Category: English

The last time Sebastian kicked me out of his car, I knew it was over. I wasn’t as heartbroken as I expected. Honestly? I felt relieved. I agreed to the arranged marriage my family set up and prepared to move to Germany with my new fiancé. On Sebastian’s birthday, our friends teased: “I wonder what Sophie got for Sebastian this year? That plot of land he’s been eyeing? Bet she hands it over on a silver platter.” But the party ended, and I never showed up. He didn’t know I was already on a plane to Germany. And he didn’t know I was finally done with him. 1 Friday morning, I got a text from Sebastian. Come to the family estate tonight. 6 PM. I replied “Okay” and tossed my phone aside. At six, I went downstairs. Sebastian’s Bentley was waiting. His driver, Mr. King, opened the passenger door for me. I nodded thanks and got in. Unsurprisingly, Sebastian and Bella were in the back seat. They were laughing and chatting, completely ignoring my existence. Fine by me. I leaned back and closed my eyes. After a while, Bella seemed to finally notice the extra person in the car. “Sophie,” her voice was soft, almost timid. “Sorry, did we wake you?” Old me would have snapped back. You knew you were loud, so why didn’t you shut up? Or maybe, Who do you think you are talking to me? But this time, I didn’t. I shook my head calmly. “No. Carry on.” Bella froze for a second, then continued, “It’s all Sebastian’s fault for distracting me. I didn’t even see you get in. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” She stuck out her tongue playfully, then clung to Sebastian’s arm. “Seb, tell her not to be mad. It’s my first time meeting your grandfather. I can’t have him upset with me.” “Don’t worry, Bella.” Sebastian’s voice dripped with affection. He kissed her cheek, then looked at me. His eyes were cold, a warning in their depths. “Sophie wouldn’t do that. Right?” It wasn’t the first time he’d questioned me because of her, but my heart still stung. In his mind, I was that petty. I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Of course. I wouldn’t stoop so low.” 2 Something I said triggered him. The air in the car turned freezing. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Sophie Shen, what do you mean by that?” I straightened up and met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “I said I wouldn’t stoop so low as to sabotage her. Is that clear enough, Mr. Stone?” It was the first time I’d addressed him so formally. Sebastian fell silent. I looked away. Our families had arranged our engagement when we were kids. Back then, he was the handsome, gentle boy next door. I was infatuated with his dark, expressive eyes. Now, the gentleness was gone, replaced by a sharp, cold stranger. And frankly, I didn’t want to force my way into his world anymore. The silence was broken by Bella’s sobbing. “It’s my fault. I made Sophie angry. I only asked to come because I was nervous about being alone… I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, looking at Sebastian with teary eyes. “Sophie, please don’t be mad. I won’t go.” She fumbled with her seatbelt, her hands shaking too much to unbuckle it. Sebastian grabbed her hands, pulling her into his embrace. He murmured comforts until she cried herself to sleep in his arms. When he looked up again, the tenderness vanished. He glared at me. “We both know the engagement is a joke. It means nothing compared to Bella. I’ll say this one last time: I don’t love you. I only love Bella.” I knew. I knew he loved her. The whole social circle knew. His bias was blatant. 3 “If Grandfather didn’t insist on seeing you,” Sebastian said coldly, “I wouldn’t have brought you along to upset Bella. Get out.” Kicked out of the car again. But this time, as I stood on the curb, I exhaled. I wasn’t devastated. I was… relieved. I remembered my birthday. I had been mad at him for dating Bella. To cheer me up, he rented out the ballroom at The Peninsula. But he arrived halfway through the party. My friends tried to comfort me. “Sebastian definitely saved the best gift for last. Just wait.” I believed them. But when he opened the box, it was a bracelet—a free gift-with-purchase that came with the expensive necklace Bella was wearing. Before I could even react, his phone rang. It was Bella. “Seb… did you leave the door unlocked? I hear noises downstairs… I’m scared…” Her voice trembled like a frightened kitten. My skin crawled. But Sebastian ate it up. He chuckled softly. “Babe, I’m at a friend’s birthday. Don’t be silly.” Then came a scream and a crash from the other end of the line. Sebastian’s smile vanished. He looked at me. “Sophie, stay here and enjoy the party. I have to go check on Bella.” He didn’t wait for me to speak. He turned and ran. I don’t know what possessed me, but I chased after him. I only saw his taillights fading into the distance. I squatted on the curb for hours. It started to rain. Night turned into dawn. My legs went numb, and I collapsed onto the pavement. That was the moment I finally understood. Unrequited love is a lonely war. The boy I loved was gone. And finally, so were my feelings for him. 4 “Sophie Shen.” I looked up to see a pair of long legs approaching. My gaze traveled up to a face that was devastatingly handsome. Even better than his photo. Months ago, my dad asked if I still wanted to marry Sebastian. I said no. His relationship with Bella was serious. I had lost. Or maybe I never even played. To Sebastian, I was just a childhood joke. But Sebastian’s grandfather credited me with saving his life once, so he insisted I be his granddaughter-in-law. My family didn’t know how to break it to the old man. Then, three days ago, Dad showed me a photo. “How about this guy?” He was exactly my type. Dad laughed. “This is the youngest son of the Cheng family. You should get to know him.” I didn’t realize then that “the Cheng family” meant The Cheng Family of New York. “I didn’t think you’d come,” Julian Cheng said. After all, my “childhood sweetheart” had just kicked me to the curb. Julian was just a stranger, an arranged match. “Sophie, don’t sell yourself short. You’re worth showing up for.” His eyes were sincere. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he liked me. I smiled and got into his car. As I reached for the seatbelt, he leaned over. His scent—clean, expensive—filled my senses. My breath hitched. His long arm reached across me, pulling the belt. For a second, it felt like a hug. My heart started pounding. As he started the engine, his voice was warm. “You probably haven’t eaten. May I have the honor of taking you to dinner?” Usually, I don’t dine with strangers. But this time, I said, “Sure.”

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Ten years. That’s how long I served my time in the gray, the space between lives. I scrubbed my karmic slate clean and bought myself a second chance, but I didn’t come back empty-handed. The universe, in its infinite and brutal wisdom, gave me a gift: a power that makes the lies of my biased parents come true. At the dinner table, my adoptive mother slid the only steak onto my brother’s plate. “A growing boy needs his protein or he’ll get stupid,” she’d said. “A girl can make do with bread and scraps.” In that instant, my brother’s eyes glazed over. He’s been babbling like a toddler ever since. When I was eighteen, they started a vicious rumor to scrape together cash for my brother. My adoptive father swore an oath to the whole town. “I saw it with my own two eyes! Old Man Hemlock dragging my daughter into the cornfields. I’d have to be blind to mistake my own kid!” The next second, my father’s world went black. He hasn’t seen the light of day since. Later, when the Quinns—the obscenely wealthy family who were my real parents—finally found me, my adoptive mother pulled my new mother aside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Be careful what you say around this one. Don’t ever, ever lie to her.” My birth mother, Eleanor, didn’t understand. Not yet. She would. Back at the Quinn estate, she wrapped an arm around the weeping girl they’d raised as their own, a girl named Natalie, and smiled at me. “Natalie has always been so delicate. The room with the morning sun… it’s better for her health if she keeps it.” 1 My father, Richard Quinn, nodded instantly. His gaze softened as he looked at the fragile, perfect Natalie. “She’s right. Natalie’s constitution is weak; she needs the sun. The third-floor suite with the terrace is hers. You can take the room on the second floor.” I looked at Natalie. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her skin as flawless as porcelain. She looked about as “delicate” as a diamond. Then I thought of my own reflection: hair like straw from years of malnutrition, skin sallow and stretched thin over my bones. I tilted my head, my voice flat. “What about her is weak?” The question seemed to throw Eleanor. She stammered, searching for an answer. “Well… she’s just…” Natalie’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She sagged against Eleanor like a wilted flower. “Mom, does she hate me? I… I can give her the room. I don’t mind… I should be the one to leave anyway. Yes, you should just let me go!” She made a show of wiping her eyes and turning toward the door. “Natalie, don’t be ridiculous!” Eleanor pulled her back, cradling her protectively before turning to glower at me. “Zoe, we aren’t playing favorites. The fact is, Natalie is fragile. She has to be looked after carefully.” That’s when my brother, Leo, who had been sizing me up with a critical stare, finally spoke. “Why are you asking so many questions? You might share my blood, but Natalie is the only sister I’ll ever claim. You’re the older one now, so you need to learn to give way to her.” A cold smile touched my lips, one they couldn’t see. In my last life, I was ground down to nothing by that cruel couple who raised me. I did the hardest chores, ate the worst food, and finally froze to death on the street one winter when I was fifteen. I used to wonder why. I thought it was just because I was unlovable. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t theirs at all. But looking at this new family, I realized that even if I had survived long enough to be found, my life wouldn’t have been much better. But the powers that be gave me a second chance. And they included a little party favor. This time, to hell with family. Anyone who owes me a debt will pay it. In full. I asked again, my voice deceptively soft. “Are you sure? Is she really that weak?” My little gift would be the judge of that. I was practically vibrating with anticipation, eager to see how it worked on the Quinns. My father waved a dismissive hand. “That’s enough. Don’t be so difficult. Are you saying we’re lying to you?” Eleanor nodded, her voice edged with urgency. “It’s true, Zoe. Natalie’s health is a serious matter. Her doctor said if she’s not cared for properly, she could… she could collapse, even cough up blood.” She hadn’t even finished the sentence. Splat. The girl in her arms, Natalie, gave a violent shudder. A spray of crimson erupted from her lips, painting the pristine white rug. The silence in the grand living room was absolute, broken only by the drip of blood onto the marble floor. Then, Natalie’s eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the ground, her face paling to a ghostly white before our eyes. “Natalie!” “My baby!” The three of them scrambled, their panic a chaotic symphony around her limp body. I remained where I stood, a silent, satisfied smile playing on my lips. See? Lies have a way of coming true. They rushed Natalie to the hospital. The moment their car was gone, I told the housekeeper to prepare the third-floor suite. I moved in that afternoon. A few days of peace passed. That weekend, Natalie, apparently recovered, invited me on a shopping trip. As we were about to get in the car to go home, she clutched her stomach, feigning a sudden pain. She told me to wait while she and the driver went to a nearby pharmacy. The second she was out of sight, a couple of creeps materialized, rubbing their hands together as they closed in on me. I almost laughed. You could have had a peaceful life, Natalie. Instead, you chose to play with fire. Fine. I’d let her feel the burn. I flexed my knuckles and met them head-on. A few sharp, well-placed strikes, and the thugs were groaning on the pavement. When I got home, I put on the performance of a lifetime. “Mom, Dad!” I cried, forcing tears. “Some men tried to attack me! If I didn’t know how to defend myself, God knows what would have happened! We have to call the police!” Just as I finished, Natalie burst in. “Don’t call the police!” Her eyes darted to me, a flash of pure hatred in them when she saw I was unharmed. She quickly masked it. “Sister, let’s not rush into things. Calling the police could be bad for the family’s reputation…” My father’s brow furrowed. “Natalie has a point. This isn’t a game.” Leo looked me up and down, his contempt undisguised. “Zoe, take a look in the mirror. You’re a mess. What kind of creep would be desperate enough to go after you?” Eleanor hesitated. “Perhaps there was a misunderstanding?” I stood my ground. “It was no misunderstanding. I want justice. Why else would they come straight for me? I was standing right next to Natalie’s car.” I let my gaze drift to Natalie. “If they weren’t after me, then maybe…” Leo jumped in immediately. “That car is always for Natalie. They must have mistaken you for her. Who else would they be after? It’s not like anyone would want to get near you,” he sneered. “And call the police? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re wasting their time.” Eleanor hugged Natalie, nodding in agreement. “He’s right, it must have been a simple case of mistaken identity. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” I pretended to protest. “But what if they really were after me?” Richard waved his hand impatiently. “Stop making trouble, Zoe! It’s obvious, isn’t it? Those men were after Natalie. You just had the bad luck to be in the way. Consider it taking one for the team—for your sister.” I suppressed a surge of manic glee. “Mom, do you really think so too?” “Of course,” she said firmly. “They were clearly after Natalie. Since you’re not hurt, and the Quinn family’s reputation is at stake, it’s best to let this go.” I drew out my next words, my tone shifting completely. “Ooooh. So the creeps were after Natalie.” I turned, whistling a cheerful tune as I went upstairs, leaving the three of them staring after me, a flicker of confusion on their faces. That evening, Natalie came downstairs dressed to kill. “Mom, Dad, Leo, I have a party tonight. I won’t be home for dinner.” Eleanor beamed, turning Natalie around by the hands. “Just look at you! My beautiful girl. You’re going to break so many hearts tonight!” From the second-floor landing, I watched the happy family scene. Perfect. I wondered if they’d still be smiling by the end of the night. At dinner, my mood was unusually bright. I ate three bowls of rice. Just as I was about to head out for a walk, I heard my father’s voice roar from the living room, laced with a tremor of fear. “What?! Natalie… attacked by thugs?! Where?! When did this happen?!” I turned to see Richard clutching the phone, his face ashen. Eleanor had already fainted on the sofa. Once again, the Quinns scrambled off to the hospital. This time, I followed at a leisurely pace. In the hospital room, Natalie’s face was swathed in bandages. The skin that was visible was a patchwork of angry purple and blue bruises. Her eyes were hollow, vacant. Lifeless. Eleanor was clinging to her, her sobs echoing in the sterile room. Richard, his face like thunder, was barking orders into his phone, telling his men to find the attackers and deal with them—quietly. I leaned against the doorframe. “Well, well. You don’t think these are the same guys who almost got me by mistake, do you? They work fast. Found their real target in no time.” Leo spun around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Zoe! Do you have any humanity at all? Natalie is lying there like that, and you’re making jokes?” Natalie’s head snapped toward me, her eyes filled with a poison so potent I could almost feel it. Richard took a deep breath, looking at his battered daughter. “Natalie has been through a terrible ordeal. We have to make it up to her. I’m transferring ten percent of my shares in Quinn Corp to her name. As a comfort, and for her future security.” Eleanor and Leo nodded in solemn agreement, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I let out a soft laugh. I’d been wondering how to get my hands on the Quinn family fortune, and here my dear father was, serving it up on a silver platter. I put on a wounded expression. “Dad, Mom… have you forgotten something? Your actual daughter comes home, and you’ve given me nothing.” Leo pointed a trembling finger at me. “Zoe, don’t push your luck! Do you have to grab everything that’s Natalie’s?” My parents’ faces hardened. I wiped away a non-existent tear. “So that’s how it is. I suffered for eighteen years out in the world, thinking that when I came home, I’d finally be loved. But I see now my place is still lower than an adopted girl’s.” Eleanor’s expression softened for a moment, but Natalie, ever the actress, started crying again. “Mom, Dad, I think she’s right. I’m just the adopted daughter. I don’t deserve the shares. You should give them to her. Once I’m better, I’ll move out. I won’t take up her space anymore.” Her performance sent Richard and Eleanor into a fresh wave of pity. Richard’s brow furrowed, his gaze on me filled with disapproval. “Zoe, look what you’ve done to her. I’ve told you, you are our daughter, but so is Natalie. It’s just ten percent of the shares. Why must you fight over everything? Can’t you just yield to her for once?” Just as Eleanor was about to scold me, I heard a couple of nurses whispering nearby. “Wow, the classic long-lost daughter story. You have to feel for the real one. Eighteen years of hell, and she comes home to be treated worse than the imposter.” “And the parents are clueless. The fake one has been living her life for years. They should be showering the real daughter with compensation, not pushing her aside.” The Quinns heard them. Their faces flushed with shame. Eleanor’s tone shifted. She took my hand. “Zoe, we know you’ve suffered. But Natalie was just attacked. We have to compensate her. Don’t worry, we won’t favor one of you over the other.” I nodded slowly. “Oh. So ‘not favoring one over the other’ means I get ten percent too?” Leo exploded. “Zoe! Have you no shame? Still thinking about money at a time like this! You’re just some hick from the countryside. How can you even compare to Natalie? Ten percent? You don’t deserve a thing!” The nurses shot him looks of disgust. “What is wrong with that brother? Defending the fake one over his own flesh and blood. Is he an idiot?” Leo opened his mouth to retort, but Richard stopped him. My father cared deeply about appearances. His face was a mask of strained composure. He cleared his throat. “Zoe, you are our daughter. Rest assured, we would never be biased. But you’re still young, inexperienced. Shares are not a toy. You are my flesh and blood. Naturally, half of this company will be yours one day.” It was a beautiful, empty promise. But it was exactly what I needed to hear. I widened my eyes, looking at my mother. “Mom, is that true? Will half of the company really be mine?” Feeling the nurses’ eyes on her, she nodded quickly. “Of course, dear. Why would we lie to you? I carried you for ten months. Of course half of everything we have belongs to you!” A satisfied smile spread across my face. I turned and walked out of the room. “Thanks, Mom and Dad!” Behind me, I heard Leo scoff. “Idiot…” I raised an eyebrow. Soon enough, you’ll see who the real idiot is. The day Natalie was discharged from the hospital, my father took a phone call. His face went white. “No… that’s impossible… how could it…” Just moments before, through a series of untraceable but completely legal and binding maneuvers, the fifty percent of Quinn Corp stock held in his name—including shares he held in trust—had been instantaneously transferred to me. The paperwork was flawless. The transfer was effective immediately. Just like that, I became the absolute majority shareholder of Quinn Corp, holding fifty percent of the company. My word was now law. In the living room, a vein pulsed on my father’s forehead. He roared, his voice low and furious. “Impossible! This has to be a clerical error! Zoe, you’re coming with me to the office right now to transfer it back!” I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Why would I do that?” Leo lunged toward me. “Why? Because it’s not yours! This is the Quinn family’s company! Transfer it back, and maybe we’ll still let you eat at our table!” I met his gaze. “You need to understand the new reality, Leo. From now on, you’ll be begging me to let you eat at my table. And I’d watch your tone. With fifty percent of the stock, I can call a board meeting tomorrow and have all of you thrown out on the street.” The threat landed. Their faces went rigid with fury, but they didn’t dare say another word. Now that I had the company, it was time to get rid of the parasite who had stolen my life. The next day, Richard tried again, his approach softer. “Zoe, you can’t hold fifty percent of the shares alone. It should be split evenly between you three children. No matter what, you have to give some to your brother and to Natalie.” I nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Leo and I are your biological children. The shares should be split between us. But Natalie? She’s just an adopted daughter. Ten percent is more than generous.” I paused, then added casually, “Of course, if Natalie were your biological daughter too, then it would make sense for the three of us to share equally. But she’s not. What a shame.” Richard started to speak, then stopped, a strange look crossing his face. He forced a smile and left without another word. Watching his retreating back, I smirked. The fish has taken the bait. A week later, an emergency shareholders’ meeting was called at Quinn Corp. Richard stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat. “Everyone, there is a family matter I must clarify today regarding the recent shift in stock. It was all, in fact, a misunderstanding. Zoe, the time has come for the truth. Natalie… is your biological sister. I kept it from you because I didn’t want to upset you when you had just returned home.” A murmur went through the room. I sat among the shareholders and started to applaud softly. “Bravo.” Seeing my calm reaction, Richard pressed on. “Now that you know you are all three my biological children, you must be willing to part with some of those shares, right? To divide them fairly? If you don’t believe me, I have a DNA test right here from a reputable lab.” I ignored the report he offered. My voice was solemn. “Dad, are you certain? Is Natalie your biological daughter?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he slapped his chest. “I swear on it. Natalie is my daughter, Richard Quinn’s flesh and blood!” I fought to contain my joy. “That’s wonderful news! But just to be fair to everyone here, I request we conduct another test. Right now.” “Absurd!” Leo objected instantly. Panic flickered across the faces of my parents and Natalie. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Scared? If it’s the truth, what is there to fear?” The other shareholders began to look at them with suspicion. Trapped, Richard had no choice but to agree. The results came back quickly. In front of the entire board, the sealed envelope was opened. Richard’s fists were clenched. Leo looked like a cornered animal. Natalie hid behind Eleanor, unable to look up. The lab technician’s voice was clear and professional. “The results confirm that Richard Quinn is the biological father of Natalie Quinn.” The Quinns froze, then exchanged shocked glances. “How is that possible…” they whispered. While they were reeling, I took another sealed envelope from the technician. “So Dad wasn’t lying. Natalie really is my sister.” Richard, though confused, breathed a sigh of relief. “See? I told you I wouldn’t lie. Natalie is my daughter.” Eleanor snatched the report. Her eyes scanned to the bottom line confirming the paternal link. She swayed on her feet, about to confront her husband, when I held up the second envelope with a bright smile. “Don’t get too excited. There’s one more test result for Natalie.” Another one? The room filled with confused murmurs. I tore open the envelope and held the final page up for everyone to see. As the conclusion on the report came into focus, the blood drained from every Quinn family member’s face. Their eyes widened in horror. The entire boardroom fell into a dead, chilling silence.

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The first time, I built my life on a desperate lie. I stole the identity of a rich man’s son. I spent half a lifetime shoring up that deception, constantly looking over my shoulder, consumed by fear. It ended exactly as it should: abandoned by everyone, betrayed by my own wife and her family. This time, the lie dies here. Let the gilded cage rot. The rich boy’s life is a trap. 1 The whisper was still ringing in my ears, cold and clear as mountain air. “You’re useless to me now. Just help me cash in the insurance, darling.” And then I woke up. My body ached with a familiar, deep fatigue. I looked around. I was back in the cramped, dusty living room of my childhood home in the Flats, the low-income neighborhood I grew up in. I blinked, momentarily disoriented. How was I here? I was dead. Pushed. Gone. My body felt smaller, lighter, but the ache was the same. The chronic, grinding soreness of a body that was overworked, underfed, and perpetually fighting the cold. My skin was rough, my clothes threadbare. I realized: I was back. I’d been reborn. In my past life, the Beaumonts—the family who’d lost their golden boy—had finally tracked me down. To them, I was a rough diamond they needed to polish. I’d fought tooth and nail to marry Finn’s girl, Sloan, cutting off the real, deep connections I had left, all for the shallow promise of status. I wondered if they felt relieved after I died. If the pressure was finally gone. I dragged myself to the peeling wall calendar. The date was exactly one week before the Beaumonts’ staff would descend on the Flats. I remembered the motorcade of black SUVs, the gaggle of sharp-suited men who’d filled the tiny, pathetic yard. They’d asked me, frowning at the grime, if I was the child who lived here. Terrified of being left alone, terrified of the responsibility, I’d choked out, “No.” They’d assumed I was the missing heir, their lost Asher Beaumont. I realized then, and later confirmed, that they had simply picked up the closest child who fit the rough age and location. They had the wrong kid. That mistake forced me to live in constant, crippling fear of discovery. This time, if they came, I’d answer, “Yes.” Let someone else take on the gilded cage. I preferred the dirt. 2 A few days back in the Flats, and the bitter memories of that hardscrabble life were already fading, replaced by the grim reality of needing to eat. All I could think about was money. In the past, the Beaumonts hadn’t been generous. They were embarrassed by my roots, constantly trying to compensate for their loss while simultaneously looking down their noses at my “lack of refinement.” They pushed endless prep courses on me but kept my wallet empty. I needed to see if the endless, agonizing studies and lessons I’d been forced to endure—the things I thought were useless—could actually give me a head start this time. My stomach rumbled. First, food. I scavenged in the tiny, overgrown yard for anything edible. After eating, I started cleaning. I’d been living in the opulent Beaumont mansion for so long that my old home felt like a literal slum. If I was going to stay here and build a real life, it had to be a tolerable space. In the late afternoon, after a full day of work, I returned home. And there they were. A column of polished black SUVs and a dozen men in dark, conservative suits. The entourage was the same, filling the small yard, making the whole street look ridiculous. The lead man, a severe-looking older guy, frowned at me. “You the boy who lives here?” I stood up straight, shoulders back, and answered clearly, forcefully. “Yes. What’s it to you?” That’s it, I thought. No more gilded cage. Poverty isn’t a crime. The man looked at my clothes, my scraped knuckles, and then merely waved his hand. “Take him.” 3 Same question, different answer, and the result was identical. I was being dragged back to the Beaumont estate. How could they mess up twice? I had tidied the house, cleaned the yard, and started making plans to hustle for cash. Now, I was being uprooted again. In my first life, my total lack of funds was my ultimate downfall. After I stole Finn’s fiancée, Sloan, she discovered I had no real capital, only a generous but capped allowance. The family abandoned me, and Sloan cut me loose, leading to the insurance scheme and the cliff. Stepping inside the sprawling foyer, the atmosphere was instantly toxic and familiar: Finn, the younger brother, frowned, radiating petulance. Paige, my older sister, looked at me with an expression of polite revulsion. Mr. Beaumont wasn’t present, but Mrs. Beaumont stood ramrod straight, all rigid posture and forced composure. “You’ve got the wrong person. I am not a Beaumont. Send me back,” I stated flatly. This time, Mrs. Beaumont’s reaction was different. She didn’t show the subtle annoyance of the past life. Instead, she rushed forward and pulled me into a tight, tearful embrace. “Oh, my darling boy. You’ve been through so much. I won’t let them send you back.” Ah, I realized. In my first life, she assumed my terror was greed. This time, she thought my rejection was trauma and disinterest in material wealth. I was still wondering why answering “Yes” didn’t change my destiny. Was this a fixed loop? I was escorted to my room—the same room as before: the first floor, right by the staff wing. “Easier for the help to attend to you,” was the official line. I was the one who suffered on the streets, I was the one who was brought back—yet I was the one they had such a massive problem with. Last time, I constantly demanded compensation for my lost childhood. This time, I’d be quiet, keep my head down, and save enough money to leave permanently. I refused to be a burden or a point of contention. 4 I found Paige’s room and knocked, entering before she could answer. Paige, despite her initial coldness, was the only one in the family who never truly looked down on me in the past life. She was one of the few who tried to help, even if grudgingly. I didn’t mince words. “I need to borrow some money. I’ll pay you back. Every dime.” “What for?” she asked, setting down her phone with a sigh. “To get out. To start my own life so I’m not underfoot. I need seed capital.” She sighed, a sound of deep, resigned helplessness, but she wrote me a check. A generous amount—tens of thousands. I took the money and immediately had a driver take me straight back to the Flats. No one at the Beaumont house asked where I was going. My real mother, Elaine, was living under the brutal thumb of her own mother and my deadbeat father, a drunk and a gambler who’d quickly run through any money Elaine earned. In my past life, I’d cut ties, believing I had to sever everything. But Elaine had sent me money, bits and pieces, when I was struggling most in the Beaumont house. She was my true family. I found her working in the community garden. She was still heartbroken that I had been taken. Seeing me made her face light up with a genuine joy I hadn’t seen on any Beaumont. “Asher, my baby, you’re safe! Go back and live your good life. Don’t worry about me,” she insisted, pressing my face between her calloused hands. I waited until my father was drunk and passed out, then quietly took Elaine. I rented a small, safe apartment in the city, gave her the money, and promised to visit often. I forbade her from ever going back. Then, I snuck back to the Flats. Under the cover of darkness, I hiked up the back mountain trail. The very trail that, in my previous life, was discovered to be a botanical goldmine soon after I married Sloan Rhodes. My mother had given me five thousand dollars from the sale of a small plot on that mountain to help with the wedding expenses, money my father immediately gambled away. This time, I was getting there first. I knew what was there: rare herbs, wild ginseng, and premium fungi that no one in the Flats understood the value of. This was my seed capital, my true exit ticket. I had to monetize it before the big companies discovered the tract. 5 That night, I went back into the city, carrying a heavy burlap sack. I knew exactly where to go: Stonehaven Botanicals. In my past life, Sloan had mentioned it only in hushed, reverent tones—an exclusive, old-money operation whose owners were untouchable, even by the prestigious Rhodes family. I knew they specialized in the exact high-end, wild-harvested material I had. I walked in, found the older man at the counter, and laid the sack on his pristine oak desk. “I’m here to talk business,” I said. The boss, a shrewd-looking man, chuckled. “A young man like you? What kind of business?” He glanced quickly toward the back room, a move I barely registered. “I have superior-grade, wild-harvested botanicals. I want a long-term contract. I don’t know market price, but I expect a fair deal. And I have one condition: cash only, and I need it immediately.” I rubbed my fingers together. I knew I was playing a dangerous game, dealing with people the Rhodes family couldn’t even get an audience with. The boss smiled. “Let me see the material.” He took the sack, walked to the back, and told me to wait. When he returned, he had a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. It was more than I had expected. “The materials are excellent, young man. I’ll buy whatever you bring. We won’t cheat you.” I counted the money, nodded, and left quickly. Finally, I had the capital I needed. I arrived back at the Beaumont house to find the whole family waiting in the grand salon. “Where were you?” Mr. Beaumont’s voice was a gravelly demand. “Getting my bearings. Just looking around.” “Insubordination. Paige will see to your social education. You will not embarrass this family.” He stood and walked away. The mandatory education. In my first life, I’d desperately tried to learn finance and management to prove I deserved the family wealth and a good wife. It failed. The Beaumonts had been grooming their own for years; I was clumsy and slow. The rich kids laughed at my nouveau riche attempts. “Give me the cash. I’ll handle the lessons myself,” I said. Finn and Paige openly scoffed. I knew I wouldn’t get the cash. “You’ve never managed money. You’d just squander it. Tell us what you want to learn.” Fine, I thought. If I have to play their game, I’ll choose my own weapons. I remembered the useless but hyper-specific skills Sloan had forced me to master to impress her powerful business contacts. “Auto Racing, Equestrian, Archery, and Golf. I want to start with those.” The entire room—Mrs. Beaumont, Finn, and Paige—was stunned into silence. These were high-status, networking-heavy sports, not management degrees. This was the way to build genuine, valuable connections, and, more importantly, money. 6 Paige recovered first, a mischievous smirk touching her lips. Finn, the younger brother, tried to probe. “Don’t you want to learn the family business, Asher? Get into corporate?” In the past life, my answer had been “Yes, I want to learn.” That led them to believe I was trying to steal Finn’s inheritance, which only hardened their animosity and severed my access to independent funds. I refused this time. Finn looked genuinely surprised. The heir apparent was a smooth operator, raised in the elite bubble, always calculating the angle. Paige, though she protected Finn, didn’t have his ruthless competitive edge. I knew I had to watch Finn like a hawk. “Fine. You’ll start training immediately to temper your spirit. Your father is hosting a gala next week to formally announce your return. Don’t be a liability.” I spent the week training furiously. I also used some of my botanical stash to negotiate an apprenticeship at Stonehaven Botanicals. They agreed to teach me herbalism and pharmacology in exchange for regular shipments. The night of the gala, I walked downstairs in dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, and a decent jacket. Last time, I’d dressed in the most expensive black tie I could find, trying too hard to be a Beaumont. I ended up looking like a costumed monkey, providing the guests with endless entertainment. This time, I’d learned the lesson: In this circle, confidence is currency. Casual is powerful. I grabbed a plate of canapés and retreated to a quiet corner of the garden. I was virtually invisible. Last time, my awkward attempts at networking had driven Mr. Beaumont’s guests away early. Tonight, my absence meant everyone was relaxed. “Sloan,” Finn’s voice cut through the quiet. “My brother is back.” I looked up. Sloan Rhodes. She was stunning, a captivating trophy, exactly why I had been so obsessed with her. She was new money, but her family was a rising power. She was undeniably attractive, but beneath the polish was a ruthless ambition I knew all too well. She was the second child in her family, eclipsed by an older sister, and she was desperate to climb. That desperation, I knew, was what led her to me—the eldest Beaumont son. She needed a ticket to the top, and I was just an expendable launchpad. I sank deeper into the shadows. I was not playing that game again. If Finn and Sloan got married, maybe they’d be blissfully happy. That was his problem now. 7 I stayed hidden for half the evening. In my first life, I would have been swaggering around, trying to introduce myself, a spectacle for the guests. This time, my low profile meant a much smoother evening. It was as if I didn’t exist at all. “Asher, Finn, Paige. Come with me. We have an important guest.” This was new. This didn’t happen last time. Maybe my past awkwardness had shut down this opportunity. A woman was seated across from Mr. Beaumont, radiating a power that dwarfed his own seasoned gravitas. “Thank you, Ms. Stonehaven, for honoring us with your presence.” Ms. Stonehaven? Kinsley Stonehaven? The heir to the Stonehaven empire—old wealth, far-reaching influence. The kind of person Sloan had spent years trying to get a meeting with. Her presence here was monumental. Paige quietly whispered to Finn: “The Stonehaven family runs this city. Their heir, Kinsley, is ruthless. She cleared out all the old relatives and took over the firm herself.” Mr. Beaumont clearly wanted an alliance. Was he vetting both Sloan and Kinsley for Finn? I didn’t know this person from my past life. My best bet was to stay silent. Kinsley’s eyes, sharp and dark, landed on me. “Mr. Beaumont,” she said, her voice like silk over steel. “Your son is dressed quite simply. Does the Beaumont estate not treat its children well?”

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My hearing is bad. When the campus heartthrob asked me to “run an errand” (pǎo tuǐ), I heard “make out with him” (qīn zuǐ). When he asked me to “swipe my meal card” (dǎ fàn), I heard “be his ride or die” (wéi zhe zhuàn). And just like that, in a haze of confusion, we started dating. Later, I caught him playing poker with his “bro-girl” best friend at a bar. He mocked me: “Dating a deaf girl is torture.” I wasn’t having it. I pushed open the door and asked him— “Where can I pick up four free male models?” The heartthrob exploded with rage. But I really didn’t hear him clearly! Where do I get them? If I’m late, they’ll be gone! 1 The moment I pushed open the door, everyone in the VIP booth froze. Sophie slid off Caleb’s lap, pulled down her mini-dress, and playfully punched him, her face flushed. “You said this was a guys’ night out. Why did you bring a girl?” “Relax, sis-in-law, don’t misunderstand. We just lost a game, it was a dare. Just rubbing, didn’t go in. We’re all bros here, straight as arrows, zero feelings involved, haha.” “Ugh, women are so troublesome… Caleb, hurry up and comfort your wifey!” The boy on the sofa lifted his eyelids slightly. He looked at me coldly, as if annoyed by my clinginess. So, I summoned my courage and walked up to him. “Caleb.” My voice trembled a little. But I still wanted an answer. “I didn’t hear you clearly just now.” “Did you say where I can pick up four free male models?” 2 “…” “I said dating a deaf girl is torture! Lana, what did you hear this time?!” “You f*cking dare look for male models?” The air was terrifyingly quiet. Caleb glared at me viciously, his gaze sharp as a knife. He had a phosphorus personality—igniting at the slightest friction—and he spoke fast, a garbled mess I could never catch. Amidst his firing squad, I mumbled aggrievedly, “I really didn’t hear where… if I go late, they’ll all be taken…” Caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line, his face dark and scary. Sophie ran over giggling to mediate: “Sis-in-law, we were really joking, don’t overthink it.” “I know you’re itching, maybe try scratching yourself with a shoe sole?” “…Sis-in-law knows so much, unlike innocent little girls like us who haven’t even held a boy’s hand.” “I know you’re broke. Here’s fifty bucks, go buy yourself some new underwear.” “Yours is washed down to a single string and you still wear it, sticking your butt out at the door like you’re yelling ‘Welcome!’ Aren’t you cold? Have some class, girl!” Sophie froze for three seconds, her face turning liver-red, then covered her mouth and ran out. The drinking party was full of Caleb’s childhood friends, seven or eight guys watching the show. Humiliated, he started cursing and shooing me out: “Lana, your ears don’t work, so stop spouting nonsense! Go back to campus!” “Who I drink and play games with is none of your business! Don’t think being my girlfriend gives you special privileges!” Walking out of the bar entrance. Caleb found a quiet spot to talk. He smirked with secret delight: “Lana. You were jealous just now, right?” “Not replying to messages, not picking up calls, not waiting downstairs at the dorm… playing hard to get?” “I find a random chick and look how panicked you get, immediately marking your territory. Male models? With a guy as handsome as me, you wouldn’t have the heart to look for models.” When it’s quiet, my “empty ear” isn’t as bad. I lowered my head shyly. As if he had hit the nail on the head. Actually, I really didn’t want to deal with Caleb lately. Because I discovered… After dating him for two years, I’ve saved up $150,000 and invested in a shop. He has no value left. Running into him tonight was a total accident. I treated my roommates to the bar to celebrate my shop opening, and his clique just happened to be there too. Could I afford to be soft-hearted? Caleb lit a cigarette and handed me his credit card: “Those dorm girls dragged you here again, didn’t they? Stay away from them, dressing like streetwalkers every day. No better than Sophie.” “Pay the bill and go back to sleep.” I nodded obediently. Clutching the credit card, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Caleb. The corners of his mouth shot up so high he couldn’t hide it, not even noticing his lighter wasn’t lighting the cigarette. Turning around, I immediately took out my phone and messaged my roommates. Open the most expensive bottle. The sugar daddy is here to pay! 3 Since I was little, I told myself. Never be a “love brain” like my mom, spending a lifetime sacrificing for a broke man. Even when that man drank, gambled, cheated, beat his daughter until she was disabled and deaf, she forgave him time and time again. Before she died, she wouldn’t even buy painkillers, running out of the hospital to make him one last meal of dumplings… I’d rather be a bad woman. Than a stupid woman. … When I first started college, I was truly poor. Even with financial aid, I could only afford steamed buns and pickles. If my roommates didn’t sneak chicken legs into my lunchbox, I would have starved. A girl who walks out of the mountains. Has nothing left but resilience. One hungry night, I met Caleb. It was an elective class open to the whole school. A group of boys sat in the back row gaming. They ordered bubble tea but were too lazy to pick it up, looking for someone to run the errand. Caleb offered me fifty bucks. I thought it was too little. Five hundred. I hesitated. Caleb lost patience and directly transferred five thousand. So, I gently kissed the corner of his mouth. He wanted me to run an errand. I heard “make out.” 4 Looking back at that misunderstanding, we were both pretty satisfied. I took the money and treated my whole dorm to a crawfish feast; everyone ate until they were stuffed. He wasn’t as handsome as the valedictorian, nor as rich as the top-tier trust fund babies, and his basketball skills were mediocre. But he only said a few words to a girl, and she was so charmed by his charisma she kissed him. His bros said he was the real campus king. He was on cloud nine. … We met a second time in the cafeteria. I just wanted to smell the food and leave. I turned around. Caleb looked at me with an unreadable expression. “You’ve been wandering around forever. If you want to talk, just come over. Why pretend?” “Don’t even know how to crash my major’s classes? Never chased anyone before? Don’t tell me you’ve never dated?” “Take this. Swipe for my meals from now on.” My ears were damaged by my biological father—nerve damage, hearing aids don’t work. I always mishear. The cafeteria was noisy, making it worse. That meal card had a balance of $3,000, enough to feed me for four semesters. So I thought Caleb said: “Take this. From now on, your world revolves around me.” 5 Honestly, Caleb was easy to chase. Praise his brain for solving a calculus problem, scream and cheer when he dunks. Chase him around like a loyal puppy, then suddenly disappear one day, only to be found by him enduring hardship alone in the rain, making his heart ache… Psychology says, for a narcissistic phosphorus personality like him, as long as you feed his ego and act a little obedient and dumb. You can get anything. … Returning to the dorm in the early morning, my roommate suddenly showed me Sophie’s Instagram story. Caption: Some dog got drunk and insisted on going home with me. Does he want to stick to me for life? Help, I still need to get married someday! In the photo, Caleb’s large hand enveloped Sophie’s small hand, fingers interlaced. My roommate asked if I really didn’t mind. Her phone screen was burning hot. I shook my head calmly. I always knew Caleb had this “bro-girl” Sophie by his side. Long black hair, tiny face, looking like a delicate flower, yet insisting she was “one of the boys.” Didn’t accept gifts, didn’t date within the circle, even split the bill for bubble tea—refusing to take advantage of her “bros.” Before we dated, she joked about fighting Caleb for me. After we dated, she stuffed her panties in Caleb’s backpack to mark her territory. Used ones. I threw up when I pulled them out. I just wanted to secretly do Caleb’s homework, flatter him, and earn a few thousand in pocket money. What did I do wrong to deserve this?! Crying while carrying his bag to class, Caleb and his best bud were scrolling through photos and chatting: “Yeah, Sophie is so dark, definitely not her first time.” “I’ve known her for how many years? You think I don’t know what that b*tch is thinking? ‘Bro’ my ass, pretending in front of me.” “Just using her for practice. We even split the cost of Plan B.” “Chastity is the most important thing for a woman. When I marry, I have to pick someone of equal status who’s a virgin… at worst, a clean, honest backup like Lana.” Looking up and seeing me, they immediately changed the subject. Asking if I wanted to eat at that clean, old-style northern restaurant off-campus. They thought I couldn’t hear. Actually, in quiet places, I can hear clearly. I heard it all. So you see, why should I compete with Sophie? We’re both pleasing a piece of trash. I hold hands and play the innocent girlfriend, and my bank balance keeps rising. Sophie schemes and pretends, yet has to go Dutch on birth control pills. She’s way more pathetic than me.

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Before the first snow even hit the ground, my world ended on a glowing smartphone screen. I was scrolling through “UniConfessions”—one of those anonymous Instagram accounts where students air their dirty laundry—when a post stopped my thumb in mid-swipe. [To the Physics girl at BU: You might want to check on your boyfriend.] The caption was brutal. The poster said she was at Carbone—impossible to get a reservation, naturally—and overheard a couple at the next table. They were making a scene. The girl was whining, complaining that the guy kept bringing up his ex. The guy was soothing her, his voice dropping into that low, liquid register that sounded like safety. “Maya is different. We grew up together. I can’t just cut her out of my life like that.” The voice was clear, distinct, and devastatingly familiar. It was my boyfriend, Liam. And the “Maya” he was talking about—the one he couldn’t cut out—was me. My heart contracted, a physical spasm that felt like my blood had turned to slush. I tapped the video attachment. It was only a few seconds of shaky footage pointing at a white tablecloth, but the audio was crystal clear. It was Liam. 1 I would know that cadence anywhere. It was the voice that had whispered promises into my hair at 3 a.m., the voice that had shouted my name across crowded football fields in the heat of July. Then, the other voice cut in—sharp, vocal fry dialed up to eleven, tearful. “But you promised to spend the First Snow with me! What if Maya finds out?” Liam’s reply came fast, laced with a soothing sort of impatience. “She won’t find out. I told her I had a department mixer. Come on, babe, stop spiraling.” The comments section was a war zone. [User1: Damn, voice is smooth. Too bad he’s trash.] [User2: Physics major at BU… implies long distance. Run, girl, run!] [User3: Wait, Carbone is in NYC. Is this a cheating scandal? Spicy.] I gripped my phone so hard I thought the glass might snap. Liam and I weren’t just a couple; we were an institution. Neighbors in middle school, lab partners in high school, and then survivors of a long-distance relationship through college. Seven years. He was the golden boy of the Finance program at NYU—Student Body President, charming, destined for Wall Street. And I was Maya. Just a Physics major in Boston. Good grades, but otherwise invisible. To the outside world, we were the gold standard. Seven years of stability. Every holiday spent glued to each other’s sides. A future mapped out in detailed spreadsheets. We had a tradition. For the season’s first snowfall, he would take the Amtrak up from New York to Boston to be with me. We’d done it for five years running. My screen lit up. Caller ID: Liam. I took a breath that rattled in my chest and swiped to answer. My voice came out terrifyingly calm. “Hey.” “Maya,” Liam said. He sounded warm, affectionate, with just the right amount of regret. “I am so, so sorry. The department just dropped a bomb on us. Mandatory end-of-year networking gala tomorrow night. I… I can’t make it up there.” I listened to the silence in the background of his line. Somewhere inside me, a structural support beam snapped. I was free-falling into a dark basement. He kept performing. “I hate that I’m missing the snow with you. Seriously. Once this week is over, I’ll come up for the whole weekend. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” “Yeah. Okay,” I whispered. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. “Get some rest.” “You okay? You sound off.” He was always sharp. “I’m fine.” I forced a smile that distorted my face in the empty room. “Just a head cold coming on. The gala is important. Don’t worry about me.” “Good. Drink some tea, wrap up warm. Love you.” When the line went dead, my legs gave out. I slid down the wall until I hit the cold laminate floor. Outside the window, the first flakes began to drift past the streetlights. Boston’s first snow was finally here. But the boy who promised to watch it with me was in another city, getting ready to watch it with someone else. It was almost funny. I didn’t sleep. Not a wink. When the sun turned the sky a bruised purple, I DM’d the girl who ran the gossip account. I didn’t scream. I didn’t rage. I just asked, politely, if she could describe the girl or knew her handle. Maybe my calm terrified her, or maybe she just pitied me. Thirty minutes later, a reply pinged. [Anon: Hey, I don’t know her handle, but she was striking. Heavy makeup, beach waves. She had a really distinct tattoo on her right wrist—a blue butterfly. And I think the guy called her ‘Bianca’.] Bianca. Blue butterfly. Those two details were keys turning in a rusted lock. A name I thought I’d scrubbed from my life floated to the surface—Bianca Rhodes. My hands shook as I opened my high school alumni network, scrolling until I found the profile I hadn’t looked at in years. Her main feed was locked down. But I didn’t stop there. I went to TikTok. Searching variations of her name. Finally, I found it. An account called @QueenB_NYC. There she was. Her latest Story was posted yesterday. A photo of an Amtrak ticket. Boston to New York Penn Station. Caption: “Running to my happy place!” I scrolled back. A selfie from two weeks ago showed her holding a latte, and there it was on her right wrist: a delicate, electric-blue butterfly. It was her. Bianca Rhodes. My high school tormentor. She came from old money, the kind of girl who had the world handed to her on a silver platter. I was the scholarship kid who studied through lunch. We shouldn’t have had any reason to interact, except for Liam. Back then, Liam was the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Single mom, poor, defensive. Bianca looked down on him, but she hated me because I had the loyalty of the handsome, brilliant “bad boy” she felt entitled to toy with. She made our lives hell. The worst incident was senior year. She cornered me in the locker room with her friends, mocking me for “dumpster diving” for a boyfriend. When Liam found us, I was already fighting back. It was the only time I’d ever thrown a punch, defending Liam’s fragile pride. Bianca became a forbidden name between us. I thought that after graduation, she would just be a ghost story we told ourselves. I never imagined she would reappear like this. As my boyfriend’s mistress. The irony was so thick I could taste it. I walked to the mirror. The girl staring back was pale, eyes hollowed out. I looked like a marionette with cut strings. Was I sad? Devastatingly. Was I heartbroken? I couldn’t breathe. But beneath the grief, something hotter was waking up. A profound sense of nausea and rage. I wasn’t going to let this slide. Seven years of devotion couldn’t end with a grainy Instagram video. I needed the truth. I needed to see it with my own eyes. And more importantly, I needed the people who broke me to pay the bill. I opened the Amtrak app and booked a ticket to New York for that afternoon. My roommate watched me pack, concerned. “Maya, I thought you were sick? Where are you going?” I zipped up my bag and forced a smile that felt like baring teeth. “New York. I’m going to surprise Liam.” 2 New York was cold. The wind coming off the Hudson cut right through my coat as I stepped out of Penn Station. My phone buzzed. A text from Liam. [Liam: Hey babe, you eating okay? Miss you.] Attached was a photo of a conference room. A projector screen displayed: “Dept. of Finance: Year-End Strategic Review.” He was putting real effort into this lie. I pinched the screen, zooming in. He was sloppy. In the bottom right corner, reflected in the glossy screen of a colleague’s MacBook, was a window. Outside that window was the distinctive red awning of Le Monde, a cafe near Columbia University. The “meeting” was a fake. He was just stalling until his date. I sent back a cute sticker of a cat eating noodles. [Just ate. Focus on your meeting, don’t get distracted! x] Then I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for Le Monde. I haunted the streets of the Upper West Side like a ghost. This neighborhood was full of us. The bagel shop where we had our first real fight, the park bench where we planned our post-grad life. Now, every landmark felt like it was mocking me. Twilight settled over the city. The snow intensified, dusting the brownstones in white. I stood in the recessed doorway of a bookstore, waiting. Finally, I saw them. Liam was wearing a long black Canada Goose parka—my birthday gift to him last year. It had cost me a month’s rent. Next to him, clinging to his arm, was Bianca. She was wearing the exact same coat, but in pristine white. We had bought those coats as a set. He took the black one. I kept the white one. Now, my coat—or its twin—was on another woman. They looked perfect. Like a catalog couple. The most beautiful things on the snowy street. Liam reached out and gently wiped a snowflake—or maybe a smudge of sauce—from the corner of Bianca’s mouth. The look in his eyes was tender, reverent. It was the same look he used to give me. That was the moment my universe fractured. I stayed in the shadows and pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I had to brace my elbows against my ribs. I hit record. I captured every laugh, every touch, every intimate glance as they walked into the restaurant. My phone buzzed again. Liam. [Liam: God, this meeting is dragging on. Just a bunch of old guys talking about yield curves. Wish you were here.] Bile rose in my throat. I actually gagged. I didn’t reply. Instead, I walked into the cafe directly across the street and took a table by the window. Through the glass, I had a front-row seat to their date. I watched Liam tending to her, pouring her wine, laughing at her jokes like she was the only person in the room. I ordered a black coffee. The bitter liquid burned going down, but it couldn’t touch the acid in my stomach. One hour. Two. I watched them like I was studying a specimen in a lab. Detached. Numb. When they left, they didn’t head toward the dorms. They turned down a side street and disappeared into a boutique hotel. I filmed them walking through the revolving doors. I filmed them checking in at the front desk. When they vanished into the elevator, I stopped recording. I had enough. I finished the cold dregs of my coffee, stood up, and walked out into the freezing night. On the train ride back to Boston, I stared at my reflection in the dark window. My mind was a blank tape. Seven years. Gone. Back in my dorm, I locked myself in the bathroom and splashed freezing water on my face until my skin was numb. I opened my photo gallery. Thousands of images. Prom. The beach trip after graduation. The day we moved him into his dorm. In every photo, he looked clean, kind. He looked like he loved me. I remembered ninth grade. My family had moved next door to his. His mom was volatile, struggling. The neighborhood kids called him “trash.” He was prickly back then, a wounded animal. I was the one who brought him leftovers. I was the one who helped him with his calculus. I was the one who begged my parents to help him with tuition when he almost dropped out. We were supposed to be the success story. When his biological father—a wealthy real estate developer—finally entered the picture sophomore year of college, everything changed. Liam got the credit card, the clothes, the confidence. “I’m never going to let you struggle again, Maya,” he had told me over a $200 dinner. I believed him. But money didn’t just polish him; it exposed him. The insecurity was still there, just masked by designer labels. Bianca wasn’t an accident; she was inevitable. She was the status symbol he finally felt worthy of. And me? I was just the witness to his embarrassing past. The girl who knew him when he was nothing. Realizing that hurt, but it also clarified things. I deleted the photos. One by one. Then I changed my profile picture from us to a black and white portrait of Richard Feynman. It felt like a funeral rite. Goodbye, Liam. Goodbye to my youth. 3 For the next few days, I functioned on autopilot. Classes. Library. GRE prep. Applications for my semester abroad. Liam noticed the profile picture change. He started panicking. [Liam: Maya, why’d you change your pic? Did I do something?] [Liam: Please pick up. I’m getting anxious.] [Liam: Babe, I’m sorry, just talk to me.] I ignored them all. He wasn’t anxious because he loved me. He was anxious because his safety net was fraying. His love exhibited wave-particle duality: it looked like love when he observed it, but collapsed into selfishness the moment he looked away. Friday was our seven-year anniversary. The night before, he sent a wall of text. [Liam: Maya, tomorrow is our day. I bought the first ticket out. I’ll be in Boston by 8 a.m. Meet me at our breakfast spot. I know I’ve been distant. Scream at me if you want, just let me explain.] I stared at the message. Explain? Explain how he managed to be two people at once? I typed one word: [Okay.] The next morning, I slept in. I woke up to sunlight bouncing off the melting snow. I took a long shower, did my skincare routine, put on light makeup, and went to brunch with my roommate. My phone vibrated incessantly in my bag. I put it on Do Not Disturb. We shopped. We saw a movie. At 3 p.m., I finally checked my phone. Forty-seven missed calls. Sixty texts. The last one was pathetic. [Liam: I’ve been standing here since 8 a.m. I’m freezing. People are staring. I’m so worried about you. I’m not leaving until you come.] Once, that would have broken me. Now, I just saw a man manipulating the narrative. I texted back: [Oh my god. I totally forgot. I’m out with friends. Just saw this.] He called immediately. “Maya!” His voice was a mix of fury and relief. “What is wrong with you? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” “I told you, I forgot,” I said, keeping my voice light, airy. “It’s just an anniversary. We’re adults, Liam. We don’t need to make a big deal out of dates. I’ve been so busy with my exchange applications.” Silence. He was processing the shift in power. “Fine,” he said, his voice tight. “I get it. You’re busy. Look, next weekend, the soccer team is having a mixer back in New York. Can you come? I want to properly introduce you to everyone.” I almost laughed. The audacity. He wanted to bring me into her territory. He wanted to parade me in front of Bianca to prove… what? That he was a good guy? Or was this a setup? “Sure,” I said. “I could use a weekend in the city.” I hung up and immediately checked Bianca’s TikTok. She had just posted. A video of her and some guys in NYU soccer jerseys at a bar. Caption: [Some people better stay home next weekend, or it’s going to get ugly. ] It was a trap. They wanted a scene. They wanted me to show up so they could humiliate the “boring” girlfriend. Well. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. But I was going to give them a show.

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It was 3 a.m. when the class president, Megan, suddenly dropped a message in the group chat: graduation photos, the day after tomorrow, in the morning. A second message followed with a payment link: $50 per person. I replied, telling her I had my thesis defense that day and asked if we could possibly reschedule. Her response was blunt. “Is your time the only time that matters? If you can’t make it, get lost.” Wanting to fit in, just this once, I paid the fee and went through hell to reschedule my defense. But when the day of the photoshoot arrived, a classmate told me: “Oh, the graduation photos? We already took them yesterday.” … I had spent an hour on my makeup, wanting to look my best. But when I arrived at the campus quad, breathless under the brutal sun, there was no one there. I pulled out my phone and checked the notification again. [The day after tomorrow at 10 a.m., meet on the quad for graduation photos.] I scrolled down. There were no other messages about a change in plans. I was in the right place at the right time. So where was everyone? Refusing to believe it, I thought maybe they’d moved to the gym to escape the heat. Not wanting to be late, I hurried over. But the gym was empty except for a few underclassmen playing basketball. The sun was a weight on my shoulders. Sweat trickled down my back, soaking the crisp white shirt I’d picked out specially for the photos. My carefully applied makeup was now a sticky, streaky mess on my face. My patience snapped. I called my roommate, Lily. “Hello, Sarah?” Lily’s voice was hesitant, laced with guilt. “Lily, where are you guys? Did the time for the photos change? Why is the quad empty?” I tried to keep my voice from trembling. Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Um… Sarah, actually… we took them yesterday.” “Yesterday?” My voice shot up, drawing stares from a few students nearby. “But Megan’s message clearly said today…” “Megan sent another notification in the private chat to change the time. She must have… forgotten to add you to that one.” Lily’s voice grew smaller and smaller. My hand holding the phone began to shake. It was happening again. Ever since my sophomore year, when I’d refused to pay Megan’s unreasonable fee for a class event, I had been the target of her little clique. But this was too much. Graduation photos were a once-in-a-lifetime thing. “What about my fifty dollars?” I asked, biting my lip. “You’ll… you’ll have to ask Megan about that.” Lily quickly muttered something about being busy and hung up. I stood there, frozen, feeling all the blood rush to my head. Fifty dollars wasn’t a small amount for me. It was three days’ pay from my part-time job. But what hurt more was the knowledge that I would never be in our graduation yearbook. The entire class would remember me as Sarah, the weirdo who didn’t even show up for her own graduation photo. Taking a deep breath, I opened my chat with Megan. The last message was still her sharp “If you can’t make it, get lost.” My fingers trembled with rage as I typed. “Megan, why wasn’t I notified that the time for the photos had changed? I paid the fee. Why was I left out?” The “typing…” bubble appeared, then stopped. Appeared, then stopped again. Five full minutes passed before she replied: “Maybe you should check the group chat. It’s not my fault you’re antisocial.” I stared at the message, my eyes burning. I decided to take this to my student advisor. His office door was slightly ajar. As I raised my hand to knock, I heard Megan’s sweet, syrupy voice from inside. “Mr. Davis, over the past four years, I’ve organized more than twenty class activities and even won the Outstanding Student Leader award…” I pushed the door open. Megan was sitting across from my advisor, a pile of documents spread across his desk. They both looked up. The smile on Megan’s face froze. “Sarah?” Mr. Davis looked surprised. “Is something wrong?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Mr. Davis, I’m here to report an issue of targeted bullying by the class president, Megan.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “She collected the fee for graduation photos but deliberately failed to inform me of the correct time, resulting in my absence from the class picture.” Megan shot to her feet. “That’s a lie! It was your own fault for not reading the group chat messages!” “Which group chat?” I looked her straight in the eye. “The private one that I’m not a part of?” Megan’s expression faltered. She turned to the advisor. “Mr. Davis, our class has three group chats. Sarah left two of them on her own…” “I never left any group chat,” I cut her off. “You kicked me out. During the sophomore year class dinner, you demanded everyone pay eighty dollars. When I questioned the cost, you kicked me out of the group.” Megan sneered, but her face crumpled into a mask of grievance when she turned back to the advisor. “You see, Mr. Davis? This is what she does. She always finds fault with everything I do for the class.” “That dinner was at a high-end restaurant. Eighty dollars wasn’t even enough. I had to supplement it with class funds…” “You’re lying!” My voice trembled with anger. “The actual cost per person was less than fifty dollars, and you never showed us the bill!” Mr. Davis frowned. “Alright, that’s enough. Graduation is just around the corner. Let’s not argue over such trivial matters.” “You’re both at fault. Megan, you should have made sure every student was notified about the photos…” “I did notify everyone!” Megan suddenly pulled out her phone. “See? I sent a notification in the main year-group chat and tagged everyone. Is it my fault if she muted the chat?” I leaned in to look. She had, in fact, posted a brief, one-line message in the massive year-group chat. But that chat was constantly spammed with ads and irrelevant announcements; I’d muted it ages ago. “And,” Megan added triumphantly, “I even had her roommate go to her dorm room to get her before the photos yesterday. She wasn’t there.” My head snapped toward her. “Who came to get me? I was in my room all day yesterday preparing for my thesis defense!” “Lily said she knocked for ages and no one answered,” Megan shrugged. “Maybe you had your headphones on.” I was shaking with fury. Lily had never come to my door. Megan seized the opportunity. “Mr. Davis, as you know, Sarah never participates in class activities. We always have to chase her down for everything.” “For the graduation photos, she was the only one in the entire class who asked to change the time…” “That’s because I had my defense!” I was so angry my voice was shaking. “And didn’t I reschedule it to accommodate everyone else in the end?” “Alright, alright.” Mr. Davis cut us off, his frown deepening. “The photos have been taken. There’s no use arguing about it now.” He looked at me. “Sarah, you need to learn to be a team player. It’s a shame to go through four years of college without a single graduation photo.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Mr. Davis, this isn’t my fault…” “Megan has been a very responsible class president,” he said, patting her shoulder. “How about this? I’ll have the photographer Photoshop you into the picture. We’ll cover the cost with class funds.” “What about my fifty dollars?” I pressed. Megan immediately cut in. “That’s already been paid to the photographer. It’s non-refundable.” Mr. Davis nodded. “That’s right. The photographer did his job.” I stood there, a chill spreading through my body. This was the university I had spent four years at. These were the teacher and classmates I had known for four years. “Don’t bother with the Photoshop,” I said softly. “I’m not paying for a fake memory.” As I turned to leave, I heard Megan say behind me, “You see, Mr. Davis? That’s her attitude. She just doesn’t want to fit in…” When I got back to my dorm, Lily was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. “Sarah…” She stood up awkwardly. “I’m so sorry. I was going to come find you, but something came up…” I silently walked around her and started clearing things off my desk. “This is for you,” she said, pushing the box toward me. “Everyone in our dorm got one…” I stopped what I was doing and looked at the box with its pink silk ribbon. “Did you really come to find me yesterday?” I asked quietly. Lily’s fingers twisted together. “I… I did go, but you weren’t there…” “I was in the dorm all day yesterday,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. “From eight in the morning until ten at night. I even ordered in for lunch.” Her face flushed a deep red. “Maybe… maybe I got the time wrong…” “Lily,” I cut her off. “For four years, how many times have I saved you a seat in the library? How many times have I helped you with your homework?” Her head sank lower. “Last semester, when you had that high fever, who took you to the hospital in the middle of the night?” My voice began to tremble. “Who stayed with you in the emergency room until dawn?” A single tear hit the floor. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, starting to sob. “It was Megan… she said not to bother telling you… she said you never fit in anyway…” I took a deep breath and pushed the gift box back toward her. “No, thank you.” Just as I was about to ask her to leave, my phone vibrated. A new notification from Megan in the class group chat: [For those who paid, you can come to the studio this afternoon for individual and group portraits.] The chat exploded with cheers and thank-you emojis. Lily quickly grabbed my hand. “I’ll go with you this afternoon…” I coldly pulled my hand away. “I’ll go by myself.” After all, I had paid my fifty dollars. At three o’clock that afternoon, I went to the campus photo studio alone. From a distance, I could see my classmates gathered in small groups, laughing as they looked through their newly received yearbooks. But the moment I pushed the door open, the noisy room fell silent for a beat. More than twenty pairs of eyes shot toward me, then quickly looked away. A few stifled giggles floated in the air. I had no idea what was going on. I walked straight to Laura, the class treasurer, who was handing out the yearbooks. She was one of Megan’s best friends and had often joined in on the bullying. Today, Laura wore a full face of makeup and her graduation gown, surrounded by a group of admiring girls. Seeing me approach, a flicker of panic crossed her face, quickly replaced by her usual condescending smirk. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” Laura said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I thought you didn’t want one.” I held out my hand calmly. “My yearbook, please.” Laura let out an exaggerated sigh and handed me a copy from the table. “Here you go. We saved one just for you.” I opened it. The first page was the class photo. My picture had been Photoshopped into the back-row corner—a grainy, pixelated image clearly lifted from my student ID card. It was blown up to the point of distortion, my face a ghostly white that contrasted sharply with everyone else’s natural smiles. To make it worse, they had Photoshopped a pair of ridiculous bunny ears on top of my head. A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the room. I looked up and saw several classmates covering their mouths, while others were holding up their phones, taking pictures of me. “So, what do you think? Satisfied?” Laura asked, raising an eyebrow in triumph. “I personally asked the photographer to give it some special attention.” My fingers gripped the edge of the yearbook so tightly my knuckles turned white. “This is what my fifty dollars paid for?” I heard my own voice, eerily calm. Laura just shrugged. “You think Photoshop is free? Do you have any idea how much overtime the photographer had to work?” “Give me my money back.” I slammed the yearbook down on the table. “Or I’m going to the Dean’s Office right now to report you and Megan for embezzling class funds.” Laura’s face paled. “What are you talking about? Every cent of the class funds is accounted for!” I didn’t want to argue with her anymore. I went to find Megan. She was chatting animatedly with the photographer. The moment she saw me, she cut me off, her expression instantly hostile. She lifted her chin. “We’re doing individual portraits here. Unauthorized personnel are not welcome.” “I paid,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “Fifty dollars. Same as everyone else.” Megan let out a snort, crossing her arms. “Sarah, get it through your head. The fifty dollars only covers the group photo. Individual portraits are extra. Got it?” She raised her voice deliberately, drawing the attention of the other students. “We were being generous by Photoshopping you in at all. What more do you want?” I clenched my fists. “Then why does everyone else get an individual portrait?” “Because they paid the extra fee,” Megan said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re broke, don’t come here and embarrass yourself. Now get out.” A few students snickered. I felt the blood rush to my head. Megan continued her taunts, her voice low enough for only me to hear. “Some people are just so antisocial. Four years of college and not a single decent photo to show for it. How pathetic.” “Give me my fifty dollars back!” I forced the words out, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Since you already took the group photo and made me look like a joke, just give me a refund!” Megan’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Sarah, have you no shame? You’re in the graduation photo, aren’t you? Do you think Photoshop is free? Do you think the photographer works for free?” “That was my student ID picture! And you deliberately made a mockery of it!” I pointed to the ridiculous bunny ears in the yearbook. “What is this supposed to be?” “It was just a joke. Why are you so serious?” Megan pouted. “You’re the only one in the whole class who can’t take a joke.” The snickering around me grew louder. I felt like a circus animal on display. “Refund my money!” I raised my voice. “Or I’m reporting you for embezzling class funds!” “Go ahead, report me!” Megan laughed as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Let’s see who’s going to listen to you!” Our argument grew louder, finally attracting the attention of the department head, Mr. Evans, and the Dean, who were in the adjacent studio. Mr. Evans strode over, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on here? I could hear you shouting from down the hall.” Megan’s face changed instantly, her eyes welling up with tears. “Mr. Evans, Sarah is demanding a refund for the graduation photos… but they’ve already been taken, and the money has been paid to the photographer…” She added with a sniffle, “We were nice enough to Photoshop her in, and she’s not even grateful…” Mr. Evans turned to me, his expression disapproving. “Sarah, that’s not right. The graduation photo is a group activity. You can’t ask for a refund for personal reasons.” I took a deep breath. “Mr. Evans, they took my money but didn’t tell me the right time for the photo. The class photo uses my ID picture, and they intentionally made it look ridiculous to humiliate me.” “Furthermore, I know for a fact that the class president and treasurer have been embezzling class funds.”

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I am a voice mimicry streamer. I can imitate any voice, and I charge ten dollars an hour. I’ve had clients who just went through a breakup pay me to mimic their ex’s voice, begging for forgiveness. I’ve had clients pay me to mimic their boss, calling them “Big Brother” just to stroke their ego. Of course, there are plenty of people who look at me through a dirty lens—including my own mother. She says using my voice to make money is “seductive” and “shameful.” Just as I was about to explain myself for the thousandth time, a new order popped up: “Streamer Cloud, can you mimic the voice of a dead person?” “Of course,” I typed back. “As long as I can hear a sample, I can mimic anyone—even your great-grandmother.” I didn’t know it then, but that single order would change the trajectory of my entire life. 1 I’ve always had a knack for mimicry. It started with frogs when I was a kid, and as I grew up, it became uncanny. Men, women, children, the elderly—if I heard it once, I could replicate it. After getting laid off last month, I decided to try my hand at being a voice mimicry streamer. Ten bucks an hour. I become whoever you need me to be. Naturally, aside from the paying customers, there’s the peanut gallery in the comments section. They leave filthy, suggestive remarks: “Ten bucks just to hear a voice? I’d rather add fifty and get a ‘happy ending’ downtown.” “Streamer, if I pay extra, can I get the ‘special menu’?” I rolled my eyes and typed a reply: “I’m really curious about your upbringing. Why does everyone you meet look like a sex worker to you? Is it because you’ve never experienced a genuine interaction, or are you just proud of being trash?” After I posted that, the dogpile got worse. “She’s just making money by acting cute and moaning. Stop pretending to be high and mighty.” To keep the chat clean for actual customers, I usually just delete, block, and move on. It saves my sanity. My mom, sitting next to me cracking sunflower seeds, leaned over and sneered. “I told you not to embarrass yourself. If the relatives see this, I won’t even have the face to visit them for New Year’s.” I just wanted to make money using my talent, but I was constantly being twisted into something I wasn’t. My bio clearly read: [ID: Cloud. Voice Mimic. I can vent anger, I can listen. ZERO tolerance for sexual content.] When did my mom start believing that a girl with a nice voice must be doing something dirty? Probably a few years ago, when I got an opportunity to do dubbing for a TV drama. My mom saw my facial expressions while I was recording—the way I had to contort my face to get the right emotion—and she called me “mentally ill” and “slutty.” She said I should get a “real job” instead of doing this “westernized nonsense.” She showed up at the recording studio every day to make a scene until I was forced to quit and find a boring office job. I thought that would bring peace. But this year, on New Year’s Day—my birthday—I volunteered to work overtime just to avoid hearing her say, “I suffered so much giving birth to you.” My mom stormed into my office, screaming that my boss was a bloodsucker. Result? I was “advised to resign” again. She thought she was standing up for me. She called me a coward. It wasn’t until the neighbors told her she was out of line that she backed off a little. I told her I’d look for a job after the holidays, and in the meantime, I’d use my voice to make some cash from home. She agreed at the time. But now, she was pouring cold water on me right when I was trying to build confidence, stomping on me while strangers misunderstood my profession. Her expression screamed: See? I told you this kind of work isn’t decent. I sighed, deleting another nasty comment. Suddenly, a new order came in. “Streamer, can you mimic the voice of a dead person?” Business is business. I sat up straight. “As long as there’s audio, I can mimic anyone.” The user, ID “Sarah,” quickly DM’d me a ten-minute screen recording. “Hi Cloud. I’m Sarah. Can you mimic my mother’s voice?” I opened the recording. It was a long scroll of a chat history. Sarah’s mom had sent her hundreds of 60-second voice notes. Every single one of them had a red dot next to it. Unread. Sarah had never clicked on them. She had never replied. “Look at this heartless thing,” my mom muttered, peeking at my screen again. “Her mother sends her so many messages and she doesn’t even reply!” I stood up abruptly, hiding the phone behind my back. I’ve told her a million times to respect my privacy. She always counters with, “I raised you, I’ve seen every inch of you, what privacy do you need?” But I knew arguing would just be added to her ledger of my sins to be brought up later. “I have an order. I need to work. Please leave,” I whispered. Mom grumbled something and walked out. I locked the door and opened the chat window. I mimicked the tone of the voice in the video and sent a message: “Sarah, I listened to the sample. How do you need me to cooperate?” She was satisfied with the voice match and gave me a specific request: “Streamer, I want you to reply to my messages without being a buzzkill. Be the mom who doesn’t ruin the moment.” I paused. I thought Sarah’s mom had passed away and she wanted closure, a final conversation. I didn’t expect her request to just be… a supportive mother. Following the “customer is god” principle, I didn’t pry. After receiving the payment, Sarah sent me an old photo to use as my avatar. It was a woman in a red wool coat holding a little girl with pigtails, sitting on the grass. Setup complete. Timer started. [Scenario: Childhood Sarah] Sarah sent the first message: “Mom, I accidentally broke an egg. I’m sorry.” 2 She followed it with a blurry, pixelated photo of a broken egg on the floor. I typed: [Patting your head] Then I held down the voice note button: “Sarah, you’re amazing! You smashed the egg into the shape of a little duck! That’s so cute!” She replied instantly: “Mom, you’re the best!” “But I only got a 95 on my test this time. Next time I’ll check my work better.” I replied: “Sarah, you got a 95? When I was your age, I was lucky to pass! Come on, let’s go get hot pot to celebrate!” Sarah sent a laughing emoji. “Mom, I got the 95, why do I have to accompany YOU to eat hot pot? Humph, shouldn’t you ask what I want to eat?” “Right, right! What does my Sarah want to eat? Mom will take you!” Sarah sent a thoughtful emoji. “Okay, let’s do hot pot! But I want a bubble tea, too.” “Deal! I want bubble tea too! Cheers!” Sarah sent a string of happy emojis, then switched the scenario. [Scenario: College Sarah] “Mom, I got a part-time job at a milk tea shop over the break. It feels like playing house when customers order, but I’m actually making money.” I laughed into the mic: “I want to drink milk tea made by Sarah too!” “I’ll bring you a cup I made myself after work!” [Scenario: Working Sarah] “Mom, I just finished a huge high-pressure project. Since the holidays are coming up, let’s go on a trip together?” “Let’s go! Mom will pack the bags, you book the tickets! We leave tonight!” Sarah was switching scenarios faster and faster. I thought she was about to send another one, but instead, she sent a sighing emoji. “Cloud… thank you. But forget it. Let’s stop here.” It had only been twenty minutes. I offered to refund half the money, but she refused. She sounded disappointed. “Sarah, are you unsatisfied with my replies?” “No, I’m very satisfied.” Before I could ask more, she continued: “Cloud, your replies were perfect. You were the mother I fantasized about. It just… it felt too unrealistic.” “Because in real life, every time I shared joy with my mother, it turned into misery. Every time I shared a problem, she made it a catastrophe.” “When I sent you that screen recording… just hearing her voice in the preview made me feel like I was having a breakdown. I felt panic.” “But she’s dead. And I cry about it. I love her, but I hate her. I don’t know what to do.” Sarah’s voice trembled. It sounded painful. I typed: “Is there anything I can do to help?” “No. Today is the anniversary of her death. I’m tired. I want to rest. I’ll contact you if I need you.” I quickly replied: “Okay. Take care.” I usually turn my successful orders into promotional videos (with permission). I posted Sarah’s video. Surprisingly, I got three more orders immediately. All people wanting to “talk” to deceased relatives. To say the things they never got to say. I worked until late at night. I had done eight orders that day. Compared to the three I did all last month, things were looking up. I felt like I was doing something good—helping people find closure. Just as I was about to sleep, my phone pinged. A voice note from Sarah. “Mom, do you know why I only ever listened to the very end of your sixty-second voice notes? Hahaha!” 3 Her voice was slurred. She was drunk. Heavily drunk. “Do you want to know, Mom?” I was exhausted, but to make up for the time she didn’t use earlier, I cleared my throat and replied in her mother’s voice: “I want to know. Can you tell Mom, Sarah?” Her voice was raspy. “Because I was afraid you had an emergency, but I was also afraid you didn’t. So I only listened to the last sentence.” “Mom, when I broke an egg, you beat me.” “But when you were making breakfast and YOU broke an egg, why did you scream at me? Why did you call me a lazy parasite?” “I was six years old, Mom. If you didn’t want to cook, you could have taught me.” “I got a 95 on the test. First in the class. I just wanted a bag of chips.” “You poked my temple so hard it bruised. You asked me why I didn’t check my work. Why I handed it in early.” “But Mom, I checked it three times. I didn’t know why I got that one wrong.” “In college, I worked at the milk tea shop to help with your bills. I wanted to share my excitement about my first paycheck.” “You told me if I didn’t study, I’d be selling milk tea for the rest of my life. But my grades were good! I got into a top university! Why couldn’t you just praise me?” Listening to Sarah’s crying and shouting, my mouth hung open, unable to speak. Because my mother was exactly the same. I didn’t know how to comfort her. She continued: “Mom, you always said Auntie Wang’s daughter took her on trips, and you were so envious.” “Even though work was killing me, I wanted to take you on a trip for the holidays.” “But you refused. You said you were used to a hard life, unlike me, who ‘spends money like water’ just to play.” “My friends invited me to a nearby city for two days. You mocked me, saying, ‘Two days isn’t enough! Why don’t you go for ten? Maybe you’ll lose your job while you’re at it!’” “You knew I never went anywhere except for work trips. Why did you say I was always playing?” “If I argued, you cried! You said I grew up and my tongue got sharp.” “If I stayed silent, you asked if I was mute!” Sarah was screaming now, questioning the “me” on the other end. “Mom, when Dad got sick, I was studying for my entrance exams for grad school.” “You sent me dozens of voice notes a day, crying that Dad was dying, that he was in pain.” “Every time I rushed to the hospital, you screamed at me for not studying. You asked what I was doing there wasting time.” “But when I stayed home to study, you called me heartless. You said I didn’t care that my father was sick.” “You seemed to forget I was taking exams when I was at the hospital, but remembered it the moment I was actually studying.” “Later, I listened to you. I focused on the exams.” “That was when I started skipping your messages. I only listened to the first few seconds to make sure it wasn’t an emergency.” “On the day of the exam, you stormed the test center. You screamed at me in front of everyone for not replying, for not seeing Dad one last time.” “That’s how I found out he was gone. I failed the exam. I never tried again.” “Mom, why did you always hide the important information in the middle of your rants? Why did you have to send sixty-second voice notes for something that took one sentence to say?” “I wanted to see Dad one last time too…” “From that day on, whenever relatives praised me, you’d add, ‘What’s the use? She couldn’t even pass her grad school exams.’” Sarah broke down into uncontrollable sobbing. I waited a long time for her cries to subside. I mimicked her mother’s voice: “Sarah, don’t cry. Mom was wrong. It’s all in the past.” But she didn’t seem to hear me. She spoke to herself. “I’m so tired. I don’t want to keep going.” I felt a chill. I sat up in bed immediately. “Sarah, listen to me. You got into a great university. You worked hard to earn money. You are amazing.” She screamed: “Shut up! I won’t listen!” “I’m terrified to make friends! I’m terrified to date!” “Because you always belittle me in front of them until I feel like I’m nothing!” “When friends leave me, when boyfriends dump me, you tell me it’s because I’m useless. You say, ‘No wonder nobody wants you.’” “If I die, will your voice finally stop echoing in my ears? Will the nightmares stop?” “Yes. That must be it. That must be the only way!” Sarah sounded like she was losing control. While I tried to comfort her, I clicked on her profile. She was in the same city. The location tag on her previous videos was only a twenty-minute drive away. To keep her on the line, I didn’t hang up. I quietly texted the police on my other phone. The police replied they were tracing her location and told me to keep her talking. But my family was just like hers. How could I comfort her? I listened intently. Her voice was breaking up. Signal interference. I turned the volume all the way up. I heard the sound of water lapping. And the wind. It was getting louder. She was at the river! I texted the info to the police. I grabbed a coat and headed for the door. The noise woke my mom. She blocked the doorway. “Where are you going in the middle of the night?” I muted the call and whispered urgently, “I have to save someone! Someone is jumping into the river!” Mom shoved me back inside. “You aren’t going anywhere! What if she dies and they blame you? What if you get sued?” 4 I stomped my foot. “Mom! I called the police! No one is going to sue me!” “If you called the police, why do you need to go? Get back in your room!” Why did I need to go? Because I wanted to see Sarah. I wanted to hug her. I felt like Sarah was me. She was doing the thing I had always wanted to do but never dared. I’m in my twenties, and I have no friends, no lover. Even now, I have a curfew of 9 PM. Mom glared at me. I threw her hand off and bolted out the door. Behind me, she screamed, “You’re so loose! Running around at night! No man will ever want you!” I covered my ears and sprinted out of the complex. Only when I was on the street did I lift the phone again. Thank god. The call was still connected. Sarah was mumbling, unaware of what was happening on my end. I unmuted and steadied my breathing. I switched back to her mother’s voice. “Sarah, it was Mom who didn’t understand you. I suppressed you. It was my fault!” “But you are wonderful. You graduated. You worked hard to help me. You took me traveling.” “Mom is so happy! Sarah, will you make Mom a milk tea tomorrow? I really want to drink it.” Sarah laughed lazily. “Mom, stop acting. You aren’t like this… you would never talk like this…” “Before you died, you handed me a bank card with seventeen thousand dollars on it. You told me you couldn’t see me get married.” “You said you saved it your whole life, scrimping and saving. You knew you were sick but didn’t dare say anything because you were afraid of spending the money. Afraid I would spend money to cure you.” “You said it was my dowry. You told me to find a good man.” “You told me to be diligent at my in-laws’, to do more housework, to be sweet so my mother-in-law would like me.” “The day you died, I cried and begged you to stop talking.” “When I took my life savings to the doctor and begged him to save you, he told me, ‘Now you worry about your mom? It’s too late.’” “Mom, I’m sorry. I know you loved me in your own way. But these words… they hurt so much.” “Today is the anniversary. I miss you.” “I miss when I was in kindergarten and you held me. Back then, you praised me. You rarely badmouthed the neighbors.” “But when I tried to listen to your old voice messages… I broke down again.” “That familiar voice brought it all back.” “You cursed me under the guise of caring.” “You told me to rest, or my eyes would go blind from the computer.” “But on my days off, you woke me up at dawn. If I didn’t get up, you called me a corpse.” Sarah was gasping for air, sobbing violently. Suffocation gripped my heart as I listened.

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I am the sole heir to one of the world’s most powerful conglomerates. My father’s influence is absolute, stretching from boardrooms to the darkest corners of the underworld. Yet, at my own engagement party, I watched my fiancée hand a “Voluntary Transfer of Bodily Ownership” contract to my sworn enemy, Marcus Thorne. “Adrian, don’t be angry.” Vivian Linwood held the contract up for me to see, her tone light and airy. “I love you, so I’ll save my precious first night for you.” “I will always be your wife, but I’m giving Marcus ownership of my body.” “What kind of joke is this?” My brow furrowed. I stepped forward to pull her back, but Marcus shoved me away. Vivian immediately stepped in front of him, her own brow furrowed in annoyance. “Adrian, don’t be so old-fashioned! My body is mine to give to whomever I please!” Then, right in front of me, she stood on her toes and kissed Marcus. In that instant, I became the biggest joke in high society. Before the media could ignite a firestorm, I calmly sent a single text message. 【The Linwood family’s gray-market enterprises no longer need our protection.】 1 Clutching the arm that ached from where Marcus had shoved me, I stared coldly at Vivian, who was now nestled in his embrace. 【Vivian, I gave you my love and my respect.】 【And you’re crawling on your belly to be his dog?】 Marcus’s fingers traced Vivian’s cheek with insolent slowness, his eyes locked on mine in a blatant challenge. A blush crept up Vivian’s neck, but she only spared me a fleeting, dismissive glance. 【Adrian, my body is not for my nominal fiancé to decide.】 Marcus spread his hands in a gesture of mock helplessness, a sneer playing on his lips. 【Well, Mr. Maxine, you heard the lady. She’s a willing participant.】 【The great Adrian Maxine can’t even hold onto his own woman? I guess that’s my gain.】 Watching them, a sharp pain twisted in my gut. My fingers tightened on the edge of that vile contract. 【Don’t forget, Vivian. Without me, your family would have been ruined long ago.】 But she was utterly unfazed. 【So?】 【Your grandfather promised that the Maxines would always take care of the Linwoods. Are you going to defy his wishes?】 She shot me a triumphant smirk, then snapped a photo of the contract and sent it to her friends’ group chat. 【With the right training, two husbands isn’t a problem. See? My two men, coexisting peacefully.】 The chat exploded. 【Vivi is a master at training men! Even the heir to the mighty Maxine fortune is begging for her affection like a puppy.】 【You’re my hero, Vivi! Drop the masterclass, we all need to learn…】 The ballroom buzzed with whispers and stifled laughter. Eyes darted from Vivian to me, filled with a mixture of shock and pity. The mockery washed over me in waves. 【The Maxines have dominated this city for a century, an unshakable empire. And this spineless creature is their heir?】 【Looks like the Maxine dynasty won’t last much longer…】 【What do you fools know?!】 A low, disapproving voice cut through the chatter, laced with a deep, almost fearful respect. 【The Maxine enterprise is far more than what you see on the surface. Years ago, the old man Maxine snapped his fingers and brought the city’s most dangerous crime syndicate to its knees. The families caught in that crossfire are still crawling out of the gutter!】 【You’ve all lived in peace for too long. Do you really think the Maxines are a family we can afford to gossip about?!】 A rare, sudden silence fell over the crowd. The gazes that now fell upon me were tinged with a dawning, horrified understanding. But I paid them no mind. Just as Vivian, a smirk playing on her lips, tried to force the contract into my hand, the grand doors of the hall swung open. My best friend, just back from the Delta to attend my engagement, strode in. 【Well, this is new. People actually begging to be put on a leash these days?】 Cassia Vance walked towards us, and the air itself seemed to part for her. She gave Vivian a cursory, dismissive glance before turning to me, her eyes filled with disapproval. 【Adrian, this woman is not fit to marry into the Maxine family. I’d say that even if your grandfather were standing right here!】 Others might have heard that and thought it was just about our family’s immense wealth dwarfing the Linwoods’. But Cassia was the only one here who knew the truth of who I really was. I knew what she meant. The Maxines, the silent bankers of the world’s powers, needed a matriarch of substance and strength. 【Hah.】 Vivian laughed, crossing her arms. 【And what kind of woman am I? My grandfather was a hero who saved Mr. Maxine’s life! Who the hell are you to talk?】 Cassia ignored her, her voice cutting like glass. 【A hero? If it weren’t for Adrian, your family would have sold you off in a marriage alliance for a pittance years ago! You wouldn’t even be here yapping like a stray!】 Before Vivian could retort, Cassia rounded on Marcus. 【And you. A leech who built his career by having Vivian steal project data from Adrian. The two of you, playing at true love? It’s pathetic.】 Watching Vivian’s face twist in fury, I felt a flicker of a memory. The day she’d run to me, begging for protection from an arranged marriage. She had been like a cornered kitten then, all claws retracted, hiding in my arms and sobbing. The tear that had fallen on my neck, a silent vow that she would marry no one else, seemed to burn me still. 【Adrian, you’re the only one in the world who’s ever been good to me.】 【Let me be part of your family. I want to protect you, too…】 But now, for another man, she stood against me without a moment’s hesitation. Cassia saw the arrogant certainty in Vivian’s eyes and sneered. 【You really think Adrian can’t live without you? The second you lose the protection of the Maxine name, let’s see if your new ‘master’ still wants his little pet.】 Vivian couldn’t stand hearing a bad word about Marcus. She snatched a glass of water from a nearby table and threw it in my face. 【Adrian, you’re the one who keeps a good dog on a leash!】 she shrieked. 【Make this bitch apologize to Marcus right now, or I’m leaving with him today!】 I lowered my eyes, slowly wiping the water from my face. This was supposed to be our happiest day. Instead, the woman I cherished had willingly become another man’s property, making me the laughingstock of our entire social circle. A profound weariness washed over me. I didn’t even look at them. 【Cassia,】 I said quietly. 【Let’s go.】 Even with the Maxines moving quickly to suppress the news, someone was working against us in the shadows. The story spread through the city like a virus. What should have been a grand celebration ended in disaster. And right on cue, Vivian’s parents arrived at my door, bearing expensive gifts. 【Adrian, dear, Vivian is just young and foolish. Please, you have to understand. It was all that boy, Marcus, who led her astray!】 【That’s right! The engagement between our families can’t be broken over a childish tantrum!】 They took turns trying to soothe me, dismissing the whole affair as youthful indiscretion. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. The Maxines had kept a low profile for so long that these people actually thought they could be pushed around. 【Understand?】 I slapped a copy of the contract down on the table. A cold smile touched my lips but never reached my eyes. 【You want me to understand that she’s another man’s pet?】 【The Maxine family can’t afford to worship at the altar of the Linwoods. This engagement is over.】 Seeing my resolve, Vivian’s mother’s face changed instantly. She slammed her hand on the table. 【Adrian! Don’t you forget, my father took a bullet for your grandfather!】 【Without the Linwoods, there would be no Maxines! How dare you act so high and mighty with us?】 Her voice was shrill, all traces of her earlier warmth gone. I leaned back in my chair, elbow resting on the armrest, and a slow, chilling smile spread across my face as I looked at the two snarling figures before me. 【Yes. What a… tremendous debt we owe you.】 The next day, Vivian, breaking character, asked to meet. She said she wanted to explain. I waited on a street corner from high noon until the sun began to set. She finally arrived, arm in arm with Marcus. 【Oh, Adrian, you didn’t really wait for five hours, did you? I was just speaking casually. You always did hang on my every word.】 She stepped forward and took my wrist. 【I know you have feelings for me, and I have them for you. Why don’t you reconsider my suggestion from yesterday?】 Her eyes were smiling, but I didn’t miss the flash of mockery within them. Am I a dog to be discarded and whistled back at her whim? I forced a gentle smile. 【It’s not out of the question. Have Marcus get on his knees and apologize to me, and I’ll consider it.】 I raised an eyebrow at him. Vivian’s face scrunched up in protest, but before she could speak, Marcus just laughed and agreed. I was stunned by his easy compliance. Then, he pulled a small bell from his pocket and gave it a gentle shake. 【My little slave,】 he commanded, his voice ringing with authority. 【Kneel.】 My pupils contracted. The idea was absurd. Here, on a crowded street, who would submit to such a humiliation? Especially someone as proud as Vivian. But in the next instant, right there in front of the law firm, under the watchful eyes of dozens of strangers, Vivian knelt. She hugged Marcus’s leg, rubbing her cheek against his trousers like an obedient puppy seeking praise. A triumphant smirk spread across Marcus’s face. He rested a hand casually on her head. 【Is this apology to your satisfaction, Mr. Maxine?】 【If you’re not fully satisfied, I could even let you have her for a day or two. Let you have some fun.】 Vivian showed no sign of resistance to his utterly degrading words. Instead, she shot me an annoyed glare. 【Adrian, if you truly loved me, you would accept me as I am, not make things difficult. I love you, that’s why I’m saving my first night for you, but I have a contract with my master now…】 【Don’t make this hard for me.】 Her words hit me like a physical blow. In that moment, something inside me turned to ice. She was a stranger to me now. My fingers curled into a fist. I looked down at her, my eyes dark and heavy. 【Perhaps I’ve spoiled you so much, Vivian, that you’ve forgotten. I’m not just Adrian. I am the sole heir to the Maxine empire. It is not I who cannot live without you. It is your family, and it is you, who cannot live without me. Without me, you are nothing.】 【Listen to me. This engagement is over. And I am the one ending it.】 Her eyes widened in fury. She jumped to her feet and grabbed my arm, her expression vicious. 【You wouldn’t dare! Your grandfather would never allow it! The Maxines can’t be so ungrateful!】 【Ungrateful?】 A bitter, sarcastic smile twisted my lips. I threw her hand off me as if it were contaminated. 【Your grandfather saved my grandfather, Vivian. He didn’t sell the entire Maxine line into servitude to your family for generations to come. That debt has been repaid a hundred times over.】 【Oh, and you might want to watch the news tonight. My grandfather will be making a personal statement to clear up the ‘misunderstanding’ of our engagement.】 My voice was low, steady, and cold as ice. She paled, but then a sneer replaced the fear on her face. 【You’re joking. You’re just trying to make me angry, to make me come crawling back to you!】 【This little game of push-and-pull is so obvious. It’s pathetic.】 Her flushed face, her useless denials—they were nothing but a joke to me. 【Believe what you want.】 I tossed the annulment papers into her arms, turned, and walked away without looking back. The news of the broken engagement sent shockwaves through the city. The Linwood Corporation’s stock plummeted overnight. Vivian called me more than twenty times. I blocked every number. I never expected our next meeting to be at a press conference where she was accusing me of cruel and abusive treatment. The allegations included, but were not limited to, being “overly controlling,” “emotional abuse,” and “using money to interfere with her personal freedom,” all backed by conveniently distorted chat logs. Vivian stood on the stage, the hand holding the microphone trembling. 【His control was so suffocating he even tried to police my friendships!】 Sensing her distress, Marcus’s eyes reddened on cue. He looked directly into the cameras. 【All Vivian has ever wanted is freedom for her soul. Mr. Maxine, please, let her go.】 A wave of murmurs rippled through the reporters. 【I can’t believe the Maxine heir is some kind of psycho. The rich really are messed up.】 【That poor girl. She’s basically committing social suicide by exposing him. The Maxines will destroy her.】 The whispers grew louder. The room was in an uproar. Cassia and I watched from the back, exchanged a look, and let out a soft, humorless laugh. If they wanted a show, we’d give them a spectacle. Cassia strode forward, snatched a microphone from a reporter, and fired three questions at the stage. 【Freedom of the soul?】 【Vivian, that silk scarf around your neck. Why don’t you take it off and show everyone the collar marks your ‘master’ left you?】 【And Marcus. You convinced her to steal the core data for the Maxine ‘Stardust’ project. How do we settle that account?】 【You play the part of a willing slave for one man while clinging to the Maxine family’s fortune with the other. You really want to have your cake and eat it too, don’t you?】 The room erupted. The sound of camera shutters was like a machine gun. The flashing lights seemed to hurt Vivian’s eyes. She instinctively shielded Marcus. 【You can’t just come up here and make baseless accusations! You must be one of Adrian’s little mistresses, waiting for your turn to take my place!】 Then, her tone softened, turning to one of gentle warning. 【Adrian is not a good man. When he loved me, he gave me the world. When he stopped, he treated me like dirt, even attacking my family’s company.】 【Take it from someone who knows. My today will be your tomorrow. You should get out while you still can.】 It was a masterful performance. A few tears, a few soft words, and she had the room back on her side. But this was Cassia. The Iron Fist of the Delta. She wasn’t about to be taken down by a few crocodile tears. She mirrored Vivian, dabbing at her own eyes, her voice breaking with emotion. 【Oh, Vivian, you have it all wrong. Your family was never worthy of Adrian. It was you who pursued him, you who promised him a lifetime together. That fool defied his entire family for you, endured thirty-nine lashes of the family cane just to make you his wife.】 【He used his connections to build up your family, gave you a black card, gave you power. And you repaid him by signing a slave contract with another man at your engagement party.】 The tide turned again. The reporters were getting whiplash. Vivian shrieked that she was lying, but it was too late. Cassia had projected the photo of the contract onto the main screen behind the stage. No one believed her anymore. The crowd turned, calling her and Marcus shameless trash. Seeing the situation spiral out of control, Marcus cursed under his breath. He dropped the microphone, and a deafening screech of feedback filled the room. As everyone winced and covered their ears, the on-site security guards suddenly swarmed the stage and shoved Cassia, hard, into the crowd below! There was a sickening thud. She hadn’t had time to react. Her head hit the floor, and blood instantly matted her hair, covering her face in a horrifying crimson mask. Marcus, his back to the audience, shot me a vicious, triumphant smile. Look at her, his eyes seemed to say. So pathetic… Something inside me snapped. My vision went red. I vaulted onto the stage and, in front of every camera in the city, I broke Marcus Thorne’s nose with a single punch. 【You’re a dead man, Thorne!】 He crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Vivian screamed, scrambling to grab my arm. 【Adrian! Stop! I was wrong, I was wrong! Please, let him go!】 The event manager finally reacted, rushing onto the stage and yelling for someone to call an ambulance. Seeing Cassia’s deathly pale face, a sliver of sanity returned to me. I gently lifted her unconscious body into my arms and headed for the door. Before I left, I delivered my final verdict. 【Vivian. Your family. Prepare for liquidation.】 Cassia’s surgery lasted eight agonizing hours. She was alive, but she was in the ICU. Once I knew she was out of immediate danger, the crushing anxiety that had gripped me for a day finally began to ease. I decided to go home and pack some things for her. I had just left the hospital when I was ambushed by a group of masked men and dragged to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Vivian emerged from the shadows, a knife in her hand. Marcus, his leg in a cast, limped behind her, his face a mask of venomous hatred. She was like a madwoman, screaming at me, pressing the cold blade of the knife to my neck, drawing a thin line of blood. 【You’re insane, Adrian! You sent someone to run Marcus down just to keep me by your side! He’s crippled for life now! Are you happy?!】 A car crash? Confusion flickered in my eyes. 【What are you talking about? If I wanted Marcus dead, he wouldn’t be breathing right now.】 【Shut up!】 She slapped me, the sting sharp and hot against my cheek. 【Who else would use such a despicable tactic! Calling the police is too good for you! I want you on your knees, begging for Marcus’s forgiveness!】 【Or do you think those guards you left at the hospital can protect Cassia?】 Her face was a twisted mask of fury as she held up her phone, showing me a video of someone pulling the oxygen tube from Cassia’s nose. Cassia… still lying in the ICU, for me… I couldn’t let anything else happen to her. 【Vivian! If a single hair on her head is harmed, I will make you and Marcus pay with your lives!】 She kicked me hard in the stomach. 【A prisoner dares to make demands? For every second you delay, I’ll have one of that little bitch’s fingers cut off!】 I gritted my teeth, the veins on my forehead bulging. My knees hit the concrete floor as I bowed my head to the smirking, triumphant Marcus. 【I was wrong. Please… forgive me.】 Marcus limped towards me, dragging a steel pipe. He swung it without a word, a brutal, crushing blow against my back. 【The great Maxine heir? Nothing but a dog at my feet!】 【Yes! Just like that! Harder!】 Vivian filmed the whole thing, her eyes gleaming with excitement. 【Adrian, say ‘I’m worthless trash, I deserve this,’ and I’ll make them stop.】 I turned my head and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, silent. My eyes, shot through with red, must have looked like something that had crawled out of hell. I just stared at them. 【Oh, a tough one, are we? Let’s see what’s tougher, your bones or this pipe!】 Blow after blow rained down on me, targeting my most vulnerable spots. I heard the crack of bone more than once, the pain so intense it made my scalp tingle. Then, a final, heavy blow to the back of my head. The world went black. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard Vivian’s panicked voice. 【…I think he stopped breathing. What do we do?】 【So he’s dead. Who cares?】 Marcus said, his voice casual. 【He’s just some rich businessman, not a crime lord who controls the city. Nobody’s going to miss him…】 Their footsteps faded away. My vision flickered between black and white, my ears ringing, my head splitting apart. I fumbled for the watch on my wrist, trying to press the distress signal, but I had no strength left. As I felt my life slipping away from blood loss, the world exploded. Through a curtain of fire and smoke, I saw a man in a black suit, followed by teams of bodyguards, all armed with assault rifles, storming into the warehouse. The man in the lead gathered me into his arms, calling my name over and over. 【Adrian, don’t sleep! Dad is here! Dad was late!】

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My wife said she didn’t understand the “silent treatment,” yet in three years of marriage, she never once tried to make up with me. The first time she did it, I was proud. We ignored each other for seven days straight. The seventh time, I started to panic. I tried everything I could think of, but she wouldn’t break. By the eleventh time, I had learned to swallow my own emotions. I would apologize before Sophia even had to say a word. I thought she was just born cold, that no one could ever warm her heart. Until the third year of our marriage, when I accidentally scorched one of her dresses while ironing. Sophia didn’t say anything, but that night, she packed a bag and checked into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked and ignored, I went to her office with a handwritten apology. As I passed by her glass-walled room, I saw her leaning over, a fond smile on her face as she spoke to her pouting male assistant. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. It’s been 57 minutes and you haven’t said a word to me. Can we please not do this silent treatment thing?” I froze. The apology letter in my hand felt like it was on fire. So, she did understand the silent treatment. The person she wanted to coax just wasn’t me. 1 The apology letter had become our unspoken ritual over the past three years. Every time she shut me out, it was my handwritten note that served as the bridge back to her. The first time I wrote one, my eyes were red with humiliation. One part of me screamed at how pathetic I was, debasing myself for a woman like this. The other part just couldn’t stop writing. Because the silence was just too damn hard to bear. Then came the third time, the ninth, the seventeenth… an endless, soul-crushing cycle. Even on the way to her office today, I was obsessing over it: Was my handwriting neat enough? Did my words sound sincere? Surely, after she read it, she wouldn’t be angry anymore. But now, watching the genuine warmth in her eyes as she looked at her assistant, a chill shot up from my feet and seized my entire body. So, she did understand the silent treatment. The person she wanted to coax just wasn’t me. While Sophia was in a meeting, I asked her assistant to meet me. As I ordered our coffee, I studied the young man across from me. He wasn’t as handsome as me, his features were merely pleasant. He was thin, lacking any real masculine presence. As for family background, Sophia and I came from similar standing; he was just an intern. By every measure, he couldn’t compare to me. But I had still lost to him. In three years of marriage, Sophia had given me the silent treatment countless times, and not once had she tried to break it. I had convinced myself she was just a cold person, that it was her nature. Today, I learned that was a lie. Sophia could smile with affection. She knew how painful the silence could be. She knew you had to swallow your pride to make a man happy. But I didn’t understand. Where did I lose? That’s why I asked him to meet me. I needed the answer. Alex hadn’t expected my question. The nervous “caught by the wife” expression on his face froze. Disbelief flashed in his eyes. “That’s… all you want to know?” The letter in my hand felt scorching hot. I crumpled it into a ball and shoved it into my bag. Then, with a sincerity that was almost painful, I asked again. “Yes. That’s all I want to know. Can you tell me? Where did I lose?” 2 Alex smirked. Then, realizing I was serious, the smirk slowly morphed into a look of pity, of compassion for a lesser being. He took a sip of his coffee, revealing a classic Rolex on his wrist. “Last month, Sophia took me to a gala. I complained that the smell of champagne clinging to her dress was too strong.” “The next day, this watch was on my desk.” I stared at him, stunned. Sophia had been drinking heavily that night. When she came home, her face was flushed. I’m allergic to alcohol; even the strong scent gives me a rash. So I had offered to sleep in the guest room. She had flown into a rage and didn’t speak to me for a week. “And this tie,” Alex gestured to the dark, patterned tie he was wearing, the gold thread in its design shimmering in the light. “Sophia was three minutes late letting me off work because of a client meeting. She bought this for me on her business trip to Paris as an apology.” I nodded, feeling a sense of detachment, of unreality. The week before her Paris trip had been my birthday. A week in advance, I had reminded her to get me a gift. Three days in advance, I had reminded her to set an alarm so she wouldn’t forget to wish me a happy birthday. She still forgot. And when I confronted her, her first reaction was anger. “You know how busy I am,” she had snapped, before coldly grabbing her suitcase and leaving for the airport. I was so hurt I didn’t speak to her for two weeks. During those days, when neither of us would back down, she had still remembered to buy a tie for Alex? I wanted to laugh, but my eyes were burning. “Is there more?” I asked, my voice hollow. Alex gave me a surprised look, as if he couldn’t understand why I was actively seeking out more pain. “The reason for your current fight,” he said, leaning in. “You probably don’t know. The dress you ruined… I was the one who gave it to her.” “She promised me she would wear it to her client meeting this week.” It all clicked into place. No wonder. It was just a dress. How could that be enough to make her move out? I thought about last night, how I had swallowed my pride and carefully written each word on the page. Sophia, I know I was wrong. I’ll be more careful with the housework. I won’t be so clumsy again. Sophia, I’ll buy you another one, exactly the same. Please don’t be angry with me. Thinking about it now, it was just… pathetic. I couldn’t sit there any longer. I nodded at Alex and turned to leave. I knew where I’d lost. And I knew exactly how my marriage to Sophia had to end. It would begin with this silence. 3 Leaving the café, I went straight to a law firm. I paid extra to have a divorce agreement drafted immediately. While I was waiting, I ran into Sophia. It seemed her company’s legal team was having some issues, and she was here to negotiate a new partnership. The moment she saw me, her brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?” She seemed to assume I was there to apologize. Her eyes instinctively darted to my bag. “I don’t have time to read your letter right now. Wait until I’m finished…” “Mr. Hayes, we’re ready for you.” A lawyer, Mr. Evans, poked his head out of his office and waved me in. I stood up. Sophia grabbed my arm. “You’re here to see a lawyer?” Before I could answer, she let go, her expression turning dismissive. “You even made a lawyer’s appointment just for a chance to run into me.” She sighed, as if granting a great favor. “Fine. Since you went to all this trouble, we’ll have dinner tonight.” I knew this was her signal for reconciliation. The old me would have lit up, nodding eagerly. But this time, I wanted to be the one who didn’t understand. I smiled politely. “I have plans tonight. Maybe some other time.” The next time we have dinner, it will be to discuss our divorce. Without another word, I walked past her and into Mr. Evans’s office, leaving Sophia standing there, utterly bewildered. It felt good. 4 It was dark by the time I finished with the lawyer. Sophia hadn’t waited for me. The receptionist said she left the moment her meeting was over, as if she were trying to escape someone. That someone, of course, was me. I knew my place. This wasn’t the first time she’d publicly snubbed me. But it was the first time I didn’t feel sad. I went to the mall and bought myself the watch I’d always wanted. Then I went to an arcade and played games for hours. Finally, I went for hot pot, something I’d been craving for ages. Sophia was a neat freak and couldn’t stand the smell of chili and spices that clung to your clothes afterward. So, I was never allowed to eat it. The last time I’d had it was a year ago. We were in the middle of a three-day silent treatment over something trivial. I was used to it, but that day was our wedding anniversary. Out of spite, I went to a hot pot restaurant, ordered the spiciest broth, and came home smelling like a chili bomb. We had a massive fight. She had asked me, her face like ice, why I would deliberately do something that I knew would upset her. I had asked her, my eyes red, why she would give me the silent treatment on our wedding anniversary. Why couldn’t you just… try to make up with me? I don’t remember her expression that day. But I remember the bone-deep chill of her indifference. It’s a cold that still makes me shiver. But that was all in the past. I scooped up a large piece of beef, my heart content. It was late when I got home. I showered and was about to go to bed when a message from Sophia came through. “Have you seen my green hair clip? I need it for tomorrow.” In three years, this was the first time she had ever messaged me first during one of our silences. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, wondering if it was a prank. After checking her name several times, I slowly typed back. “It’s in the glass cabinet in the walk-in closet, third shelf. Do you want me to call a courier?” Before, no matter where she was, I would have dropped everything to bring her what she needed. But now, it was almost midnight. I needed my sleep. Silence from her end. Just as I was putting my phone down, another message arrived. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. What do you want? That model kit?” I froze. That was the gift I had asked for last year. A year too late. When I didn’t reply, another message came. “You came to the office today? There’s nothing between Alex and me. Don’t cause trouble for him.” Her words hit me like a splash of cold water. Of course. She was defending her little lover. No wonder she suddenly remembered to get me a gift. She was afraid I would hurt her precious boy. I laughed out loud, then hit the voice message button, my tone a mix of self-mockery and release. “Don’t worry. I won’t do a thing.” Because I’m already preparing to leave you. I glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. A bit late to ask her to come over. After a moment’s thought, I sent one last message. “Sophia, don’t stay at the hotel anymore. Come home tomorrow night.” “I have an agreement I need you to sign.” 5 The next day, I woke up early and started packing. I considered making dinner, but then thought better of it. Sophia never liked my cooking. If she came home to a table full of food, she’d probably just get annoyed again. I smiled to myself and ordered a lavish spread from a restaurant instead. By 6 PM, Sophia hadn’t replied. I took the food from the delivery guy, gave him a generous tip, and asked him to take the trash bags by the door. The bags weren’t heavy. They were filled with all the apology letters I had written over the years. Sophia had kept them in her desk. I’d found them and thrown them all out. By 7 PM, Sophia hadn’t arrived. I wasn’t worried. I started eating and happened to scroll past Alex’s social media feed. [Tripped on the way out and my ankle is killing me. Luckily, Sophia was there to drive me home.] When was the last time I sprained my ankle? The 17th? My ankle had swollen up like a balloon. The pain was so bad I took painkillers and passed out. I’d missed her calls. Without a word, she had blocked my number and only unblocked it a few days ago. I still remember what she’d said: “Leo, it’s just a sprained ankle. Are you going to die?” No, a sprained ankle won’t kill you. But her coldness killed my heart. I yawned, gave Alex’s post a “like,” and went back to my food. My phone immediately buzzed. A single question mark from Sophia. I didn’t reply. Ten minutes later, I heard a key in the lock. Sophia stormed in, looking furious. But she stopped short when she saw the half-eaten takeout containers on the table. “You didn’t cook?” I flinched, instinctively touching a small scar on my hand from a cooking burn. “You don’t like my cooking, remember?” She was speechless, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. But she never showed her true emotions to me. She handed me a gift box. “Anniversary present. Open it.” I took it and glanced inside. Yep. The year-old model kit. “Thank you.” My polite response seemed to throw her off completely. Her gaze hardened. “I didn’t mean to be late. There was an emergency at work. I came as soon as I could.” She continued, a defensive edge to her voice. “Driving him home was just… convenient. It was on my way. Don’t get the wrong idea…” I nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” I truly didn’t. But my indifference seemed to infuriate her. There was even a hint of a pout in her tone. “Then why didn’t you get me a gift?” The moment the words left her mouth, she looked surprised at herself. It was completely out of character. But her pride, especially with me, was ironclad. Her expression quickly darkened. She shot me a cold glare and turned to leave. I knew what this was. The start of another silent war. “Wait.” I called out to her, walking to a drawer and rummaging through it. She turned back, a slight smirk on her lips as she walked up behind me. “What are you looking for? My present…?” “Found it!” I spun around, my voice buzzing with an excitement I couldn’t contain. “I had a lawyer draft a divorce agreement. Sign it.”

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The day I was brought back to my biological family, the “fake” daughter couldn’t handle it. She swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. By the time she reached the hospital, she was pronounced dead on arrival. Instantly, she became the family’s saint, their white moonlight. And I? I became the sinner. My parents tried to mold me into her shadow. My two older brothers cursed me daily, asking why I wasn’t the one in the grave. Only I knew the truth: The fake daughter faked her death. I know this because I’ve been reborn. In my past life, I died trying to expose her. In this life, I decided to help the “happy family” reunite a little earlier than planned. But once I did, they begged for forgiveness. 1 “Lily! Today is Jessica’s memorial! How dare you celebrate your birthday? Why wasn’t it you who died?!” “How can you be so vicious? All you think about is fighting for attention! Let me tell you, you will never be half the woman Jessica was!” I blinked, my vision clearing. I was looking at the youthful faces of my brothers, Ethan and Ryan. I lifted my shirt to check my stomach. Smooth skin. No scars. That’s when I knew for sure—I had been reborn. In my previous life, Jessica and I were switched at birth. When I finally returned home, full of hope, I wasn’t met with love, but with disgust. Jessica staged a suicide that very day and was declared dead. From that moment on, I was the villain. My parents looked for traces of her in me. My brothers hated me, convinced my return killed their beloved sister. I lived in guilt, begging for scraps of their affection. At twenty-five, desperate to please them, I agreed to a business marriage. My husband was a monster. He beat me until I miscarried. When I called my family for help, they told me to endure it for the family’s sake. “It’s just a beating,” they said. “Jessica lost her life because of you. You owe her.” Broken, I wandered the streets until I saw something impossible. Through a restaurant window, I saw the “dead” Jessica. She was sitting with my parents and brothers, celebrating her birthday. They were laughing. Eating cake. Giving her the love I had craved my entire life. I rushed in, screaming, demanding answers. Jessica hadn’t died. All my suffering was for nothing. In the chaos, I ran out into the street and was hit by a truck. As I lay bleeding out on the asphalt, my parents just glanced at me coldly before turning back to sing “Happy Birthday” to Jessica. Even though I was their flesh and blood, they only ever loved her. I died realizing the truth: I didn’t lose to a mistake. I lost because they simply didn’t love me. Thinking of this, I clenched my fists. 2 Ryan’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Lily, are you deaf? Stop playing the victim on the floor!” He grabbed the cake—the one my best friend Sarah had bought me, the only person who remembered my birthday—and smashed it into my face. I wiped the frosting from my eyes, stood up, grabbed a chunk of the ruined cake, and slammed it right back into Ryan’s face. Ryan’s eyes went wide. The submissive doormat he knew had just fought back. “Lily! Are you crazy? Why couldn’t you just die instead?!” Ryan screamed, his eyes burning with hatred. They had said that so many times. Why didn’t you die? In my past life, I wondered that too. Living was torture. I smirked. “Yeah, this lunatic is still alive, while your perfect, precious Jessica is rotting in the ground.” “Dead. Cold. Desperate…” Slap. A heavy hand struck my face. I glared at Ethan, my oldest brother. Ethan looked panicked. His hand trembled in the air. I scoffed internally. He couldn’t handle me speaking ill of Jessica? What about the psychological torture they put me through? What about my husband’s fists? What about me dying in the street? I grabbed Ethan by the collar and slapped him back. Hard. I used every ounce of strength I had. Ethan’s eyes bulged. He was more shocked than hurt. “Lily! Have you lost your mind?” he growled. Everyone said I was crazy. Well, now I really was. Ryan, seeing this, panicked and kicked me hard in the ribs. “Ah—” I cried out in pain, face pale, but I didn’t let go. I grabbed Ethan’s hand and bit down. Hard. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Go to hell. All of you. Even if I die again, I’m taking a piece of you with me. Ryan was screaming now. “Help! Lily’s gone insane! Get this bitch off him!” Two grown men couldn’t shake me off. The servants rushed in, shoving me away roughly. They treated me like a piece of furniture, not the daughter of the house. I stood there, staring at the deep bite mark on Ethan’s hand, and smiled. 3 “Enough!” A voice boomed from the staircase. My father stood there, looking at me with pure disgust. “Filthy. Look at yourself.” Right. I didn’t look like Jessica. Without her shadow, I was less than a stranger to them. “Dad, Lily’s lost it,” Ryan stammered. “She hit Ethan. We just told her she shouldn’t celebrate her birthday on Jessica’s death anniversary, and she snapped.” My father scoffed. He cared about dignity above all else. “Is that true?” I wiped the blood from my mouth. “Yeah. What does Jessica’s death day have to do with my birthday?” My mother rushed over, hearing my words. Tears instantly rolled down her cheeks. “Lily! How can you be so cold? She was your sister!” I laughed, tears welling in my own eyes. “Sister? A stranger I never met? She deserves to be my sister?” “Have you ever considered that I am your biological daughter?” “Why does my life have to be a memorial for someone else’s?” My mother clutched her chest, sobbing, unable to look me in the eye. Ryan stepped in front of her. “Stop torturing Mom with Jessica’s name! You are venomous!” Ethan chimed in, cold as ice. “Mom, Dad, let’s go visit Jessica’s grave. Don’t let an outsider waste our time.” An outsider. I never belonged. My mother cried uncontrollably but let them lead her away. I watched them leave with cold eyes. Forget it. Parents, brothers… I don’t want any of them. I looked at the smashed cake on the floor. A shame. I couldn’t eat it. But today, I was going to have my cake and eat it too. I was celebrating my rebirth. 4 After cleaning myself up, I packed my bags. The servants called the family to tattle on me. They did it right in front of my face. Ryan sneered over the phone, “Good. Let her leave. Hope she dies out there.” Ethan stayed silent. My mother just wept. My father ignored it, busy polishing a photo of Jessica. The maid looked awkward as she hung up. She handed me a bag of pastries. “Miss, for the road.” I took it, nodding. It was ironic that in two lifetimes, the only kindness in this house came from the hired help. My best friend, Sarah, was waiting at the gate. Seeing her, I broke down. “Sarah!” Sarah hugged me tight. “Lily, did they hurt you again?” I nodded, tears falling. “They ruined the cake you bought me.” “I’ll buy you another one.” I went home with Sarah. As soon as we arrived, my mother called. Her voice was choked with tears. “Child, why did you really leave? What am I supposed to do?” “Go live with Jessica,” I said. The phone was snatched away. “Lily! What is this new game?” Ethan yelled. “Do you only feel good when you make Mom miserable?” “Let me tell you, you will never compare to Jessica. You are nothing compared to her.” “Apologize now, and we’ll let you come back.” He was sure I wouldn’t refuse. The old me wouldn’t have. I used to crave their love, humbling myself into the dust. But I was tired. Let them love Jessica. Let them bleed for her. “I don’t need you anymore,” I said, forcing a smile into my voice. “What?” Ethan sounded stunned. Then he laughed. “Is this your new tactic?” I had tried tactics before. After Jessica “died,” I tried everything to make them look at me. But the harder I tried, the more they hated me for being alive. What was my crime? Wanting to be loved by my own family? If that’s a sin, then I’ll stay away. Ethan hung up angrily, convinced I was bluffing. Sarah held me as I lay on her couch. “I’m here, Lily,” she whispered. I closed my eyes, the final image of my past life flashing in my mind. Jessica is alive. I sat up abruptly. “Sarah,” I said, my voice trembling but loud. “Jessica isn’t dead.”

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