Category: English

The day before my brother’s wedding, I was picking out a dress when Liam suddenly lost his temper. “I told you, she likes the fuchsia one. Why do you always have to steal her spotlight?” At first, I thought he was just worried I’d be overdressed for the ceremony. A little too much, a little too soon. But then he added, “Isabelle only gets one wedding day. She’s already miserable enough that she can’t marry the man she loves. Can’t you just let her have this?” A silence stretched between us. I didn’t ask Liam how he knew, better than I did, who exactly his brother’s fiancée was in love with. Instead, I picked up my phone and video-called my brother. 1 My brother, Ethan, was with Isabelle for her final fitting. He was dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, his eyes crinkling with a smile that was pure, unfiltered joy. “Audrey,” he said, his voice beaming through the phone. “Your sister-in-law wants you and Liam to come over for dinner later.” Liam’s profile slid into the frame beside me. Without even glancing my way for an opinion, he agreed for both of us. Strange. He usually hated going to my parents’ house. The camera on Ethan’s phone flipped. Isabelle burst out of the dressing room in a cloud of white tulle, tiptoeing as she threw herself into my brother’s arms. “Ethan, how do I look?” At the exact same moment Ethan answered, a voice behind me, barely a whisper, murmured its own reply. I heard it. “I’ve always known. She’s never more beautiful than when she’s trying to seduce someone.” I turned my head. Liam’s face was a calm mask, tinged with a familiar shade of weary resignation. For a second, I thought I might have imagined it. He leaned in close, his mouth near my ear, a gesture of intimacy that felt like a lie. “Hey,” he whispered, his tone soft and placating. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Are you still mad?” He shifted, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me how to make it up to you, Audrey. Whatever you want. You know I’ll do it.” I thought of all the ways he had of “making it up to me,” each one more inventive than the last. We were still on a video call with my brother. A blush crept up my neck. I turned away from him, and my eyes met Isabelle’s across the screen. They were sharp with something that looked like jealousy. It was gone in a flash. She replaced it with a bright, brittle smile. “Audrey, you and your boyfriend seem so close. Are you two getting married soon?” Ethan, still fussing over the lace on Isabelle’s train, didn’t even look up. “Liam’s been plotting to marry my sister since the day they graduated. Audrey’s the one who wants to play the field a few more years.” My hand holding the phone tightened. I’d never really thought about it before. Why was it that Liam was the one who wasn’t ready for marriage, yet he always insisted I tell everyone it was my idea? His reason at the time was that he didn’t want my parents to get the wrong impression, to think he wasn’t serious about me. Now, that excuse felt flimsy, almost transparent. A stylist led Ethan away to change. I picked up the fuchsia dress I’d chosen earlier. Before I could say a word, my future sister-in-law’s eyes welled with tears. Her gaze drifted past me, landing on Liam standing just behind my shoulder. “Audrey, could you… could you let me have that dress?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Someone once promised to buy me the perfect dress, one that was just for me. But… someone else got it instead.” The hand on my shoulder tightened, its pressure unconscious and absolute. This time, I knew I wasn’t imagining it. “Give it to her,” Liam said. 2 After saying that, Liam announced he had an urgent work matter and left in a hurry. He was in such a rush, he didn’t even notice he’d put on one of his loafers with one of my house slippers. This wasn’t normal. After a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and drove to his office building downtown. I hadn’t even made it to the elevator bank when the receptionist told me Liam had taken the afternoon off. His assistant had just called it in. My hand, hanging by my side, started to tremble. A wild, terrifying thought clawed its way into my mind, and the blood drained from my face. I took several deep, shaky breaths before my legs felt strong enough to carry me to the underground parking garage. It was the middle of the workday, and the garage was cool and silent. And then I heard it. A series of low, ragged breaths that cut through the quiet. “Do you have to marry him? He’s Audrey’s brother!” A man had a woman pinned against a concrete pillar, his hand tight around her neck, their bodies pressed so close they seemed to merge into one shadow. She was still smiling. “What’s wrong, Liam? Jealous? You’re the one who threw me away. It doesn’t matter who I’m with now. You don’t get a say anymore.” Isabelle’s taunts only made the storm in Liam’s eyes darken. He silenced her, his mouth crashing down on hers with pinpoint precision. The ragged breathing grew louder. The only other sounds in the vast, empty garage were my own, a choked sob I tried to swallow as I clapped a hand over my mouth. Liam was cheating on me. With Isabelle. My brother’s fiancée. How was I supposed to accept this? I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen, before the sounds stopped. When I looked again, Liam still hadn’t let her go. His voice, when he spoke, was softer than before, almost gentle. “Isabelle, I never said you couldn’t get married. But it can’t be him. It can’t be Audrey’s brother. Come on, break it off. I can set you up with someone better.” Isabelle’s eyes were red-rimmed, her body language a study in bruised pride. “Audrey is the love of your life. Even after I spent three years as your secret, you dropped me for her without a second thought. You made your choice. Stay out of mine.” Liam was not a patient man. I was the only person he ever let shout at him, the only one who could get away with sarcasm and moods. But now, it seemed Isabelle had been granted the same privilege. I watched him. He lowered his head, silent for a long moment, as if weighing an impossible decision. It wasn’t that complicated. It was her, or it was me. The moment I knew he had betrayed me, it was already over between us. But his hesitation, right here, right now—it still sent a sliver of ice through my heart. My car keys slipped from my numb fingers and clattered onto the concrete floor. I stood there, staring. And met Liam’s eyes as they snapped toward me, suddenly cold and sharp. In the next second, he shoved Isabelle away from him, his face a mask of panic I had never seen before. I snatched my keys from the ground and ran. 3 I cried the whole way. Tears streamed down my face, blurring the traffic into streaks of light. In my rearview mirror, Liam’s black Mercedes was a relentless shadow, chasing me through the city. Was he that afraid I would expose them? He was right to be. I was going to tell everyone. I was going to tell my brother. I was going to tell him he couldn’t marry Isabelle, that she didn’t love him, that we had all been played for fools. I screeched to a halt in front of the bridal shop. Inside, Ethan was still trying on tuxedos, his face glowing with a naive, unshakeable happiness. He looked startled when he saw my tear-streaked face. I opened my mouth to speak, but his phone rang. It was Isabelle. I don’t know what she said, but when he looked back at me, his expression had shifted. It was questioning, suspicious. “Audrey,” he said slowly. “Are you about to tell me that there’s something going on between Isabelle and Liam?” I didn’t have time to think. I just nodded frantically, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “Yes, Ethan! Liam’s cheating on me. Isabelle has been his secret mistress for three years. She only got close to you to get back at him.” My mind started to clear. From their conversation in the garage, I could tell. Isabelle wasn’t over Liam. And Liam… Liam was far from over her. But my brother’s reaction was not what I expected. His face remained calm, his eyes fixed on me. A terrible premonition began to form in my stomach. Just then, Liam strode into the shop, pulling Isabelle along with him. “Ethan,” Liam said, his voice smooth and reasonable. “I’m sure Miss Lin has explained everything. Audrey and I had a little argument. I happened to run into Miss Lin on my way to the office, and we were just saying hello when Audrey jumped to conclusions.” He spread his hands wide in a gesture of utter helplessness, as if I were a hysterical child. I understood immediately. He was betting on the fact that I had no proof. He was lying, twisting the truth to protect her. Isabelle pushed past me to stand in front of Ethan. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. “Ethan, I know I’m not good enough for you, and that’s why your sister doesn’t like me. But she can’t just throw accusations like this at me… saying that I… that I’m with her boyfriend. Does she really think I’m that cheap, that shameless?” Her voice broke. “Maybe we should just call off the wedding. This is too much. I can’t take it!” She shot a frightened glance at me, shrinking back as if I might strike her. Seeing Isabelle so fragile and distraught, Ethan’s heart melted. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a protective embrace. Then he raised his hand. Before I could process what was happening, a sharp, stinging slap echoed through the quiet showroom. “Audrey,” he said, his voice cold as steel. “If you ever say another bad word about Isabelle, I will forget I have a sister. This is your only warning.” I was stunned. My parents had never, not once in my entire life, laid a finger on me. But my brother had just hit me. Faster than my shock, however, was Liam’s fist. It shot out, connecting squarely with Ethan’s nose. “Who the hell do you think you are,” Liam snarled, his voice a low growl, “putting your hands on the girl I’ve spent years cherishing?” A raw fury erupted from him, and he and Ethan became a tangle of limbs and curses. It ended with Ethan on the floor, hands raised in surrender. He mumbled an apology in my direction, his words thick with resentment. 4 Liam dragged me out to the car. He moved with a grim efficiency, not looking at me once after we got in. I stared out my own window, a silent, vibrating wall of anger between us. He drove until the city lights faded, pulling over on a deserted stretch of road on the outskirts of town. I thought… I hoped… I would finally get an explanation. Even a lie would have been something. Instead, he said, “Audrey, Isabelle is a good person. I’m not going to let this wedding happen, but not like this. Not by destroying her reputation.” He turned away, a flicker of discomfort on his face, and rolled down the window. He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. I knew his every tell, every gesture, after all our years together. So, he could feel guilt after all. What was I supposed to say? Scream at him? Hit him? Join forces with him to stop my brother’s wedding? If none of this had happened, maybe I would have swallowed my pride, done whatever it took to protect Ethan. But now… I didn’t want to. “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “We’re done.” I would stop this wedding. But I would do it my way. The hand holding the cigarette shook. The burning tip fell from his fingers onto his crisp white shirt, instantly searing a small, dark hole. I had rarely seen him so undone. He turned back to me, a look of genuine helplessness on his face. “So what do I have to do? Tell me what to do to make you forgive me.” Some things can’t be forgiven. For me, betrayal was the line. There was no coming back from it. I held his gaze, letting my contempt show. He looked down, and in a soft, pathetic voice, he told me everything. “I met Isabelle during the first big fight we ever had. She was… gentle. Kind. She had a way of calming me down. She was like a drug, Audrey. I got addicted. But I was never in love with her. I swear. The only reason I ended it for good was because she started pressuring me to break up with you.” My nails, already short, dug into my palms. I didn’t feel the pain. What he was saying was… if Isabelle had been content to be the other woman, to stay in the shadows forever… would he have kept her a secret from me for the rest of our lives? The thought arrived like a punch to the gut, turning every beautiful memory we ever shared into a sick joke. I opened the car door. “Liam, I will never forgive you. And I won’t let Isabelle get away with this.” Since she was so prepared to be a homewrecker, she should be prepared for the consequences. Liam’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “So you’re still going after her?” So, he was still going to protect her. That day, Liam left me there. He drove away alone. I was on a deserted road, and the sky was growing dark. He never came back for me. 5 It was almost eleven at night when I finally made it back to my parents’ house. Ethan wasn’t there. I collapsed into my mother’s arms, my body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear me apart from the inside out. My parents were terrified. They wanted to call Ethan, to demand he come home. “No!” I pulled back, my hand instinctively going to my right cheek, which was already swollen and throbbing. The pain from my brother’s hand hurt far more than Liam’s betrayal. My own brother. He had believed Isabelle, a woman he’d known for less than two months, over me. When the tears finally stopped, I told them everything that had happened. My father, in a silent rage, swept an expensive porcelain tea set off the coffee table, shattering it against the floor. He immediately got on the phone and called the wedding planner. The wedding tomorrow was canceled. The news reached Ethan quickly. After settling Isabelle and her family, he stormed into the house. I was waiting for him, sitting on the sofa between our parents. The moment he saw me, he raised his hand again, his face twisted with fury. But before he could move, my father, his face a thundercloud, kicked him hard in the stomach. “Ethan! Have you lost your mind? Raising a hand to your own sister? Is that how I raised you?” Ethan had just finished calming Isabelle down after the call from the planners, only to have her start crying again, threatening to take her family and leave that night. He had spent hours apologizing and placating them. He truly hated me. Even with my mother shielding me, I could feel the daggers in his eyes. “Audrey, what did Isabelle ever do to you? Why are you so determined to destroy her?” He glared at me, his resentment deepening. “Oh, I get it. This isn’t about her. It’s about me. You’ve always had to compete with me, haven’t you? Always had to get a perfect score on every test just to make my ninety-eight look bad. You wanted everyone to think I was less than you. You wanted to steal Mom and Dad’s company right out from under me.” When you’ve been hurt enough, nothing really surprises you anymore. Two slaps echoed in the room as both my parents struck him across the face. He stumbled back, laughing a hollow, bitter laugh. “It’s because I’m the son, right? Not the daughter. So you always take her side. It was like that when we were kids, and it’s like that now. I’ve known for years.” He wiped his eyes and stared at us, his gaze hard. “Isabelle is the only woman I have ever loved, and I am marrying her tomorrow. If you want to keep me as your son, you won’t stand in my way.” After he left, my parents sat in silence for a long time. The truth is, they weren’t just taking my word for it. I had shown them the video from the parking garage. 6 My entire life, I was taught to be prepared, to always have proof. Especially for something like this. Something dirty. Something that belonged in the dark. I had intended to show the video to Ethan. But after he took Isabelle’s call, after he refused to even give me a chance to speak, I changed my mind. Let the fool wear his crown of thorns. Let Isabelle play him for everything he was worth. But then I thought of her becoming my sister-in-law. Of her enjoying everything our family had built, a smug smile on her face. And I couldn’t stomach it. And Liam. He needed to be punished for what he did to me. If my life was going to be a wreck, then I was taking everyone down with me. The wedding happened after all. But I wasn’t there.

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On my twenty-sixth birthday, I was ready to die. Instead, I unexpectedly received a sketchbook. It was a posthumous belonging of the late genius artist, Julian Vance. Inside, the drawings were of me. When I was sixteen. 1. I held the sketchbook, staring at the signature “Julian Vance” in the corner, lost in thought. This famous genius painter was my high school classmate, same graduating year. But in my memory, we barely interacted. The last I heard of him was on the news, about that plane crash. This was his belongings, yet it was sent to me. Strange. I glanced at the flickering candles on my birthday cake. Originally, I planned to blow them out and end it all. Now… Whatever. A few minutes won’t change anything. I opened the sketchbook. There were a lot of what looked like doodles. Minimalist strokes, but heavy with oppression. A shattered moon, a cracked crystal ball, twisted forests. I vaguely remembered reading a post about Julian, saying this genius artist suffered from mental health issues since he was a teenager, which was why he rarely appeared in public. In high school, he was indeed quiet and withdrawn. But because he had a beautiful face, he was still the topic of many conversations. I flipped through the pages absent-mindedly. One second I was wondering if this was sent to the wrong person, the next I stopped on a page. It was a sketch of a girl lying on a windowsill. Face scrunched up, looking like she carried the weight of the world. Despite the simple strokes, I recognized her instantly— That was high school me. Below it, a small line of text— “She died by the window for three days.” I froze. 2. I had a severe cold once in high school. Because I was literally studying by a “cold window” in the dead of winter. I opened the window to let the freezing wind keep me awake. And memorized chemistry formulas in the icy draft. I had sworn to redeem myself from the shame of getting a 24 on my last chemistry test, so I crammed for three days before finals. The result was glorious—I caught a fever right before the exam. It was the most tragic exam of my life. While my classmates were scribbling furiously in the exam hall, I was hooked up to an IV drip in the hospital. The more I thought about it, the more unwilling I felt. So, while on the drip, I wrote an 800-word essay about my tragic experience and DM’d it to the official “Person of the Year” account on Instagram. I typed until I saw stars, only for my mom to snatch my phone away. She read my essay, deeply moved, and then told me that account was a fake bot. I was stunned, then wailed until I passed out. Later, my dad heard about it. Touched by my dedication, he took my essay to the principal and begged for a makeup exam. When I heard the news, I cried again. Because I had forgotten everything I memorized. 3. What a vivid sixteen. I chuckled involuntarily, but my smile vanished when I glanced at the family portrait on the desk. My gaze returned to the drawing, confusion rising again. Why would Julian draw me? I looked at the angle in the sketch and remembered the Art Building was directly opposite my classroom. So, I just happened to be in his line of sight? I flipped to the next page. This time, Julian’s style changed. He drew a four-panel comic with a black gel pen. The strokes were extremely casual. In each panel, a tiny figure was sneaking food into her mouth in various secretive postures. Hiding behind a textbook, bending down pretending to pick something up, covering a yawn while popping a candy. This time, there was only one word below— “Tsk.” Hm? What does that mean? Disdain? Come on, who doesn’t need a little sustenance during class? We were high school students, surviving on caffeine and hope from 6 AM to 11 PM! 4. Intrigued, I flipped further. Several consecutive pages followed this comic format. Me dozing off in class, staring out the window in a daze, sneaking a novel under the desk, scratching my head over a test paper. The chibi figures had a weirdly comical vibe, like reading a manga. As I looked, I suddenly realized something. Wait, don’t art students have classes? How did he have time to observe others? And this observation seemed to have become his hobby. I kept flipping. Below a series of drawings of me laughing in various ways, a line of small text appeared— “How can she be so happy?” I paused. Looking at those words, even though the writer wasn’t there, I could almost hear his tone. Not mockery, not sarcasm, just pure confusion. I wasn’t completely oblivious to Julian back then. Not long after freshman year started, rumors spread about a beautiful boy in the art class. Yes, beautiful. Being the nosy person I was, when it was our class’s turn for hallway duty, I swapped shifts specifically to check the art class. Just to openly see how beautiful he really was. There were many artistic guys and girls, but Julian still stood out. I saw him instantly. That silhouette by the window. When he turned to look, the light from the window grazed his eyes, turning them amber. Summer hadn’t faded, yet he was as cold as a handful of winter snow. Smelling of butterflies. I was dazed for a second. Because I witnessed the embodiment of male beauty. The impact of that face on my teenage self lasted a long time. To this day, I still remember asking my mom at the dinner table if she could sponsor my plastic surgery trip to Korea after she won at Mahjong. She didn’t even look up. She just told me to get lost. 5. So Julian, someone so beautiful, wasn’t easily happy either? Remembering the rumors about his mental illness, I pulled out my phone and searched his name. The first result was the news of his death in the plane crash. My fingers trembled, and I scrolled past it. I found his bio. His father was a local tycoon, his mother a professor at a prestigious art college. With such a background, his life should have been comfortable. At the bottom was a link titled: “Genius Painter’s Mental Illness: The Hidden Truth…” I clicked it. A wall of text explained that his businessman father was rarely home, and his professor mother controlled him strictly from a young age—high-pressure training, harsh criticism, etc. The comments section had alleged insiders claiming Julian was locked in a dark room if his drawings weren’t good enough, causing childhood trauma. Online info is hard to verify, but combined with those strange drawings, maybe Julian really had depressive episodes. I went back to the sketchbook. This time, the drawing showed me standing gloomily in front of a microphone, holding a piece of paper, with a glistening-spectacled old man standing behind me with his hands behind his back. I squinted. If I’m not mistaken, that’s my high school principal, Mr. Xie. Dead memories suddenly attacked me. That was the most humiliating detention self-reflection of my student life. Bar none. 6. In high school, we had three afternoon periods, the last being study hall. My stomach was weak back then. I had the runs twice a day. My grandma often scolded my parents, saying it was because they didn’t cook for me when I was little. My parents claimed the culprit was spicy strips. I didn’t dare speak amidst the chaos. Because only I knew the real killers were the 50-cent street snacks and junk food. Anyway, study hall was usually used by me to solve my physiological needs. To offset the guilt of skipping study hall, I decided to absorb some literary culture even on the toilet. So I always brought a classic novel. That day, it was The Catcher in the Rye. I read a particularly sad part and, thinking of my own late grandmother, started bawling in the stall. I heard water running outside, but didn’t pay attention. Soon after, hurried footsteps approached, followed by the booming voice of the Dean of Students, aka “The Exterminator”— “Student, what’s wrong in there? Are you okay?” I was so scared my hand shook, and the book dropped to the floor.

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They told me the divorce tore our family apart. That was the first lie. I went with Dad. After the “split,” his temper curdled into something rancid. He was a man composed entirely of whiskey fumes and violence, a black hole that swallowed every cent I earned and every ounce of peace I tried to build. He didn’t care if the lights were cut or if the fridge was empty. So, I grew up fast. I spent my afternoons gutting fish at the wharf, my hands permanently smelling of brine and bleach, just to keep a roof over our heads. It was a Tuesday when everything shattered. Dad—Frank—had just knocked me sideways, rifling through my pockets to steal my tips—forty dollars I’d sweated blood for. As I lay on the linoleum, dazed, my phone buzzed on the floor. The screen glitched, displaying a stream of chat comments overlaying my camera feed. [User778: She still has no clue. Doesn’t realize Mommy and Daddy never actually divorced.] [TruthSeeker: It’s just a reality show, guys. ‘The Nature vs. Nurture Experiment.’ Sadistic, if you ask me.] [RichGirlSummer: Look at her. Freezing and starving while her sister is living it up in the Hills.] I blinked, thinking it was a concussion. But the comments kept scrolling. Following the instructions in the chat, I dragged myself up and tracked the location they mentioned. I found myself standing outside a gated estate in Pacific Palisades. The air here smelled different—like jasmine and money. Then, the front door opened. My sister, Ivy. She wasn’t wearing the hand-me-downs I remembered. She was draped in a silk dress that probably cost more than my life’s earnings. And there were my parents, flanking her, looking vibrant, healthy, and unmistakably together. They laughed as they climbed into a gleaming Rolls Royce, the heavy doors thudding shut like a vault. I stood there, gripping my stomach where the hunger pangs usually lived, but all I felt was a bitter, rising bile. They hadn’t divorced. We weren’t broke. I was just the control group. They chose me to suffer because I was the quiet one. The obedient one. 1 I stood frozen on the manicured lawn, the sprinklers hissing to life around me. If the text on my screen had been a rumor, seeing them with my own eyes was the verdict. My parents were still married. My family was sitting on a goldmine. And I was the punchline of a cruel joke. Because I was good? Because I didn’t fight back? Is that why I was the one thrown to the wolves? I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to force air into my lungs. The pain wasn’t physical; it was an existential hollowing out. The comments scrolling across my phone screen filled in the blanks. It was a game. A deep-web reality stream for the bored and wealthy. They paid to watch the disparity—one daughter groomed for the throne, the other ground into the dirt. Five figures a day in donations. Was that it? Was I sold out for ad revenue? Standing under the California sun, I felt a chill settle into my marrow. My phone buzzed. A text from Ivy. “Hey Maya, heard you’re scrubbing floors to pay rent? Poor thing. But you’ve always been the resilient one. Keep grinding, okay?” I could hear the smirk in her voice. Ivy had always been the charming one, the one who knew how to curate her personality for maximum applause. I was the introverted shadow, the one who kept her head down. In middle school, when I brought home straight A’s and Ivy brought home detention slips, Mom didn’t celebrate me. She scolded me for making Ivy feel bad. I should have known then. The scales were never balanced. “Hey! You on the clock or not? Move it!” The shout snapped me back to reality. I looked around, disoriented. My feet had carried me on autopilot back to the fish market. This was my life. Frank was a violent drunk who treated me like an ATM. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so legal work was hard to find. I took what I could get, paid under the table, cash in hand. “Sorry,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash. I tied on the stiff, stained apron, my face pale under the fluorescent hum of the market lights. I worked until my fingers were numb. It was past midnight when I walked back through the alleyways, clutching my day’s pay. The apartment was dark. The peeling wallpaper, the cracked window taped over with cardboard—it all looked like a stage set now. Frank wasn’t home. He was probably celebrating with his real family. I ate a cup of instant noodles, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. I knew they were watching. Hidden cameras, capturing every slurp of broth, every tired sigh, broadcasting it to strangers who found my misery entertaining. I couldn’t sleep. I pulled out my cracked phone. The chat stream popped up again, dropping a link. [Here’s the main feed. Poor Maya looks broken. She’s working herself to death while they feast.] I held my breath and clicked. It was a sophisticated, private streaming site. The number one channel was live. There I was, on a split screen. And there they were. The Bishop family. My parents and Ivy were seated at a table draped in white linen, servers pouring vintage wine and cracking open lobsters. I smelled the stale flavor packet of my noodles; they smelled melted butter and success. I felt like a scavenging creature watching swans glide across a lake. 2 I got home at nine the next night. It was report card day. I had maintained my rank—Valedictorian. To celebrate, I stopped at a bodega and bought a generic, plastic-wrapped muffin. It cost two dollars. No frosting, just dry sponge cake. I set it on the wobbly kitchen table like it was a delicacy. I broke off a piece. It was stale, but the sugar hit my tongue, and my eyes started to burn. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a birthday cake. The stream chat flickered in my peripheral vision. [Maya’s celebrating being top of her class with a stale muffin. Sad.] [Meanwhile, Ivy failed three classes and look at the spread she’s getting.] I opened the livestream. They were at a high-end sushi bar in Malibu. Mom—Susan—was stroking Ivy’s hair, smiling that warm, maternal smile I hadn’t seen in years. “Grades aren’t everything, sweetheart,” she was saying. “As long as you’re happy.” Frank placed a piece of fatty tuna in Ivy’s bowl. “If you want, we can just send you to Europe for a gap year. Or buy your way into that art program. The world is yours, Ivy.” They talked about her future like it was a boundless, golden horizon. My name wasn’t spoken once. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if they had only one daughter. I closed the laptop, the silence of the apartment deafening. Halfway through my muffin, heavy boots stomped in the hallway. The door slammed open. Frank. For a split second, a childish part of me wanted to show him my grades. To make him proud. I crumbled the report card in my hand before I could offer it. He shoved me into the counter. “You got cash? I need a bottle. Now.” “I… I don’t have much,” I stammered. He had taken everything yesterday. “You’ve been working all day! Don’t lie to me!” His boot connected with my shin. Pain exploded up my leg, turning my vision white. I gasped, shrinking back. I dug the crumpled bills from my pocket—my grocery money for the week—and handed them over. I ran to the liquor store, limping, and ran back. “Here,” I said, setting the bottle down. He cracked it open, the smell of cheap vodka filling the room. “Dad,” I tried, my voice shaking. “Report cards came out. I got first in the…” “First?” He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “What’s the point of a girl reading books? You’re just going to get married anyway. Quit school, get a full-time job, and bring me more money. That’s your purpose.” I stared at him. The image of him offering Ivy a gap year in Europe flashed in my mind. Girls should see the world, they had told her. Reading is useless, he told me. I kept the report card hidden in my fist. He finished half the bottle, then stumbled out, knocking the table over as he went. My muffin—my celebration—rolled onto the dirty floor. He stepped on it, grinding the crumbs into the linoleum, and slammed the door. I looked at the flattened cake. The tears finally came, hot and silent. 3 Frank didn’t come back for a long time. The livestream chat told me why. Ivy was stressed about “life,” so the family rented a villa in Napa to help her “decompose.” I sat in the damp apartment, shaking from a cold that wouldn’t lift. It felt like ice water was circulating through my veins. On the day of the final AP exams—the culmination of four years of sleepless nights—I walked the six miles to the testing center. Cars whizzed past me. I saw a flash of a familiar Mercedes—Ivy, in the passenger seat, laughing. She didn’t even have school that day. When I walked out hours later, exhausted, I saw my parents’ car idling by the curb. My heart did a stupid, treacherous flip. They came. They finally remembered. I started to walk toward them, a smile forming. But they weren’t looking at me. The back door opened, and Ivy hopped in, holding shopping bags. They had just stopped to adjust the GPS. As I raised my hand to wave, the Mercedes peeled away, merging into traffic without a backward glance. I stood alone on the sidewalk, the exhaust fumes washing over me. The text on my screen blurred. [Ivy is the princess. A spa day while Maya fights for her future.] [Maya’s been eating crackers and water. Is this even legal?] [Are they trying to break her?] I pulled up the stream. My parents were addressing the camera, answering the chat. “We’re building her character,” Frank said, swirling a glass of red wine. “Plenty of kids have it worse. If she can’t handle this, she’ll never survive the real world. We’re doing her a favor.” “Once the acceptance letters come in, we’ll bring her home,” Mom added, checking her manicure. “We’ll make it up to her.” Make it up to me? I laughed, a dry, jagged sound. They thought a new wardrobe and a hug would erase six years of starvation? They thought I should be grateful for the trauma? 4 I threw myself into work the moment exams were over. I didn’t know if they’d pay for college, but I knew one thing: they didn’t love me. Acceptance day arrived. I logged into the portal at the public library. Stanford University. Class of 2026. The librarian, Mrs. Higgins, hugged me. “I knew it, Maya. You’re going to do great things.” I ran home, adrenaline pumping. I had a stash—emergency money I’d hidden inside the hollow leg of the kitchen table. It was enough for my deposit and a bus ticket north. I burst into the apartment. It had been tossed. Drawers pulled out, mattress overturned. The table leg was unscrewed. The money was gone. Frank was passed out on the couch, snoring, clutching a bottle of top-shelf bourbon. I grabbed his collar and shook him. “Where is it? Where’s my money?!” He swatted me away like a fly. “Quit screaming. What’s yours is mine. I raised you. You owe me.” “That was for Stanford! I got in!” He glared, his eyes bloodshot. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re eighteen. Get a real job and pay rent here. Don’t ask me for a dime.” I stood there, trembling with a rage so pure it felt like fire. “I am going,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “And I’ll earn every cent myself.” I walked out. I wandered aimlessly until I found myself near the upscale shopping district. “Maya?” I looked up. Ivy. She looked immaculate. A sundress that caught the light, a crystal pendant at her throat. I looked down at my frayed sneakers. “I heard you got into Stanford,” she said, smiling. It looked almost genuine. “That’s amazing.” She scanned my outfit. “Are you looking for work? This place is… grim. Listen, Mom’s friend needs a private tutor for her kid. It pays really well. In the Heights. You should take it.” I looked at her concern. It felt like a lifeline. I was so desperate, I wanted to believe her. 5 The tutoring gig was in a secluded, wealthy neighborhood. The pay was incredible. On the night I finally had enough for my tuition deposit, I was walking to the bus stop. A dark sedan pulled up. Three guys hopped out. They reeked of stale smoke and trouble. “Hey, sweetheart,” the one with bleached hair sneered. “You look lost. Need a ride?” I backed up, clutching my backpack. “Stay away from me.” “Feisty.” He lunged. I fought. I scratched and kicked, but they were stronger. They yanked my backpack off, dumping the contents onto the pavement. My acceptance letter fluttered into a puddle. They found the envelope of cash. “Stanford, huh?” The bleach-blonde guy laughed. “Never hooked up with a genius before.” “Let me go!” I screamed. He kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the concrete hard. “You talk too much.” He picked up a rusted pipe from the gutter. He didn’t hesitate. He brought it down on my shin. The crack was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. Then came the scream. [This is too far. Ivy set this up.] [Yeah, the ‘job’ was a setup. She hired these guys.] The chat flashed across my dropped phone screen. The pain in my leg was blinding, but the betrayal was a knife in my heart. Ivy. My own sister. She didn’t just want to win; she wanted to destroy me. “Did… did Ivy send you?” I gasped, spitting blood. My hand found my phone, tapping the record button blindly. The guy scoffed. “You’re smart. She said you needed a lesson. Don’t overshadow her, got it?” He kicked me one last time and they ran. I lay there, curled in a ball. My leg was twisted at a sickening angle. Footsteps. Light, deliberate. I opened one swollen eye. Ivy stood over me. She wasn’t horrified. She was smiling. A cold, satisfied curve of her lips. “Help,” I wheezed. “Call 911.” She watched me for a long moment, like I was a bug she’d successfully squashed. Then she turned on her heel and walked away. 6 A jogger found me an hour later. I woke up in the hospital, my left leg encased in heavy plaster. Tibial fracture. No surgery needed, but I wouldn’t be walking for weeks. I called the police immediately. I gave them the recording. I told them everything. That evening, my parents burst into the room. They were carrying a fruit basket and wearing expressions of rehearsed concern. “Oh, Maya!” Mom cried. “My poor baby! Who did this to you?” Frank looked teary-eyed. “We’re here, honey. We’ll take care of everything.” I watched their performance. It was nauseating. “Cut the act,” I said. They froze. “Maya,” Mom’s voice dropped an octave. “Look, Ivy is your sister. You can’t press charges. She didn’t mean for it to go this far. It was just a prank that got out of hand.” “A prank?” I pointed to my cast. “She hired thugs to break my leg and steal my tuition.” “Think of her future,” Frank hissed. “If she gets a record, she’s ruined. If you sign this settlement—an NDA and a waiver of liability—we’ll bring you to the mansion. We’ll pay for Stanford. Everything.” “Or,” Mom added, her eyes narrowing, “You have no insurance. No money. You’ll be discharged onto the street with a broken leg. And who knows? Those boys might come back.” I stared at them. They were monsters. “Fine,” I said softly. They brightened. “But I have a condition. I want a legal document. A complete emancipation and severance of ties. You disown me, I disown you. No legal claims, no financial ties. We are strangers.” They exchanged a look of relief. They didn’t want a daughter; they wanted a liability removed. “Done,” Frank said. The next morning, they brought the papers. They signed the severance agreement with eager scribbles. I handed over the signed settlement letter. They walked out, beaming, thinking they had won. The second the door closed, I emailed the audio recording to the detective. I opened the livestream. They were celebrating in the Rolls Royce, Ivy showing off a new bracelet, bragging about how “family sticks together.” The siren wail cut through their audio feed. I watched on the screen as the police cruiser blocked them in. “Ivy Bishop, step out of the vehicle.”

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After we got back together, Sienna became unusually clingy. She had to report everything—what she ate, what she drank, who she saw. One day, she called, her tone testing the waters. “Lindsay’s bringing some younger guys to the spa resort. She wants me to go.” “Oh,” I said. “Have fun.” The line went dead. Twenty minutes later, she was blocking my doorway, demanding in a hoarse voice, “You’d really just let me go off with other people?” I took a step back under her gaze. “Isn’t this the ‘boundaries’ you wanted?” My words hung in the air, and she froze. 1 “Are you done? If you’re done, you can leave. I really don’t mind.” Worried she might misunderstand, I added helpfully, “Don’t worry. I’ll play along for your parents tomorrow.” Sienna’s face instantly darkened. “Caleb, you’ve got a real goddamn nerve.” She slammed the door and left. The commotion had completely shattered my sleepiness. I curled back under the covers and scrolled through my phone. At two in the morning, an unknown number sent me a few pictures. A young guy, wearing nothing but swim trunks, his pale body pressed against Sienna from behind. The air was thick with steam. His arms were wrapped casually around her waist, only a thin layer of fabric separating them. [Hey, man. I’m scared of the water, so Sienna was just helping me out. You’re so lucky to have such a caring wife~] I stared at the screen, considering my options. Should I get up and go catch her in the act? No, it was too late. My driver was off for the night, and getting a ride would be a pain. Well then… maybe write a long, scathing text to tear her apart? The weather was too cold; my hands would freeze. Maybe I could just copy and paste one of my old rants from our chat history. As I scrolled back through our old fights, I actually fell asleep. No wonder Sienna never bothered to read them. Once you stripped the emotion away, the words were just long-winded and tedious. Excellent sleep aid, though. The next day was New Year’s Day, and we went to the Vaughn family estate. I was chatting with the elders when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find the same boy from last night’s photo, standing there, looking shy. He was clutching a bikini top. “This… was left at my place yesterday.” The style was bold and youthful. In this house, there was only one person it could belong to. The whole scene felt sickeningly familiar. The year we got engaged, another boy had shown up just like this. I’d lost it, grabbed him by the throat, and thrown him to the ground. Sienna had pushed me off, and without a backward glance, led the boy away, leaving me a pathetic mess on the floor. The estate was in chaos that night. No one had a happy new year. The old folks say you shouldn’t start the new year on a bad note. Sure enough, that was the year Sienna and I fought the most. The living room was silent. Everyone was waiting for my reaction. I immediately smoothed things over with a smile. “Oh, that’s my cousin. He grew up overseas. We were all together for the New Year’s countdown last night.” Sienna’s father breathed a sigh of relief, but her mother’s eyes were filled with suspicion. “Really?” “Absolutely,” I said, pulling the boy inside and shutting the door. The last flicker of hope in Sienna’s eyes died out. 2 On the drive back, I pulled the bikini top from my pocket and tossed it to her. She stammered out an explanation. “Last night wasn’t what you think. That guy is Lindsay’s brother, and I was drunk, nothing happened…” I tore open an antiseptic wipe and meticulously cleaned my hands. “Just drop me off here. Leo invited me for a poker game.” Sienna swallowed hard, her voice softening. “I can pick you up when you’re done?” “No need,” I said, pushing the car door open. “You do your thing.” I didn’t want to know what that bikini had been through. I was just afraid of catching something vile. A long, hot shower at Leo’s place and a change into the fresh clothes he’d laid out for me finally cleared the suffocating feeling in my chest. Leo watched Sienna’s car drive off, then raised an eyebrow at me. “So, how’d the battle go? What was the score? Why didn’t you call for backup?” I sank into the couch. “There was no battle. Scaring off the woman is one thing, but I can’t afford to scare off the money.” That New Year’s Day, the Vaughn estate had been a war zone. Several of the elders had been so upset they ended up in the hospital. As I lay on the cold ground, it was Leo who finally showed up and bundled my mud-caked self into his sports car. As he turned the key, he couldn’t resist a jab. “Living out your childhood dream at the Vaughn’s? Rolling around in a mud pit?” I opened my mouth to reply, but tears came out first. “Leo, how did it get like this?” He panicked, fumbling to wipe my tears, but he had no answers. No one could have imagined Sienna and I would end up in such a toxic mess. We were childhood sweethearts, practically knew each other since we were in diapers. I’d worked my ass off to get into the same university as her, waking up before the sun and studying long after midnight, giving it everything I had. The day I got my acceptance letter, my mom was amazed. “If I’d known you’d kill yourself studying for Sienna, why would I have spent a fortune on tutors?” Everyone assumed that Caleb Reed and Sienna Vaughn were meant to be. But just as we finally grew up, just as we no longer had to share a cheap slice of pizza from a food truck, she let go of my hand. She despised her family for controlling her future, for forcing her to give up her dream of being a musician to inherit the family company. And that resentment peaked when I agreed to our engagement. Back then, I was too blinded by my own happiness, too thrilled at the thought of finally marrying the girl of my dreams, to notice that the love in her eyes had long since vanished. After the engagement, she was never home. I’d wake up to my phone flooded with “updates” from well-meaning friends. Sienna just dropped a fortune on some new model. Sienna was surrounded by people at a yacht party. Sienna threw herself another wedding party somewhere else… Those messages were like mold in a damp season, impossible to wipe away completely. I used to scream, chase her for answers, go insane, making a spectacle of myself for everyone to see. All it earned me was Sienna’s deepening disgust. “Can’t you have some boundaries? You don’t like it? Fine, go tell my mother to call off the engagement!” Leo accurately described our relationship as less like a married couple and more like a rebellious teenager and their desperate mother. One was trying to escape, and the other was clinging on for dear life. I thought I would be tangled up with her like this forever. But one day, in the middle of a fight, I just got tired. Brothers don’t need words; a single look is enough. Seeing my unusual calm, Leo asked softly, “So, what’s the plan?” I took the warm water he offered. “The London project. My family and the Vaughns have invested a lot. I’m going to oversee it myself.” “For how long?” “Three years, for now.” He slung an arm around my shoulders, reluctant to let me go. “We’ll party hard before you leave. My treat.” I grinned and punched him lightly in the chest. “You’re not getting off that easy.” 3 I was woken late at night by the doorbell again. Sienna was leaning against the doorframe, drunk, her tie hanging loosely around her neck. I glanced at my phone. The Do Not Disturb mode had silenced over 99 unread messages from her. It seemed she couldn’t reach me, so she came in person. A year ago, I would have been ecstatic that she’d even come home drunk. I would have stumbled over myself to help her inside, get her water, and fuss over her half the night. But now, my hair was freshly washed and smelled great, my apartment was spotless, and I really didn’t want the stench of alcohol ruining it. Seeing I had no intention of letting her in, she asked in a raw voice, “You’re just going to leave me standing out here?” “You’re at the wrong place.” “This is my apartment from before we were engaged. Not our marital home.” “I’ll call someone to pick you up.” As I looked down to find a number, she shamelessly pressed closer. “Caleb, I’m craving the congee you make.” I took a deep breath, pushing down the last lingering sting in my heart. “Really? You’ll really leave after you have the congee?” She nodded eagerly. I opened a food delivery app and handed it to her. “Pick whatever you want.” She froze, the alcohol seemingly wearing off. “Caleb, you never let me eat this stuff…” She probably remembered how, right after we got engaged, I was determined to be a good husband. I hired a chef and learned step-by-step, starting from how to chop vegetables. But she never even glanced at the food, let alone tasted it. I’d secretly post pictures of my elaborate meals on social media, hoping that if she saw the likes and comments from our mutual friends, she might come home to try it. Instead, I only heard about her laughing with her friends at a bar. “If you had a lapdog like Caleb, you’d think my life was a tragedy too. Why would I eat his slop when I have gourmet food out here?” Amid their laughter, I went home and cried for three days straight. Leo was furious and heartbroken for me. “Dude, you’re the kind of guy who would rather starve than cook! Why are you learning to cook for a woman like her? She’s out partying, and you’re turning yourself into a ghost!” That was my wake-up call. I never cooked for her again. “My cooking isn’t even that good,” I said, pushing the phone towards her again. “Just order something.” She sighed and took the phone. As her fingertips brushed my palm, her other hand instinctively tried to wrap around my shoulder. I recoiled violently, my back hitting the door with a dull thud. In the dead silence that followed, she lowered her head and lit a cigarette. The flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating the features I was once so lost in. “Caleb, I’m your fiancée. Not a virus.” “Who can say for sure.” I took another half-step back. “I’m going to bed. I have work tomorrow.” I don’t know when she left. The next morning, when I opened the door, the ground was littered with cigarette butts. 4 On the way to work, while waiting at a red light, I suddenly remembered the night I’d tried to break up with her. Sienna had locked me out then, too. But that was at our marital home. She was partying with a crowd inside, had me locked out, and even changed the passcode. The deep winter wind cut like a knife. I pounded on the door, my hand instinctively protecting my stomach, my voice cracking. “Sienna, open the door… my stomach hurts…” It was the same boy from the spa, the one she’d been with last night, who answered through the video intercom. “Hey, the person outside,” he chirped. “Sienna said it’s the Vaughns who want to marry you, not her.” “You should go. She said you need to learn about boundaries.” I froze for a second, then started hammering on the door like a madman. The people inside must have found it amusing. They recorded it on their phones through the security feed. In the background, the boy’s syrupy voice asked, “Sienna, he says he doesn’t feel well?” Her drunken, impatient voice came through clearly: “Ignore him. He’s just playing the victim.” In the video, I was a hysterical mess, crying and screaming. Finally, I stopped, dragged my suitcase away, and disappeared around the corner. The video made the rounds in our circle. Sienna only found out after a full day of people looking at her with ‘you’re a real piece of shit’ expressions, and she finally, confused, clicked on the link. Honestly, she didn’t think it was a big deal. So what? She was having fun at home and didn’t want me to ruin the mood. But the Vaughn elders were furious. They said her actions were disgraceful and had brought shame upon both families. So she found me, with the reluctant air of someone forced to bow their head. “I didn’t know you would… leave alone so late. I saw the video.” She looked at me as if assessing whether I’d learned my “lesson.” “There are rumors spreading that I, Sienna Vaughn, drove my fiancé out onto the streets… Caleb, that’s enough. Come home with me.” She didn’t know what happened in the darkness after that video ended. And I had no desire to explain it to her. Lying in a hospital bed, I wearily turned over. “It’s not your fault.” After that, we seemingly reconciled. But from that day on, I stopped caring where she slept or if she ever came home. I quietly moved out of our marital house and back into my own small apartment. 5 Saying it wasn’t her fault was a lie. I’m no saint. Giving up on someone you’ve loved for so long is like tearing a part of yourself from your own flesh and bone. When the withdrawal hit, I’d lie awake all night, my chest feeling like a gaping hole, the bitter wind from that winter night howling through it. Besides, my family’s business and the Vaughns’ were already deeply intertwined. The consequences of a forceful separation were more than either side could bear. I knew better than anyone that our personal grievances were weightless in the face of family interests. Maybe the pressure from her family scared her. Or maybe she belatedly realized she’d gone too far. Sienna toned it down a lot. No more staying out all night. No more ignoring me completely. Instead, she started reporting her every move to me, in excruciating detail. One day, I was in the middle of a tense negotiation, finalizing the core terms of a multi-million dollar project, haggling over the last points of profit sharing. You could have heard a pin drop in the conference room. All eyes were on me, waiting for my response. And her messages just kept popping up. Something about an appointment with a famous wedding planner, asking me what style I wanted. When I didn’t reply, she started calling. One call after another. The buzzing of my phone was deafening. The other party said understandingly, “Please, take care of that. It might be urgent.” I maintained a polite smile, nodded my apologies, and ducked into the restroom before finally answering, my voice a low hiss. “What the hell do you want? Why are you blowing up my phone over something so trivial?” “It’s so annoying!” “Can’t you have some goddamn boundaries?” After the barrage of insults, the other end of the line went dead silent. I was the first to snap out of it, rubbing my temples tiredly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been pulling all-nighters for this project, I’m exhausted. The style… you can decide.” On the other end, Sienna was silent for a long time before responding, her voice dry. “Okay.” 6 I parked in front of the Vaughn Corporation building. I was here to integrate some resources before heading back to my own company. In the breakroom, I overheard some colleagues gossiping. “Did you see? Ms. Vaughn came in with him again this morning.” “I noticed! I heard she even left her bra at his place last time…” “What’s up with that? Isn’t she engaged?” “Everyone knows Ms. Vaughn can’t stand that Caleb guy. She’s always saying she wishes he would just disappear.” … Thanks to Sienna never publicly acknowledging our relationship at work, I, the aforementioned Caleb guy, was privy to all this gossip. I sipped my coffee, my eyes downcast, feeling nothing. This little tidbit was nothing. These people were amateurs. They’d never had a delivery guy show up late at night with a package containing a matching set of lacy lingerie. They’d never had to deal with the mountains of explicit late-night texts on her phone. They’d never been at a family banquet where some random guy toasted them and called them ‘brother-in-law.’ Sienna never said no to anyone out there. I was always the one left to clean up her messes. A bra left at someone else’s house barely even registered on the scale. I suppressed the urge to go out and say something. When I looked up, the subject of the gossip was standing right in front of me. The boy from the spa, the one who was scared of water, was draped over Sienna like he had no bones. Sienna saw me and frowned, telling him to stand up straight. I took a closer look. He had lasted longer by her side than most. The boy pouted and handed me a file. “Aren’t you the guy from Ms. Vaughn’s house?” I took the file and met his gaze. “And you’re the guy in the swim trunks from the spa who was clinging to her.” The breakroom went silent. His face changed, and he bit his lip. “Why can’t you just leave Ms. Vaughn alone?” I held up my hands. Don’t drag me into this, kid. I’m just trying to get my work done and get out of the country. In my haste, my voice rose an octave as I threw Sienna’s own words back at them. “You call her ‘Sienna,’ I call her ‘Sienna.’ What’s this about leaving her alone?” “Caleb.” Sienna’s warning tone came from behind me. “What nonsense are you talking?” I waved the file in my hand and turned to press the elevator button. “Sis, deal with your own private life. Don’t involve me.” The elevator doors slowly closed, reflecting Sienna’s furious face and the hurt expression of the boy beside her. Were they having another fight? Not my problem. I glanced down at the flight confirmation email on my phone. Twenty-four hours from now, I’d be gone.

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In the third year of my younger brother forcing a “poor scholarship student” to love him, her older brother finally showed up. A young, cold, handsome man stepped out of a black luxury car. The floating text comments—the “bullet screen” only I could see—were going insane: [Ahhh, the male lead’s brother… finally!] [He finally made it big and came back for revenge!] [These two bully siblings are about to get destroyed.] [I’ve been waiting for their downfall for so long.] [From now on, it’s the male lead and his sister’s revenge arc!] The comments were celebrating. But as I looked at the man in the black suit across from me, my expression was… unnatural. Because my brother learned his “forced love” tactics from me. And three years ago… I used those same tactics on the man standing right in front of me. 1 I never thought I’d see Julian again. And I definitely never thought he’d be Sarah’s brother. Three years ago, at the opening ceremony, my brother, Ryan, fell in love at first sight with the student representative, Sarah. He threw himself at her. Hard. But Sarah didn’t like him. Ryan was used to getting his way. Sarah didn’t like him? Fine. He relied on the fact that she was a poor orphan and used every method in the book to force her into a relationship. Of course, I tried to stop him. I tried to curb his tyrannical behavior. But Ryan shut me down with one sentence: “Sis, remember the scandal you caused with that poor student back in the day?” He said, “You gave him a car, a house, money… you even hired bodyguards to watch him so he wouldn’t run away.” “Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa… they all lectured you, but no one could stop you.” He muttered under his breath, “I learned everything from you.” 2 As he spoke, my brother—the guy who never shed a tear or begged for mercy even when Dad beat him as a kid—suddenly had red eyes. “I can listen to you about anything else,” he said, his messy hair framing a face of rare seriousness. “But Sis, I really, really like her.” I looked at him. For a second, I saw my past self. I, too, had once desperately sought love from a man who didn’t want me. I used every trick, every resource I had. But I still couldn’t keep him. He still ran away from me. Seeing the fragility on Ryan’s face, I turned my back. “Fine,” I said. “But aside from keeping her by your side, you cannot hurt her in any other way.” “Or I will freeze all your accounts.” 3 My affair with Julian back then was indeed a huge scandal. It ended poorly. Very poorly. To this day, no one dares mention his name around me. So right now, watching him step out of that black Bugatti, I felt like I was in a different lifetime. He wore a severe black suit, a luxury watch on his wrist. His assistant bowed slightly, guiding him. He seemed taller than before. When I forced him to stay with me, we had just graduated high school. He was only 18. Poor, thin, always wearing a washed-out shirt. He always turned his profile to me, cold and indifferent. He wouldn’t look me in the eye for days. 4 “This is Ms. Chloe Zhou,” his assistant introduced me. His eyelashes fluttered, and he finally deigned to look at me. The moment our eyes met—his dark, abyssal gaze locking onto mine—a flurry of white text zoomed across my vision: [Damn! Finally!] [The male lead is back in the country!] [This time, he’s not the tragic hero anymore; he’s a god!] [No more humiliation, just pure, unadulterated revenge.] [These bully siblings are the first wave of cannon fodder he’s going to crush.] [Crushing them and saving his sister will be easier than squashing ants for him.] [They’ve bullied his sister for years. I can’t wait to see them beg.] [Brother, please destroy them.] 5 I stared at the aggressive words floating in the air. Male lead? Julian? In that moment, I wasn’t even surprised. Julian had everything a male lead should have. A flawless face, a brilliant mind, a stoic and enduring personality. Even his tragic, poverty-stricken background fit perfectly. “Ms. Zhou?” The assistant prompted me again. I snapped back to reality. I saw Julian’s cold, impatient face. I suppressed my emotions. I looked him in the eye and spoke calmly. “I will have someone send Sarah back to you tonight.” 6 His assistant had probably prepared a list of reasons and conditions to negotiate with me, fearing I’d be difficult. My clean, immediate agreement left his words hanging in mid-air. He looked at me, bewildered. Then he glanced instinctively at the silent Julian. Time had left its mark on him. The man in the black suit was inscrutable. But every move radiated the oppressive power of a mature, successful man. He was no longer the thin boy I locked in my house. “And how do we settle the harm your brother caused my sister over these years?” Julian finally spoke. His voice was low, magnetic. “Calculate it however you want,” I replied. “The Zhou family won’t protect him.” I picked up my bag, ready to leave. “Sarah will be returned on time tonight.” But Julian stopped me with a single sentence. His voice echoed in the empty lobby. “And what about you?” He asked, “How do we settle what you did to me back then?”

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I was born a devil. At three, I killed animals for fun. At seven, I killed a person. Terrified, my family locked me away in a psychiatric hospital. Twelve years later, my gentle, kind-hearted older brother committed suicide. My mother checked me out of the asylum. The moment we stepped outside, her eyes burning with hatred, she said: “If you really are a devil, kill everyone who tormented your brother.” My family has a legend: if twins are born, one is destined to be a devil. In the old days, twins were burned alive together. Luckily, times have changed, so my brother and I were allowed to live. Before we turned three, everything was peaceful. We were cute kids, loved by everyone. But the whispers never stopped. One must be a devil. It was written into the family genealogy, a curse hanging over our heads. Our clan hasn’t seen twins in over three hundred years. When I was three, a goose tried to peck me. I grabbed its neck with both hands and bit its throat out. Blood sprayed everywhere. I dragged the dead goose home, presenting it to my mom like a trophy, saying we should eat it for dinner. My parents were horrified. The story spread through the village like wildfire. Demon child. But since the goose attacked first, and other kids saw it, my parents just thought I was fierce. Not a devil. The village elders agreed. Killing a child over a goose was illegal, after all. They just told my parents to watch me closely. But from then on, any animal that attacked me died a brutal death. My parents paid a lot in damages. When I was five, a group of kids, led by the village bully, cornered me, calling me a monster. I nearly beat the bully to death. If adults hadn’t intervened, he wouldn’t have made it. After that, I was locked in my room. Only my brother, Jack, would come to play. When he started school, he’d tell me stories and teach me to read. He said once I could read, I could enjoy novels. He shared everything with me. He was my only friend. When I was seven, I heard Mom crying in the yard. I peeked out the window. Jack had been beaten badly by the bully. The bully’s family was powerful; the village chief only gave them a slap on the wrist. But Jack’s right arm was broken. The tendons were severed. The doctor said even if it healed, his hand would never be the same. He’d struggle to hold anything heavier than a bowl. That night, I pried open my window. When my parents found me, I was at the bully’s house. The bully was dead. It wasn’t pretty. I was beaten bloody by his parents, but I was alive. When I saw my parents, I smiled. “I avenged Jack.” But they didn’t smile. The bully’s family didn’t smile. Seeing a blood-soaked seven-year-old grinning sent chills down everyone’s spine. The police came. Because of my age and what I did, I was sent to a psychiatric hospital. 2 For twelve years, Jack visited me every weekend. He brought snacks, taught me more words, and brought me storybooks. But then, a month and a half passed. Jack didn’t come. Mom came instead. I barely recognized her. She looked like a ghost—haggard, hair messy, eyes burning with hate. She had already processed my release. Maybe my twelve years of good behavior helped. She didn’t say a word the whole way home. I just watched. When we entered the yard, the smell of herbal medicine hit me. “Your father is paralyzed,” Mom finally said. “Someone broke his spine. He’s been bedridden for two years.” “Dad? The man who wouldn’t hurt a fly?” I laughed. Mom clenched her fists and walked into Jack’s room without answering. Inside, a white sheet covered a body on the bed. My smile froze. I walked over and lifted the sheet. Jack’s face was blue, peaceful in death. I pulled the sheet back further. Bruises on his neck—strangulation marks. Claw marks. I unbuttoned his shirt. His body was a map of scars. Some old, some new, some festering. Mom stood beside me, dry-eyed. She had no tears left. “If you really are a devil,” she hissed, “kill everyone who hurt your father and brother. If you hate me for sending you away, kill me too.” “Who?” I asked calmly. Mom told me everything through gritted teeth. Because I killed the bully when I was seven, his family held a grudge. They bullied my family relentlessly, rallying the village against us. My dad and Jack were too gentle. They took it. It started with beatings. Tearing Jack’s clothes off, making him walk home naked. Then it got worse. Cigarette burns. Carving humiliating words into his skin with knives. When the wounds healed, they carved them again. The village chief and elders told us to keep the peace. Dad finally snapped and fought back. But the bully’s family was ruthless and outnumbered him. They broke his spine. The elders made the bully’s family pay a small fine. No police involved. They threatened to kick us out of the village if we went to the cops. Because we had twins. Because I was a devil. After Dad was paralyzed, the bullying got worse. Jack couldn’t take it anymore. He drank pesticide. I grinned. “So, I can do whatever I want?” “Yes. I want them dead. All of them.” Mom screamed the last words, eyes wild. I looked at Jack’s body and smiled. “Jack, from today on, I am you. This is going to be fun.” 3 Mom kept Jack’s body in the freezer. I put on his clothes and stepped into his life. Jack had eleven cigarette burns. I took Dad’s cigarettes and burned myself in the exact same spots. I replicated every scar, expressionless. Mom watched. For the first time, she smiled at me. Before, she would have called me a monster. But now, her eyes held relief. Even joy. After the wounds scabbed over, I cut my hair like Jack’s. In his clothes, even Mom couldn’t tell us apart. “Jack,” she whispered, hugging me. “Mom, I’m going to the workshop,” I said, mimicking Jack’s gentle tone. She nodded, staring at me in a daze. I arrived at the carpentry workshop. The scent of sawdust was comforting. The Master was over sixty, the best carpenter in the village. He was one of the few who treated us like normal people. He looked surprised. He took off his glasses and studied me. “Jack, are you okay? I heard Chen the First gave you trouble again. Sigh. It’s a sin.” “I can’t do much besides woodwork, Jack. If you’re hurting, rest. I won’t dock your pay.” I shook my head and smiled. “Master, I’m fine. I want to learn.” I took the plane he offered and started working the wood, moving just like Jack did. Soon, another apprentice, Yang, arrived. He looked shocked to see me. He patted my shoulder. “Jack, heard Chen the First came for you again? That guy is too much. Someone needs to teach him a lesson.” I smiled faintly. “It’s in the past. Let’s work.” Yang wanted to say more but stayed quiet. Thirty minutes later, he made an excuse and left. The village’s best land was a resort, the village’s cash cow. Chen the First and his cronies ran it. It was his family’s business. Yang snuck in like a thief. “Boss Chen, Jack is back. He looks fine.” “Hah, Jack’s tough. Good. Means we can keep playing,” Chen the First laughed. “How about branding? Let’s brand the resort logo on his face. A walking billboard!” someone suggested. “Great idea! Get the blacksmith on it!” Chen the First roared with laughter. He slapped Yang on the back. “Good job. Next time we go drinking, you’re coming. Now go watch Jack.” “Thanks, Boss Chen!” Yang walked back happily, dreaming of booze and women. “Yang, you look happy.” My voice made him jump. He saw me leaning against a tree, whittling a branch with a carving knife. Yang turned pale. “Jack… w-why are you here?” I smiled. “I smell blood. Your blood smells delicious.” Yang’s eyes bulged. He backed away. “W-what do you want?” 4 He turned to run. I threw the knife. It struck his calf, slicing through flesh. He face-planted into the dirt. “Ah! Jack, are you crazy?! Do you know who I work for? I’m Chen the First’s man! You dare—AH!” I interrupted him by driving a sharpened wooden stake through his hand, hammering it into the ground with a rock. “Waaah… Jack! Brother Jack, I’m wrong! I shouldn’t have snitched! I won’t do it again! Please let me go! AH!” Every struggle tore his hand. He had to relax to lessen the pain. But soon, his other hand was nailed down too. He screamed and begged as I crucified him on the ground, spread-eagled. Every strike of the rock made him convulse. When I was done, I picked up a final, foot-long wooden stake and walked to his head. Pain had kept him conscious. He shook his head in terror. “No, no… Grandpa, Ancestor, please! I won’t do it again! Don’t kill me!” I squatted by his head. “Jack had to die for me to come out.” “His kindness was the only thing suppressing my evil. Thank you for releasing me.” Yang stared at me, trembling. “You… you’re… the devil!” I smiled. I positioned the stake over his mouth. A half-scream, then the dull thud of rock on wood. Thirty seconds later, silence. A few crows gathered, eyeing the meal pinned to the ground. I returned to the workshop and kept working. The Master asked nothing. It was my first time doing woodwork, but the Master taught me patiently. Around noon, the village erupted in noise. Cries and shouts. A man ran in. “Master Chen! Your apprentice is dead! On the west mountain path! Come look!” The Master glanced at me, put down his tools, and waved. “Let’s go.” A crowd had gathered on the mountain path. The stakes had been pulled out. Yang’s body was covered with a straw mat. His mother was wailing beside it. Only men were allowed; women were kept away to avoid the shock. Even the men looked green. Everyone speculated, but no one suspected me. Jack was the village punching bag. He never fought back. The elders ordered an investigation and told the Master to make a coffin. We worked through the night. We delivered the coffin to Yang’s house on a cart. As soon as we unloaded it, Yang’s mother slapped the Master. “You old useless thing! I sent my son to learn from you! Why didn’t you watch him?! Why didn’t you die instead?!” Then Yang’s sister kicked me. She pointed a finger in my face. “You devil spawn! When your mom birthed twins, we should have burned you both!” “And your mom… probably slept with a demon! Your whole family deserves to die! Why did my brother have to die?!” I looked at the footprint on my stomach and smiled at her. “How do you want to die?” 5 Her face twisted in fear. She raised her hand to hit me again but hesitated. She stomped back and screamed, “Dad! Jack molested me!” Yang’s father stormed over, eyes blazing. “You little shit! Touching my daughter?!” He slapped me hard across the face. I didn’t dodge. The sound echoed in the quiet night. The Master tried to speak, but Yang’s mother shoved him. “What? You old fool! Siding with the devil spawn? You killed my son, now you want to ruin us all?!” The Master lowered his head. Yang’s family vented all their grief and rage on me. Now I knew how they treated Jack. I took it all silently. Finally, they got tired. “Leave the kid here to work,” Yang’s father barked. “Damn kid is creepy. Doesn’t make a sound.” The Master looked at me with a complicated expression. “Thank you,” he whispered, then left with the empty cart. “Demon spawn! Get over here! Put my son in the coffin!” Yang’s father yelled. I got up and silently lifted Yang’s body into the coffin. They made me stand guard outside alone while they went to sleep. Late at night, I heard rustling from the sister’s room. I crept over. Through the gap in the curtains, I saw Chen the First climbing in through the second-floor window. “Missed me, baby?” He grabbed her immediately, hands roaming. “First… be gentle. My brother just died. You have to find the killer,” she moaned. “Stupid woman. He’s dead, good riddance. No one to fight you for the inheritance now,” Chen the First chuckled, stripping off her clothes. “Idiot. Find the killer, get compensation money, then send him to jail.” She giggled. They didn’t even fully undress before going at it by the window. “Jack was weird today. Didn’t make a sound when we beat him. And the way he looked at me… that smile gave me the creeps,” she said. Chen the First sneered. “My brother was killed by his twin when he was seven. Don’t clean up later. Go seduce Jack. I’ll come through the front door to ‘mourn’ Yang, catch you two, and bury him with your brother.” Her eyes flashed with malice. “Deal.”

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At the peak of my fame, I died alone in a cheap apartment. My body wasn’t found for a week. There were no fans, no memorial service. Just a unanimous chorus of “Good riddance!” My own parents and the man who stole my life practically threw a party, celebrating that the world was finally free of a “bad seed” like me. A plastic sheet was my only shroud. The proof of my existence, turned to ash. It wasn’t until a new tenant moved in that the secret I had buried in a corner was finally unearthed. And the truth, after all these years, was finally dragged into the light. 1 “What’s up, everyone? Ruby’s moving into a new place today!” “I heard a huge star used to live here!” “Come on, let me give you the grand tour.” Ruby held up her phone, panning across the cramped apartment. “Uh… Ruby, you sure a celebrity lived here?” “Yeah, for real. What kind of star lives in a dump like this?” The live chat flooded with doubt. For a moment, confusion flickered across Ruby’s face. But she didn’t say anything, just carried the camera into the bedroom. “First things first, let’s see if the bedroom vibes with my style.” The bedroom was bleak. The window was open, and the sheer white curtains billowed in the breeze, lifting the edge of the heavy, drooping bedsheet. By the window, a pot of withered flowers rustled in the silence. “Hey, I think there’s something under the bed…” Ruby set her phone aside and grunted with effort as she pulled out a dusty old box. With a click of the latch, a yellowed, dog-eared notebook came into view. “Guys, look! It’s an old notebook!” she exclaimed, picking it back up. “Could be someone’s hidden treasure!” Ruby opened it. My bold, confident handwriting filled the first page. Asher. “Whoa! Isn’t that the actor who just died a few days ago?” “I think so! The one with all the scandals? The guy who crippled his own brother, Noah, to get ahead? And stole his girlfriend!” “That’s nothing! Who knows how many producers Asher slept with to climb the ladder.” “I heard he was a total psycho in school. Bullied kids, shook them down for lunch money. People he messed with probably still have nightmares!” “Ruby, sweetie, you should get out of there. You don’t want to be in a place where someone like Asher lived.” The chat was a waterfall of all my supposed sins. Just like that, Ruby’s stream blew up, hitting over 100,000 viewers. Funny. I was more famous in death than I ever was in life. Meanwhile, in a lavish living room, a young man paced nervously. “Stella, Asher’s trending!” the assistant blurted out. “Someone’s live-streaming from his old apartment!” The announcement cut through the cheerful atmosphere like a knife. “That bastard,” someone muttered. “Can’t even stay dead without chasing the spotlight.” “Seriously, what a buzzkill. He just ruined the whole mood.” My own parents, their faces tight with disgust. Noah, seeing his chance, spoke up in a soothing voice. “Dad, Mom, don’t be so angry. I’m sure my brother didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, comforting them. “Let’s just eat first, okay?” But Stella, understanding the implication, stood up abruptly. “I’ll handle this right now.” “No need,” my father snapped. “Let’s see what kind of trouble he can stir up from the grave. Put the stream on the TV.” In an instant, Ruby’s voice filled the room. 2 “Guys, it looks like… a diary,” Ruby said, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “I feel kinda weird reading this…” She looked genuinely conflicted. It was my private life, after all. “Don’t worry about it, Ruby. He was a scumbag celebrity. What’s there to be afraid of?” “Yeah, who gives a damn about a dead guy’s privacy?” “Besides, all Asher ever wanted was to be famous. Let’s give him one last moment in the spotlight!” Ruby glanced at the chat, then at the soaring viewer count. Her resolve hardened. She decided to take the gamble. “September 2021. I ran into Stella—the girl I’d had a crush on all through high school. She was a beacon in the crowd, and just like that, I fell for her all over again. But this time, by some miracle, our worlds finally collided. The freshman welcome show was running short, so they combined my act with hers. I sang softly in the wings while she danced under the spotlight. It was magic. We were an overnight sensation. I became the campus heartthrob, she was the campus queen. I was finally standing on equal ground with her. And finally… she noticed me.” Hearing Ruby read those words, Stella’s expression softened. Her mind drifted back to college. That was the first time I had ever taken her breath away. On stage, I was luminous, pouring everything I had into my passion. She couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her heart. Beside her, Noah saw the change in her eyes and quickly interjected, his voice soft and frail. “Wow, Stella. So that’s how you and my brother met. It sounds… so romantic.” He sighed. “He was always the lucky one.” “Unlike me,” he added, his voice trailing off. “All alone, not even good at anything…” Noah’s words snapped Stella back to reality. Her face hardened. “Don’t compare yourself to him, Noah. You’re pure-hearted. Asher was a schemer. He could never be like you,” she said firmly. “Besides, if it weren’t for him, you would have been the one on that stage.” Reassured by her words, a smile finally returned to Noah’s face as he leaned into her embrace. “Thank you, Stella.” My parents watched them, beaming with affection. “Thank God that little monster is gone,” my mother whispered. “Otherwise, he’d be throwing another one of his tantrums.” As their perfect family moment unfolded, Ruby turned to the next page. “December 2021. Stella came to see me today! She asked me to be her partner for the New Year’s Eve Gala. A chance to be close to her? Of course I said yes. After the show, she treated me to dinner. We’re getting closer.” “February 2022. New year. Stella asked me out for dinner and a movie. I bought her a bouquet of roses… and she accepted them. Does this mean… she feels the same way about me?” “May 20th, 2022. Today was the best day of my life! Stella and I are together!” The entry was short, but Ruby could feel the raw joy pouring off the page. The confident, soaring script was there for the whole stream to see. “Is this guy for real? Everyone knows the superstar Stella and Noah were childhood sweethearts. What’s he got to do with it?” “Exactly! I remember Asher faked a bunch of videos of them as a couple just to get close to her!” “Seriously, why couldn’t he just be a decent person instead of lusting after his own brother’s girl?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Noah is just better in every way, and he was jealous.” The stream was once again a torrent of hate. 3 “Alright, alright! Let’s just keep reading,” Ruby said, trying to steer the conversation. “Wow, there’s a big time jump on this next one.” “December 2022. Dear Diary, sorry I’ve neglected you. Ever since Stella and I got together, all my time has been for her. I remember every little thing she does for me. She cares if I’m tired. She remembers the things I like. We’re so happy. Sometimes, I really feel like I don’t deserve her. But she always tells me to have more confidence, that I’m wonderful too. Damn. How did I get so lucky to find someone like Stella?” As Ruby read, a smile unconsciously spread across her face. The diary couldn’t capture everything, but she could feel my happiness, my sheer delight. “Reading this, Asher doesn’t seem that manipulative… you guys think he and Stella might have actually been a thing?” “It’s possible! But I’m not buying the innocent act.” “Wake up, you idiots. This whole diary could be something Asher planted to clean up his image after he died.” Hearing Ruby’s voice, Stella’s mind conjured an image of me—warm, gentle, the way I used to be. Back then, I was so full of light. And she had genuinely loved me. She was sure of it. So when did it all change? It was the moment she met Noah. “February 2023. Noah graduated and came back from overseas. He kept bugging me about meeting his ‘sister-in-law,’ so I introduced him to Stella. His major in college is actually a huge help for Stella’s singing. She’s been trying to get on this big talent show, but her song was missing something. Maybe Noah can help.” “April 2023. Stella aced her audition! She packed her bags and left for the show’s sequestered training camp. No phones allowed. The only way I can see her is on TV. A few days after she left, Noah showed up. He signed me up for ‘Dance Nation.’ I wanted to say no, but then I thought about Stella’s future, her career… and I accepted.” “June 2023. After rounds of auditions, I made it onto ‘Dance Nation.’ On the first day of filming, I saw Noah. He was effortlessly charming, making friends with all the other dancers and introducing me around. Having him there made things less intimidating. My technique is solid, and my rankings are good. But for some reason, no one wants to partner with me. I don’t get it. Finally, seeing me alone, Noah offered to be my partner. Two brothers, taking the stage together. Our star is rising. Stella, I’m catching up to you!” “June 30th, 2023. We finally got a day off after weeks of filming. I grabbed my phone, excited to share the good news with Stella, but her line was busy all day. Maybe… maybe she’s just busy. But then, I turned a corner and heard her voice. She was talking to Noah, her tone so gentle and caring. When did they get so close? I pushed open the door and startled Noah. But he wasn’t flustered at all. Instead, he made it a point to flirt with her right in front of me. “Don’t worry, Stella. I’ll give it my all!” And Stella, on the other end, was eating it up. “Good boy. Win that trophy, and I’ll give you a big reward.” Hearing her doting voice, I snapped. I lunged forward and snatched the phone from Noah’s hand. But before I could say a word, she hung up. Suddenly, my chest ached. A sharp, unbearable pain. What is happening? I wanted to confront Noah, but he just told me not to drag him down. I know I shouldn’t doubt them so easily, but once that dark thought takes root, it consumes you. It’s been messing with my head, and my dancing has gotten sloppy. For the semi-finals, Noah planned a high-risk move without telling me. I had no idea. I reached for him, trying to catch him… But he crashed hard onto the floor. Blood bloomed from his leg, staining the stage crimson. I don’t know how I got to the hospital. Time stretched into an eternity, the horrific image seared into my brain. Suddenly, I heard an enraged shout—”You bastard!”—and a hand clamped around my throat. The air vanished.” 4 “In that moment, I thought I was going to die. But I haven’t seen Stella yet. I can’t die like this. I clawed at the hands, fighting for air, but it was useless. The grip tightened, the world went dark. Through the haze, I thought I saw Stella’s face. “Asher, how could you be so cruel! How could you do this to Noah!” Her voice reached me, and the pressure on my neck released. I gasped, sucking in air, my vision slowly clearing. And in that moment, I wished I had died. The hands belonged to my father. The accusation came from Stella. The two people I loved most in the world wanted me dead. Dear Diary, even now, whenever I think of that day, I can’t breathe. I didn’t do anything. Why does everyone believe I was the one who hurt Noah? I wasn’t! I didn’t! I just… I wasn’t ready…” The diary entry ended there. Ruby felt the helplessness bleeding through the ink. But she was the only one. The viewers in her chat felt differently. “Asher is full of crap! He obviously pushed Noah! If Noah was injured, the championship was his!” “I remember that! After Asher ‘apologized’ to Noah, he dropped out of the show… The next time we heard about him, he was a homewrecker, right?” “Couldn’t win the trophy, so he decided to seduce a producer. Classy.” The vile comments scrolled endlessly across Ruby’s stream. My parents, listening to the story, looked on with cold indifference. “If it wasn’t for that little monster, Noah would still be dancing on stage today,” my mother spat. “If I’d known he’d turn out like this, I never would have had him.” Every mention of my name was laced with their disgust. Noah, nestled in Stella’s arms, began to tremble. “Dad, Mom, it’s all in the past. Please, don’t blame my brother anymore,” he whimpered. “I have Stella now, and my own dance studio, and I have you. I’m very happy.” What a picture of domestic bliss. A shame I wasn’t there to see it. “July 5th, 2023. Noah finally woke up. I was desperate to prove my innocence. I grabbed his hand, begging him to explain to our parents and Stella. To tell them he was the one who tried the difficult move behind my back. It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t! But Noah just smirked at me. He told me he did it all on purpose. It was the only way to completely win over our parents and Stella. He was jealous of my talent, my natural ability, how I could get into the best schools without even trying. While he, with no real talent, had to go abroad just to pad his resume. That was the moment I understood. It was all a setup.” Hearing this, Noah’s expression darkened. He never imagined I would write everything down. But he wasn’t worried. For one, I had no proof. And two, my reputation as a toxic, promiscuous villain was already set in stone. No one would ever believe my side of the story. “I couldn’t believe it. The little brother I had protected for so long was capable of such cold-blooded scheming. In that moment, something inside me broke. I forgot he was injured. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him, my voice cracking as I asked him why. Why would he do something so extreme? He wasn’t just destroying me; he was destroying himself. But I never got an answer from Noah. Only a slap across the face from my father. And from Stella, the woman I loved, a look of pure hatred. “Asher, I am so disappointed in you.” Her words were like a thousand knives twisting in my heart. A wave of nausea hit me, and I could taste blood in the back of my throat. But even then, they showed me no mercy. I knew then. Noah’s plan had worked.” The entry stopped. But the tear stains on the paper were starkly visible, even through the camera’s lens. For the first time, the viewers in the chat seemed to feel a sliver of my despair. “Reading this… I can almost feel his despair… You guys think we might have gotten him wrong?”

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My cousin, Chloe, set her sights on my boyfriend. Little did she know, he’s a possessive yandere. When Chloe tried to affectionately link arms with me, attempting to butt into our date, he grabbed her by the throat and hissed coldly: “Stay away from Jade.” Chloe was completely baffled. Did he misunderstand something? She was trying to steal him, not me! 1 My boyfriend, Julian, is a certified yandere. He’s got the looks, the body, and most importantly, the money. I’m a hermit who loves nothing more than chilling at home. We are a match made in heaven. Today was my grandma’s 80th birthday, so I brought Julian along to the party. The moment Chloe saw him, her eyes practically lit up. “Jade, is this your boyfriend?” I knew that look. Chloe wanted him. Sure enough, the second Julian stepped out onto the balcony to take a call, my aunt and uncle pounced. “Jade,” my uncle started, his tone reeking of entitlement, “Chloe likes your boyfriend. As her older cousin, you should be generous. Let her have him.” I wasn’t surprised by their audacity. This family has a history of taking what’s mine. When my parents died in a car accident, my uncle and aunt swooped in and took control of my family’s entire estate. They called it “safekeeping.” When I turned eighteen and asked for my inheritance back, they cursed me out, calling me ungrateful for asking for money after they had “raised” me. But the company they run and the mansion they live in? All originally belonged to my parents. And then there’s Chloe. After my parents died, the first thing she did was take over my princess-themed bedroom and steal all my Barbie dolls. From childhood to adulthood, she took countless things from me. Toys, clothes, boyfriends. That’s exactly why I chose Julian. He’s possessive to a fault. I’m never worried about someone stealing him away. If anything, he’s the one constantly paranoid about some wild man stealing me. Seeing my silence, Chloe’s face darkened. “You’re not willing?” My aunt rolled her eyes and came up with a “brilliant” solution. “How about this, Jade? I won’t let you lose out. I’ll let your cousin, Mark, be your boyfriend.” Mark, my aunt’s son from her first marriage, shouted excitedly, “I’m willing!” Back in high school, Mark had tried to sneak into my room in the middle of the night. I smashed a heavy trophy over his head, leaving him bloody and terrified. After that, he only dared to look at me with disgusting, lecherous eyes. That’s why I barely ever went back home after starting college. Looking at Mark’s greasy face covered in acne, I felt nothing but nausea. My visible disgust clearly offended my aunt. “What’s with that look? What’s wrong with my Mark? You don’t know how many women out there are dying to marry him!” Just then, they saw Julian returning and shut their mouths. As he approached, Chloe whispered venomously, “Jade, I will take Julian from you. Just watch.” She looked at Julian with a predatory gleam in her eyes. Her little scheme was doomed from the start. No one knows better than me how much Julian hates other women hitting on him. The man is terrified that if he gets “dirty,” I won’t want him anymore. 2 During dinner, Julian peeled shrimp for me. Chloe immediately launched into her “pick-me” routine. “Brother Julian, you are so good. You’d rather go hungry just to peel shrimp for my cousin.” “Jade is so lucky. She doesn’t have to do anything, just sit there and wait to be fed.” The subtext was clear: I was unappreciative. Unfortunately for her, Julian didn’t buy it. “It’s my honor to peel shrimp for Jade,” he said, his voice dripping with devotion. “Is that so?” Chloe’s eyes glinted. I knew she was even more satisfied with his attentiveness now. Her voice became even more sugary. “Then, Brother Julian, I wonder if I could have the honor of eating a shrimp you peel…” Before she could finish, she let out a yelp, her face scrunching up in pain. My uncle and aunt rushed to ask what happened, but she waved them off with a vague excuse. After all, admitting that she tried to play footsie with Julian under the table and got kicked in the shin would be too humiliating. After dinner, I was watching TV while Julian peeled tangerines for me. Chloe limped over, fuming. “Brother Julian, don’t you have anything to say to me?” “My pants are dirty where you touched them. Please pay the dry cleaning bill,” Julian said coldly. “And call me ‘brother-in-law.’ I don’t have a shameless sister like you.” “You…” Chloe turned red with rage and limped away. I burst out laughing. Growing up, this was the first time I’d ever seen Chloe eat dirt. Julian shot me a glance, his eyes dark. “Funny? Another woman hits on me and you’re not jealous? Do you not love me?” “Love, love, love,” I said dismissively. “You have high moral standards, so I’m not worried.” Julian’s gaze was thick with intense affection. “Jade, you can’t betray me. If you do, I don’t know what I might do.” “Don’t worry,” I said, cupping his face and giving him a loud kiss. “I like you the most.” Why would I betray him? He’s rich, handsome, loyal, and lets me live my dream life of doing absolutely nothing. I’d have to be insane to leave him. Seeing Mark lurking in the shadows, watching me with his greasy gaze, made me appreciate Julian even more. “Since you love me, come for a walk with me.” My face fell. “Can we not?” “No,” Julian insisted. “It’s good for your health. Don’t you want to grow old with me?” I nodded vigorously. “I do, I do!” Funny enough, at first, Julian loved that I stayed home all the time. It meant no other men could see me. But eventually, even he couldn’t stand how much of a hermit I was and started dragging me out for fresh air. 3 That night, Julian and I stayed in my old room. It was a small guest room without an attached bathroom. In the middle of the night, I went to the shared bathroom down the hall. Just as I finished washing my hands and was about to leave, Mark burst in and squeezed through the door. I wasn’t naive enough to think he didn’t know someone was in there. His own room had a bathroom. He came specifically for me. I glared at him warily. “Get out!” Mark didn’t move. His greedy eyes raked over me. “Jade, I came here to tell you something.” “Say it.” I was trapped in the bathroom with him. I didn’t dare provoke him too much. “Jade, I’ve liked you for so many years.” “Break up with that Julian guy and be with me.” “That Julian… he doesn’t look like a good person. You won’t be happy with him. Unlike me. You know me.” My eyes widened. Is shamelessness genetic in this family? How could he have the nerve to say that? Was he forgetting who snuck into my room back in high school? To stall him, I said, “I’ll think about it. I’m tired, I want to go to sleep.” I tried to push past him, but he stood like a rock. Mark’s face darkened. “Jade, you’re brushing me off. I’m not as stupid as you think!” He took a step closer, backing me into a corner. I tried to shove him away, but he grabbed my wrists, pinning me. The fat on Mark’s face jiggled as his eyes gleamed with a manic light. “Jade, I love you. Just say yes.” He leaned down, trying to kiss my face. Bang! The bathroom door flew open. Julian stood there, radiating a terrifying aura. His voice was ice cold. “What are you doing?!” 4 My eyes lit up. My savior! But the way Julian was looking at both of us… it wasn’t friendly. My heart skipped a beat. Why did I feel like I was in trouble too? Illusion. Must be an illusion! Seeing the murderous Julian, Mark’s flab quivered in fear, but he quickly composed himself. He puffed out his chest. “Are you blind? I’m on a date with Jade. Truth is, Jade and I are childhood sweethearts. We’ve been together for ages. She only dated you to make me jealous.” “What the hell are you talking about?” I glared at Mark furiously. I underestimated him; he knew how to sow discord. Mark looked at me with a sigh, like I was a naughty child, and clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Jade, didn’t we agree? You were going to break up with him today.” He shook his head. “You’re just too soft-hearted. Fine, I’ll do it.” “Is that so?” Julian glanced at Mark’s hand on my shoulder. His expression was calm, unreadable. Only I knew he was on the verge of snapping. That’s just how he is. The angrier he gets, the calmer he looks. Mark, oblivious to his impending doom, lifted his chin arrogantly. “Yes. If you know what’s good for you, get out of our lives.” “Heh!” Julian suddenly chuckled. Mark was confused. “What’s funny?” The next second, the weight on my shoulder vanished. Replaced by Mark’s pig-like squeal. Julian had snapped the hand that touched me without a second thought. “Let go! Let go!” Mark’s face scrunched up in agony as he begged. Julian let go. Mark sighed in relief, only to scream even louder a second later. With a cold expression, Julian grabbed Mark’s shoulder and delivered a precise strike to a pressure point. It was fluid, almost graceful. Mark was now rolling on the floor in pain. So brutal. I loved it! Watching Mark, who had just cornered me and tried to assault me, get beaten to a pulp by Julian was incredibly satisfying. Any fear I had vanished instantly. Julian didn’t stop there. He looked down at Mark like he was looking at trash. He stepped on the hand that touched me, grinding it into the floor, finger by finger. Mark wanted to fight back, but one look from Julian froze him. He sensed that resistance would only lead to worse pain. Julian sneered. “Mark, Jade cares about looks. How could she ever like you?” “With your 200 pounds of fat, your crater face, and those beady little eyes?” “Do you think I’m as stupid as you?” “Before you lie, maybe look in a mirror and ask yourself if you’re worthy.” I nodded enthusiastically. Julian was right! Mark suffered a critical hit to both body and ego, crying snot and tears. The commotion finally attracted my uncle and aunt. Seeing Mark tortured like this, they lost it. “What did you do to Mark?!” 5 Even with my uncle and aunt there, Julian didn’t stop. He kicked Mark toward them like he was kicking a soccer ball. “Teaching him a lesson. Are you blind?” After stealing my inheritance, my aunt and uncle had lived a pampered life. They hadn’t been spoken to like this in years. Their faces turned black. My aunt screamed, “Are you even human? You beat him like this and think you’re right?” Julian’s eyes were icy. “Why don’t you ask your son what good deeds he was up to?” Seeing his saviors, Mark found his courage. Supported by his parents, he stood up and lied through his teeth. “I just haven’t seen Jade in a while and wanted to catch up. Julian misunderstood our relationship and beat me up.” “Catching up in the bathroom,” Julian mocked. “Your tastes are unique.” Hearing this, my aunt turned her wrath on me. “Jade, you little fox! In high school, you lured Mark into your room and beat him bloody. Now you lure him into the bathroom and get your boyfriend to beat him!” I laughed out loud at her absurd logic. Hello? Does she have no shame? Her precious son tried to rape me, and in her mouth, he becomes an innocent, 200-pound child? The more she spoke, the angrier she got. She lunged at me, raising her hand to slap me. Just as I was about to dodge, Julian caught her wrist and slapped her instead. Smack! The force sent my aunt flying. Her head hit the sink, blood trickled down, and she saw stars. My uncle caught her just before she hit the floor. She was too dizzy to even curse. My uncle was furious. “Julian! You hit a woman? Where are your manners?” Julian looked indifferent. “In my eyes, there is only one woman: Jade. Everyone else is just a target. Anyone who dares touch a hair on her head gets a lesson.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you want to try?” My uncle, whose body was hollowed out by alcohol and excess, was no match for Julian. He pursed his lips and took a step back. My aunt weakly croaked, “Police. Call the police.” My uncle found his spine. “Right! Police! Wait until you’re eating prison food!” Mark, even now, hadn’t given up on me. “Jade, dating a criminal has no future. Be with me instead.” I would have to be insane to be with Mark. But his words made me worry about Julian. Mark sensed it and got cocky. “Or, Jade, if you agree to be with me, I won’t press charges against Julian.” Julian, who had been looking down with unreadable thoughts, lifted his eyelids. His expression was dark, his smile terrifying. “What kind of daydream are you having?” I knew my uncle’s family was done for. Julian hates two things: people coveting me, and people trying to take me away. Mark hit both buttons repeatedly. Judging by Julian’s murderous look, he was treating them like dead men walking. But before Julian could act, my aunt slapped Mark. “You unfilial son! I got hit for you, and you want to forgive him for a slut? Are you crazy?” Mark argued back, “Mom, Julian hit you, not Jade! You can’t be unreasonable and blame her!” My aunt, red-eyed with rage, started beating her son. Watching this display of “motherly love,” I was amused. The tension in my chest eased. Finally, my uncle stopped the farce. “Enough! The priority is to call the police and arrest Julian. Discipline the boy later.” My aunt calmed down. “Right. Police. Let’s see if you’re still arrogant in jail.”

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After my private photos were leaked by my own husband, a decorated General, I quietly filed my discharge papers and applied for an overseas aid mission, telling no one. The next time I saw Fred Cole was ten years later, at a reunion for our old unit. Most of my friends were married with kids. Only Fred and I, divorced, remained single. “Aria,” a friend whispered, nudging me, “he’s definitely still waiting for you. He hasn’t dated anyone in a decade, never remarried.” Just then, Fred walked in. Clad in his immaculate dress uniform, he commanded the room’s attention. Ten years had passed, but he was still strikingly handsome, the sharp edges of his youth softened into a calm, authoritative presence. Knowing our history, our friends had deliberately seated us together. He watched me for a long time, a thousand unspoken words in his eyes, but all that came out was a quiet greeting. “Aria. It’s been a long time.” “Yes, it has,” I replied coolly, my face a mask, betraying none of the turmoil his presence stirred. I remembered the night before my commendation ceremony, when the internet had exploded with my intimate photos. Overnight, my reputation was in ruins, my medal of honor rescinded. And the man who had released them was my husband, Fred Cole. … I had run to his office, desperate for an explanation. But as I reached for the door, I overheard a conversation that stopped my world. “General, isn’t this a bit too harsh? Captain Evans has bled for this division, nearly died for it. After this, she might not even be allowed to wear the uniform again.” Fred’s voice was as cold as ice. “Maria needs this commendation. For her future in the military, sacrificing Aria once is a worthy trade.” I pressed myself against the wall, a chill seeping into my bones. “Brilliant strategy, sir,” his aide’s voice oozed with sycophancy. “Three simple steps to bring the legendary ‘Hawkeye’ of our Special Forces to heel.” “First, upon her transfer to the Falcon unit, you assigned her that impossible extraction mission, the one doomed to fail.” “Second, you personally led the rescue, earning her undying gratitude and turning her into the sharpest weapon in your arsenal.” “And finally, you coaxed her into taking those risqué photos, the perfect leverage to use at the most critical moment.” Fred chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth, full of cold control. “More interesting than breaking a wild stallion, wouldn’t you say?” The aide hesitated. “But why marry her, sir? Did the act become a little too real?” Fred toyed with his sidearm, a soft, dismissive sound in his throat, as if it had all been a necessary burden. “Three years ago, Maria had just gotten her helicopter pilot’s license. During a night training exercise, she lost control and collided with a military vehicle carrying Aria and her mother. The three-month-old fetus she was carrying, and her mother… they didn’t make it.” “Maria was terrified. It wasn’t her fault,” Fred’s voice remained unnervingly calm. “The other vehicle failed to yield in time.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, my nails digging into my palm until they drew blood. After my mother died, I had been consumed by grief. Fred had held my hand and sworn to me, “Aria, I promise I will find out what happened. I will get justice for you and your mother.” A month later, he had returned, looking weary. “The dashcam data was corrupted. Unrecoverable.” He had pulled me into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. I’m your family now. I’ll protect you with my life. Marry me, Aria.” I looked down at the wedding ring on my finger. This marriage, this so-called happiness, was built on the blood of my mother and my unborn child. “I married her to bury the incident for good,” Fred’s voice shattered my last illusion. “Maria needs a clean slate, and I will personally pave the way for her, every step.” I stumbled back, my combat boots silent on the polished floor. I didn’t stop until I was outside the command building, where I doubled over, my stomach churning violently. I retched until only sour bile came up, then wiped my mouth and pulled out my phone, dialing a number buried deep in my contacts. It was answered on the first ring. “Do you still need that bone marrow match for your sister?” My voice trembled in the night air. “I’ll do it.” “On one condition.” “I want Fred Cole and Maria, their careers, their reputations, utterly destroyed.” A low voice on the other end replied, “Done.” After hanging up, I immediately called my lawyer to draft the divorce papers. I had just finished reviewing them when Fred walked in. “You’re back. Why didn’t you tell me?” He reached for my shoulder. “The guard said you looked pale.” I sidestepped his touch. He probably assumed I was still reeling from the photo leak. He swept me up and set me down on the sofa. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a convincing imitation of concern. “I kept those photos in an encrypted drive. I never thought a hacker could get through. But I promise, I’ll handle this.” I looked into his eyes, clear and sincere, and saw not a flicker of guilt. How many lies had he told me over the years? I pushed him away wearily. “I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower.” The next morning, Fred was already gone. I opened the military forum. The top post was still about my photos. But the one right below it was about Maria. “#BREAKING# Lieutenant Colonel Maria Caught in Late-Night Tryst with Political Officer!” The post included a grainy video of a car rocking violently. After ten minutes, a woman in a disheveled uniform, her face hidden by a mask, got out. But I recognized her immediately. It was Maria. No wonder Fred had disappeared so early. He was probably off doing damage control for his precious Maria. I scoffed, printed the divorce papers, and slipped them into a thick stack of documents on his desk awaiting his signature. I knew his habit. He never double-checked paperwork, just flicked the corner and signed. Then, I started to pack. Opening a storage locker, I froze. For every gift Fred had ever given me, Maria had a matching one. Even my wedding ring had a counterpart on Maria’s finger. Hers and Fred’s looked more like a set than ours did. I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it into the locker, slamming the door shut. “Captain Evans!” A guard knocked urgently on my door. “General Cole is holding an emergency press conference!” On the live feed, Fred stood at a podium in front of the military crest, Maria standing just behind him, her eyes red-rimmed. “Regarding the recent rumors of misconduct within the ranks, the Disciplinary Committee has confirmed the incident did, in fact, occur.” A wave of murmurs went through the press corps. I clenched the hem of my fatigues. Why would he admit it? My eyes darted to Maria. As she lowered her head, I caught the ghost of a triumphant smirk. A chill ran down my spine. “However, the individual involved was not Lieutenant Colonel Maria,” Fred’s voice was firm. “Last night, she was with me in the command center, planning a joint-forces exercise.” The reporters surged forward, microphones outstretched. “Then who was it, General?” Fred’s gaze seemed to pierce through the camera, landing directly on me. “It was my wife,” he said, each word a hammer blow, “Captain Aria Evans.” I stared at the screen, my nails digging so deep into my palms that beads of blood soaked through the fabric of my uniform. On the screen, Maria stepped forward at the perfect moment, her voice thick with emotion but firm. “Although Captain Evans’s actions have caused me to be unjustly accused, I believe she must have had her reasons. As her comrade, we should give her a chance to reform.” She turned to Fred, her voice breaking. “But… General Cole, you have been wronged. Thank you for clearing my name.” In front of the entire world, she saluted him, then fell into his arms. The flashbulbs went off like a volley of gunfire. Several high-ranking officers in the front row began to applaud. A reporter shoved a microphone in Fred’s face. “You’re the youngest General in the division, sir. Why would Captain Evans be involved with someone else?” “Will you be filing for divorce?” “How will the military compensate Lieutenant Colonel Maria?” Fred’s expression was one of profound pain. “No matter what happens, I will not abandon my marriage. As her husband, I will always be Aria’s support.” He looked down at Maria, still in his arms. “As for compensation—after careful consideration, command of the ‘Thunder’ Special Operations unit, formerly under Captain Aria Evans, will be transferred to Lieutenant Colonel Maria, effective immediately.” The words had barely registered before I was running to the bathroom, vomiting violently into the toilet. It was disgusting. He was stabbing me in the back while publicly declaring himself my “support.” My eyes burning, I opened the military forum again. My inbox was flooded with hate mail. “Disgrace to the army!” “You call yourself Special Forces? Get out!” “Divorce him already! Maria and the General are the perfect match!” Fred knew exactly how devastating a disciplinary action was to a soldier’s career. And he hadn’t hesitated to throw me to the wolves. Why? I opened the internal grievance system, but as I started to type, a message popped up: “ACCESS DENIED.” A secure line from the Chief of Staff patched through. “Captain Evans, all your system access has been temporarily suspended by direct order of the Joint Chiefs.” He paused. “General Cole asked me to inform you that if you make any unauthorized statements, you will be prosecuted for leaking military secrets.” The comms unit slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “Fred Cole,” I whispered to the empty room, “you are a master.” Fred came home late, reeking of alcohol. I was sitting on the sofa in the dark. He walked past me without a word. “Don’t you have anything to explain to me?” He stopped, rubbing his temples. “It was an emergency. There was no time to consult you. Maria was innocent. She was set up.” “And me?” I stared at him. “I deserved to be the scapegoat? General, did you give any thought to my rank, my honor?” He avoided my gaze, fiddling with the cuff of his uniform. “Officially, Maria was also on the shortlist for the commendation. Your disciplinary action was already logged. The military had to protect one of you. Unofficially, she’s my foster sister. You’re her sister-in-law. Were you going to stand by and watch her career be destroyed? It was just one disciplinary mark.” Every word was an icicle, piercing the last of my illusions. In his eyes, officially or unofficially, I was worth less than a single hair on Maria’s head. “Look,” he said, his tone softening slightly, “I have leave in a few days. I’ll take you away, we’ll clear our heads.” He reached for my face, but I flinched away. His expression darkened. “Aria, I’m already at my wits’ end trying to bury your photo scandal. Can’t you see the bigger picture for once?” He turned and strode into his study, slamming the door behind him. I stood there, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. A little longer. Just until he signs the papers. Then I would make him pay for everything he owed me, a thousand times over. I wiped the tears from my eyes, heated a glass of milk, and brought it to him in the study, my customary peace offering. His expression softened, and he pulled me into his lap. “Just be good. As long as you follow orders, I will always have your back.” His hand slid under my shirt, his palm hot against my skin. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I pushed the stack of documents in front of him. “You should work first. Then you can come to bed.” He chuckled, squeezing my arm, and started signing, one document after another. He didn’t even notice when he signed his name on the divorce agreement I had slipped into the middle of the stack. For the next few days, I stayed in my quarters, waiting for the divorce to be finalized. But Maria wasn’t done with me.

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Five years into my marriage with Adrian Lopez, his long-lost love, Marilee, miraculously came back from the dead. She moved into my home, kissed my husband, and my son even started calling her “Mommy.” Adrian told me she had cancer and that he needed to make it up to her. He told me to be the bigger person. My son, Leo, said to me, “You’re just not as gentle or pretty as her. And she doesn’t have any scars.” So I gave them what they wanted. I faked my own death and disappeared, finally starting the quiet life I’d always longed for. More than a decade passed in a blur. Then, Leo Lopez enrolled in the university where I teach. He found me, his eyes red-rimmed with tears, and demanded, “If you never wanted me, why did you even have me?” 1 It was the break between classes, and the grounds below the lecture hall were swarming with students. Leo ignored the curious stares, his fingers clenching the fabric of my sleeve. The heat of his gaze made me feel like I was being roasted over an open flame. I lowered my eyes, fighting to appear calm. “You must have the wrong person, young man. I’ve never been married, and I don’t have children.” His voice was deceptively steady. “Really?” he shot back. “The same face, the same build, even the same first name. Did I get it wrong, or are you just too scared to admit who you are?” It was a dramatic twist of fate. After faking my death, I fled the country and ran into the Reeds, a couple mourning the recent loss of their daughter. They saw the resemblance between us and asked me to take on her identity. By some cosmic coincidence, her name was also Ava. Sometimes you just have to accept that another “you” exists somewhere in the world. As Ava Reed, I finished my doctorate abroad and eventually became a university professor. When Mr. Reed passed away, his final wish was to be buried back home, so I returned to the States with his wife. Not long after, she passed away too. Once again, I was alone in this vast world. As for Leo, the child I had left behind, I never imagined I would see him again. His sudden appearance caught me completely off guard. I used to imagine what he’d look like when he grew up. But standing here, he didn’t seem to resemble me or Adrian. I searched my mind, but the image of his younger self was already a blur. When I walked away from the Lopezs, I left with nothing but the clothes on my back, a clean, sharp break. Every photograph I had cherished, every memory I’d saved—all of it had been turned to ash in the fire. My thoughts were a chaotic whirl. Leo’s grip on my sleeve tightened, as if he feared I would vanish the moment he loosened his hold. A colleague I knew passed by on her way to class and, seeing the situation, came over to intervene. “Mr. Lopez, I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said gently. “It’s just a resemblance. You shouldn’t hold up Professor Reed’s lecture.” Doubt flickered across Leo’s face, and his grip slackened. I seized the opportunity, pulling my arm free and hurrying up the stairs. At the landing, I glanced back. Leo stood there, a lonely, dejected figure. He was as striking as Adrian, the kind of person you could spot in a crowd instantly. He looked heartbroken. But I felt no pang of sympathy. I just told myself, Ava, you can look back, but you can never, ever go back. 2 Teaching always consumed me, and I quickly pushed the morning’s interruption to the back of my mind. Back in my office, the heating was on full blast. I took off my coat but left my scarf on. A new professor in the office across from mine pointed it out kindly. “Professor Reed, you forgot to take off your scarf.” I just smiled without a word. I prepped my lessons, reviewed a thesis, ate lunch, and settled in for a nap. Leo’s appearance hadn’t disrupted my life. My routine was unshakable. At least, that’s how it seemed. I reclined my chair, pulled a thin blanket over myself, and checked that my alarm was set. I closed my eyes, the familiar drowsiness creeping in. But I had underestimated the psychological toll of Leo’s sudden return. For the first time in years, I dreamt of Adrian and Leo. My marriage to Adrian was a business arrangement. My father had done a great favor for Adrian’s father back in the day and never asked for anything in return. But then my father’s business ran into trouble, and he had no choice but to turn to the Lopezs for help. Mr. Lopez agreed, on the condition that our families be joined by marriage. Back then, I had a secret crush on Adrian. But I knew he was in love with a girl named Marilee Sterling, so I never dared to reveal my feelings. In the world we lived in, marriage was rarely about love. When I found out I was going to marry him, I was so ecstatic I couldn’t sleep all night. I thought I could work my way into his heart, slowly, patiently. But halfway through our wedding ceremony, news broke that the plane Marilee was on had crashed. She had been leaving the country, heartbroken, and the flight went down into the ocean. No survivors, no remains. Adrian calmly let the wedding proceed. But I knew a wall had just been erected around his heart. And the eternally young, eternally perfect Marilee was now enshrined within it forever. I suggested we live as husband and wife in name only. Instead, he descended on me with a chilling darkness, without a hint of tenderness. He whispered venomously in my ear, “Does it hurt? Good. Suffer. Marilee is dead because of your family. You all brought this on yourselves.” The night after that, my family’s company went bankrupt, and we vanished from the city’s high society. My father, in his despair, jumped from his office building. My mother suffered a mental breakdown and was committed to a sanatorium. I remember the night my father died. Adrian came home, staggering drunk. He stormed into my bedroom and ravaged me like a man possessed. “Ava,” he snarled, “I’m going to make you hurt a hundred, a thousand times more than I do.” I thought about ending it all. But Adrian saw right through me. “If you don’t want your mother to suffer, you’ll stay alive,” he threatened. “You know I have my ways.” I was trapped. I couldn’t die, but living was agony. 3 My marriage to Adrian was a suffocating, airless prison. In public, we were the perfect, loving couple. We attended galas and entertained guests, always by each other’s side. The media often snapped photos of him buying me luxury brands or bidding on priceless jewels at auction, dubbing him the ultimate doting husband. But behind closed doors, he would take out his rage on my body, hissing that I was no better than a whore he’d paid for. After each time, he would toss the expensive jewelry at my face. “Here’s your service fee,” he’d sneer. “At least you’re a high-class one.” I didn’t know when this life would end, or how much longer I could endure it. Then, a small mercy: my mother’s condition improved, and she was discharged. I didn’t want her to worry, so I’d tell her how thoughtful and considerate Adrian was, what a wonderful man he was. But no matter how well I acted, how could a mother not see the truth? She left me a letter, telling me to find my freedom. Then she followed my father. My spirit shattered completely. I stopped eating, stopped drinking. No tears, no outbursts. I just faded. Soon, I fell into a coma, my vital signs slipping away. My mind, however, was crystal clear. I developed a sick, twisted craving for death. It was the only way out, the ultimate release. But Adrian wouldn’t allow it. Every time I drifted close to the edge, a pair of hands would pull me back. I could hear Adrian’s voice in my ear, choked with sobs. He spoke with a gentleness and desperation I had never heard before. He said he had lost. He said that through the endless, torturous days, he had somehow fallen in love with me. How absurd. After being revived yet again, a doctor gave me the news: I was pregnant. A fruit had grown from the flower of my suffering. I felt like my life was now shackled forever. I didn’t want this child. I secretly scheduled an abortion at a different hospital. But Adrian found me. He locked me away, with guards watching me twenty-four hours a day, until I gave birth to Leo. 4 The dream was long and torturous, pulling me back into the depths of my old pain. Thankfully, my alarm went off, yanking me back to reality. After my afternoon lecture, I headed to the parking garage. As I passed the athletic fields, a basketball came flying straight at my head. My mind went blank. I instinctively threw my hands up to shield my face. The impact I braced for never came. I opened my eyes. Leo stood in front of me, clutching his head where the ball had hit him. I found myself in a tangle of emotions. As much as I wanted nothing to do with him, I couldn’t just walk away from a student who had just protected me in front of everyone. I took him to the campus clinic. After he was patched up, I turned to leave. “Professor Reed,” Leo called out. “I helped you. Don’t I deserve a thank you?” I stopped and turned back. “I already said thank you.” “A verbal thank you is so boring. How about something more tangible?” He sauntered over to me. “It’s my birthday today. Could you… could you have dinner with me?” His words unlocked a flood of memories I had kept sealed away. Though I hadn’t wanted Leo’s birth, perhaps it was the agonizing, difficult labor, or perhaps it was just maternal instinct, but I came to love him fiercely. Once, when he was a toddler, he almost knocked over a kettle. Without a second thought, I lunged forward and wrapped him in my arms. The entire pot of boiling water cascaded down my neck and chest. Afterwards, to soothe the terrified child, I held him and sang to him for four hours straight. I missed the optimal window for treatment. The burn left a permanent, ugly scar. I didn’t care about the scar. All that mattered was that my son was safe. For him, I put on a performance, playing the part of a loving wife to give him a happy home. And we were, for a time, happy. Until he turned four. That was when the facade was ripped away. After Leo was born, Adrian had grown to love our family life. He’d often suggested having another child, but I always refused. As a result, he doted on our only son. Leo’s birthday parties became more extravagant each year. For his fourth, he invited Leo’s entire preschool class to a private amusement park and ski slope that his grandfather had built specially for him. Halfway through the party, an unexpected guest arrived. It was Marilee Sterling. I had seen her photos on Adrian’s phone. She was beautiful and elegant, and now she had an added layer of mature grace. Perhaps the shock of seeing a ghost was too much, because Adrian just stood there, staring in disbelief. It was only when she called his name that he instinctively dropped my hand. It turned out Marilee had missed her flight that day, rebooking on a later one and escaping the crash. She said she hadn’t wanted to disrupt Adrian’s life, so she had stayed away. A recent job transfer had brought her back to the city, and she just wanted to see him. Old friends reunited. There was much to catch up on. Adrian set Marilee up in one of his private apartments. He didn’t come home that night. I knew my life was about to be thrown into turmoil again. I just didn’t expect that the one thing I held onto—my only anchor—would be taken from me too. 5 A confused Leo once asked me who Marilee was. I didn’t know how to answer. “Let’s wait for Daddy to tell you, okay?” I said. The next morning, Adrian came home, his steps weary and unsteady. Leo, a milk mustache on his upper lip, asked the question again. Suddenly, Adrian’s temper flared. “You’re disgusting, Ava! Using our son to manipulate me!” he yelled. “Marilee has cancer! What’s wrong with me taking care of her? You already have so much! Why can’t you just be a little more generous, a little kinder?” I glanced at the faint, tell-tale red mark on his collar and said nothing. His outburst sent Leo into a fit of terrified tears. Sanity returned to Adrian, and he apologized. I remained silent. Marilee’s company had business with Adrian’s, so they started seeing each other more and more. Without me realizing it, Leo had also grown attached to her. I first noticed something was wrong one night as I was reading him a bedtime story. After only a few sentences, he started fussing, insisting that he wanted Marilee to read to him. I had no choice but to let him have his way. It was only later that I realized the three of them had built a whole world behind my back. Soon after, Marilee invited us to her birthday dinner. Fueled by alcohol, she wept as she recounted the hardships she had faced over the years. Leo, his face etched with sympathy, walked over, took her hand, and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t cry, pretty lady,” he said. “Mommy stole Daddy from you, so Leo will give himself to you.” A cold premonition washed over me. I sensed a distance growing between me and my son. But I clung to a sliver of hope—he was my child, born from my body. That bond was unbreakable. That last sliver of hope was shattered the day I heard Leo call her “Mommy.” 6 It was an ordinary Friday. I made sweet and sour pork ribs, Leo’s favorite. I simmered a chicken soup, the kind Adrian loved. I waited for my husband and son to come home. Instead, all three of them walked in together. Marilee and Adrian were holding Leo’s hands, laughing and talking as they entered. A perfect, happy family of three. “Mommy, I was a good boy at school today! You promised you’d give me a reward.” I froze. I didn’t remember making any such promise. A moment later, Marilee’s gentle voice drifted over. “Of course, sweetie. Mommy already has it ready for you.” Adrian looked up and saw me. My expression must have been ghastly, because he felt the need to walk over and explain. “Marilee took Leo hiking the other day,” he began. “They stopped at an old monastery, and a monk there said that Leo and Marilee were mother and son in a past life. So I had Leo officially recognize her as his godmother. Don’t worry, no matter what, you’ll always be his real mother. That will never change.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. What a flimsy excuse. And it had changed. “Godmother” and “Mommy” were worlds apart. Leo pouted. “If you don’t like it, Mommy, I can just use their names when I talk. You can be Mommy Ava, and she can be Mommy Marilee.” I rose from the sofa. “Don’t bother. From now on, you only have one mother.”

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