Category: English

James Kane’s latest mistress was a real firecracker. She showed up pregnant and screaming at the office. Everyone’s head snapped toward me. Someone whispered to her, trying to de-escalate. “You should get out of here. Mrs. Kane will beat you until you miscarry. She lost her mind a long time ago.” James, rushing to the scene, pulled the mistress behind him, his eyes wary as he faced me. “If you’re going to hit someone, hit me. Don’t you dare touch her.” The entire office fell deathly silent, everyone waiting for my reaction. Waiting for me to erupt into hysterics, to shatter everything in sight, just like I used to. But instead, I turned to leave. As I walked, I admired my fresh manicure. A simple, dusty rose. Perfect for my date tonight. I’d gone to so much trouble to look this beautiful today. I wasn’t about to let it get ruined. 1 I had just stepped out of the conference room when a woman’s voice called out from behind me. “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Summer Sterling?” Someone answered in a hushed tone. “You need an appointment to see Mrs. Kane.” The woman’s voice immediately rose, laced with a certain brash confidence. “I’m Mr. Kane’s partner. I need to have a little chat with her.” It was strange. Her voice wasn’t that loud, but the words hung in the air, and the entire lobby fell silent. The air felt thick, every eye turning silently toward me. The crowd parted automatically, creating a path. The woman understood immediately. She walked straight toward me. Her footsteps stopped right behind me, carrying a cloud of cloying perfume. “You’re Summer Sterling?” I turned and calmly looked her over. She was thin, her body wrapped in a tight white dress that made her look even more fragile. Except for her belly, which swelled conspicuously, like a grotesquely oversized fruit on a delicate stem. She tilted her chin up at me, her expression defiant. “I’m here to tell you that James is mine now. It’s been over between you two for a long time. He told me himself—the sight of you makes him sick! If you have any shame left, you’ll get lost and stop clinging to him!” I almost laughed. “I’m clinging to him?” “Still playing dumb!” She ignited like a match, her voice turning shrill. “Last night, he was supposed to be with me for my prenatal check-up, but you called and he went running right back! What else can you do besides trap him with that ‘Mrs. Kane’ title? Do you have any idea how much he despises you?!” So that was it. No wonder James was so late for our fifth wedding anniversary last night. He was busy escorting his little mistress to a doctor’s appointment. I raised a hand, intending to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. But she flinched back violently, her hands flying to shield her stomach as she shrieked, “What do you think you’re doing?! Are you going to hit a pregnant woman in front of all these people?!” I watched her, a small smirk playing on my lips. “Well, since you’ve already accused me, I might as well do something to earn the reputation, right?” Her face went white, and she stumbled back toward the edge of the crowd. Someone whispered to her, “You need to leave. Mrs. Kane… she’s made several of his mistresses miscarry before. She’s unhinged. You can’t win. Go, before she really does something!” The girl hesitated for a few seconds, then seemed to gather her courage, taking another step forward to glare at me. “You’ll pay for all the terrible things you’ve done! You’ll get what’s coming to you!” She paused, a bright smile spreading across her face. “In fact, you already are. You love James so much, but he doesn’t love you back! That’s your punishment!” 2 A collective gasp went through the room. I just watched her, my expression unreadable. This girl was different from the others James had picked. Most of them were the weeping, damsel-in-distress type. But she was like a wild rose, all thorns. Spitfire. Direct. Full of aggression. She tried to wound me with the fact that James didn’t love me, but it was such an amateur move. I’d heard those same words repeated by a parade of women over the years. My heart had long since grown a thick callus. The words didn’t hurt anymore. But she really shouldn’t have bothered me today. I had been in such a good mood—new nails, fresh makeup, an important date planned. And now, thanks to her little scene, that good mood had vanished like smoke in the wind. I sighed internally. These women were all the same. They’d find me, then they’d harass me. Either to flaunt how much James adored them, or to earnestly plead with me to let him go. But they never listened when I told them the truth: I didn’t love James anymore. They just kept coming, one after another, shattering my peace. At first, it was a headache. Then I discovered a simple solution: one slap. They would whimper and run into James’s arms, get the attention and pity they craved, and finally, finally leave me alone. My gaze settled on her face. A delicate, palm-sized face with pale skin. The perfect shape for slapping. It wouldn’t take much effort. So, without any hesitation, I raised my hand and swung, clean and sharp, right at that face. She squeezed her eyes shut, her body curling into a ball. But the expected crack of a slap never came. My wrist was caught mid-air, held in a powerful grip that sent a jolt of pain through my bones. “Summer!” It was James. 3 James shielded the girl completely, his eyes fixed on me, full of suspicion. “Summer, if you’re going to hit someone, hit me. Don’t you dare touch her.” Before he even finished, the girl started to sob. Her voice was thick with tears, but her words were crystal clear. “Why should she hit you?! James, she’s the one clinging to you, refusing to sign the divorce papers! You two haven’t been a real couple in years, you don’t even want to touch her! You’ve wanted out for so long, and she’s the one holding you back!” James immediately let go of my wrist and turned to wipe the tears from the girl’s—Aria’s—face with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s not good for the baby. I’ll get the divorce. I promise, I’ll find a way.” Aria’s shoulders trembled as she cried, and she leaned into his embrace, her voice muffled against his chest. “I just feel so bad for you… for all the pain you’ve had to endure in that marriage.” James let out a low chuckle. “It’s nothing. As long as you and the baby are safe and healthy, none of it matters.” The girl’s sobs turned into a small, contented laugh. The entire lobby was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Everyone looked from them, to me, and back again. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity, pity, and the sheer thrill of watching a good show. I could even catch a few heavily suppressed whispers. “Why isn’t Mrs. Kane doing anything this time?” “She’s probably waiting to pull out the big guns. I bet that baby’s not making it to term…” I shook my head wearily. I’d put so much effort into looking beautiful today. I couldn’t let it get messed up. I turned to leave. A clear, steady male voice sounded from behind me. “Having a bit of fun, Mr. Kane?” The crowd parted again, and a tall, imposing figure, flanked by several executives, walked toward us. The man’s eyes landed on me first, his expression dark and unreadable. After a few seconds, his gaze shifted to James. A flicker of awkwardness crossed James’s face. He stepped forward and extended a hand toward the newcomer, his tone overly formal. “Mr. Davenport. Please excuse the mess.” Rhys Davenport glanced coolly at the outstretched hand but made no move to shake it. “Always surrounded by beautiful women, Mr. Kane. Is there any time left for business?” James’s hand froze in mid-air, and his face instantly soured. The shareholders standing nearby quickly jumped in, laughing nervously. “Just joking, Mr. Davenport! Our Mr. Kane is just too charming for his own good. It’s a testament to his abilities, haha…” I had no interest in watching the rest of this farce. I turned to go. “Summer!” James called out after me. “Where are you going? Mr. Davenport was your classmate in college. You should at least stay and entertain an old friend.” I didn’t stop, just threw a cool reply over my shoulder. “I’m busy.” Then, Rhys’s voice cut in from behind me. “I’ll be skipping the welcome dinner tonight. I have a date with my girlfriend. I’ll be leaving now.” James quickly responded, “Congratulations, Mr. Davenport! Then perhaps another time. Bring your girlfriend along, we’ll all have a meal together.” Rhys let out a soft, ambiguous laugh but didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on my back for a brief moment before he turned and headed for the same exit I was walking toward. 4 The moment I opened my car door, a shadow fell over me. An all-consuming kiss descended, powerful and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs. Just before I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen, he finally released me. In the dim light of the parking garage, his eyes churned with a dark tide I couldn’t decipher. His large hand stroked my back, helping me calm my ragged breathing. I leaned against his chest, quietly steadying myself. Once my breathing had evened out, I spoke, my voice lazy. “Alright, you can go on your date now. I’m heading home.” From above me came his deep voice, laced with something between amusement and exasperation. “And who do you think my girlfriend is?” I looked up, meeting his gaze in the gloom, my tone flat. “Rhys, I’m already letting you be my lover. Now you want a title? You can’t have everything.” He didn’t get angry. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around me. “James cycles through women like they’re disposable. Are you really going to waste your whole life on him like this? Is it worth it?” “No.” My answer was instant, without a shred of hesitation. “But I’m not divorcing him.” The only sound in the car was our breathing. After a long moment, he spoke again. “My looks, my family, my wealth… even how I feel about you. In what way am I inferior to him? Summer, I don’t understand.” I smiled softly, my fingers toying with the buttons on his suit jacket. “I want the company. And I want the money. For those two things, I can tolerate being married to James Kane.” It was the first time I had ever voiced my true motivations to anyone. It wasn’t about love or attachment. It was about cold, hard reality. I wanted the money. I had been there with James from the beginning, when he had nothing. I practically built that company with my own two hands. When I stepped back and let him take full control, it wasn’t because I was incapable. It was because I trusted him. We were both orphans. We only had each other in the world. But reality taught me that my trust had been misplaced. After the love was gone and I was exhausted, there were times when I was pushed to the brink, times I considered walking away with nothing just for a moment of peace. But I couldn’t stomach it. Why should the empire I built be split in half, at best, just so he could share it with his whores? I would rather rot in this swamp with him than watch what was mine be given to those two. Rhys raised an eyebrow. Then, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You little gold-digger,” he murmured, lowering his head until our foreheads touched, his voice a deep whisper. “I’ll help you.” 计费点 This time, I was the one who kissed him first. The car started smoothly, pulling out of the underground garage. As we passed the exit, the headlights swept across James and his mistress, who was clinging to him by the side of the road. James glanced instinctively toward the car. Through the tinted window, he saw me locked in a passionate, all-consuming kiss with Rhys Davenport. 5 I pushed open the door to my house. Rhys had insisted that last night was the 100-day anniversary of our relationship and had pressed a Harry Winston diamond ring into my hand. The box felt heavy in my purse. I needed to put it away safely. The entryway lights were off, and the living room was dim. As I took off my shoes, I noticed a figure sitting on the sofa. Before I could make out who it was, a voice, hoarse from a sleepless night, spoke. “Where were you last night?” It was James. I frowned slightly, wondering why he was even asking. It dawned on me then that he must have been waiting up all night. We had long since settled into a routine of silent warfare, so I didn’t answer, simply walked toward the bedroom. “Sign it.” His voice came from behind me. I turned back. On the coffee table was a document, black ink on white paper. Divorce papers. “No,” I said, my voice flat. He let out a sharp, humorless laugh and stood up. “Summer, what’s the point of clinging on like this? She’s pregnant. She needs a proper family. Even if you won’t think about us, can’t you think about an innocent child?” “A child?” I repeated the word softly, looking up at him. “At the rate you’re going, will there be another woman, another child who needs a family in two months? Are you planning to marry every single one of them, give every child your name?” His brow furrowed, but his tone softened slightly. “She’s different. Aria’s an orphan. She only has me.” “An orphan?” I echoed the word, a sense of absurdity rising in my chest. And what was I? Who was it that stood under the old locust tree at the orphanage, his eyes red-rimmed, and said to me, “Summer, we’re both orphans. We only have each other in this world. Don’t leave me.” For those words, I gave up the chance to be adopted, choosing to stay at the orphanage with him. Seeing that I was unmoved, James sighed and explained further. “She has Long QT syndrome.” I froze. A congenital heart condition. Emotional distress or overexertion could trigger sudden death. The orphanage never had healthy baby boys. It was because of this condition that James had been abandoned. In the early days of our business, how many nights had I spent working alone at the office, all because he couldn’t risk overworking himself? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Pregnancy with that condition is extremely high-risk. She could die on the delivery table. When you were enjoying yourself without a condom, did it ever occur to you that she might die on an operating table?” “I chose to!” A figure rushed out from a corner of the room. The girl, her belly prominent, her chin held high. “You couldn’t have a child all these years. This is James’s only child. Since you know I’m risking my life, you should sign the papers and give me some peace of mind. It would be better for me and the baby. Just sign it!” I looked at her calmly. “Aria Vance.” That was her name. Her expression shifted. “You investigated me?” I ignored her question. “When you were a little girl, you said you wanted to be a scientist. Did you ever achieve that dream?” She was stunned into silence. I smiled faintly. “I remember you.” She was one of the children James and I had sponsored. I remembered a little girl hiding behind the orphanage director, her eyes shining as I gave her a set of encyclopedias, whispering shyly, “Thank you, sister Summer. I’m going to be a scientist when I grow up.” It was also her who had once innocently taken our hands and said, “I wish sister Summer and brother James will be together forever.” The clear, bright eyes from my memory were now clouded with raw desire. “Scientist…” Aria scoffed. “All I want now is to be with James. You promised you would always support me. Well, giving me James is the best support you can offer.” I smiled sweetly. “No.” “If you don’t give my child a legitimate name, I’ll die right here in front of you!” “Be my guest.” My tone was placid. “You have a heart condition anyway. You won’t live long.” As I turned to leave, Aria lunged forward and grabbed my arm. In the struggle, the Harry Winston ring slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. My cashmere coat was pulled from my shoulders, revealing the torn white silk shirt underneath. And then, everyone froze. The marks from Rhys’s kisses last night were laid bare in the morning light.

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I became the NPC in a romance novel, and the System’s mission was simple: get the supporting male lead. He wanted me to fetch his bespoke artisanal coffee, bring him water, and even rub his shoulders after a long day. If he craved a specific kind of late-night ramen from a noodle shop six miles away, I drove straight there. But when the success meter hit ninety-nine percent, the heroine kissed him right in front of me. The meter zeroed out. The System asked me, its voice a tired buzz in my head. “Third failure. Do you want to continue?” I felt the life drain out of me. “No. I want to go home.” In that instant, I saw him—Liam Kinsley—snap his head up, his eyes suddenly wide with panic as he looked at me. 1 Eliza Reed lost a round of Truth or Dare, and the forfeit was to kiss any guy in the room. Her eyes, of course, locked immediately onto my fiancé, Liam. I was sitting beside him on the sofa, painstakingly peeling the white pith from a clementine that he preferred to eat perfectly clean. One of Liam’s friends glanced my way. “Audrey won’t mind, right? It’s just a party game.” Liam slung his arm around my shoulder and gave the guy a cold, sidelong look. “Knock it off. That’s disgusting.” His friend recoiled, muttering about how lucky I was to be so loved by Liam Kinsley. But I knew the truth. His fingers were digging into my shoulder, making it ache. When I looked up, silently pleading with my eyes, his attention was completely focused on Eliza, his awareness of me entirely absent. This was an alumni gathering, and Eliza had been the undisputed campus queen. Everyone was chanting for her to go through with the kiss. Eliza’s eyes were glistening, a fragile smile plastered on her face, her peripheral vision fixed squarely on us. Dean, a guy who’d been obsessed with her back in college, slid an arm around her. “If Liam won’t play ball, I will. I’m here.” Dean gave a lewd smile and edged closer. “Just a peck, come on. Right here.” Liam lowered his head and took the clementine I’d just finished peeling, popping a section into his mouth. He looked as effortlessly charming and gentle as always, and he even broke off a small piece, offering it toward my mouth. But I could see the success meter above his head ticking down. He was using me to distract himself. He was hurting for her. Eliza winced, holding back a sob. Just as Dean’s face was about to connect with hers, she shoved him hard. “I won’t do it.” Her voice cracked. The clementine segment froze halfway to my lips. “My heart has always belonged to only one person,” Eliza announced, her voice gaining a dramatic strength. “I know he’s about to get married, but I still want to be brave today.” With that, she strode over, pulled me back by my arm, cupped Liam’s face in both her hands, and kissed him. The whole room fell silent. Liam didn’t resist. In fact, the moment Eliza started to pull away, he gripped her arm, pulling her back in to deepen the kiss. The clementine in my hand slipped, rolling onto the ground and collecting dust. The room erupted. Everyone was cheering, several people pulling out phones to film. I bent down to retrieve the fruit, only to watch it burst under the heel of someone’s expensive loafer, turning into a piece of disgusting mush. Irretrievable. The System was screaming at my side. “Liam Kinsley, do you remember you have a girlfriend?!” No one could hear it but me. The alarm bells in my mind were shrill and repetitive: “Success meter zeroed out! Zeroed out!” They kissed for a long time, finally pulling away, breathless, hands still clinging to each other’s shoulders, their eyes glazed with a mutual, sticky affection. The next second, Liam swept Eliza up into his arms right in front of everyone and carried her toward the door. The System, defeated, asked me again. “Third failure. Do you want to continue?” I shook my head, my heart a dead stone. “No. I want to go home.” In my peripheral vision, I saw Liam pause for a split second, but then he kept going, disappearing without a backward glance. He had abandoned me in front of all our friends. Liam’s car was long gone. We were miles from the city center, and I was left to walk. One luxury SUV after another sped past me. Then, Dean, the guy Eliza had humiliated, pulled up beside me, leaning out of the window to sneer. “I always knew you were a sneaky hanger-on,” he scoffed. “Always swooping in when Eliza wasn’t around. Go back to being his errand girl, and stop trying to steal what’s hers.” He floored the gas pedal, deliberately choking me with exhaust fumes. I pulled out a tissue to wipe the grit from my face, catching and wiping away the tears as well. I hadn’t tried to steal anyone. When I was dropped into this romance novel, Eliza had already left Liam to get engaged overseas to the actual male lead, Felix Shaw. The System told me that achieving a hundred percent success would not only save Liam from his destined tragic death but also pay me four million dollars to go home. This was my third try. The first time, I pulled him from a set mishap fire. He woke up with amnesia, publicly accused me of being the arsonist, and dragged my name online. The second time, he finally agreed to marry me, and I spent six months meticulously planning the wedding. On the day, Eliza called him, crying, and he walked out on the altar, leaving me for her. Before, I could blame my seventy or eighty percent meter reading. But this time—ninety-nine percent. And still, the same fate. The System tried to comfort me, saying I only had ten days left before I could return home. But it warned that because I was going against the tide of the world’s narrative, I would experience some kind of backlash right before leaving. I managed a bitter laugh, suppressing the urge to cry again. After all the emotional turmoil I’d endured to win him over, what was a little more pain? The next day, Liam had an early shoot, so I arrived on set before dawn to prepare everything. Since I was going home soon, I didn’t want to leave any loose ends. Liam was an hour late, and he wouldn’t pick up his phone. The director, a well-known veteran, wouldn’t dare yell at Liam, so he turned on me. “You’re his assistant! Why didn’t you coordinate his schedule properly?” I had confirmed everything with Liam yesterday. I apologized profusely, bowing again and again, and desperately texted Liam, asking when he would arrive. I instinctively worried about his career. This film was his shot at the Best Actor award he’d coveted for years. And this director was not a man you wanted to cross. As I was spinning in a panic, I learned Liam had just messaged the director, asking for a sudden three-day personal leave. Given his stellar reputation and high status, the director immediately agreed. However, the production had already incurred losses. The director billed the costs to Liam’s manager, Denise. Denise, furious, blamed me entirely, docking three months of my pay as a “lesson.” She even posted about it in the company group chat, using me as a public example. Liam remained silent. He didn’t defend me. Moments later, Eliza posted an Instagram Story. The photo showed their fingers tightly intertwined. “Teehee, I told the future Best Actor I was bored, and he canceled work to come play with me.” The comments flooded in. “Now this is a power couple! A match made in heaven!” “Stay together forever! Don’t let that trash Audrey Stone worm her way back in.” “Ha! She had four years and couldn’t hold onto him. Total waste.” Liam’s only reply was to Eliza: “Anything for you, El. Just be happy.” He was openly displaying his devotion to her and ignoring the public humiliation I was facing. I couldn’t help but message him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking leave? I’m not just your assistant, I’m your girlfriend.” He replied almost instantly. “You’re just the assistant, Audrey. I don’t need to give you a heads-up on everything.” Just the assistant. For Eliza, the man who had never taken a personal day in his life had suddenly taken three days off. And now he was drawing a cold, hard line between us. It was clear: nothing was more important than Eliza. I didn’t bother replying. I deleted every message thread with him. I was done. I needed to quit. I went to the agency office to find Denise and bumped directly into Eliza. She winced, rubbing her shoulder. She looked up, ready to snap at the offender, but her expression softened when she saw it was me. “Fancy meeting you here.” Liam must have come back to deal with some business, and she was too clingy to let him go alone. She spotted the crumpled resignation letter that had fallen from my hand and gasped dramatically. “Liam just took a little break to hang out with me. Why are you throwing a tantrum and quitting?” With one sentence, she had successfully framed me as irrational. She took my hand and apologized sweetly. “I’m so sorry, Audrey. We were having so much fun that we forgot to tell you that Liam took the day. We promise it won’t happen again. We’ll make sure you’re always in the loop.” She lowered her voice. “That post was terrible. Please don’t take it to heart. Honestly, I’m so grateful to you for taking such good care of Liam all these years.” She gave me a gentle, generous smile. I managed a polite smile and tried to pull my hand away. “You don’t need to say that. I’m truly—” Eliza’s smile didn’t falter, but her grip on my hand tightened. I didn’t overthink it; I just didn’t want any more connection with her. I yanked my hand free and slapped her across the face. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on Eliza’s pale cheek. She clutched her face, looking utterly shocked. She started to raise her hand to strike back. Liam burst into the room and grabbed her arm. “Eliza, what are you doing?” He was standing between us, defending her. A wave of pent-up bitterness and betrayal surged up, and I started to cry. Eliza was tearful too, pointing at her face. “Liam, she hit me first! She called me a home-wrecker and a slut and slapped me! I only tried to defend myself, and you just happened to see it! She did this to provoke me!” Liam slowly released her hand. He believed her. He gently touched her cheek, his voice soft with concern. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Does it hurt?” He wiped her tears, sheltered her behind his body, and turned a cold gaze on me. “Apologize.” My tears were still streaming, but he just clicked his tongue in impatience. “And you’re still crying? You’re the one with no integrity. How can you have the gall to look upset?” The System, furious, yelled next to me. “You need to get your eyes checked, Liam! Why do you believe her but not your own girlfriend! She abandoned you for Felix Shaw! Audrey saved your life when you were suicidal! You said she was the only saving grace you had! You forgot all of it! Just wait, you’ll regret it when she’s truly gone!” Liam gave a quiet, measured laugh, and then spoke calmly. “My heart has only ever been with Eliza. I don’t care about anyone else.” His words stunned me, and even the System froze. “Did he just hear me?” I remained silent, simply wiping the tears from my cheeks. Then, I spoke lightly. “You’re right. I lack integrity.” I picked up my resignation letter and signed it. “I don’t deserve to be your assistant.” “So I quit.” His expression solidified for a moment, and his charming smile slowly faded. “Are you serious?” I ignored him, walking past. He moved to follow me, but Eliza grabbed his arm. “Liam, she’s just being dramatic. She’d never actually leave you.” He stopped. I scoffed, not looking back. Whether I was serious or not, he would find out soon enough.

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My mother gave us a choice. Go with her to the Knight estate, where we could attend the same elite high school as the Knight heir but would have to stay in the country for college. Or stay in our hometown, finish school here, and be sent to study abroad. My sister, Maya, didn’t hesitate. “Mom, I want to go with you. To the Knights.” A pleased smile spread across our mother’s face before she turned to me. “Your sister has chosen. As the older one, you should let her have her way. I’ll send you abroad after you graduate. That way, I’ll have fulfilled my duty to both of you.” Watching Maya cling to our mother’s arm, her face glowing with anticipation, I knew. She had been reborn, too. Too bad for her. Gareth Knight would never fall for her. 1 “Elara, the Knights need me back, so your sister and I are leaving today. Take care of yourself.” After packing her bags, my mother left with Maya, just like that. A stark contrast to my first life, where she’d stayed for ten excruciating days, trying to convince Maya to come with her. In that life, when our mother laid out the two choices, Maya had also been quick to decide. But she had chosen to study abroad. After my parents divorced, I was sent to live with my father. For ten years, my mother never visited, not once, but I thought of her every single day. It wasn’t until my father passed away and the police brought me to her that I had a mother again. So when Maya chose to go abroad, I was ecstatic. It meant I could finally be with my mother. But my mother had wanted Maya. She spent those ten days relentlessly trying to change her mind, but Maya was convinced the grass was greener overseas and wouldn’t budge. So, I was the one who went with my mother to the Knight estate. And there, I met Gareth. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a cool, aristocratic air and a brilliant mind. He was the prince charming of every girl in school. I couldn’t help but fall for him. I knew we were worlds apart, so I buried my feelings deep inside. Until the night of our high school graduation. After a party, Gareth, flushed with alcohol, cornered me in the basement. “Elara,” he whispered, his voice intense. “Come abroad with me.” I forced myself to look away. “I can’t afford it.” A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up the dim room. “I’ll pay for you.” In that single moment, I realized the boy I had secretly loved for three years loved me back. The happiness was overwhelming. I rushed to tell my mother the news, my heart soaring. Her response was a sharp slap across my face. “Absolutely not. You gave up the right to go abroad when you chose to come here. The money I’ve saved is for Maya’s education.” I cupped my stinging cheek. “But Gareth said I wouldn’t have to pay. He’s covering my tuition.” She scoffed, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “Have you no shame? Seducing him for his money? Have you forgotten your place? He’s a Knight. You’re the help’s daughter. A boy like that might find you amusing for a while, but when he gets bored and dumps you, who do you think will have to clean up the mess? Forget about going abroad. If you disobey me, you will never call me ‘mother’ again. And stay away from him. Don’t ruin my job.” Starved of a mother’s love my whole life, the threat of losing her again terrified me. Numb with grief, I turned Gareth down. But he was resolute. “Distance doesn’t matter,” he told me solemnly. “I can afford the plane tickets.” We started a long-distance relationship in college. He flew back to see me every month, and the sweetness of his love filled me with hope for our future. When my mother found out, she went behind my back and asked Gareth to look after Maya, who was studying in the same country. Gareth, unaware of our family’s twisted dynamic, naively took on the role of a protective future brother-in-law. Then, one day during my senior year, I received a text from Maya. It was a picture. She was topless, her arms wrapped around Gareth’s neck as they lay in a hotel bed. [He’s with me now, Elara. Stop bothering him.] After three years together, I knew Gareth would never betray me. My first thought was that he’d been set up. Blinded by rage, I called Maya. I never saw the truck. As my soul drifted from my body, I heard my mother’s voice, clear and cold. “It’s good that she’s dead. Now, hurry up and win over the young master. You’re going to be the next Mrs. Knight.” Maya’s triumphant laugh echoed. “You were right all along, Mom. Asking Gareth to look after me was a stroke of genius. It gave me the perfect chance to drug him and get that photo. I was just trying to make Elara give up, but her dying like this? It’s a gift from heaven. I’ll just wait for him to get over his little heartbreak, then I’ll offer myself up.” I had always believed that even if my mother favored Maya, she still loved me as a daughter. I was wrong. She felt nothing at my death. My spirit, shattered, drifted to find Gareth. I found him in the bathtub, clutching my photograph, gone. He had followed me into death. Only then did I truly understand. Gareth’s love for me was stronger than life itself. A wild, desperate power surged through me. I focused all of it on Maya as she descended the grand staircase. I tripped her. I watched her body tumble, her life ending with a sickening crack at the bottom of the stairs. Only then did my soul find peace. And now, I was back. Back on the day my fate was decided. But this time, Maya had chosen the Knight estate. She thought that by being close to Gareth, she could win his heart. She was so wrong. Gareth would never love her. And I would make them both pay for what they did to us. 2 The moment my mother and Maya left, my aunt told me to move into the school dorms early, claiming they were renovating my room. My mother worked as a live-in maid for the Knights, so Maya and I had been living with my aunt and uncle. My mother sent them money every month for our expenses. In my first life, when I left with my mother, she increased the payments to ensure they took good care of Maya. Clearly, this time, the payments had stopped. I didn’t argue. I packed my few belongings and left. But before heading to school, I had another stop to make. I went to the bank. My father had set up a small savings account for me, depositing a little money on every birthday. Only I knew about it. I withdrew the cash and boarded a long-distance bus to a remote cemetery. A fierce storm was raging. I huddled under a tree in my raincoat, waiting. Just as dusk settled, a sixteen-year-old Gareth Knight burst through the gates, ignoring the downpour. Several bodyguards trailed behind him. He was soaked to the bone, his sharp eyes cold and intense, but his steps were determined. He stopped in front of a particular gravestone and began frantically clawing at the overgrown grass around it. “Young master, the rain is too heavy! It must have been washed away. We can come back and look when the storm passes.” Gareth acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. He searched until he was exhausted, his shoulders slumped in despair. That’s when I stepped out from behind the tree. “Excuse me,” I called out. “Are you looking for this?” I pulled a necklace from my pocket. Gareth’s eyes lit up, and he rushed over. Seeing how drenched he was, I instinctively raised my umbrella to shield him from the rain. His hand trembled as he took the necklace, a wave of relief washing over his tense features. “How did you find this?” In our past life, after we got together, Gareth told me that his greatest regret was losing the necklace he and his mother had made together during the summer he was sixteen. So I came here. To fix his regret, and to meet him. I shrugged, feigning a shiver. “The rainwater must have washed it down here. I just picked it up. When I saw you searching so desperately, I figured it must be yours.” “Thank you,” he said, his voice stiff. “This necklace is very important to me. What can I give you as a reward?” He was grateful, but his guard was still up, his posture keeping me at a distance. My teeth chattered. “Could you… could you buy me a cup of instant noodles? I’m cold and starving.” He blinked, surprised, and then a genuine laugh escaped him. “Okay.” Half an hour later, at my insistence, Gareth Knight ate his first-ever cup of instant noodles. “I never knew this stuff was so good,” he admitted. In our past life, it had been his favorite comfort food. After we finished, he asked for my number, insisting he still owed me a proper thank you. I smiled and shook my head. “If we’re meant to, we’ll see each other again.” The moment I turned away, my eyes burned with unshed tears. I wanted so badly to run back, to throw my arms around him and tell him everything. To tell him how much I had missed him, how the thought of him had kept me sane. But he would have thought I was insane. I didn’t give him my number because I already knew his every move for the next few years of high school. We would meet again. And he would think it was fate. Not a carefully orchestrated plan. 3 The first day of school finally arrived. The coursework was a breeze. I began plotting my second meeting with Gareth. During the fall break, I got a part-time job cleaning the local ice hockey rink. On the third day, Gareth came to practice. I watched him from the shadows, my heart aching with a familiar love. When he was finishing up, I spoke, just loud enough for him to hear. “You need to twist your wrist more on the pass.” He spun around. I couldn’t see his eyes under the helmet, but I could feel his shock. “It’s you! How did you know that was my weakness?” How could I not? He had been the one to tell me, years ago. I played dumb. “Just a lucky guess. Have we met before?” He pulled off his helmet, and his eyes sparkled with surprised recognition. I widened my eyes in mock astonishment. “Oh, it’s you!” We had lunch together. “You’re underage. How are you working here?” he asked. “Shh!” I whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t tell the manager. I pretended I was older.” “Do you need money that badly?” “My dad died in a car accident,” I said, letting the truth of my past life color my tone. “My mom took all the settlement money and left with my sister. If I don’t work, how will I survive?” Gareth was quiet for a moment. “Practice with me this afternoon.” I hesitated. “But I have to finish cleaning.” “Five hundred dollars an hour.” “You got it, boss!” He laughed again, nearly spitting out his food. After practice, he asked me to dinner. I was about to say yes when I saw Maya lurking outside the rink, watching us. “Maybe next time! I’ve got to go.” We exchanged numbers when he paid me. Back in my dorm, a message from him came through. [Did you get home safe?] A smile tugged at my lips. I simply replied: [Yes.] 4 After the break, I started preparing for the regional debate tournament. In my first life, even though Gareth and I knew each other, we moved in different circles. At school, he was in the top class, I was in the lowest. At home, he lived on the top floor, I lived in the basement. We were two parallel lines, never meant to cross. It was the debate tournament that made him truly see me. This time, I was determined to shine even brighter. But when I went to sign up, I discovered my school, Maplewood High, had no intention of participating. Furious, I took my sleeping bag and camped out on the principal’s doorstep. He finally relented, agreeing to let me form a team and register, but we would have to cover all the expenses ourselves. Luckily, plenty of students were eager to join. We threw ourselves into preparation, a whirlwind of research and practice sessions. Gareth would text me occasionally. Each time, I’d stop everything, reading his short messages over and over before composing a brief, restrained reply. Just before winter break, I led our underdog team to the finals. Gareth spotted me immediately. “Are you working a part-time job here, too?” I flashed my school ID badge. “I’m here for the finals.” He glanced at the badge, and his eyes widened. “You’re the debater from Maplewood High they’re all talking about?” “‘Talking about’?” His expression was intense, his gaze burning. “For a school like yours to make it to the finals… it’s practically a miracle. Half the audience today came just to see your team captain. You have to introduce me after the match.” Just then, one of my teammates ran over. “Captain, our seats are over there. Let’s go!” Gareth froze, the look in his eyes shifting as he stared at me.

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I’ve had four boyfriends. The first was an arrogant, old-money scion. I chased him for two years. We lasted three months. When he dumped me, he looked down his nose at me, his eyes cold. “Harper, to me, you were just a game.” The second was a brilliant academic, an associate professor. I pursued him, too. We were together for a year. His smile was gentle when he ended it. “Reed, I don’t have the time to wait for you to grow up.” The third was an A-List actor. Ironically, he was the one who chased me. When he cast me aside, his voice was laced with spite. “A bastard child is a nasty thing, after all. You just need a little attention and you come crawling.” Years later, when I finally announced my marriage to the fourth, they all came calling. 1 Life’s a long journey, and with you, I’ll take my time. I posted the announcement on my social media—a picture of Owen Maxwell and me, our signed marriage license held up between us. Friends flooded the comments with a gratifying wave of love and blessings. Then I saw one comment that felt like a needle scratching glass. Are you seriously going through with this? It was from Elias Hawthorne. My first boyfriend. My so-called first love, though the ending was so humiliatingly brutal that it purged him of any possibility of becoming a “ghost of my past” or “the one that got away.” Given Elias’s staggering arrogance, I was surprised he hadn’t scrubbed me from his contacts entirely. Maybe he kept me around as a footnote, a minor conquest he occasionally enjoyed glancing at, like a museum piece he owned. I replied to the well-wishers, pointedly ignoring Elias’s loaded question. I sent a quick voice note to Owen: “Could you pick up that small blueberry micro-cake on your way back?” The moment I hit send, a new message popped up, and my hand actually trembled: Marcus Albright. Why on earth was Marcus texting me? You’re getting married? My feelings toward Marcus were complicated, a tangled knot of longing and anger. When we were together, I had truly envisioned a future—house, dogs, kids, the whole middle-class dream. Marcus was a PhD Candidate when we met, six years my senior, polished, polite, and overwhelmingly gentle. He was just as calm when he ended things. I had been hysterical, pleading with him not to leave, yet he’d simply dried my tears and smiled that serene, hollow smile. “Harper, you’re just too immature. I don’t have the time to help you find yourself.” Marcus was always so painstakingly controlled. Even when I was a screaming mess, he remained detached. He listed my failings like bullet points in a dissertation, which, for months afterward, sent me spiraling into crippling self-doubt and emotional exhaustion. But those dark days were behind me. I glanced at the marriage license resting on my coffee table. I had found my ground. Yes. We signed the papers this morning. The “typing…” indicator stayed on for a long time. Finally, one sentence came through: Congratulations, and happy wedding. Thank you, Professor. It was startling. The intense love and the residual sting of betrayal I felt for Marcus had, with time, faded into something polite and dull. I logged off the chat and scrolled through social media. The top news story was A-List actor Dean Kinsley’s live-stream. He had been on camera when his expression suddenly froze into a dark scowl. The comments section was full of speculation: What did the king see? His face just went totally black! I raised an eyebrow. Dean Kinsley, still unable to mask his immediate emotions. Given his massive family influence and Hollywood status, I supposed he never needed to hide anything. Dean was my third ex. Although the words he used when we broke up were cruel, they hadn’t cut deep. From the first day we started dating, I knew it wouldn’t last. I knew his motives were shaky, but I was so crushingly lonely then. When he pursued me, I accepted. I was slightly curious what news had wiped the smile off his face. Just then, the doorbell rang. Owen was back, holding my small cake. Looking at the towering, solid man in front of me, it was still hard to believe we were finally here. 2 My encounter with Owen Maxwell was purely accidental—or so I thought at the time. I had just broken up with Dean. Though I’d always known the end was coming, I’m sentimental, and I felt hollowed out. To shake the feeling, I flew to the American West—to the vast, remote open spaces of Montana. That’s where I ran into Owen. I’d actually seen Owen once before. When the nominal patriarch of the Reed family—my “father”—died, everyone was summoned back for the will reading. Even as the illegitimate daughter, the law protected my rights, and Owen was the estate lawyer assigned to the case. I ended up with three million dollars and a modest condo. In the grand scheme of the Reed family’s wealth, it was less than pocket change, a paltry sum. My half-siblings and other illegitimate relations received much more. I knew they’d done it deliberately—they hated me the most because my mother had nearly succeeded in securing a permanent place in the family. But it didn’t matter. The money was enough for me to live on simply. At the time, Owen, in his formal suit, had clinically asked if I required legal counsel for any further action. I had declined. We hadn’t seen each other since. Yet here we were, meeting again amidst the breathtaking scenery of Big Sky Country. Owen explained that his wallet and ID had been stolen. He said I was the only familiar face he knew in the area and asked if I’d let him tag along. I was traveling alone, and traveling with a lawyer felt reasonably safe. I agreed. Owen was usually reserved, almost cold, but he was incredibly considerate. He was also endlessly knowledgeable; no matter what topic I brought up, he could keep the conversation flowing. Traveling with him was unexpectedly joyful. He taught me to ride, and we galloped across the vast Montana plains. With the entire sky above us, and the ground flying beneath the horse’s hooves, I felt a deep sense of release. It was in that moment I finally shed the burden of my first two decades of misery and misfortune. I’m a graphic novelist. I turned my Montana experience into a webcomic, and it blew up overnight. The sudden success of my career finally eclipsed the failure of my love life. After we returned to the city, Owen and I kept in touch. We talked about everything under the sun, and sometimes I was stunned by our intellectual and emotional synchronicity. We were so effortlessly compatible it felt like we’d known each other forever. We started planning more trips together. One night, in a small, rustic cabin in the Pacific Northwest, we had a few drinks. The moon hung bright and low in the sky. I smiled and turned to him. “Do you like me?” Owen gave me a faint smile in return. “Took you long enough to notice.” “I was only semi-sure. But I felt like you did.” “No need to be unsure. I’ve liked you for a long time now.” Owen’s eyes were bright, like starlight on a crisp night. He simply held my gaze. He later confessed that he was terrified in that moment, convinced I was about to reject him. I burst out laughing. “Well, I like you, too, then.” Getting together with Owen felt entirely natural, as if it had been destined. Once we were dating, Owen encouraged me to try things I’d always been afraid of. He took me to see the penguins in Antarctica, and we watched a volcano erupt in Hawaii. We kissed passionately on the deck of a cruise ship in a gale-force wind. “Harper, life is passionate. I want you to always be radiant.” Meeting Owen filled the empty spaces and quiet loneliness that had shadowed me for years. When he proposed, I didn’t hesitate for a second. 3 It was the Reed family patriarch’s ninetieth birthday, and we, the extended family, were all summoned for the celebration. I dreaded it, but the old man was obsessed with appearances. If I publicly snubbed him, he could still make my life hell. Besides, when my half-siblings had tried to ruin me completely, it was the patriarch who intervened. So, even knowing the gala would make me nauseous, I had to go. At least I had Owen by my side. My half-sister, Daphne, and her brother, still looked at me like I was a piece of refuse. The naked hatred in their eyes was barely concealed. There were four illegitimate Reed children, but the legitimate siblings despised me most. My mother had been the most ambitious, the closest to achieving the coveted status of ‘wife.’ I was brought into the Reed house at twelve, given a life of luxury, but it was the most hateful place I’d ever lived. Daphne always loathed me. She pulled countless small, cruel stunts: locking me out in the rain, cutting the power to my room in the summer, sealing my windows shut, and instigating bullying against me at school. Daphne was the one I hated most in the Reed family. When I found out that Daphne had a crush on Elias Hawthorne, I immediately saw a path to revenge. I would seduce Elias and make the high-and-mighty princess feel the pain of loss. I spent two years catering to Elias, putting myself on display. Everyone whispered that I was as low-class as my mother, a cheap flirt, but I didn’t care—I was consumed by my hatred for Daphne. I succeeded. I remember the look on Daphne’s face—the raw, fire-spewing fury—when I walked past her, hand-in-hand with Elias. “Harper Reed, you are a parasite,” Daphne hissed darkly. The more miserable she was, the happier I felt. I offered a brilliant, saccharine smile. “Thanks to you all, I’m doing just fine here in the city.” Daphne’s eyes flickered to Owen beside me, and she let out a disdainful scoff. “Which stray man did you hook this time?” “Ms. Reed,” Owen cut in smoothly. “It’s been a few years. I am Owen Maxwell, Harper’s husband.” The instant Daphne heard the word ‘husband,’ the contempt in her eyes evaporated. The Maxwell family has a long history in law and politics. Owen’s grandfather was a celebrated legal figure. “Ms. Reed, your comment just now was offensive to Harper and an insult to me,” Owen said, his voice calm yet deeply intimidating. “I would ask that you apologize to us both.” Daphne’s face flushed crimson. She choked, unwilling to apologize. I noticed more and more gazes turning toward us. Daphne’s brother, Jackson, stepped forward. “Daphne, apologize to them.” Reluctantly, and clearly furious, Daphne mumbled an apology. Ugh. Adult Daphne was so much more pathetic than her childhood self. As I took in the scene, I felt a heavy gaze fixed on me. I traced it back to Elias Hawthorne. Of course, Elias would be here. The Hawthorne and Reed families were historically linked. Years had smoothed some of Elias’s sharp edges; he looked reserved now, radiating the cold confidence of a CEO. I offered him a purely reflexive, fake smile—a little piece of calculated nastiness. I wanted to see him squirm. Instead, his entire face seemed to crumple. The suffocating atmosphere of the ballroom made it hard to breathe. I slipped out to the Reed family’s private courtyard for air. Just as I was about to head back to Owen, Elias suddenly appeared. “What did you mean by smiling at me like that?” he demanded. I honestly found Elias irritating. He always had that high-handed, old-money entitlement. When I’d chased him, I’d poured my heart and soul into it. Even though my initial motivation was cruel, I’m a person, I’m emotional. He had genuinely helped me a few times when I was completely isolated, and I really did fall for him. But we only lasted three months. When we broke up, he ground my face into the dirt, calling me utterly worthless. I offered a dismissive shrug. “Nothing. Just saying hello after all these years.” He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. “Are you really married?” “Why? Is there some reason it would be a fake marriage?” I retorted, a sharp edge of sarcasm in my voice. When he broke up with me, he’d said, “I told you I was just playing a game, and you actually believed me.” “The Maxwells are a political dynasty. They would never accept an illegitimate child like you,” Elias declared, using that patronizing, ‘for your own good’ tone, laced with the same old, familiar contempt for my identity. “Harper, stop deceiving yourself. End things with him soon.” A calm voice came from behind him. “Mr. Hawthorne, do you often interfere in other people’s marriages? You don’t need to worry about Harper and me. My family loves her. Birth status is not a choice, and it certainly won’t be a chain around my wife.” Owen walked up and leaned in close to me. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you.” The sight of us, cheek-to-cheek and intimately close, was clearly the last straw for Elias. His eyes went dark. He let out a cold, hard laugh. “Harper Reed, do you actually think Owen Maxwell is some kind of saint?” I looked at him oddly. Had Elias lost his mind abroad? He was spewing absolute nonsense. “He’s not. But are you?” Elias’s chest heaved with suppressed rage. I didn’t see the smug, triumphant flash that crossed Owen’s eyes before he turned to walk away with me. 4 Later that evening, Elias sent me a text. Harper, what I said earlier wasn’t intended as a taunt. I just wanted to warn you. LOL. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hawthorne. My husband and I are doing great. Not everyone looks down on me because of my past. I never looked down on you, Harper. It was a voice note, and I could hear a trace of panic in his voice. It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need your respect. Are you still angry that I broke up with you? But you were the one who lied to me first. I had briefly hated Elias, but the years had swept all those intense feelings away. The love and the resentment were gone. I’m not angry anymore. If you’re still upset about my deception back then, I apologize. I drew a clear, businesslike boundary. After I sent that, Elias went quiet. I couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so invested in my life, breaking character to sound genuinely concerned. But it didn’t matter. Ten years was a lifetime. I had truly forgotten him. The Elias Hawthorne who I once considered the single source of light in my chaotic life had vanished the moment his plane took off from LAX. Two weeks later, my alma mater, Capital University, held its fiftieth-anniversary celebration, inviting alumni back for a ceremony. It was then I realized Owen had also graduated from the same school, three years before me. I joked with him that if I’d gone to college earlier, we would have met sooner. He didn’t look pleased. He only muttered darkly, “You were too obsessed with your Professor Albright back then. Would you even have noticed me?” His jealousy was thick enough to cut with a knife. I had been honest with Owen about my dating history, so he knew about Marcus. That night in bed, he kept insisting I call him “Professor.” I refused at first, but he wore me down with inventive persistence. Finally, weakened, I meekly whispered the word a few times. But then the man went completely feral. I could barely move the next morning. I was annoyed, and Owen spent the drive to the university catering to my every need. Capital University was bustling. Students, alumni like Owen and me, and various guests flowed through the campus. We strolled around for a bit until we reached my favorite spot: a secluded gazebo near the old oak tree. It was quiet there, away from the main thoroughfare. As we approached, I realized someone was already sitting inside: Marcus Albright. My first impulse was to turn and run, but Marcus saw us and called out. “Harper Reed. It’s been a while.” His voice was still the same—warm, cultivated, and pleasant, like a gentle breeze. I held myself steady and forced a natural smile. “Marcus Albright. Good to see you.” Marcus’s gaze dropped to my hand, which was firmly clasped in Owen’s. I stepped forward to introduce them. “This is my husband, Owen Maxwell.” Owen gave a slight nod in greeting. “Well, we won’t interrupt you,” I said, already trying to pull Owen away. But Marcus stopped us. “Harper, do you remember? This was your favorite place to bring me. I came here specifically hoping to run into you.” My footsteps faltered. A thousand memories flooded my mind. 5 I had truly wanted to spend my life with Marcus Albright. Our breakup had been completely unexpected. Only a week before, he’d been telling me about the beautiful spring flowers blooming on campus. Then, over a quiet dinner, he dropped the bomb. I remember my wide-eyed disbelief when I asked him why. He called me childish and said our relationship was exhausting him. I promised to change. I cried and begged him to stay, but he simply wiped my tears away and delivered his crushing verdict. “I can’t wait, Harper. The time investment is just too high.” I refused to accept it. I hounded him for two months until he finally chose to take a “research fellowship” in Africa just to avoid seeing me. If there was one thing I would never forget, it was the final, determined retreat of Marcus’s back as he walked away. So, what was he doing now? Feigning regret? Or just trying to make me feel terrible? “What do you want?” “Can I speak with you alone?” Even confronted with my obvious hostility, he remained infuriatingly calm. I used to love his unflappable composure. Now, it just made him seem like a corpse, drained of life. “We have nothing to talk about.” I threw the words out and prepared to leave with Owen. “Harper,” he called, desperation finally cracking his veneer. “I never wanted to break up with you.”

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1 The moment we were reborn on the set of that godforsaken reality show, I scheduled a hysterectomy. My fiancé, the heir to the Croft empire, booked a vasectomy. In our past life, it all started at our engagement party. Melody, the underprivileged student we were sponsoring, burst in and pointed a trembling finger at me. “How can you marry him when you’re carrying my brother’s baby?” Then she turned, weeping, to my fiancé, Julian. “And I’m carrying your child! How could you just abandon me?” We thought it was a sick joke. We’d never done what she claimed. We’d met her family when the show had us stay at their rural home, and moved by their poverty, we offered our support. But then, in front of a ravenous press corps, she produced two positive pregnancy tests. Hers, and mine. She tried to force me to marry her brother. She demanded Julian marry her. When the story broke, my acting career imploded overnight. Julian’s family business was dragged through the mud, the stock price plummeting, pushing them to the brink of bankruptcy. To clear our names, we had no choice but to see the pregnancies through. We waited for the births, for the DNA tests that would finally prove our innocence. We never imagined the results would only seal our public execution. Unwilling to drag our families down with us, we walked into a blizzard on a remote mountain and let the cold take us. And then, I opened my eyes. We were back. Back on the very first day we stayed in Melody Song’s home. … I gasped, my lungs burning as if I’d been starved of air. A cold sweat soaked through my clothes, the phantom chill of the blizzard still clinging to my bones. I looked down at my hands—pale and slender, not the swollen, frostbitten claws I remembered. A knock came at the door. “Sera? I need to talk to you…” That voice. Cool, familiar, beloved. Tears streamed down my face. I threw the door open and launched myself into his arms like a moth drawn to a flame. Julian Croft. The crown prince of New York’s high society. We’d grown up together, and the moment he heard I was joining a dating reality show, he’d signed up too. He held me back with the same desperate force, like a man reclaiming a lost treasure. When we finally calmed down, we sat on the edge of the flimsy bed. The room smelled of damp earth and mildew, the walls stained with black mold. Neither of us spoke. Julian pulled out his phone, and I saw the date. September 20th. Day one of filming. The day we were assigned to stay with the Song family, the day our naive compassion set our doom in motion. I saw the complex emotions warring in his eyes. He remembered, too. We were both reborn, back at the start of the nightmare. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice thick with a fear that mirrored my own. “We’re both back.” Neither could I. In our last life, our story on the show had been a fairytale. We became the nation’s sweethearts, and the proposal was the perfect, logical next step. That day, the one we’d anticipated our whole lives, became the first day of our damnation. Julian was on one knee, the ring box open, my hand trembling as I reached for it. That’s when Melody burst in. She claimed we had toyed with her and her brother’s affections during our stay. She screamed that the baby in my belly wasn’t Julian’s—and that the one in hers was the true Croft heir. We thought she was insane. We’d never even been alone with either of them. Then she produced the pregnancy reports. The media, always hungry for a scandal, devoured the story. Copies of the reports were everywhere. Our careers, our lives, were put on hold. But Julian and I, we never doubted each other. To prove our innocence, we agreed to wait for the births, for the DNA tests. The moment the babies were born, we thought we were saved. Instead, we were dragged into an even deeper abyss. When the results came back, we stared at the two reports in disbelief. My child was a genetic match for her intellectually disabled brother, Peter. And her child was a 99.9% match for Julian. The hospital was a circus of flashing cameras. Live streams of our public humiliation hit millions of viewers in minutes. The world’s judgment was swift and merciless. Sluts and scumbags. No wonder they found each other. The rich are all the same. They see a poor family and just use them for sport. Disgusting. Who would ever support them again? God knows what diseases they’re carrying. Our families were dragged into it, accused of using their philanthropic work as a front for depraved activities. The shock sent Julian’s grandfather to the ICU. We couldn’t let them suffer anymore. We posted one final, cryptic message online, and walked into the snow. Now, sitting in that wretched room, we tried to piece it together, to understand how it had all gone so wrong. One thing was certain: once this show wrapped, our families would push for that engagement party again. The thought of that day, once a dream, now a terror, made Julian’s hand tighten on mine. “This time,” we said in unison, our voices a low, fierce promise, “we find the truth. And we never repeat the past.” The next morning, the rooster’s crow woke us. As Julian and I stepped out of the room, we found Melody standing right outside the door, her eyes blazing. “Why are you two coming out of the same room?” she demanded. Julian’s gaze was hard as flint. He draped an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “We grew up together. We’re in love. Get over it.” Melody’s expression flickered. She seemed to realize she’d come on too strong. Her voice softened. “I was just worried. You’re on camera. I didn’t want it to affect your image.” She bustled off to make breakfast as the film crew began to arrive. A few minutes later, she returned with just two boiled eggs, her head bowed in practiced humility. The camera zoomed in on her, and she shuffled her feet, drawing attention to her worn-out shoes. Her brother, Peter, wandered out, his pants stained with something unidentifiable. Last time, we had immediately offered to sponsor them, to find the best doctors for Peter. This time, we just wanted the truth. We wanted to get as far away from these two as possible. Melody offered us the eggs. Her stomach rumbled audibly, and Peter drooled, his eyes fixed on the food. I smiled sweetly and pushed the eggs back towards her. “We’re not hungry. You two eat.” We said nothing about sponsorship. Melody froze, insisting we take them. A crew member chimed in. “Just take it. It’s a kind gesture. It’s the last two eggs they have.” Julian was a Croft. He’d only reined in his imperious nature for my sake. That comment was the last straw. He snatched the eggs and thrust them at the crew member. “Here. You eat it. Don’t let her kindness go to waste.” The man, remembering exactly who Julian was, paled and accepted the eggs. I turned and met Melody’s eyes. They were filled with a burning hatred. Even Peter’s vacant stare held a flash of malice. Something was deeply wrong here. Peter had a government-issued disability certificate; that couldn’t be faked. And yet, in our past life, after my child was born, he had miraculously recovered his health. He and Melody had come to us, demanding I take my child and marry him. We still had several days of filming left. Julian and I knew we couldn’t eat or drink anything the Songs offered us. Seeing our refusal, Melody’s eyes welled up with tears. She cast a wounded look at the director. He whispered something to her, and she immediately calmed down, turning to me with a faint, chilling smile. A sense of dread washed over me. Sure enough, the next day, without any warning, the show was switched to a live broadcast. As the cast sat together, Melody appeared, representing the village. She carried a platter of local fruit, her eyes wide and pleading. “I hope you won’t look down on our humble offering.” The other cast members, unconcerned, each took a piece of fruit. Remembering our last life, Julian and I didn’t move. Suddenly, Melody dropped to her knees. She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears, a portrait of defiant sorrow. I followed her gaze and saw eight cameras pointed directly at us. I understood. I almost had to laugh at the sheer audacity of it. The network knew their audience. They loved watching entitled celebrities and rich kids bully a simple, poor girl from the countryside. They’d seen our hostility towards the Songs and cooked up this little piece of theater on the fly. Just as they’d hoped, the live chat exploded. So much for the ‘philanthropist’ actress. Her true colors are showing. They’re two of a kind. She’s just as fake as he is. That poor girl’s hands are shaking and they won’t even take the fruit. Melody’s voice broke into a sob. “I know our village is poor… and you probably look down on us… but this is the best we have to offer, Miss Pitt…” I saw the fury building in Julian’s eyes and put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Melody’s acting was superb. It was a shame she wasn’t in Hollywood. But she forgot one thing. I was an actress, too. An award-winning one. I bit my lip and sighed, bowing my head. When I looked up again, my own eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Julian, it’s okay,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. “So what if I have a skin allergy right now? I can eat it. If something happens, I’m sure the network will get me to a hospital.” Julian, my partner in all things since childhood, caught on instantly. His tone shifted to one of grudging concern. “You’re right. It’s a kind gesture. Worst case, I’ll just stay with you at the hospital. We can watch the rest of the show from there.” We were the show’s main draw. The director knew he couldn’t afford to lose us. He cleared his throat, ordered the live broadcast cut, and waved for the crew to help Melody up and escort her away. But she suddenly wrenched free. She ran to Julian, her face a mask of innocent concern, but her words were a cold blade of terror. “Brother, why are you so angry? It’s okay. You’ll belong to Melody soon anyway.” She then turned to me, her smile serene. “And you, Miss Pitt, will be part of our family, too.” With that, she calmly allowed the crew to lead her away. In our past life, her words would have been nonsense. This time, Julian and I felt a chilling dread seep into our very bones. The show ended, and as expected, our on-screen romance captivated the nation. A month later, despite my caution, a paparazzo caught me looking nauseous. The tabloids ran with it. Our parents saw the news and called immediately, urging us to get married as soon as possible. They even bought a ridiculously large diamond at auction and had it couriered to Julian. The news spread like wildfire: The Croft heir and the A-list actress, a shotgun wedding. The proposal was imminent, and the world expected a spectacle. I leaned against Julian’s shoulder, the memory of our icy deaths making my voice catch. “Julian, maybe we shouldn’t do the proposal. Maybe we should just… elope.” He took my cold hands in his. “I can’t let you marry me without a proper proposal. We’ve been so careful this time. I still want to give you the wedding of your dreams.” Our parents were insistent. There was no getting out of it. A dark premonition settled in my gut, but with Julian by my side, I felt a flicker of security. On the day of the engagement party, I was in a couture gown, Julian’s hand holding mine as we entered the grand ballroom. And just like before, Melody was there, with Peter in tow. She was clutching a stack of papers, dressed in thin, ragged clothes, her stomach slightly rounded. “You’re getting married? What about us? Did you think you could just play with our hearts and walk away without any consequences?” The room erupted. Reporters swarmed, their cameras flashing. With tears and snot running down her face, Melody spun her tragic tale of coming all the way from her poor village only to find the father of her child marrying another woman—a woman who was carrying her own brother’s baby. Gasps filled the hall. Melody began handing out copies of the pregnancy reports. She pointed at me. “To create some saintly image for yourself, you seduced my disabled brother! You got pregnant with his child! And after the show, you just tossed him aside! But he’s in love with you now! He can’t live without you!” Then, turning to Julian, she wept. “And you! You told me you were tired of this woman, that you only loved me! You gave me this baby! Why are you still with this slut? Why?” Just like last time, the crowd was swayed by her performance. They turned on us. “Tsk, tsk. They took advantage of those poor villagers, and now it’s come back to bite them.” “A pair of disgusting cheats. They make me sick.” Julian and I met each other’s gaze and shared a cold, humorless smile. She was here. Right on cue. As Melody reached for me, trying to drag me away with her brother, I pulled free. I slapped a piece of paper against her face. My words were clear, ringing through the silent hall. “Then explain this. How does a woman with no uterus get pregnant with your brother’s child?” Julian, with a look of utter disgust, threw his own report at her feet. The one confirming his vasectomy.

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My sister decided she wanted my fiancé. So my family, who had always worshipped the ground she walked on, sold me. They offered me up to settle a debt, leaving me in a darkness so absolute it shattered my mind. By the time Adrian found me, I was already gone. He carried me out of that hell without a word. The next day, my family’s empire crumbled. My parents were found dead. My sister, Chloe, was dragged into an alley and brutalized so badly she would never carry a child. For seven years, as I drifted in a fog, Adrian never left my side. He took me to every specialist, every clinic, becoming a ghost who haunted the city, a man everyone feared. They called him a madman, shackled to a broken woman. Then, a miracle. I was healed. I held the doctor’s report in my hand, a surprise I couldn’t wait to give him, a new beginning for us on the eve of our wedding. That’s when I heard them in the dressing room. His voice, a raw, ragged whisper. “Keep it down. If Stella hears you, I’ll kill you.” And Chloe’s, hitched and broken as he moved against her. “You broke those men’s hands just for touching me during that little stunt you arranged. Are you really going to kill me, Adrian?” …I stood frozen on the other side of the door, listening until the very end. I forced the tears back down, swallowing the acid in my throat. Then, I plastered a bright, vacant smile on my face, and with the light, skipping energy of a child, I ripped the curtain open. “Adrian! I was looking for you! I found you!” 1 The charged atmosphere in the small space evaporated. My eyes landed on the two of them, pressed together, and for a fraction of a second, the mask on my face cracked. They both jumped, startled. Adrian instantly grabbed his suit jacket, throwing it over Chloe to hide her. I tilted my head, my expression one of pure, childish confusion. “Adrian, why are you being mean to the pretty lady? You made her cry. Did she do something bad?” Chloe let out a sharp, derisive snort, a smirk twisting her flushed face. “God, she’s still just a broken toy.” Adrian, his face tight with discomfort, finished buttoning his shirt. He looked at me, at the empty innocence in my eyes, and a wave of relief washed over him. “It’s nothing, Star. Don’t worry about her. She’s just a salesgirl. Come on, let’s get you into a beautiful dress.” As he tried to lead me away, I twisted in his arms, my reaction sudden and violent. “No! Let me go! You smell… wrong. I don’t like it!” Adrian’s face froze for a moment. He quickly recalibrated, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Okay, Star. You’re right. My fault.” He gently sat me down on a velvet chair and disappeared, returning only after he had changed into a fresh suit, smelling of nothing but clean linen and his familiar cologne. His assistant brought out dozens of wedding heels, but I shook my head at every single one. “Don’t like them.” Adrian, without even looking at the shoes, flicked his fingers. “Bring more.” Just then, Chloe emerged from the dressing room, fully clothed. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Adrian, I want the pretty lady to try them on for me!” Adrian’s hand, which had been resting on my waist, tensed. Chloe’s face fell. When Adrian gave a curt nod of approval, her expression twisted into outrage. “You want me to try on shoes for a psycho?” Her shriek made me flinch and shrink back into Adrian’s side. His expression darkened instantly. With a sharp gesture, he had his assistant forcibly drag Chloe over. “You’re lucky she’s even letting you touch her,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “If you don’t want to do it, you can be on a bus back to whatever nowhere town you crawled out of before this city ever knew your name.” Chloe’s face went pale, then red. Reluctantly, she knelt at my feet and picked up a stiletto. The second her fingers brushed my ankle, I kicked out, sending her sprawling backward. I immediately burst into tears and buried my face in Adrian’s chest. “Hurts,” I whimpered. “My toe hurts. Her nails…” Adrian’s brow furrowed. He glanced down at Chloe’s long, blood-red manicure. “Cut them,” he ordered. That was the final straw. The suppressed fury in Chloe ignited. She snatched the high heel and hurled it against the wall. “Adrian, if you wanted to humiliate me, you could have just said so! I wasn’t born to be your goddamn servant!” Sobbing, she turned and ran out of the boutique. “Adrian, is the pretty lady mad at me?” I asked in a small voice. He stroked my back, his touch meant to be soothing. “Don’t worry about her.” His voice was cold, but his eyes were locked on Chloe’s retreating figure. We were halfway through the wedding dress fitting when Adrian’s assistant rushed in, her face pale, and whispered something in his ear. Adrian didn’t move at first, just took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, but a storm was gathering in his eyes. After a long moment, he loosened his tie and finally stood up. “Star, something’s come up at the office. I’ll have Sarah take you home.” I dropped the veil I was holding and ran to him, grabbing his hand. “Adrian, please don’t go. Today is…” “Stella, be good. Don’t be difficult.” He patted my head, his touch dismissive, and walked away without another glance. The rest of my sentence died in my throat. The assistant picked up the discarded veil. “Ma’am, let me help you with the fitting.” I saw the pity in her eyes. I looked down, my voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. “No, thank you. I don’t like it.” We don’t have to try anymore. Midnight came and went. Adrian never came back. I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out into the storm. Outside, wind and rain lashed against the glass. On the table, the birthday cake he’d had delivered had melted into a sugary puddle. In seven years, this was the first birthday he had ever missed. Suddenly, a deafening crack of thunder echoed, and the entire mansion plunged into darkness. My mind went completely blank. “Adrian!” I screamed into the void. Silence. I scrambled to my feet, my back drenched in a cold sweat. Blinded by the dark, I tripped and fell hard on the marble floor. “Ma’am! Ma’am!” The housekeeper, hearing the crash, rushed in with a candle. I was curled into a ball on the floor, clutching my head, shaking uncontrollably. “Don’t touch me!” Just as I felt the edges of my consciousness fraying, the front door burst open with a deafening crash. A familiar scent cut through the darkness. Adrian rushed to my side, pulling me into his arms. “Stella, don’t be scared. Don’t be scared, I’m here.” He was soaked from the storm, his clothes cold and damp, but his hands holding me were feverishly tight. It was too late. I was already lost. This was the first time I had experienced true darkness since my recovery. The memories I had locked away came flooding back in a torrent. I screamed, sobbing, my flailing hands striking his face, leaving red marks on his skin. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” The sheer terror in my eyes made him realize this was something more, something new. He scooped me up and raced to the hospital. In the hazy delirium, I felt like I was drowning. A doctor’s voice drifted in and out. “Mr. Blackwood, your fiancée has severe PTSD and nyctophobia. She must have experienced some kind of extreme trauma… Also, regarding Miss Landon… her condition is critical. If she doesn’t receive a uterine transplant soon, she’ll never be able to conceive.” It turned out Chloe had crashed her car after running from the boutique. When she woke up in the hospital, she’d had a complete breakdown and tried to kill herself. “Adrian,” she had shrieked, “if you blame me for what happened back then, then let your punishment be real! Let me pay her back for good!” The silence in my hospital room was absolute, broken only by the cold, rhythmic beeping of the machines. After a long time, Adrian sat down on the bed beside me. He gently wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and leaned down to kiss my forehead. His voice was choked with emotion. “Don’t let it be too painful for her.” I tried to force my eyes open, to fight, but my body wouldn’t respond. I was helpless as they wheeled me toward the operating room. When I felt the cold steel of the scalpel against my skin, I summoned every last ounce of strength and clamped my hand around the blade. “Ma’am, let go!” a nurse hissed in alarm. The surgeon leaned close, shouting in my ear. He listened to the frantic whispers coming from my lips, then drew in a sharp breath. “I understand,” he said quickly. “I will convey your message to Mr. Blackwood.” He rushed out of the O.R. But just as he began to explain the situation to Adrian, a nurse ran up from the other end of the hall, shouting that Chloe’s condition was deteriorating. Adrian’s furious roar was so loud I could hear it through the doors. “Every second you waste talking is another second of pain for them! Do it!” “But Mr. Blackwood, your fiancée—she’s—” “Shut up! A broken mind doesn’t need a womb! Stella has me. That’s all she’ll ever need. You say one more goddamn word and you can clear out your locker tomorrow!” The surgeon returned, his face a mask of bitter defeat. The scalpel slipped from my grasp.

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“I’m broke and hungry,” I texted my family. After thirty minutes, all I got was a photo of a bag of apples, followed by a voice message from my dad: “Picked these myself this morning. Had someone deliver them to you.” Liam, my boyfriend who was serving me dinner, froze. “Your dad’s an upstate apple farmer? So you’re not from some old-money city family?” I shook my head, confused. He eyed my Chanel outfit with dawning disgust. “This is a university, not a brothel. You’re just a peasant buying knockoffs to trap a rich guy,” he sneered before walking away. The words My family practically built this city caught in my throat. Tears welling, I pulled the black card from the plastic bag where it lay tossed beside the apples and played the rest of Dad’s message: “Your hotel’s Christmas apple-picking event is a huge hit. The hotel’s in your name now—the card’s your bonus.” Just then, Liam posted my photo in a campus group chat with the caption: “Sugar baby, 9/10 condition. Delicate. Best offer.” With shaking hands, I canceled the $50,000 monthly grant my dad had been anonymously sending him. If he looks down on me for relying on my family, he shouldn’t rely on them either. … “A GOLD DIGGER’S DIARY! FAKE SOCIALITE TREATS CAMPUS KING LIKE A DOG!” My fingers went numb the moment I clicked the link. Liam’s “heartbreaking exposé” was the top post. “These past three months have been a complete joke,” he wrote. “She told me her father ran a ‘small business.’ Turns out he grows apples upstate! I spent my scholarship money taking her to fancy dinners while she was parading around in fake designer clothes.” Below the post were screenshots of our chats. “Check-in! 34976! Send me a selfie video with the hand sign!” The post showed days of these “check-ins,” and the comment section exploded. “So controlling! Lily Monroe is a psycho!” “OMG, is our campus king getting PUA’d?” “Someone tag the Dean’s office! Shouldn’t this trash be expelled for moral corruption?” Someone else quickly posted a picture of me eating bread in the evening. “Look at her! Eating plain bread just to afford knockoffs! So pathetic!” I sighed and typed a reply: “That was my pre-workout meal.” The chat went silent for a beat before a new wave of mockery crashed over me. “Now she’s pretending to be a fitness guru?” “A single session with her trainer costs a thousand bucks! Where would a peasant like her get that kind of money?” “Poor Liam! She scammed his heart and his money!” My nails dug into my palms. The screenshots were deliberately incomplete. He conveniently left out the part where every video he sent was followed by a wire transfer from me for the exact amount he’d signaled. But now, he was twisting my affection into proof of his victimhood. What sent a true chill down my spine was the marketplace link that popped up minutes later. “Sugar baby, 9/10 condition. Delicate and soft. Best offer.” Tears pricked my eyes as I scrolled through the comments, which were overwhelmingly sympathetic—to him. “Our boy is heartbroken! A real heiress needs to come and save him!” Liam had even “accidentally” leaked my contact information. My phone immediately froze, overwhelmed by a flood of friend requests and hateful messages. Words I had never seen before filled the screen. I’d been sheltered and adored my whole life; I’d never heard such filth. My hands shook as I tried to message Liam, but then I saw his latest comment on the forum. “I loved her once,” he wrote calmly. “That’s why I’m helping her find her next client. I can’t bear to see her with nothing.” I let out a bitter laugh. Nothing. He wasn’t entirely wrong. I had poured all my personal funds into the Christmas event for the new hotel I’d acquired. I had planned to give him the hotel as a birthday gift. Not anymore. I looked at the last message on my screen from Liam: “Fake sugar baby. We’re done.” I sent a voice message to my father. “Dad, that fifty-thousand-dollar anonymous monthly grant for Liam…” “Cancel it.” If he despises me for being a sugar baby… Then he can stop being one himself. That silver spoon? I’ll smash it for you. The moment the message sent, my father called. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Fifty thousand is nothing.” His tone was light, but he must have sensed my silence, because his voice immediately hardened. “Did that boy hurt you?” A lump formed in my throat. I’d only asked my father to set up the “anonymous grant”—which was just the daily interest from one of his savings accounts—because I saw that Liam was poor but driven, and I didn’t want to hurt his pride. My father’s voice was cold as ice. “Power and money are the best gifts for a girl. A man is just an accessory. If he doesn’t suit you, find a new one.” His tone shifted, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Speaking of which, the Sterling Group is begging for a partnership with your hotel. You should meet them as the new owner. It’ll be a good distraction.” “Okay.” The dark cloud over me began to lift. I went to my closet to get dressed, but it was empty. My roommate, Megan, leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t the campus queen. Going to beg Liam for forgiveness?” she drawled. “Or… which sugar daddy are you visiting tonight?” Her eyes raked over me. “It must be nice to be pretty. Just spread your legs and someone pays the bills. Slut.” My fists clenched, my heart turning to ice. When her father was sick, I had transferred her ten thousand dollars without a second thought. I took a deep breath. “If you have so much shame, Megan, you can start by paying me back the ten thousand you owe me.” The color drained from her face. I soon understood the source of her newfound confidence. BANG! The dorm room door was kicked open by Chloe, the Student Council President. Megan scurried over to her, grinning obsequiously. My eyes followed her gaze, and my stomach dropped. All of my clothes were in a trash can in the hallway, drenched in bright red paint. My gaze fell on a stained white dress in the corner. My vision went red. It was a birthday gift, designed by my late mother. Now it was trampled in a puddle of filthy water. I lunged for it, but Chloe stuck out her foot, tripping me. I fell hard, and she planted her shoe on the back of my hand, grinding her heel into my knuckles. Megan pointed at the ruined clothes. “Chloe says she’s never seen these designs before. They’re all fakes. Let me tell you, one of Chloe’s handbags is worth more than your entire family’s lives!” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. My clothes were sent directly from the designers. There were maybe three of each piece in the entire country. Of course someone of her social standing had never seen them. Chloe looked down at me, her voice dripping with condescension. “As Student Council President, I have a duty to uphold the standards of this campus. Someone get her things off that bed and throw them out!” I struggled, trying to reach my phone to call my dad. Chloe kicked me again, sending my phone smashing against the wall. “Trying to call Liam? Want to play the victim?” She pinned my wrist with her foot and mockingly opened Liam’s social media. The latest post was a picture of his hand intertwined with hers. The caption read: “The struggle is over. I’ve found my true love.” Chloe’s smile was triumphant. “My family’s company is signing a deal with the Kanes tonight. What do you have that can compete with me?” I froze. The Kanes? Was that the partnership my father mentioned? Chloe’s hand came swinging toward my face. I summoned all my strength and screamed, “Chloe! Go ask your father—if you don’t let me go right now, your deal is dead!” Her palm connected with my cheek, and the world went dark. “Bitch! I’m going to make you watch as my family climbs to the top on the Kanes’ coattails!” When I came to, I was staring through a floor-to-ceiling window at the iconic rooftop garden of my own hotel. “You’re awake?” Chloe’s voice came from behind me. “The Kane heiress will be here soon. Liam told me you’re very… flexible. A good little dancer.” “Miss Kane enjoys dancing, too.” The tape was ripped from my mouth, and I coughed violently. “Give Miss Kane a good ‘performance’ later,” she said, patting my cheek. “If she’s happy, I might even arrange for your father to be a janitor at my house. One month of his salary would be more than your family makes in a year of digging in the dirt.” The door slammed shut. Megan stood guard outside. Seeing my chance, I broke free of my restraints and slipped into a service corridor. I had to get to the top floor, to my dad. As I passed the banquet hall, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t eaten properly in three days, consumed by the Christmas project. On a side table sat a tureen of mushroom soup, still warm. My father’s favorite, prepared just for me. I picked up a spoon, and a tear splashed into the broth. CRACK! A splitting pain shot through the back of my head. My face was shoved into the scalding hot soup. “Miss Kane hasn’t even arrived, and a piece of trash like you dares to eat?” Chloe yanked my hair, slamming my head against the rim of the bowl again and again. “I’ll let you drink! Drink it all!” Hot soup and blood flooded my throat. I was suffocating. Just as Chloe raised her hand to slap me again, someone grabbed her wrist. Liam. His brow was furrowed. “That’s enough.” His gaze drifted to the decorative apples on the table, and he seemed to recognize the logo on them. He reached out to take a closer look, but Chloe looped her arm through his. “Liam, you’re here!” she cooed. “It’s our first day as a couple! I want you to meet the Kanes!” I used the distraction to scramble for my shattered phone, but Megan snatched it away. “Calling for backup?” Chloe sneered, slapping me again. “I guess you haven’t learned your lesson!” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “I am a Kane,” I said, each word an effort. “Stop now, and you might just live.” In the struggle, my black card fell from my pocket. Liam bent down to pick it up. The moment his eyes landed on the embossed gold Kane family crest, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. Megan’s lip trembled. “Chloe… could she really be…?” Chloe stomped her stiletto onto my fingers. I heard the faint crack of bone. “Don’t be an idiot! The Kane heiress isn’t named Monroe!” I’d used my mother’s maiden name since I was a child. It was a detail few people outside our inner circle knew. Chloe snatched the card from Liam. “Did your dirt-farmer dad find this in a ditch? Or did you dig it out of your dead mother’s grave?” She accidentally woke my shattered phone screen. A picture of me and my father filled the display. The next second, her hand cracked across my face again. “Perfect. I was wondering what to get Miss Kane as a welcoming gift. It’s a well-known fact that Mr. Kane adores his daughter. If I kill his secret little mistress and present the body to the real Miss Kane, he’ll probably applaud.” She stared at the smile on my face in the photo, then gave Megan a look. “Go on. Carve out those cute little dimples for me.” The cold tines of a fork pierced my cheek. The pain was so intense I almost passed out. Liam started to intervene, then stopped himself. “Chloe’s doing this for your own good, Lily. If Miss Kane finds out about you, it’ll be much worse. I’m disappointed. I thought you were just a poser, but you’re just pathetic trash.” My mouth throbbed. Chloe smiled, satisfied. “Now you look like a proper clown.” She waved a hand. Her bodyguards swarmed me, lifted me up, and threw me into the nearby swimming pool. “Give her a good wash,” Chloe’s laughter echoed across the water. “When Miss Kane arrives, she can see for herself what kind of shameless bitch tries to crawl into her father’s bed!”

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To marry into the Levitan fortune, I fabricated my entire past. The day my lies were exposed, I sliced open my wrist. “If you divorce me,” I told Chris Levitan, my voice shaking, “I’ll die right here.” A cruel, mocking smile touched his lips. “You want the title of Mrs. Levitan that badly? Fine. You can have it. I hope you don’t live to regret it.” That move saved my marriage, but it made me the laughingstock of the city’s elite. From that day on, Chris treated me as if I were invisible. His affairs were constant tabloid fodder. He brought women home, brazenly, and once, he made me kneel outside his bedroom door while he was with one of them. “You’re so obsessed with status,” he’d sneered, his voice muffled through the wood. “You clawed your way into this family with cheap tricks. So now you’re going to watch and learn how a real woman pleases me.” That night, I knelt on the cold marble floor and listened to them, again and again. Later, he tossed a used condom at my face. “You truly are pathetic. You’d do anything to keep your title.” His voice was laced with contempt. “Now, I’m out. Go buy me more.” I did as he asked, even thoughtfully purchasing a variety of styles. This continued for five years. Until the day Chris walked in with a college girl on his arm and ordered me to dress her for a gala. That was when I calmly presented him with a set of divorce papers. “Let’s end this.” Five years. I had fulfilled my promise. It was time to leave. … “Claire, this is Tiffany. I’m taking her to the gala tonight. I need you to find her a gown.” Chris’s voice was clipped and dismissive. “And get my mother’s sapphire necklace. It’s a gift for Tiffany.” A cold knot formed in my stomach. The sapphire necklace was the most cherished piece of his late mother’s collection. Chris treasured it. Other women he’d been with had admired it, begged to even try it on, but he’d never allowed anyone to so much as touch it. And now he was giving it away to this girl. This one, he must truly adore. I stood frozen. Tiffany broke the silence. “Mr. Levitan,” she purred, looking me up and down, “is your maid always this slow? You gave her an order, and she hasn’t even moved.” I met her gaze. Her eyes danced with malice. She knew exactly who I was. This was a deliberate provocation. As expected, Chris’s face darkened. The back of his hand cracked across my cheek. “Do you have a problem with that? Look at yourself. What’s the difference between you and a maid? Now go get the jewelry. If you make me late, how exactly will you compensate me?” Tiffany gasped, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her expression a caricature of innocent shock. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea you were Mrs. Levitan. It’s just… your clothes… you look so much like the help.” I glanced down at my simple housedress and apron. She wasn’t wrong. Tiffany then shot a playful, chiding look at Chris. “Darling, you shouldn’t have done that. Making your wife work for me? I’m just your humble assistant.” She leaned in, tracing a finger along his lapel. “Look, you’ve bruised her cheek. Be careful, she might get angry with you.” Chris laughed as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Her? Get angry?” He sneered at me. “A woman who built her life on a mountain of lies? A woman who had to resort to threats and hysterics just to stay here? She has no pride. She does whatever I tell her to do.” His fingers, cold as ice, clamped onto my chin, forcing my head up. “Isn’t that right, Claire?” This time, however, I was going to disappoint him. I held out the papers I’d prepared long ago. My voice was even, devoid of emotion. “I want a divorce, Chris.” He stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing, his face a mask of derision. “After five years of playing the pathetic lapdog, you’ve realized that act doesn’t work on me? So you’re trying a new strategy?” He leaned closer, his voice a low threat. “Are you out of your mind, Claire? Trying to manipulate me with this? You’re playing with fire. You’ll just end up on your knees, begging me to take you back.” “Now, go get the gown and the necklace, and attend to Tiffany properly. If you do, I’ll pretend this little outburst never happened. Otherwise, you know I won’t be so forgiving.” I sighed. “I am serious, Chris. I want a divorce. This isn’t a game.” I pushed the papers toward him again. “Just sign them, and I’ll be gone.” Tiffany’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Oh, darling, she really is upset,” she whimpered, clinging to his arm. “Look how convincing she is.” “I shouldn’t go to the gala with you tonight. You should take your wife. Then maybe she’ll stop this little drama.” Chris’s face hardened. He slapped me again, harder this time. Then, right in front of me, he ripped the divorce papers to shreds and threw the pieces in my face. “So that’s what this is about. You want to go to the gala with me.” His eyes raked over me with disgust. “Have you looked in a mirror? Taking you to a black-tie event? Do you want to embarrass me even more than you already have?” “Claire, know your place. Someone like you belongs in this house, as a maid. Don’t you dare dream of anything more.” “I don’t want to go with you, I just…” “Enough!” he roared, cutting me off. “You’re caught in your own pathetic little scheme and you still won’t admit it. God, I’ve never met a woman as shameless as you.” “After the stunts you pulled to stay here, after five years of groveling, you expect me to believe you actually want a divorce? That’s hilarious.” He turned, wrapping a tender arm around Tiffany. “I’ll buy you a new gown, darling. The most beautiful one in the city. I only want you by my side tonight. As for everyone else,” he shot a venomous look at me, “they’re only fit to shine your shoes.” Tiffany buried her face in his shoulder, her voice a faux-shy whisper. “Don’t say that, Chris. You’ll break your wife’s heart.” He scoffed. “Like I care.” As they left, Tiffany glanced back at me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Levitan,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I’ll take very good care of your husband.” After they were gone, I shook my head and started packing. My phone rang. “Ms. Hayes? It’s Adrian Cole. We need to iron out a few final details on the collaboration we discussed. I’m at the grand ballroom at The Regis Hotel right now. Would you be able to meet me?” Adrian was a crucial business partner. I immediately dropped the suitcase. “Of course, Mr. Cole. I’m on my way.” When I arrived at the ballroom, dressed in haute couture, the first person I saw was Chris. His back was to me, his arm around Tiffany’s waist as he chatted with a group of friends. “Chris, you’ve got good taste this time,” one of them was saying. “How long are you planning to play with this one?” Chris leaned in and placed a tender kiss on Tiffany’s forehead. “Tiffany is the love of my life. She’s not like the others. I’m going to love her forever.” He shot his friends a warning look. “Don’t joke like that again, or you’ll regret it.” “So what about the ball and chain at home?” another friend asked. “She put up with your flings before because she knew they were just games. What do you think she’ll do when she finds out this one is serious? A woman that obsessed with you might do something crazy.” Chris’s tone was pure contempt. “What could that pathetic doormat possibly do? You all know the truth. As long as I let her stay, she’d kneel at our bedside and serve us if I asked her to.” “Haha, you’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Levitan. You don’t see that kind of devotion these days.” I had grown numb to words like these. I was about to turn and walk away when Chris turned around. For a split second, I panicked, bracing for a confrontation. But his eyes slid right past me, not a flicker of recognition in them. “Marcus, I’ve been waiting for you,” he said to one of the men. “You said you had a VIP you wanted me to meet.” I almost laughed. I looked down at my silk gown, the delicate jewelry, the professional makeup. Of course he didn’t recognize me. How could he possibly connect the glamorous woman standing before him with the drab, weary housekeeper he left at home? I walked away and found Adrian. We immediately dove into the details of our contract. “Ms. Hayes, I have the utmost respect for your talent,” Adrian said earnestly. “It’s a shame you’re unwilling to move abroad. We could be doing so much more together.” He sighed. “The international market desperately needs an expert with your deep knowledge of traditional silk brocade. With you leading the charge, Chinese artistry could become the next global luxury standard.” Adrian had invited me to expand internationally many times, to share the beauty of our craft with the world. I had always refused, tethered to my life with Chris. But my time was up. Now, I could finally chase my own dreams. “Actually, I’m planning to move abroad now,” I said, a new sense of resolve hardening my voice. “The beauty of our brocade needs to be understood not just by our own people, but by the world. I want to see it take its rightful place among the great luxury houses.” Adrian’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Are you serious? But you always said you wouldn’t leave the country.” “I had some unfinished business here,” I replied. “But it’s been settled. I’m ready to take our brand global.” “That’s fantastic! I…” Adrian was cut off by another voice. “Well, well, Adrian. I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Scheming with a beautiful woman, I see.” A cool look passed over Adrian’s face. “Marcus, this is Ms. Hayes, my esteemed business partner.” I recognized the man as one of the friends Chris had been talking to. Realizing his blunder, Marcus quickly apologized. “My apologies, Ms. Hayes. That was out of line.” Then he turned to Adrian. “Speaking of which, Chris Levitan has been dying to meet you. Since you’re both here, let me make the introduction.” Chris approached, his demeanor now humble and professional. “Mr. Cole, a pleasure. I’ve heard great things. I also heard you’re looking for a designer specializing in traditional textiles. Coincidentally, Tiffany here is a graduate of that very program. She has an exceptional portfolio I’d love for you to see. I’m sure a collaboration would be fruitful.” Tiffany feigned a gasp of delighted surprise. “You’re the Adrian Cole? I’ve admired your work for years. It would be the honor of a lifetime to collaborate with you.” I had to hand it to her; her audacity was something to behold. She’d already promoted herself to collaborator before he’d even spoken a word to her. Adrian, though usually affable, had a very sharp edge. A cold, dismissive smirk crossed his face. “Who are you? And are you an idiot? When did I ever say I wanted to work with you? Don’t embarrass yourself.” Tiffany’s face flushed crimson, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. Seeing his new love humiliated, Chris bristled. “Mr. Cole, that’s an incredibly rude way to speak to her. Tiffany is a top graduate from a prestigious university. She expressed her admiration, and you insult her? That’s completely unprofessional.” Adrian rolled his eyes. “And I need her admiration because…? Are you serious?” Seeing that Adrian was not going to back down, Chris was about to lose his temper when Tiffany stopped him. She bowed her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s my fault. I was presumptuous. I was just so excited to meet Mr. Cole. Please, blame me. Don’t let this affect your relationship with Mr. Levitan.” “I don’t care for cheap theatrics,” Adrian said, his voice like ice. “And besides, I already have a designer. Ms. Hayes.”

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The third year Benjamin and I were married to the Beaumont sisters, their old flame came back. At a family dinner, Benjamin’s wife, Stella, slapped him across the face for defending the guy. When I found him, half his face was swollen and his eyes were bloodshot. “Noah, I can’t take this anymore. She hit me—for him!” he choked out. “I want a divorce. What about you?” I thought of how Clarissa had grown colder and colder since Tristan Davenport returned, of all the nights she hadn’t come home. A bitter smile touched my lips. “If you’re leaving, I’m leaving. We’ll go together.” We planned our escape for weeks, and finally, we boarded a flight abroad, having told no one. But as I settled into my seat, I looked up and met the icy gaze of my wife, Clarissa Beaumont. We were dragged off the plane and locked in a dark room in the Beaumont estate to “reflect.” As I wracked my brain trying to figure out where our plan went wrong, Benjamin’s voice, small and weak, cut through the silence. “Sorry, Noah… I did it for your own good.” 1 I stared at my best friend, Benjamin Shaw, my mind blank. “What do you mean?” Benjamin was already afraid of the dark, and my flat, emotionless question was the final straw. He swallowed hard and finally confessed. “Just… don’t get mad, okay?” he whispered. “Clarissa runs the entire Beaumont corporation. She’s sharp as a damn razor. She knew we were up to something for ages! The day we left for the airport, I opened my door, suitcase in hand, and she was just… standing there. Waiting for me.” “You know how terrified I am of your wife, especially when she gets that look on her face. The second she started questioning me, I couldn’t even think of a lie. I just told her everything.” I never would have guessed. Our escape was foiled by a traitor in our midst. A firestorm of anger roared inside me, but one look at the genuine fear and apology written all over Benjamin’s face, and it fizzled out. I couldn’t stay mad at him. It was just… exhausting. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and forced my voice to soften. “Then why didn’t you tell me on the way to the airport? If we knew she was onto us, we could have canceled the plan, thrown her off the scent, and tried again later. Now she has us right where she wants us.” At the mention of that, Benjamin’s own anger flared. “It’s all Clarissa’s fault!” he seethed. “I thought, even if she stopped us, she’d only take you back. I never thought she’d care about me leaving! I’m not her husband!” …What a wonderfully simple way of thinking. That was the thing about my best friend. He had a heart of gold, but sometimes his logic was so simple it bordered on idiotic. The Beaumont sisters had lost their mother young. Clarissa, as the eldest, had practically raised Stella. Of course she wouldn’t let him just walk away, not after he made such a scene at dinner a few days ago. If he disappeared right after that, what would people say? I sighed and closed my eyes, hiding my fatigue. I had put so much work into planning this escape. Benjamin watched my face, not daring to speak. Then, he threw an arm around my shoulders. “Noah, don’t be mad, please? I was thinking of you, I swear. Before I told her, I thought about it. Clarissa’s always been good to you, hasn’t she? Gives you anything you want. If you really left with me, we’d have to struggle for a long, long time. I couldn’t stand to see you suffer. I figured… if you stayed with her, at least you’d be safe.” He paused, his expression turning bitter. “Besides… Stella definitely doesn’t want me anymore. I’m sure Clarissa told her our plan the second she knew. And look—Stella didn’t even try to stop me. She didn’t care that I was leaving. It doesn’t matter if you run or not, but for me… it’s real. She doesn’t love me anymore.” Seeing his pain, the last of my anger evaporated. I pulled him into a hug, about to offer some comfort when the door to the room was kicked open. Stella stood in the doorway, her face a thundercloud. “Benjamin Shaw, you’ve really grown a backbone, haven’t you?” she sneered. “A man who gets lost five blocks from his own house dares to run away from home? Who gave you the nerve? So I slapped you. We’ve fought plenty of times growing up. Is it really that big of a deal?” 2 They were childhood sweethearts, and their fights always devolved into dredging up the past. Sure enough, Benjamin shot to his feet, incensed. “You think what happened then is the same as what happened the other night? We were kids! That was just messing around!” Stella’s eye twitched. She crossed her arms, her expression flat. “Right. Messing around. When we were nine, you pulled my chair out from under me as I stood up to answer a question in class. I hit my head on the desk behind me and got a concussion. When we were thirteen, you tied my shoelaces together while I was asleep. I fell, broke my leg, and spent New Year’s in the hospital. If all of that was just ‘messing around’ in your eyes, then after all these years, a single slap seems pretty damn fair, don’t you think?” This kind of bickering was their normal. Watching them, I felt an unexpected pang of envy. Benjamin was speechless, his face turning cold as he struggled to catch his breath. “No matter what, you hit me for another man,” he said, his voice low and hard. “I will remember that, Stella. Even if I can’t leave today, this marriage is over.” Anyone who knew him understood: as long as he was yelling and fighting, it wasn’t serious. But when he went quiet, when he lost the energy to argue… that’s when you knew his heart was truly broken. Stella realized the gravity of the situation. She knew she couldn’t talk him down easily. Her expression finally turned serious. She sighed and turned to me. “Noah, don’t just stand there watching the show. You’re the one who really needs to think about what you’ve done. Benjamin and I have our issues to sort out, but my sister has respected you for the three years you’ve been married. She’s given you all the dignity a husband in our world could ask for. You shouldn’t have gotten involved in his drama.” Benjamin blinked, now looking at me too. “Yeah, Noah, I never asked. Why did you want to leave with me? I always thought Clarissa treated you with respect. She never embarrassed you in public, always gave you your space. Not like me…” He shot a glare at Stella and huffed. “I had no choice but to leave!” I flinched and looked down, a bitter smile on my face. Yes. Respect. Everyone could see it, even someone as dense as Benjamin. Clarissa had only ever shown me respect. I used to think that for someone as cold as her, respect and dignity were all she had to give. But after Tristan Davenport came back, I learned that she was capable of love, too. 3 Unlike Benjamin and Stella, who had grown up together, Clarissa and I were nothing more than a business arrangement. At first, I told myself her detached personality was a result of running the Beaumont empire for so long. That, combined with a loveless arranged marriage, made her coolness toward me seem normal. But three years in, I often wondered if it was more than just coolness. It was an almost complete absence. We were husband and wife, but aside from obligatory family dinners and polite morning and evening greetings, we barely spoke. If I ever tried to show a little more concern, she would shut me down. “I don’t like needy men.” “Don’t do unnecessary things.” If it weren’t for her father pressuring us for an heir, I doubt we would have been intimate more than five times a month. And even then, it was like she was completing a task assigned by her elders. The moment it was over, she would pull away without a trace of lingering affection and head for the shower. I never felt an ounce of passion from her. If Benjamin hadn’t been there, living in the same house, I think the loneliness would have driven me mad. I knew she wouldn’t change for me, so I tried to change for her, forcing myself to accept her coldness. Until Tristan came back. I watched her face carefully the day she got his call. Longing, joy, resentment, stubbornness. It was the first time I had ever seen such a complex storm of emotion on Clarissa’s eternally frosty face. And in that moment, I knew how wrong I had been. The day Tristan returned was my birthday. I had swallowed my pride and begged her for days to spend it with me, to act like a normal couple in love—a walk, a movie, a candlelit dinner. But after that call, she didn’t even glance at me again. As she rushed out the door, she threw a careless line over her shoulder. “Something urgent came up at the office. I’ll take you out when I get back.” I clung to that promise. I put on my best suit and waited. And waited. I knew that Clarissa never broke a promise. But I sat there, watching the sun climb high in the sky and then sink below the horizon, and my heart sank with it, piece by piece, into a dark abyss. At three in the morning, I stared at the long list of rejected calls on my phone and dialed her number one more time. This is your last chance, Clarissa, I thought. One more rejection, and I’m done. But this time, the call connected. I froze, a thousand emotions rushing to my lips, leaving me speechless. Before I could say a word, I heard it from the other end of the line. A soft, intimate gasp. Then another, more heated and intense. And finally, her voice, a breathy, tender whisper I had never heard before. “Kiss me.” It was nothing like she was with me. She didn’t have to say another word. I understood everything. And my heart turned to ash. She wasn’t a frozen lake, after all. She just wouldn’t create waves for me. … After I finished my story, Benjamin’s eyes were red. “Noah, why didn’t you ever tell me any of this? I had no idea you were going through so much. If I had known, I swear, even if Clarissa had skinned me alive today, I wouldn’t have told her our plan!” Stella listened in silence, then hesitated. “Noah, my sister, she…” Benjamin cut her off, his voice raw. “Get out! Both of you sisters are cut from the same rotten cloth!” He shoved Stella out of the room. Turning back, he saw the lingering bitterness on my face and pulled me into another tight hug. “We’re a real pair, you and me. Brothers in misery.” I let out a quiet sigh. If this marriage was a mistake, then it was time to cut my losses. I forced myself to rally, managing a weak smile. “It’s okay. We’ll get another chance. This time we failed, so we’ll just try again. But next time,” I warned, “you are not allowed to sell me out.” 4 At dinner, Benjamin and I were finally released. A number of Beaumont family elders were present, and to my surprise, so was Tristan. Of all the younger generation present, I was, by birthright, the least qualified to marry Clarissa. Our marriage was a formality, a way for the Beaumonts to repay a debt to my family, the Vances, for helping them in their early days. It was less a merger and more a favor, a way to elevate my family’s standing. Because of this, my father-in-law, Marcus Beaumont, held me in the lowest regard. He’d heard about our escape attempt. With Benjamin, he was merely patronizing, a few light scoldings. But when his gaze fell on me, his entire demeanor shifted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Benjamin was genuinely hurt, so a little tantrum is understandable. But you, Noah Vance, as the eldest son-in-law, you should have been talking sense into him, not joining in on the foolishness. Utterly classless. Can’t you use your brain? It’s a disgrace.” I wasn’t being foolish. And since everyone was here, it was the perfect time to clear the air. I shot a cool glance at Tristan and was about to speak. But he beat me to it, his voice smooth and warm. “Marcus, please don’t be angry. I bear some of the blame for this misunderstanding. I came today specifically to explain. The day I returned, I accidentally answered a call on Clarissa’s phone from an unsaved number. The person on the other end hung up without saying a word. Thinking back, it must have been Noah. I imagine he must have gotten the wrong idea, which led to all this.” He smiled gently, but his eyes held a glint of challenge. I forced the corner of my mouth up. “So?” I said, my face a mask. “What’s your explanation? What were the two of you doing that day?” He chuckled, feigning innocence. “I had just gotten back to the country. I missed Clarissa terribly, so we were just… catching up.” Catching up? Was that what he called a conversation that consisted of nothing but breathless gasps? I let out a cold laugh, ready to expose the truth. But Clarissa finally had enough. “If you’re going to cause a scene, you can leave,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. She wasn’t looking at anyone, as if warning the entire table. But I could feel her gaze on me from the corner of her eye. She was warning me. But I had been perfectly composed since I sat down, having said only one thing. Who was really causing the scene here? A bitter pill lodged in my throat. It took all my strength to keep the tears from falling. Benjamin saw my distress and secretly squeezed my hand under the table. “Say the word,” he whispered. “You start the fight, I’ll jump in. We married sisters for a reason, right? So we could have a united front against unreasonable in-laws and useless wives. I’m still scared of Clarissa, but for you, I’ll fight.” I managed a weak, sad smile and shook my head. Let it go. I had no hope for this family anymore. Clarissa’s outburst silenced the table for a moment. But it wasn’t long before Marcus started up again. “Some people just have no class,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I always preferred Tristan, to be honest. But my late wife insisted on repaying your family’s kindness. What could I do? I’m sure if Tristan had married one of my daughters, he wouldn’t be throwing a fit over some baseless rumor. He wouldn’t cause such an embarrassing spectacle.” He fixed his glare on me. “Noah, since you married up, you need to learn your place. In our world, a woman can’t be expected to have only one man in her life. Whether it’s true or not, you have to be tolerant. Do you understand? You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” His tone was so condescending, as if my marriage to Clarissa was an act of his charity. Benjamin, with his famously short fuse, had been simmering for a while. The screech of his chair scraping back was loud in the silence as he shot to his feet. But before he could say a word, Stella and I grabbed his wrists from either side, holding him down. I shook my head, too tired to even smile. There was no point in arguing. If I still held any hope for this family, for Clarissa, maybe I would have fought back. But my mind was already made up. I was leaving. Fighting with them now was utterly meaningless. 5 After dinner, Clarissa and I returned to our room. Since Tristan’s return, she had started staying out all night. Soon, it became days at a time. We were husband and wife, but thinking back, aside from being caught at the airport today, we hadn’t seen each other in nearly two weeks. Now, being alone with her in the same room felt suffocatingly strange and awkward. I couldn’t stand the oppressive atmosphere. I silently tried to walk past her to the bathroom. But she grabbed my arm, her voice heavy. “In the Beaumont family, we don’t divorce. We have widows. Now that we’re married, it’s for life. You can’t run away. I don’t want this to happen again. Do you understand?” Her grip was painfully tight, as if she was truly afraid I would flee again, as if she could physically restrain me from leaving. But on what grounds? No divorce, only widows. It should have been a vow of loyalty, but between us, loyalty had only ever been a shackle for me. When had that word ever constrained her? A sarcastic smile twisted my lips. “In that case, if I insist on a divorce, would you die for me?” She frowned, not answering my question. “You know that’s not what I meant. Tristan and I are in the past…” “Enough!” I cut her off, my face cold. “I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t care about your past. Let’s… let’s just go back to how things were before.” Without another look at her, I escaped into the bathroom. The warm water sluicing over my body brought a sliver of clarity to my mind. Her words had given me an idea. Simply running away would always leave loose ends. But death… death was final. If the only way out was to be a widower, then I would die for her. 6 The next day, the Beaumont sisters left for their respective businesses, and Benjamin and I finally had a chance to talk. When he heard about the “no divorce, only widows” rule, he exploded. “Are the Beaumonts all brain-dead? What century is this? How can they have such a backward, idiotic rule? What did all the men who married into this family do when their marriages fell apart? Did they all jump off a building?” “No way, I can’t accept that. The only way I’m leaving Stella is if we have a duel to the death on the interstate!” I thought for a moment, then said quietly, “Actually… that’s not a bad idea.” Benjamin froze, grabbing my shoulders. “Noah, don’t! Get a grip! Don’t throw your life away for a marriage that isn’t worth it!” I sighed, half-amused, and steadied him. “What are you talking about? I meant, if divorce and running away won’t work, we can fake our deaths to get out.” “But jumping off a building is too risky and hard to fake. How about the ocean? We’re both strong swimmers.” The moment he realized there was a way out, Benjamin’s eyes lit up. “The ocean is boring! If we’re going to do this, let’s go big! Let’s blow up this damn mansion! What do you think?” I blinked. “What?” He looked around the sprawling villa, a mix of nostalgia and hatred in his eyes. “This house is old. It’s filled with memories of me and Stella growing up. That’s the only reason we didn’t buy a new place when we got married. But now… I hate these memories. I don’t want to take them with me, and I sure as hell don’t want to leave them for her. So, let’s just burn it all down.” I hadn’t realized how much he had come to resent Stella because of her old flame. I wasn’t part of their childhood, so I didn’t know the history between the three of them. But it must have been painful. He didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t need to ask. I pushed aside my stray thoughts and considered his idea. It wasn’t bad. An explosion would take care of the problem of needing bodies. I refined the plan, then looked at him seriously. “I’ve confirmed it. Clarissa is leaving for a business trip tonight and will be gone for at least a week. The day after tomorrow, Stella is going to a friend’s birthday party in the countryside and won’t be home that night. That’s our only chance.” “I’ll find a way to send all the staff out so no one gets hurt. The only thing I’m worried about is you. This time, you can’t make any mistakes. Understood?” Benjamin gripped my hands, his expression just as solemn. “Deal.”

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The year my foster mother beat me half to death was the same year I found out I was the “real” daughter, switched at birth on purpose. After a whirlwind transition back to the wealthy Sterling family, I instinctively chose the smallest, shabbiest room in the mansion. My biological mom immediately stopped me. “Why are you going into the maid’s quarters? Your room is upstairs.” My brother walked towards me with his hand extended. Conditioned by habit, I lowered my head and meekly handed over my monthly allowance. His eyes widened in shock. “I’m your brother! I was reaching out to bandage your wounds, not take your money!” Then came Chloe, the girl who took my place. She walked towards me with a tear-streaked face. I braced myself, turning my left cheek like they do in the dramas, ready for the slap. I expected a stinging pain. Instead, I got a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, big sis. Can you please not hate me?” 1 The scenery outside the car window blurred past. The woman sitting next to me held my hand, her grip slightly nervous. Maybe my expression was too numb, because she kept throwing out topic after topic. “Do you like Barbies, Ava? Mom will buy you a bunch, you can pick whatever you want.” “How are your grades? Is there anything you’re particularly interested in? Mom can sign you up for some classes.” “Oh, I’m talking too much. How about you decide what we eat for lunch, Ava? We can have the chef make it, or Mom can cook. My specialty is steamed egg custard, I just don’t know if you like it.” She gave me an awkward smile. Her hands were well-maintained, soft and fair, not looking at all like the hands of a forty-year-old woman. I lowered my head and whispered, “Whatever is fine.” My foster mother used to say my voice sounded like a rooster crowing—annoying as hell. Every time she saw me, she got irritated. Since then, I tried not to speak unless absolutely necessary. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d scare this new mom, and she’d send me back. After all, she didn’t raise me. She might find me repulsive. 2 The day my mom found me, my foster mother had gotten into a huge fight with my drunk foster father. She took all her anger out on me. A wooden stick as thick as a thumb—she said she’d break it on me, and she did. I didn’t have a single patch of unbruised skin left. beaten to within an inch of my life, I was suddenly pulled into a warm embrace. Hot tears fell on my face. In my daze, I thought I had gone to heaven. I didn’t want to die, but heaven seemed okay. There was a woman with a gentle voice guiding me. Life there probably wouldn’t be too hard. At least, it couldn’t be harder than this. “My daughter… I finally found you. My poor baby.” I was sent to the hospital and recovered for a month before my mom took me home. My dad is the CEO of a publicly traded company, my mom owns an art gallery. I have a brother in his junior year of high school, and a sister in the same grade as me—freshman year. A sister with zero blood relation to me. We live in a villa, with countless luxury cars, a housekeeper, and bodyguards. After entering the house, Mom went to the kitchen to check on lunch. She told me to pick a room first. “You can have whichever one you want.” I pursed my lips and carefully walked around the first floor. Even the bathroom was bigger, brighter, and cleaner than the entire house I used to live in. I picked the only room that seemed “small and shabby” compared to the others, though it was actually spacious, bright, and had AC, a washer, and an ensuite bathroom. In my old life, I wouldn’t have dared to dream of this. Just having a bed was a luxury. I figured this one would do. I shouldn’t be greedy as the newcomer. Not sleeping in the security booth was already a win. I started walking towards that room. Mom poked her head out of the kitchen and saw me. She immediately called out, “Ava, why are you going into the maid’s room? That’s for the housekeeper! Your room is upstairs!” 3 I sighed softly. I knew I didn’t have that kind of luck. The upstairs room must be cramped, dark, damp, and stuffy. Walking up the carved wooden staircase, I was dazzled by the exquisite paintings on the walls. I didn’t dare touch anything, not even a corner. I was terrified Mom would make me pay for it. Even if I sold my worthless life, I couldn’t afford it. When I got to the second floor, I was dumbfounded. Every room was twice the size of the ones downstairs. The luxury was jaw-dropping. Just as I was debating whether to sleep on the stairs or in the small storage closet at the end of the hall, a boy with striking eyebrows and bright eyes put his hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at him. He looked about 50% like me. He had a sunny smile on his face and a backpack over one shoulder, looking like a high schooler who just got home. “You must be Ava. I’m your brother, Liam.” He looked apologetic. “Sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital earlier. I was at a training camp, and the coach wouldn’t let me leave. I just got back.” “You’ve suffered all these years. As your brother, it’s my fault for not protecting you back then. If I had been a bit older, you wouldn’t have been taken.” His eyes were filled with pain. I couldn’t help but comfort him, “It’s okay. I’m fine now.” It wasn’t their fault. Liam looked up. “You were picking a room, right? Why don’t you take the one next to mine? Easier for me to look out for you.” I wanted to refuse, but he didn’t give me a chance. So, half-pushed, half-led, I chose the room next to his. Liam left for a second and came back holding a small box. He sat down in my room and extended his hand towards me. “Come here.” Right. Every time my foster brother, Tyler, needed money, he would sweet-talk me before extending his hand. This meant he wanted money. I dug out an envelope from my pocket. It was the allowance Mom had just stuffed in there. It wasn’t even warm yet. I was self-aware. I meekly handed over my living expenses. It wasn’t my money anyway. I had no attachment to it. Just like the twenty bucks I earned collecting bottles—I handed that over too. Liam’s eyebrows knitted together in displeasure. He looked at me, then at the envelope. Was he dissatisfied with the amount? Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock. “I’m your brother! I was reaching out to bandage your wound, not take your money!” He pulled my sleeve, looking anxious and angry. He took out a cotton swab, dipped it in iodine, lifted my hair, and gently applied it to the wound, even blowing on it softly. “This cut hasn’t healed properly. Wait a sec, I’ll put a band-aid on it. Your hair must have been covering it; Mom didn’t even notice.” “If anyone hits you in the future, you hit them back. I’ll take the consequences. If I can’t handle it, Mom and Dad will. You’re my biological sister; you can’t just let people bully you for nothing, understand?” I nodded blankly. He stuffed the envelope back into my hand. He seemed satisfied. “Although no one would dare bully you with me around, there might be times when I’m not there. How about this? I’ll sign you up for a kickboxing class.” He looked at me with burning intensity. I actually laughed. “Sure, why not.” Liam muttered helplessly, “Finally heard you speak. I almost thought you were mute.” Just then, Mom called from downstairs, “Dinner’s ready!” 4 I walked down the stairs stiffly, my feet feeling like I was walking on cotton. I was afraid if I stepped too hard, I’d wake up and realize this was all a dream. I was starting to get attached to this dream. The dining table was filled with over a dozen dishes. It was a grand affair. Mom and Liam kept piling food into my bowl until it was overflowing. “I peeled the shrimp for you, eat it while it’s hot.” “This abalone is really fresh, try a bite.” “This carp soup is the housekeeper’s specialty. Mom will get you a small bowl. Careful, it’s hot. Drink it when it cools down.” I took a cautious sip. Just then, Dad walked in holding my sister’s hand. Even though he was the CEO of a listed company, he was carrying her small backpack himself. My sister was cute, looking like a delicate doll. She had pigtails and a bunch of clips in her hair, looking like a princess living in a fairytale castle. Seeing me, she timidly called out, “Sister?” I bit my lip. Was my dream going to shatter this quickly? Mom had apologized to me before: “I’m sorry, Ava. We discussed it for a long time, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to send Chloe back. After all, we raised her for 15 years.” “If she went back, the drop in lifestyle would be too huge. She wouldn’t be able to handle it, and it would break our hearts.” “Even though there’s no blood relation, in our eyes, she’s been our daughter for a long time.” “I know you suffered and went through hell, but it wasn’t her fault. Chloe cried so many times, saying she didn’t mean for this to happen, that she’ll make it up to you and earn your forgiveness. Please let her stay, okay?” “I promise, even if I’m biased, I’ll be biased towards you.” Facing Mom’s pleading eyes, I couldn’t refuse. I had no right to refuse. After all, to this family of four, I was the real “outsider.” Whenever I dreamed of things I didn’t deserve, my foster mother would curse me out and slap me. “You stupid little wretch! Look in the mirror at your ugly face! Do you deserve anything? Pfft!” “Let me tell you, rotten melons don’t produce good seeds. You’re delusional! A toad wanting to eat swan meat! You just don’t have the destiny for it!” Back then, I was hung up and beaten for a whole day. And the reason? I saw other classmates eating lollipops and begged my foster mom to buy me one. That lollipop was on special at a new store. It cost ten cents. I lowered my head and stopped drinking the soup. I was waiting. Waiting for Chloe to throw herself into Mom and Dad’s arms and cry, asking why they brought me back. Waiting for Mom and Dad to make me apologize, scolding me for making their daughter unhappy. Waiting for my brother to heartache for Chloe and cut ties with me. “Get out! You’re not my sister! I hate you!” It was so strange. I had only been with them for a short time. Why did imagining these scenes feel like a knife twisting in my heart? Clearly, this was normal. I had always been the child who wasn’t favored. Why did it hurt so much? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe walking towards me with a mournful face. Sigh. Isn’t that how it goes in TV dramas? I accepted my fate. I closed my eyes and offered my left cheek. My right cheek was still swollen from my foster mom’s beating. If she hit the left one, at least I’d be symmetrical. I waited for a long time. I expected a burning pain. Instead, a pair of soft, warm lips pressed against my left cheek. Not only did I not get hit, I got a kiss. I opened my eyes in surprise. Chloe threw herself into my arms. She was wailing, her small arms wrapped around my waist, melting like a little snowman. “I’m sorry, big sis! Can you please not hate me?” “I really don’t want to leave this home. Please don’t kick me out, okay? I didn’t mean to take your place.” “I won’t acknowledge my biological parents, never in this life. I only acknowledge you as my sister. Good sister, can you please like me in the future? I promise I’ll be good!” She… she wasn’t following the script? Was it my imagination? They seemed… actually welcoming? Even Dad, who had been stoic the whole time, had tears in the corners of his eyes. No, no, no. This must be their disguise. My foster mom said I was the worst child in the world and no one would like me. Yes, that must be it.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386523”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel