Category: English

A TV accident hospitalized superstar Scarlett Howard, revealing a secret: she wasn’t a biological Howard. I, the girl from a poor town, was the real heiress. The news exploded. The Howards welcomed me back on one condition: Scarlett and I star in a reality show. I expected a fight, but Scarlett was just obsessed with having a sister. I joined her, only to find her blinded by love for her cold fiancé, who doted on others. I went on the offensive. Scarlett was redeemed, gaining loyal fans. My design studio skyrocketed. My sweetheart, Liam, won my family over and started his company. All was well, except for Scarlett’s manipulative ex. Months later, he returned, claiming, “I see you as family, that’s why I wasn’t polite.” I feared she’d soften. Instead, she hit him with her bag. “Get away. Your germs are making my sister sick.” 1. I’d spent over two decades working my fingers to the bone in a dirt-poor small town, and then, overnight, I was transformed into Chloe Howard, the long-lost heiress to one of the wealthiest families in the city of Aurelia. The Howards descended upon my tiny design studio like a whirlwind, their tears flowing as they told me I was their real daughter. They brought me into their world, showering me with money, jewels, and property. But before the official family banquet, they made a hesitant request: they wanted me to appear on a reality show. “The show is a joint investment between our family and the Crawfords,” my new mother explained. “Your sister… Scarlett… she’s a famous actress, but her public image isn’t the best. Now that this secret is out, the online hate has gotten so much worse.” I listened, nodding along. “So, you want me to go on the show and play happy families with her? Put on a display of sisterly bonding to quiet down the media storm?” My mother looked down, shamefaced. I waved a dismissive hand. “What’s the big deal? You’ve given me a fortune in cash, jewelry, and real estate. A little reality TV? I’m definitely coming out on top here.” My mother let out a visible sigh of relief. But then, I leaned in, rubbing my hands together. “Just one question,” I whispered. “Do I get paid for this?” She blinked, and I hurried to explain. “It’s just… I’m a fresh graduate trying to get a startup off the ground. Cash is a little tight, you know?” I wasn’t lying. I was desperate for money. My design studio was brand new, only staying afloat because of the money I’d saved from part-time jobs and scholarships in college. A good chunk of it had come from my boyfriend, Liam. He was a recent graduate too, with dreams of his own. But we were both from humble beginnings, with barely two pennies to rub together. “Chloe,” he had told me, “the design industry is brutal. You’re young, you have to strike while the iron is hot. Let’s get your studio launched first. My dreams can wait.” I was a painter and a designer; my dream was to have my own fashion label. Liam was a computer science prodigy whose dream was to create a one-of-a-kind indie game. But he put his dream on hold for me. He poured every cent we had into my studio, and to give me a safety net, he chained himself to a desk job, becoming a corporate drone. So now, being a Howard… honestly, I wasn’t thinking much about family ties. I was thinking about grabbing every opportunity I could. How often does one get a chance to legally cash in without any moral strings attached? Hearing my question, my mother immediately handed me a credit card. “Chloe, there’s a million dollars on this.” My eyes widened. A million dollars! That was a number Liam and I couldn’t even fathom. “Mom, you’re literally my savior. Don’t you worry, I’ll give an Oscar-worthy performance on that show.” The words were barely out of my mouth when she handed me a second card. “I know you have a boyfriend, and that you’ve been supporting him. This is for him. Have him join you on the show. It’ll be good to have someone you trust by your side, so you won’t feel bullied.” I was so moved I could have dropped to my knees. Now Liam’s game studio could become a reality too. His dream and my dream, coming true together. Giddy with excitement, I clutched the two cards and went to call him. But as I was dialing, I saw her—the famous Scarlett Howard. She was on the phone, her eyes brimming with tears, arguing with someone. “It’s our families’ money backing this show! The Howards are major investors! I will not have you bring Amber on set!” Her voice was sharp, laced with the unshakeable authority of someone who had never been told no. I was just marveling at the sheer force of a true heiress when her tone crumbled in the next second. She was crying now. “Fine, fine, I agree, okay? Just… please, don’t talk about breaking off the engagement.” I pursed my lips. Well, damn. Looks like the princess was hopelessly in love. 2. The Howards knew what they were doing. They hyped the show by teasing the first on-air meeting between me and Scarlett. The “Real and Swapped Heiresses: First Encounter” gimmick sent the show’s popularity soaring before filming even began. As part of the strategy, they made sure Scarlett and I never met beforehand. The first time we laid eyes on each other was the day the cameras started rolling, live. The moment the broadcast went live, the viewer count skyrocketed past a hundred thousand. 【The real and fake heiresses meeting live? This is gonna be good.】 【Spicy! With Scarlett’s temper, she’s probably going to tear the new girl apart on sight.】 【A high-society catfight? I’m here for it.】 【Scarlett is 100% going to bully the real heiress.】 【Now that the real one’s back, that imposter Scarlett can finally get lost, lol.】 【Anyone who hates Scarlett is in for a treat today.】 【The Howards are probably ditching Scarlett to launch the real daughter’s career.】 【Or maybe the real one is ugly, and they’re using her as a prop to make Scarlett look better.】 The internet was a cesspool of speculation. Meanwhile, I was staring at my own reflection, feeling a little dazed. “Do I really have to dress this… cutesy?” My outfit was a full-on dopamine-dressing explosion, complete with pigtails. I wouldn’t have even dressed this young and sweet back in high school. My mother said nothing, simply adding two more adorable clips to my hair. Liam, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off me. “Your mom has great taste. You look so cute,” he texted me, followed by a couple of spicy emojis. Yep. The campus legend and academic god was, in private, a total flirt. I was used to it. I stepped into the camera frame, my stomach churning with nerves. First time on TV, and a live broadcast at that. Liam took my hand and twisted the cap off a bottle of water for me. Having him there instantly calmed me down. I was taking a sip when Scarlett arrived. And she wasn’t alone. With her was her fiancé, Gunther Crawford. The Howards and the Crawfords had an arranged marriage, one of those old-family-pact things. My mother had told me Scarlett had been obsessed with Gunther since they were kids, to the point of sheer foolishness. She’d even broken into acting just to be closer to him. And standing next to Gunther was another woman, one I recognized. Amber, a rising starlet who had been making headlines lately. She was the reason Scarlett and Gunther had been fighting on the phone earlier. The three of them walking in together was like watching a soap opera unfold in real-time. As they approached, I quickly stood up to greet them. The word “Hello” was still on my lips when Amber stepped in front of me, a saccharine smile on her face. “Looks like Mrs. Howard really went all out for your big meeting. She knows how much Scarlett adores cute things, so she dressed you up like a little doll.” It sounded like a compliment, but the subtext was venomous. She was pointing out that my own mother knew Scarlett better, and was manipulating me to win Scarlett’s favor. The online comments immediately lit up, saying the Howards cared more about the fake heiress than their real daughter. Some predicted Scarlett would use this to gloat about how much our parents loved her. Others expected me to blow up and assert my rightful place. They were all wrong. Scarlett completely ignored Amber. She rushed straight toward me and cupped my face in her hands. “You must be my little sister, Chloe! Oh my god, you’re so adorable! And your cheeks are so squishy!” Liam looked pained and started to step forward, but he checked himself, realizing it wasn’t his place. His hands just fluttered uselessly in the air. But I didn’t need his help. I threw my arms around Scarlett. “Big sister, you’re so beautiful! And you smell amazing!” Hah. Sorry to disappoint anyone hoping for a catfight. I’ve always had a soft spot for gorgeous women. And Scarlett was breathtaking, like a goddess straight out of an anime. I was already smitten. 3. From that first moment, Scarlett and I were inseparable. It was Liam who finally broke our sisterly bonding session by clearing his throat and introducing himself. “I’m Liam. Chloe’s boyfriend, and her childhood sweetheart.” He said it with a chest puffed out with pride, his eyes locked on me for that last part. Scarlett’s face lit up like her favorite ship had just set sail. Completely ignoring Gunther and Amber, she grabbed my arm, her eyes sparkling with gossip. “How long have you two been together?” “How did you meet?” “How long have you known each other?” She fired off the questions, and Liam answered each one. “Chloe and I were neighbors. We’ve known each other since we were born. We started dating after high school graduation.” “Twenty-five years,” he added, “and we’ve never been apart.” Scarlett sighed, her eyes filled with envy. “That’s so lovely. Childhood sweethearts, just like us.” At that moment, Gunther finally spoke up. “Hello. I’m Gunther, and this is Amber.” I tilted my head, my expression a mask of pure innocence. “Hi! Are you two a couple, too?” It was a direct hit. Scarlett’s face darkened, but not at me. “My sister asked you a question. Are you a couple?” Amber flushed and fidgeted. Gunther just frowned. “Scarlett, don’t make a scene. You’ll give people the wrong idea.” “Oh! You’re not?” I chimed in. “My bad! You two just seemed so much closer than Liam and I, I just assumed. So sorry.” I wasn’t in the entertainment industry. I was a newcomer, the long-lost daughter who knew nothing. It was perfectly normal for me to be clueless, right? My words hit their mark. Gunther immediately took a step away from Amber, creating a very deliberate distance between them. Scarlett looked pleased, and when she turned back to me, her eyes were practically glowing. “Come on, I brought you presents! Let’s go see.” She had no time for Gunther and Amber now; her world revolved around her newfound little sister. She led me to her room and threw open a suitcase. Inside was a top-of-the-line creative suite—a powerful laptop and a professional-grade drawing tablet. “I heard you’re an artist, and that you do digital work, so I got you the best gear.” My eyes went wide. This was equipment I could only have dreamed of before. “Sister, you are officially the best big sister in the entire world. I love you to death.” My praise made her preen. If she’d had a tail, it would’ve been wagging furiously. “There’s more! These two suitcases are full of clothes, dresses, and shoes I bought for you.” She opened another suitcase, and my jaw dropped. Staring back at me was the one-of-a-kind white dress from my studio’s collection that was auctioned off just a few days ago. “Sis, you were the one who bought this dress.” I was genuinely shocked. Scarlett was even more surprised. “Wait, don’t tell me… you designed this?” I nodded, a new wave of affection washing over me as I looked at her. “Sis, you’re my soulmate.” 【Wait, this has to be scripted, right?】 【This feels so fake. Who are they trying to promote here?】 【This is NOT how this was supposed to go.】 【That dress is gorgeous! Link, please!】 【So the real heiress is a designer, and the fake one bought her design without knowing? OMG, the drama!】 【Totally scripted! 100%!】 “My little cupcake sister, you’re a genius!” Scarlett jumped to her feet and started rummaging through her purse. “Here! Beauty club memberships, gym passes, VIP cards for every top restaurant in the city, and a black card with no spending limit. They’re all yours!” I stared at the thick cardholder she shoved into my arms, my eyes practically glowing with greed. “Sister,” I breathed, “you’re a legend.” 4. For the rest of that first day of filming, my sister was practically my shadow. Even Liam started to get suspicious. “Do you think she’s just putting on a show?” he murmured to me later. “You know, all sweet for the cameras, but then she’ll turn on you when they’re off.” I smirked, gesturing vaguely toward one of the cameras. “Still live, you know.” “I never talk about people behind their backs,” Liam stated, matter-of-fact. It was true. He was brutally honest, never one for scheming or gossip. So I gave his question some serious thought. “Honestly, I think my mom just knows her really, really well.” I propped my chin in my hands, posing like a flower. “After all, who could possibly resist a cute little cupcake like me?” Liam swallowed hard, nodding emphatically. “Right. Your sister clearly has impeccable taste.” “And so does Mrs. Howard, of course.” His gaze was so intense it could have melted steel. It was obvious he was a huge fan of my new sweet-and-sassy look. I wasn’t even trying, and he was completely hooked. “But are you okay with it?” Liam asked, his voice gentle. We were always like this—no hidden feelings, no dancing around issues. We asked things directly, unwilling to let small misunderstandings fester into real problems. His eyes were soft with concern. I shook my head. “Not at all. I mean, sure, she’s my biological mother, but she spent twenty-five years raising my sister. It’s only natural they know each other inside and out. It’s just like us, right?” A faint blush crept up Liam’s neck. Just then, my sister peeked her head around the corner. “You two are so adorable together.” “I ship it so hard.” Seeing her, Liam made an excuse and slipped out. Scarlett immediately sat down in front of me. “It’s obvious he’s crazy about you.” I smiled shyly. She took my hand, her expression turning guilty. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Chloe. Your life should have been… better.” I just laughed it off. “Sis, you really don’t have to apologize. Sure, my life was tough financially, but it was happy. I mean, I met Liam, didn’t I?” He was my soulmate. I couldn’t imagine life without him, and he couldn’t imagine it without me. “I graduated from a top university, started my own studio right after… my youth was full of wonderful memories. Besides being poor, there was nothing bad about it. Being poor is only a tragedy if it makes you bitter. And trust me, I’m not bitter. I got lucky.” Scarlett pulled me into a fierce hug. “Don’t you worry. From now on, your life will be even better. Big sister’s got your back.” I nodded firmly into her shoulder. “And I’ll always have yours, sis.” That night, Scarlett and I shared a room, staying up late talking. As a result, we were both yawning our heads off when we came downstairs the next morning. Liam looked from me to her and back again. “You know, you two actually look a little alike.” “Get out of here,” I scoffed. “If I looked like my sister, I’d be drooling in my sleep every night.” Even without a stitch of makeup, Scarlett was dazzling. I had to hand it to my biological parents; they’d hit the jackpot with her. “Chloe, if you’d grown up with the Howards, with money for all the best treatments, you’d be just as beautiful,” Amber said, descending the stairs in a full face of immaculate makeup. My sister’s head snapped toward her, disgust written all over her face. “You have money for treatments, and I don’t see you turning into a supermodel.” The comeback was so brutal, I had to physically stop myself from grinning. No wonder my sister had such a bad rap in the industry. That mouth was a weapon. “Scarlett, why are you so hostile towards Amber? She was just trying to comfort your sister. Why would you attack her for that?” Gunther stepped in, defending Amber. My eyes shot wide open, and I turned to Liam. He immediately held up his hands as if taking an oath. “Just so you know, I will never defend another woman over you. I’m on your side, unconditionally. Always.”

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At Julian’s 28th birthday party, someone “gifted” him a woman right in front of me. Instead of my usual gentle smile, I smashed a champagne glass, wrecked the party, and walked out. I packed my bags and left alone. Everyone said the helpless Mrs. Thorne wouldn’t last three days before crawling back. Julian didn’t care either: “She’s an orphan. Where else can she go without the Thorne family?” But countless “three days” passed. People even started to speculate I had died somewhere. Finally, Julian called for the first time. Only to find the number disconnected. Later, at a famous artist’s exhibition, a portrait of a woman’s profile captivated Julian. He offered an astronomical price to buy it. The artist, Leo, smiled apologetically: “This is the portrait of my wife I am most satisfied with. I cannot part with it.” Chapter 1 It was Julian’s 28th birthday party. I wore my most exquisite gown, entering on his arm. The moment we stepped off the stairs, Julian let go of my hand and left me there. Everyone’s eyes followed him. I was forgotten in the corner. People lined up to give him gifts. He gestured indifferently for the butler to take them away. Until someone presented a beautiful woman. All eyes turned back to me. Sympathy, schadenfreude, mockery. I’d seen too many of these malicious looks over the years. Julian’s expressionless face faltered for a second. That beauty looked too much like his dead first love. “Giving me a woman in front of Mrs. Thorne? You guys have some nerve,” Julian laughed playfully. The gift-giver fawned, “Mrs. Thorne is generous; surely she won’t mind.” It wasn’t that I wouldn’t mind; they just counted on me not daring to mind. An orphan raised by the Thorne family. How could I dare say “no” to the new head of the Thorne family? Julian twisted his wedding ring, amusement in his eyes. “Since Mrs. Thorne agrees, take her…” Before he could finish, I walked up to him. Looking at the woman’s face. The gift-giver was thoughtful indeed, catering exactly to Julian’s taste. Suddenly, I felt tired. I couldn’t listen to Grandma’s advice anymore about maintaining the dignity of Mrs. Thorne. I gently pushed the champagne tower behind me. The crystal pyramid crashed down with a touch. Glass shards and liquid flew everywhere. The banquet hall turned into chaos. Someone gasped: “Mrs. Thorne has gone mad!” Chapter 2 I ruined Julian’s birthday party. But he didn’t seem to care much. The butler arranged for the guests to leave, and servants cleaned up the mess. The beauty stayed, standing quietly beside Julian. Even her personality seemed to mirror his first love. In contrast, I really did look like the crazy one. Julian played with the beauty’s fingers, looking at me casually. “Why so angry? “If you don’t want to see her, I’ll put her up somewhere else. “Don’t worry. I swore to Grandma I would never threaten your position as Mrs. Thorne.” The woman beside him also tried to persuade me. “Mrs. Thorne, why be angry? A man like Mr. Thorne won’t have just one woman. “I only admire Mr. Thorne; I won’t affect your status.” I took off my ring. Placed it on the table in front of Julian. He raised an eyebrow. “Returning the ring to you.” Julian picked up the ring and tossed it into the air. The diamond sparkled before falling back into his hand. He tossed it backward to the woman: “It’s yours. Mrs. Thorne doesn’t want a ring worth millions anymore.” Julian stood up with a sneer, instructing the butler. “Find some etiquette teachers for her. I don’t want to see such rudeness again.” He walked a few steps, then turned back. He threw his own ring on the floor. It rolled and stopped at my feet. “Since you don’t want rings, let’s throw them all away.” Chapter 3 Julian left with the woman. The roar of his car engine was distinct in the night. The butler sighed beside me: “Madam, why provoke him? You know he resents you.” I picked up the ring at my feet and threw it in the trash. “Uncle Chen, go do your work. Don’t worry about me.” The butler sighed and left. I went upstairs alone, taking off the elaborate gown. Changed into a white T-shirt, found a suitcase, and packed all my clothes, which were distinctly separated from his in the closet. Other couples consider divorce agreements when they fight. But the only tie between Julian and me was a pair of rings. No one would guess that the bride and groom of the “wedding of the century” didn’t even have a marriage certificate. I still remember what Julian said at the wedding. “Only Wendy’s name can be on my family registry. Ava, you shouldn’t have married me.” But what could I do? I married him anyway, the man I had loved for seven years since I was a teenager. Thinking one day I could move him. But in the end, I became the Mrs. Thorne in name only. When I dragged my luggage out, the villa was silent. Just like the rainy night Grandma brought me home. Thirteen-year-old Julian stood on the stairs, looking at me coldly. But then he went to the kitchen. And brought me a glass of warm milk. Chapter 4 I booked a flight. Six hours of flying, three hours of driving, back to a remote town in the South. They say people want to return to their roots when they get old. But actually, a homeless person misses their hometown too. Even if there are no relatives left there. I rented a small courtyard in town. The local dialect was familiar yet strange. I left when I was small and lived in the North ever since. I had forgotten how to speak it. Luckily, the neighbor was also an outsider, just arrived earlier than me. He helped me out when I couldn’t understand the old lady at the market. The next day, I made corn fritters to thank him. Turns out he was a painter here for inspiration. He looked like a fresh college grad, radiating warmth and youth. Away from the people and things of the North. In this simple environment, I suddenly remembered I was only 25. But acting the part of Mrs. Thorne in the Thorne family made me feel old. I bought flowers from the street and filled the courtyard with roses. A small rocking chair sat by the flowerbed. Simple, but everything I wanted. The Thorne garden was full of yellow roses Wendy liked. An expensive piano sat in the glass flower room. That was specially designed by Julian for her; no one could touch it. When Grandma wanted to pull out those roses, Julian threw a huge fit. “If the roses go, I won’t come back to this house.” No one mentioned it again. Wendy and those roses became taboo in the Thorne family.

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1 At seventeen, I was tied up in an abandoned warehouse by my nemesis, left to burn alive. To save me, Christian armor took thirteen knife wounds meant for me. One of his legs was permanently damaged. He held me, his blood staining my white dress, but he was smiling. “Don’t be afraid, Elara. I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” Later, fearing I would be targeted again, he left for the Golden Triangle. For seven years, he fought his way up from nothing, becoming a fearsome warlord whose name alone struck terror into the hearts of men. He returned in a blaze of glory and, to the envy of everyone, made me his wife—the sole mistress of his domain. Until I saw the combat medic he brought back with him. She wore a pristine white coat, one hand resting on her pregnant belly, her smile both gentle and cruel. “Christian said a woman like you, who crawled out of the gutter, isn’t worthy of bearing his child. The day I give birth to his firstborn son will be the day you die.” I laughed. Right in front of her, I began to slowly, methodically clean a Browning pistol. As she screamed in terror, I aimed the barrel at her stomach and spoke to my trusted subordinate beside me. “Record this. Send it to Christian.” “Tell him his offspring and I can’t both live. Tell him to choose.” … When Christian arrived, the muzzle of my gun was pressed firmly against Amelia’s pregnant belly. He was still in his combat fatigues, dusted with the grime of the field, an aura of violence clinging to him that never quite washed away. “Put the gun down.” His voice was unnervingly calm, betraying no emotion. Amelia looked as if she’d seen her savior, tears streaming down her face. “Christian, save me… our baby… She’s insane, she’s going to kill our child…” I smiled, pressing the gun a little harder. “Choose, Christian.” He didn’t even glance at Amelia. His dark, piercing eyes were fixed on me. We were like two cornered animals in a standoff. He seemed to be searching my face for any hint that this was a joke, a bluff. He found none. The killing intent in my eyes was thicker than the scent of blood on his uniform. The air was dead silent. The subordinate next to me had palms slick with cold sweat. Christian’s personal guards had already raised their weapons, a dozen black muzzles all aimed at my head. One word from him, and I’d be turned into a sieve. Finally, he moved. He walked toward me, each step landing like a hammer blow on my heart. My knuckles were white around the grip of the gun. “Elara, stop messing around.” He reached me, his voice now laced with a soft, coaxing tone. The next second, he struck. His hand shot out like a viper, clamping around my wrist. He disarmed me with an effortless twist, so fast I had no time to react. BANG! A gunshot echoed through the space. Warm blood splattered across my face. My pupils contracted in shock. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Amelia. It was my subordinate, the one who had been recording for me. A neat hole had appeared in the center of his forehead. He crumpled to the ground. Christian holstered his pistol, his expression blank. He didn’t spare Amelia a single glance, just spoke coldly to the medic behind her. “Take Ms. Vance back to her room to rest. She is not to take a single step outside without my permission.” Amelia’s sobs caught in her throat, the triumphant look on her face frozen in place. She didn’t understand. But I was beginning to. Christian turned, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. He raised a hand—the fingertips calloused and smelling of gunpowder—and gently wiped the blood from my cheek. The gesture was as tender as if he were handling a priceless treasure. “Elara, I told you I would protect you for the rest of my life.” “So don’t do dangerous things like this again.” “And don’t force my hand.” His voice was soft, but it carried the unyielding weight of a command. With that, he tossed the gun aside and strode away. He never once asked me why I had done it. It was as if the man who had served me for five years was nothing more than an ant crushed under his boot. I stood frozen, an icy chill spreading through my heart. I raised my own hand and wiped away the last of the drying blood. I looked at my subordinate’s wide, unseeing eyes and gently closed them for him. Christian armor. Seven years to claw his way from a nobody in the Golden Triangle to an absolute monarch. He had taken more lives than I had eaten meals. He was no longer the boy who would foolishly take thirteen knife wounds for me. I had been so naive. I thought he had risked his life to save me, left his home to build an empire for me, married me in splendor… because he loved me. But it was never love. It was possession. I was his prize, the spoils of a war he had almost died to win. He could spoil me, indulge me, put me on a pedestal. But he would never, ever allow me to challenge his authority. The child in Amelia’s womb was his bloodline. His property. And I had tried to destroy his property. So he killed my man as a warning. I went back to our room. Everything was just as I liked it—opulent, decadent. On my vanity sat the pink diamond he had acquired for me at a European auction just last week. Only you deserve the most expensive things in the world, he had said. How ironic it seemed now. I pulled open a drawer. Inside was an array of modified firearms. Christian had never restricted my access to them. My Elara can do whatever she wants, he used to say. I picked up a small, silver pistol and began to polish it. Footsteps approached the door. Christian entered, carrying a bowl of congee. “You haven’t eaten all day. I had the kitchen make this for you.” He set the bowl down and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on the crown of my head. His voice was tired. “Elara, the child in Amelia’s womb must be born.” “That’s an order.” I said nothing, just stared at our reflection in the mirror. I once thought this was the happiest image in the world. “She is the only daughter of the Kachin State’s chief,” he explained, as if discussing a routine business matter. “She is a hostage in our peace talks. Her child is the collateral that secures our alliance.” “So, you slept with her for the alliance, too?” I finally asked, my voice as still and dead as a stagnant pond. His arms around me tensed. “Yes.” A single word. No hesitation, no remorse. I laughed. “You’re disgusting, Christian.” His body jolted. He tightened his grip, so hard it felt like he was trying to crush me into his very bones. “Elara, don’t say that.” “Once the situation here is stable, I will get rid of her. Then… we can go back to how things were. All right?” There was a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of panic in his voice. I didn’t answer him. The night passed in silence. The next day, under the pretext of my being “traumatized,” Christian placed me under house arrest. For my own protection, he called it. It wasn’t long before Amelia came calling, oozing triumph. She dismissed the guards and sauntered in, her pregnant belly leading the way. “Elara, you must hate me so much right now.” I leaned back on the sofa, lazily flipping through a magazine, not even bothering to look up. “Do you really think Christian explaining things to you means he still cares? Don’t be a fool. He’s just afraid you’ll screw up his plans. A prostitute who crawled out of the gutter really thinks she’s the lady of the manor?” Her words grew uglier, more venomous. “Did you know, when he holds me, he says he’s been sick of your lifeless body for years? If you weren’t still useful, he wouldn’t even bother to touch you.” The corner of the magazine crumpled in my hand. I finally lifted my eyes to hers, my gaze like ice. “Are you finished?” My stare made her falter, but she quickly straightened up. “What? You want to hit me? Do you dare? Your man’s body isn’t even cold yet. Elara, I suggest you recognize your place. Be a good little ornament. When I give birth to the firstborn son, Christian will make me his official wife. And on that day, I’ll make you kneel and lick my shoes.” I looked at her face, twisted with jealousy, and suddenly found it amusing. “Amelia, do you really think that just because Christian is protecting you, I won’t touch you?” I set the magazine down and rose slowly, deliberately. I walked toward her, step by step. My aura forced her to back away instinctively. “What do you want? I’m telling you, I’m carrying—” SLAP! A sharp, clean crack of my hand across her face cut her off. She clutched her cheek, staring at me in disbelief. “You… you hit me?” “Hit you?” I grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head back. “I’m going to kill you.” I dragged her toward the second-floor terrace, her screams echoing through the villa. “Help! Someone, help me! Elara’s gone mad!” The guards outside rushed in, but froze when they saw the scene, too afraid to intervene. I slammed Amelia against the railing, half her body dangling over the edge. Below was a cliff of jagged rocks, a drop of a hundred feet. A fall would be certain death. “Elara! Let me go! You’re crazy!” Amelia shrieked, her face white with terror. I leaned in close, my lips brushing her ear, and whispered in a voice only we could hear, “You wanted to be the mistress of this land, didn’t you? I’ll grant your wish. Jump from here, and you’ll be the shortest-reigning mistress in history.” I applied a little pressure. Amelia let out a final, deathly scream. Just then, Christian and his men arrived. “Stop!” he roared, his voice thick with an anger he couldn’t contain. I turned and met his furious dark eyes. But a slow smile spread across my face. “Christian, you’re here.” “Look. Your woman is in my hands. Tell me, should I let her live, or should I let her die?” Christian’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip ink. The guards behind him raised their guns in unison once again. Amelia was sobbing. “Christian, save me! She’s going to kill me! She’s going to kill our baby!” He stared at me, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. “Elara, I’m saying this one last time. Let her go. Otherwise, don’t blame me for forgetting our past.” “Our past?” I laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. “Is there anything left between us? Not since you started sleeping with other women for profit. Not since you killed my man for a piece of collateral. Christian, from the moment you brought her here, we were finished.” My words were a knife, twisting in his heart. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but it was quickly consumed by rage. “So you’re going to destroy everything I’ve built?” “Yes,” I admitted without hesitation. “I’m going to destroy your child, destroy your alliance, destroy everything you hold dear!” “You’re insane!” he snarled, veins bulging on his forehead. “I’m not insane.” I looked him straight in the eye. “I just don’t love you anymore.” Those words were more lethal than any bullet. Christian’s body visibly swayed. The fire in his eyes went out, replaced by a raw panic I couldn’t decipher. As we stood locked in our standoff, a sudden wave of nausea washed over me, followed by a familiar, sharp pain in my lower abdomen. My face went pale, and my grip on Amelia loosened. She seized the opportunity, scrambling away to hide behind Christian. I clutched my stomach, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. It’s over. My period was two weeks late. I looked at Christian, my mind a complete blank. He seemed to notice something was wrong, his brow furrowing. “What is it?” Before I could answer, the villa’s doctor rushed in. He saw the color of my face and immediately moved to support me. “Ma’am, you—” “Get away from me!” I shoved him off. I couldn’t let Christian know. I couldn’t. But the strange feeling in my body was intensifying. My vision tunneled to black, and I lost consciousness. I woke up in a hospital room, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling my nose. Christian was sitting by my bed, holding my hand, his expression unreadable. He saw I was awake. “Elara…” he began, his voice hoarse. I ignored him, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. It was still flat, but I knew something had changed. In the doorway, the doctor was speaking in a low voice to Christian’s second-in-command. “…She’s two months along. Her constitution is weak, and this episode has stressed the pregnancy. She needs complete rest. This child is a miracle.” My heart sank like a stone. A child. I was carrying Christian’s child. What was I going to do? Christian overheard the doctor. His body went rigid, and he turned to look at me. Our eyes met. A storm of emotions swirled in their depths: shock, elation, and a flicker of… something I couldn’t name. A struggle. After a long moment, he dismissed everyone. The room was silent, occupied by only the two of us. He walked to my side and bent down, as if to embrace me. I turned my head away. His hands stopped in mid-air. He awkwardly pulled them back. “Elara, we’re having a baby.” His voice trembled with a joy he couldn’t conceal. I looked at him, my expression cold. “Get rid of it.” The smile on his face vanished, frozen in place.

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I opened a BBQ joint in the apocalypse. While others are fighting zombies on empty stomachs, I’m feasting on sizzling, fatty pork belly every day. 1 This is my third day in this world. I stared at the pork belly grilling on the rack and let out a heavy sigh. Three days ago, a gas tank exploded in my restaurant. When I opened my eyes, both my BBQ joint and I had been transported to this godforsaken wasteland. There’s no one here. Just ruins everywhere you look. At night, there are no streetlights. Beyond the glow of my shop, it’s pitch black. The craziest part? There are zombies. Real-life, blood-soaked, limb-missing zombies like in the movies! Fortunately, for some reason, the zombies can’t enter my shop. So I’ve been hiding out here, safe and sound. I flipped the pork belly. Once it turned golden brown and started dripping oil, I took it off the heat, blew on it, and stuffed it into my mouth. Fragrant, fatty, delicious. My culinary skills are still top-tier. But there’s a catch. My shop currently has an endless supply of pork belly and beer, but literally nothing else. Every time I try to grab other ingredients from the fridge, an invisible barrier blocks my hand. A robotic voice chimes in: “Please open for business. Serve customers to unlock remaining ingredients.” After three days of nothing but pork belly, I’m about to throw up. But where are the customers? Aside from the wandering zombies, there isn’t a soul in sight. I can’t exactly invite a zombie in for a cold one, can I? I squatted by the door, holding a skewer, sighing and hoping a customer would fall from the sky. After squatting until my legs went numb, the doorway remained empty. The night was thick with fog, and the only sounds from the distant ruins were the wails of the undead. In this pitch-black world, my BBQ joint was the only speck of light. I downed the last of my beer and was about to head to the back room to sleep when a staggering figure appeared at the door. I thought it was a zombie, but then I squinted—it was actually a person! A young guy, maybe 5’9″, with a round face. Although he was covered in blood and stumbling, his eyes were clear… It was a real, live human! He was staring at me in shock, utter disbelief written all over his face, his hand trembling as it rested on the window. A customer! My brain screamed. Before I could even think, my hand flew to open the door. I put on my best customer-service smile, just like back at the night market: “Hey handsome, want some BBQ?” 2 Kyle sat in a daze at the BBQ table. It was a real BBQ joint. Surrounded by cheap green plastic chairs stained with grease, kegs of draft beer in the corner. The disposable chopsticks on the table looked cheap—classic night market style. The air was filled with the scent of roasting meat, mixed with oil and spices. Familiar yet strange. How long had it been since he’d eaten BBQ…? Since the apocalypse started three years ago, he hadn’t had a decent meal. Once a chubby guy pushing 200 pounds, he was now a scrawny 130. He was practically skin and bones. And now… he looked up at the shop owner. Was this BBQ joint in the ruins real or a hallucination?! The young female owner was grinning as she grilled a handful of pork belly. The fat rendered over the fire, dripping onto the charcoal with sizzling pops. The scent of cumin drifted through the air, melding with the meat aroma, making his stomach cramp and his mouth water uncontrollably. Kyle thought he should leave. This was the apocalypse. Nations had fallen. Only a fraction of humanity remained. How could a BBQ joint exist in a place like this? And such a normal BBQ joint at that—which was abnormal in itself! But the smell of grilled meat was like a rope, binding him to the spot. He couldn’t move. His eyes were glued to the skewers over the fire. He wanted to snatch them and shove them down his throat! Luckily, the torture didn’t last long. The owner sprinkled a final dash of chili powder, pressed the meat onto the grill one last time, and piled twenty skewers onto a plate. She then filled a huge glass mug from the beer keg. The frosty beer mug instantly beaded with condensation. She placed the tray and beer on Kyle’s table with a smile. “Thanks for waiting!” The steam from the skewers hit his face, carrying an aggressive, delicious aroma. Kyle was stunned by the smell. He stared blankly at the slightly charred pork belly and hesitated: “Is this… for me? Can I eat it?” The owner laughed. “Of course. But do you have anything to pay with?” Kyle thought for a moment, then frantically dug a few green crystals out of his pocket. He scratched his head, handing them over sheepishly: “Is this okay? Level 1 zombie cores. They can buy two corn cakes right now…” He lowered his head as he spoke, knowing their value was far less than this pile of meat. After all, this was meat. In the first year of the apocalypse, all livestock vanished. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate meat. Frozen meat sold for astronomical prices on the black market, if you could even find it. And this pork belly looked incredibly fresh. Kyle’s face flushed red. He wanted to run, but he was glued to the seat. It smelled too good. Even just one bite! These crystals were his only wealth. He had gotten beaten up protecting them just now. To his surprise, the owner picked up the crystals with curiosity, looked them over, and nodded. “Sure. If it’s not enough, tell me, I’ll grill more.” She went back to the counter. Kyle stared at her in shock, but the aroma of pork belly had already infiltrated every pore, bypassing his brain entirely! He grabbed a skewer and shoved it into his mouth— The meat was tender. Incredibly tender. Probably marinated beforehand. The fatty parts were charred just right. When he bit down, the hot oil and savory juices exploded in his mouth, scalding him. But he couldn’t bear to spit it out. He didn’t even feel the burn anymore, chewing every piece with reverence. Chili, cumin, sesame… the medley of flavors made Kyle’s eyes sting with tears. He finally realized what food meant. After this bite, he could die happy! “Drink some beer, don’t just eat the meat!” The owner called out: “It’s fresh draft, changed daily.” Kyle paused and looked at the beer. The huge glass was frosted over, water droplets sliding down its sides onto the table. The scent of wheat and alcohol mixed together. He grabbed the handle with trembling hands and took a slow sip. The ice-cold beer, carbonated and sharp, washed down his esophagus, instantly quenching the heat from the spicy meat. Every pore in his body sighed with relief! Kyle slammed the mug onto the table, eyes red, and shouted: “Awesome!” The owner glanced over and smiled. Before Kyle knew it, the twenty skewers were gone. When he snapped out of it, the plate was just a pile of metal skewers. No meat left. The beer mug was empty, not a drop remaining. Kyle rubbed his stomach, disappointed. He wasn’t full. His stomach was screaming for more. But he clenched his empty pocket and gritted his teeth to stand up. Seeing him stand, the owner trotted over. “Done? Want to order more?” Kyle smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Thank you… I’ll come back when I have money.” He took a deep, lingering sniff of the lingering aroma, pushed open the door, and stepped back into the night. 3 I lay in bed that night, holding the crystals, grinning like an idiot. Customer served. New ingredients unlocked, right? Sure enough, when I opened the fridge, the crystals vanished from my hand. Reaching in, alongside the pork belly, I pulled out a giant squid. Grilled squid, my love! Those twenty skewers were worth it! I picked out a few squids and threw them on the grill. I was so sick of pork belly. Tonight’s dinner: Grilled Squid! … For the next few days, no new customers came. This place is desolate. Aside from passing zombies, there are no living things. I survived on pork belly and squid for half a week. Even the squid was starting to lose its appeal. Was my prayer heard? Just as I wished for a new customer, there was a knock on the door again. I looked through the glass. It was the customer from last week. The boy named Kyle. He was shouting anxiously: “Boss! Boss, please save my brother! I can pay with crystals!” I realized he was supporting someone. It was too dark to see clearly before. The man was hurt badly, blood dripping everywhere. He couldn’t stand straight, leaning heavily on Kyle. Kyle’s eyes were red with desperation. “Boss, please! I brought crystals this time, lots of crystals!” This kid was polite when he paid last time and didn’t ask too many questions. I liked him. I quickly opened the door to let them in. “What happened?” Kyle wiped away tears, voice full of hate. “People ambushed me for my crystals. My brother came to save me and got jumped!” “He would have been fine, but he just killed a Level 4 zombie and hadn’t recovered yet…” “Those animals!” He clenched his fist, then begged: “Boss, do you have medicine? I’ll trade all my crystals!” He pulled handfuls of shiny crystals from his pocket. Green, yellow, red. They rolled on the table, glittering beautifully. A few days ago, I was living in a peaceful city. The worst violence I saw was a drunk fight with beer bottles. I’d never seen a living person this bloody. I didn’t care about the money. I told Kyle to put the man on the cot in the back room. It was my nap bed—small, but clean. Kyle struggled to get him onto the bed. His brother was tall, probably over 6’2″. His feet hung off the edge. I got a basin of hot water and wiped the blood off his face with a damp towel. Pushing aside his blood-matted hair, I realized this man was handsome. High nose bridge, sharp jawline. Even with his eyes closed, his thick lashes trembled. Even unconscious, his brow was furrowed tight in pain. His clothes were soaked in blood. I hesitated and handed the towel to Kyle. “You do it.” Kyle didn’t hesitate. He ripped his brother’s shirt open right in front of me. Wow. Defined muscles. That six-pack was stacked neater than my meat inventory. But it was covered in fresh wounds and old scars. Such a waste of a prime human specimen. I peeked from the side, handing bandages to Kyle. Since I lived in this shop, doing prep work and grilling, I kept a stock of basic meds. Kyle glanced at me, grateful. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll repay you.” I waved my hand. “Don’t mention it.” 4 When Leo woke up, he found himself in a bed. He froze. Since the apocalypse began, he had rarely slept in a bed. Zombies were like a plague. Once one person was infected, the whole area fell. So they slept on the ground, sometimes out in the open. Sleeping sitting up was a luxury. Usually, he’d wake up every hour or two. He hadn’t slept this well in a long time. Leo moved slightly, feeling the warmth of the down comforter. It smelled faintly of body wash. It was pumping heat into his body, cold from blood loss. As he looked up, a girl smiled and handed him two white pills. “Awake?” “You have a fever.” The girl was pale, with great skin. She didn’t look like she belonged in the apocalypse. Her eyes curved when she smiled, voice crisp. “Take some antibiotics.” Leo looked at her pale palm. Two white pills lay there. His pupils contracted. After the apocalypse, medicine prices skyrocketed. Pharmaceutical factories shut down. Drugs were scarce. Three years in, even a box of expired antibiotics cost several Level 3 crystals. And now, this girl was casually offering them like candy. Leo felt dazed. Was it poison? But his silly brother Kyle was urging him excitedly: “Bro, eat it quick!” If she wanted to kill him, she could have done it while he was out. No need for tricks. Leo paused, then took the pills and swallowed them with the warm water she offered. “Thank you,” he whispered. He fished a few red crystals from his pocket. “These are Level 3 crystals. For the medicine.” The girl didn’t hesitate, grabbing them all. “You’re not well, so you should eat light. But unfortunately, I only have BBQ here. How about some pork belly and squid? Mild spicy?” Leo didn’t process what she meant, but his idiot brother jumped up. “You have squid now?! Boss, give me 10 skewers! I brought enough money this time!” The girl rolled her eyes and gestured a size about the length of her forearm. “My squid is this big. Ten will kill you. I’ll grill 4, and 50 pork belly skewers. Beer?” Kyle nodded furiously. “Yes! Large mugs!” Leo rarely felt this helpless. Since the apocalypse, he became strong quickly. He could solo Level 4 zombies. But right now, he felt like an idiot. He didn’t understand a word they were saying. Pork belly? Squid? Beer? Are these code names for new ration bars? How could BBQ and beer exist in the apocalypse? But he watched as the girl put on an apron and struggled to pull a huge bundle of skewers from a freezer. The frozen squid was multicolored and covered in ice crystals. It really was as big as she said. Leo was lost. This really is a BBQ joint. When they were ambushed and he got hurt, Kyle dragged him here, saying there was a shop with a nice owner who could save him. He thought Kyle was hallucinating. Until they actually saw that tiny light in the cold night, and he passed out. So Kyle wasn’t crazy. There really was a shop?! Leo picked up the towel. It was still hot. He wiped his face, feeling sensation slowly return to his body. Over there, the girl had started the fire. Squid on one side, pork belly on the other. Sizzling. The fat from the pork dripped onto the charcoal, popping and crackling. The girl brushed oil onto the whitening squid, its edges curling. She pressed it down with a metal plate. Sizzle. Then she brushed on a thick layer of sweet and spicy sauce. The unique aroma of teppanyaki squid filled the room. “Mild spicy, right?” Her technique was pro. Fifty skewers of pork belly turned from red to golden brown, mesmerizing to watch. Kyle wiped his mouth, staring at the grill unblinkingly, like a dog waiting for scraps. Leo muttered, dazed: “…Sure.” The girl grabbed a shaker of chili powder, dusted the meat, and let it roast for two more minutes. “Order up! Kyle, go pour the beer. Mugs are in the bottom cabinet.” “Yes ma’am!” Kyle sprang into action, grabbing three glass mugs and opening the tap on the keg. Golden, clear beer rushed into the mug, topped with thick white foam, smelling of malt. Even Leo, who faced zombie hordes without flinching, rubbed his eyes and pinched his thigh. Hiss. It hurt. It’s real. Kyle dragged the plastic table and chairs in front of Leo and turned on the overhead light. The light reflected off the oily sheen of the meat. “Bro, eat! With your constitution, a little BBQ won’t hurt!” Kyle invited the girl to sit, then downed half his beer in one go. His face scrunched up, then relaxed. “Awesome!” “I’ve been dreaming of this. Saved all these crystals just to binge on skewers!” He grabbed a hot skewer of pork belly and stuffed it in his mouth— Explosion of flavor! “This is life,” Kyle said tearfully. “How long has it been since I had a full meal? Eating corn cakes and wild greens every day, my throat has calluses.” The girl clinked her glass against his. Leo swallowed involuntarily. “Eat!” the girl urged him. “You paid enough. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more in the fridge!” She handed him a squid skewer. The seafood umami mixed with charcoal and spices hit him like a cavalry charge! Warm lights, steaming meat, ice-cold beer. Leo looked at the skewer in his hand. His brain short-circuited. This was too unreal. Like a dream. A beautiful dream. He tentatively lifted the skewer. It was so big it needed two sticks. Thick sauce coated it, smelling sweet, salty, and spicy. He glanced at the other two, then took a bite. Thick, bouncy meat with a slight crunch. The unique texture of squid mixed with the sauce filled his mouth. It was real squid. Not dried tofu or synthetic meat. His mouth, used to tasteless rations, spasmed in delight. Leo ate faster and faster. Before he knew it, he was holding two empty sticks. He hadn’t even realized he finished the whole thing. He felt awkward. He was always the protector, saving the best for the elders and kids in his clan. Now he lost control. But the other two didn’t look at him. Kyle’s mouth was stuffed with pork belly, mumbling: “Bro, try the pork belly. It’s insane!” The girl boasted, “I use the best pork belly. Almost $3 a pound. Didn’t overcharge you!” “Right, right! Great value!” Kyle struggled to swallow. So Leo picked up a pork belly skewer… That night, they ate and grilled, grilled and ate. By the time they were full, a mountain of skewers sat on the table. Leo swallowed the last piece, sighed in satisfaction, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he saw the pile of sticks and froze. They ate so much! How much was this going to cost?! The crystals they brought definitely weren’t enough. What now?! Maybe he could leave Kyle here to wash dishes!

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I saved my ex-boyfriend’s daughter in a car accident, but I lost my own life in the process. When he was sorting through my belongings, he accidentally found my diary. In the diary, he loved me deeply. He remembered every old scar on my body. To make up for my childhood regrets, he stood in the freezing cold on Christmas Day, fighting a high fever, just to build me a snowman. In the diary, we never broke up. We got married. Our life was stable, sweet, and full of love. It was a story that didn’t exist in his memory. It was a love buried deep, one he never knew existed. 1 Ethan’s daughter was saved in the crash. The person who saved her, however, didn’t make it. His wife held their daughter tightly, her face a mask of terror and relief. Ethan, however, was staring at the woman surrounded by the crowd. She was thin—too thin. Her hair was plastered messily across her face, obscuring her features. Someone in the crowd whispered, “That car was speeding like crazy. If that woman hadn’t rushed out and pushed the little girl away, she would have been…” His wife covered their daughter’s eyes, shielding her from the bloody scene. Ethan felt a strange, nagging familiarity. It took him a long moment before a hazy memory surfaced. This woman looked like his ex-girlfriend. Her name was… Chloe. The ambulance arrived quickly, taking both the woman and his daughter. His daughter, Lily, was lucky. Aside from a few scrapes, she was physically fine, though traumatized, refusing to leave her mother’s arms. The woman was indeed Chloe. The police told him she didn’t seem to have any family. No one came to identify the body. In her phone contacts, under “Emergency Contact,” there was only his number. Ethan was surprised. In his memory, they had only dated for two weeks, five years ago. Chloe had grown cold toward him quickly and eventually initiated a very rational, mutual breakup. They hadn’t been deep in love, so he hadn’t dwelt on it. But that was five years ago. He couldn’t believe Chloe still had his number. 2 Regardless of their past, Chloe had died saving his daughter. He was grateful. Upon learning she had no other kin, he volunteered to handle her funeral arrangements. A few days later, her landlord contacted him to clear out her apartment. He agreed. Surprisingly, Chloe’s apartment wasn’t far from his own, yet he had never run into her. She lived alone. The place was small but decorated with a warm touch. Life is unpredictable. He never imagined that seeing her again after all these years would be under such tragic circumstances. Chloe lived simply. There wasn’t much to pack. Halfway through clearing a drawer, he found a large stash of medication. He frowned and looked up the name on one of the bottles. Erlotinib. A targeted therapy drug used for cancer treatment. Chloe was sick? Underneath the pile of pill bottles, he found a thick, leather-bound notebook. He opened it. It was her diary. As an outsider, he knew he shouldn’t pry into the privacy of the deceased. But looking at the array of medicine bottles, the police officer’s words echoed in his ears: She has no family… only your number. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to know how she had lived these past few years. 3 Ethan went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, returned to the desk, and opened the diary. The entries were sporadic at first. He gathered that her childhood and adolescence had been rough. Chloe once had a happy family, but her father died in a factory accident when she was five—without compensation. Her mother fell into a deep depression and passed away early. She worked her way through college and stumbled into adulthood. Despite it all, she was optimistic. The tone wasn’t negative. The entries stopped for a long time, likely due to work. When they resumed, his name appeared. July 6, 2018 – Rainy I must be exhausted lately. I fell asleep waiting at the bus stop. I woke up shivering. There was a guy standing in front of me, holding an umbrella. I realized it was pouring rain—a total downpour. No wonder it was so cold. The guy saw I was awake but didn’t speak. I jumped up, confused, thinking I’d hogged the bench too long. Only then did I realize the rain was coming in sideways. The shelter didn’t stop anything. I realized belatedly that he was blocking the rain for me. Sure enough, the back of his shirt and pants were soaked through. It was dark fabric, so it wasn’t obvious at first. I thanked him profusely. He just shook his head and said, “You look tired.” Then, something embarrassing happened. My period started early. I stained the bench and my jeans. I wanted to die of shame. Luckily, his bus arrived. Before he got on, he took off his long coat and handed it to me. “This is long enough. It should cover it.” I tried to refuse, of course. He just smiled. “You can return it if we ever meet again.” Then he got on the bus. Writing this now, my heart is pounding. Chloe, look. He really didn’t recognize you. July 10, 2018 – Sunny My new neighbor is him. We bumped into each other at the elevator while taking out the trash. He clearly recognized me this time. He froze for two seconds, then smiled. My spine stiffened. I blurted out, “I… I washed your coat. I’ll bring it over.” So awkward. He smiled and said, “Okay.” He told me his name is Ethan. In my heart, I replied: I know. I know your name is Ethan. July 11, 2018 I regret returning the coat. Now what excuse do I have to talk to him? July 15, 2018 – Sunny It’s the weekend. I “accidentally” bumped into Ethan walking his dog when I went to take out the trash (I totally timed it). He sniffed the air and said, “Did you cook? It smells amazing.” I nodded, eyeing the takeout bag in his hand. “I made too much. Do you want to try some?” He looked hopeful but asked politely, “Is it convenient?” I nodded. “Super convenient.” He paused, then smiled. Chloe, you are so much braver than you were seven years ago. July 19, 2018 – Rainy Today is my birthday. No friends in this city, colleagues are just acquaintances. I was going to spend it alone. I ordered a small cake. When I opened the door to get the delivery, Ethan was coming out. He saw the cake and asked if it was my birthday. I nodded. He paused and asked if I was celebrating alone. I nodded again. Then… the elevator arrived, and he went down to dump his trash. Sigh. I was about to light the candle when the doorbell rang. Ethan was standing there with bags of groceries, smiling. “You treated me last time. Let me cook for you this time.” I was in a daze until he put on my apron. The food was delicious. Especially the beer duck. He put the candles on the cake and wished me a happy birthday so gently. Ethan, I was really happy today. Thank you. 4 Buried memories slowly sharpened in Ethan’s mind. He had always thought the bus stop was their first meeting. But according to Chloe, she knew him long before that. Yet he had no memory of it. The mystery grew, urging him to turn the page. August 1, 2018 – Sunny My feelings are complicated. Ethan is now my boyfriend. We were grocery shopping when he suddenly asked, “What are we? Just food buddies?” I laughed and said, “I guess so.” Then he asked if I wanted to be with him. I said, “Be with you to do what?” He looked at me, exasperated. “To date. To be a couple.” I froze. It felt like winning the lottery. When I didn’t answer, he stopped walking and looked at me. I thought about it, and I said yes. He seemed relieved. August 5, 2018 – Sunny I gave him a bento box for lunch again. He said I’m too good to him, that it makes him feel guilty. Compared to what he did for me, this is nothing. He doesn’t understand. He is the only person in the world qualified to accept my kindness. August 12, 2018 I’m sick. The flu, I think. Took the day off. I feel terrible. Ethan is on a business trip. I didn’t tell him; I didn’t want to distract him. On the phone, he asked why my voice was raspy. I said I slept poorly. He asked, “Why are you coughing?” I lied, “Choked on water.” He just said “Oh” and went silent. The next morning, he was at my door. He flew back. He made me porridge and soup. He propped me up with pillows because he remembered my back hurts when I sit too long. Being sick made me weak. I started crying into the soup. He panicked, rubbing my back, asking if my old waist injury was flaring up. He said, “I brought patches and painkillers. I was going to take you to a specialist when I got back.” I only mentioned my back pain once. He remembered. I cried harder. “You’re so good to me.” He laughed. “This counts as good?” No. It’s so much more than that. Being with him… at first, I just wanted to repay him. I was happy just to do that. But now, I’m the one getting greedy for happiness. August 27, 2018 – Cloudy Company sent me out of state to sign a contract. Six hours driving. I told Ethan I’d stay the night. But the landlord texted: Power outage in our complex. Won’t be fixed until 2 AM. Ethan… he’s actually terrified of the dark. And ghosts. I finished the contract and drove back like a maniac. Got there at 9 PM. I used my key. The apartment was pitch black. I thought he was asleep. I walked in and bumped right into a wall of muscle. He grabbed my arm, voice shaking. “Chloe?” I said yes. He exhaled a long breath. His hands were ice cold. “Trying to scare me?” he asked. I denied it. He hugged me tight, punishing me, and pulled me to the bed. I felt something in his hand. A small fabric pouch. I asked what it was. He said it was a protective charm his mom got him. He’d been squeezing it so hard it was damp with sweat. I laughed at him. He pouted and said he felt like the room was full of people. I suddenly remembered. Ethan is afraid of the dark, yet he once stood in the freezing dark of winter to keep a stranger safe for hours. He has always been a good man. In the dark, Ethan became very… active. I kind of hope the power never comes back on.

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The whole world knew my marriage to the A-list actor was a disaster. They were all just waiting for me to get publicly humiliated on the new reality show, Second Chances. But on the very first night, the famously aloof Rashawn Croft had a near-total breakdown when the producers assigned him a separate room. During a heart-to-heart, he tearfully complained to the entire world that I never spent his money. In a romance challenge, my one-off, playful “hubby” sent his heart rate skyrocketing to 140. And when he was handed a fake divorce agreement, he completely lost his composure, cried his eyes out, and threatened to sue the production company. The internet went wild: 【Dude, we get it. Turns out you were the miserable trophy wife all along.】 【OMG they baited us with a divorce drama and switched it to a romance! I am OBSESSED with this!】 【Elara, honey, stop smiling and look at your husband! He’s about to short-circuit and die over there!】 1 I’m a polarizing starlet who clawed her way up from nothing. My talent? My looks. My acting skills? My looks. My special abilities? You guessed it, my looks. I was comfortably floating in the C-list until the news of my secret marriage to superstar Rashawn Croft broke, and the internet had a collective meltdown. Besides the Grand Canyon-sized gap in our social and financial status, there was another reason for the shock: everyone in the industry knew Rashawn had a… subtle animosity toward me. At an awards ceremony, our eyes met by accident across the crowded hall. I was still in fan-service mode, flashing my brightest, sweetest smile. The man’s expression, however, twisted into something deeply uncomfortable. He instantly wiped the smile off his face and, in a moment of panic, actually rolled his eyes at me. When the clip went viral, everyone was baffled. Rashawn Croft, though famously cold and reserved, was known for being an impeccable gentleman. Composed. Emotionally stable. Yet, with me, his disdain was utterly undisguised. Later, fans dug up the few other times we’d been caught in the same frame. No matter how brightly he’d been smiling a second before, the moment he saw me, his face would freeze over. Combined with my naturally soft voice and penchant for being playful, the internet painted a picture of me as a desperate social climber, constantly fawning over a man who was repulsed by me. Now that our secret marriage was out, those old clips were trending again. Netizens jeered that his aversion to me was so visceral it was making his face turn red with rage. Hordes of anti-fans tagged the producers of Second Chances on my social media: 【Please, for the love of God, get a divorce. Let Rashawn go.】 【This girl’s got nerves of steel. My husband looking at me with that much disgust every day? I wouldn’t be able to smile.】 【I feel so bad for Rashawn. He’s normally so chill, but she’s pushed him to the point of rolling his eyes. Imagine how miserable his life must be.】 … Spurred on by the public outcry, Second Chances officially invited us onto the show. Rashawn and I had been forced together by our grandfathers; there were no feelings involved. Our daily interactions were no different from those of strangers. I was sick of our dead-water life. I accepted the offer without hesitation, ready to cash one last big check before the divorce. As I was happily counting the zeros on the contract, I noticed Rashawn staring at it with a complicated expression, his pen hovering over the signature line. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “My pen’s out of ink,” he mumbled, looking down. “There’s another one right there.” “That one’s broken, too…” I could tell he was reluctant. Figuring he didn’t want to waste his precious time on me, I leaned in, using my most coaxing tone. “It won’t mess up your schedule too much. Come on, please? For me?” “Well… alright. Fine.” Stammering, a faint blush creeping up his ears, Rashawn dazedly signed his name. 2 The show featured three couples and was broadcast live 24/7. Before filming, the director had given each couple a rough script outlining their conflicts and narrative arc. But considering my decade of consistently mediocre acting and Rashawn’s A-list status, the director ultimately decided to just let us play it by ear. The moment I trudged into the frame, wrestling with two small suitcases, the live chat exploded: 【Here we go! The main event has arrived!】 【LMAO, the other couples showed up holding hands or walking side-by-side. Rashawn not only walks separately from Elara, he makes her carry her own luggage.】 【So what if she schemed her way into a wealthy family? She’s still just the hired help with no dignity. They never even officially announced the marriage. The Croft family probably doesn’t even acknowledge her.】 The online roasting was brutal, but it wasn’t just online. Sophie, another actress on the show, noticed my struggle and took a subtle jab. “Elara, a woman’s hands are delicate. Marcus never lets me carry anything heavy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were Rashawn’s assistant.” Sophie and I debuted around the same time. She’s fiercely competitive and loves to show off. After marrying the director Marcus, she spammed her social media for weeks, flaunting her marriage into a “prestigious” family. Of course, compared to the Croft empire, Marcus’s family was small potatoes. So it was understandable that she was a little bitter when my marriage to Rashawn was revealed. Whatever. I was here for the money, not the drama. I ignored her. The show’s panel of experts, having clearly done their homework, had already accepted the narrative of me being the unwanted, long-suffering wife. Seeing my silence, they assumed I was swallowing my pride, their eyes filled with pity. The chat continued: 【Seriously? Sophie and Marcus are on a divorce show because he’s ‘too possessive’? Are they sure they’re not just here to flex? That gold-digger must be so jealous seeing how happy our Sophie is.】 【Serves Elara right for clinging to that old family arrangement. She made her bed, now she has to lie in it.】 Just then, the camera panned. Rashawn Croft was not, as everyone assumed, relaxing somewhere off-screen. He was struggling toward us, pushing five enormous, interconnected suitcases. The other guests, who had been whispering and watching the spectacle, fell silent. They all stood up to help him. “Rashawn, I thought you were a minimalist,” one of them joked. “Getting a little high-maintenance, are we? You want me to toss that garbage bag for you?” Rashawn coolly sidestepped their hands, his expression sour. I pushed through the crowd. “Uh, those are all mine,” I explained. “And that’s not a garbage bag. That’s Rashawn’s luggage.” The live chat erupted again: 【I’m dead. So Rashawn is the ‘assistant’!】 【So real. When my husband and I travel, all his stuff fits in one plastic bag too.】 【What’s so funny? Look at his face, he’s furious. It’s written all over him. Only Elara could piss off an Oscar-winner this badly.】 【Don’t hold back, Rashawn! Let it all out! I’m here for the daily dose of him being disgusted by Elara.】 The show wasted no time stirring the pot. For our first night, they decided we would draw lots to see if we’d sleep in separate rooms. I started to say, “Can we just skip the draw? Rashawn and I will just choose—” The words “separate rooms” were still on my tongue when the silent man beside me cut me off. “I’ll draw.” Sophie put on a show of sympathy. “It’s okay, Elara. I know you want to use this chance to stay with Rashawn. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” The chat found this hilarious: 【Look at how disgusted he is by her all the time. I bet they’ve never even shared a bed. No wonder she’s so desperate. Poor little rich girl.】 【Did anyone else notice Rashawn secretly glaring at Elara like five times in the last ten seconds? If looks could kill, she’d be dead. This is amazing.】 3 Rashawn nervously unfolded the slip of paper. He saw the word “SEPARATE.” The live chat and I let out a collective sigh of relief. 【Thank god they don’t have to share a room. Rashawn must have been terrified.】 【Okay but… Elara is stunningly beautiful. And her voice is so sweet. If I were Rashawn I’d be obsessed with her.】 【^^ Are you insane??!】 The host went around asking if we were happy with the results. Sophie, who had also drawn “separate,” looked sadly at Marcus. “I’m not used to sleeping alone. I’m worried I won’t be able to sleep.” The host turned to me, a glint in her eye. “Elara, you must be used to sleeping alone quite a bit, right? Any tips you can share?” I fired back with a saccharine smile. “Sorry, I rarely sleep alone.” No one would ever guess. Rashawn Croft had the face of an ascetic who was tired of the world, but behind closed doors, he had a bigger appetite than anyone. That “gentlemanly” reputation his fans loved so much? It mostly consisted of him driving me to the brink of exhaustion while playing dumb. Thinking back, I kind of regretted the hormonally-charged night I’d slipped on a bathrobe, walked into his bedroom, and sat on his lap, declaring, “Even if it’s a contract, we still have to fulfill our marital duties.” One of the main reasons I was so eager for this divorce was that my body just couldn’t handle the frequency anymore. When it was Rashawn’s turn to answer, his thick, dark lashes fluttered. His voice was low and cold. “If I’m not satisfied, can I change it?” The host, not expecting this, was momentarily stunned. “The rules say you can’t.” Rashawn took a deep breath. “Can I draw again?” The host shook her head helplessly. “No.” A flash of raw anger crossed the man’s already brooding features. I gently tugged on his sleeve. “Just follow the rules.” Rashawn nodded stiffly and walked away, his arms and legs moving in awkward, uncoordinated synchrony. The chat was confused: 【Is it just me or is Rashawn acting super weird? Does he… want to share a room with Elara?】 【No way. He’s probably just trying to save face for her in front of the cameras.】 【Oh no. I think I’m starting to ship them. Elara said one soft thing and he instantly obeyed.】 【Was that obedience or was he just disgusted into silence? The man was so rattled he forgot how to walk.】 Without Rashawn plowing his field, I slept like a baby and woke up feeling refreshed. The next day, I was up early. Sophie was in the kitchen making breakfast for Marcus. They were bickering over whether to have boiled or fried eggs. The argument somehow ended with them in a passionate embrace. Sophie even shot me, in all my bed-headed glory, a triumphant look, as if to say, “So what if you married a Croft? My husband loves me. Yours doesn’t.” A camera suddenly swung toward me. “Today is the couple’s chemistry challenge! Pop quiz: What does Rashawn like to drink for breakfast?” “Iced Americano?” I guessed randomly. After our marriage, Rashawn had started taking over his family’s business and was semi-retired from acting. He was up and off to the office before dawn every day. How was I supposed to know what he liked? A moment later, the host cornered Rashawn as he returned from his morning run. “Rashawn, what’s your favorite breakfast drink?” “Hot latte.” The host smirked. “And what’s Elara’s favorite breakfast drink?” “Iced Americano,” Rashawn answered without a second’s hesitation. “But I worry that drinking cold things all the time is bad for her, so I often switch it to a hot one for her.” I stared at him, completely shocked. “Rashawn, why didn’t you tell me? I always thought the housekeeper was getting my order wrong! Hot Americanos are disg—” I caught myself, realizing I was about to offend someone, and swallowed the rest of the sentence. The host was even more surprised than I was. “Rashawn, do you usually make breakfast for Elara?” Rashawn gave a slight nod, a hint of pride in his expression. “She’s so tired every night. She needs to rest in the morning.” Sophie, who had been enjoying the show, froze. The spatula clattered from her hand to the floor. The panel of experts watched with knowing, maternal smiles. 4 The host, determined to get some drama, fired off a dozen more chemistry questions. The final score: Rashawn answered every single question about me correctly. I managed to guess one correctly about him. I was still in a daze when the evening campfire chat began. Even though we lived under the same roof and had our fair share of… intimate contact, Rashawn and I rarely talked. We were both busy with our careers, and besides, Rashawn was the textbook definition of an earth sign: introverted, reserved, and impossible to read. I’d wanted to ask him about those viral clips of him glaring at me, to ask if he really hated me that much, but he always managed to sidestep the conversation before it even began. And yet, here he was, acting like he knew me better than I knew myself. The chat was buzzing: 【This is insane. Even the ultimate doting husband Marcus got a question about Sophie wrong. Rashawn got them ALL right. This can’t be scripted, can it? It’s kinda sweet.】 【Look at Elara’s shocked face. It has to be real. Her acting isn’t that good.】 Me: Thanks a lot, that’s a real backhanded compliment. 【I’m so curious. If Rashawn really despises Elara like everyone says, why would he make her breakfast? But if he likes her, why do they act like total strangers?】 【Agreed. This couple is so fascinating. The others feel like old married couples, but these two have this weird, electric ambiguity.】 The theme for the night was “Money.” The moment I saw the topic, I knew this segment was aimed squarely at me. The host started with Marcus and Sophie. “In your pre-show questionnaires, you both mentioned having some conflicts regarding family finances.” Sophie huffed. “Well, there’s that popular saying, ‘Where the money is, the love is.’ But Marcus still hasn’t given me his bank cards.” The female rapper from the third couple teased, “But at least Marcus loves to spoil you, Sophie. I always see you posting pictures of those thousand-dollar bags and jewelry. My man won’t even add me to his Amazon Prime account.” Sophie lowered her head shyly. “It’s not that big of a deal. I value emotional connection more than material things. But Elara is the one who really married her way out of poverty. She probably has more to say on this topic.” I caught the insinuation in her voice and gave her a sweet smile. “Marrying a rich man is pretty great. You’ll get it once Marcus reaches Rashawn’s level.” Sophie’s smile faltered. See? She brings it up, but she can’t take the answer.

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My roommate was the kind of genius artist who blooms early, dazzling everyone. She came from an old-money New England art dynasty—her father, a powerful figure on the Board of the Met, her mother, a former starlet with a permanent glow. She had been four years old when she first held a brush, ten when her first solo exhibition sold out in Chelsea, and by eighteen, her Instagram following rivaled a pop star’s. So, when I reported her to the school’s Ethics Committee for stealing my winning entry, everyone—from our department head to the campus security guard—thought I was delusional. A classic case of the untalented underdog cracking under pressure. I refused her hush money, trying to claw back my integrity, my truth. In return, she slammed the heel of her hand into my chest and sent me tumbling down the marble staircase. In the final, fading moments, I heard her voice, sharp and cold as shattered glass. “An orphan like you, with nothing but hand-me-down dreams? A joke.” When I woke up, the familiar, stale scent of our dorm room air conditioning filled my lungs, and the clock on the bedside table read: September 14th. Two days before the submission deadline. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I walked straight to my easel and slashed the painting to shreds. Now, it was her turn to panic. 1 The first time I stood up to her, after she’d won the Kestrel Prize with my canvas, the internet turned me into a villain overnight. It was all because of who Audrey Thorne was. The golden girl. Born into that rarefied air, she seemed to embody everything the art world adored. She was the one all the other girls at Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) wanted to be. No one, from her devoted fans to the casual onlookers, could believe that she, the luminous, gifted artist, would ever stoop to plagiarize. She was too good, too pure for such a tawdry scandal. To make matters worse, Audrey had used her acceptance speech to call for kindness, softly urging her fans not to “attack” me. “Sienna is a talented but clearly troubled soul,” she’d murmured, her voice laced with that perfected, gentle sadness. While the comments section flooded with praise for her beauty and “noble heart,” the digital detectives dug up my past. Orphan. Raised in a small-town group home. Didn’t even start oil painting until high school on a teacher’s advice. The narrative solidified instantly. “She’s got to be unstable. Why would someone like the great Audrey Thorne need her work?” “A desperate clout chaser. Going for the ‘black-and-red’ route—trying to build a career on controversy. Pathetic.” “Poor Audrey. She has to live with a toxic parasite like that. The school should just expel her for this character assassination!” The insults and fabrications hit me like a dense, driving rain. I sought help from our academic advisor and the other two roommates, Harper and Chloe, begging them to set the record straight. After all, they had seen me hunched over that easel for months. But I didn’t know what kind of deal Audrey had cut with them. They weren’t just unwilling to help; they were actively turning the screws. They did a joint Instagram Live, putting on a show of concern, tearfully urging me to “see the light.” “Just apologize, Sienna. Admit you were mistaken. Audrey is a kind person; she said she’ll forgive you and drop it,” Harper wept into the camera. I couldn’t do it. How could I confess to a lie I didn’t tell? The internet remembers everything. If I admitted to “slander,” that scarlet letter would brand me forever. The public didn’t see it that way, especially after Audrey leaked screenshots from her private fan group. The “evidence” showed her discussing creative ideas that seemed to align perfectly with the winning piece’s concept. Even I hadn’t realized how meticulously she’d planned this from the first day I laid down paint. A furious mob descended on the school’s social media, demanding my expulsion. On campus, students pointed and whispered, their eyes slicing me to pieces. Worst of all, the most extreme Audrey fans found the address of the old group home—The Haven—where I’d grown up. They splashed the main door with foul-smelling red paint and hurled abuse at the Director, Mrs. Sterling, and the younger kids. They screamed that the home raised “bad seeds,” and I was the proof: a “morally bankrupt trash” of a former resident. I could handle the attacks aimed at me, but The Haven had done nothing wrong. They didn’t deserve to be dragged into this firestorm. What I couldn’t wrap my head around was why Audrey, with her innate talent, would need to steal anyone’s art. The answer, I realized, was hiding in the last three years of dorm life. The brilliant child prodigy was gone. Fame and early worship don’t just elevate; they can also corrode the will. For years, Audrey had been too busy attending exclusive parties, filming perfectly filtered vlogs, and signing endorsement deals for luxury brands. She hadn’t spent more than a handful of dedicated days in the studio all semester. She couldn’t even replicate the quality of her own earlier work, let alone generate a new masterpiece. I cornered her one afternoon, warning her that I would call the police if she didn’t end the charade. Audrey threw her head back and laughed—a high, brittle sound. “Oh, stop. Name your price, Sienna.” Shedding her gentle façade, she spoke with a sickening superiority. “Having your little sketch crowned with my name? That’s your biggest break, kid.” “Keep fighting, and I have a hundred different ways to make you disappear.” I was done arguing. I pulled out my phone. That action—that simple gesture of defiance—was what truly enraged her. She lunged, shoving me back with a shocking violence. My head cracked against the corner of a step, and immediately, the slick, copper scent of blood filled the air. My legs were numb. As the world swam into a hazy, darkening canvas, I tilted my head and saw Audrey standing above me on the landing, arms crossed, her expression a mask of cold disdain. “An orphan like you, with nothing but hand-me-down dreams? A joke.” A storm of fury and profound injustice closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, I was back. The clock on the wall was mocking me: September 14th. Two days before the submission deadline. 2 “Sienna, how’s your Kestrel entry coming along?” “You know you can’t slack off. If you win, you’ll get the automatic Master’s placement—no GRE, no portfolio review. It’s huge.” “Just focus, sweetie. I know you can do it.” The earnest, concerned voice washed over me. I flinched, turning toward the sound. Audrey Thorne stood before me, her smile a perfect, radiant curve. She held out a pink, meticulously crafted strawberry tart. “I grabbed this for you. No pressure, just a little fuel for the final push.” I stared, frozen. I couldn’t reconcile this gentle presence with the face I’d seen twisted in sneering cruelty a moment before. Wait, where was I? One second I was dying on a cold staircase; the next, I was back in our cramped, brightly-lit dorm room. Before I could process the terrifying whiplash, two other voices chimed in. “Ugh, hello, catch it, Riser.” That was Harper, always snide. “Seriously, no manners. Typical. Didn’t they teach you how to accept a gift at the… home?” Chloe finished the sentence, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Harper and Chloe had made it a point to freeze me out since they found out I was a scholarship kid from a group home. It wasn’t physical bullying, but their words were always barbed, meant to inflict a thousand tiny cuts. I usually shot back, refusing to be their doormat, but we’d kept up this toxic cohabitation for three years. This time, I ignored them. I launched myself off my chair, knocking the strawberry tart and the hand that held it aside as I bolted into the bathroom. Behind me, I heard Harper’s shriek. “Oh my god, Audrey, are you okay?” “The hell, Sienna! What is your problem? Did she just assault you in a daytime seizure?” Chloe raged. Audrey sucked in a theatrical gasp of air, but her reply was soft, forgiving. “It’s fine, girls. Sienna is probably just stressed about the deadline. There are so many of us submitting this year. Let’s not make it harder for her.” Same old Audrey. Always the martyr, the perfect, understanding friend. My past life screamed at me: She is a wolf in silk clothing. Chloe’s voice rose to a furious pitch. “I swear, she’s just jealous of you! You’re so nice to her, and this is how she repays you? She needs to apologize, right now! This is not over!” The two of them stomped off their beds, heading straight for the bathroom door, ready to drag me out and force a confession. But I had already locked it. I leaned against the sink, ignoring the banging and the muffled shouts. I looked into the mirror: my face was full, alive, bright. I reached up and touched my forehead. No blood. No sickening, deep gash. I clenched my fist and drove my nail into the sensitive flesh of my palm. The pain was immediate, sharp, and undeniable. I was back. I had a chance. The piece of art had not yet been submitted. I hadn’t been cyberbullied into oblivion. The Haven had not been vandalized. The rhythmic pounding on the door intensified. “Sienna, what is it? Did I do something wrong? Please, let’s talk. Don’t bottle things up.” If I hadn’t seen the truth, I might have been moved. But now, my only thought was a cold, sharp resolve: Audrey Thorne would never climb to the top on the back of my work again. After a moment, I opened the door. Audrey instantly moved in, her eyes wide with manufactured concern. Harper and Chloe hovered behind her, shooting daggers at me. I walked past all three of them, straight to my desk. I picked up my utility knife, flipped back the protective drop cloth, and, in a single, decisive motion, sliced my finished masterpiece to ribbons. Silence. Shock. Then, Audrey let out a sound so sharp it felt like a shriek. “Sienna! What is wrong with you?” She clutched her hair. Her voice was too loud, too distraught. “That painting was incredible! You—you just ruined it! The deadline is in two days! What am I going to submit?!” The word hung in the air: submit. In her panic, she’d forgotten the script. I had known she planned to steal it, but seeing her claim it so naturally, so instantly, made my blood run cold. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “It’s my painting, Audrey. I’m the one who decides what’s wrong with it. And what you submit is none of my business.”

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1 The night before my sister was set to marry into the prestigious Ashton family, she finally spoke her mind. “Lindsay,” she began, her voice soft as ever, “I don’t think you should be my maid of honor tomorrow.” I was in the middle of fastening a bracelet I’d strung myself onto her wrist, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. Her voice was a familiar, fragile whisper. “I know you’re my only sister, but… the vitiligo on your face…” She let the words hang in the air. “People will talk. I don’t want Liam to think I’m like a flawed gem.” She finally dropped the act. “Frankly, having you stand next to me is embarrassing.” My hands froze. I never imagined she could think of me that way. Our mother draped a cashmere shawl over her shoulders, her silence a clear endorsement of Rachel’s words. “You’ve been good to me, Lindsay. You’ve always given me everything since we were kids,” Rachel continued, as if that made it better. “But tomorrow is the most important day of my life.” “Liam’s family is so prominent. I can’t have his friends mocking him… saying my family isn’t presentable.” … My gaze fell to the bracelet in my hand, a string of one hundred and eight lustrous pearls. I had chosen, polished, and threaded each one myself. It was supposed to be a part of her dowry, a gift from my heart. Now, it seemed, it was just another imperfection. Slowly, I unclasped the bracelet from her wrist and placed it back into its velvet box. “Alright,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Rachel let out a visible sigh of relief. “Oh, Lindsay, you’re the best. I knew you’d understand.” Mom stroked Rachel’s long, silky hair, her eyes brimming with pride. “That’s enough standing around. Go get some rest. You need to be the most beautiful bride tomorrow.” I quietly gathered the accessories I had prepared for the bridal party, packing each piece away. I should have been used to it by now. It all started when I was thirteen. That summer, after a severe illness, a coin-sized white patch appeared on my left cheek. At first, my parents were frantic, taking me to every specialist they could find. But six months later, my eleven-year-old sister, Rachel, noticed a similar patch on her back while bathing. The atmosphere in our home turned heavy overnight. The doctors called it an autoimmune disorder. The treatment would be long, expensive, and offered no guarantee of a cure. I was thirsty late one night and overheard my parents arguing in their room. “Treat them both?” my father’s voice was strained. “The business is barely off the ground. Where are we going to find that kind of money?” My mother’s reply was a low, chilling whisper. “Then we choose one.” “Rachel is still so young. Her life is just beginning.” “Besides,” she added, “hers is on her back. It’s hidden. The chances of a full recovery are much higher.” “And Lindsay?” my father asked. “Lindsay… she’s the older sister. She’s sensible. She should let her sister have this.” Her voice dropped even lower. “And honestly, hers is on her face. The damage is done. Why throw good money after bad?” The glass of water slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. I didn’t cry. I just cleaned up the shards, went back to my room, and pulled the covers over my head. From that day on, I was the sensible older sister. Every resource, every ounce of attention, was funneled toward Rachel. All I ever got was the same tired refrain: “You’re the older sister. You have to look out for Rachel.” As I was ignored, the patch on my face grew from the size of a coin to cover nearly half my cheek, like a permanent flaw carved into porcelain. Snapping back to the present, I put the last piece of jewelry away. “Mom, I’m heading out.” She finally glanced at me, a slight frown on her face. “Be here early tomorrow to help. Even if you’re not the maid of honor, there’s still a mountain of things to do.” “I know.” I walked out of my sister’s room. In the living room, my father was laughing with his future son-in-law, Liam Ashton. When Liam saw me, his smile faded slightly. He gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment. His eyes flickered to the patch on my face for less than half a second before darting away. We had grown up together, inseparable childhood friends. Before he left for college abroad, he’d held my hand and promised, “Lindsay, wait for me.” But when he returned, he found a me with a scarred face, and a brilliant, beautiful sister by my side. He was disappointed. And I never explained that the groundbreaking proposals at the company, the ones that made Rachel shine, had all originated on my desk. Because, as my mother always said, the older sister has to support the younger one. I stepped out into the night. The wind was cool against my skin. I looked up at the moon. It was bright, round, and perfectly whole. 2 I arrived the next day before dawn. Even stripped of my title, my duties were endless. From the final check of the floral arrangements to confirming the details of the banquet menu, to running through the guest reception protocol one last time, I was a spinning top wound tight, never stopping for a moment. My mother was pleased with my compliance. She pulled me into the dressing room, directing the makeup artist on Rachel’s final touches. “Our Rachel is a natural beauty. Look at that skin. A little makeup and she looks like an angel.” She turned to me, a tight smile on her lips. “Lindsay, you should have the artist put some concealer on you, too. There will be a lot of guests today. Don’t let it be too obvious.” The patch on my face was too large. No amount of concealer could hide it; it only made my skin tone look uneven and more jarring. I’d tried once and given up. “It’s fine, Mom. I have to be backstage. There’s no time.” I could feel the pity in the eyes of the makeup artist and the other bridesmaids. I pretended not to notice. When the ceremony began, I stood in the darkest corner of the ballroom, a walkie-talkie in my hand, ready for any emergency. Rachel, wearing the gown I had picked for her, walked down the aisle on our father’s arm, toward Liam waiting at the center of the stage. She was breathtaking, a true princess. When my father placed Rachel’s hand in Liam’s, his eyes were red. He choked back a sob. “Liam, I’m entrusting you with our family’s most precious treasure. You have to take care of her.” The hall erupted in applause. I felt like a complete outsider. Every detail of this wedding had consumed the last six months of my life. Even the down payment on the red sports car Rachel received as a wedding gift came from my savings. My parents had told me the family’s finances were tight after years of paying for Rachel’s treatments. They couldn’t look cheap in front of the Ashtons. You’re the older sister, they’d said. It’s your duty to help out. But in this moment, no one remembered me. The officiant’s voice boomed from the stage. “Our beautiful bride, Rachel, is not only stunning but also one of Mr. Ashton’s most capable executives! She has single-handedly spearheaded several of the company’s most critical projects. A true talent!” I looked down, a bitter taste in my mouth. Those projects, those sleepless nights… they had all become jewels in her crown. During the reception, they moved from table to table. When they reached Liam’s friends, one of them let out a low whistle. “Hey, Liam,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “your new sister-in-law is… something else.” His eyes landed squarely on my face. A hush fell over the room. Rachel’s face went pale, her hand tightening on Liam’s arm. My mother quickly jumped in, forcing a laugh. “Oh, she’s always been a tomboy, all work and no play. The workhorse of our family.” Liam raised his glass, his gaze sweeping over me with a cool indifference. “Don’t be an ass. This is Lindsay, my wife’s sister.” I picked up my own glass, drained it in one go, and offered a thin smile. “Enjoy yourselves. I’m going to check on the kitchen.” As I walked away, I heard the whispers behind me. “Such a shame. I heard Liam and the older sister were childhood sweethearts…” “Yeah, but who would marry that? It’s humiliating to even be seen with her.” “The younger one is gorgeous and capable. She and Liam are a perfect match.” I slipped into the empty backstage area, finally able to breathe. My phone screen lit up with an old photo of Liam and me from high school. In it, the patch on my face was still small enough to be covered by makeup, and I was smiling, fearless. Liam’s eyes in the picture were full of me. “Lindsay, you… you weren’t like this before.” That’s what he’d said when he came back, after seeing my face and meeting my “talented” sister. He was right. I wasn’t. The bright, defiant girl I used to be had been murdered long ago by my parents’ mantra: You’re the older sister, you have to give way. I deleted the photo, erasing a memory that had already rotted away. 3 Rachel and Liam spent two weeks honeymooning on a private island. For those two weeks, the office was blissfully quiet. I poured all my energy into my new project: the ‘Aura’ smart home system. The day Rachel returned, she walked straight into my office. “Ugh, the honeymoon was so exhausting,” she complained, though her tone was dripping with pride. “Liam insisted on dragging me everywhere.” I nodded. “You should get some rest.” “Rest? No time for that.” She sat down across from me and picked up my project proposal. “Liam says the Aura project is critical. It’s the company’s core strategy for the second half of the year. There can’t be any mistakes.” A cold dread washed over me. “And?” I asked. Rachel looked up, flashing an innocent smile. “And so, Liam has decided that I will be taking the lead.” “Lindsay, you have so much experience. You can be my second-in-command, help me steer the ship. Okay?” My fingers clenched into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. On what grounds? The words burned in my throat, but I couldn’t force them out. I looked at her, and her eyes held the same entitled glint as they did when she was ten, snatching the only imported doll I’d ever owned from my hands. Back then, my mother had said the same thing: Rachel wants it. You’re the older sister, just let her have it. “Is this a company decision, or Liam’s decision?” I asked numbly. “Is there a difference?” Rachel laughed, clutching the proposal to her chest. “Don’t worry, sis. When the project succeeds, I won’t forget your contribution. We’re family. What’s yours is mine. Why draw lines?” She swept out of the room, leaving me alone in the suffocating chill. That evening, I went home. My parents were on the couch watching TV. “Did you eat?” my mother asked without looking up. I cut straight to the point. “The company gave Rachel the lead on the Aura project.” My mother paused, then a wide smile spread across her face. “Really? That’s wonderful! Our Rachel is so capable. Such a huge responsibility right after getting married. Liam really knows how to pick them.” My father nodded in agreement. “Rachel has the drive, and with her big sister helping her out, the project is sure to be a success.” My heart sank into a black abyss. “I was the one who developed that project. From start to finish.” “I know,” my mother said, her tone infuriatingly matter-of-fact. “But you’re her sister. Isn’t it your job to support her? She’s the boss’s wife now. If she’s secure, your life at the company will be easier too. Why can’t you see the big picture?” “The big picture?” I laughed, a hollow sound. “Is my ‘big picture’ just handing over everything I’ve ever worked for to her?” “Lindsay!” my father’s voice was sharp, his face darkening. “Is that any way to speak to your mother? After all the sacrifices this family has made for your sister over the years, you can’t handle a little setback to help pave her way?” He stood up, his voice rising. “Has that disease on your face twisted your personality, too? Made you this bitter and jealous?” I stared at the two people I called my parents, and they felt like complete strangers. They couldn’t see my hard work, couldn’t see my pain. All they saw was my flaw, and Rachel’s perfection. I took a deep, shaky breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. I get it.” I turned to leave. “Where are you going?” my mother called after me. “Work.” I didn’t look back. I couldn’t let them see the tears in my eyes. I stayed at the office all night. I compiled every core file, every piece of research for the project, and I bundled it all into an email to Rachel. At the very end, I wrote a single line: This is the last time I will ever step aside for you. 4 For the next month, I was Rachel’s subordinate. I watched as Liam’s eyes filled with admiration and love every time he looked at her. Occasionally, his gaze would pass over me, and the disappointment seemed to deepen. Then one day, my father called, his voice frantic. “Lindsay, get to the hospital, now! Your mother… she collapsed!” By the time I arrived, my mother was already in the emergency room. My father was pacing outside, his face ashen, while Rachel sobbed in Liam’s arms. A doctor emerged, his expression grim. “She’s in acute liver failure. She needs a transplant immediately.” “A transplant?” My father’s voice trembled. “But… a donor?” “We’ve registered her on the national network, but there’s no telling how long the wait will be,” the doctor explained. “The best option is a live donation from a relative. Her blood type is B-negative, RH-negative. It’s extremely rare. Are any of you a match?” We all looked at each other. Dad was Type A. Liam was Type O. Rachel and I were sent for blood tests. Every second in that waiting room felt like an eternity. Rachel clutched my hand, her palm icy and shaking. “Lindsay, I’m so scared…” I squeezed her hand back, patting it gently. An hour later, a nurse returned with the results. “Who is Lindsay?” “I am,” I said, standing up. “Your blood type is a perfect match with the patient’s. After a preliminary evaluation, you are a viable donor.” Every eye in the room fixed on me. Rachel’s hand slipped from mine as she let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. The nurse then turned to her, her tone clinical. “Miss Rachel, your blood type is B-positive. You are not a match.” Rachel froze. We all knew Mom had what they called ‘golden blood,’ the rarest type. We’d always assumed at least one of us had inherited it. No one ever imagined the lucky one would be me—the flawed, forgotten daughter. My mother was moved to the ICU. The surgery was scheduled for the next morning. I went in to see her beforehand. She was a frail figure in the hospital bed, hooked up to a web of tubes. When she saw me, her clouded eyes brightened, and she weakly reached out her hand. I walked over and took it. She opened her mouth, her voice a faint rasp. I leaned in close, my ear next to her lips. “Rachel, my sweet girl… I knew… I knew you would save me…” She called me by my sister’s name as she squeezed my hand. In that instant, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. At death’s door, the only person in her heart was her perfect, flawless daughter. I wasn’t even worthy of being named. Slowly, deliberately, I pried her fingers from my hand. I looked at her, my face a blank mask. When I stepped out of the room, my father and Liam rushed toward me. “Lindsay, how is she?” Seeing the same desperate hope on their faces, I almost laughed. “The surgery can happen,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “But I have a condition.”

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I was born in a hospital toilet. My biological mother didn’t want me. She birthed me, flushed the toilet, and walked away without looking back. She thought I would be washed into the sewer and become a lump of rotting flesh. But I was lucky. My head got stuck in the opening. A nurse found me and pulled me out of the filth. The doctor said that although I survived, there might be sequelae in my brain, and the risk of cerebral palsy could not be ruled out. At that time, surveillance wasn’t perfect. After a week unclaimed, the hospital prepared to send me to an orphanage. But the moment the nurse handed me over, I, who had been quiet until then, cried my heart out. The nurse couldn’t bear it. She snatched me back. From then on, she became my mother. 1 Everyone said Sarah was a fool for adopting a child with brain damage, predicting endless hardship for her. But Mom would say, “What do you know? Holly is the best daughter.” She didn’t have maternity leave, so she had to bring me to work. To take care of me, she voluntarily applied for a transfer from the operating room to the general ward. Her salary was halved, and she had to work night shifts. The only benefit was that the neonatal ward had a supply of free formula. The nurses took turns getting some for me, and the head nurse turned a blind eye. But fate didn’t favor us. At six months, when normal babies can sit up, I couldn’t even roll over. Mom asked the pediatric specialist cautiously, “Holly is fine, right?” The specialist didn’t even look up as he ordered a brain CT scan. “Let’s do the scan first.” The radiologist frowned deeply upon seeing Mom. “Didn’t you tell him you work here? Why do a CT scan on such a small baby?” Mom bit her lip. She knew radiation could affect development, but the doctor had her cornered with one sentence. “If there is an abnormality in the brain, a day’s delay in diagnosis could lead to lifelong regret.” After the CT scan, the specialist studied it for a long time, adjusting his glasses. “The imaging results show no brain abnormalities.” Before Mom could sigh in relief, he continued, “But this is typical developmental delay.” “Without early intervention, it will affect her for life.” 2 Mom’s salary was barely $3,000 a month, and my rehabilitation fees alone were over $2,500. Even with rehab, the chance of me being like a normal child existed only in theory. Mom came out of the rehab center, her eyes red. Just then, I tilted my head in her arms and called out, “Ma… Mama…” Her eyes instantly lit up like morning stars. “I knew it!” “My Holly is the smartest!” She pressed her forehead against mine, secretly vowing, “I will cure you!” From that day on, Mom went to the rehab department after work to do odd jobs. She wanted two things: to reduce fees through labor and to learn the techniques secretly. The therapists didn’t understand why, but seeing she was a hospital employee, they turned a blind eye. But the Director of Rehabilitation, Dr. Zhao, was a principled woman. After kicking Mom out for the third time, Dr. Zhao warned her, “The hospital is for treating patients, not for pulling strings. If you come again, I’ll talk to your supervisor.” Mom slowly lowered her head, her hands clenched tight. The next day, she paid off all the arrears and didn’t enter the rehab room without permission again. During that time, she only ate two meals a day. “You spend all your money on her, what do you eat and use?” The nurses couldn’t stand it and shared their food with Mom. The head nurse quietly went to Dr. Zhao but was scolded back. Someone advised Mom, “Give up. She’s not your own flesh and blood. What if the rehab doesn’t work and she’s disabled? Are you going to support her for life?” Mom smiled. “Then I’ll support her for life.” The person didn’t persuade her anymore, only silently packing her child’s outgrown clothes for Mom. Neither of them noticed Dr. Zhao standing around the corner, listening to the entire conversation. 3 The next day, after rehab, Mom was about to leave with me. Dr. Zhao, passing by the door, suddenly stopped her. “We are short of a temporary logistics staff here. Not much work, paid, handle it after work. If you are willing…” “I am willing!” On the way back, Mom smiled. “Our Holly is a little lucky star. Even heaven is protecting you.” “My little baby will definitely get better.” From that day on, Mom went to the rehab room whenever she was free. Dr. Zhao, seeing this, deliberately lingered around her, teaching her hand by hand. Thanks to the rehab subsidy, our lives became much better. Mom finally didn’t have to rely on colleagues’ handouts to get enough to eat. In the rehab room, children cried inside, and parents cried outside. Only my mom was different; she could accompany me inside. Mom coaxed me, “Holly, let’s play a game here.” But the game wasn’t fun at all. It was painful and tiring, often leaving me sweating all over. I was young and didn’t know how to refuse. I just started trembling every time I saw the door of the rehab department. Whenever this happened, Mom’s eyes were bright, saying Holly wasn’t afraid, but her body trembled even more than mine. Finally, one day, Dr. Zhao told her, “You know everything for this stage. You can do it at home from now on.” Mom and I both breathed a sigh of relief. The corners of Dr. Zhao’s mouth turned up slightly. “I will regularly check the inpatient building.” Mom and I froze simultaneously. Dr. Zhao tucked her hair behind her ear, turned, and left, hiding her merit and fame. 4 Leaving the rehab environment, I wasn’t so resistant to “games.” At one year old, I stood up. Mom happily hugged and kissed me. At two years old, I learned my name—”Holly.” Mom picked me up and spun me around. “Everything will get better, it will get better.” But I saw Dr. Zhao behind her, looking at us with hidden worry. Three years old, kindergarten. Before going, Mom prepared small gifts for every teacher and greeted them. But I was advised to quit before I even finished a week. “She doesn’t understand instructions at all. Not only is her motor development lagging, but she also likes to hit people!” “How do you teach her at home? I think there’s something wrong with her brain!” The teacher’s sharp finger poked at my head. I almost subconsciously slapped it away. Slap! A red mark appeared on the teacher’s hand. She sneered, “Look! Look at this!” “Transfer her quickly, we can’t handle this.” Mom pulled me into her arms. I could clearly feel the rise and fall of her chest. “Apologize.” The teacher looked contemptuous. “In your dreams…” Mom looked up, her expression icy. “I recorded it.” “If you don’t apologize, I’ll play what you just said at the gate of your kindergarten.” “Let everyone evaluate your professional ethics.” The teacher’s face stiffened, but she still held her neck stiffly and didn’t speak. Mom continued, “I’ll post it on Facebook, send it to the class group chat, and let everyone admire it.” The teacher’s expression changed drastically, and she finally lowered her head. “So… sorry.” Mom took my hand, turned, and left. Back home, Mom asked me why I hit other kids. I said, “Because they all called me a little idiot.” Mom listened, was silent for a while, and told me firmly: “You are not wrong. They are wrong.” From that day on, I became an out-of-school child.

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It was two in the morning, and my phone was having a seizure. I finally fumbled for it on my nightstand, the screen a blinding white in the darkness. Mrs. Wallace. Of course. “Ava,” she slurred, her voice thick with what sounded like wine and entitlement. “The thermostat in the rendering. It’s set to 24 degrees Celsius. The numerology is all wrong. Bad energy. Make it 26.” For a second, my sleep-fogged brain struggled to connect. Then it clicked. The full-home design commission. I forced my eyes open, the grit in them almost audible. “Of course, Mrs. Wallace. I’ll make that change first thing in the morning.” Ten minutes later, a FaceTime request lit up the room. I let it ring. It stopped, then immediately started again. I sighed and accepted. Her face, slick with some expensive night cream, filled the screen. “The entryway,” she commanded, pointing a manicured finger somewhere off-screen. “The shoes you placed by the door. I would never wear those. Fix it.” I mumbled an incoherent agreement. A few minutes passed. Another FaceTime call. “The windowsill,” she snapped. “The planter is white. My husband prefers blue. A cobalt blue. And the pattern on it needs to be symmetrical.” I fought the primal urge to hang up. “Mrs. Wallace,” I said, my voice strained with forced patience, “these are just placeholder details for the initial rendering. You’ll be able to arrange the decor however you like once the renovation is complete.” I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, a sound ripped through the quiet of my apartment. BAM. BAM. BAM. Someone was pounding on my door. 1 All traces of sleep vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. I crept out of bed and peered through the peephole. My blood ran cold. It was her. Sharon Wallace. I unlatched the door, and before I could even process the shock, she was towering over me, radiating fury. “From 2:00 AM to 4:43 AM, I initiated 132 video calls. Why didn’t you answer?” The sheer audacity of the question left me speechless. “Don’t you dare use ‘I was sleeping’ as an excuse,” she sneered. “Your job is to be on call. 24/7.” I glanced at my phone. The call log was a solid, unrelenting block of her name. A hundred and thirty-two calls. Then driving across the city to hammer on my door. The dam of my professionalism broke. “I am not obligated to answer your calls in the middle of the night, Mrs. Wallace. That is my personal time.” Her face contorted. “Personal time?” she screeched. “The client isn’t resting, so what gives you the right to rest?” She pushed past me into my apartment. “Now, open your laptop and make these changes exactly as I say.” She began rattling off a list. “One, the desk mouse is wired. I use a wireless mouse. Change it. Two, turn off that accent lighting in the living room. Are you trying to run up my electricity bill? Three, the fruit bowl on the coffee table. Pears? Pears are for farewells. Are you trying to jinx my marriage? Change them to pomegranates. For abundance.” She finally paused, glaring at me. “You have ten minutes. Send it to me for review.” That was it. I was done. “You are my client,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You do not have the right to give me orders, and you certainly do not have the right to show up at my home and pound on my door.” In all my years working my way up in my family’s business, I’d seen my share of difficult clients. But this level of aggressive, unhinged entitlement was new. “Are you leaving now, or should I wait for the police to escort you out?” I raised my phone, my thumb hovering over the 9-1-1 shortcut. She let out a string of curses and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I thought the harassment would end there. The next day, I went into the office early to revise her files. The moment I opened the design software, a video call came through from her. “Well, look who’s alive,” she chirped. “I told you to make those changes at five this morning. What have you been doing?” Before I could answer, she cut me off. “I’m going to watch you work. Go on. Faster!” I clenched my jaw. I am the daughter of the CEO of this entire corporation. The only reason I was here, hiding my identity and taking this abuse, was to understand the company from the ground up. On my screen, Sharon Wallace was lounging on a plush sofa, a green mask on her face, pointing at the design. “The plant in the living room. The third leaf from the top has a spot on it. Get rid of it.” I said nothing, but my internal monologue was a stream of pure venom. “And white flowers in the entryway? Are you trying to curse me? Change them to roses!” I took a deep breath and swapped the lilies for roses. Then we got to the master bedroom. Her eyes narrowed. She pointed a trembling finger at the pillows on the king-sized bed. “You bitch, Ava!” she screamed. “You want my husband and me to break up so you can crawl into his bed, don’t you!” My patience snapped. “And what evidence do you have for that insane accusation?” “Evidence? The pillows! They’re green, and they’re so far apart! What kind of sick game are you playing? I see right through you!” I slammed my mouse down on the desk. “My sick game? You’re the one who requested a sage green linen set! You’re the one who said a wider spacing on the pillows looked more ‘aesthetically pleasing’ for a California king! Have you lost your mind, Sharon?” I ended the call and silenced my phone. The world was finally, blessedly quiet. The quiet lasted less than five minutes. My supervisor, Mr. Davies, burst into the office, his face a thundercloud. He marched straight to my desk. “Ava, who the hell gave you the nerve to upset Mrs. Wallace?” he boomed. “You will call her, on video, and apologize immediately. Or you can pack your things and get out.” Apologize? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I suppressed my rage, pulled up the security footage from my apartment building’s hallway, and showed him the log of 132 missed calls. “Sharon Wallace harassed me all night, and when I didn’t answer, she showed up at my apartment and tried to break down my door,” I explained calmly. “Just now, she accused me of trying to sleep with her husband. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s her.” Smack. Davies slapped his hand on my desk, the veins in his forehead bulging. “If you want to keep your job, you will apologize. Now. Otherwise, you’re fired.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss. “And your final paycheck? That five thousand dollars goes straight to Mrs. Wallace as compensation for your attitude.” Every word was a command. I felt my composure cracking. I looked him dead in the eye. “Dream on.” A cold, ugly smile spread across his face. “You’re forcing my hand, Ava.” He turned and raised his voice to address the entire office. “Listen up, everyone! Since Ava refuses to take responsibility for her actions, the whole department will pay the price! For every hour she refuses to apologize, five hundred dollars will be deducted from each of your paychecks!” The room erupted in groans and angry murmurs. “Just say you’re sorry, Ava,” someone whined. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t make us all suffer for it.” Greg, from two desks over, shot to his feet. “You want to be a martyr? Fine. But don’t drag us down with you. Some of us have mortgages to pay!” Then Quinn, who sat next to me, the one I’d always considered a friend, stood up. “Guys, don’t be too hard on Ava,” she said in a placating tone. “She just… only ever thinks about herself.” She looked at me with pity. “She’s not trying to get us all fined. She’s just petty like that.” Her words were a slap in the face. I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “Quinn, if I recall correctly, you only got this job because my family pulled some strings, didn’t you?” Her face went pale. “I have the power to get you in here, and I have the power to get you thrown out.” She sank back into her chair, her head bowed. I looked around at the faces of my colleagues, the people I’d covered shifts for, helped with deadlines, brought coffee for. The people now glaring at me as if I were the enemy. My heart turned to ice. In front of everyone, I ripped my employee ID from its lanyard and tossed it on the desk. If the choice was between screwing over my colleagues and screwing over myself, I’d rather go back to corporate headquarters. Back to the position my father had waiting for me. “I quit.” Davies strode over, a smug look on his face. “Ava, Ava, Ava,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “A girl like you, with no connections, no special talent. Who’s going to hire you after you leave us? This firm has been good to you. Out there? You won’t even be able to afford rent.” I had lost all patience. I turned and walked toward the door. Let someone else have this godforsaken job. Just as my hand touched the handle, my phone rang. It was the corporate Compliance Department. “Ms. Scott?” a stern voice said. “Per the request of your client, Mrs. Sharon Wallace, you are required to complete her design draft as specified. Failure to do so will result in a breach of contract, and you will be liable for a penalty of two hundred thousand dollars.” I laughed in disbelief. “She’s the one making baseless demands, and you’re siding with her without even investigating?” It seemed the entire department needed a complete overhaul. I was about to hang up when the voice on the other end added, “And given your history of insubordination, this penalty will be passed to your official mentor to be paid out of his medical leave fund.” My blood ran cold. William. “This has nothing to do with him!” William was the only person in this entire office who had been genuinely kind to me. He was in the hospital, recovering from a sudden illness. He didn’t have family money; he had a wife and two kids. Without that fund, he’d be ruined. I couldn’t let a good man suffer because of me. I swallowed my pride and my rage. “Fine,” I bit out. “I’ll finish the project before I resign.” The person on the other end chuckled. “Wise choice.” They had no idea what I was really thinking. A department this corrupt didn’t need an overhaul. It needed to be dismantled, and every single person in it needed to be fired for gross negligence. I walked back to my desk. Davies smirked when he saw me. “Changed your mind? I told you. Someone like you could never survive without this company.” He then placed a small, white device on the corner of my desk—a pet monitoring camera. Before I could ask, a shrill, tinny voice erupted from its speaker. “Ava! What are you waiting for? Get back to work!” My phone pinged. An email from Sharon. I opened it. It was a 20-page document titled “Working Protocol.” I scanned the list, each rule more insane than the last. If your hand leaves the mouse for more than three seconds during work hours, this month’s performance bonus is forfeited. Bathroom breaks may not exceed three minutes. Any longer will be considered an unauthorized absence. All messages from me must be answered within 20 seconds, including nights, weekends, and holidays. When communicating with me, you must address me as ‘Mrs. Wallace.’ The final rule, on page twenty, was the kicker. If any of the above protocols are violated, you must kneel on the floor and continue your work until I am satisfied. What fresh hell is this? I rolled my eyes and deleted the file. Trying my best to ignore the camera spying on me, I quickly finished a new version of the design and sent it to Sharon. A few seconds later, her voice shrieked from the camera. “Ava! You did not address me as ‘Mrs. Wallace’ in your email!” The command followed instantly. “Kneel! Now! And state the reason for your violation!” Her voice was so loud that the entire office turned to stare. Davies rushed over and put a heavy hand on my shoulder, his face beaded with sweat. “Just do it, Ava! Are you trying to get us all fined again?” Sharon’s voice, dripping with smug satisfaction, floated from the speaker. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. In here, I am the law. And when you break the law, you get punished.” The threat was clear. “I’ll count to three. If you’re not on your knees, your entire company will be kneeling with you.” She laughed, a low, cruel sound. “What else is a bottom-feeder like you good for, anyway? Your only purpose is to kneel and keep me happy.” That was it. I couldn’t take another second. Helping my father, learning the business—none of it was worth this level of degradation. But if I didn’t kneel, all these innocent—well, mostly innocent—people would be dragged down with me. “Three… two…” I snatched the heavy ceramic mug from my desk. With a roar of pure frustration, I hurled it at the camera. It shattered on impact. “Kneel for my ancestors!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Who the hell do you think you are to command me? Fuck your rules! I’ve had it with you, you entitled, sadistic bitch! Get the hell out of my life!” I yanked the camera’s cord from the wall and threw the useless plastic on the floor. The office was dead silent. Davies’s face was a mottled purple. “Ava,” he hissed, “do you have any idea who you just insulted? That is the fiancée of the richest man in this city’s son!” An older employee, who had been quiet until now, stood up and pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’re insane, Ava! Don’t you know Mrs. Wallace could have us all blacklisted from the industry with a single phone call? You’ve ruined us! All of us!” Quinn jumped to her feet, her face twisted in rage. “You troublemaker! The future daughter-in-law of Robert Sinclair! Are you happy now that you’ve dragged us all into your mess?” She swung her arm, aiming to slap me across the face. I caught her wrist in a vice grip and twisted. She cried out in pain. “The son of the city’s wealthiest man,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You mean Leo Sinclair?” Davies froze, then let out a derisive snort. “So, now you realize who you’ve crossed?” I nodded slowly and pulled out my phone, opening my photo gallery to a recent family picture. In it, my brother had his arm slung casually around my shoulders. Standing behind us, beaming, was the man they all feared: Robert Sinclair. “Let me properly introduce myself,” I said, turning the screen for them to see. “My name is Ava Sinclair. And Leo? He’s my idiot younger brother.” The office was silent for a full thirty seconds. Then, it erupted in laughter. “Keep lying,” Davies choked out, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I could photoshop something more convincing than that.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, Ms. Sinclair. If Robert Sinclair is your father, call him right now. If he shows up, we’ll all apologize to you. On our knees. We’ll even slap ourselves ten times each.” I smiled grimly and dialed my father. “Dad, it’s me—” CRASH! The office door flew open, kicked in with tremendous force. My phone was snatched from my hand and smashed against the floor. Sharon Wallace stood there, flanked by two burly men who looked like hired thugs. “You worthless piece of trash!” she shrieked, her face a mask of fury. “I gave you the honor of kneeling for me, and you dare to curse me?” She lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. I was forced to look at her two goons. “She broke the rules, and she defied me,” Sharon said to them. “Tell me, what do we do with lowlife scum like this?” “She needs to be taught a lesson, Mrs. Wallace!” they chanted in unison. I tried to break free, but one of them kicked the back of my knee, sending me crashing to the floor. The other pinned my arms behind my back. My kneecaps hit the hard floor with a sickening thud. I struggled, but their grip was like iron. Davies scurried to offer Sharon a chair. She sat, crossing her legs, looking down at me like a queen surveying a particularly disgusting insect. She extended one leg, the razor-sharp heel of her stiletto pressing into the back of my head. “Ava, since you can’t seem to learn the rules, I guess I’ll have to teach them to you myself.” At her nod, one goon twisted my arm while the other tightened his grip on my hair. A bolt of agony shot through me, and my body went limp, pitching forward. Thump. My forehead hit the tile. The world exploded in a flash of black and white. “Again,” Sharon’s vicious voice cut through the ringing in my ears. “Until I’m satisfied.” She pressed her heel down, grinding it into the floor, my head trapped beneath it. The pain was so intense I thought I would pass out. Thump. “What’s wrong, Ava?” she taunted. “Where’s all that fight? Where’s that backbone? Look at you now, kneeling like a pathetic dog.” Thump. Thump. Thump. The goon slammed my head against the floor again and again. A warm stream of liquid trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision. I bit my lip, tasting blood, and forced myself to look up at her. “When my dad gets here,” I squeezed the words through clenched teeth, “you’re finished.” Sharon froze for a second, then burst into maniacal laughter. “Your dad? What, is he some construction worker from a job site down the street?” Her eyes glittered with a new, venomous idea. “Fine. Let him come. Let him see what his daughter really is.” She leisurely stood up and retrieved a utility knife from her purse. I tried to turn my head away, but the goon held me fast. Click. The blade slid out, glinting under the office lights. “A worthless bitch like you should have it carved on your face for the whole world to see.” The cold metal traced a path along my cheek, sending a tremor of pure terror through me. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain. It’s over. It’s really over… The instant before the blade could cut— BANG! The main door of the firm was thrown open with such force it slammed against the wall. A powerful voice, filled with a familiar, grounding authority, echoed through the room. “You dare lay a hand on my daughter? Grant, liquidate every asset tied to the Wallace name. Terminate all our contracts with their family’s companies. Immediately.”

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