Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Three days after the stomach cancer diagnosis, I picked out a grave. A prime piece of real estate, overlooking the valley. They said the spot was impeccable. It would guarantee a better life next time. A life where I wouldn’t be the unwanted “real daughter” — the one who came back and ruined the harmony. A life where no one could steal my parents, my brothers, my life. A life where… I was loved. I burned the photos, shredded the clothes, and erased every trace that Rowan Harrington had ever existed. Then I ran a bath, took a blade to my wrist, and settled in to wait. The call came as a final, cruel interruption. My final resting place, of all things. “Ms. Harrington, we are so sorry.” The voice from The Haven Memorial Park was slick with apology. “Two agents cross-booked the plot.” “It was simultaneously sold to another gentleman, Mr. Rhys Thorne.” “Would you… be open to choosing a different plot?” 1 Hell, no! I’d heard of moving cars, moving apartments. But a grave? Rage and despair churned in my stomach, making the blood loss-induced nausea worse. I lurched upright in the tub. Blood-dyed water sloshed over the rim, staining the pristine marble floor. Every curse word I had ever swallowed in my life rushed to my lips. But habit was a fortress. I forced the venom down. “I watched the contract upload into your system. It’s tied to my personal information.” “Yes, well,” the park representative stammered, “Mr. Thorne signed his contract at the same time, so…” “So, his name isn’t on the system yet, is it?” I cut him off, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m sorry, but no. I am not open to choosing a different plot.” When I came home, I couldn’t win the fight for my family. My parents, my brothers—they all went to my sister, Chloe. But this plot? It was legally mine. I wasn’t going to lose this, too. The line went silent for a beat. When the voice returned, it was a low, resonant baritone I didn’t recognize. “Ms. Harrington, name your price.” “Any amount. Consider it compensation.” The edges of my vision were starting to blur from the loss of blood. I pressed the heels of my hands into my forehead, trying to clear the haze. “It’s not about the money.” I told him honestly, the words slurring only slightly. “I need it. Urgently.” But the cemetery, clearly sensing a big-money client, jumped to the new man’s defense. “Ms. Harrington, we genuinely have hundreds of other premium plots. Mr. Thorne… he has a more immediate need.” “And you’re a young woman. Even if you’re in a rush, you have time to—” “Is Mr. Thorne purchasing it for himself?” I interrupted. My question stopped them both. I didn’t wait for the answer. I looked down at the hand soaking in the warm, crimson water. Softly, calmly, I deployed my greatest competitive advantage. “I’m slitting my wrists right now. I’m dying today.” “I really do need it urgently.” “Please stop fighting me for it. Or, if you love it that much, maybe we can… split the plot?” 2 A sudden, stunned silence fell over the phone line. I didn’t break it. I was doing a mental check of logistics. I figured cremation this afternoon and burial tonight would be the most secure option. This plot—my perfect, private spot—I had to secure it. But to do that, I needed to ensure someone would collect the body. No delays. I bit back a whimper of pain, grabbed the phone off the edge of the tub, and opened the family group chat. The one pinned to the top of my messages. Ro: Guys, I’m planning on taking my life. Ro: Could one of you please come back to the condo to collect the body? Ro: @all. I hit send, not mentioning the cancer—that would just sound like another lie. Less than twenty seconds later, the screen flashed: [Dad] has left the chat. A bitter laugh escaped me. Perfect. Once the logistics were sorted, I’d dissolve the group myself. They had their other group chat, anyway. The one that didn’t include me. On the phone, Rhys Thorne cleared his throat. His tone was a complex weave of shock, doubt, and careful concern. “Ms. Harrington, you’re… kidding, right?” A fresh line of blood tracked from my wrist down to my elbow, hitting the water with a light, clear plink. It served as my answer. The line went silent again. Then, a sudden rush of wind roared in the background of his call. He must have been outside, or maybe speeding somewhere. I didn’t pay attention. The dizziness was getting worse. My family group chat remained desolate. No one answered. I pressed my lips together, took a shaky breath, and snapped a gruesome photo of my bloodied arm. Ro: Sorry. No joke this time. Ro: The grave site is being fought over. I’m serious about the rush. Ro: Just reply to me once. This is the last time. Please? Buzz. The phone vibrated weakly a moment later. Unexpectedly, someone replied. Ethan: K. 3 K. Go to hell, Ethan. Ro: Thank you for your service. I exited the chat, intending to delete the app altogether. But the phone immediately buzzed a few more times. Chloe: Sis, I’m so sorry… I’ll make Mom, Dad, and the guys come back right now. Chloe: Ethan is busy with work, let’s not bother him. Declan: Come back for what, a pity party?! Declan: This is all because it’s your birthday, and we’re out with Chloe, isn’t it? Declan: We said we’d be back tonight! Rowan, what the hell do you want? Declan: You can’t go one day without causing drama? Can’t you stop performing for attention? A sharp, physical pain constricted my chest. I smiled a pained, shaky smile. Ro: Sure I can. I’m dying, remember? Chloe. She was the girl my parents adopted three years after I was accidentally abducted. She was supposed to be my temporary replacement, a vessel for their grief and guilt. But ever since I came back, I’d envied her. Chloe was the blinding sunlight that helped my family move past the shadows. I was the shadow they couldn’t shake. I came back with all the scars and side effects of my years missing: uncouth, timid, awkward, lacking education. They felt a crushing guilt toward me, but that guilt was wrapped in an uncomfortable distance. I was a permanent, unwelcome guest in the Harrington house. Chloe was their family—the one they laughed with, joked with, and indulged. I tried for years to erase the seven missing years, to ingratiate myself, to earn their love. But no matter how hard I tried, their preference for Chloe only grew. They started to see me as jealous, bullying, manipulative—always vying for their attention. The distance became outright contempt. It all broke on that final day: “We ran tests. Your pill bottle was filled with vitamins!” “Why the hell do you keep complaining about stomach pain then?” “Using our guilt to hold the entire family hostage, is that fun?” “Competing with Chloe, is that what makes you happy?!” No. It wasn’t fun. So now I had cancer. And I was dying. I wouldn’t be a burden or a rival to their precious Chloe anymore. This family? They could keep it. 4 Mom: Rowan… how did you become like this? Mom: Blame me, but please don’t do this. Mom: I’m coming back now… Declan: Mom, ignore her! She’s a liar! Suicide? Fine! Go drown yourself in the ocean! Declan: Just don’t mess up the house or bother us with the cleanup. Declan: From now on, the Harrington family doesn’t have you. A pause. Fifteen seconds of excruciating silence. Then, he sent the final, fatal message: Declan: Sometimes, I actually wish you had never come back. The cut on my wrist, which had felt numb moments ago, erupted in searing, soul-shattering pain. It was a physical manifestation of the emotional wound. Tears that I couldn’t control began to stream down my face. “Rowan Harrington!” Perhaps my silence had lasted too long. Rhys Thorne’s voice—deep, strong, and utterly furious—came through the phone. The wind howled on his end of the line. “Talk to me!” 5 His shout dragged me back to my body. I blinked away the tears, quickly pressed a towel to the major bleeding points on my wrist, and slowly, weakly, stood up. I managed a small, tired smile as I closed my eyes. “The plot is yours.” “I won’t be needing it anymore.” 6 Ro: K, sounds good. I’ll take your advice. 7 Since the burial plot was legally tied to my information, both parties had to meet to sign the transfer papers. I set the meeting location at Metropolitan General Hospital. I needed to get stitched up before going to the ocean, anyway. After such a long time bleeding, I might not make it to the water otherwise. And then I’d just be a mess for someone else to clean up. I was surprised. Rhys Thorne should have been driving from the distant memorial park, yet he arrived only ten minutes after I did, despite me being in the city. The agent, wiping sweat from his brow, noticed my confusion. “Mr. Thorne drove straight here the moment he heard you were… suicidal.” “He checked your file for your home address and sped back to the city.” “He probably broke every speed limit.” I looked over at the man standing next to the agent. Tall, well-built, dressed in a simple white tee, a casual jacket, and chinos. He was remarkably handsome, with clear, intense eyes. “You just got here, too?” Rhys asked, slightly out of breath. “Come on, we need to find a nurse—” “Rowan Harrington, number zero-zero-seven, please report to Examination Room B.” The robotic voice from the speaker cut him off. Rhys stared at me, dumbfounded. “You’re in this condition, and you took a number?” I nodded, confused by his reaction. “Uh, yeah. Why? No rush, right? Don’t want to take up the ER resources.” “Rowan Harrington?” A familiar, icy voice of surprise sounded behind me. I turned. I hadn’t expected to see Owen Harrington—my second brother, a rising star internist at the City Hospital. What was he doing here, at Metro General? Owen clearly hadn’t expected the name being called to actually be me. His brow furrowed as he approached. The screen of his phone was lit up. It looked like a text message thread. Oh, no. It must have been the group chat. “Did you know I was here for a surgical symposium today?” His voice was a cold, distant accusation. His eyes swept over my makeshift-bandaged wrist, and a flicker of impatience crossed his face. “There’s a limit to how far you can push a pathetic stunt, Rowan.” 8 The Harrington family had three sons. Ethan was the businessman, Owen the doctor, and Declan the racecar driver. Compared to Declan’s toxic cruelty, my older brothers were generally characterized by their busy schedules and cool indifference. I barely reacted to Owen’s words. Rhys Thorne, however, frowned instantly. He stepped forward, taking my arm and pulling me into the exam room, gently sitting me down on the edge of the examination table. “Doctor, this is an emergency. It cannot be delayed.” Rhys shot a pointed, cold glance back at Owen, who was still standing at the door. Owen’s face tightened. He stood frozen for a few seconds, then let out a cold, cynical laugh. “You’ve stooped so low that only Chloe would fall for this performance.” “She was worried sick about you and is already hurrying Mom and Dad back home.” “Congratulations. As you wished, the whole family is miserable. Satisfied?” His gaze slid over my bandaged wrist again. His eyes darkened, but he said nothing else. He simply turned, walking toward the exit, apparently confident I would follow his command. That’s when the doctor, reading the information from my intake card, gasped. “You have stomach cancer?!” “This needs a gastroenterologist. You registered for general surgery—that won’t help you!” The exam room fell silent. The hand Rhys had on my wrist froze instantly. Owen Harrington stopped dead in the doorway. But unlike Rhys’s sheer shock, Owen’s face registered immediate annoyance and contempt. “First a suicide attempt, now cancer.” “Rowan Harrington, know when to quit.” “If you keep this up, you won’t have a way to save face if you don’t actually die.” My eyes flickered, the pain replaced by a quiet, bitter amusement. I nodded slowly, forcing a slight smile. “Okay. Then I guess I’ll just go die.” 9 Owen let out a short, tired scoff and pinched the bridge of his nose. His impatience was bordering on outright disgust. “I’ve been in meetings for hours. I’m too exhausted to watch your performance, Rowan.” Owen’s work was demanding and unpredictable. For years, I had quietly adapted to his schedule, making sure I never added to his burdens. If this were a month ago, I would have rushed over, offered a water, and apologized for troubling him. But this time, I stayed put, sitting quietly. I looked up at him, my expression blank. “Then you should go home and rest early.” Owen’s face froze. A flash of something—confusion? panic?—crossed his eyes, before it snapped back to his default cold indifference. “Whatever. Do what you want.” “Just keep your word. If you’re not coming home, don’t ever come back.” My heart remained utterly still, like dead water that couldn’t be stirred. I nodded softly, my smile serene. “K. Sounds good. I’ll take your advice.” “Take my advice, my ass.” Very suddenly, Rhys Thorne snapped. He gently but firmly pulled my hand onto the examination table for the doctor, stood up, and turned to face Owen. Rhys’s eyes were dark, his expression lethal. He only said one word. “Roll.” 10 The exam room door slammed shut behind Owen. Rhys pulled up a chair next to mine and sat down, silently watching the doctor unwrapping the crude bandage on my wrist. I broke the silence. “Just give me the transfer papers. I’ll sign them now.” I didn’t want to waste his time. Rhys didn’t answer. His gaze moved from the grotesque cut on my arm to my eyes. “You said you needed it urgently. Why concede?” “And if you’re not going home, where exactly are you going?” The plot’s yours, dude. Why do you care? I thought. Stop interrogating me. I was planning to just use the safe excuse—I don’t need it. But Rhys’s eyes were too intense, too perceptive. I had a feeling that any lie would only prolong the conversation. I sighed, giving in to the strange necessity of the truth. “It’s too much trouble to arrange for someone to collect the body.” “So, I’m planning to drown myself in the sea and feed the fish.” “The plot is no long—Ouch!” The doctor, apparently startled by my morbid update, lost his grip on the gauze, tightening it painfully. He gave me an apologetic look, clipped the dressing tape, and then paused. He spoke gently. “Are you sure you don’t want to try and fight this?” “With good management, you can usually buy yourself five more years with stomach cancer.” I blinked, then shook my head with a light laugh. “Nah. Lived long enough. I don’t need the extra three to five years.” I pulled my bandaged hand back and turned my head, intending to ask Rhys for the papers again. My eyes caught the realtor standing behind him. I blinked again. Wait. Those two men came empty-handed. “So, the transfer papers… where are they?” Rhys’s expression shifted. He pressed his lips together, his eyes becoming unreadable. He thought for a few seconds, then finally spoke. “Rowan Harrington. Let’s split the plot.” 11 It might have been the blood loss. It was probably the shock of his bizarre proposal. My vision went completely black for a moment. I steadied myself for several long seconds before I found my voice. “Excuse me?” “Didn’t you suggest it?” Rhys smiled faintly. “‘If you love it that much, maybe we can split the plot.’” “I think that’s an excellent idea.” “It’s perfect for a loner like me.” “Your relatives will come and visit, bring flowers, and pay their respects on all the major holidays. I get to piggyback on their love.” “It’s a great value proposition.” He met my stunned gaze, his smile softening. “In return, I’ll personally arrange the collection and cleanup of your body, no fuss.” I clutched my chest. I looked back and forth between him and the door. Why did that sound… appealing? “But you can probably tell from the scene at the hospital, my family won’t actually come to visit.” “Doesn’t matter,” Rhys said, entirely unconcerned. “Having a neighbor is better than having no company at all.” He stood up and looked down at me, his demeanor casual and easy—a complete contrast to the cold fury he’d just shown Owen. “If Ms. Harrington isn’t willing, I can always look for another—” “Deal!” 12 I picked a gorgeous beach—a misty, private cove where the sunset stained the sky in brilliant hues. It felt like a magnificent place for a grand finale. But I was already starting to regret my “plot-sharing” arrangement with Rhys. The man was too meticulous. “Let’s just wait for the sunset. We’re not in that much of a rush.” “The water at night is too cold.” “In fact, let’s just wait for the sunrise, then you can go.” Fine. You’re the cleanup guy. You make the rules. The night wait for the sunrise was agonizingly long. Blood loss makes you tired, and I quickly drifted off. I expected the five-thirty alarm to wake me. I did not expect my third brother, Declan, to call me via video chat at 10:32 PM. Rhys was asleep, slumped comfortably against the passenger window. I quietly opened the car door and stepped out. I answered the call. The screen immediately filled with the image of the Harringtons’ ornate dining room table, Chloe in the center, bathed in attention. Ethan wasn’t there, but the others were. “Rowan, are you insane?!” Declan’s brow was deeply furrowed, his voice choked with anger. “You drag the whole family back, and now where the hell are you?” “Chloe spent the entire afternoon making your favorite meal. Get your ass home now!” Mom leaned into the frame, her voice still soft, but layered with exhaustion and disappointment. “Rowan, please stop this. Just come back and celebrate your birthday with us, okay?” Dad scoffed. “Making your parents wait to eat? Where are your manners?” My eyes skimmed the clearly disturbed plates of food. I smiled faintly. It occurred to me that Rhys’s cleanup schedule and my death schedule didn’t have to be linked. Why was I waiting for him? A profound, dead calm settled in my heart. I took a decisive step forward. The water rushed over my feet. “I’m dying right now. I’m not coming back.” Just as I spoke, the lock on the front door clicked. Ethan Harrington, dressed in a sharp suit, appeared in the doorway. His gaze swept over the table. He changed his shoes, then walked directly toward the only bedroom on the first floor. My room. “I was busy in a meeting this afternoon. I forgot about Rowan.” “How is she? Still being dramatic?” He spoke lightly, casually, then reached for the doorknob and opened my bedroom door— 13 The room was utterly empty. All my belongings were gone. The sliding bathroom door was wide open. The tub was a horrifying scene of bright, red water. The sight shocked everyone into silence. Owen, the doctor, reacted the fastest. He shot up from the table and sprinted into the room. When he saw the level of blood in the tub, he sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes quickly filled with panic and disbelief. “No, wait, this volume of blood—this is not a stunt.” “She—she was really trying to die…” He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and quickly scrolled through something, zooming in on the screen. I couldn’t see the image, the video feed was too blurry. But I knew exactly what he was looking at: the photo of my cut wrist. Ah. That explained it. How could a doctor—my own brother—have thought I was just acting if he had actually looked at the depth of that cut? He hadn’t. He hadn’t even bothered to look. A cold certainty settled in my heart. I tilted my head back, raising my hand to end the call. But Owen snatched the phone from Declan. His face was pale. “Rowan Harrington, stop this immediately.” “Come back… just come home.” “Or tell me where you are. I’ll come get you…” 14 The seawater was chilling, rising past my waist. Rhys was right. The night water was truly freezing. I stopped moving and finally let my eyes focus on the screen. I met Owen’s terrified gaze. “Go back. And then what?” “Go back to being your awkward, visiting stranger, watching how much you adore Chloe?” “We never wronged you, though!” Declan’s defensive, tortured voice came clearly through the speaker. Unlike Owen, who now seemed to suspect the cancer was real, Declan was still convinced I was acting out. But his hostility had softened into a desperate defensiveness. “We’ve never lacked for you. Who walked on eggshells and treated you like a princess before you started your little schemes?” “Why do you have to compete with Chloe?” They never lacked for me. True. They just didn’t love me. Chloe gets a cold, and the entire family coos and gives her medicine. I slit my wrist, and I get “Go die somewhere else so you don’t bother us with the cleanup.” These were my biological parents and brothers. Why shouldn’t I compete? Why the hell shouldn’t I fight for them to love me?! “Rowan,” Owen swallowed hard. “Just come home first. We can talk when you’re home.” “If you’re really sick, your brother will save you…” I kept walking. The cold water submerged the rough bandage, and a sharp sting registered. I smiled faintly and cut him off. “Owen Harrington, I haven’t had a brother, or a home, for a very long time.” Owen’s body stiffened. It seemed to hit him that I hadn’t called them “brother” in a very long time. Not since the day they accused me of lying about my stomach pain. They were the ones who said it. “Rowan Harrington, I truly wish Chloe was our real sister.” Owen’s eyes widened with a frantic, regretful look. He shook his head, his voice trembling. “No, that’s not true! Those were words spoken in anger, out of disappointment!” “We just didn’t want you to keep bullying Chloe or competing with her—” A large hand reached over and snatched the phone away. I looked up in surprise. Rhys Thorne was standing right behind me in the water, his moonlight-drenched gaze heavy. “People only envy others for two reasons.” “One, they believe the person doesn’t deserve it.” “Two, because they lack it themselves.” “You had the energy to criticize her jealousy.” “But you never had the decency to give her what she lacked—security, affection, belief.” Rhys let out a cold, short laugh, his lips curling with pure contempt. “It’s not favoritism. It’s just lazy cruelty.” “Garbage.” 15 Splash! The phone was tossed into the waves, sending a small spray of water into the air. My eyes widened. Wait. That was my phone, right? You just threw my phone into the ocean? “Rowan Harrington.” Rhys took my hand and stood with me in the icy sea, his eyes locked on mine. He didn’t say anything else. He just sighed, then bent down and lifted me horizontally out of the water. He held me tightly against his chest, turning toward the shore. “I have a home. Why don’t you come take a look?” “If you like it, we can try sharing that, too.”

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Years after graduation, my high school desk-mate and secret crush had become a massive superstar. When we crossed paths at our class reunion, his expression was icy. “And you are?” Everyone thought Perry Wright had forgotten me. That was until the news of my accidental death traveled back. While my best friend was packing up my belongings, she accidentally discovered a love letter Perry had written to me years ago, hidden inside a picture frame. [June, loving you in secret is too bitter. I don’t want to like you anymore.] But further down, there was a line of small text: [Just kidding. I lied.] That same night, the news of Perry committing suicide made global headlines. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the class reunion. I looked at the indifferent Perry sitting across from me, tentatively pulled out my phone, and sent him a text. The very next second, his phone blasted a unique, dedicated ringtone. Perry: “…” 1 I died on a snowy day. I went out to the mountains looking for inspiration, got lost, got trapped, and died of hypothermia. It was a very undignified way to go. My best friend, Zoe, rushed over the moment she got the news. When she identified my body, she was crying so hard she could barely breathe. “June! How could you have the heart to leave me like this?” “Even if Perry doesn’t remember you, you still have me!” My soul was floating in mid-air, and hearing this made me cringe so hard my phantom toes curled. If I weren’t already stone-cold dead, I would have rushed over to cover her mouth. The police had already ruled it an accident. Why did she have to make it sound like I offed myself over a broken heart? Can’t a girl leave a little dignity behind? But clearly, Zoe didn’t think so. For some reason, she was convinced my death had something to do with Perry. She whipped out her phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he picked up. “Hello?” A raspy male voice came through, sounding like he’d just been woken up. “Zoe? What is it? I just pulled an all-nighter filming…” “Perry,” Zoe interrupted him, her voice thick with grief. “June is dead.” Silence stretched on the other end of the line. Even as a ghost, I felt a tiny spark of hope. How would Perry react knowing I was dead? Would he be sad? Or would he think it was just the passing of someone insignificant? After all, at the reunion a few days ago, he had been so cold. When our classmates teased us, he simply asked in a chilly voice, “And you are?” The moment those words left his lips, the air in the room froze. Meeting his indifferent gaze, the courage I had spent hours building up instantly evaporated. I could only stammer, “No… nothing,” and lower my head, terrified to look up again. Actually… I couldn’t blame him. He was a top-tier celebrity now. It had been six years since graduation. It was a good thing he didn’t remember me. Otherwise, I would always feel like I owed him an apology. “Perry, did you hear me?” Zoe cried into the phone when he didn’t respond. “I said June is dead! She’s gone!” Thud. A heavy sound came from the other side, like something dropping to the floor. Perry seemed to be gritting his teeth, his voice trembling. “…I don’t believe you.” The next second, the call was disconnected. Zoe, furious and sobbing, snapped a photo of my death certificate and texted it to him, only to find she’d been blocked. I wanted to comfort her, but my hand passed right through her shoulder. So, I just hugged her through the air. Don’t cry, you silly girl. 2 Five days after my death, Zoe brought my ashes back to the city. I didn’t have much family in the country. My only brother was on a business trip abroad and was currently on a flight back. When Zoe entered my apartment with the urn, my Ragdoll cat, Nugget, had been hungry for two days. I had left three days’ worth of food, thinking I’d be back. I never thought I wouldn’t make it. Zoe used to visit often, so Nugget recognized her immediately and pounced, meowing for food. Probably realizing I wasn’t there, Zoe almost started crying again. She filled the bowl, and the cat dove in. Zoe went into the study to pack up my things. I was a full-time author, so I spent more time in the study than the bedroom. The desk was exactly how I left it. Next to the computer was a framed photo of our high school friend group. In the photo, Zoe was linking arms with me in the center. Perry stood on the far right. While I smiled at the camera, Perry’s eyes were looking sideways—at me. Zoe was currently furious at Perry. She packed everything else and reached for the frame last. Just then, a very full Nugget jumped up. Seeing Zoe reach for the frame, the cat launched a playful attack. Crash! The frame hit the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Zoe jumped. As she picked up the cat, she noticed something hidden in the backing of the broken frame. “Meow.” Nugget realized he’d messed up and let out an apologetic squeak. Zoe bent down and pulled a letter out of the debris. She opened it. It was a love letter. Both Zoe and I were confused. The paper was yellowed with age, but the handwriting was sharp and clear. Every word was filled with a hidden, grand, unrequited love. [June, loving you in secret is too bitter. I don’t want to like you anymore.] Further down, in smaller print: [Just kidding. I lied.] When our eyes hit the bottom right corner, we both froze. The signature was Perry. The current A-list celebrity. And my high school desk-mate whom I had secretly loved for years. I suddenly remembered. Perry had given me this photo frame in our senior year. I had moved many times over the years, but this frame always came with me, sitting by my computer. I never dreamed it held such a secret. I thought back to that last phone call, Perry’s trembling voice saying “I don’t believe you”… My heart ached violently. Do ghosts feel heartbreak? Zoe immediately pulled out her phone and unblocked Perry. But before she could dial, a notification popped up from Twitter. #PerryWright Suicide My hands shaking, I watched Zoe click the trending topic. A video from a verified gossip account had been posted ten minutes ago. An ambulance was parked outside a luxury villa. Security and staff were everywhere. The camera shook, catching a glimpse of a hand hanging off the stretcher. The fingers were pale, slender. Dark red liquid dripped from the fingertips, blooming like flowers on the pavement. [Perry Wright attempts suicide at home. Suicide note suspected to reference a lost love.] I stared at the words “Lost Love.” My brain short-circuited. No. It shouldn’t be like this. Why would he die? How could he die? In an instant, memories flashed through my mind like a carousel, finally stopping on a snowy winter day. Seventeen-year-old Perry stood at the bottom of the school steps, reaching his hand out to me. “It’s a deal then, June.” He smiled, his eyes curving into crescents, looking impossibly gentle. “If I become a big star, you have to come be my manager.” A gust of wind blew, covering the world in white snow. It felt like a long dream. 3 “June? June!” I snapped back to reality. “Why are you zoning out? Perry is here!” I looked at Zoe’s concerned face and felt my eyes sting. It’s real. I was back. Back to the day of the reunion. I looked up and locked eyes with Perry. In that split second, I knew exactly what he was going to say— And you are? “Why are you crying?” The voice in my memory overlapped with the voice in my ear. I looked at him blankly. “What?” Unlike the last life, Perry didn’t ask who I was. He frowned, his voice cold as he repeated himself. “Why are you crying?” He instinctively started to reach out, but realizing where we were, he froze. He turned his face away, his frown deepening. I touched my cheek. I hadn’t realized tears were falling. “June?” Zoe noticed something was wrong. “Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” “No, nothing…” I took a deep breath, hastily wiping my face and pretending to rub my eyes. “I think an eyelash got in my eye.” So awkward. Crying right in front of him. Perry must think I’m insane. I stole a glance at him. He was talking to Zoe. Zoe was a fashion editor now, the only one in the room who had any professional connection to Perry. That was why she could contact him when I died in my past life. The reunion had been planned for a month. Knowing Perry was coming, tons of people showed up. Even now, as food was served, countless eyes were glued to him. Some people are born protagonists. He just had to sit there to be the center of the universe. Separated by Zoe, I buried my head and ate quietly. Seeing him again was enough. In this life, if I don’t die, he won’t die. Halfway through the meal, the Class President walked over with a glass of wine, insisting on toasting Perry. “Mr. Superstar! We thought you wouldn’t make it. You really honored us today!” Perry smiled politely, took a sip of his wine. The Class President’s gaze drifted to Zoe, then to me. He frowned slightly. “Are you… June Wells?” Suddenly, the other classmates who were toasting looked over. “It really is you!” The President got excited. “You transferred so suddenly senior year and cut off all contact. I didn’t think you’d show up!” “Speaking of which, weren’t you and our Superstar desk-mates back then?” I felt Perry’s gaze land on me. “Really?” I heard Perry’s voice, cool and detached, as if he didn’t care I existed. “I forgot a long time ago.” The food in my bowl had gone cold. I swallowed it. It tasted bitter. 4 In the winter of our senior year, I transferred schools suddenly due to family issues. One day we were planning our future; the next, I vanished. For the next few years, Zoe was my only link to my old life. She knew my situation but never brought it up. The following summer, Perry appeared on a talent show and won the championship. That summer, his name was everywhere. The face I knew so well was on every TV screen. His songs played in every mall. Overnight, I went from the girl sharing his desk to being one in a million fans following him on social media. And I could finally say out loud that the person I liked was named Perry Wright. College years were lonely. Several times, I opened Perry’s chat window, only to fall silent looking at the history. [June, where are you?] [June, you’re late.] [June, what happened?] [June, it’s snowing. Remember your umbrella.] Below that were dozens of missed calls and countless worried messages. The last message was sent nine hours later, at midnight. [June, I’m not waiting anymore.] That was New Year’s Eve. We had a date. I stood him up. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. Finally, my phone rang. It was him. I jumped, and seeing the caller ID, I instinctively answered. I heard his familiar breathing. My throat was tight. I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say. “June…” The person on the other end sounded like he was grinding his teeth. “Speak.” “What does ‘typing’ for ten minutes mean?” I took a deep breath and whispered, “Are… are you okay?” The breathing stopped for a second. I had imagined our reunion a million times. But in the end, separated by a screen, his voice was ice cold. “Thanks to you, I’m doing great.” After a long silence, I said dryly, “Then… I wish you the best. I hope you get famous. A smooth path to the stars…” Beep— He hung up. I stared at the screen, crying and laughing at the same time. Later, he did exactly what I wished for. He exploded in popularity. And my secret, grand high school crush came to a quiet end.

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