Category: English

The System told me to redeem the villain, but I set my time travel coordinates to the year before the villain was even a fetus. The System was dumbfounded, then it clicked: “Oh, you’re planning to adopt the villain later and give him a complete, happy childhood, right?” I shook my head, looking gently at the little girl squatting on the ground, shivering in the cold. “No, I’m here to save the villain’s mom.” 01 “True,” the System mused. “Instead of trying to conquer the villain with romance, it’s better to influence him with familial love so he doesn’t grow up twisted… Wait, what did you say? You want to save the villain’s mom?!” The System panicked and tried to stop me. “Host, are you confused? If the villain isn’t redeemed, you’ll be erased!” I chuckled lightly. “System, are you stupid? What’s the main reason the villain goes bad? Being abandoned by his mother. “And why was he abandoned? Because his mother’s life was miserable. “So, if I save the villain’s mom, and she raises him with a healthy mindset, won’t he turn out just fine?” The System crashed after my barrage of questions. It took a while for its slow little brain to reboot. “That… actually makes sense.” I wagged a finger at it. “So don’t question a boss lady again, okay?” The System nodded dumbly, and I turned my attention back to the little girl in front of me. It was a freezing December, and she was curled up outside the door in thin clothes, shivering like a little quail. Red blotches covered her exposed forearms. Sensing my gaze, she looked up with a cold, guarded stare. Then she quickly looked down again. That look was exactly why her biological parents didn’t like her. Well, that and the fact she was missing a certain appendage. I stepped past her, grabbed the heavy knocker on the wooden door, and banged it hard. “Who is it? Who’s banging on the door this early?” A middle-aged woman in a red padded jacket came out, cursing. She looked me up and down, her eyes filled with disdain and hidden jealousy. “Who are you?” I cut to the chase and threw an IOU at her. “You’re Hank’s wife, right? Hank owes me two hundred bucks. I can’t find him, so you pay up. Or I’ll tell everyone in town about your husband visiting hookers and skipping out on debts.” The woman picked up the note and panicked. “Liar! My husband isn’t like that! You seductresses must have seduced him! I knew it just by looking at you…” Before she could finish, I impatiently picked up a wrist-thick wooden stick from the ground and snapped it in half right in front of her. “Pay your debts. It’s the law of the universe. Pay up or else.” I flashed a smile, showing all eight teeth. The woman was scared silly, her arrogance gone. She smiled fawningly. “It’s not that I don’t want to pay, we really don’t have the money. Maybe wait until my husband comes back…” I frowned. The woman shut up immediately. My gaze swept around the small courtyard, finally landing on the little girl squatting by the door, secretly peeking at me. “Then give me your girl to clear the debt. She’s young, but she looks okay.” The woman froze, looking from me to the broken stick at my feet. Ten minutes later, the little girl was trudging behind me, one shallow step after another. 02 It wasn’t until we got into the taxi heading to the city that the little girl spoke in a muffled voice. “You’re a trafficker, aren’t you? Where are you selling me?” I was surprised. “Why would you think that? I’m your family’s creditor.” The little girl shook her head. “My mom can’t read, but I can. The paper you threw at her was a supermarket receipt.” I asked the System in my head. “Did the villain’s mom ever go to school?” The System confirmed and gave me a brief recap of her life. “Helped with farm work until she was sixteen. Ran away to the city to avoid marrying a rich old man. Worked odd jobs, tricked a rich CEO into sleeping with her, got pregnant with the villain. Later, the CEO’s first love returned from abroad. The villain’s mom couldn’t win against the first love and was driven to death by the CEO. She’s also a cannon fodder villainess.” I shook my head, tsking. “They’re all villainous supporting characters. Why does the System only redeem male villains and not female ones? If you gender-swapped this character, he’d be a dark, tragic, sympathetic boy. In the end, she just lacks a certain part.” Seeing I wasn’t talking, the little girl tugged at my sleeve. When I looked over, she immediately pulled her hand back, as if afraid of dirtying my clothes. “Can you sell me to the city? I look okay. I’ll fetch a good price there.” The driver in the front kept glancing back in the rearview mirror. I face-palmed and quickly explained: “I’m not a trafficker. I’m just a poor mother who recently lost her daughter. So I want to adopt you.” Well, I was a mom in the last mission world. Since I left that world, it counts as losing a daughter, right? The little girl stopped talking. She lowered her head like a dirty kitten. Seemingly defenseless, but tense all over, ready to explode at any moment. I recalled my parenting experience and reached out to hold her red, cold little hand. Only then did I realize how rough her hand was, covered in calluses. Meeting her whites-showing eyes, I took off my coat and draped it over her. She instinctively tried to take it off. I stopped her. “You won’t sell for a good price if you freeze.” She froze and stopped moving, wrapping herself tightly in the down jacket, only her fuzzy head showing. My heart suddenly softened. “Don’t worry, I don’t have a son. I won’t sell you for a dowry later.” 03 My identity in this world was a fake heiress who had just jumped into a river after finding out the truth. She died, so I borrowed her identity. When I walked into the villa with the little girl, a voice was still trying to persuade the real heiress. “Although she’s not related by blood, the years of affection are real. And although Julian was originally your fiancé, Ann has been with him for so long. How can we just give him to you?” “I don’t want to hear it! If not for her, why would I have suffered for so many years! Now you’re taking her side! I hate you, I hate you!” Their argument stopped abruptly when I walked in with Yuen. Yuen was the name I gave the little girl on the way, taking my surname, flower. Full name: Flora Yuen. The real heiress, Flora Ran, turned her head away, refusing to look at me. Mother Flora asked gently. “Ann, who is this?” “My adopted daughter, Flora Yuen. Yuen, say hello to your grandma and auntie.” With the System’s help, Yuen, who had just been registered, finally stopped suspecting I was a trafficker. Right now, she greeted the two stunned people obediently. “Hello Grandma, hello Auntie.” Mother Flora reacted first. “Wait, Ann, what did you say? Your adopted daughter? Registered? Why didn’t you discuss such a big thing with the family? And your fiancé Julian, how could he accept this!” Flora Ran focused on: “Why should she call me Auntie? I don’t want to be your sister!” Before I could speak, Yuen instinctively stepped in front of me. She hunched slightly, arms tense, like a mother leopard protecting her cub. I paused, then reached out and held her small hand. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain after Yuen settles in. As for Julian, I’ll break off the engagement.” Mother Flora got anxious. “Are you worried your dad and I won’t want you after Ran came back? Don’t worry, you’ll always be our daughter.” Flora Ran rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. Playing hard to get, huh? Stupid green tea b*tch.” I shook my head and pulled Yuen upstairs. Dropping a bombshell on them along the way. “I got sterilized. I plan to stay single and raise Yuen. Tell Julian to give up.” With that, I silently pulled Yuen out of their sight, leaving them in the wind, savoring the words “sterilized.” 04 Back in the room, I collapsed on the bed. The System was still yammering. “Host, when did you get sterilized? Why didn’t I know! Aren’t we together 24/7!” I rolled my eyes. “System, are you stupid? If I didn’t say that, how could the real heiress let her guard down? “Instead of playing happy sisters, giving up inheritance rights is much more effective for her.” System: “Oh, right.” I suddenly remembered something and turned my head. Sure enough, a certain little dumpling was still standing stiffly at the door. On the way here, I bought her new clothes and took her to a salon for a hair wash. The stylist gave her two little buns. She looked like a doll from a New Year painting. I waved at her. Yuen slowly shuffled over. “Are you going to get kicked out?” I pulled her onto the bed and asked, “Why do you think that?” She whispered, “Because you’re not their real daughter.” I looked at Yuen’s pointed chin. Good, this kid is smart. No homework tutoring needed. I didn’t explain immediately, just followed her logic. “So what if we get kicked out and have no money?” She said seriously, “Then I’ll farm to support you. I’m good at farming. I can make compost, sow seeds, and weed. I planted the cornfield behind my house.” Her head lowered further. “As long as you don’t send me back.” I finally knew where all the calluses on her hands came from. My heart soured. I hugged her, letting her small, pointed chin rest on my broad shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t send you away. Not in this lifetime.”

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Five years after I left, I ran into Jared Martin outside a divorce mediation office. He was still strikingly handsome, but now carried the unmistakable air of a man in power. The moment he saw me, the cool composure he’d worn just seconds before vanished. He didn’t even notice the coffee sloshing onto his prosecutor’s uniform as he lunged forward and grabbed my hand. “Anika. It’s been a long time.” He paused, his gaze shifting to the man who was drunkenly shouting inside the mediation room behind me. “You’ve been with a man like this all these years? Did he lay a hand on you? Don’t worry, I’ll help you with the divorce—” I cut him off, politely extricating my hand. “I’m sorry, Prosecutor Martin, but your position gives you no right to interfere in my affairs.” Besides, the man in that room was just my cousin’s ex-husband. He seemed to sigh, a wave of resignation washing over his features. “Anika, after all this time, you still hate me.” I smiled but said nothing. I didn’t have that much time to waste on hating him. I had let go long ago. … I had certainly hated Jared Martin. The second year of our marriage was the year my hatred for him was at its peak. The day I found out I was pregnant was also his birthday. I did two things. First, I went to the hospital and had the pregnancy terminated. Second, I had the unformed embryo preserved as a specimen and gave it to him as a birthday present. Watching the blood drain from his face as he opened the box, I smiled. “Happy birthday. Do you like your gift?” For the first time, I saw the mask of calm self-control he always wore begin to crumble. Jared carefully set the box aside, and before I could react, he slammed me down onto the dining table. My body sank into the birthday cake, the sickly sweet frosting smearing all over me. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged. “Anika, that was your child too! Do you hate me so much because of what happened?” My breath hitched, but I pushed down the stabbing pain in my chest and laughed. “Yes, Jared. I hate you. You destroyed my family. Why should you get to be happy when my life is in ruins?” But it hadn’t always been like this between us. We’d had our happy times. We were once seen as the golden couple, a match made in heaven. Jared was an orphan my family had sponsored. We grew up together. In my memory, we were never apart for more than a month. He was cold and distant to everyone but me. If I casually mentioned my feet were tired, he’d crouch down without a word of complaint and carry me home on his back. When I got my period and stained my clothes, he would quietly wash them for me, his face a stoic mask. He once ditched a major academic competition just to be with me at the hospital when I was sick. Falling in love with Jared felt as inevitable as breathing. Later, he achieved his dream of becoming a prosecutor. The first thing he did with his first paycheck was buy lavish gifts for my family. He held my hand and knelt before my parents, vowing, “I swear I will spend my life protecting this family, and protecting Anika.” But on our wedding night, his intern, Serena Walsh, tearfully accused my father of rape. Jared promised me he would prove my father’s innocence. I believed him. But at the trial, he was the one who submitted the security footage of my father helping a drunk Serena into a hotel room. My father was sentenced to five years. Our family home was seized. My mother died of a broken heart. I ran through the pouring rain to find Jared, only to see Serena sitting in our living room, wearing my pajamas. He, a man who never cooked, was walking out of the kitchen with a plate of food. A chill cut through me, colder than the rain. I smashed everything I could get my hands on. He just watched me, his voice devoid of emotion. “The verdict reflects justice. The law does not deceive anyone. Serena has developed severe psychological trauma because of your father. This is what your family owes her. As your husband, I have a responsibility to her.” From then on, “responsibility” became his excuse. If Serena whispered, “Jared, I’m scared,” he would leave me, even if I was running a fever. If she said, “Jared, I want you to stay with me,” he would cancel our anniversary dinner. I tried to find a lawyer to appeal my father’s case, but Jared’s influence in the legal community was too great. No one dared to take it. Over two years, the love I had left was ground into hatred by his daily betrayals. We went from a loving couple to two people who couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Another second in the same room felt like suffocation. The memories, a tangled web of pain, resurfaced. I lunged at Jared, sinking my teeth into his neck. He shoved me away. His phone rang. Seeing the name on the screen, a rare softness flickered in his eyes. “What is it, Serena?” His voice was so gentle it could have been liquid honey. Serena’s trembling sobs came through the phone. “Jared, I had the nightmare again… about being assaulted. I’m so scared.” Jared’s eyes flickered to me, a moment’s hesitation, and then he grabbed his coat. “I’m on my way.” The door slammed shut, leaving me crumpled on the floor like a discarded rag. Only when the echo of the door faded did I allow myself to break. Tears streamed down my face. I told myself this was the last time I would ever cry for him. From this day forward, he would never stir another ripple in my heart. I opened a text from Rich Gad. My fingers trembled as I typed: “I’ll do it. I’ll crash your wedding in fifteen days. The condition is you get my father out of prison.” The moment the message sent, the “typing…” indicator appeared at the top of the screen, as if Rich had been waiting on the other end for my reply. His message came through instantly: 【As you wish. I’ll be waiting for you on the Amalfi Coast. Don’t disappoint me.】 I woke to a gray, overcast sky. Today was the anniversary of my mother’s death. The cemetery was shrouded in a damp, clinging chill. I placed a bouquet of white lilies on her grave, her favorite flower. I knelt, my fingers gently tracing the warm, kind face in the photograph on her headstone. “Mom, I’m here to see you.” “Don’t worry. I’m doing well… really.” “I will get to the bottom of Dad’s case. I’ll get him out, and he will walk free with his head held high. Everyone who owes our family a debt will pay. I won’t let a single one of them go.” “Just watch me, from up there.” After leaving the cemetery, I slowly walked towards the place I once called home. A notification popped up on my phone—Serena’s new social media post. It was a picture of Jared’s focused profile, the caption reading: “First time prepping for a trial. So lucky to have Jared patiently guiding me. He says the law protects justice, and he is my justice and my faith.” There was a time when that kind of devotion was mine alone. I curled my lip into a sneer, took a screenshot, and sent it to a group chat with three words: 【Perfect match.】 A sick sense of satisfaction bloomed in my chest at the thought of the storm I was about to unleash. When I opened the front door, Serena was nestled against Jared’s side, her eyes red and swollen. She shrank behind him when she saw me. Jared patted her back, his eyes full of disappointment as he looked at me. “That’s enough, Anika. Serena is innocent.” “Innocent? Jared, there’s a limit to being blind and deaf,” I said coldly. He shot to his feet. “I don’t want to fight with you. Serena has a therapy appointment. You’re not stable either. You’re going with her.” “Are you insane, or am I?” The absurdity of it was staggering. “This isn’t a request.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the counseling center. The moment the door to the consultation room closed, Serena’s face changed. A triumphant smirk played on her lips. “Doesn’t feel good, does it? Nothing ever happened with your father. I stole the ‘evidence.’ I forged everything. I just wanted to see your perfect little family destroyed. I couldn’t stand the sight of you looking down on everyone!” The dam of my hatred burst. I swung my hand and slapped her, hard. CRACK. The door was thrown open. Jared stood there, his face a thunderous mask. Serena immediately grabbed his arm, crying, “Jared, I was just trying to make peace with her! I don’t know why she hit me!” “Jared, did you hear her? She admitted it! She admitted to framing my father!” My voice trembled with rage. His brow furrowed deeper, his voice turning to ice. “Enough. The evidence was conclusive. How long are you going to keep deceiving yourself? It’s time to accept that your father is a rapist.” His words pierced through my last defense. “Is that what you’ve thought all along?” He looked away, his voice low and firm as he spoke to the doctor outside the door. “She’s extremely unstable, exhibiting aggressive and delusional behavior. She needs immediate intervention.” Serena chimed in at the perfect moment. “Jared, Professor Miller on the third floor is the best for this.” Jared nodded. I was dragged upstairs against my will, only to realize that the “third floor” wasn’t a consultation room. It was a treatment room, filled with cold, sterile equipment. Orderlies strapped me into a metal chair, binding my hands and feet with leather restraints. Serena picked up an electrode. A powerful electric current shot through my body. “Remember,” she hissed, “your father is a rapist.” “He’s not!” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. She increased the voltage. Again and again. I don’t know how many times I was shocked. My consciousness drifted in and out of the searing pain. “Just say ‘he is,’ and I’ll make them stop,” Serena cooed. I struggled to lift my head. “Come closer,” I rasped. “I’ll say it.” The moment she leaned in, I kicked out with all my remaining strength, slamming my foot into her stomach. As she screamed and crumpled to the floor, I managed to free one hand and undo the restraints. I scrambled for the door, but the handle wouldn’t turn. “Get her!” Serena shrieked. Just as they were about to grab me again, I turned and charged at her, wrapping my arms around her and slamming us both into the plate-glass window. “I always repay my debts, Serena!” The glass shattered. We fell, tangled together, from the third floor. I woke up in a hospital.

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I accidentally stepped on my sister’s baby and crushed it. They say a child is a piece of a mother’s own flesh. To make it up to her, I cut a piece of flesh from my own stomach and gave it to my sister. Less than a week later, the lump of meat suddenly came alive. It grew eyes and a nose, and even opened its mouth to call me “Mom.” 1 It all started a month ago. My sister, Lisa, had been married for years and tried every method under the sun to get pregnant, but nothing worked. With her thirtieth birthday approaching, our mom suggested she try IVF. But on her birthday, Lisa suddenly announced she had a child. The whole family was stunned. Leaving aside that no one knew about such a huge event, don’t you need to be pregnant to have a child? Her stomach had been flat all year. How did she suddenly have a child? Lisa shook her head mysteriously and brought out a thermal box from her room. The box was about the size of a hamster cage, lined with gauze and cotton. In the middle lay a fleshy ball about the size of a palm. Lisa gently tapped the box, her voice tender: “Dolly, Grandma and Auntie are here to see you!” Mom and I exchanged glances; we both clearly thought she was talking nonsense. But the next second, the meatball suddenly moved, inching toward the glass lid. Looking closely, I realized there were two slits on the meatball that opened slightly. They looked exactly like eyes, staring straight at us. I screamed, nearly falling off my chair. Lisa laughed, quickly took the meatball out, held it in her hands, and presented it to us like a treasure. “Mom, Sis, look! Isn’t Dolly cute?” Mom was terrified, covering her mouth with trembling hands: “Lisa… don’t scare Mom like this…” 2 Lisa’s face darkened instantly, and she got angry. “Mom, what do you mean? Do you think I’m crazy?” Mom didn’t answer, just silently wiped away tears. Lisa turned to me. “Sis, do you think so too?” Before I could speak, she put the meatball back in the box and sat back down with a cold face. “I know you don’t believe me, but I paid a lot of money for this method!” Lisa told us this was a secret folk ritual. You just need to cut a piece of flesh from your stomach and feed it with fresh blood. The meatball will gradually grow into the shape of a child, looking exactly like you. “You know how much I’ve suffered trying to get pregnant all these years. Now that I finally have a child, I’ll accept her even if she’s a monster!” As Lisa spoke, she couldn’t help but shed tears. Seeing this, the meatball actually pushed open the lid and jumped out, excitedly trying to wipe Lisa’s tears while constantly calling out “Mom.” Mom and I watched this scene, completely dumbfounded. We swallowed our words. Mom sighed, pulled me aside, and ultimately didn’t stop her. As her sister, I couldn’t intervene either, so I let her be. But after dinner, Lisa stopped me alone. “Sis, my husband Mark is coming back tonight. I’m afraid he won’t accept this child right away. Can you help me take care of her for a while?” Mark was a traditional man. Years of infertility had cooled their relationship. Since Lisa didn’t work and had no financial control, she was always cautious around Mark. Seeing my hesitation, she quickly held up a finger. “I calculated it. In just one more week, this child will grow into a normal baby. I’ll take her back then!” “Sis, for the sake of my family, please help me!” 3 I eventually softened and agreed to Lisa’s request. I took the meatball home. According to the instructions, I had to feed her every night before bed. I put the fresh blood Lisa had prepared into a baby bottle, fought back my nausea, and took out the meatball. It stayed still obediently. Its surface was smooth. Holding it felt a bit like holding a raw beef meatball from the supermarket. But just as I was about to offer the bottle, the meatball suddenly opened its eyes! Its eyes took up almost its entire body. The pupils were long and slit-like, resembling a painted pattern. It was disgusting and terrifying. I shuddered in fear and instinctively let go. The meatball seemed to fall to the ground. I hurriedly apologized and prepared to pick it up, but suddenly the power went out! I fumbled to flip the circuit breaker back on, but when the lights came on, the meatball was gone. “Dolly! Dolly, where did you go? Auntie didn’t mean to let go!” I called out several times with no response. When I bent down, I saw what looked like a smear of blood on the sole of my shoe. A bad premonition spread from my heart. No way. No way. I chanted silently, slowly lifting my foot. In that moment, I felt my blood freeze. “Dolly” was stuck to the sole of my shoe. The shape of the meatball was gone. Blood and mashed flesh had exploded, completely crushed into bits. And those long, slit eyes were flattened and printed onto the smooth floor, still staring straight at me. I had trampled Dolly to death. My mind went blank. My body went limp, and I collapsed onto the floor. 4 The summer night was stifling. Before long, the smell of blood wafted out. Like a walking corpse, I took my slipper to the bathroom, scrubbed Dolly into the toilet with a brush, and then mopped up the eye on the floor. Just as I finished, Lisa called. The ringtone sounded like a death knell, sharp and piercing. I picked up the phone nervously, hesitated for a long time, and finally pressed answer. Lisa’s cheerful voice came from the other end: “Sis, is Dolly settling in okay? Can we video chat so I can see her?” Staring at the pile of rotten meat in the toilet, I lied instinctively. “She… she’s asleep.” “Oh, okay. We’ll talk tomorrow then. You get some sleep too.” Lisa didn’t ask more. Just as she was about to hang up, I steeled myself and stopped her. “Wait… can you tell me that secret method? I have a friend who hasn’t been able to conceive for years. She wants to try it too!” After saying this, my back was drenched in cold sweat. I knew I should tell the truth. But I also knew how important this child was to Lisa. If she knew I flattened her child, she might really kill me. The only way now was to use this week to make another Dolly using the same method! Silence on the other end. My heart was in my throat, terrified she’d notice something. Luckily, Lisa didn’t think much of it and agreed quickly. “Sure. I’ll give you the Master’s number. Just contact him.” The voice on the other end was intermittent. I had to ask twice to hear clearly. I couldn’t help asking: “Where are you? Why is the signal so bad?” She sighed: “It’s Mark. He called an hour ago saying he was in the basement, but he still hasn’t come up. I came down to find him.” As soon as she finished speaking, I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by Lisa’s terrified scream. 5 My heart tightened. “What happened?!” The call cut off. I tried calling back, but it wouldn’t connect. I had a bad feeling, but I didn’t have time to speculate. They were coming to pick up Dolly in a week. I was running out of time. Early the next morning, I contacted the so-called “Master.” He seemed to expect me, just giving me an address before hanging up. It was a remote mountain village. I drove all day. By evening, I finally saw the old red-tiled house from the address. I gathered my courage and knocked. After a few knocks, a wrinkled face appeared in the crack of the door. “Who are you looking for?” His voice sounded like broken bellows. As he spoke, his cloudy, gray eyes looked me up and down. “A friend sent me. I want the potion that makes meat babies.” I answered truthfully. He paused for a moment, then said abruptly: “Didn’t you come last week?” I froze. He must have mistaken me for my sister, Lisa. We were biological sisters, and people always said we looked alike since childhood. That was why I dared to try this deception. A child made from sisters should look similar. I didn’t explain. “There was an accident. I want to buy another bottle.” The old man looked at me for a moment, went inside, and handed out a bottle of pitch-black liquid. “$5,000 a bottle. Same instructions as before.” I quickly took out the prepared red envelope but stopped him before he closed the door. “Um… what were the instructions again? I forgot. Can you tell me one more time?”

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After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, I decided to go rogue. Toxic childhood frenemy? Seduce him. Hot, stoic neighbor? Seduce him too. Good news: The cancer was a misdiagnosis. Bad news: The doctor says I’m pregnant. I stood there, completely stunned. Wait, seriously… who the hell is the father? 01 In the hospital corridor, I clutched the lab report, feeling like the sky was crashing down. Cancer? “I just had a few nosebleeds!” I shrieked internally. “Cancer?!” The doctor sighed a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Young lady, life is unfair. But listen, for this final stretch… just relax. Eat well, drink well, don’t overthink things.” Translation: You’re doomed. Go home and wait for the reaper. Grief hit me like a truck. I stood there sobbing like a boiling teakettle. This can’t be happening. “God, don’t bully me like this!” I’m a pure, blossoming flower of a girl. I haven’t even held a man’s hand romantically yet… How can I die now? I refuse. I absolutely refuse to die a virgin. 02 I left the hospital and went straight to the mall. I bought a pile of sexy slip dresses and mini-skirts. I swore to myself: Before I kick the bucket, I am going to land a man. As for the candidate… Jax is my nemesis. But he’s also my childhood best friend. We grew up together. I know his roots, his dirt, everything. He’s never even held a girl’s hand. His track record is clean. I guess I’ll start with him. I showed up at his place. Jax was lounging on the sofa, back to me, long legs stretched out. “Why are you here in the middle of the night, Chloe? Finally realized you want my body?” I choked. He’s always had a smart mouth. Usually, I’d roast him back. But this time… he was right. When I didn’t answer, he spun around with a sneer. “Cat got your—” “Holy sh*t.” Jax saw the dress. He stiffened immediately, eyes wide with suspicion. “Why are you dressed like that? Where are you going? A date? Did you come here for a fashion check? The audacity.” He talks so much. And why does he sound like he’s grinding his teeth? “Why are you firing words like a machine gun?” I asked, confused. “Because of you!” Jax’s face looked dark. “Why the sudden style change? It’s weird.” True. I usually live in oversized hoodies and sweatpants. I’m practically a nun. But I couldn’t exactly say: Jax, I want to jump your bones. I rubbed my nose, guilty. My eyes drifted down. Under his crisp white shirt, Jax’s collarbones were playing peek-a-boo. Lower… broad chest, tight waist. Okay, he’s actually kind of hot. I gulped. If only he were mute, he’d be perfect. 03 I hesitated, stepping closer. Jax looked like he was facing a bomb squad. “Chloe, what’s the play? Did you break something of your parents’ again? Fine, I’ll take the blame. Just… stop.” “You don’t need to dress like this.” He turned his head away, breathing heavy. “And you d-d-don’t need to stand so close.” If I don’t get close, how do I make my move? I felt a little embarrassed, too. But then I looked closer—Jax was red from his cheeks to his neck. Usually, he’s the definition of “arrogant.” Now he’s stuttering? Oh, I am so into this. How do they do it in romance novels? I had a lightbulb moment. I went up on my tiptoes, did a little spin, and— Oof. I threw myself right into Jax’s arms. His scent was warm. I landed on his lap. Instinctively, his hands gripped my waist. The dress was short. His palms touched bare skin. He let go like he’d touched fire. “Do you not have eyes, Chloe?!” Jax gritted his teeth. His hot breath tickled my neck. I shivered. “Hubby… why are you so mean to me?” I buried my face in his chest, peeking up to check his reaction. The internet said: Girl chases boy, it’s easy. Just call him Hubby. Jax looked like he was going to explode. He was cooked-shrimp red. I wanted to laugh, but that would kill the mood. I suppressed the giggles and pressed the attack. One arm around his neck. The other hand tugging his collar. Forcing him to look down, closing the distance. “Hubby.” I blew gently into his ear. “Am I pretty?” 04 Jax froze. His ears were burning. “P-pretty… pretty ugly!” “Chloe, you’ve lost your mind.” He pushed me away, swearing. “You’re heavy. Get off me.” I exploded. I’m casting pearls before swine here! I raged. “Fine! I’m getting off!” He dared to call me heavy? I needed to roast him back. “You misunderstood anyway. I was just practicing on you.” “Did you think I liked you?” “Looking at you makes me tired.” “And by the way, stop keeping the TV remote in your pocket. It’s digging into me.” Jax paused. He looked even angrier. “Practicing? For who?” “Chloe, what is wrong with you today?” “Where did you learn to dress like this? It’s ugly. Change back.” “I’m telling you, it’s ugly—” This guy is hopeless. I got annoyed, grabbed him, shoved him out the door, and slammed it. I could still hear him yelling “Don’t wear that!” from the hallway. Absolute terminal straight male energy. I looked in the mirror. I looked hot. Jax has zero taste. I deflated. Dammit. An enemy is an enemy. He’ll never be Hubby. Jax is a bust. Time to scout a new target. 05 My neighbor across the hall is a single hottie named Liam. Handsome, refined, aloof but gentle. Crucially: He’s nice. The weather forecast said rain. I timed my exit for when he’d be home. I deliberately left my umbrella, walked around the block in the downpour until I was soaked, and pretended to lose my keys. Then, I knocked on Liam’s door. “I forgot my keys… could I borrow your shower?” Classic K-Drama move. Liam is kind. He agreed. The plan was perfect. But I underestimated the rain. I got a fever and literally fainted in his bathroom. I did make it to his bed, though. In my delirium, I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Hubby…” “Uh? Why do you have a remote in your pocket too…” Liam froze like a statue. After a minute, he snapped out of it and touched my forehead. “You’re burning up.” “I’ll get you some medicine. Be good and lie down, okay?” I wouldn’t let go. He let me cling to him. He didn’t rush me, didn’t scold me. Didn’t even frown. 100 times gentler than that trash Jax. Decision made: I’m going to ravage this man. Our faces got closer, closer… And then I passed out cold from the fever. Just my luck. 06 Liam took care of me all night. 360-degree VIP service. I woke up the next morning feeling human again. I checked my phone. Jax had blown it up. Jax: [Where are you? Why aren’t you home?] [Seriously? Ignoring me? Chloe, you’re dead.] [Say something. Where are you??] [Hello???] [You think the silent treatment will make me apologize?] [Fine. I shouldn’t have yelled last night. I’m sorry.] [Chloe, where the hell are you??] I put the phone down. Ignored. He wrecked my confidence. I’m not talking to him. As for Liam… I rubbed my hands together. Round two. I vaguely remembered last night. In my fever haze, I asked, “Am I pretty?” “You’re beautiful.” He answered with sparkling eyes. No hesitation. “Do you have a girlfriend?” “No. My mom tried to set us up once, remember? She always mocks me for being single.” Liam touched my forehead again. I get it. He’s hinting. He wants a title? I reached out, causing chaos with my hands. Liam caught my wrists and pinned them above my head. He looked down, gaze intense. “Chloe. Some things… you can’t just do randomly.” “If we do this, I have to take responsibility. Forever.” Honestly, forever isn’t necessary. I’m dying soon. Just a few months. Let me have some fun before I go. So I pushed back. “Liam… I want to know.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Are your lips as soft as your heart?” Liam’s lips pressed into a thin line. Redness crept up his neck. Finally, he practically fled the room. Oh my god. I am a predator. This time, I’m definitely bagging a man. 07 But… I’m actually a coward. I’ve never done this. I went to Reddit to ask for help anonymously. Title: Help! How do I sleep with my Crush? Context: He seems aloof, totally the ascetic type. Kind sisters replied instantly. [Ascetic types are the easiest. They’re either bad in bed, or terrifyingly good.] [Just be direct. It’ll either happen immediately or never.] Makes sense. I latched onto one user, “Anon123”, for specific advice. “Urgent! Any tips?” [Don’t call me baby. I’m a guy. I have someone I like.] Wow, a loyal king. Even online. Nice. A moment later, he replied: [Sorry, I have zero experience.] [But I think… nighttime amplifies tension.] [I never dare to be alone with her at night.] Another lonely soul. I chatted him up. “How’s it going with your crush?” He typed for a long time. [She called me Hubby. But I feel like she’s… just playing with me.] I pictured a pure-hearted college boy. Poor guy. I typed back: “For a girl, ‘Hubby’ isn’t a word used lightly.” “She definitely likes you.” “Even if she’s playing, if you like her… why not let her play?” He hesitated. [That… makes sense.] “Good luck with your girl tonight!” I checked the time. 3 PM. Sunset soon. I showered, applied perfume to my wrists and behind my ears. Put on the slip dress. I am a woman of action. Tonight, Liam is mine. 08 I thought about it. Jumping him sober is too aggressive. Liquid courage. That’s the key. I poured a glass of wine. I texted Liam: “Ugh, insomnia again.” He replied fast: “What’s wrong? Feeling sick again?” “Why are you upset?” Liam is the anti-Jax. Gentle. Patient. I continued the act: “Physically fine. Just frustrated.” “Insomnia. If I can’t sleep, how can I sleep with you?” Silence. Crap. Is Liam the “bad in bed” type Anon123 warned about? I doubled down: “I’m 99% sure I like you.” “The 1% is missing your kiss.” Liam replied with one word. “Okay.” Okay? Just okay?! Suddenly, the room spun. F*ck. Nobody told me this wine was so strong. I forgot the mission. My heart was beating in my forehead. The weightlessness made me panic. I sent a distress signal. [Come to my place. Save me.] Ding ding. My phone buzzed. Huh? Jax was still texting me? The words were swimming. “I… something… owe you?” Whatever. Can’t read. But Liam is coming. I was happy. I benevolently replied to Jax: “Home now.” Added: “Do not disturb.” Almost forgot he has a spare key. Can’t have him ruining my night. A polite knock. I dropped the phone, opened the door, and fell straight into the visitor’s arms. My wrist was caught. “You’ve been drinking.” Liam frowned, looking worried. I blurted out: “Drinking makes it easier.” “Liam, I want to sleep with you.”

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After I left the country, every lover Caroline Marsh found looked just like me. When her friends talked about me, they’d say, “Caroline’s old flame, the one that got away. If Noah ever came back, none of these other guys would stand a chance.” Then Caroline started dating a newly famous actor, a kid who looked nothing like me. And he was the first one she ever officially called her boyfriend. That was the year I rushed back home. Everyone was waiting for the show: the old flame, full of regret, begging for a second chance. Even Caroline dropped hints, a subtle warning: “Noah, you’ve come back at a bad time.” But they didn’t know. I wasn’t here to win Caroline back. I was back to get married. 1 Stepping out of the airport, I spotted Caroline in the crowd almost instantly. She was wearing a light beige trench coat, her figure as elegant as ever, her face etched with a maturity it didn’t have when I left. But the look on that face was impossibly complex. “They said you were coming back. I didn’t believe them.” I stopped, my hand resting on my luggage handle, and said coolly, “I’m just here to take care of a few things.” Caroline took the suitcase from my hand. “Your father asked me to pick you up. Don’t get the wrong idea.” I nodded and followed her to the underground parking garage. On the way, I glanced at my phone. A group chat that had been dead for ages was exploding. [Did Caroline really go pick Noah up? No way, is he actually back?] [What about her current boyfriend, that actor Leo Bright? Is she kicking him to the curb?] [Is that even a question? And why do you think Noah is suddenly back? He’s obviously here to win her back!] [Leo Bright is nothing. Just a novelty for Caroline. Now that Noah’s back, I’ll be shocked if she even spares Leo a glance.] [I’ve met Leo. Don’t underestimate him. Any man who can land Caroline is a force to be reckoned with.] Caroline noticed my buzzing phone. She glanced at the screen, then looked at me. “Noah, you’ve come back at a bad time.” She added, “I have a boyfriend now.” My hand, reaching for the passenger door, froze. I rerouted, opening the back door instead. Only two words left my lips: “Congratulations.” Caroline slammed her door with a little too much force. The Caroline I knew was always composed, free of bad habits, and fiercely private. But in the years I’d been away, I’d heard rumors of more than a dozen lovers. Her phone rang, and a clear, bright voice came through the speaker. “Caroline, I’m dying on set. Can you come and get me?” “Send me the address.” “Love you, love you!” Caroline hung up and turned to me with a smile. “You don’t mind if I take a detour to pick up my boyfriend, do you?” “Of course not.” I should have taken a cab. 2 Caroline parked the car near the film set. Amidst the bustling crowd, my eyes landed on Leo Bright. He was impossible to miss. Even bundled up, he had a star quality that was instantly recognizable. Fans were snapping pictures. Leo pulled down his mask just enough to reveal a gentle smile. “Thank you all for the love. My girlfriend isn’t in the public eye, so could you please not photograph her?” A fan shouted, “We heard your girlfriend is the heiress to the Marsh fortune. Is it true?” Leo didn’t deny it, just raised a finger to his lips in a “shh” gesture. Once in the car, he took off his sunglasses and planted a kiss on Caroline’s cheek. “Caroline, have you been waiting long?” His eyes flickered to me. “And you are?” I offered a polite smile. “Hello. I’m Noah Croft. A friend of Caroline’s.” Leo’s smile deepened. “Noah. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Caroline naturally reached over and fastened his seatbelt for him. “All buckled in. Let’s go.” Leo chuckled. “Look at me, always forgetting. You always have to do it for me.” I turned my gaze to the window, avoiding the sight of their affection. We hadn’t been driving for long before Leo struck up a conversation with me. “Noah, in all your years abroad, did you ever have a girlfriend?” “I did,” I said honestly. “I knew it! A guy as handsome as you, you look like a movie star yourself. You must have women chasing you all the time, right? “Take Caroline, for example. She pursued me. All her friends say I’m different to her. “But I don’t quite get it. Do they mean she has some unforgettable old flame? I hear you and Caroline grew up together. You must know who it is. Come on, tell me.” He watched me, his eyes more probing than curious. Caroline’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have an old flame,” she said, her tone sharp. “They’re just teasing.” Leo pouted and started sulking on his phone. The rest of the drive was silent. When Caroline dropped me off at my family’s house, she didn’t even get out of the car. She rolled down the window. “My boyfriend’s upset. I have to go cheer him up, so I won’t come in. Say hello to your parents for me.” I was about to leave when Leo suddenly called out. “Noah, let’s exchange numbers.” I held out my phone for him to scan, but he shook his head. “No, you scan me. That way I know you’ll accept the request.” 3 My friends threw a small welcome-home party for me. No one expected Caroline to bring Leo Bright. Leo had come prepared with carefully selected gifts for everyone. Especially for me. “I hear Caroline thinks of you as a brother, Noah. So when we get married, you have to be my best man.” A few of my friends’ expressions soured. One of them turned to Caroline. “Caroline, aren’t you going to rein him in?” Caroline just smiled. “Do you want me to get punished when we get home?” Leo scratched his head sheepishly, grinning. He suggested a game of truth or dare. The bottle spun and landed on me. Everyone was eager to ask a question, but Leo stopped them. “Hold on! Let my girlfriend go first.” Caroline took a sip of her drink, her eyes fixed on me. “Did you have a girlfriend abroad?” I nodded. “Yes.” A few people gasped. Caroline’s best friend, a woman named Maya, tried to play it off. “Oh, come on, Noah’s just joking. A penalty shot for lying! I’ll drink it for him.” The next round, it was Caroline’s spin. The bottle pointed to me again. She asked, “What’s her name?” I answered, “I’d rather not say.” Leo laughed loudly. “Hahaha, Noah! Lucky you’re not an actor, your poker face is terrible. These women don’t get how a man’s mind works, but we’re both men. I can tell you’re lying from a mile away.” Caroline’s usual boy toys would never dare speak like that. But this was Leo Bright sitting next to her. The only boyfriend she had ever publicly acknowledged. Caroline’s silence was a form of permission. A small smile played on my lips. “Actors are experts at faking it, Mr. Bright. It’s a skill I’ve never had to learn.” The smile froze on Leo’s face. I’ve always considered myself good-natured, but my tongue can be sharp. It seemed Caroline hadn’t gotten around to telling Leo that part. But he had a thick skin. In a flash, he was smiling again, pouring me a drink. “A bet’s a bet. If you can’t answer, you drink. Your turn.” “Fine.” I downed the glass in one go. The bottle in Caroline’s hand seemed enchanted. The next spin landed on me again. She asked, almost without thinking, “Why did you come back?” 4 I chose not to answer this one. Caroline saw through me and slammed her hand down on the bottle to stop it from spinning. “Why did you come back?” I sighed in resignation. “To get married.” It wasn’t a big secret. I’d have to invite my friends to the wedding eventually anyway. “Pfft— Hahahahahahaha!” The room erupted in laughter. “It’s been years, but Noah’s pranks are still so childish.” “I think his real intentions are hidden somewhere else.” “Noah, you’re getting worse and worse at lying.” I looked at Leo. “So, I’m sorry, but I can’t be your best man. My wedding is at the beginning of next month.” He asked, his curiosity piqued, “Is it the girlfriend you had abroad? Come on, Noah, just tell us. It’s not like we’re going to judge her if she’s not good enough, right?” I didn’t owe him an explanation. I just said calmly, “She’s an amazing woman, but I can’t disclose her identity.” Caroline suddenly stood up and pulled on Leo’s arm. “Leo, your acting is much better than his. I can’t watch this farce anymore. Let’s go.” Maya grabbed her, whispering in her ear, “Don’t, Caroline. If you miss this chance, who knows how long you’ll have to wait again?” Caroline shook her off. “When was I ever waiting for him? Huh?” “I’ve played with more men than I can count these past few years. Every single one of them was better than Noah Croft.” The words died on Maya’s lips. My eyes met Caroline’s. Her gaze was trembling. I stood frozen, a cold dread washing over me, feeling the blood turn to ice in my veins. “Caroline, have you no shame?” A faint, mocking smile touched her lips. “None of your business.” 5 After the party, Maya cornered me. “Noah, are you really getting married? Is it true?” I nodded calmly. “It’s true.” She sighed. “You don’t have to lie to me. Others might not know, but I do. The only thing between you and Caroline is that one hurdle from the past. The truth is, Caroline—” I cut her off. “Maya, it’s not a hurdle. It’s a person.” “I’m really getting married this time. I’m not lying to you, and I’m not doing this out of spite.” Maya looked as if she’d been struck. “Noah! Have you seen what’s become of Caroline these past few years? How could you…” “I wasn’t here, but you were, weren’t you?” “For years, Caroline has looked at man after man who resembles you, and the thing she says most often is, “‘He looks like him, but he’s not him.’” I let out a long, weary sigh. “But you saw it too, Maya. She still hates me.” … Halfway home, Caroline’s car screeched to a halt. She gave Leo his marching orders. “Get out.” Leo’s expression tightened, but he forced a smile. “What, you say you don’t believe him, but the second you hear he’s getting married, you fly into a rage?” Caroline’s face grew even darker. “Leo Bright, know your place. I can have you blacklisted with a single word.” Faced with a choice between his career and his pride, Leo chose the former. He had thought he was different to Caroline. No other man had ever sat in her passenger seat. No other man had she ever publicly called her boyfriend. Other men had been dumped for simply mentioning Noah Croft’s name. Leo didn’t believe Noah was the “unforgettable old flame” everyone talked about. He thought what Caroline felt was closer to hate. She had loved him once, but that love had curdled into resentment. Every man wanted to be the Marsh family’s son-in-law. Now that he, Leo Bright, had his foot in the door, he had to give it everything he had to cross the threshold. 6 Leo Bright posted on his social media. It was a picture he had secretly taken of me. The lighting in the private room was dim, so it was only a shot of my back. The caption read: [I hear your old flame is back in town. I guess that makes me nothing but a smudge of mosquito blood on the wall.] A minute later, he deleted it. Leo was an A-lister Caroline had built from the ground up. His every move was headline news. And this time, my name was in the trending topics. His fans were furious: [What old flame? He’s the one who dumped Caroline in the first place, and now he can’t stand to see our Leo happy, so he’s back to ruin things.] [Oh my god, so he’s a homewrecker?] [He’s not just a homewrecker, he’s a murderer. He caused the death of a mutual friend he and Caroline shared.] [Not many people know what happened back then, but let’s just say Noah Croft is from one of those untouchable elite families. You can guess the rest~] [Is Leo being threatened? If you’re being threatened, post a period on your next update.] Leo’s next post was, indeed, just a single period. He deleted it moments later. He had stirred the pot once again. When he showed up at my door to apologize, he still wore a mask of innocence. “I’m so sorry, Noah. I just posted a line from a script. I had no idea people would react so strongly and start this online mob against you. I’m really sorry.” His eyes were red from crying. I said coldly, “You want me to suffer, but you don’t want to offend my family. Leo Bright, you can’t have it both ways.” “Noah, I know what they’re saying is true. You and Caroline had a past, so I understand why you’re targeting me. But please, leave Caroline out of this.” Just as I was about to speak, Leo suddenly stumbled forward, his head slamming hard against the edge of a table. Caroline walked in at that exact moment. She rushed to help the now unconscious Leo, blood gushing from his forehead, staining her shoulder crimson. “Noah, I already had the trending topics taken down for you. Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?” I roared, “Who do you think sicced his fans on me in the first place?” Caroline sneered. “But Noah, were they wrong? Did you not dump me without a word? Did you not cause a man’s death? Hmm?” The words caught in my throat. Without looking back, she supported Leo and hurried him to the hospital. 7 I drove to the cemetery. The sun was shining, the air was calm, but the place still felt heavy. I stood before a headstone and pulled a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I lit one and placed it on the ground. “Your favorite.” I looked at the picture of the smiling young man on the stone, his life forever frozen at twenty. Finn. An orphan, with no parents to speak of. Back then, the three of us were inseparable. One day, while helping Finn move, his notebook fell out in my car. And just like that, a page that would change all our lives lay open on the back seat. A picture of Caroline was taped to a corner of the page. Finn’s feelings for her had been translated into words that filled every inch of space around her photo. At the time, Caroline and I had just ended a six-year secret crush and had been officially together for less than a year. For all seven of those years, Finn had been by Caroline’s side. I confronted Caroline in a rage, and we had a massive fight. “Finn has been in love with you for this long, and you never noticed? You kept him by your side for seven years! Were you two hiding this from me together?” Caroline screamed back, “What are you talking about? How could Finn possibly be in love with me?” I slapped the page from his notebook onto her desk. “See for yourself! This is how he’s been in love with you for seven years!” Caroline’s gaze wasn’t on the notebook. It was on something behind me. I turned and saw Finn’s face, pale as a ghost. He fled in a panic. At an intersection just a block from her apartment, he was hit by a car. He died instantly. It was only later, when I finally read the last page of his notebook, that a tidal wave of grief washed over me. Finn had written: [It’s so rare for two people to love each other. Noah and Caroline are my best friends. They have to be happy.] Tears streamed down my face, consumed by a regret so deep it felt like a physical wound. Caroline and I were both twenty years old then. Our love was young and fragile. Weighed down by a life, it quickly shattered. From that day on, there was always a trace of hatred in her eyes when she looked at me. Finn was my friend, but to Caroline, he was family. When the cold ocean water rose to my chest, a kind stranger pulled me back. She yelled at me, “You’re so young! What gives you the right to give up on life?” “Because I caused a life to be lost. I owe him this.” “Listen to me! If you die, you get an easy way out. How can you be so selfish? You want to atone? Then live with this guilt forever!” I chose to run from Caroline, carrying my guilt with me to another country. I went to Murmansk, the city Finn loved most. A port that never freezes, a guilt that never thaws. 8 Leo Bright, a massive bandage on his forehead, started a livestream. His fans were outraged: [Leo, what happened? Did someone hit you? Tell us, don’t be afraid, we’ll protect you!] [Just a passerby, but I can’t watch this anymore. Call the police, man.] [OMG I’m crying my eyes out, someone please save this kind soul.] Leo managed a pale smile. “Don’t worry everyone, I was just clumsy and bumped into something.” He tilted the camera slightly, and Caroline’s back came into view. She seemed to be cooking for him. Leo said, “Alright my dear fans, cheer up, no more tears. I’m actually happy this happened. It’s a blessing in disguise. My girlfriend is finally willing to come home and cook for me.” [Meaning she was tied up with that homewrecker this whole time? Noah Croft is a monster!] [Don’t be moved by one meal! You’re always so kind, who’s going to look out for you?] [Noah Croft can go to hell!] Just before Caroline could turn around, Leo straightened the camera. He deliberately defended me: “Everyone has it wrong. Noah is a dear friend to both of us. I hope you all will stop disturbing a private citizen’s life and give him some peace, okay?” The comments grew more and more vitriolic. Watching them, Leo’s smile deepened. He ended the livestream. Across the city, I put down my phone. I rubbed my brow, a headache blooming. Just then, an unsaved number called. A gentle female voice. “Noah, my flight back lands tomorrow afternoon. We need to discuss our wedding plans.” My grip tightened on the phone. “Okay. I’ll pick you up.” That night, a rumor started spreading through the city’s elite circles. The powerhouse lawyer, the one who made titans of industry tremble, Claire Lowell, was coming home. Someone had once dared to sum her up. If you don’t want to get sued, don’t cross Claire Lowell. 9 At the capital airport. Claire Lowell, in a black overcoat, her figure slim and her aura commanding, stood out in the crowd. I hurried towards her. “Welcome home, Counselor.” Claire looked at me with a soft expression and leaned up to kiss my cheek. “Noah, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you.” That night, I stayed at Claire’s apartment. After a passionate encounter, she lay softly on my chest. I asked her, “Claire, are you confident about that case?” Claire looked up at me, her eyes glinting with a playful smile. “Instead of asking about our wedding, you’re focused on a case? Noah, you’re too eager.” I pouted. “Who’s eager? I’ve already made the arrangements. I’m going for a tuxedo fitting tomorrow, and you’re coming with me.” “Okay.” I turned off the light but couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. The next day, at the bridal shop, I ran into Leo Bright. He was in a white tuxedo, preening in front of a mirror. When he saw me, his smile vanished. “Noah, what are you doing here?” I then noticed he was holding his phone, seemingly livestreaming. Leo spoke to the screen: “Fans, calm down. Noah has great taste. Maybe Caroline sent him to give me some advice. “The wedding date? Caroline is already looking at dates. Good news is just around the corner.” He strode over, positioning himself to take a selfie with me. “Noah, say hi to my fans. And maybe clarify your relationship with Caroline, so they don’t get the wrong idea, right?” The comment section exploded. [What bridal shop is that? I’m on my way to get revenge for my boy!] [He’s so ugly! Is there no standard for homewreckers these days?] [Ugh, can the scumbag who breaks up relationships just die already!] I slapped the phone out of his hand. “Leo Bright, stop this online mob. As a public figure, you have no integrity.” He glanced at the dark screen of his phone and smirked. “Caroline and I are getting married. Aren’t you panicking?” “I’m panicking like crazy, okay? Now you’re in my way. Move.” A familiar voice cut through the air. “I’m quite sure I called the manager to book the entire store. Why are random people being allowed in?” Caroline appeared behind us. Leo’s face transformed into a smile as he walked towards her. “Caroline, thank god you’re here. Noah suddenly lost control. He even smashed my phone. I don’t blame him, he’s probably just a little emotional.” Caroline stared at me coldly. “Noah, what are you trying to pull this time?” “Does he need to explain himself to you?” Claire Lowell walked towards me, taking off her sunglasses as she did. She linked her arm through mine. “Sorry I’m a little late, Noah. Had to deal with something.” Caroline took a step forward, her eyes narrowing at the newcomer. “Claire Lowell?” Claire smiled. “A pleasure. I’m Claire Lowell. Noah’s fiancée.”

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It happened during the final hour of the State-wide University Entrance Exam—the moment I suddenly went blind. Rushed to the Emergency Room, the doctors ran every test imaginable, but they came back clean. “No discernible cause,” they said. My career as a high school English teacher was over. Driven by necessity, I earned a license as a therapeutic massage therapist, relying on the sensitivity of my hands. Then, one day during a session, I overheard a conversation between two clients. “That teacher who went blind, it was perfect timing,” a man’s voice boasted. “I copied one multiple-choice answer from the paper while she was distracted, and that was just enough. Two points over the cut-off for the Ivy-tier schools. It’s been twenty years, man. I wonder how she’s doing. Northwood High, the summer of ’05, Exam Room 28. Man, my whole life was in that room.” The second man’s voice was a low, gravelly rasp. “I know exactly why she went blind. And the killer was right there in the exam room.” I froze, heart hammering against the massage table, breath held tight as I waited for them to continue. The silence stretched for what felt like minutes. Then, a sudden, ice-cold pressure pressed against my neck. A knife. I opened my eyes again. I was back. I was sitting in the exact same exam room, two decades in the past. 1 My eyes blinked, taking in the world in sharp, bright detail. The fluorescent lights hummed, the gray walls felt solid, the faces of the teenagers were perfectly clear. I was back in the final hour of the exam, the ticking clock the only difference between this life and the last. The killer… who is the killer? And right before the darkness consumed me that first time, who was it who actually killed me? But I had no time to process it. The familiar bell for the final ten minutes of the exam rang out, sharp and jarring. The awful clack-clack-clack of my co-monitor’s heels echoed across the linoleum floor. Ten minutes. In ten minutes, my vision would dissolve into blackness. I couldn’t risk it. Not again. Not for anything. But what if I just pretended to be sick and left? What if the killer simply targeted the substitute? I tossed all concerns about protocol and disruption out the window. “No one should be in this room!” I screamed, shooting out of my chair. “The teacher in this room, whoever it is, is going to be targeted! Someone here is going to make the teacher go blind!” It only took moments. I was immediately hauled out by a proctor and then the campus security, accused of disturbing the final, most crucial minutes of a major examination. As I was put into the back of a police cruiser, a huge, rattling sigh of relief escaped my lungs. I’m out. Now, it was out of my hands. At a temporary staging area in the school administration building, a Sergeant Miller interrogated me, his face a mask of furious disbelief. “Why the hell did you disrupt the exam, Ms. Sinclair? We’ve swept every single student in that room for abnormal materials. There’s nothing. What is your motive for slandering these students?” He slammed his hand hard on the metal table, the sound making me jump. I tried to keep my composure. “I told you, Sergeant. I heard a whisper right before I walked in—a student saying they wished the teacher would go blind.” I stared him down. “Losing your sight over something as senseless as monitoring an exam is too high a price to pay.” My explanation clearly did not satisfy him. “That sounds like a nervous kid joking, Ms. Sinclair. You’re a teacher. You actually believe that?” He leaned in closer. “Consider yourself lucky, the exam hadn’t formally ended yet. If you’d pulled this stunt minutes later, you’d be sitting in county jail right now.” I had been blacklisted from all future examinations, and my job was definitely on the line. But compared to two decades of blindness and degradation? It was nothing. As he escorted me out, I couldn’t help but stop at the gate. “Sergeant, what if they were serious? If another teacher loses their sight, it’ll be too late. You need to investigate this.” “One more word, Ms. Sinclair, and I will book you for harassment.” Free of the school grounds, I felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with pure dread. I drove straight to the best ophthalmologist in the city. The results, however, were an exact repeat of the last timeline. “Ms. Sinclair, your retina and optical nerve are pristine. You don’t have an ounce of astigmatism. This sudden blindness you mentioned is medically impossible.” I sat in the crowded hospital waiting room, watching a man with a cane and a guide dog navigate the lobby. I remembered the last twenty years: losing my job, my fiancé ending our engagement, the desperation that led me to the massage parlor, and the sleazy clients who would expose themselves, daring me to touch them. But I had been saved. I could see. My eyes could take the full measure of the world again. Then, a sudden burst of frantic sobs from the hallway pulled me back. My heart seized. Another teacher, clearly distraught, was being rushed into the eye clinic. It was Harper Rhodes, the co-monitor from my exam room. Inside the examination room, I could hear her frantic voice describing the terror to the doctor. “Doctor, I was just monitoring the room, and then suddenly I couldn’t see! My eyes are normally fine! What is happening to me?” After the examination, the doctor sighed. “Your retina and cornea are structurally fine, Ms. Rhodes. We simply can’t explain why you’ve lost your vision.” I stood outside the room, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Harper Rhodes was now blind. How? I had disrupted the exam, made a scene, screamed a warning. How had the killer still managed to execute their plan? The doctor sat by his machine, muttering, “This is bizarre. Just an hour ago, another woman came in, asking me if it was possible to suddenly go blind even if all her tests were normal.” He noticed me and called out my name. Harper, hearing the doctor, instantly recognized my voice. “You were the teacher in my room, weren’t you? Are you here because you lost your sight too? You warned me! Did you know something? Which student did this to me?” She sounded terrified, manic. I knew she wouldn’t believe the truth—that I was a time traveler. I gave her the same line I used on the police. “Right before the exam started, I thought I heard a student say they wished the teacher would go blind. There were too many students around the door to see who it was, but they all ended up in that room. I know it sounds crazy, but…” Harper was hysterical. “Investigate! You have to investigate! Who used some kind of twisted trick to do this to me?” I felt a surge of cold relief. This was it. Now the case would be taken seriously. In the last timeline, I had no one. When I asked for an investigation, the parents had rallied against me: “You’re ruining our children’s chances! You can’t even find a cause—who knows if this is just a defect in your own body! Don’t push this on innocent kids!” But now, with two of us demanding answers, the police would have to listen. More importantly, I remembered the killer’s voice from the massage parlor. If I could just hear it again, I could identify him. I accompanied Harper to the police station. They immediately went back to Northwood High. But another sweep of the students, who were growing increasingly resentful, still revealed nothing. “We can’t disrupt the other two days of the exam,” the Sergeant insisted. “We’ll conduct a thorough review once the testing is complete.” The rumors, however, were already flying. “Why are they only searching our room? Who are they accusing of cheating?” “It’s not cheating. It’s about the blind teacher. They think one of us poisoned her.” Having faked an illness to pull out of the exam room, I spent the next three days monitoring the situation. My eyes remained perfectly fine. I learned that Harper, an art teacher, was near collapse. She couldn’t paint, and now she struggled with basic daily living—the same reality that had been mine. Three days of hospital visits, all ending with the same infuriating answer: No cause. Finally, the exam ended. As the students slowly dispersed, I nervously approached a holding room. Thirty students were crammed inside. Harper and the police were already waiting. “So, Ms. Sinclair, you said you heard a student say they hoped the teacher would go blind, correct?” I nodded, my voice catching in my throat. “Yes. And I remember the voice. It was a male student.” A wave of noise erupted from the boys in the room. “Alright, all the young men in this room, line up,” the detective instructed. “You will read this printed statement aloud, one at a time.” He held up a paper. “No one needs to be nervous. Do not attempt to alter your natural speaking voice.” One by one, the boys read the text and then left. I held my breath, straining to hear the low, raspy tone of the man who had spoken right before the knife slit my throat in the last life. The last male student finished reading the final word. My heart sank. I hadn’t heard either of the voices from the massage parlor. I had been blind for twenty years; I had developed the ability to identify people by their speech patterns. While a voice changes over time, the rhythm and cadence rarely do. I tried again. “Can I listen to the last three boys one more time?” I closed my eyes this time, concentrating on the sound, not the sight. And then, I found the flaw. One boy had deliberately altered his tone, making it sound unnaturally high. It was Ethan Keller, the boy who had confessed to copying a multiple-choice answer. If I had the voice of the cheater, I could eventually find the voice of the actual killer. “I remember you talking to another boy right before,” I accused, pointing at Ethan. Harper looked manic. “Good! Tell the police! How did you make me go blind?” Ethan, however, insisted he didn’t know anyone else in the room. “Teachers, I swear I didn’t do anything! I didn’t talk to anyone! I just… I just quickly glanced at an answer sheet after the other teacher suddenly went still.” He was immediately taken away for further questioning. As his confession aligned with the first man’s words from the last timeline, I knew he wasn’t the killer. It was also possible he simply hadn’t met the killer yet. But where was the other man? “Why, why would he do this to me? I don’t even know him! Even if I went blind, another teacher would have taken my place—he still couldn’t have cheated!” Harper was nearing total hysteria. She dropped to her knees. “Please! I am begging you! Just tell me how you did this! If you tell me how to reverse it, I won’t press charges! I have a child! Please, let me live my life!” Her agony was a searing mirror of my own past. Then, a memory surfaced—something I felt during that fateful massage. On the back of the killer’s neck, I had felt a distinct, small, fleshy nodule. Ignoring the stares of the police and the students, I rushed down the line of remaining boys, my hands quickly but firmly brushing the back of their necks. Then, my heart hammered hard against my ribs. I closed my eyes and carefully felt the small bump—a tiny, pea-sized cyst. It was exactly as I remembered it. I spun around, pointing at the student, Preston Pierce. “It’s him! It was you talking that day, wasn’t it?” I screamed, grabbing his shoulders. “Tell us what you did! How did you poison the teacher?” My face was flushed, my eyes welling up with tears. No one understood the sheer force of the two decades of trauma driving this breakdown. As a detective moved toward Preston, the boy flashed me a dark, knowing smirk. His lips formed a single, silent sentence: “You will never know who the killer is.” Then, to the collective horror of everyone in the room, he sprinted across the classroom and threw himself out the fifth-floor window. He landed head-first on the pavement below. He was dead instantly. Preston Pierce’s suicide threw the entire city into chaos.

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1 After the divorce, I fled to the mainland, scarred and broken, and disappeared into a quiet life under a new name and face. Everyone believed I’d died in a gang war that burned the docks to ash. For five years, my ex-husband Marco’s men visited my grave—until an old acquaintance walked into my barbecue shop. Stunned, he asked, “You’re alive? Why haven’t you returned? Marco’s been trying to kill himself out of guilt. He’s given up on the Family.” Marco, once one of Port City’s underworld Reapers, had vowed with his partner Isabella not to marry until they restored their Family’s glory by thirty. But he met me at twenty, married me, and broke their pact. Isabella turned vengeful: she poisoned me on our wedding night, locked me in a freezer while I was pregnant—each time, Marco saved me. This went on for three years. On the ninety-ninth attempt, she strapped me with timed bombs and left me at a rival gang’s door. With three minutes left, I ran to the police. … When Marco finally arrived, the first words out of his mouth weren’t of concern, but of accusation. “There are a dozen guys in the Family who could’ve defused that. Did you run to the cops on purpose? Were you trying to get Bella arrested?” The complete lack of care in his voice left a bitter taste in my mouth. “She was trying to kill me! Your men all listen to her. Where else was I supposed to go?” For the first time, I didn’t back down, and my defiance infuriated him. “I came up with Bella in this life. I know her. She values loyalty above all else. She was just trying to toughen you up.” “I’ll send her overseas to expand our operations later,” he continued, “but she’s the one who brings in the money for the Family. Nothing can happen to her.” He slid a settlement agreement and a credit card across the table, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Sign it. There’s a hundred thousand on the card. For your trouble.” I stared at him, my heart feeling like it was being crushed in a vice. Was that all I was worth to him? A hundred thousand dollars? When I didn’t move, he frowned. “Ava, everything you have, everything you wear—Bella’s work paid for it. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” “I’ll sign it when I’m dead.” Marco’s eyes turned to ice. “You can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He swiped his phone open. The sound of our daughter’s terrified screams filled the air as one of his men twisted her little hand at an unnatural angle. “No!” I shrieked. “Marco, that’s your daughter too!” A cold smile touched his lips. “Sign it, or she spends the rest of her life as a cripple. Your choice.” On the screen, the man snapped our two-year-old’s forearm. She convulsed in agony. “Don’t hurt her! I’ll sign!” I sobbed, my hand shaking too violently to hold the pen. Marco grabbed my hand and forced it to trace out my name, stroke by stroke. I looked at the man I had loved for so many years, my voice choked with tears. “Why? Why would you do this to us, just for her?” A flicker of regret crossed his face. He started to reach for me, but then he saw Isabella in the interrogation room next door and stopped himself. “I didn’t want to use our daughter, Ava. I had no choice. Try to understand.” “Bella is my second-in-command, and she’s my mentor’s only child. She’s never seen the inside of a precinct before. She’s not like you.” He called one of his men and ordered them to take our daughter to the best hospital in the city. “If anything, and I mean anything, happens to my little girl, I’ll have your heads.” I watched, my heart turning to a block of ice, as he snatched the agreement and rushed to get Isabella. My love for him, blurred by a torrent of tears, died with that signature. As I left the precinct, I called his mentor, Don Rossi—Isabella’s father. My voice was raw, final. “Don Rossi, I know you’ve always seen Marco as your son-in-law. I know you’ve always thought I stood in the way of him and your daughter.” “Now, you have your wish. I’m divorcing him.” The old Don was surprised, but his voice was laced with smug satisfaction. “You’re a smart girl. But everything Marco has, the Family and my daughter gave to him. You’ll leave with nothing. And you’ll leave Port City for good.” “Sign the papers and get them to me as soon as possible. The divorce will be final in a month. After that, I never want you to show your face in front of Marco again.” “Done,” I said, my voice crisp. I hung up, signed the divorce papers immediately, and had a lawyer deliver them to Don Rossi. For the next two weeks, it was as if Marco had vanished from the face of the earth. I stayed by our daughter’s side in the hospital, sleepless and alone. He only reappeared the day she was discharged. He was wearing an apron, a feast laid out on the table to celebrate our “homecoming.” He bought me a limited-edition sports car. He commissioned a solid gold statue in our daughter’s name at the local cathedral, to ensure her “divine protection.” The tabloids hailed him as a “devoted family man,” while I was the “trashy girl who got lucky.” It was as if his cruelty at the precinct had been a figment of my imagination. But I knew this wasn’t about guilt. It was about confidence. He was sure that, just like every other time, a few grand gestures would be enough to make me forget, to make me continue to endure Isabella’s abuse. Nausea churned in my stomach. I ran out of the cathedral for some fresh air, only to come face-to-face with Isabella herself. “Well, well, Mrs. Ricci. A new car, a golden statue. You must be on top of the world,” she purred, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. “Marco loves you so much, doesn’t he? But do you know where he was while you were playing nurse?” She grinned, a venomous, triumphant look in her eyes. “He was with me. On a private resort down the coast, helping me get over the ‘trauma’ of being in a police station. We hiked during the day, and he kept me warm in bed at night. While you and your brat were left to rot in that hospital.” Every word was a dagger to my heart. He knew how badly our daughter was hurt, and he still chose to comfort the uninjured Isabella. This was a house of God. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to swallow my rage. But Isabella blocked my path, whispering in my ear, “If you don’t want your precious daughter to end up in a body bag, meet me in the chapel in ten minutes.” I rushed there, my hand freezing on the door handle. From inside, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of sex. A woman’s voice, moaning, “Marco… I’m coming…” The world went black, and I stumbled backward. A young acolyte saw me and rushed to help. His voice, calling out, “Ma’am, are you alright?” silenced the noises from within. The door creaked open. Marco stood there, shirtless, his pants half-zipped. Our eyes met. The color drained from his face. He fumbled with his zipper and ran after me. “Ava, it’s not what you think! A rival family drugged Bella! She barely escaped with her life and came to me for help!” Tears were already streaming down my face. I slapped him, hard. “Go to hell!” I turned and ran, blindly, crashing straight into a group of workers moving the new golden statue into the cathedral. The massive, heavy statue toppled over, crushing me beneath it. I felt my bones splinter, and then, without even a cry for help, I blacked out. I don’t know how much time passed. I thought I heard Marco’s voice, somewhere in the darkness. When I opened my eyes again, I was on an operating table. A doctor was on my phone, speaking frantically. “Mr. Ricci, your wife has multiple fractures. A piece of bone has pierced her heart. She’s in critical condition. We need you to get down here and sign the consent for surgery immediately.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, a sound that made everyone in the room blush. A woman’s sultry moan. “Oh, Marco… you’re so big… so deep…” Marco wasn’t even listening to the doctor. His voice was a ragged pant. “My wife… I’m saving Bella… whatever it is… it can wait…” The line went dead. The entire surgical team looked at me with pity. A bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. Every breath was an agony. It took me a moment to find my voice. “My apologies for the scene,” I rasped. “I’ll sign for myself.” When I woke up again, it was the next day. Marco was by my bedside, his eyes bloodshot, his hair a mess. He saw me open my eyes, and his own filled with tears. “Ava, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t know you were really hurt. I thought you were just angry about Bella and trying to get my attention.” I didn’t even look at him. I fumbled for the call button. “There’s a visitor disturbing my rest. Please have him removed.” “Ava, I’m not leaving. You don’t have anyone else in this city. I have to take care of you.” He was genuinely panicked now by my cold indifference, gripping my hand tightly. When security arrived, he pulled out a gun and pressed it to the guard’s forehead. He cancelled all his meetings, delegated all his responsibilities, and stayed by my side, day and night. The tabloids called him “Husband of the Year.” The day I was discharged, Marco went to handle the paperwork. His men cornered me, and a sharp blow to the back of my neck sent me into darkness. A bucket of ice water shocked me awake. I was naked, strapped to an operating table. Isabella stood over me, holding a splintered wooden rod, her eyes gleaming with a sick, manic excitement. “You little slut. You like using hospitals to steal Marco from me? Well, today, you’re going to get all the ‘treatment’ you can handle. By the time I’m done with you, the thought of touching you will make him sick.” She plunged the rod into me. Blood bloomed between my legs. Several of his men were already unbuckling their belts, their greasy hands stroking my thighs. I trembled, screaming, “No, no, please…” Isabella just laughed, filming the whole thing on her phone. Just as they were about to descend on me, the door to the operating room burst open with a deafening crash. Marco stood there, a gun in each hand, his face a mask of demonic fury. When he saw my state, a guttural roar of rage tore from his throat. He opened fire, each shot finding its mark. “Ava!” He ran to me, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the restraints. He pulled me into his arms, his entire body trembling. “It’s okay, you’re safe now! Anyone who hurt you is going to pay!” The terror of what had just almost happened washed over me, and I finally broke down, sobbing. He gently covered me with his jacket, his voice a soothing murmur. Then he swept me up into his arms to get me to a doctor. Isabella, her face twisted in a snarl, blocked our path. “You’re not going anywhere! She pissed me off. I’m going to cripple her today.” Marco didn’t back down. His eyes were cold steel, his voice lethal. “Isabella, for the sake of our history, I’ve put up with all your games. But you don’t mess with my wife’s honor. She’s my woman. Only I can touch her. If anything serious happens to her today, I will personally take your head and offer it to her as an apology.” The sheer killing intent rolling off him made her stumble backward. She couldn’t comprehend it. The Marco who had always taken her side was now defending me. Her eyes went wild. “Apologize to her? That piece of trash? You broke our vow first! You’re the one who betrayed me! Leaving her with me is the least you can do. If you insist on leaving… you’ll have to walk over my dead body!” She snatched a gun from one of the dead men and pulled the trigger on herself. The moment the shot rang out, Marco instinctively dropped me and lunged for Isabella. I hit the floor hard. The wooden rod inside me was driven deeper, and blood poured from the wound. Marco didn’t even hear my scream. He was already running out the door with Isabella in his arms. I didn’t dare pull the rod out. I started to crawl, leaving a smear of blood on the floor behind me. I had just made it out of the operating room when a hand grabbed my hair and yanked me up. It was Marco. He dragged me, kicking and screaming, down the hall to another O.R. “Bella’s kidney was damaged by the bullet. You’re a match. You’re giving her one of yours.” I raked my nails down his arms, drawing blood, my voice a hysterical shriek. “You’re not human, Marco! She set me up! She shot herself! Why do I have to pay for her crimes?” His grip didn’t loosen. His eyes were resolute. “She did it because she was mad at you, Ava. You’re the one who caused this. Besides, you can live with one kidney. Bella has lived a pampered life. She needs both of hers. I’ll owe you for this one. I’ll get you the best doctors, the best care. I’ll even buy you a villa on the Peak as compensation.” I tried to fight, but he pressed a cloth soaked in chloroform over my mouth and nose. His last words to me before I passed out were, “Since you’re not objecting, I’ll take that as a yes.” My mind screamed, I object, Marco! And I hate you! And then, I was lifted onto the operating table, and the world faded to black. When I opened my eyes, he was there, just like before. The concern and guilt in his eyes were real. “Ava, you’re awake. You were in bad shape. The doctors were worried.” “Here, let me help you sit up. Have some soup…” Before the spoon could reach my lips, I slapped the bowl from his hand. It shattered on the floor, the shards digging into his feet. He didn’t even flinch, so desperate was he to appease me. But it was too late, Marco. The next evening, while he was on a phone call, Isabella stormed in. She looked down at me, her eyes filled with contempt. “My kidney was fine, you know. I lied to him. And he didn’t even think twice before he had yours cut out for me.” “Pathetic, isn’t it? The great boss’s wife, so pitiful and weak. He says he loves you, but every time I hurt you, he takes my side. Don’t you see who he really loves?” I was shaking with rage, barely able to grit out the word, “Get out.” Her expression soured. She slapped me across the face. “You dare talk to me like that, you bitch? Fine. You just wait. I’m going to finish you today.” She stormed out. A moment later, Marco came in, his face livid. He punched me, right on my surgical wound. Pain exploded through my body. Blood soaked through my bandages. “Ava, I told you I would make it up to you. Why did you have to go after Bella?” I couldn’t believe it. “She came here to provoke me!” “Bullshit!” Another punch landed on the same spot. “The nurse confessed. You bribed her to throw away Bella’s anti-rejection meds. You were trying to kill her.” He didn’t even investigate. He just pronounced me guilty. My heart felt like it had been carved out of my chest. “Is that what you really think of me, Marco? That I’m that evil? Have you even considered that I’ve been by your side every single day? When would I have had time to bribe a nurse?” “For years, she’s been the one hurting me! Have I ever once fought back? Haven’t I always let it go, just because you asked me to?” “You’re the only one with a motive to hurt her,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Couldn’t she be the one lying? Trying to frame me?” I screamed. The injustices of the past three years felt like mountains pressing down on me. His distrust was the final straw. I struggled to sit up, grabbing anything within reach and hurling it at him. “You’re a monster, Marco! A heartless bastard! You say you love me, but everything you do is to protect her! For three years, the words I’ve heard most from you aren’t ‘I love you,’ but ‘Let it go, Ava. I owe Bella.’ I’m sick of your love! I don’t want it anymore!” He’d never seen me so furious. He looked lost, reaching out to comfort me. But then Isabella ran in, her face pale, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. She threw her arms around his waist, sobbing. “Marco, I almost died. Aren’t you scared? Do you want this to happen again? Ava’s been with you for three years, and she still hasn’t learned how to be an obedient wife. If you can’t teach her, then I will. Just say the word, and we’ll call it even.” Marco hesitated. His fists were clenched at his sides. Isabella tugged at his sleeve again, and something inside him seemed to snap. He made his decision. “Fine. Teach her some manners. But don’t kill her.” Isabella’s lips twisted into a cruel smile as she glanced at me. Two of his men rushed in, grabbed me, and dragged me out to a waiting van. I was helpless. My only hope was to appeal to him one last time. “For the sake of what we once were, don’t let them take me. They’ll kill me!” He just looked down, taking Isabella’s side once again. “Ava, it’s time you learned how to be a good wife. I’ll come get you when you’re ready.” For the next week, I was tortured. Nails were driven through the soles of my feet. Filth was poured over my head. I was strapped to an electric bed, thrown into a freezer until I passed out, and then scalded with boiling water to wake me up. Isabella watched it all from a chair, sipping a glass of red wine. She only called a halt when my vital signs began to plummet. “Useless thing. I wasn’t even done playing! When is Marco going to let me kill you? I’m getting bored.” She ground her heel into my bloody, mangled face. “Get her to a hospital. If she actually dies, Marco will probably kill himself.” I was dumped at the entrance to the emergency room. The doctors were afraid to even touch me, for fear I would die on the spot. It took a team of specialists three days and three nights to bring me back from the brink. The moment I opened my eyes, I received a message from Don Rossi. [The divorce is final. It’s time for you to honor your promise and disappear.] I replied instantly. [Good. Arrange for my faked death. Tie up all the loose ends.] This time, he called. “There’s a turf war going down at the docks tonight. I’ll have my men start a fire in the confusion. I’ve already found a body double for you. Get on the boat at the harbor and don’t look back.” After I hung up, a wave of relief washed over me, greater than any I had ever known. I changed into street clothes, avoided the cameras, and headed straight for the harbor. The lights of Port City grew smaller and smaller, until they were just a faint glimmer on the horizon. At that same moment, Marco received a call from the hospital. “What’s wrong with Ava? You said you were just teaching her some manners. Why is she in critical condition?” “Bullshit! Manners don’t cause full-body skin ulceration, multiple fractures, and internal bleeding! She was tortured!” Marco flipped a table at the casino and drove like a madman toward the hospital. But as he reached the docks, he found his path blocked by a full-blown war between the city’s two largest gangs. He dodged knives and bullets, getting cut several times as he tried to push through. He had just reached the hospital entrance when he saw the thick, black smoke and the towering flames. A panicked crowd surged out, making it impossible for him to move forward. He could only watch as the fire consumed everything. Finally, the fire crews pulled a charred body from the wreckage. “Mr. Ricci, we’ve confirmed it’s your wife. Please accept our condolences.”

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My in-laws were in a horrific car accident. They were rushing them into surgery. I raced to the hospital like a man possessed, but the real shock wasn’t the sirens or the blood; it was seeing my wife, Savannah. My brilliant, celebrated surgeon wife stood at the observation window, arms casually folded, coaching her star intern, Troy. She was letting an intern perform my parents’ life-or-death surgery! I lunged toward her, demanding an explanation. She merely shrugged, her voice a flat line. “Troy needs to grow. People like your small-town parents should be honored to serve as his practice run.” Troy’s hand slipped. The monitor screamed. The aorta was nicked. They didn’t make it. When I sought justice, she cornered me in her office and slapped a divorce agreement onto the desk. “Ethan, I’m through with you. And I’m through with your poor, pathetic parents.” “Drop the complaint right now. Don’t ruin Troy’s future.” “Otherwise, you won’t get a single cent.” I looked at her face—beautiful, yet twisted with such pure, raw disgust—and felt a strange urge to laugh. Slowly, deliberately, I asked her the question. “Savannah, if it were your own parents lying on that table, treated like guinea pigs for your student, would you still say that?” She didn’t know the truth. To try and talk her out of a divorce, the two people who had driven five hundred miles overnight, only to be struck by a drunk driver and rushed into the ICU, were not my parents. They were hers. 1 By the time I frantically reached the Emergency Room, the corridor was already a maelstrom of fear and noise. Yet, I spotted Savannah instantly. She wasn’t in scrubs. She had her white coat draped loosely over her shoulders, hands jammed into her pockets, her expression utterly detached as two blood-soaked bodies were wheeled toward the operating theater. “Savannah!” I ran to her, grabbing her arm, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “How are Mom and Dad?” Her brow furrowed. She recoiled and sharply pulled her arm away, as if I’d contaminated her. “Multiple rib fractures, punctured lungs suspected, severe cranial bleeding. It’s bad.” Her tone was as flat and emotionless as a weather report. “I’ve already arranged it. Troy is leading the procedure. I’ll observe.” Troy was her hand-picked intern, her star apprentice, the one she constantly spoke about grooming as her successor. My mind went blank. I couldn’t process the words. “You’re letting Troy operate?” “Savannah, have you lost your mind?!” “These are two lives, not a goddamn training opportunity for your student!” “Ethan, stop shouting!” Savannah’s face instantly went cold, her eyes fixed on me with that familiar look of high-minded arrogance and contempt. “Troy has been with me for three years. He can handle a minor trauma case like this.” “What do you know about surgery, House Husband?” Her words stole my breath. My whole body seized up, and a dull ache started to throb in my chest. Yes, I was a stay-at-home husband now. But she had conveniently forgotten something. Seven years ago, I had stood beside her, a fellow surgical resident. My hands were steadier, my talent perhaps even greater than hers; I was the one our mentor had singled out. Yet, for love, I had deliberately put down the scalpel and picked up the kitchen knife instead. The light above the Operating Room door flickered red. That harsh glow stung my eyes. My throat constricted, choking off the air, making it impossible to breathe. I rushed to the observation window, staring desperately into the room. Troy was visibly nervous, his forehead slick with sweat, the hand holding the scalpel shaking ever so slightly. Savannah stood just behind him. She offered an occasional instruction but mostly remained motionless, arms crossed, the picture of a disinterested bystander. I watched Troy’s hand slip. He failed to accurately navigate around a major artery. In a flash, the heart rate on the monitor became a flat line. The piercing, relentless shriek of the alarm broke the silence, shredding my eardrums. Two agonizing hours later, the OR light went dark. Troy walked out, utterly distraught, his face a ghostly white. “Ethan… I’m so sorry… I couldn’t save them…” Savannah followed him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her voice was gentle, filled with reassurance. “It’s alright, Troy. It wasn’t your fault. Their injuries were too severe.” “It was just one mistake, sweetheart. Don’t dwell on it. Every doctor has to go through this.” She didn’t spare me a glance. All her sympathy, all her careful soothing, was reserved for the intern who had just destroyed my parents’ lives. I stood there, my hands and feet freezing cold. All sound around me faded into a distant hum. 2 The deaths of my in-laws were officially categorized as “Death due to failed resuscitation.” Savannah used every connection she had within the hospital to suppress the incident. The reports filed with the oversight committees were seamless and airtight. Troy’s surgical error was perfectly obscured by the severity of my in-laws’ existing injuries. I locked myself in the guest room for three days, refusing to eat or drink. On the fourth day, I finally emerged. I needed a conclusion. Savannah was sitting on the living room sofa, leisurely flipping through a medical journal while wearing a sheet mask. She showed no sign of grief. On the coffee table lay a divorce agreement, already signed by her. She didn’t even lift her eyelids when I entered. “Finally came to your senses?” “If you have, sign it. The house is yours, the car is yours, plus a five million settlement…” “Just don’t bother me again.” Her tone was that of someone swatting away a persistent, bothersome beggar. I ignored the agreement. Instead, I tossed a thick file onto the table in front of her. “I’m filing a lawsuit against Troy and the hospital for gross medical negligence.” Every word tore from my throat with a metallic, blood-raw edge. My voice was hoarse, but my resolve was absolute. My in-laws would not die in vain. Troy would pay the price. At that, Savannah finally looked up from her magazine. She glanced at the file’s title, then looked at me as if I were a particularly poor joke. “Ethan, have you gone completely insane?” She ripped the sheet mask off her face and casually flung the wet, cold thing onto the legal documents. She sprang to her feet, looming over me. “I told you, their death has nothing to do with Troy. They were too far gone to begin with!” “Why can’t you just listen?” “I saw it with my own eyes,” I said calmly, meeting her gaze. I was no longer the docile, eager-to-please husband she knew. “He lacerated the aorta. He missed the critical window.” “He needs to face consequences.” “And what good is your testimony? Do you have proof?” Savannah sneered, crossing her arms. “That entire OR team is my team. Who do you think is going to testify for you?” “I’m warning you, Ethan. Don’t be an idiot. Put this trash away!” Savannah snatched the file off the table and hurled it at my face. The sharp corner of the folder sliced my cheek, leaving a thin, burning red line. “I don’t need a witness,” I said, ignoring the sting. “I’ll subpoena the OR surveillance footage.” “The cameras were broken,” she replied without hesitation. In that moment, staring into her icy eyes, the last flickering candle of hope in my heart was extinguished. I looked at the woman I had loved for ten years and felt an utter, chilling foreignness. Her face was a mask of cold calculation and indifference. To protect her golden boy, she was willing to twist the truth and sacrifice human lives. “Savannah…” I looked at her, slowly articulating each word. “Those were two lives. They were our parents.” “So what?” Her impatience was clear, her voice laced with extreme contempt. “They were just useless small-town trash. It’s an honor for them to add a line to Troy’s resume!” Trash! Honor! Those two words struck me like a pair of bullets, piercing my skull. I was cold all over, from my head to my toes. In her eyes, my parents were nothing more than sacrificial dogs. I forced a smile. I slowly bent down, picked up the divorce agreement, and reached for the pen. A look of smug victory flashed across Savannah’s face. “That’s more like it.” “Ethan, you can’t win against me. Take the money and quietly go back to whatever hole you crawled out of…” 3 Hearing Savannah’s voice, my heart gave a painful, involuntary lurch. I paused the pen just above the signature line. “I can sign. But I have one condition.” “Spit it out.” She folded her arms, radiating an air of complete superiority. “I want you to personally go to the funeral home and prepare their bodies for burial.” I lifted my head, meeting her eyes, my chest heavy with complex emotions. “Let’s call it… the last thing you do for us, as my wife. See them off.” Savannah’s eyebrows knitted tightly together, her face a map of undisguised aversion and disgust. “Are you insane? I’m not going to that morbid, stinking, filthy place!” “It’s my only condition.” I pushed the blank agreement back toward her. “You agree, and I sign immediately. This divorce is finalized.” “You don’t agree, and we go to court. And even if I can’t convict you, I will make enough noise to ensure you and your precious student…” “Are completely ruined.” My voice was calm, but Savannah knew I wasn’t bluffing. She glared at me, her chest heaving, her lips trembling with suppressed rage. After a long silence, she let out a slow, strained breath and bit out two words through clenched teeth. “Fine. I’ll go.” “But once it’s done, you sign and get lost!” Savannah believed this was nothing more than my final, meaningless act of spite. She was wrong. This wasn’t the end. Everything was just beginning. The air in the funeral home hung thick with a sickly sweet mix of antiseptic and burnt incense. The moment Savannah stepped inside, she clapped a hand over her nose, her face contorted with revulsion. She was dressed in an expensive Chanel suit and ten-centimeter heels, profoundly out of place. “Ethan, what the hell is this supposed to achieve?” She hissed, her voice low and furious. “Dragging me to this awful place? Does it make you feel better?” I ignored her and walked directly toward the viewing room. A worker slid open two sterile metal drawers, pulling out two white-shrouded bodies. “Dr. Chen, you’re a physician. You can handle this, right?” I turned back to her, gesturing with my hand. “Get started. Mom and Dad are waiting for you.” Savannah’s face was chalk white, but she gritted her teeth and reluctantly approached the table. She snapped on a pair of plastic gloves and roughly pulled back the first sheet. When the face, horribly mangled by the crash, was exposed, she couldn’t help a small, gagging sound. She quickly averted her eyes. “Hurry up,” I urged. Fighting back the nausea, she grabbed a wet cloth and haphazardly wiped the face, treating the dead like a filthy kitchen counter. She repeated the perfunctory gesture for the second body, never once bothering to truly look at either face. “Done,” she announced, peeling off the gloves. She backed away as if fleeing a plague. “My part of the deal is complete. The divorce agreement—” “Not so fast,” I interrupted, pointing to a cardboard box nearby. “Their personal effects. You should inventory those too.” Savannah’s patience was clearly exhausted, but she managed to suppress her fury long enough to open the box. Inside was a collection of blood-soaked, torn clothing, a cracked old flip phone, and a severely scuffed leather wallet. She pawed through the items with the disdain of handling trash. Then, her hand froze. Why did this stuff look so familiar? 4 From the pile of tattered clothing, she picked up a half-finished sweater. It was a men’s sweater, grey, and an old-fashioned style, but the stitches were tiny and intricate, showing the effort and care of the knitter. “This sweater…” she mumbled, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “My mother was knitting it,” I said calmly. “She said it was getting colder and she worried I’d be cold. Shame she didn’t get to finish it.” Savannah’s fingers tightened on the yarn, but she said nothing. She then picked up the worn leather wallet and opened it. Tucked into the plastic window was a faded, sepia-toned black and white photo. It showed a young couple, both beaming, holding a newborn baby. She didn’t recognize the couple. But the baby… the baby felt unsettlingly familiar. “Who is…?” “A picture of me when I was a baby,” I said flatly. Savannah’s brow furrowed deeper. She looked like she wanted to ask something, but in the end, she merely tossed the wallet back into the box. “Fine. I’ve seen everything.” She stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her suit. “Ethan, our transaction is finished. We are done.” With that, she didn’t look back, click-clacking on her heels as she fled the place that had suffocated her. I watched her go, then slowly knelt down. I gently gathered the unfinished sweater and the black and white photo, tucking them away safely. Savannah… did you truly not recognize anything? Could you really not recognize the sweater your own mother spent half her life knitting for you? Could you not recognize your father’s twenty-year-old wallet? Did you not recognize the eyes of the baby in the photograph—the eyes you see every morning in the mirror?

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My husband was broken. And at his own birthday party, he didn’t even bother to hide it. “You’re a therapist,” he sneered. “Why don’t you psychoanalyze yourself before you make a scene?” He was right. I am a therapist. And I know exactly how to make a faithless man repent. 1 The sight of Charlie, my husband, his arms wrapped tightly around another woman, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, made my world shrink to a single, sharp point. I strode forward, my voice tight. “Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” The woman flinched, burrowing deeper into his arms like a frightened animal. Charlie’s face hardened, his tone dripping with annoyance. “Isn’t it obvious? Do I really need to spell it out for you?” He then softened his voice, cooing at the woman in his embrace. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared.” My eyes burned. “This is how you treat me?” I choked out, the words thick with unshed tears. “You swore to me. You said it would only ever be me.” Charlie’s hand, which had been stroking the woman’s back, paused. He looked up at me, his eyes cold with scorn. “Those were just words. I’m bored of you now. I wanted to try something new. Is that a crime?” He added, as if tossing me a scrap of charity, “You can keep the title of Mrs. Tinkcom. But only if you don’t make a scene.” The words were like daggers to my heart. He once whispered, “My Dahlia, you should always shine this brightly. I swear, I’ll never let you down.” “You’re a treasure,” he’d said. “You’ll always be my Mrs. Tinkcom.” A tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. Charlie’s face twisted in disgust. “You never used to be so melodramatic. All you do now is cry. It’s my birthday, for God’s sake. You’re ruining it.” I lunged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt. “You forgot your promise! You said you would love me for the rest of your life!” That seemed to be the final straw. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, and flung me away from him. “What promise?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “Are you done yet? Don’t force me to humiliate you in front of everyone.” “Besides,” he added with a cruel smirk, “so what if I found someone else? You’re a therapist, aren’t you, Clara? Can’t even fix your own broken heart?” I collapsed to the floor, the world blurring around me. I watched their backs as they walked away, my mouth open but no words coming out. It was Charlie’s birthday. I couldn’t let him lose face in front of his guests. 2 I staggered to my feet, my soul feeling as battered as my body, and brushed the dust from my dress. A sharp sting made me look down at my palm. I’d scraped it open, and tiny beads of blood were welling to the surface. My gorgeous evening gown was now streaked with dirt, its elegance ruined. Just like my marriage. Once beautiful, now utterly stained. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I fought back a fresh wave of tears. “I’m a therapist,” I whispered to myself. “Does that mean I’m supposed to calmly accept my husband’s betrayal?” Before I could sink further into my despair, the house manager found me. His eyes were filled with pity as he took in my disheveled state. “Ma’am, you should go change. You’re expected back at the party soon. Don’t let them have the satisfaction of gossiping about you.” Dressed in a fresh gown, I made my way to the backyard patio where the party was in full swing. The chatter and laughter died down as I appeared, a wave of silence rippling through the crowd. A sweet, cloying voice broke the tension. “Oh, Mrs. Tinkcom, you’re here! Perfect timing! Charlie was just about to cut the cake. He almost asked me to do it with him, he thought you weren’t coming back.” She pouted playfully at Charlie, a gesture that was less of a complaint and more of a flirtation. “It’s all your fault, Charlie. I almost overstepped. People might have thought I have no manners.” I recognized her. It was the woman from before, the one in Charlie’s arms. Scarlett Vance, a rising starlet his company was promoting. I stared at her, my face a mask of indifference, and mimicked her saccharine tone. “Oh, I think your manners are perfectly clear. In fact, anyone would be forgiven for thinking you were Mrs. Tinkcom.” Scarlett’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Before she could let out a single sob, Charlie leaped to her defense. He stepped in front of her, his gaze burning with fury. “Clara, have you not caused enough trouble for one night? Was that sarcasm really necessary? When did you become so vicious?” “Maybe you need a little shock to clear your head.” With that, he grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards the swimming pool, ignoring the cumbersome weight of my gown. I struggled, I screamed, but not a single person moved to stop him. “Charlie, I’m afraid of the water! Let me go!” I thought that would make him stop. I was wrong. A cruel smile touched his lips as he released his grip. “How else am I supposed to know if you’re telling the truth, Mrs. Tinkcom?” My heart turned to ash. I closed my eyes, bracing for the icy plunge. But instead of cold water, I fell into a pair of strong, warm arms. My eyes flew open to see a handsome face looming over mine. He looked familiar, but my mind was too scrambled to place him. He gently set me down in a nearby lounge chair before turning to Charlie with a mocking eyebrow raise. “My dear nephew,” he drawled, the words dripping with sarcasm. “The first thing I see upon my return is you manhandling your own wife. Does your grandfather know about this?” Charlie’s face darkened. “Uncle Ethan,” he bit out, his jaw tight. “It’s good to see you. But this is a private family matter. If you’re here for the party, you’re welcome. Otherwise, stay out of it.” Ethan let out a sharp laugh, as if Charlie had just told the funniest joke in the world. “You know what they used to call men like you? Weak. Unfit to lead. Choosing your mistress over your wife.” I watched as Charlie’s face turned a blotchy red, as if Ethan had struck a nerve. He finally exploded. “All you ever do is use Grandpa to put me down! You call me unfit? What about you? You’re a damn psycho! If it weren’t for—” He cut himself off, his voice fading as if he remembered who he was talking to. The party ended abruptly. The cake was never cut. Charlie sent everyone home, including his uncle, Ethan. I knew Charlie despised his younger uncle. He’d once told me, hissing the words, that Ethan was a genuine, certifiable lunatic. As the last guest departed, a profound sadness washed over me. A near-stranger had defended me more fiercely than the man who had sworn to protect me—the very man who was the source of all my pain. I didn’t offer Charlie my usual comfort. I simply turned to leave. I’d only taken two steps when his voice, low and laced with anger, stopped me. “The way that psycho Ethan was staring at you… his eyes were practically glued to you. Are you planning on cheating?” I summoned the last of my patience. “I have never once thought about cheating. You’re the one parading your starlet around. And for the record, I wasn’t even looking at him.” Charlie’s brow relaxed slightly. “Parading her around? Don’t be so dramatic. I already told you, you’ll always be Mrs. Tinkcom. What more do you want?” I couldn’t talk to him anymore. It was like speaking to a brick wall. “Happy birthday,” I said, and walked away. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, still offering him that small kindness after everything. 3 The next morning, I escaped to my sanctuary: the therapy studio I had built from the ground up. Only here, immersed in my work, could I forget the wounds Charlie had inflicted. Here, I felt valued. Here, I felt needed. But today, my sanctuary was invaded by two unwelcome visitors. My husband, and his employee. Or more accurately, the woman who had shattered our marriage, Scarlett Vance. They walked in holding hands, Charlie playing the part of the doting partner. He shooed away my scheduled client and stood over my desk, looking down at me with an air of command. “Clara. Scarlett needs a session. She’s been dealing with a lot of online harassment.” Even at my lowest, I had my limits. I would not treat my husband’s mistress as a patient. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice cold. “This clinic is too small for a ‘goddess’ like her. You should try a major hospital.” Charlie’s face turned to thunder. “What did you just say? You’ll see her, right now. Or I’ll make sure this place loses its license.” Scarlett immediately clutched his arm, her voice a tremulous plea. “Charlie, don’t be angry. I’m sure Mrs. Tinkcom is just afraid she won’t be able to help me. That’s why she’s refusing.” “It’s all my fault,” she whimpered, tears already glistening in her eyes. “I never should have suggested coming here. Please, don’t fight because of me.” As a tear rolled down her perfectly sculpted cheek, Charlie melted. He pulled her into his arms right in front of me, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances. “Shh, don’t cry, don’t cry. My Scarlett is the most beautiful. Don’t let someone like her upset you. The company needs you.” His voice was so gentle it felt like a physical blow. I drifted for a moment, remembering all the times I had cried to him. “Clara, you’re Charlie Tinkcom’s wife,” he would say, his tone impatient. “You need to be strong. Crying doesn’t solve anything.” I used to think he was just emotionally distant. But now I knew the truth. I just wasn’t the right person. I wasn’t worthy of his comfort. It had all been in my head. Because of his words, I had stopped crying in front of him long ago. I learned to soothe my own wounds, to be my own counselor. My silence seemed to infuriate Charlie further. He snatched a potted plant from my desk and smashed it on the floor. “See her now!” he roared. “Or I’ll tear this place apart. I paid for it, after all.” I looked up at him, my own tears threatening to spill. “You promised,” I whispered. “You promised you would never interfere with my work. That you would always support me.” “I…” For a split second, a flicker of unease crossed his face. He looked almost… panicked. But before he could process it, Scarlett’s voice cut through the tension. “Charlie, I don’t feel well. If Mrs. Tinkcom doesn’t want to, we shouldn’t force her. Let’s just go.” “No. You’re getting your session today.” He knelt beside her, all his attention focused on her distress. “It’s okay, Scarlett. I’ll make sure you get the help you need.” He stood up, his mouth opening to threaten me again. But I beat him to it, turning my gaze to Scarlett. “I’ll see you.” 4 I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced myself to see Scarlett as just another patient. After running a series of diagnostic tests, I stared at the results, a deep frown creasing my forehead. Charlie burst into the room without knocking. “Clara, how is she? What’s the verdict?” I didn’t answer. The data on the report was too clean, too perfect. The scores were so extreme they looked deliberately fabricated. Charlie snatched the papers from my hand. His eyes scanned the page and landed on the conclusion: Preliminary diagnosis: Severe Major Depressive Disorder, compounded by severe affection deprivation. “Charlie, these results are questionable,” I said, trying to remain professional. “We need to run more tests. And Miss Vance,” I added, turning a skeptical eye on her, “were you completely honest in your responses?” She flinched as if I’d struck her, letting out a series of soft whimpers. She swayed, looking as if she might faint at any moment. Charlie’s hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, shocking. “What kind of therapist are you?” he raged. “You screw up the diagnosis, and then you have the nerve to accuse Scarlett of lying!” I stood there, stunned. He had never, ever laid a hand on me before. But for this woman, he would cross any line, humiliate me in any way. From the safety of Charlie’s arms, Scarlett peeked at me. A triumphant, vicious smile played on her lips as she mouthed two silent words: You lose. Something inside me snapped. With a guttural scream, I shoved them both out of my office, out of my sanctuary. Charlie, startled by my feral rage, simply stared for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, before scooping Scarlett into his arms and leaving. I looked at the wreckage of my office—the shattered pot, the scattered soil. And then, a laugh escaped my lips. A wild, unhinged sound. “Hah… haha… hahaha…” It was the kind of laughter that comes when sorrow becomes so immense, it can only curdle into madness. 5 When I got home, Charlie was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. I tried to ignore his intense gaze and head upstairs. In a flash, he was on his feet, pulling me into his arms. He nuzzled my neck, his voice a placating murmur. “Clara, baby, I’m sorry. I was just so worried about Scarlett today, that’s why I hit you. It was a mistake.” “Her situation could really hurt the company,” he continued, as if that explained everything. “I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time, I promise. Forgive me? Look, I even made you dinner.” The casual way he tried to erase the day’s events made me want to laugh and scream at the same time. I was about to speak when his phone rang. He answered, and a woman’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Tinkcom, you have to come quick! Scarlett’s having an episode! She’s locked herself in her room, she’s hurting herself, and we can’t get the door open!” Charlie’s hand, which had been holding mine, dropped away. He grabbed his car keys and was gone in a blur. I looked at the cold bowl of noodles on the table. Of course. I should have known. Charlie had drained me of so much energy, so much love. I didn’t know how much longer I could sustain this marriage. One last chance. I would give him one last chance. If he failed again, I was done. I knew I had a tendency to love too much, to let my heart rule my head. Falling for him had been my own foolish mistake, but who can control matters of the heart? Later that night, as I lay in our empty bed, my phone buzzed. It was a picture. A naked picture of Scarlett and Charlie, tangled together in bed. A text followed immediately. Mrs. Tinkcom, Charlie won’t be coming home tonight. We just finished, and we’re both a little tired. He’s so gentle, you know? Wouldn’t want me to feel a second of pain. He even cleaned me up afterwards. He says it’s a shame you could never give him a child. Do you think I’ll get pregnant with his baby? My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, then shattered into a million pieces. Charlie was never gentle with me. After sex, he would simply roll over and fall asleep, leaving me to deal with the aftermath alone. He never once showed me such tenderness. When I asked him to be softer, he’d just say he wasn’t good at it and tell me to bear with it. The irony was so cruel it was physically painful. As a professional, I knew the name for this feeling: broken heart syndrome, a real condition where intense emotional stress causes the heart to malfunction. This time, Charlie had extinguished the very last spark of love I had for him. The healer cannot heal herself. What a pathetic joke. This title, Mrs. Tinkcom… I didn’t want it anymore. To hell with it. I typed out a reply. Then I wish you two a long and happy life together. Try not to ruin anyone else’s. My training, my very instinct for self-preservation, was screaming at me. I had to get out of this marriage, or I would become one of my own patients. My mind made up, I drafted the divorce papers, ready to send them as soon as I had all my documents in order. But before I could make my move, a tidal wave of filth came crashing down on me. 6 The internet exploded with the news: beloved starlet Scarlett Vance’s depression had worsened significantly. The cause? A botched diagnosis from a “black-hearted” therapist. And that therapist, of course, was me. I wasn’t surprised. Overnight, I became the villain of a national witch hunt. Scarlett’s fans descended like a pack of rabid dogs, tearing me to shreds online. “What kind of quack clinic worsens a patient’s condition?” “BOYCOTT THIS PLACE! I’m posting this therapist’s info everywhere, go see for yourselves!” “And she’s the CEO’s wife? So she just bullies a regular person like our Scarlett? Despicable.” The comments were endless, each one more venomous than the last. Even for a seasoned therapist like me, the sheer volume of hatred was overwhelming. I told myself to hold on, to wait for the right moment to strike back. The online firestorm brought Charlie home. But there was no concern in his eyes, no questions about my side of the story. Only pure, unadulterated rage. “Clara, do you think having red eyes is going to fix this? Do you have any idea how much money you’ve lost the company?” he yelled. “We’re holding a press conference tomorrow. You will be there, and you will apologize to Scarlett.” “She said if you apologize, she’ll let the whole thing go.” By now, my heart was numb. I no longer felt pain, only a cold, clear calm. “How generous of her,” I said, my voice flat. “But I have news for you, Charlie. Scarlett is faking it. And I am not apologizing for something I didn’t do.” Charlie, who was pacing in front of the sofa, went rigid with fury. He swept a glass off the coffee table, and it shattered against the floor. “The evidence is overwhelming, and you’re still lying! Don’t push your luck, Clara. The Tinkcom family will not tolerate a wife who brings shame to our name. One more stunt like this, and we’re done. Divorce.” A shard of porcelain flew through the air, slicing into my calf. He froze, his eyes fixed on the trickle of blood. For a moment, he looked like he was about to rush over to me. I clutched my leg and instinctively recoiled. I didn’t want his touch. Divorce. He had the gall to threaten me with divorce. This was it. This was my chance. “I’ll apologize,” I said, my voice steady. “But on one condition.” The anger on his face was replaced by a flicker of triumphant relief. “Name it.” “Give me a divorce.”

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On the way to my biological parents’ mansion after they’d found me, my father, Walter, drilled me in the car. “Zoe, listen to me. In this house, what your grandfather says, goes. It’s the law. Don’t you ever talk back to him, or you’ll regret it.” I raised an eyebrow. “The law? Is that codified in the family trust, or is it more of a common-law precedent? What’s the source of its legitimacy and enforceability?” The color drained from my father’s face. He didn’t know that my adoptive parents were both law professors. Our dinner table conversations were less about our day and more like a moot court. I’d been trained since childhood to be a ruthlessly logical debater, with a particular talent for picking apart flawed arguments. So, faced with an unchallengeable authority? I wasn’t scared. I was thrilled. This was exactly the kind of flimsy power structure I loved to dismantle. … Stepping into the house, I was met with the sight of a patriarch straight out of an old film. My grandfather sat enthroned in a massive mahogany armchair, his hands polishing a silver tea service to a gleaming shine. He didn’t even bother to look up, treating me like a ghost. My father, Walter Grayson, the CEO of a billion-dollar public company, stood before him as deferential as a bellhop. “Dad, this is Zoe. She’s home.” Only then did my grandfather slowly lift his eyelids. His cloudy eyes swept over me, and he let out a short, dismissive grunt. “Now that you’re back, learn to behave. Don’t be like some people who, after a decade, can’t even produce a male heir. A complete disgrace to the Grayson name.” The remark was a clear shot at my mother, Helen. Her face went stark white, her hands twisting the hem of her dress. My uncle, Trevor, lounging on a nearby sofa, immediately chimed in with a malicious grin. “Dad, you can’t say that. Walter has two daughters now, doesn’t he? Even if one of them turned out to be someone else’s after eighteen years.” His wife, my aunt Brenda, tittered behind a silk handkerchief. “Exactly. What do you call that? All that effort for nothing. And now that the real one is back, who knows how wild she is? If she can even be disciplined.” In the corner, a girl about my age shot to her feet, her face flushed with anger. This was Ava Grayson, the girl who had been switched at birth, the so-called fake heiress. “Uncle Trevor! How can you say that about Mom and Dad?” Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, does a freeloader like you have any right to speak here? You eat our food, you live in our house. Don’t get too big for your britches.” Ava’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She stood there, trembling, unable to utter a single word in her defense. My father looked torn, tugging at my sleeve and signaling me to stay quiet. I brushed his hand away and stepped into the center of the living room. “Hello, everyone. My name is Zoe Miller. I’ve just been listening to the opening statements, and I’ve identified a few issues regarding factual determination and the application of law that I’d like to discuss.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough to silence the room. I looked first at my uncle. “Firstly, regarding Ava’s legal status. Having been raised by Mr. Walter Grayson and Mrs. Helen Grayson for eighteen years, a de facto parent-child relationship has been established. Under inheritance law, as an adopted daughter, she enjoys the same succession rights as a biological child. Your use of the term ‘someone else’s’ to describe her could constitute slander.” I then turned to my grandfather. “Secondly, on the issue of procreation. Linking the success of a corporate entity to the birth of a male heir is a relic of feudal thinking. Furthermore, under federal anti-discrimination laws, no entity or individual may discriminate against a woman on the basis of marriage or childbirth. Your earlier statement constitutes gender discrimination against Mrs. Helen Grayson.” I paused, my gaze finally landing on Brenda. “Lastly, regarding the assertion of ‘all that effort for nothing.’ The logical premise of this metaphor is that raising a daughter is an investment that requires a financial or dynastic return. This commodifies the emotional value of a family member and is, frankly, unethical.” When I finished, you could have heard a pin drop. Walter and Helen stared at me, their jaws slack. Ava had forgotten to cry, her mouth hanging open in pure admiration. My uncle and aunt’s faces cycled through shades of green and white, as if they’d swallowed a fly. Finally, my grandfather broke the silence. He slammed his teacup down on the table, his cold eyes fixed on my father. “Walter. This daughter of yours has quite a mouth on her.” “Since she’s so clever, I think we’ll just cut your household allowance in half this month. Let’s see if that clever mouth of hers can talk food onto the table.” With the patriarch’s decree, the atmosphere in the house shifted. The next day, our dinner went from a six-course meal to a meager two dishes with barely any meat. The housekeeper looked at us with pity in her eyes. Helen was a nervous wreck, secretly trying to slip me a credit card. “Zoe, take this. There’s some money on it. Go buy yourself something nice to eat.” I pushed the card back. “Mom, the problem isn’t money. It’s that the power structure in this family is illegal.” That evening, I found Walter sighing in his study. “Dad, can I ask about the company’s shareholding structure?” He looked at me, then gave a bitter smile. “Why are you asking about that? I built the company from the ground up. I own sixty-five percent of the shares, your uncle has ten, and the rest is held by a few long-serving executives.” “If you’re the majority shareholder, why does Grandfather control the distribution of profits?” Walter sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Your grandfather is the Chairman. He has control over the corporate accounts, the checkbooks, everything. He says it’s a Grayson family enterprise, not just mine. All profits are to be managed centrally, and then he gives us a monthly allowance.” I frowned. “That’s a violation of corporate law. The company is a separate legal entity. Its assets are distinct from the personal assets of its shareholders. This is a classic case of commingling funds. It could even be considered embezzlement.” “I know all that,” Walter said, rubbing his temples. “But he’s my father. These have always been the house rules. I can’t just sue him over money, can I? Imagine the scandal.” I finally understood. My father was trapped in the emotional shackles of filial duty. The next day, Trevor and Brenda returned from a shopping spree, making a grand show of their haul. Brenda carried several designer bags, while Trevor sported a flashy new watch, waving it in front of my father. “Walter, what do you think of my new timepiece? Dad approved it himself. A little reward for closing a small deal for the company.” Brenda tossed a handbag onto the sofa. “It’s so nice to have a father who appreciates you. Unlike some people, who work their fingers to the bone all year only to have their allowance cut.” Walter’s face was a mask of grim fury, his fists clenched at his sides. Ava couldn’t stand it. She ran to her room and returned with a stack of ledgers. “Zoe, look! This is the household account book. I’ve been keeping a secret copy. Uncle Trevor’s family spends five times more than we do every month! It’s all paid from the central family account!” I opened the ledger. The entries were shocking. Trevor’s dog had a monthly grooming bill of over two thousand dollars. Brenda’s afternoon tea parties started at five thousand. Their son’s tuition and living expenses abroad were a bottomless pit. And the vast majority of that money was profit generated by my father’s company. I closed the book, a plan forming in my mind. Just then, Trevor came bounding down the stairs, beaming. “Dad! Walter! Helen! The most wonderful news! Our Kevin got his acceptance letter from Oxford!” My grandfather emerged from his room, his face glowing. “Excellent! Excellent! A true grandson of the Grayson family! Don’t worry about the tuition. I’ll transfer five hundred thousand from the company accounts immediately!” He shot a triumphant, provocative glance in my direction. “You see that? This is how a true heir to the Grayson fortune is treated.” He then looked at my father, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Walter, we’ll deduct this amount from your dividends for the year.” The decision was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the last bit of color from Walter and Helen’s faces. Five hundred thousand dollars was almost all of their nominal annual dividend. It meant that not only would they continue to live on a shoestring budget, but they would also be saddled with the massive expense of “sponsoring” their nephew. Helen’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t dare make a sound, biting her lip so hard it turned white. Walter’s head drooped, his shoulders slumping like a bull that had finally been broken. The whole family was going to the city’s most exclusive restaurant to celebrate. Before we left, Brenda made a point of coming over to us, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, Walter, Helen, you’ll have to eat your fill tonight. You’re only here thanks to our Kevin’s success. After this, you might not even get a taste of the soup.” Trevor clapped my father on the shoulder with false sincerity. “Don’t worry, big brother. We won’t forget your sacrifice when Kevin comes back from Oxford to take over.” Ava was trembling with rage, gripping my hand. “Zoe, let’s not go! Why should we celebrate with them using our money?” I patted her hand soothingly. “We’re going. Why wouldn’t we? This is a historic moment. We have to be there to witness it.” The restaurant’s private dining room was opulent. My grandfather sat at the head of the table, beaming as relatives fawned over him. Our family of four was seated at the farthest corner, as if we were crashing the party. After a few rounds of drinks, Trevor stood up, raising his glass. “Tonight, I first want to thank my father, the great helmsman of the Grayson family! And secondly, I want to give a special thanks to my big brother, Walter! Without his hard work, Kevin’s bright future would not be possible! Come, let’s all raise a glass to my brother!” All eyes turned to our table. My father’s face was beet red, the wine glass shaking in his hand. I stood up. I walked slowly to the projection screen at the front of the room, took out my tablet, and connected it. “Before the celebration continues, I believe that as key stakeholders in Grayson Enterprises, you all have the right to be informed of some recent corporate developments.” The screen lit up, displaying the public information page from the Secretary of State’s office. “According to corporate law, ownership of a limited liability company is determined by shareholding. Currently, the structure of Grayson Enterprises is as follows: Mr. Walter Grayson, holding sixty-five percent, is the absolute majority shareholder.” My tone shifted, becoming sharp and cool. “Using corporate funds for the personal educational expenses of a shareholder’s relative, without a resolution passed by the board of directors, is legally defined as ‘misappropriation of funds’ or embezzlement. For amounts of this magnitude, the maximum penalty is a significant prison sentence.” My grandfather’s face darkened. He slammed his hand on the table. “Insolence! I am the Chairman of the board! I can do whatever I want with the company’s money!” My uncle started shouting. “What does a little girl like you know? Get the hell out of here!” I smiled faintly and clicked to the next slide. “Regarding the position of Chairman, I also have a recent document to share.” Projected on the screen was an official notice of corporate amendment, stamped with a bright red digital seal. “An interesting assertion, Mr. Chairman. However, according to a change in registration that became effective three days ago, the legal representative, executive director, and Chairman of Grayson Enterprises is no longer you.” I picked up a freshly printed document from the table and waved it gently. The line for “Legal Representative” clearly displayed my name: Zoe Miller. “I am.” The room was plunged into a dead silence.

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