But a marriage born from a lost dog… could it really be that simple? Sure enough, two days later, Sophie appeared at the office, dripping in jewels and designer clothes, handing out wedding invitations. She stopped at my desk, looking down at me with disdain. “Diana, you must be dying to come to my high-society wedding, right? After all, some people will never get to see something like this in their entire lives.” I kept my voice even. “Sophie, I hear Mr. Wayan is still overseas. You haven’t even met him. Don’t you think it’s a bit rushed to be holding a wedding now? What if—” She cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Ha! I’ve seen pictures of Julian. He’s gorgeous and rich. Why wouldn’t I marry him? My mother-in-law said that even though it’s last minute, it will be a wedding fit for a queen. You’re just jealous because you can’t have what I have!” Seeing she was beyond reason, I dropped the subject. As she held out the embossed invitation, I reached for it, but at the last second, she let it go. It fluttered to the floor, and she promptly pinned it under her sharp stiletto heel. “Want it? Polish my shoe, and it’s yours.” I didn’t really want the invitation, but there were too many unanswered questions from my past life. I needed to get inside that hotel. After a few seconds of tense silence, I knelt down and wiped the dust from her shoe. Seeing me humbled before her, Sophie burst out laughing. “That’s more like it!” She gave my shoulder a light kick with her other foot before putting on her sunglasses and striding away. 4 The wedding day arrived, and the venue was decorated exactly as I remembered. And, just like last time, the groom had missed his flight. The hall buzzed with whispers and speculation. Before Eleanor could even make an announcement, Sophie stepped forward and bravely offered to complete the ceremony by herself. Eleanor, who had likely been planning to suggest the same thing, was impressed by Sophie’s “understanding” nature. She agreed immediately and transferred another million dollars to Sophie’s account as a gift. With Julian absent, the reception ended with Sophie heading to the bridal suite alone, clutching the poodle. I immediately pulled out my phone and opened the live feed from the hidden camera. Following the map of my past life’s memories, I had slipped into the room earlier while the staff was distracted and planted it. On the screen, Sophie was giddy, rolling around on the large red bedspread as she stared at the new balance in her bank account. A moment later, Eleanor came in, handed her a glass of milk, and told her to get some rest. Soon after, Sophie was fast asleep, still in her wedding dress. In my first life, I had also drunk that milk and passed out. I woke up the next morning to find my clothes strewn across the floor and my body covered in strange marks. Now, finally, I was about to see what really happened after I fell asleep. The next thing that appeared on the screen made my eyes go wide. I stared in shock as a shimmering, spectral figure of a man materialized over the bed. He began to caress Sophie, his ghostly hands expertly unfastening her dress. His expression was lecherous, and he muttered filth under his breath. “Been a while since I had a taste of a woman… God, I’ve been dying for this.” “So soft… and you smell so good… Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you…” Then, as if remembering something, he backhanded her across the face. “Bitch. You dared to kick me, again and again. Let’s see how you like it when I teach you a lesson!” Even though he was just a phantom, angry red welts immediately appeared on Sophie’s sleeping face. The voice was familiar, and as I studied the phantom’s outline, I realized he looked exactly like Julian Wayan from the photographs. In my past life, when I’d discovered the marks on my body, I had asked Eleanor about them. She’d explained that her son, Julian, had returned during the night. They had consummated the marriage, but he’d had to leave again for an urgent matter. As it was my first time, I was inexperienced and too embarrassed to question a senior about such things, so I let it go. I never could have imagined that the “consummation” she spoke of was with a ghost. The phantom’s actions grew rougher. He ripped the skirt of her gown away, showing no hint of tenderness. But just as he was about to descend upon her, he froze. His eyes narrowed, turning sinister. “Damn it. You filthy whore!” he hissed. “I thought you were pure, but you’re foul! What a waste of my time.” I frowned, confused. A moment ago he was saying how good she smelled. Why was he suddenly calling her foul? Perhaps Julian’s enraged shouts were too loud, because Eleanor soon entered the room. Seeing Sophie’s body now covered in bruises from Julian’s spectral blows, she rushed to intervene. “Son, what’s wrong?” she asked urgently. “We finally found a suitable woman. Take it easy! If you damage her body, how is she supposed to carry the child?” Julian was seething. “Suitable? She’s not suitable at all! We’ve been deceived!” he raged. “Mother, she’s faking it! She reeks of impurity. There’s no way she can bear the child.” This only confused me more. I had no idea if Sophie was “foul” or not, but what did that have to do with having a child? Their next exchange gave me the answer. Eleanor frowned, sniffing the air. “Foul? I don’t smell anything.” “Mother, would I lie to you? Don’t you remember the master opened my spiritual senses? I can tell if a woman is a virgin just by her scent,” Julian’s voice echoed. “This woman must have been covering her stench with perfume. Now that her clothes are off, the filth is overwhelming. God knows how many men she’s been with.” His voice filled with despair. “Mother, what do we do? We chose the wrong one!” Eleanor looked equally bewildered. “How could that be? The master was clear: at that specific time and place, we would find a virgin with a pure life essence, perfect for you. He said she would be kind-hearted, soft, and a lover of animals, and that she would surely take you home.” She looked from the ghost to the poodle. “Everything matched the time and place where Sophie found you. How could it be wrong?” Hearing this, I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. If what they were saying was true, then their original target… was me. It was only because of my rebirth that Sophie had intercepted their plan. But even if I had this “pure life essence,” why were they so desperate for me to have Julian’s child? What they said next sent a chill down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins.

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On the day my boyfriend of seven years proposed to me. Just as I was about to say yes, rows of bullet comments suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. 【LOL, the supporting female lead is actually crying. Does she really think the second male lead wants to marry her?】 【Doesn’t she know he’s drunk and thinks she’s the female lead?】 I pretended not to see them, nodding with tears in my eyes. Afterward, some busybody told me the truth. Everyone was sure I would make a scene. But not only did I not, I generously forgave him. They didn’t know I was a “strategy girl.” As long as the second male lead proposed to me, my mission was complete. Three days later, the System confirmed with me: 【Mission accomplished. Do you wish to leave this world?】 Lying in the bathtub, I smiled with relief. 【Yes.】 1 Staring at the floating comments in front of me, I froze. Subconsciously, I contacted the System. After running a diagnostic, it told me: 【There’s been a glitch. I’ve already submitted a report.】 I nodded. In front of me, Ethan stared blankly, asking again: “Nina, will you marry me? “Please, marry me, okay?” He was obviously drunk. Everyone’s eyes were on me. Like they were watching a good show. Clearly, they all knew Ethan had mistaken me for someone else. I still nodded. Ethan looked at me with deep affection and slid the ring onto my finger. But the next second, someone in the crowd said: “Ethan, you got the wrong person. That’s Nina.” Ethan froze. His gaze landed on my face. Instantly, his expression stiffened. “Why is it you?” Regret flashed in his eyes. A few busybodies nearby explained to me: “Sorry, Nina, Ethan mistook you for someone else. “He thought you were Sarah.” Everyone was waiting for my reaction. Expecting me to break down crying or scream at Ethan. After all, who could tolerate their boyfriend of seven years doing something like this? Ethan chimed in: “I drank too much.” I forced a smile. Only after hearing the System announce the mission was successful did I speak: “It’s okay.” Then I asked the System: 【Can I leave now?】 It paused. 【Of course. 【You can return to your own world in seven days. 【Are you sure you want to leave everything here behind? To leave this world?】 I answered. 【Yes.】 【Understood. Due to glitch troubleshooting, departure time will be in seven days.】 I nodded. Perfect. I still had some things to wrap up in this world. 2 While the atmosphere was stiff, Sarah’s voice cut through. “Why is it so quiet? “Is Nina here? Was the proposal a success?” Her gaze landed on Ethan and me. “I just mistook her for someone else.” Ethan explained instinctively the moment Sarah walked out. Like he was worried I’d take this proposal seriously. I didn’t say a word. Seeing the awkwardness, others started trying to smooth things over. “Come on, come on, let’s keep partying.” Only I stood still. Sarah looked at me with an apologetic smile. “Nina, I’m so sorry. He was holding a diamond ring saying he wanted to propose. “I thought he was looking for you, that’s why I called you. “You’re not mad, are you?” Right. I only rushed over because I got a call from Sarah. … Ethan sat aside, downing the sobering medicine a waiter brought. He heard her. He just said faintly: “It’s fine.” Smoothing things over for Sarah. 3 Since Sarah returned from abroad seven days ago, Ethan had barely been home. At first, he just lied about working overtime. Even if he came back, one call from Sarah and he’d leave me immediately. Later, I saw his messages with Sarah and learned everything. That day I got angry and made a scene. Ethan just left me with a cold sentence: “You should know your place.” Then he slammed the door and left me in confusion. He hadn’t been back since. Until this morning. Sarah updated her Instagram: 【Loved ones get walnuts without shells.】 The picture showed Ethan’s office background, and she was holding a jar of shelled walnuts. The jar I peeled for Ethan a while ago because I was worried he was working too hard. I stared for a long time. Looking at my scarred hands. Finally, I saw this relationship clearly. The female lead is always the female lead. Even if I stayed by Ethan’s side for seven years, it couldn’t compare to the seven days since she returned. … I came to this world after a car accident. The System told me my mission was to redeem the second male lead. But when I approached Ethan, he was cold and disgusted by me. Back then, he wore a faded T-shirt, his messy hair slightly covering his eyes. Since he wasn’t willing, I gave up. Even if the System told me giving up meant I couldn’t return to my own world, it didn’t matter. I was an orphan anyway. It was the same everywhere. But later, I became Ethan’s junior in college. When someone drugged him, I was the one who took him to the hospital. That day, Ethan actively pursued me. I agreed immediately. Two people who hadn’t had it easy being together… life seemed to have a taste of happiness. When I worked part-time during holidays, Ethan got off work earlier than me and waited at the door to pick me up. The year we graduated, he started a business, and I stayed by his side. Just like that, I followed him for seven years. Even knowing he was the “devoted second male lead,” I firmly believed everyone had a past. Besides, the female lead was already happily with the male lead. 4 And now, Sarah sat next to Ethan, speaking in a sweet voice: “Nina, those walnuts in Ethan’s office were pretty good. Where did you buy them?” Seeing Sarah’s interest, Ethan’s gaze also fell on me. He was mostly sober now, offering no explanation for what just happened. Seemingly waiting for my answer. After a long silence, I calmed my emotions and looked at Ethan. “That shop on South Second Street. “Since there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.” With that, I turned to leave. Sarah’s friend called out to me. “Nina, that ring on your hand was handmade by President Peale. Could you trouble yourself to take it off? “I mean, he only proposed and gave it to you because he mistook you for Sarah. Clearly, you’re not the owner.” My fingernails dug into my palm. Fighting the pain in my heart, I smiled. “Of course.” Under Ethan’s gaze, I took off the ring without hesitation. I tossed it casually into the decorative fountain behind me. I walked away without looking back. The bullet comments in front of my eyes were still jumping: 【The supporting female lead is mad, right?】 【Honestly, anyone would be mad. She stayed with him for seven years. Seven years, and she couldn’t warm his heart. No point trying anymore.】 【Finally, some normal people. I want to say, does the author have any morals? If the second male lead hadn’t moved on, why did he pursue the supporting female lead?】 5 When I got home, someone anonymously sent me a video. Opening it, I heard the voices of Ethan and his friend. “Ethan, Sarah went to the bathroom. No one else is here. Nina said yes, why don’t you just make the proposal real? Why explain immediately and embarrass her? “She’s waited for you for seven years. She’ll be thirty in a few years. She’s not getting any younger. “Tell me the truth, when are you planning to marry Nina?” In the video, Ethan swirled his wine glass and thought for a moment: “Never.” Everyone went quiet. After a long time, he continued: “If I hadn’t been drunk and mistaken her for Sarah, I never would have proposed to her.” … After the voice stopped. I looked up instinctively and saw my tear-stained face in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Turns out tears can fall without you realizing it. These words were cruel to the extreme, every single one piercing my heart. Mocking how cheap my seven years of affection were. Even if I didn’t want to admit it, how could I not fall in love with him during the best years of my life, from twenty to twenty-seven? And I discovered that when I cried, I looked somewhat like Sarah. Finally understood Ethan’s words: “You should know your place.” So that’s what he meant. He treated me as a stand-in for the female lead. 6 That night, Ethan actually came back. But he was carrying a bag of roasted walnuts. Seeing me, his thin lips moved, as if he wanted to say something. I didn’t spare him a glance, went to the kitchen, and drank a few glasses of water. Going upstairs, I saw the door to Ethan’s study was open. He sat on the leather chair, cracking walnuts. Until a sharp shell cut his finger, drawing blood. He paused for a long time. But then continued peeling. I remembered how, for seven years, Ethan always knew I liked durian. He hated the smell. Couldn’t stand it for a second. He told the maid no durian products were allowed in the house. Even when the maid told him it was my favorite, and maybe he could go upstairs to avoid it. He found it troublesome and said: “It won’t kill her not to eat it.” After that day, durian never appeared in the house again. But for such troublesome walnuts, he was willing to peel them shell by shell for Sarah. Turns out, he didn’t find going upstairs troublesome, and it wasn’t unbearable. It was just that the person he could endure for wasn’t me. I went back to my room, opened a secondhand app, and listed all my things for the lowest price. Including the gifts Ethan gave me. I didn’t want any of it. 【Damn, why is the plot going off the rails?】 【The supporting female lead sold so much stuff. Is she planning to leave?】 【Leaving is normal. The second male lead hurt her like that. Can’t she leave?】 【OMG, I really want to send the author razor blades. The supporting female lead is heartbreaking right now.】 【I just checked the other room. The male lead peeled for a bit and put the walnuts down. The female lead called him again, and he left immediately.】 【Enough. I declare I’m on the supporting female lead’s side.】 …

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It was the seventh year of my marriage to Julian. We ran into each other at an upscale restaurant downtown. He was in the middle of a candlelit dinner with Isabelle. I was there with a client. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before we both instinctively looked away, pretending the other didn’t exist. It was a silent, practiced agreement. After my meeting ended, I found Julian waiting outside, his car idling by the curb. I offered a polite, hollow thank you and slid into the back seat, a space that had long felt more appropriate than the one beside him. Halfway home, he abruptly pulled the car over. “Claire,” he said, his voice low. “Tonight was the end. I’m completely done with her.” The words caught in my throat, and all I could manage was a tight, awkward smile. Whether it was over or not had nothing to do with me anymore. I’d stopped loving him a long, long time ago. 1 The passenger seat still bore the faint outline of a sticker Isabelle had put there, a once-bold declaration of her presence that now looked faded and pathetic in the hazy glow of the streetlights. Perhaps my reaction was too placid, because I saw Julian’s brow furrow in the rearview mirror. “I was planning to visit my parents in a few days,” he said, changing the subject. “When would be a good time for you?” I stiffened, my refusal immediate and reflexive. “Their health hasn’t been great lately. It’s probably best if you don’t go.” He hadn’t been back to see them since he’d gotten together with Isabelle. Four years, I calculated. It had been four years. The moment the words left my mouth, his expression darkened. A familiar tension coiled in my stomach. I opened my mouth to explain, to soften the blow, but he cut me off with a quiet sigh. “Alright. Whatever you say.” He started the car again. Outside, the rain began to fall harder, drumming a frantic rhythm against the windows. The atmosphere inside the car grew cold and heavy, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. Staring out at the rain-streaked city lights, I felt a strange sense of dislocation. It had been so long since we’d been in the same space without it erupting into a war. The last time we’d seen each other, we were mortal enemies. Now, here we were, sharing the quiet confines of a car. I was pulled from my thoughts when the car slowed, turning into a familiar gated community. Julian had driven us back to the condo we used to share. Our old home. I wanted to say something, to tell him to turn around, but the look in his eyes when I caught his gaze in the mirror made the words die on my lips. Inside the elevator, the silence was finally broken by his voice. “How have you been these past few years?” I gave him a polite, distant smile. “I’ve been fine.” He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. His eyes bore into me, searching for something—a crack in the facade, a hint of the woman he used to know. I felt a prickle of discomfort under his intense gaze and fixed my eyes on the floor numbers, praying they would move faster. As the doors slid open with a soft chime, he said something else, but his words were swallowed by the automated voice announcing our floor. I hadn’t heard him. He placed his thumb on the fingerprint scanner, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by the ghost of a smile. But that smile froze the second the door swung open. The condo hadn’t been lived in for a long time. The air, thick with the cloying stench of mildew and rust, stung my eyes and made me want to gag. Julian reached for the light switch, his hand coming away coated in a thick layer of gray dust. I pulled a tissue from my purse and handed it to him. “The power’s probably off. I doubt the bill’s been paid in a while.” My voice was as calm and matter-of-fact as if I were haggling over vegetables at a market. He stared at me, startled. “You… you don’t live here?” I just nodded, pulling out my phone to pay the overdue electricity bill online. A few moments later, the lights flickered on, illuminating the scene in stark, unforgiving detail. Four years, and it was exactly as I had left it. Our wedding portrait lay on the floor, torn to shreds. The sofa and bed were marred by dark, ugly stains—shadows of the day I had tried to end my life, a grim reminder of the worst days of my depression. In the seventh year of my marriage to Julian, I had stepped back into my own private hell. But surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. A strange calm settled over me. Peace. That was a word that hadn’t existed between Julian and me for a very long time. He stood frozen, his head bowed as he took in the wreckage of our shared past. After a moment of silence, I decided to leave him to it. “If you’re planning on staying here tonight, you can call building management. They can find a cleaning service for you.” As I walked past him, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Where are you living now? I’ll take you.” A jolt, like an electric shock, shot through me. I yanked my hand away, stumbling back a step to put space between us. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” My ride-share was already waiting downstairs. I turned and fled without another word. When I got home, my dad and brother were already asleep, but Mom was waiting up for me. “Why are you so late? Did something happen on the way?” she asked, her face etched with worry. “The food’s cold, I’ll go heat it up for you. Go take a shower.” The moment the hot water hit my skin, the suffocating gloom of the day began to wash away. The scars on my wrist, usually just a pale reminder, began to ache with a dull, familiar throb. They always did when it rained. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw the worried look on my mom’s face. Then I saw why. An unexpected figure was standing in our living room. Julian had followed me home. My dad and brother emerged from their bedrooms, their sleep disturbed. Their health had been fragile ever since that year, four years ago, and they needed their rest. Julian stood in the center of our small living room, still radiating that same air of authority, of someone who was always in charge. “Arthur,” he said to my brother. “It’s been a long time.” 2 Julian and my brother, Arthur, had once been inseparable. The three of us grew up together, kids from a small town lost in the mountains, dreaming of a bigger world. From elementary school through high school, we were a unit. Even as a boy, Julian had a maturity that set him apart from the others. It was only years later that I realized his sharp intellect was likely inherited from his mother—a woman from the city who had been trafficked and sold into our remote town. She drowned herself in the river when Julian was three. They found her body naked, covered in bruises. I was a year behind them in school. The year they both got into college should have been a celebration, but for my parents, it was a crushing financial burden. One afternoon, I went looking for Julian and found his acceptance letter torn to pieces on the dirt floor of his shack. His father stood over him, reeking of cheap liquor. “A piece of trash from the sticks thinks he can be king? Not while I’m alive, you won’t!” Julian knelt on the floor, silent, absorbing every blow. I waited, hidden, until the moon was high in the sky and the violence finally stopped. He remained kneeling, the moonlight casting a silver halo around his bruised form. He was so beautiful, even then. “Do you want to go to college?” I asked him softly. He said he did. On an impulse I still don’t fully understand, I went home and told my parents, “I’m quitting school.” I wasn’t a brilliant student, always hovering around average. One successful child was enough for our family, I reasoned. My parents screamed, they hit me, and then they held each other and wept, blaming themselves for their powerlessness. After weeks of fighting and tears, I officially withdrew from school. The three of us—Arthur, Julian, and I—left for the city together. They went to the university, and I went to work. With my lack of education, I could only find the most menial jobs. I lived in a cramped basement apartment, surviving on bread and water. I worked three jobs a day, grinding myself down to pay for their tuition. But my heart was full of hope, and even in the depths of that hardship, I felt a profound sense of purpose. When Julian received his first scholarship, he took me out for a steak dinner, a luxury we couldn’t afford. It started snowing on our way back. He took my hand, his grip warm and firm, as snowflakes collected in our hair like tiny stars. “I’m going to give you the best life, Claire,” he promised. “The very best.” It wasn’t a grand, romantic declaration, but to me, they were the most beautiful words in the world. Julian was brilliant. Soon, my grueling schedule was no longer necessary. We rented a better apartment, and Julian moved out of the dorms to live with me. He was studying law, and during his internship, he was constantly undermined and challenged. A well-meaning senior partner pulled him aside once. “In this line of work,” he’d said, “you won’t get far without connections.” Julian refused to believe it. He was determined to break through on his own terms. Then a rich kid from the city got into serious trouble, a case that looked like a guaranteed prison sentence. But somehow, Julian worked his magic and got him off. Just like that, his name started making waves. As we were leaving the courthouse that day, the victim’s father lunged at him with a knife. Before Julian could even react, I moved. Instinct took over, and I threw myself in front of him. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, the world fading into a blur of red and panicked shouts. Julian, who was always so composed, was completely undone. His face was a mask of terror and despair, his words a jumbled mess. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please don’t leave me.” The hospital issued one critical condition notice after another. Arthur later told me that Julian had spent the entire time on his knees, clutching a doctor’s legs, begging and sobbing. He kept asking Arthur, his voice raw with grief, “What do I do? What am I going to do without Claire?” He knelt like that for an entire night. When I finally woke up, tears were streaming down his face, silent and endless. For weeks after, he was plagued by nightmares. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, clutching me tightly, his body shaking with silent sobs. “Thank God,” he’d whisper into my hair. “Thank God you’re still here.” His love for me then was real. Undeniably, fiercely real. But later, his hatred for me would be just as real. 3 Facing Julian again, my brother’s eyes were still filled with a burning hatred. “What more do you want from her?” Arthur snarled, his fists clenched. “If you dare touch her again, I swear, we’ll all go down together!” My father’s chest heaved, and he broke into a fit of hacking coughs. “My daughter has done nothing to wrong you,” he rasped, his voice thin. “I’m begging you, just let her go.” He looked like he was about to fall to his knees right there in our living room. A hot sting filled my eyes, and I moved to support him, but Julian was faster. He caught my father’s arm, holding him steady. “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Julian said, his voice retaining its cool composure. “I just want to make things right.” My mother, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, stepped in front of me, forming a protective barrier. “We don’t need anything from you. The best way you can ‘make things right’ is by staying away from her.” Her voice trembled. “She barely survived. Please, don’t come back and torment her again.” Seeing my parents on the verge of breaking down, I quickly started pushing Julian toward the door. “You should go. Now.” “We don’t want anything,” I pleaded. “Just leave us alone, like you did before.” In the struggle, the sleeve of my pajamas slid up, revealing the jagged, angry scar on my wrist. Julian’s eyes locked onto it, his focus faltering for a split second. I used that moment of distraction to shove him out the door. “Don’t come back,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m begging you.” I slammed the door and leaned against it, my heart pounding. My parents let out a collective sigh of relief. Arthur slowly unclenched his fists. “Don’t be scared, Claire,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll protect you this time. I promise.” A wave of warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the chill. It had always been this way. No matter what, Arthur had always been there, my shield. When I took that knife for Julian, he blamed himself for not being there to protect me. Even when Julian cheated, Arthur somehow twisted it into his own failure. After the stabbing, my health never fully recovered. I spent our early married years recuperating at home while Julian climbed the ladder at a prestigious downtown law firm. He was always leaving, always heading somewhere more important. “Claire,” he’d say, “I want to give you a better life. The best of everything.” And he did. He gave me a world of material comfort. But he also left me covered in scars. In the third year of our marriage, he had an affair. The other woman was his client, Isabelle, the victim of a human trafficking case. A case like that was normally beneath him, but perhaps it reminded him of his own mother. He took it on himself, pro bono. When I first met Isabelle, her eyes were vacant, and she flinched away from everyone’s touch. Everyone except Julian’s. “She trusts me,” he explained. “She knows I can help her, so she lets her guard down around me. It’s helping with the case.” Looking at the young woman, covered in bruises that mirrored the ones his mother carried to her grave, I understood. He was trying to atone for a past he couldn’t change. So I didn’t interfere. For months, it became our new normal. No matter how late Isabelle called, Julian would rush to her side. “Her mental state is fragile,” he’d say. “My being there calms her down. It’s good for the case.” It gnawed at me, but when I saw the sheer desperation in Isabelle’s hollow eyes, my resentment softened into pity. Gradually, Isabelle started to heal. During her lucid moments, she would cling to me, sobbing uncontrollably. “Claire, if it weren’t for you and Julian, I would be dead.” She was genuinely apologetic for taking up so much of his time. “Once the trial is over and I’m better, I’m going to move to Santa Fe,” she told me, her eyes finally holding a flicker of a future, not just the ghosts of her past. Julian, true to his word, was brilliant. He put the traffickers behind bars. Isabelle came to say goodbye, telling me her business in the city was finished. I went to the airport to see her off. But just outside the terminal, I saw them. Locked in a passionate embrace, kissing as the snow fell around them, blanketing them in white. The cold seeped into my bones, freezing me in place. In that snowstorm, I was the only one who truly lost my mind. Julian held her tightly, shielding her face from the world as I screamed and raged, a spectacle for a growing crowd of strangers. “Claire, this is my fault,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through my hysteria. “Don’t take it out on Isabelle.” He guided her into a waiting car and drove away, leaving me to collapse in the snow, an abandoned animal left to freeze. 4 Being turned away once didn’t deter Julian. He showed up at my office. Faced with the city’s most renowned lawyer, my boss was practically bowing. But Julian walked right past him, his eyes fixed on me. “I have a meeting nearby. What time do you get off? I’ll wait for you.” My colleagues’ eyes widened in disbelief. I kept my gaze fixed on the documents on my desk, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I take the subway.” My rejection meant nothing to him. Later, in the breakroom, a coworker cautiously asked me what my relationship was with Julian. I stirred my coffee, a small, bitter smile on my lips. “Legally, according to our marriage certificate, he’s my husband.” Before she could react, I added, “But I’m not the one people call Mrs. Archer.” The implication was clear enough. Her eyes darted nervously over my shoulder. I turned. Julian was standing there, his expression unreadable. On the drive that wasn’t supposed to happen, he kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I stared out the window, wrapped in a blanket of silence. In my mind, I hadn’t said anything wrong. Once a man’s heart strays, it never truly comes back. If it seems to, it’s only because he has no better options left. Back then, having known his love, I couldn’t accept the reality that it was gone. I went home and smashed our wedding photos, tore up everything that reminded me of him, and sent him pictures of the wreckage. He came over, bringing Isabelle with him. “You can have the biggest house, the best life I can offer,” he said, his voice cold. “And I can promise you, Isabelle will never appear in front of you again.” Isabelle sat there, her face a mask of guilt. “I couldn’t control my feelings. I’m so sorry.” That was the third year of our marriage. No matter how much I screamed, how much I threatened, his resolve was unshakable, just as it had been when he first decided to take her case. He moved out and officially started his life with Isabelle. I was left alone in that empty, silent house. Night after night, I lay awake, composing long, desperate messages that I sent into the void. They were never answered. The cold, silent treatment is a weapon that can break anyone. With no reply, the last flicker of hope inside me died. I thought about just letting it go, writing off all my years of devotion as a loss. I drew up divorce papers and took them to him. He refused without a second thought. “I’m not divorcing you.” “A stable marriage is a factor clients consider,” he said coolly. “You’re free to see other people, if you want. I won’t interfere.” But I wasn’t him. I couldn’t do something so sordid. I couldn’t get a divorce, and I couldn’t go back. The inescapable heartache and hollowness started to manifest as a physical pain that consumed me. When the agony became unbearable, my eyes fell on the fruit knife on the kitchen counter. Just before my consciousness faded, Julian finally came home. When I woke up in the hospital, it was Isabelle sitting by my bedside. “Claire, I know you’re hurting, but you have to take care of yourself,” she said, her voice soft. “When you’re like this, it’s very hard on Julian.” The timid, fearful girl was gone. In her place was a woman glowing with a victor’s pride. I mustered what little strength I had and slapped her across the face. I threw everything I could reach at her. Julian rushed in just in time to block a flying water pitcher. “Look at you,” he hissed, his voice laced with disgust. “What’s the difference between you and a lunatic?” They stood there, the two people who had driven me to madness, and called me a lunatic. Fueled by a bottomless well of hatred, I decided to retaliate. I hired a private investigator and collected a mountain of evidence of his affair. The day I was about to send it all to his law firm and leak it online, Julian came back. 5 A moment later, my mother’s frantic call came through. She was sobbing, telling me my brother had been tricked in a business deal and now owed ten million dollars. “They said either we pay it back or he goes to prison! How can we possibly pay that much money?” she wailed. “Julian, you’re a lawyer, isn’t there something you can do? If Arthur goes to jail, what will your father and I do?” My parents knew nothing about the affair. They were pinning all their hopes on him. Julian had the phone on speaker, ensuring I heard every single, desperate word. “Mom, this is complicated,” he said smoothly. “Let me discuss it with Claire. You and Dad try not to worry.” He hung up and fixed his gaze on me, his eyes cold and hard. “Claire, you’re a smart woman. Don’t make this difficult for everyone.” He knew. He had known all along what I was planning. This whole thing with my brother—it was a trap he had set. With his intelligence and his ruthlessness, it would have been effortless. He knew I would never abandon my family. So I surrendered. Right in front of him, I deleted every last piece of evidence. Julian watched with a satisfied smirk, then turned and left. The next day, Arthur was released. Julian insisted I accompany him to pick my brother up. On the way back, he told me I had to go with him to a dinner party that night. “This client is crucial, and he values family above all else,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Claire, don’t be stupid. You can’t afford the consequences.” Numbly, I complied with his every demand, a marionette whose strings he expertly pulled. I played the part of the loving wife, navigating the glittering world of wealth and power by his side. His feigned affection, the casual touch of his hand on my back, sent waves of nausea through me. The moment he leaned in to whisper something in my ear, the world went black. I woke up in a hospital room. Julian was sitting in a chair nearby, his face a grim, unreadable mask. I was pregnant. The news hit me like a lightning strike. For so long, I had believed I would never be a mother. And now, at the absolute nadir of our relationship, a child had come into our lives. More than anyone, Julian had always yearned for a child of his own. He despised the blood that ran in his veins, the legacy of his cruel father, yet he had inherited every ounce of that man’s selfishness and darkness. So when he found out I was pregnant, his first, unwavering instinct was to keep the child. I didn’t want it. He used my parents as leverage. “Mom and Dad are getting older. You wouldn’t want them to have to worry about you anymore, would you?” They were getting older. And so, again and again, I gave in. When I was five months along, Julian moved back in. He was going to take care of me and the baby himself. This move, of course, sent Isabelle into a panic. She went to my parents and told them everything—the affair, the life she and Julian had built together. She even told them the truth about how Julian had framed my brother. Finally, my parents understood the depth of the chasm that had opened between us. When I arrived, they were sitting on the sofa, their faces ashen, their eyes red. My mother pulled me into her arms, her body shaking with silent sobs. “My poor child,” she wept. “All this time, you’ve suffered so much.” Arthur was on the floor, his head in his hands, not saying a word. Isabelle was kneeling in the middle of the room, begging me to give Julian back to her. “I can’t live without him,” she cried. “I really can’t.” In that moment, a murderous rage, cold and clear, washed over me. I lunged forward, a scream tearing from my throat, and slapped her hard across the face. Julian arrived to find me straddling her, my hands wrapped around her neck, my eyes blazing with a fury he had never seen. He tore me off her without a second thought, his face a mask of cold fury as he looked from me to my family. “Everything you have today, I gave you,” he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. “Don’t be ungrateful. You know damn well that if I wanted to, I could take it all away. You wouldn’t stand a chance.” With that, he scooped Isabelle into his arms and left. His retreating back was a rigid line of absolute finality. My stomach, which had slammed against the corner of the coffee table when he pushed me, began to throb with a dull, insistent pain. But it was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Arthur shot to his feet, his eyes burning with a righteous fire, and bolted out the door after them. A cold dread seized me. I ran after him, but I was too late. The next news we received sealed all of our fates. 6 When my parents and I rushed to the hospital, Julian was already there, his arm in a cast, his face a mess of cuts and bruises. When he saw me, the hatred in his eyes was so potent it was terrifying. “Claire,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl. “I will make sure he dies.” After learning the truth, my brother, consumed by a need for vengeance, had gotten in his car. He floored the accelerator, aiming directly for Julian and Isabelle’s vehicle. In that moment, he had genuinely wanted to kill him. But he had failed. At the last second, Julian had instinctively wrenched the steering wheel to the side. The impact was still devastating. Isabelle was critically injured. Julian escaped with minor wounds. Arthur was in the ICU, fighting for his life. My parents, their hair seemingly turned gray overnight, pleaded with Julian, begging him for mercy. He remained unmoved. Heavily pregnant, I knelt on the cold hospital floor, bowing my head again and again until my forehead was raw. “If you let him go, I’ll do anything you ask,” I sobbed. “Consider this my debt to you, Julian. I’m begging you.” I don’t know how long I knelt there, how many times I brought my head to the floor. The world grew colder and colder, and a violent shiver wracked my body. It wasn’t until I heard a doctor’s horrified gasp from behind me that I realized I was kneeling in a pool of my own blood. The baby was gone. It was a boy, already perfectly formed. He never got the chance to open his eyes to this world. That was when Julian’s icy resolve finally cracked. “Claire,” he said, his voice hollow. “Between us, we’re even now.” He produced a legal document signed by Isabelle, dropping all charges. He paid for all of Arthur’s medical bills in a single transaction. And then, he vanished completely from my life. He wouldn’t divorce me, but he would never come back. After losing the baby, my world collapsed into rubble. There was nothing left to hold on to. My body gave out, and I lay in bed, a ghost in my own life. I learned that when your heart is truly shattered, your mind becomes a thick, impenetrable fog. To this day, my memories of that time are a blur. I don’t even remember if, in the depths of my agony, I ever uttered the words, “I can’t go on.” In my rare moments of clarity, I would see my mother’s face, her eyes sunken deep into their sockets. I think I must have said it. With Arthur in a coma and me hovering between life and death, my mother cried every day. She was too afraid to leave my side, even for a moment. At night, she tied a string from her wrist to mine, terrified she might sleep too soundly and miss something. My father, his body stooped with age, took on odd jobs to make ends meet. Two people who should have been enjoying a peaceful retirement were now caught in a relentless cycle of work and worry for their broken children. They took me to doctor after doctor. The diagnosis was always the same: severe depression, a difficult road to recovery. “The wounds of the heart are the hardest to heal.” Those words finally broke my parents’ spirits. My mother guarded me relentlessly. She would wheel me outside to sit in the sun. She tried to cook all my favorite foods, hoping to tempt an appetite that wasn’t there. My father, exhausted after a long day of physical labor, would still come and sit by my bed, talking about his day, filling the silence with the mundane chatter of life. The doctors had said that the simple, everyday rhythms of life—the smell of cooking, the sound of conversation—might be the only thing that could heal me. I didn’t want to disappoint them. I forced myself to respond, to engage. But they could see through the effort. They stopped pushing, content to just sit with me for a while before quietly leaving my room. At night, I could hear their muffled sobs through the walls, the sound of their helplessness. One night, I woke up from a nightmare, my mind a blank, mechanical slate. The moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the small, curled figure of my mother, asleep on the floor at the foot of my bed, ever watchful. I knew I had to get better. For them. But the past was a suffocating shroud I couldn’t seem to throw off. I cried, I rallied my courage, and I failed, again and again. I truly believed I couldn’t take it anymore. That night, I quietly untied the string from my wrist and climbed out onto the balcony. The night wind whipped around me, making my frail body sway. The pain was a living thing inside me, screaming for release. All I had to do was jump. A single foot was already over the edge. But I wanted one last look at my mother. I turned my head. And saw her standing in the doorway, holding a steaming bowl of rice. “My child,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “Eat something before you go.” No one else in the world would ever worry if you were hungry at the moment of your deepest despair. Only a mother. I came back from the edge. I lived.

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I am a nine-lived cat spirit, consort to the Celestial Realm’s God of War. Three years after my death, he finally remembered me. He descended to the mortal realm, seeking to tear another tail from me to save his childhood love. The little girl I once saved was now an old woman, her hair as white as snow. She told the God of War that I was already dead. He scoffed. “If my memory serves, she has two lives left. If you’re going to lie to me, at least make it a good one.” “Tell her this,” he commanded, his voice cold as ice. “Save Lyra, and she may remain my consort.” Suddenly, his eyes fell on the boy hiding behind the old woman, a boy with my striking resemblance. His expression hardened. “Well, well. Only ten years in the mortal realm, and she’s already managed to have a child. Since she refuses to show herself, then she can’t blame me for starting with the boy.” 1 A torrential rain lashed down from the heavens. Kaelus, the God of War, stood untouched by the downpour, clad in immaculate white robes. Not a single drop marred his perfect form. With a cruel yank, he ripped my son from behind Agnes’s frail frame. A mocking sneer twisted his lips. “Hah. The resemblance is uncanny. Elara has done well for herself, hasn’t she? Ten years of exile, and she even found time to have a child.” His voice dripped with venom. “When I find whatever bastard sired him, I will tear him limb from limb!” He extended a finger, tracing a line across my son Leo’s arm. A raw, bleeding gash split the skin. Leo let out a piercing wail. As he cried, the wound on his arm slowly began to heal itself. “He is Elara’s son, no doubt,” Kaelus declared. “If she will not crawl out to face me, then I have no choice but to take her son’s tail instead!” Agnes’s hands trembled as she dropped her cane, falling to her knees with a thud before Kaelus. The cold rain soaked her white hair, plastering it to her wrinkled face. “Lord Kaelus, Elara… Elara is already dead! How can you expect her to come out and meet you?!” Kaelus’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Dead? Don’t be absurd. She has two lives left! Don’t play these childish games with me. She heard Lyra was injured and now she refuses to help, is that it? It’s just one tail. It’s not as if I’m asking for her life!” I floated in the air above them, a dull ache still throbbing in the place where my heart used to be. Strange. I’d been dead for three years; how could I still feel pain? My heart ached for Agnes, and it broke for my little Leo. Agnes crawled forward on her knees, wrapping her arms around Leo. “My lord, I’m not lying to you. Elara passed away three years ago.” Kaelus’s laugh was a cold, sharp thing. “You refuse my generosity, so you’ll taste my wrath.” He seized Leo, lifting him into the air with an invisible force. He bellowed towards the small cottage. “Elara! I am giving you one last chance. If you do not crawl out here this instant, I will take it out on your son. A nine-lived cat spirit is a nine-lived cat spirit. It makes no difference to me whose tail I take!” Suspended in the air, Leo coughed and sputtered as the rain choked him, his small hands flailing wildly. “You’re a bad man! A monster!” Agnes, prone in the mud, clutched at Kaelus’s pristine boots. “My lord, I’m begging you. He is just a child. Please, spare him.” With a casual flick of his wrist, Kaelus sent Leo crashing to the ground. He coughed up a mouthful of blood. “I will give Elara one day,” Kaelus announced, his voice echoing in the storm. “If she does not show herself by tomorrow, she can’t blame me for being merciless. And as for the bastard she bore with her mortal lover, he will be punished alongside her!” He turned, his robes swirling around him, and vanished. Agnes and Leo clung to each other, their sobs lost in the sound of the rain. “Auntie Agnes,” Leo whimpered, “who… who was that? He was so scary.” A shadow passed over Agnes’s eyes. “He is no one, my dear. No one important at all.” 2 I clenched my fists, a bitter sorrow welling up inside me. Kaelus, how could you not even recognize your own son? Her mortal lover? The thought was so absurd it was almost laughable. But then, he had never truly cared for me. How could he possibly know Leo was his child? And even if he did, he would likely just transfer all his hatred for me onto our son. Agnes helped Leo back into the cottage and immediately began to pack. “Leo, we have to leave. We can’t stay here any longer.” A wave of relief washed over me. She remembered my words. Before I died, I had told her that if Kaelus ever came looking for me, she had to run. No matter how far, she had to run. I hovered behind Agnes, whispering an apology she couldn’t hear. I’m so sorry, Agnes. I’ve dragged you into this. She clutched the jade talisman I’d given her, her eyes filled with a deep longing. “Elara, you gave me my life. Don’t worry. I will protect Leo, no matter the cost.” Looking at her face, softened by the flickering lamplight, it was as if I was back fifty years ago, seeing that little girl who had fallen from a cliff while trying to gather herbs for her sick mother. I had been passing by and saved her, healing her mother as well. Such a simple act, and yet she remembered it her entire life. She always said she could never repay my kindness. Ten years ago, when Kaelus cast me out of the Celestial Realm and my enemies hunted me, it was Agnes who took me in. We had been on the run ever since. I thought Kaelus had finally forgotten me, but it seemed even in death, I could find no peace. Agnes quickly finished packing, and under the cover of darkness, they slipped out of the cottage. She glanced back one last time at the home we’d shared for a decade, sighed, and then turned away without hesitation, leading Leo into the night. The talisman I gave her would grant them passage into a hidden cave within my tomb. It held the last vestiges of my spirit energy, enough to shield them from Kaelus’s detection. But it would only last for a week. That would be enough. Kaelus would never spend more than three days searching for me. They hadn’t gone far when he appeared before them. He stood like a statue in their path, an immense pressure radiating from him, forcing Agnes and Leo to their knees, blood trickling from their lips. I flew at Kaelus, beating against him with my spectral fists. “You bastard, Kaelus! Is this how you treat an innocent old woman and a child?! And you call yourself the God of War, protector of all realms!” But he couldn’t feel my blows or hear my screams. I was filled with despair. I knew that for his precious Lyra, he was capable of anything. He looked down at them, his voice laced with contempt. “And where do you two think you’re going?” Agnes struggled to speak. “I… I was just going to buy Leo something to eat.” “Oh? And you need to pack all your belongings to go shopping? Do you take me for a fool? You were trying to run!” His voice cracked like a whip. “I already gave you a chance!” Suddenly, a surge of strength filled Leo. Claws sprang from his fingertips as he lunged at Kaelus. “You monster! Don’t you hurt Auntie Agnes! I’ll bite you! I’ll kill you!” My spirit heart leaped into my throat. “Leo, no!” I screamed into the void. An enraged Kaelus would surely kill him! Even if Leo was his own son. He wouldn’t care. Not if he came from me. Kaelus, caught off guard by the sudden attack, hissed as Leo’s claws tore a deep gash in his arm. His eyes turned to ice. He seized Leo by the throat, lifting him effortlessly. “You’re just like your mother. Pathetic and defiant.” Leo glared at him, spitting out the words. “My mother was the best person in the world! You’re not allowed to talk about her!” Tears streamed down Agnes’s face as she slammed her forehead against the rocky ground, again and again, until it was a bloody mess. I spun in the air, frantic with rage. Kaelus, you animal! A white-hot hatred consumed me. Kaelus, I am truly beginning to hate you. 3 “My lord, please,” Agnes sobbed. “Let Leo go. I’ve already told you, Elara died three years ago.” Kaelus’s grip tightened. “Is that so? Well, if she’s dead, then her son’s tail will have to do! I refuse to believe she would stand by and watch her own child be mutilated!” Leo’s face was turning a deep shade of purple. Agnes’s lips trembled as she forced out the words. “My lord… Leo… Leo is your son.” My head snapped towards Agnes. How… how did she know? I had never told her the truth about Leo’s father. She had never asked. Perhaps it was the slight resemblance in his features. Kaelus raised an eyebrow. “You’ll say anything to save Lyra, won’t you?” He clearly didn’t believe her. A ball of fire materialized in his right hand, and he pressed it against Leo’s arm. Leo screamed in agony as the Celestial Flame seared his flesh, leaving his small arm a mess of charred tissue. The wound showed no signs of healing. The blood of Kaelus was a divine fire. A cat spirit’s powerful regenerative abilities were useless against it. The wound would only begin to heal once the last embers of the flame had died out. Twenty years ago, Lyra had framed me. In his rage, Kaelus had burned me with his Celestial Flame for an hour. My entire body was a wreck of festering wounds. It took me five years to fully recover. Leo was not even ten years old. How could he possibly withstand such a thing? Kaelus sneered. “He can’t even withstand my Celestial Flame, and you dare claim he is my son? It seems ten years of suffering in the mortal realm haven’t changed Elara’s vicious nature one bit!” Leo was too young. The God of War’s bloodline had not yet awakened within him. Kaelus, you truly are a monster! He shouted into the darkness around them. “Elara, I’ve changed my mind! This is your final chance. If you do not show yourself, I will not only take your son’s tail, I will burn him with my Celestial Flame for three days and three nights!” In a panic, Agnes rushed forward to shield Leo. But she was only a mortal. The moment she touched the divine fire, her entire hand disintegrated into ash. Her bloodcurdling scream echoed through the forest. I was consumed by a blinding rage. I wanted to kill Kaelus. Kaelus, Kaelus, I hate you. I hate that I ever met you, and I hate myself for ever loving you! Kaelus extinguished the flame, but Agnes’s arm was gone. Leo, fighting through his own pain, crawled to her side. He bit into his own wrist and let his blood drip onto her wound, staunching the flow. He turned to Kaelus, his voice raw with grief. “You monster! Who are you? My mother is gone! Why do you hate her so much?! My mother is dead! I am her son! If you want revenge, take it out on me! I don’t know what she did to you, but I’m begging you, please, don’t hurt Auntie Agnes!” Kaelus flinched at his words. His lips moved, but he said nothing. He probably couldn’t bring himself to admit that I, a “vicious” cat spirit, was the consort of the great God of War. He had always seen me as a source of shame. Agnes’s face was ashen. After a long moment, she managed to catch her breath. Using her one remaining hand, she propped herself up with her cane. The fear in her eyes was gone, replaced by a chilling mockery. She looked at Kaelus and smiled. “Lord Kaelus, you wanted to see Elara, didn’t you? Then follow me.” Kaelus, completely oblivious to the change in her demeanor, assumed his Celestial Flame had finally broken them. A triumphant smirk played on his lips. “If you had just led me to her in the first place, you could have avoided all this suffering.” Agnes walked ahead, laughing softly to herself. “Elara, Elara,” she murmured, “is this the man you once loved so deeply? It was never worth it.” I’m sorry, Agnes. I’m so sorry. I wished I could go back to the day I first met Kaelus, a hundred years ago. I would have turned and walked away without a second thought. I would have never allowed our paths to cross. Never. 4 Soon, we arrived at my tomb. It was a simple grave, set into the face of a cliff. Agnes took out the jade talisman I had given her. A gentle squeeze would shatter it and open the cliff face. The moment Kaelus saw the talisman, his expression faltered. It was our betrothal gift. He snatched it from her, staring at it for a long moment before speaking, his voice laced with a strange anger. “She never took this off. So, she finds a new lover, and even her most precious tokens become meaningless.” Agnes’s eyes were filled with scorn. She snatched the talisman back and squeezed, but her strength failed her. Frustrated, she threw it to the ground, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. “How dare you!” Kaelus roared, grabbing her by the collar. “You wanted to see Elara,” Agnes said, her voice flat as she gestured to the opening in the cliff. “She’s in there.” Kaelus snorted, then dragged Leo into the cave. But it was utterly empty. There was nothing inside. He had been tricked. A powerful malevolence radiated from him, and the temperature inside the cave plummeted. Agnes leaned against the wall, shivering violently. I rushed to embrace her, but my arms passed right through. A mortal would freeze to death in this cold, especially one of her age! But Agnes seemed oblivious to the cold. She caressed the stone wall with a tender familiarity. “Elara. It’s been a long time.” It has. My physical form had become the mountain itself. With a flick of his wrist, Kaelus transformed Leo into a tiny kitten, mewling in his grasp. “Fine. You’re all as defiant as she is. You think my patience is endless? Then I will offer the son she had with her lover as a sacrifice!” He raised his hand to tear away Leo’s single tail. “Hah. One tail? You lie just like your mother. You wretched little thing.” I shrieked, throwing myself at Kaelus. I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I screamed and begged him to spare Leo. I was a nine-lived cat. Giving birth to Leo had left me on the brink of death. He was just an ordinary cat spirit. He only had one life. Kaelus, are you really going to murder your own child?! Just then, a series of weak coughs echoed from the cave entrance. Lyra, Kaelus’s childhood love, was being helped inside by a servant. Her face was pale, and a trickle of blood stained the corner of her lips. “Kaelus, my love,” she whispered, “if Lady Elara is unwilling, then let it be. My life is not worth this trouble.” She shivered, rubbing her arms. Kaelus immediately rushed to her side, wrapping her in a protective embrace. The chilling aura around him dissipated, and the cave slowly began to warm. I breathed a sigh of relief as Agnes’s breathing evened out. “Don’t be afraid, Lyra,” Kaelus soothed. “If that woman refuses, we still have the son she bore with her mortal lover. I won’t let you die. After what she did to you, this is what she deserves.” A fleeting, triumphant smile flashed across Lyra’s face as she buried her head in his chest. Agnes, having regained some of her strength, began to laugh, a hollow, broken sound. “Kaelus, if you dare touch Leo, you will regret it for the rest of your life. I promise you that.” A cold smile touched Kaelus’s lips. “Is that so? I’d like to see you make me.” As he spoke, a golden light emanated from his hand. Leo’s tail was in his grasp. And then, Kaelus froze. A brilliant flame, the Celestial Flame exclusive to the God of War’s bloodline, erupted from Leo’s small body.

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When my dad’s “first love” returned from abroad, she demanded my mom step down as Mrs. Sterling. My mom, being the sweet, naive trophy wife she was, didn’t want anything. She just wanted to take me with her. I pinned my mom down, furious at her lack of ambition. “Mom! Why do you want me? You want the money!” “Wouldn’t it be nice to take this middle-aged man’s fortune and hire ten hot young guys to fan you with palm leaves?” “Me? Don’t worry about me.” “I’ll use his money to support you!” 1 In the living room, my dad, Richard Sterling—a successful, handsome, middle-aged man—sat upright. Next to him sat his returning “white moonlight,” Linda. My mom, Sarah, the sweet, naive trophy wife, was holding my hand, crying her eyes out. “Richard, I don’t want anything. But Nina has to come with me!” Linda advised gently: “Sarah, the child will have a better future with Richard. You need to consider her well-being. Don’t be selfish.” My dad looked at her with admiration. My mom cried even harder. “I only have Nina. I don’t care, I…” Before she could finish, I grabbed her, pulled her aside, and whispered fiercely into her ear: “Mom! Why do you want me? Ask for the money!” My mom stared at me, tears hanging on her lashes, looking pitiful. “Nina?” I sighed, exasperated. “Take Richard’s money. Travel the world. Date a dozen college boys. Doesn’t that sound better?” Her eyes went wide. She was nearly forty but still as innocent as a teenager. “B-but what about you?” I continued brainwashing her. “Me? Don’t worry about me. I’ll stay, keep being the rich heiress, and funnel his money to you later!” My mom hesitated. “But…” I cut her off, turned to my dad, and flashed a fake corporate smile. “Dad, let’s discuss Mom’s compensation for lost youth and emotional damages…” 2 My dad, amused by my sudden business-like tone, took a sip of tea. “Let’s hear it.” I didn’t hold back. I smiled and started listing demands like a menu. “First, the penthouse downtown goes to Mom. Second, fifteen percent of your company’s original shares. Not too much, right? Finally, a bit of cash. Let’s say… a hundred million. A nice round number.” Mom gasped behind me. Linda’s face fell, but she maintained her gentle facade. “Nina, you’re still young. You don’t understand these things. This would impact your father’s company greatly.” I glanced at her. “Auntie, my parents are discussing divorce settlements. As an outsider, why are you interrupting?” “I…” Linda’s face flushed red. My dad waved a hand to silence her, looking at me with interest. “Fifteen percent is too much. The house and cash are fine.” “No deal.” I stood my ground. “The shares are the bottom line. Mom was with you for seventeen years. Even if she didn’t build the empire, she supported you. Now you’re kicking her out for your old flame. You have to give her some security, right? Otherwise, word gets out that Richard Sterling abandons his wife… that’ll hurt the stock price more.” “You!” My dad choked on his anger. I met his gaze fearlessly. You think you can treat my mom like a disposable napkin? Dream on. After a tense silence, Richard suddenly laughed. “Fine. I agree.” He agreed so readily it surprised me. “Shares, house, cash. All hers. But I have one condition.” “What condition?” He pointed at me. “You stay.” 3 I knew why he wanted me. No one knew my dad’s ego better than I did. He liked Linda, sure. But I was excellent, a worthy heir in his eyes. Plus, Linda couldn’t have kids anymore. Whatever his reasons, it played right into my hands. I had to stay to remain the rich heiress, to spend his money, to support my naive mom. A perfect loop. But Sarah wasn’t having it. She pulled me behind her, glaring at Richard like a protective hen. “No! I don’t want the money! I want my daughter!” Me: “…” Mom, wake up! You’re delaying the wire transfer! I dragged her aside again for more ideological work. “Mom, listen. I’m going undercover behind enemy lines, get it?” “What?” “Think about it. You leave with the money, free as a bird. “If I stay, he’ll feel guilty and treat me better. I’ll just transfer my allowance to you. It’s sustainable wool-shearing!” Mom nodded, half-understanding. I added the final blow: “Besides, with me here, he and his ‘white moonlight’ won’t have it easy. I’ll be a thorn in their side, a constant reminder of the kind, beautiful wife he lost.” Mom’s expression shifted. She looked at me, then at Richard. Finally, with my encouragement, she nodded—humiliated but tragic. I smiled, relieved. The agreement was signed quickly. Richard’s lawyers were efficient. Sarah signed her name with a trembling hand. In that moment, she officially became a multi-millionaire. 4 The moment my mom left, Linda started asserting her dominance. “Nina, we’re a family now.” She smiled gently and cooked dinner herself. Four dishes and a soup, plating exquisite. “Nina, try my Squirrel Fish. It’s my specialty.” She enthusiastically put food in my bowl. I looked at the perfect fish and felt zero appetite. My mom might be naive, but her cooking was legendary. My palate had been spoiled since birth. I put down my chopsticks, pulled out my phone, and opened Uber Eats. “One deluxe black truffle pizza, double cheese. And a sashimi platter…” I ordered slowly, right in front of her. Linda’s smile froze. “Nina, I worked hard on this…” I interrupted. “Auntie, Dad hired a chef. You didn’t need to cook. Besides, I don’t like your food.” Anger finally surfaced on Linda’s face. My dad came out of the study and frowned. “Nina, how are you talking to Auntie Linda?” I shrugged. “Dad, if you like it, you eat it.” My dad, naturally backing his true love, took a bite of the fish. Under Linda’s expectant gaze, he hesitated before saying gently: “Linda, let’s leave the cooking to the chef from now on.” Linda nodded, humiliated, but didn’t dare argue. The delivery arrived quickly. I turned on the projector, ate, and watched a movie. Linda’s carefully prepared meal sat untouched on the table. 5 The next morning, I came downstairs to find Linda directing the servants. “Change these curtains to beige, it matches the sofa better.” “This vase is tacky. Get a classier one.” “And Richard’s study—he likes it tidy. Put away all those knick-knacks.” She was playing the lady of the house, changing everything my mom loved. I sneered and walked over. “Maria, leave the vase.” Maria looked torn between me and Linda. Linda walked over, speaking softly. “Nina, the style is outdated. Changing it will lift everyone’s mood.” “My mood is fine.” I leaned on the banister, ignoring her passive-aggressive tone. “I’m used to what my mom picked. If you’re not used to it, you can move out.” “Nina!” My dad’s voice came from the dining room, warningly. I turned to him, spreading my hands innocently. “Dad, Mom decorated every corner of this house. She just left, and you can’t wait to erase her existence?” Linda walked over, tugging Dad’s sleeve gently. “Richard, don’t blame Nina. I didn’t think it through. I just wanted to make the home warmer…” Her eyes reddened, looking like she’d been terribly wronged. The middle-aged man’s heart melted instantly. He patted Linda’s shoulder and turned to me. “Nina, Auntie Linda means well. She’s in charge of the house now.” I smiled. “Great. Is she in charge of me too?” Dad nodded instinctively. Exactly what I was waiting for. I pulled out my phone, opened a luxury website, and pointed to the latest bag. “Auntie Linda, which color should I get? Or should I get one of each?” Linda froze. I continued sincerely: “And the charity gala next week—I want to bid on a diamond necklace. Can you help me decide the budget?” I shoved the phone in her face, smiling sweetly. “Dad said you’re in charge. My spending falls under that, right?” Linda’s face turned green.

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There is a small bistro in the historic district of Seattle. It opens only for lunch, and the menu never changes: a limited run of one hundred bowls of house-special broth. The owner is a quiet man. They say he has been keeping watch over this place for more than a decade. People often ask him, “Why sell only this one simple dish? Is there a secret recipe?” He always smiles a polite, distant smile, wiping down the counter. “I’m waiting for an old friend,” he says. “One who hates cilantro.” Fifteen years later, having finished my expedition early, I returned to Seattle. I walked into that shop and ordered a bowl. “No cilantro for me, please,” I told the server. In that instant, I heard a sound from the kitchen—a sharp crash, like something fragile shattering on the floor. 1 On my twenty-third birthday, Roman rented out the entire penthouse lounge of the Space Needle. Above us, crystal chandeliers competed with the stars; below us, the city grid of Seattle glowed like a circuit board of amber and gold. Every light felt like it had been turned on just for me. My best friend, Sloane, handed me a box wrapped in silk. She looked stunning in a champagne slip dress that cost more than my entire childhood wardrobe. “Happy Birthday, Nora,” she beamed, her smile radiant. “May my princess always be surrounded by love.” From behind, Roman wrapped his arms around my waist. I felt his chin rest gently on my shoulder, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Happy Birthday, Nora. My girl.” I was so happy I felt dizzy. My name is Nora. Before them, I was just a weed struggling to grow through cracks in the pavement. My mother died young, leaving me with a stepfather who treated me like a nuisance he couldn’t wait to scrape off his shoe. I survived his glares and his backhands until I was fifteen. That was the year I met Roman and Sloane. It was Sloane who found me shivering on her doorstep one freezing November night after my stepfather locked me out. She dragged me into her warm, lavender-scented bedroom, dressed me in cashmere, and said, “Nora, from now on, you’re family.” It was Roman who, when the neighborhood bullies cornered me for lunch money, descended like an avenging angel. He bloodied their noses and stood in front of me, a human shield. “Don’t be scared,” he’d said. “I’ll protect you. Always.” They were the only light in my life. The reason I crawled out of the abyss. For eight years—from fifteen to twenty-three—they spoiled me. They turned the weed into a hothouse flower. Roman would drive across the city at 3:00 AM to find me the specific dark chocolate I craved when I had cramps. Sloane cataloged my entire existence, buying me clothes that fit perfectly before I even tried them on. They were the two pillars of my world: the lover and the soulmate. I thought this happiness was infinite. The party was perfect. Friends sang, champagne flowed. I closed my eyes before the candles, making a fervent wish: Let the three of us stay together, forever. After the cake, the room felt a little stuffy. I slipped away to the terrace for some air. The wind at that altitude was brisk. I reached for the handle of the glass door, but stopped when I heard voices. It was Sloane. Her voice was shaking, laced with a fragility I had never heard before. “Roman… we can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to Nora.” My feet were nailed to the floor. An invisible hand reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it stopped beating. Then, I heard Roman. The voice that usually whispered sweet nothings to me was now heavy with exhaustion and conflict. “Sloane, just give me a little more time. I love her, but I…” He paused. The silence stretched out, agonizing and thick. When he spoke again, it sounded like a confession on death row. “…I think I’m in love with you, too.” Boom. My world didn’t crack; it vaporized. Not think. He said love. “But what about Nora?” Sloane sounded desperate. “She relies on us. She has no one else. How can we do this to her?” “I know,” Roman groaned. “I’m a bastard. In the beginning, when I saw her… she was like that stray kitten I couldn’t save when I was a kid. I just wanted to protect her. I wanted to give her a home. I thought that feeling was love. But with you… this ease, this electricity… Sloane, I can’t tell the difference anymore. I really can’t.” A stray kitten. That’s all I was. A projection of his childhood regret. Eight years of devotion, rooted in misplaced pity. My epic romance was nothing but a charity case. I didn’t feel cold. I didn’t feel pain. My body slipped into a terrifying numbness. I could hear my heart shattering, like ice hitting pavement, piece by piece. I didn’t have the courage to listen to another word, nor the strength to burst in and scream. Like a ghost, I retreated into the shadows and blended back into the noise of the party. Roman and Sloane returned shortly after. They looked flushed, unnatural, but they plastered smiles over their guilt. Roman walked up to me, sliding his hand around my waist. “Where did you go? You look pale.” I looked up at his handsome face—the face that used to be my sanctuary. I smiled, shaking my head. “Nothing. Just a little tired.” He didn’t suspect a thing. He just rubbed my hair, eyes full of that damn pity. “Let’s wrap this up early then. I’ll take you home.” That night, I was a perfect marionette. I smiled at the toasts, I laughed at the jokes, I said thank you. No one noticed that on that terrace, the wind had already blown my soul away. Back at our apartment, Roman ran a bath for me and placed a warm glass of milk by the bedside, just like always. “Nora, hop in the tub before the water gets cold.” He kissed my forehead. An hour ago, that kiss would have melted me. Now, it felt like dry ice. I nodded obediently, locked the bathroom door, and turned on the shower. Hot water cascaded down, but I felt like I was standing naked in a blizzard. I curled into a ball on the tiles, burying my face in my knees, and let out a low, animal wail that the water drowned out. Tears and tap water mixed, scalding my skin. What was I supposed to do? Storm out? Tear off their masks? Ask them why? I couldn’t. When I was fifteen, broken and bleeding, they pulled me out of hell. My tuition, my rent, my very survival—it was all them. They gave me a life. How could I bite the hands that fed me? They fell in love. Maybe that was how it was always supposed to be. Roman came from money; Sloane was old intellectual elite. They were a matching set. And I was just the lucky orphan standing in the glow of their benevolence. Now, the light was returning to its source. I couldn’t be the obstacle. I couldn’t let them resent me. I couldn’t let my beautiful memories turn into something ugly. I had to let them go. Once the thought took root, it grew violently. I had to leave. To a place where they would never find me, where they would never feel guilty. I didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I ate the breakfast Roman made. He told me he had to go to Portland for an academic conference. Two days. I smiled and told him to drive safe. The moment the door clicked shut, I opened my laptop. Compelled by some dark instinct, I typed into the search bar: The farthest place on Earth. A result popped up: [Arctic Yellow River Station]. China’s first Arctic research station, located in Ny-Ålesund, Svalbard Archipelago, Norway. I clicked on the images. It was a world of blinding white. Glaciers, snow-capped peaks, a lonely station at the edge of the world. It looked beautiful. It looked cold. It looked numb. A recruitment banner caught my eye. [State Oceanic Administration: Polar Expedition Office. Recruiting Environmental Researchers. Deployment: Arctic Station. Minimum Contract: 15 Years. Renewable up to 20.] Requirements: Ph.D. candidate in Environmental Science, independent research capability, excellent physical health, ability to withstand extreme isolation… I was a doctoral candidate in Environmental Science. I was one year from graduating. I fit every criterion. Fifteen years. How many fifteen-year blocks does a life have? By the time I came back, the dust would have settled. They would be married, maybe with children. Happy. And I would have repaid my debt to them with my absence. My finger hovered over the mouse, trembling. I remembered Roman telling me, “Nora, you’re like a hothouse flower. You’d wither without me.” I remembered Sloane hugging me. “Don’t worry, Nora. If the sky falls, we’ll hold it up for you.” They protected me so well that I forgot I was born a weed. I could survive anywhere. I was just going back to the wild. A sharp pain stabbed my chest, but I clicked Apply. I uploaded everything. Transcripts, awards, thesis drafts. In the “Statement of Purpose” box, I wrote only one sentence: I wish to dedicate my life to the glaciers and stars at the northernmost edge of the world. When the submission bar hit 100%, I heard a shackle break. This was my penance. This was my rebirth. A twenty-year self-imposed exile. 2 The waiting period was agony. I became the greatest actress of my generation. I played the role of “Nora, the beloved girl” perfectly. We ate dinner. We watched movies. We planned a future that didn’t exist. Roman even took me to see a condo overlooking the sound. “Nora,” he said, eyes shining, “when you get your doctorate, we’ll get married. This will be our home. What do you think?” I looked at the hope in his eyes, smiled, and said “Yes,” while my insides bled. Sloane dragged me to bridal shops. “Nora, you have to wear this silhouette! I insist on being the Maid of Honor.” I tried on the gowns. I looked at the stranger in the mirror, white as a sheet, and forced a smile. They were so good at this. Sometimes, I almost tricked myself into believing the birthday party was a hallucination. Until that night. Roman was in the shower. His phone, sitting on the nightstand, lit up. I glanced over. It was a notification from an app called “HeartBeat.” A pink icon. I knew it. Sophomore year, Roman downloaded it. He said it was for us—a private digital diary to store his thoughts about me, for when we were old and gray. The password was my birthday. I hadn’t thought about it in years. A demonic voice whispered in my ear: Open it. I knew I shouldn’t. It was an invasion of privacy. But my hand moved on its own. I punched in my birthdate. It unlocked. I tapped the pink heart. The latest entry was from last night. [Took Nora to see the house. She seemed to like it. Why do I feel like there’s a stone on my chest? I can’t imagine living the rest of my life there with her. All I could think about was how it would look if Sloane was the one standing by the window… God, I’m a monster.] My breath hitched. Trembling, I scrolled up. Six months ago. [Sloane cut her hair short. She said it’s for the heat, but I know she’s restless. I ache for her.] One year ago. [Debated with Sloane at the library for hours. When I proved her wrong, she made this face… so fierce, so cute. It’s electric. It’s so different from the way I feel about Nora. With Nora, it’s just… quiet.] Two years ago. [Sloane’s boyfriend cheated. She cried in my arms. She smells like gardenias. My heart was racing so fast I thought she’d hear it.] I scrolled back, page after page. A countdown to the death of our relationship. The diary I thought was a shrine to our love had slowly, insidiously, become a shrine to her. First “Sloane,” then just “She.” He chronicled every stolen glance, every suppressed urge. Their love had been growing in the dark for years, a lush garden I was too blind to see. I was the intruder. I scrolled to the very first entry. The day we became a couple. [Today, I finally brought that poor kitten home out of the rain. Her name is Nora. Her eyes are so clean, but so fragile. Like they’d shatter if I blinked. I swear, I will protect her. She will never be hurt again.] There it was. Proof. I put the phone back exactly where it was. My hands were steady. So this is what it feels like when a heart finally dies.

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I was working late at the office when a notification popped up on my phone: “Unusual vehicle motion detected.” A cold dread washed over me. I opened my car’s security app and tapped into the live interior camera feed. And there they were. My boyfriend, David, and my best friend, Zoe, having sex in the backseat of my car. White-hot rage flooded my system. I bolted from the office, sped home, and found my car parked in its usual spot. I yanked the back door open, a scream of accusation on my lips. But before I could speak, David looked up at me, his eyes wide and completely blank. “Who are you?” he asked. 1 I froze, the fury in my chest burning even hotter. So that was his game. The bastard gets caught red-handed and pretends not to know me, thinking he can just weasel his way out of it? I grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him, stark naked, out onto the pavement. Inside the car, Zoe shrieked, clutching the car blanket to her chest. “David, you son of a bitch!” I slapped him so hard he stumbled and fell. He scrambled backward, his eyes filled with genuine terror. “Lady, I know what we were doing wasn’t exactly classy, but that’s no reason to get violent.” “Still playing dumb? Who are you calling ‘lady’?” My patience snapped. I stared him down, but his expression remained one of pure, bewildered confusion. Even though it was late, the complex was full of people walking their dogs or enjoying the evening air. A small crowd was already starting to form. Panic flashed across David’s face. He scrambled to his feet, shoving my hand away. “You’re crazy! I don’t know you! Get away from me, or I’m calling the cops!” Furious, I turned my attention back to the car, leaning in to glare at my so-called best friend. “Zoe, why would you do this? Why would you seduce my boyfriend?” “Who are you?” she screamed, her voice shrill with fear. “I don’t know you! Help! Somebody help me!” “Get away from my wife!” David’s roar was thunderous. He grabbed me, shoved me backward, and I fell hard onto the asphalt. My world tilted. The whispers of the onlookers reached my ears. “What’s going on? Is she catching him cheating?” “That guy’s a real piece of work. Hitting his own girlfriend for his mistress.” “Hey, you’ve got it wrong. That couple lives downstairs from me. They’ve been married for ages. I’ve never seen this woman before.” “What? Seriously? So… is she actually just crazy?” My head throbbed. The world spun around me, a chaotic blur of confused faces and accusatory whispers. Before I could process any of it, David and Zoe scrambled into the front seats and sped away. How could this be happening? The three of us—me, David, and Zoe—we grew up together. Twenty years of friendship, of shared history. And tonight, they not only betray me but act like I’m a complete stranger. I stumbled back to my apartment building in a daze, but when I tried my key, it wouldn’t turn in the lock. No matter how many times I tried, the door wouldn’t open. I slammed my fist against the wood in frustration and trudged back to the office. “Leah? Where’d you go?” My coworker, Sarah, asked, slurping a mouthful of instant noodles. I collapsed into my chair, my voice catching in my throat. “My boyfriend is cheating on me.” Sarah paused, a noodle dangling from her lips. She gave me a strange look. “Boyfriend? Since when do you have a boyfriend?” 2 Her words were like a slap in the face. I shot to my feet. David used to bring me lunch every single day. There was no way Sarah didn’t know him. Why was she playing dumb, too? I slammed my hand on the desk. “Why are you saying that? Are you in on it with those two?” Sarah put down her noodle cup, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Leah, you really don’t have a boyfriend.” “Yes, I do! We grew up together! We live together in Eastwood Estates!” Her look turned from concern to pity, with a hint of ridicule. “Leah, did you eat some bad takeout or something? A condo in Eastwood Estates costs millions. How could we, on our salaries, ever afford a place like that?” I stared at her, my blood running cold. I remembered being the sales manager, with a six-figure salary. A genuine fear, cold and sharp, began to pierce through my anger. My life, the one I remembered so clearly, didn’t seem to exist. Where did it all go wrong? Over the next few days, I reached out to other friends. Every single one of them gave me the same story: they had never heard of David or Zoe. They scoffed at the idea that the CEO of a major tech firm like David would ever be interested in a “broke girl” like me. I retreated to my new reality—a cheap, cramped rental I apparently lived in—and sank onto the lumpy sofa, my mind reeling. Was I going crazy? Was this some kind of delusion? No. It couldn’t be. They were all lying to me. This was a conspiracy. I clenched my fists. I would find out the truth myself. 3 I spent the next few days tailing David, and with every passing hour, my heart grew colder. He and Zoe were, by all accounts, a couple. Everyone in their circle treated them as such. It was as if I had been completely erased from their history. David was the CEO of the city’s largest publicly traded company. Zoe had been parachuted into my company as the new sales manager—the very position that, in my memory, was mine. Somehow, Zoe hadn’t just stolen my boyfriend. She had stolen my entire life. I refused to accept it. There had to be a rational explanation, a plot behind all this. I decided my only option was to break into the condo at Eastwood Estates—the home that was supposed to be mine. If there was any evidence of my old life, it would be there. Eastwood Estates was a high-end, exclusive community. Normally, a stranger wouldn’t be able to get past the front gate. But on the night I caught them, the security guard hadn’t stopped me. That meant he must have recognized me. This time, however, when I approached the gate, he blocked my path. “Residents only,” he said, his face a stern mask. “I am a resident. I live in building two, apartment 305.” The guard hesitated for a fraction of a second. “That’s Mr. Sterling’s residence. Who are you to him?” I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. “You really don’t recognize me?” His eyes flickered away for a second before he cleared his throat. “Ma’am, please maintain a respectful distance. I don’t know you. If you have no further business here, I have to ask you to leave.” I sighed and turned away, feigning defeat. But I knew a secret. There was a service entrance on the far side of the property, an unmonitored back way in, designed for discretion. I slipped through it and made my way to what I still considered my home. I didn’t have a key, but I’d taken a lock-picking course for fun years ago. After a few tense minutes of work, the lock clicked open. As I pushed the door, I felt a sudden prickling sensation on the back of my neck, as if someone was watching me. I spun around, but the hallway was empty. I slipped inside, closing the door silently behind me. The apartment was mostly as I remembered it. The furniture, the layout—it was all familiar. Where to start? I walked into the bedroom. The blue comforter was the same. My vanity table was still in the corner. The only difference was that all the photos of David and me had been replaced with photos of him and Zoe. I searched frantically, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Then, in the back of the closet, I found it: a beautifully bound journal. I didn’t remember David ever keeping a diary. This had to be it. This had to hold the answers to what had happened. My heart hammered in my chest. I was about to open it when I heard the sound of a key in the front door lock. I spun around in terror. A second later, the door swung open. 4 A man and a woman stumbled in, locked in a passionate embrace, their moans and whispers filling the apartment. It was David and Zoe. “Hey, what’s the rush? What if someone saw us?” Zoe giggled. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve missed you like crazy.” They kicked off their shoes and tumbled onto the bed, their clothes falling in a heap on the floor, just inches from my face. I flattened myself under the bed, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. The irony was suffocating. I was the rightful partner, yet here I was, hiding under the bed like a common mistress. The bed frame began to creak rhythmically. Between gasps, they started talking. “So, tell me again,” Zoe said. “Who was that crazy woman the other night? Why did she say she was your girlfriend?” “Oh, her? Just some lunatic. I have no idea how the security guard let her in.” “You’re sure you’re not sleeping with her?” “Silly girl,” David murmured. “My heart belongs only to you. Besides, you saw her. She was so plain. Definitely not my type.” “Hmph. That’s more like it.” I ground my teeth in fury. But a horrifying realization dawned on me. This wasn’t an act. They weren’t trying to deceive me anymore. I wasn’t here. They truly didn’t know who I was. What the hell was going on? How could my entire life be rewritten overnight? Were my memories all fake? As I wrestled with these impossible questions, the sounds from the bed grew more intense. Suddenly, Zoe let out a sharp cry. It wasn’t a sound of pleasure. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated pain. Before I could process what was happening, her scream turned into a blood-curdling shriek. The bed began to shake violently. A torrent of warm, sticky liquid streamed down the side of the mattress, pooling on the floor in front of me. The coppery stench of blood filled my nostrils. Then, something round and heavy rolled off the edge of the bed and landed with a wet thud right in front of me. It was Zoe’s severed head. Her terrified eyes were wide open, staring directly into mine.

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My sister, Serena, always dreamed of striking it rich. Her plan? Stage an “accident” that would cripple Leo Kingston, the only son of Manhattan’s most untouchable financial dynasty. A rebar stake through the kid’s chest. Serena played the Good Samaritan, rushing him to the E.R., even pumping out 800cc of her own blood. No fanfare, no credit—that was the trick to getting the biggest reward. As soon as the doctors said the danger had passed, she bolted. And I didn’t stop her. I stood in the corridor, watching her back. Last time—in my former life—I tried to warn her. I saw her tampering with the equipment at the construction site and begged her to stop; the Kingstons were untouchable. She smiled, told me I was sweet, and then, on the walk home, she took me to the roof of that very same steel plant and pushed. I died choking on my own blood, impaled on the same construction debris she’d rigged. My final thought: She blamed me for ruining her jackpot. Then, I opened my eyes. Back in the same day. The same humming, antiseptic corridor. This time, I wasn’t saving her. I was watching her dig her own grave. 1 Leo Kingston was in emergency surgery. My sister, Serena Miller, was at the blood bank window, her face a mask of refined, selfless panic. Her expensive designer dress was artfully soaked in Leo’s blood. If you hadn’t seen her orchestrate the accident—if you didn’t know the sickening ambition churning beneath that fragile facade—you would have thought she was a literal saint. “Is that enough?” she pleaded with the nurse, her voice catching with forced tears. “If he needs more, take it! I have plenty! He’s so small. You have to save him, or I’ll never have a moment’s peace.” The nurse cooed about her kindness, assuring her that the amount she’d given was more than enough. Serena bowed and scraped, thanking the nurse with effusive, grateful reverence. But when the nurse asked for her name, Serena smoothly changed the subject. It was all part of the plan. Her information was on the transfusion documents, but by pretending to be a self-effacing hero, she hoped the Kingstons—a family known for their obscene wealth and old money arrogance—would offer a reward far greater than any she could have negotiated. The nurse hurried away. The surgical doors swung shut. Serena’s grip was a vice on my arm, making me gasp. The act was over. Her voice was a low, vicious hiss, all the Good Samaritan stripped away. “Keep that mouth shut, Naomi. You know the score.” I gently pulled my arm free. I could feel the adrenaline thrumming through me, but I kept my face blank—the familiar, cowed expression she expected. “Don’t worry, Serena. You’re my sister. Who else would I side with?” I kept my voice small and meek. “Just let me be the receptionist when you get your big payout. I just want a steady paycheck.” Serena scoffed, wiping a smear of blood off her sleeve with a disdainful frown. “Mom and Dad are right. You’re a useless commodity, a born drone. You’ll die in debt without my brilliance.” She was already walking toward the elevator, high heels clicking impatiently. I just nodded along, playing the pathetic, easily managed younger sister. Last time, my concern had been interpreted as sabotage. This time? I would push her toward the cliff. I wanted to see exactly how she planned to survive messing with Rhys Kingston. Serena didn’t spare me another thought. She saw my fabricated fear and preened. “Fine. Stop looking so scared. You’re irritating me. When my company launches, I’ll hire you as my assistant—maybe hook you up with a chauffeur. That should keep your bills paid.” She practically dragged me to the elevator. As expected, we hit the ground floor just as he arrived: Rhys Kingston, the man who owned half of Manhattan and whose son was currently bleeding out upstairs. Serena’s eyes sharpened, a silent, warning glare aimed at me. I immediately clutched my stomach. “Bathroom. Emergency.” I fled. Why link myself to her when her carefully constructed tower was about to crumble? I heard Serena’s voice echoing down the corridor, overly sweet and carefully pitched. “Oh, no thanks are necessary. It’s just what anyone would do. That poor boy is only five.” She turned down the offer of immediate financial help, but conveniently dropped her new, expensive-looking business card right at the Assistant’s feet. I waited until I heard the elevator ding. Rhys’s tone was lethally smooth, devoid of any genuine relief or gratitude. “I want to know if this was a loose bolt or a calculated hit,” he said to his Assistant. “No cops. I handle my own problems. You try to hurt a Kingston, you learn the hard way: I know a hundred ways to make you permanently quiet.” “Check the rebar. Check the workers. I want to know exactly how unstable that beam was. We’ll see if the steel or the perpetrator is harder.” The Assistant nervously glanced at Serena’s dropped card. “What about Serena Miller…?” “Don’t care yet,” Rhys cut him off. “See to my son. I’ll question the child when he wakes up.” I waited until the elevator doors closed on the elite entourage. I could finally breathe. Serena hadn’t just messed with a wealthy man; she had tried to extort a true powerhouse. Her lavish funeral was practically booked. Her car was gone when I finally stepped outside. She didn’t answer her phone. I caught a cab back to our dismal little house. The moment I walked through the door, my father’s heavy glass ashtray slammed against my forehead. Blood immediately bloomed. “Naomi, you spineless failure!” my mother shrieked, not even looking at the blood. “Your father has worked the Kingston site for years! This was our chance! You don’t help your sister, but you damn well don’t ruin her performance!” My father shoved his palm directly onto the bleeding wound on my forehead. The pain was blinding. “Serena told you to leave immediately! Are you deaf? Did you plan to steal her savior credit? You idiot! Do you want ‘Extortion’ written on your t-shirt?” They knew. They all knew this was a cheap, vile con. I remembered how they had blamed me in my former life—a cold, twisted memory where they refused to collect my broken body because I had supposedly cost Serena her fortune. “Taking her credit?” I spat the words, tasting blood. “Or taking the fall for near-homicide? Only a sick person looks at everyone else and only sees an accomplice.” My father raised his hand for another blow, but Serena swept into the room, cutting him off. “Stop, Dad. She’s useless. Don’t waste your energy.” She eyed my head wound with bored contempt. “Rhys Kingston got there so fast. Luckily, I was quick. I dropped the card and ran.” My mother’s face, a second ago tight with fury, instantly melted into pride. “That’s my girl! Always the smart one! Unlike some people, who are only good for being a drain on the electric bill! Twenty years, and still nothing but a disappointment!” I retreated to my room, grabbing some tissue to staunch the bleeding. From the hallway, I could hear Serena, her voice breathless with excitement, recounting the ‘accident.’ “He just tripped and fell off the scaffolding…” I couldn’t help myself. I marched out. “Stop lying to yourself! Do you think Rhys Kingston is as dumb as you are? Rebar doesn’t ‘just break,’ Serena! Not that gauge! And it doesn’t ‘accidentally’ fall into a five-year-old’s chest cavity!” My parents’ faces contorted with horror. They lunged for me. They hit me. Both of them. Hard. “Shut up!” My mother screamed. “Those words stay rotten in your throat! This was an accident, and your sister saved him! The Kingstons owe us! They have a moral duty to reward her!” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So my honest paycheck is ‘useless,’ but extorting a man whose child you almost murdered is ‘ambition’?” My father grabbed the shattered glass ashtray and slammed it onto my head again. My vision swam, but the heat of my infected wound was nothing compared to the cold ache in my heart. “You have no ambition, Naomi! You’re poor! We’ll be buried in unmarked graves before you earn anything worthwhile!” “Why did you even bother having me?” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “One greedy daughter should have been enough.” A flicker of panic—just a quick, cold shadow—crossed both their faces. Serena, preening, cut in. “Forget her, Mom. She’s poor. I told her I’d give her a receptionist job, and she jumped at it. Rhys Kingston’s gaze… it wasn’t just gratitude. His wife died years ago. If I play this right, I won’t just get a fifty-million payout. I’ll get the whole empire.” My parents were ecstatic, ignoring me completely as they fawned over their brilliant daughter, handing her a bottle of expensive blood-restoration vitamins. It was my moment. I baited them with their own ugliness until my father was spitting mad. He snatched a document from a desk—our family’s official Birth and Identity Registry—and viciously tore out the page with my name on it. “Get out! Now! I have no daughter named Naomi!” My mother stared at me with pure disgust. Serena, still glued to her phone, barely looked up. “Good. If you can’t appreciate me, then go. Don’t come crawling back when you get fired.” I smiled, picking up the torn page. Freedom. “You’ll see,” I said, meeting their furious gazes with cold certainty. “The Kingstons aren’t fools. You messed with the wrong people. We’ll see who’s begging for mercy when he decides to pay a visit.” I left the house and stumbled toward the nearest drugstore. My head was pounding, the wounds already starting to throb with feverish heat. The pharmacist gasped at the sight of me—all blood and pale skin—and urged me to go to the hospital. I didn’t make it out the door. My legs gave out. When I next opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room. The nurses didn’t notice I was awake. “Did you hear?” one whispered. “The kid downstairs is a Kingston. Critically injured. Rhys Kingston flew in surgeons from Geneva and Tokyo overnight!” “Who would attack a child?” “I heard the kid’s not stable. And the security detail? They look like ex-military, maybe mercs. Don’t go near the room.” A cold dread settled over me. Serena was utterly doomed. I quickly checked myself out, but not before I ran into Rhys Kingston’s Assistant, frantic, racing down the hall and asking every person about their blood type. Leo needed a specific type, and the hospital’s supply was running low due to complications. I hesitated. I could walk away. I should. But the kid was a pawn. My soul needed this absolution. I followed the Assistant and gave my blood again. The urgency was so high, and the Kingstons had such pull, that no paperwork was filed. I was in and out of the operating room, and as soon as I heard Leo was stabilized, I ripped out the IV and fled. No information. No trail. I rented a cheap place on the outskirts. The community was right next to the site of the ‘accident.’ From my window, I could watch Rhys Kingston and his private security systematically interrogate every worker. I stayed hidden. Serena, however, was doing the opposite. She practically lived outside the hospital entrance, hoping Rhys would recognize her. When that failed for three days, she went straight to Leo’s room under the guise of concern. The Assistant recognized her immediately. Leo, bless his heart, even told the Assistant that the “nice lady” was his hero. The Assistant was effusive, promising Serena a personal visit from Rhys when the boy was discharged. Serena filmed the interaction and posted it. Within hours, Serena Miller was an overnight sensation—the hero who saved the Kingston heir. Offers, praise, and gifts flooded our old house. She gave an on-camera interview, saying she’d have saved anyone—it was just the right thing to do. She cemented her benevolent image. The flood of public approval and media attention made me cold. I immediately started the process of legally separating my name from my family’s address.

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Since childhood, I’ve been a stubborn “literalist” who doesn’t understand jokes. When my grandmother said I was found in a dumpster, I taped “Missing Mother” flyers on every trash can for a week. When a boy remarked my wide hips were good for bearing sons, I went to his house and measured his mother’s hips for comparison. People soon learned not to joke around me—my presence made rooms polite and terrified. Then came my engagement, and my fiancé’s “just one of the guys” best friend. At a pre-wedding party, during Truth or Dare, she smirked: “Sloane, Julian has a mole on his inner thigh—it’s pretty when he’s… exerting himself.” The room froze, then erupted in laughter. I set down my glass, looked at my smirking fiancé, and said calmly: “Take off your pants. I need to verify that.” 1 The laughter in the VIP suite died instantly. Kelly looked at me, stunned by my directness. She let out an awkward, high-pitched laugh. “Sloane, oh my god, you aren’t actually mad, are you?” “We’re just playing a game! I just dropped a little bombshell to spice up the mood. You don’t have to be so serious. You’re making Julian look bad.” I slammed my phone onto the marble table. I hit play. The two sentences she had just spoken began to loop on high volume. I grinned at her, watching the blood drain from her face. “Sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “But I don’t do comedy.” “I’m going to strip Julian right now. If I find that mole exactly where you described it, that’s proof of infidelity before marriage. I will post the photos to both the Lister and Vance family group chats. On repeat.” The groomsmen gasped in unison. Julian’s face turned a violent shade of red. He struggled to break free from my grip—I had grabbed his belt—and snatched a jacket from one of his friends to cover his crotch. He looked at me like he wanted to strangle me. “Sloane! Have you lost your mind?” “Kelly and I grew up together! We bathed together as toddlers! There isn’t an inch of me she hasn’t seen!” “Are you really going to ruin everything over a harmless joke?” Ah, the classic defense. As if the word “joke” was a Get Out of Jail Free card. As if saying it meant I had to swallow any disrespect they served me. Unfortunately, they didn’t know me well enough. I unlocked my phone and opened a video call recording from yesterday. It was from Kelly. In the video, the “tomboy” girl wasn’t acting like a bro. She was wearing translucent, seductive lingerie, panning the camera to show a sleeping man next to her. You could only see the man’s side profile, but the implication was clear. Her eyes in the video were full of provocation. “Sloane, I heard you’re engaging to the Vance family.” “Too bad you’ll never match my place in Julian’s heart. Bet you anything that on your wedding night, he’ll be wishing he was with me.” I AirDropped the video to everyone in the room. “Enjoy the details,” I said. “Is this a joke too? If it were you, could you accept your partner having a ‘best friend’ who sends videos like this to his fiancée?” The men I pointed at looked away, suddenly finding the floor patterns fascinating. They didn’t dare breathe. I pointed a manicured finger at Kelly. “You. Speak.” “If your boyfriend had a ‘brother’ like this, would you tolerate it?” Kelly trembled. She cast a desperate, pleading look at Julian. But Julian was staring at her in shock. clearly, he hadn’t known she was bold enough to record him sleeping and taunt me with it. Kelly bit her lower lip until it turned white. Finally, looking like a martyr, she bowed deeply to me. “I’m sorry, Sloane.” “Sending that video really was just a prank. I… I just wanted to test if you trusted Julian enough.” She dragged out the word test, loading it with unspoken meaning. Seeing the stiffness in Julian’s face melt away, Kelly knew she had survived. Tears began to stream down her face instantly. “I hope you can forgive me. I won’t bother you again. I’ll keep my distance from Julian.” Before I could speak, my fiancé—my fiancé—rushed forward to help her up. He looked at me with disappointment. “Alright, Sloane. Kelly explained it. You’ve made your scene. Can we drop it now?” “Because of you, the party is ruined. Isn’t that enough?” “If this engagement is called off, your family’s business will suffer too. I suggest you learn your place and behave yourself.” He supported the sobbing Kelly, who looked like she was about to faint from dehydration, and walked her out of the room. The rest of the “bros” looked at each other, then scrambled to follow him. They left me with glances ranging from pity to schadenfreude. I sat alone in the mess, the corners of my lips curling up. Julian was right about one thing. My family’s business did need this merger. Which meant this game… could continue. 2 Julian’s frat-boy circle began to isolate me. They didn’t speak to me for a week. The group chat I was in remained silent, save for a few boring news links. But thanks to my friends’ “accidental” sightings, I knew they had partied at four different nightclubs that week. I raised an eyebrow. This was getting exciting. Three days later, it was Julian’s birthday. The Vance family threw a lavish banquet. To maintain the appearance of a happy union, he had to invite me as his fiancée. I bribed the Vance family’s tailor to install a micro-camera in the lapel of Julian’s suit. The tailor had looked at me with sheer terror. “Miss Lister, this is illegal. If Mr. Vance finds out, he’ll kill me.” I smiled at him, gentle and sweet. “Don’t be silly.” “It’s just a little game between lovers. Julian loves jokes. He won’t take a little prank seriously.” I showed him the lens, my smile widening until it didn’t reach my eyes. The tailor took one look at my expression and booked a flight out of the country that night. On the day of the banquet, Kelly ditched her usual gender-neutral style. She wore a stunning blue and white gown. The pattern on her chest matched Julian’s tie perfectly. She walked in on Julian’s arm. But the moment her eyes met mine, her face went pale. She took a dramatic step back, stumbling into one of Julian’s friends. Her face was a mask of wronged innocence and fear. “I’m sorry, Sloane! I know you don’t want to see me. I’ll stay away from Julian!” She turned and ran. Julian glared at me with pure hatred, then chased after her toward the balcony. Julian’s parents looked at me disapprovingly. “Sloane, we heard about the trouble you caused a few days ago.” “We watched Kelly grow up. It’s Julian’s good fortune to have a friend like her.” “Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean you can strip Julian of his right to have friends.” “A future Mrs. Vance needs to be magnanimous. Don’t turn the house upside down over a few jokes.” I tilted my head at them, feigning confusion. “So, what you’re saying is, everything between them can be explained away as ‘friendship’ and ‘jokes’?” “In that case, Julian and I are playing a little joke right now. I’m sure you won’t mind.” I pulled out my tablet and opened the live feed from the camera on Julian’s chest. On the screen, Kelly was sobbing into Julian’s embrace. “Julian, do we really have to stay apart forever? I don’t want that.” “Julian… can you give me one thing?” Julian’s voice trembled. He sounded heartbroken. “Name it.” “Anything.” “A child. I want a baby.” Kelly’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “We’re practically brothers, right? Our bond is for life. Don’t you think raising a child together would be the ultimate bond? It’s stable… and thrilling.” “We don’t even need to sleep together. Just come to the clinic with me. We can do IVF…” Mr. and Mrs. Vance turned green. I almost laughed out loud. I already knew Kelly had an appointment at a fertility clinic. I knew the camera would catch something juicy, but I didn’t expect her to pitch a sperm donation scheme in the middle of a birthday party. I looked at Mrs. Vance with wide, innocent eyes. “Mrs. Vance, I’m a bit slow. I can’t tell what’s a joke and what isn’t.” “Is Kelly serious about wanting your son’s sperm?” 3 A few minutes later, Julian and Kelly walked back in. They stood a respectable two feet apart, looking the picture of restraint and propriety. No one would guess the filthy conversation they’d just had. Seeing me standing with his parents, a shadow crossed Kelly’s eyes. She forced a broken, humble smile. “Uncle, Auntie, sorry I haven’t visited lately.” “I made a few jokes with Julian that upset Sloane, so I didn’t dare show my face.” Mrs. Vance shot her a cold look. She signaled for them to follow us into the private lounge. Kelly looked confused. Usually, Mrs. Vance would have hugged her and comforted her by now. The shock truly hit when the door closed. Slap. Mrs. Vance backhanded Kelly across the face. Tears sprang to Kelly’s eyes instantly. Julian’s face twisted in anger. He moved to shield Kelly, looking ready to yell at his own mother. Mr. Vance kicked him hard in the back of the knee. Julian crumbled to the floor. Mrs. Vance, shaking with rage, glared at them. “I thought you two were just close friends. I didn’t realize you were disgusting perverts behind our backs.” “Planning a baby? Are you trying to saddle the Vance family with a bastard scandal?” “How are we supposed to explain this to the Listers?!” Julian’s face went white. His gaze snapped to me, sharp as a dagger. “How do you know that? Were you spying on me?” I shrugged, tapping the tablet screen. “Like I said, I can’t tell if you and your ‘bro’ are joking or being serious.” “So, I figured I’d livestream it to your parents and let them decide.” Julian’s chest heaved. But surprisingly, he swallowed his pride. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry. Kelly and I crossed a line.” “But I chose to marry you, Sloane. I won’t betray you. I won’t meet Kelly alone ever again.” “After the wedding, I’ll send her to Australia.” Kelly let out a gasp. Julian shot her a warning look. She turned her glare on me, eyes full of venom. I didn’t care. I shrugged again. I’m a mule, remember? What I want, I get. What I want to do, gets done. 4 The wedding day arrived quickly. Kelly volunteered to be my bridesmaid. Her dress was suspiciously similar in style to my wedding gown. And it matched Julian’s suit perfectly. I watched them making eyes at each other, acting like tragic lovers torn apart by cruel fate. It was nauseating. After my makeup was done, I went to an empty lounge to rest. I sat down, and before I could react, a rope tightened around me, binding me to the chair. I turned my head just in time to receive a heavy slap from Kelly. She pried my jaw open and forced a cup of liquid down my throat. She smiled, a look of pure malice. “Sloane, you shouldn’t have messed with me.” “On your big day, I’m going to ruin you.” “A bride seducing old men at her own wedding? Imagine if that gets livestreamed. Will the Lister family survive the shame?” I coughed, choking on the bitter liquid. “Aren’t you afraid of my family’s revenge?” I rasped. Kelly scoffed. “What is the Lister family without the Vance connection? Just another bankrupt tragedy waiting to happen.” “You think I’m scared of you?” She smirked, ripping part of my dress and patting me down. “I know you like to record things. Don’t worry, I’m checking you thoroughly.” “After today, you and your family will be erased from high society.” She signaled to two sleazy-looking older men by the window. With a victorious smile, she left the room. The two men looked at me with predatory eyes. I started laughing. Don’t worry, Kelly. I prepared a show for you too. I hope you enjoy your leading role. The ceremony began. But the bride and groom were missing. My parents sat in the front row, faces stern. Mr. and Mrs. Vance were sweating through their formal wear. “In-laws,” Mr. Vance stammered. “I’ve sent people to look.” “Maybe Julian and Sloane got caught up talking. Young love, you know? They lose track of time.” “We will give you an explanation.” My father glanced at him sideways. “You better. Or that waterfront development project…” He let the threat hang. Mr. Vance looked like he might throw up. Suddenly, a static hum came from the speakers. “Ah,” Mr. Vance said, relieved. “Here we go. The mic is on.” But instead of a greeting, a woman’s crude, unmistakable moan echoed through the banquet hall. My parents’ faces turned to stone. 5 The hall had been filled with joyous chatter. Hearing the noise, guests froze, looking around in confusion. A few rich playboys in the back laughed. “Who has the balls to watch porn at a Lister wedding? Do they want to be chopped into pieces?” “Right? I heard the Listers just secured massive capital. They own this town now.” Mr. Vance’s face was chalk-white. My father cracked his knuckles. “Ye Cheng,” he said, using Mr. Vance’s full Chinese name, which he never did. “I hope you have a very satisfying explanation for this.” Mr. Vance was sweating profusely. He shouted at his staff. “Cut the power to the mics! Find who is doing this! I’ll kill them!” Mrs. Vance clutched her chest, looking ready to faint. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well. But before the staff could intervene, a massive projection screen slowly lowered at the front of the hall. The obscene image flickered to life. A man and a woman, entangled, desperate. Even through the screen, the heat between them was undeniable. The woman rolled over, exposing her face to the hundreds of guests. A collective gasp swept through the room. “Holy shit, isn’t that the Vance family’s adopted daughter? Kelly?” “You’re right. Her dad was their driver who died saving Mr. Vance. Everyone knows the charity case.” “Wait… doesn’t the man look familiar?” No one dared to say the name out loud. They were afraid of slapping the Vance family in the face. But Julian had a mouth. And he was using it. On screen, his breathing was ragged, his voice thick with lust. “What’s got into you today? Did you eat something? You’re so… enthusiastic.” Kelly buried her face in his neck, refusing to let go. Julian tried to push her gently. “Okay, okay. It’s time. My parents are probably losing their minds.” “If I don’t go, Sloane is going to start another war.” Kelly laughed, a muffled, dark sound. “What are you afraid of? Did you forget the plan?” “I fed her the drug. Right now, she’s probably playing with those old men, losing her mind. It’s all being livestreamed to the internet.” Hearing this, my father shot up from his chair. The guests turned pale. They looked like they wanted to run. The Lister family was famous for protecting their daughter. Hearing a plot like this… were they all going to be silenced as witnesses? 6 My father grabbed Mr. Vance by the collar. “Ye Cheng, you animal! You begged us for this marriage!” “Now your son conspires with an outsider to destroy my daughter?” “If anything happens to Sloane, I will burn your entire family to the ground.” Mr. Vance’s legs gave out. He was practically dangling. “Mr. Lister, I swear, I didn’t know! I swear!” “I promise I will return Sloane to you unharmed! Please, give me a chance!” I rolled my eyes from the doorway. I pushed the heavy doors open and walked in. “Relax, Dad. I’m fine.” If I had relied on the Vance family, I would be destroyed by now. Hearing my voice, my father exhaled a breath that sounded like a sob. He waved me over frantically. The moment I reached them, my mother smacked me on the butt. “Are you trying to kill us? We almost had heart attacks!” “Why didn’t you warn us? You want us to die of shock?” I winced but didn’t argue. People didn’t know that in the Lister house, Mom was the real boss. Before Dad’s company hit that minor crisis years ago, Mom had already fixed it before the rumors even spread. Julian was naive to think he could manipulate me. He didn’t know this marriage was something his father had begged for on his knees. And from the moment I met Kelly, I had decided to end this. Julian wasn’t worthy of marrying into my family. They never stopped to think: without my parents’ absolute backing, how would I dare to be such a literal, vengeful “mule”? It takes heavy resources and heavy love to be this fearless. I turned to the Vances and gave a polite, ladylike smile. “Sorry, Auntie, Uncle. Like I said, low IQ, low EQ.” “You kept saying Kelly was just joking. I recorded them before, and you didn’t do anything.” “So, I figured… why not let everyone see the joke together?” I took the microphone from the stunned MC and turned to the crowd. “Julian says Kelly is just his ‘bro.’” “Kelly told me it’s all just ‘banter.’” “What do you think? Is this a joke?”

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Veronica Albright was trying to game the system, and for three years, she’d been running her campaign on me, believing I was the designated male lead. She sent me wire transfers, cash, and even bought me a condo. I took it all with a poker face. Inside my head, I heard her frustration: [Seriously? Still stuck at zero? Maybe I’m not giving him enough.] I pretended I didn’t know a thing. So, the money kept coming. Until one day, she finally figured out she had the wrong man. 1 My childhood was the kind of poor that made me pray every night: “If only money would rain from the sky.” Then I met Veronica. And it actually did. 2 I started at Albright Global on the same day as another guy. His name was Jasper Evans. Mine was Rhys Easton. The names were close enough to be confusing on a filing cabinet. Jasper had bright eyes and a clean-cut, decent look. But he was energetic and aggressive, always volunteering for the toughest assignments. He was the perfect, hard-working, go-getter protagonist from a commercial fiction novel. 3 The last day of that month, the company CEO, Veronica Albright, suddenly called the new interns to her office. Jasper and I stood opposite each other, staring at the intimidating presence behind the obsidian desk. Veronica leaned back in her black leather chair, her gaze sharp, radiating an intense, suffocating pressure. Was this the face I saw plastered on Forbes and Fortune? Noble, ice-cold, and terrifyingly brilliant. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes flickered between us before finally resting on me. Just as I was preparing for the worst—a spectacular firing—I heard her inner monologue: [Shoot. I forgot the protagonist’s name. Something J.E.?] [Well, the one on the right is definitely hotter. That has to be the main character. And he’s described as being ridiculously poor, which checks all the boxes. Yes. It’s him.] I was the one on the right. On the last day of July, I was diagnosed as the male lead in a CEO romance story, purely because of my alarming lack of funds. 4 For a moment, I convinced myself I was hallucinating. But Veronica’s bizarre internal commentary kept getting louder and clearer. I clenched my jaw, reciting the periodic table in my mind, trying to anchor myself in reality. Fake. All fake. This is what happens when I skip lunch. Veronica’s intense aura softened, and she adopted a casual, effortless pose. “Only one of you is going to be kept on.” “Rhys Easton, the one on the right. You’re staying. The other can go process his termination papers.” I gaped at her. Her inner voice was edged with triumph: [That should definitely give him a great first impression of my power.] No, wait. If you kept both of us, I’d be impressed too! This just makes the company look cheap. I glanced over at Jasper. His eyes were wide with disbelief, glistening with frustrated tears. I hesitated, then decided to test the waters. “Jasper’s work is… as strong as mine, maybe stronger.” If the mind-reading was real, Jasper and I could both stay. If it was fake, I might as well quit anyway; my brain was clearly broken. Veronica’s delicate brows pinched together. My heart hitched. The next second, her expression relaxed. “Fine. You can both stay.” Holy hell. I think I just got the real-deal mind-reading power. 5 As we left Veronica’s office, Jasper bit out, his voice shaking, “Don’t you dare be smug, Rhys. I’ll make you pay for this favor someday.” Then he stormed off. That. That bizarre, dramatic exit. Case closed. Jasper was the real protagonist. And I was just a particularly impoverished, slightly-too-handsome side character. Damn it. 6 I had planned to wait until my contract was finalized before telling Veronica the truth. The severance package would be much more substantial then. The very next morning, Veronica called me back to her office to announce a raise. I opened my mouth to politely decline. She lowered her gaze, her eyes glinting. “Double your salary.” “Yes, thank you, Veronica,” I said immediately. I couldn’t even imagine the size of the severance check I was building toward. 7 To prove he was superior, Jasper threw himself into work, practically living at the office. I sighed at him. “Jasper, you’ve become everything I ever hated.” He took a savage bite of his bagel, his expression feral. “Just wait! I’ll make everyone see who the real talent is!” Wow. Such noble protagonist talk. He would never know the only reason he lost to me was that my childhood home was basically a dirt floor. Next time, buddy. I promise I’ll let you win. 8 Three days later, Veronica called me in again. Her dark eyes were heavy, fixed on me without speaking. Not this again… Her inner voice provided the commentary: [Why hasn’t the progress bar moved? I’ve seen him twice now. Falling in love with me should be as simple as breathing, shouldn’t it?] Ha. Unhinged. After a long pause, Veronica said smoothly, “Rhys, your aptitude is strong. My current Executive Assistant is stepping down; you will take over his duties.” Her inner thoughts, however, were entirely different: [The first two meetings were too brief; my impression wasn’t deep enough. Being my secretary—seeing me every day—how can he not fall madly in love?] Sister, dial it back. You sound unhinged. But I replied, “Absolutely, Ms. Albright. Thank you for the opportunity.” Hesitation is disrespecting the sanctity of an inflated severance package. The guy currently occupying the desk next to hers looked like his world had just ended. Poor guy. He looked like he hadn’t heard he was ‘stepping down.’ Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll get your corner office back when I cash out. 9 When Jasper learned I was the CEO’s new right-hand man, his world also collapsed. He pointed a trembling finger at me, then let out a primal scream and ran, sobbing. Did I just give the protagonist a mental breakdown? But it was fine. Once the truth came out, Jasper would be able to step on my neck and give me a good, satisfying telling-off. So dramatic. I can’t wait. 10 After becoming Veronica’s secretary, I was actually busy! So busy I barely had time to look up, let alone look at her. Ma’am, what kind of ridiculously convoluted, backwards strategy are you even running? I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Ms. Albright, how long until my probationary period is officially over?” Veronica looked up from a contract. “A month.” I groaned inwardly. That long? I have to be a corporate mule for a whole month more! But Veronica’s mind saw it differently: [He’s so eager to officially be my secretary!] I saw a subtle smile play on her lips, and my brain shriveled into a walnut. The next second, her expression turned dark: [Why is the progress bar still stuck at zero?!] She squinted at me. Heh. Beats me. 11 Two weeks later, staring at the immovable progress bar, Veronica fell into a deep contemplation. Then she asked, “What do you… like?” My mouth opened before my brain engaged. “Money.” The air in the office went solid. I’ve exposed myself as the greedy opportunist I was! The non-protagonist! Veronica’s inner voice was filled with a strange awe: [What a unique male lead! Not like the others who pretend to hate money!] Wait, that works? 12 Veronica wired me a substantial amount of money. I held up a trembling hand, trying to protest (but not really). Her brow furrowed: [As expected, the male lead can’t accept this kind of handout. He only values money he earns himself.] I quickly switched to a beatific smile. “Please make sure to officially mark it as a ‘Voluntary Gift’ in the ledger.” Veronica: “?” 13 Considering this money was acquired at Jasper’s expense, I decided to be generous and begrudgingly share a third of it with him. Jasper threw the check back in my face, his eyes flashing with righteous, furious tears. “Don’t you dare insult me with your dirty money!” “Keep your filthy money away from me!” Wow. That’s a classic line! That’s the perfect reaction of the real hero! A quick mental calculation: Veronica will give this money to the male lead, but the male lead will never take it. A moral obligation, really. To relieve the rich of their excess capital. My righteous mission had never felt stronger. Heh heh. Fleece the capitalist. It’s the least I can do. 14 After the transfer, Veronica’s scrutiny intensified: [Progress is still stalled. Was it too little?] [Or is the love of money just a front? Does he secretly despise the cash?] Ha. Keep guessing. You won’t get a word out of me. 15 The day my contract was finalized, I let out a deep breath. I was ready to knock on her door, tender my resignation, and spill the beans. I knocked. Veronica opened the door and handed me a gift box containing a lavish, elegant silver designer suit. “Put this on. You’re accompanying me to the Sterling Foundation Gala tonight.” No, I’m quitting! I’m leaving! I refuse to be complicit! I was about to deliver my grand, principled rejection when I caught the glint of the luxury Patek Philippe watch nestled in the satin lining. “Understood, Ms. Albright. I’ll change immediately.” Veronica: “…” [It was definitely too little last time.] 16 It was my first time attending such a high-society event. I immediately secured three glasses of wine and four desserts. I also managed to discreetly tuck five designer swag bags into the nine-dollar tote bag I’d bought on Etsy. I planned to post them all on eBay as soon as I got home. Heh heh. Financial victory. A few people around me offered polite, snide snickers. I ignored them. I’d probably never see them again, so why bother caring? Veronica finished a conversation and turned, her expression clouding over at the sight of me. Her eyebrows were higher than the surrounding mountains. I braced myself for the dressing-down—the lecture about disgracing her. Instead, she simply turned and acquired three desserts and a glass of wine for herself. She handed them to me, a hint of wry resignation in her voice. “You really like these, don’t you?” “Have a few more.” The snickers around us immediately ceased. The crisscrossing lights cast soft, fragmented beams on Veronica’s profile. For a moment, her fierce, cool features softened, becoming warm and gentle. I froze for a second, then quickly looked away. “I did. But I’m kind of sick of them now.” “You eat them.” 17 On the drive back, I tried again. “I really shouldn’t continue in this position.” Veronica, whose eyes were slightly flushed from the single glass of wine, glanced over. “Reason.” I opened my mouth, ready to tell her: I’m not the hero, I’m not the person you’re supposed to be targeting, and you need to fire me. No sound came out. Oh, no. I tried to type it on my phone and text it to her. The message never went through, and she didn’t seem to get anything. Damn the universe. I’m literally muzzled. Veronica tugged at the silk scarf around her neck. “Is the salary too low?” “I’ll double it again.” My phone chimed with a notification: Transfer received: One Million Dollars. “That’s this quarter’s bonus.” I stared at the balance on my screen. Protagonist? How could I possibly not be the protagonist? Today, if the literal King of the Universe said I wasn’t the male lead, I would tell him he was mistaken. I had transcended greed and achieved financial enlightenment. It’s not a matter of having no conscience. It’s that the money is just… too much. 18 I genuinely thought that as long as the progress bar stayed frozen, Veronica would eventually realize she was targeting the wrong person. But she was slow. So slow. Three years! Three whole years! She kept sending me money, buying me property, and promoting me. At this rate, I’d be sitting in her CEO chair before she realized her mistake. Yet, Veronica’s inner voice remained consistent: [Was it too little? Does he dislike this Patek? Is the penthouse in the wrong neighborhood?] It was impossible to imagine what kind of bottomless, materialistic monster she thought I was. It wasn’t until the annual company gala when Jasper, who was acting as the MC, stepped onto the stage. I heard the whispers around me: “Jasper really looks like the hero of a novel.” “He always spouts those classic lines, you know? And that earnest, driven energy.” “He even has the ‘perpetually struggling’ vibe.” “Too bad the CEO ignores him and spoils Rhys Easton instead. He has the hero’s setup but not the hero’s destiny.” Sitting next to me, Veronica suddenly went rigid. She looked at the stage, at Jasper’s determined, glittering eyes, then at me, slouching lazily beside her. Without a word, she crushed the delicate wine glass in her hand. Her voice was cold, lethal, and spaced out: “R-h-y-s. E-a-s-t-o-n.”

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