Category: English

1 To force me to break off our engagement, my fiancé drove my father’s company into bankruptcy, saddling us with millions in debt. The shock triggered a heart attack, and my father was rushed into intensive care. As I knelt and begged my fiancé for the money to cover the surgery, my childhood friend, Stephen Blackwood, suddenly returned from abroad. He arranged for the best doctors and stayed by my side, keeping a round-the-clock vigil at my father’s bedside. But a week later, my father suffered another, more severe heart attack. To give him peace in his final moments, Stephen knelt before him and swore he would marry me, that he would take care of me for the rest of his life. After the funeral, my spirit broken, I canceled my engagement. I married Stephen instead. Five years later, I overheard a conversation between him and my ex-fiancé. “I have to hand it to you, your move was brilliant,” my ex, Mark, said. “You got that leech Lucille to give up on me willingly. But tell me, if she ever finds out you were the one who killed her father, do you think she’ll want to kill you?” My hand froze on the handle of the private lounge door. Mark’s mocking voice continued. “You’re a real piece of work, Stephen. Lucille grew up with you, treated you like a brother. I bet she’d never dream that the person who bankrupted her father’s company was you.” Mark scoffed. “If it weren’t for Ava, I never would have taken the fall for you all these years. I may have hated Lucille, but I’d never go as far as driving her father to his grave.” A glass slammed onto the table. Stephen’s voice, thick with alcohol and anger, cut through the air. “What I owe Lucille, I’ll spend my life making up for. And I only helped you back then because I wanted Ava to be happy. If you ever hurt her, if you make her shed a single tear, I’ll kill you.” Mark let out a cynical sound. “So devoted. Too bad she met me first. You’d better go back to protecting your precious Lucille. After all, you killed her father. Be careful he doesn’t come back to haunt you in your sleep.” Crash! A glass shattered against the door, and I heard footsteps approaching. I took a sharp breath and fled, stumbling down to the bar. I grabbed a glass and threw back the contents in one gulp. I never drank, and the alcohol burned my throat, bringing tears to my eyes. The words echoed in my mind, over and over. The one who ruined my father wasn’t Mark. It was Stephen, the man who paid for his surgery. The second heart attack a week later… it must have been because of something Stephen said. No wonder my father had stared so intensely at him as he took his last breath. I had thought it was a look of gratitude, of entrusting me to him. The man I had shared a bed with for five years, the husband who held me in the palm of his hand, was the one who had indirectly murdered my father. And our marriage, his years of false affection, were nothing more than his idea of compensation, a way to soothe his own guilt. It was a sick joke. Grief and rage churned inside me. My gaze fell on the empty glass in my hand when I felt a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. Stephen buried his face in my neck, his voice a warm, drunken murmur. “Lucille, you were gone so long. I missed you… Let’s go home. I love you, Lucille… I love you so, so much…” For years, whenever Stephen got drunk, he would whisper how much he loved me. His friends always said a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts, that he was utterly devoted to me. Now, it was all just a pathetic lie. I gently pushed him away and helped him into the car. He collapsed onto my lap, his brow smoothing as he fell into what looked like a deep sleep. “Ava… Ava… why didn’t you choose me? Why…” This time, I heard it clearly. The name that haunted his dreams. Ava. Ava Reed. The woman who stole my fiancé. Stephen’s one true love. He had never forgotten her. He had married me and put on this grand performance of a loving husband, all for her. I had underestimated the depths of his devotion to her. A phone clattered from his pocket. I bent to pick it up, and the screen lit up with a new message. “Thanks for covering for me tonight, Stephen. I can’t accept the necklace, it’s too much.” A second later, a notification popped up from Ava’s social media. Her new post: “Love is priceless.” The photo was of a dazzling diamond necklace, the very one that had made headlines for being sold to a mysterious billionaire for a hundred million dollars—a one-of-a-kind piece. She had posted it for me to see. This week, Stephen had been so busy he’d barely eaten, ending up in the ER with stomach pains. The moment he was discharged, he flew to London. I was so worried, thinking he was killing himself for work. Now I knew the truth. He had gone to an auction. Even doubled over in pain, he had to be there to buy the world’s most precious necklace for the woman he truly loved. My fingers moved on their own, typing in the screen lock password. The last digit entered, the phone unlocked. It was Ava’s birthday. Stephen never let me touch his phone, always talking about personal space. The first thing I saw was Ava’s radiant smile, his wallpaper. No wonder his eyes always softened whenever he unlocked his phone. I opened his photo gallery. It was meticulously organized. Ava at Ten. Ava at Eleven… Ava at Twenty-Five. Each album was filled with pictures of Ava, capturing her smile through the years. Thousands of photos, and not a single one of me. Not even one of himself. Only Ava. Just like his heart. It had only ever belonged to Ava. I opened his notes app and found his diary. [Date] Sunny. Ava scraped her knee on a branch today. It’s all my fault. I never should have planted those trees in the yard. [Date] Sunny. Ava got married today. As long as she’s happy, anything I do is worth it. My only purpose is to see her smile. [Date] Rainy. I got married. When I saw Ava in the crowd, I wished with all my heart that she was the one standing beside me. The car pulled into our driveway. I looked up at the bare yard, a chill spreading through my limbs. There used to be two peach trees there, transplanted from my childhood home. My father had planted them for me on my tenth birthday. Looking at them always made me feel like he was still with me. Then one day, their roots mysteriously rotted. Stephen held me for three days and nights as I cried. Now I knew. It was him. He was the one who destroyed the only living memory my father left me. A new message popped up from his assistant. [Mr. Blackwood, per your instructions, the final draft of your will is complete. All assets will be left to Ms. Ava Reed.] [It just needs your signature to be executed.] Through a blur of tears, I saw him again, at my father’s funeral, holding me close and making a promise. “Lucille, I’ll give you a home. Everything I have will be yours.” I put Stephen to bed, but unlike every other night, I didn’t take off his shoes or care for him. I went straight to the guest room. I closed my eyes, but all I could see were the loving gestures, the tender moments, the beautiful lies of the past five years. The next morning, I woke to sunlight streaming across my face and found Stephen gazing at me, his eyes soft. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Lucille, were you upset last night? I’m sorry, I had too much to drink. I promise it won’t happen again.” His performance was as flawless as ever. I just hummed in response, pushed him away, and went to the bathroom, washing the lingering warmth of his kiss from my skin. The breakfast table was laden with food. Before, this would have filled me with joy. But after reading his diary, I couldn’t feel anything but disgust. This was a feast of all of Ava’s favorite dishes. The sound of a key in the front door cut through the silence. Ava swept in, dressed in a pristine white dress, and sat down at the table as if she owned the place. She gave me a small smile. “Sorry to intrude, Lucille. Stephen and I have a photoshoot this morning, he invited me over for breakfast.” I said nothing, my eyes fixed on the keychain in her hand. It was identical to mine. Stephen sensed my mood and leaned in to whisper, “Ava is our best friend. It’s normal for her to have a key…” He stopped mid-sentence, his voice changing as he shot up from his seat and snatched a glass of soy milk from Ava’s hand. “Ava, you can’t drink that! How can you still forget after all these years?” Ava smiled coyly. “You’re right. I’m so lucky to have had you looking out for me all this time.” They stared at each other, a portrait of two lovers lost in their own world. I had no desire to watch. As I turned to leave, Ava called out to me. “Lucille, I remember you studied photography. Could you shoot for me today? I don’t really trust the new photographer.” I hadn’t touched a camera since my father died. He was the one who had taught me everything. The weight of it in my hands brought back the image of his frail, defeated form in his last moments. I never had the courage to press the shutter again. Stephen knew this. He had locked all my equipment away, telling me not to force it, that he would help me heal until I was ready. But now, before I could refuse, he was pushing me into the back of his car. “Lucille, you know Ava gets carsick. You’ll have to sit in the back.” He’d forgotten that my carsickness was worse. I had barely touched my breakfast, and my stomach churned the entire way. When we arrived, Stephen carefully held the hem of Ava’s dress as he escorted her into the studio. I leaned against the car, gasping for fresh air. “Lucille, the shoot is about to start,” Stephen said, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. “Be good. Don’t be difficult. This is important for Ava and for Blackwood Enterprises.” I stumbled, nearly falling. Holding the camera after five years felt alien and terrifying. My hands trembled. I fought back the waves of grief and forced myself to shoot. During a break, Ava and I were alone in the studio. She flipped through the photos, a smirk on her face. “You’re just as useless as your father, Lucille. Can’t do anything right. Like father, like daughter.” My nails dug into my palms, my body shaking with a rage that was about to erupt. Slap! A sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Ava shook her hand, looking down at me with contempt. “You’re so shameless, Lucille. I can’t believe after Mark dumped you, you immediately latched onto Stephen. What makes you think you’re worthy of him? Let me tell you, both Mark and Stephen belong to me. You are not worthy.” My head was still reeling from the blow when she suddenly grabbed my hand, slapped herself across the face with it, and then crumpled to the floor. She clutched her cheek, her eyes welling with tears, a perfect picture of a damsel in distress. “Lucille, I didn’t say the photos were bad,” she sobbed. “I just wanted you to try a different angle… If you didn’t want to, you could have just said so…” The door opened and Stephen dropped the water bottle he was holding. He rushed past me, kneeling to check on Ava. “Stephen, I’m fine,” she whimpered. “Please don’t blame Lucille. She didn’t mean it. I just lost my balance.” “Ava, you’re too kind! You don’t have to cover for her, I saw the whole thing!” Stephen helped her up as if she were made of porcelain, cradling her in his arms. He turned to me, his face contorted with a fury I had never seen in our five years of marriage. “Lucille, apologize to Ava! Have I been so easy on you these five years that you’ve turned into this venomous woman?” “You know how important her face is to her!” he raged, his eyes blind to the red handprint swelling on my own cheek. I lifted my head, my voice steady. “The one who should apologize is Ava, not me. She brought up my father. Stephen, speaking of my father, is there anything you’d like to apologize for?” A flicker of shock crossed his eyes. “If it weren’t for me back then, Dad would have been gone even sooner. Lucille, I promised him I would take care of you for the rest of your life, but that was on the condition that you wouldn’t hurt Ava.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I shouldn’t have expected anything. The world went black, and I collapsed. When I woke, the sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. A nurse was removing an IV from my arm. “Congratulations, you’re pregnant. You’re quite weak, so you need to avoid stress and eat well.” My hand instinctively went to my belly. For five years, I had wanted a child with Stephen. I never imagined it would happen now. My phone buzzed. It was a text from him. [The doctor said you’ll be fine with some rest.] [As soon as you apologize to Ava, I’ll come and take you home.] I smiled weakly and turned off the phone. “Miss, the doctor has scheduled another check-up for you. Please come with me.” I followed the nurse, but she led me to a stairwell. I was about to ask why when Ava’s voice came from behind me. “I heard you’re pregnant. I underestimated you, Lucille. Do you know why you haven’t had a child in five years?” I turned to face her triumphant gaze. “Because I told Stephen I didn’t want you to have one. The ‘vitamins’ he fed you every day? They were birth control pills.” She watched me, waiting for me to break. But I just said, “I see.” I started to walk past her, but a sudden force shoved me from behind. I tumbled down the stairs, a searing pain shooting through my entire body. I looked down and saw the crimson stain spreading beneath me. I had lost my baby. When I came to after the procedure, I placed the divorce papers on the hospital bed. I walked out, got into a taxi, and went to the airport. Just before I boarded the plane, a final message from Stephen appeared on my screen. [I can’t believe you’d go after Ava again. Apologize and stop this nonsense. Don’t make me force you.]

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A year after we broke up, I saw Ian again. He was laughing, his arm draped possessively around the heiress of the Lu family. Mia Lu offered me twenty thousand dollars to be a bridesmaid at their wedding. She said I could have the money once the ceremony was over. I agreed. Ian looked at me with pure disdain. “Is it true that if I give you money, you’ll do anything?” I nodded, not bothering to hide it. I really needed the money. He extended his foot. There was a splash of red wine on his leather shoe. “Lick it clean,” he said, his voice cold. “And I’ll give you a million.” I slowly crouched down, lowering my face toward his shoe. 1 The hospital gave me the final diagnosis. “Ms. Song, we can’t delay this any longer. You need to be hospitalized immediately for treatment, or your condition will deteriorate rapidly.” The doctor sounded anxious, but I, who usually cherish my life above all else, stopped right at the hospital entrance. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to treat it.” “You have to think this through. Your illness has reached the late stages. Without treatment, your life is in immediate danger…” “I know,” I replied softly. I hung up the phone and looked down at the legal notice in my hand. The name “Ian Ze” was printed clearly at the top. My boyfriend of seven years was now suing me. He wanted me to return every cent he had spent on me during our relationship. Since I was the one who left without a word back then, it was only right that I pay him back. I arrived at his villa. The door was opened by a girl with perfectly styled waves in her hair, wearing a haute couture dress. It was Mia Lu, Ian’s fiancée. The star of the upcoming “wedding of the century.” “Oh, you actually came?” Mia looked at me with amusement, then turned her head and called out, “Honey, come see who’s here!” Seeing Ian again felt like a lifetime had passed. He leaned against the doorframe, making no move to let me in. His eyes were cold, distant. I started to hand him the bank card, but Mia slapped my hand away. She looked at me with scorn. “This little bit of change isn’t even enough to buy a cat bed for Fluffy! But Ms. Song, if you can fulfill a tiny request of mine, I might convince Ian to drop the lawsuit and let you keep the money.” I looked up at her, startled. Her red lips curled into a mocking smile. “Be my bridesmaid at the wedding!” Ian wrapped his arm around Mia’s waist, nuzzling her cheek affectionately. “Having her as your bridesmaid? Isn’t that lowering your standards? Look at her—there isn’t a single clean spot on her. Just let her pay the money.” Then he looked at Mia. “Twenty thousand is a bit cheap for Fluffy’s bed. I’ll transfer you two million later. Buy Fluffy some decent clothes.” Fluffy was their ragdoll cat. Suddenly, the cat seemed to go berserk, lunging straight at me. I stumbled back in fright. Mia bent down to stroke the cat’s head, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so sorry. My cat isn’t used to seeing poor people. Ms. Song, next time you visit, maybe change into something decent so my cat doesn’t try to bite you.” They looked me up and down, taking in my cheap clothes, the sweatpants bleached from too many washes, and the sneakers that had lost their original color. Watching their intimate display, I clenched my fists. Mia, seemingly pleased by his words, pouted at Ian. “I’m short a bridesmaid. If I find someone else now, people will say I’m a homewrecker. Just let Ms. Song do it, okay?” I looked at Ian. He didn’t refuse. The way he wouldn’t even look at me made my heart ache. But… if I didn’t have to pay back the money, I would have funds for my treatment. Compared to living, being Mia’s bridesmaid was nothing. “If I’m your bridesmaid, I don’t have to pay the money back?” Mia paused, then laughed. “Of course. I’m not a gold digger; I don’t care about money.” She glanced at my clothes again. “Unlike some people.” “Okay. I agree.” 2 Ian looked surprised. He hadn’t expected me to agree, nor did he expect me to have no bottom line when it came to money. Mia handed me an exquisite paper bag. “Here’s the bridesmaid dress. Don’t be late the day after tomorrow. I don’t like waiting.” Her tone was dismissive, as if the dress were an act of charity. I didn’t take it. “I have a dress. I won’t embarrass you, Ms. Lu.” I turned and left, feeling pathetic. I returned to my tiny rental, barely ten square meters. It only had a bed and a toilet. The neighborhood was desolate, and the roof leaked, but it gave me a strange sense of security. I thought I would never see Ian again, yet here we were. I dug out a light blue evening gown from the bottom of my trunk. The satin-like fabric felt cool to the touch. Hot tears rolled down my face. Ian gave me this dress when we graduated. He said he had a matching suit. He promised that after we met our parents, we would wear these outfits for our wedding photos. Now, the dress had been sealed away, and Ian had a fiancée. But it wasn’t me. He was now a young entrepreneur with wealth rivaling nations, the CEO of the Ze Group, and soon to be Mia Lu’s husband. We were worlds apart. Next to the dress was a heart-shaped box filled with 1,001 paper stars. He gave it to me for my birthday two years ago. He told me that 1,001 stars represented 1,001 wishes. Whatever I wished for, he would make come true. I was so moved back then. I cried in his arms and told him I didn’t have that many wishes. My only wish was to walk down the aisle with him. My heart ached. I stroked the heart-shaped box, wondering if being Mia’s bridesmaid counted as walking down the aisle with him. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and closed the box. Mia’s words were meant to hurt, but all I cared about was that they wouldn’t ask for the twenty thousand back. Right now, I just wanted to live. On the wedding day, I arrived early, wearing the only decent thing I owned—the dress Ian gave me. Mia glanced at me and rolled her eyes. “Cindy Song, that dress is seasons old. Are you trying to embarrass me by wearing that?” Hearing her voice, Ian walked into the dressing room. The moment he saw me, the coldness in his eyes cracked. He recognized it. It was the dress he gave me. But he hid it well, turning to Mia with a doting smile. “Someone like her would make even designer clothes look cheap. If you don’t like it, don’t let her be a bridesmaid.” My heart tightened. I knew being a bridesmaid would break my heart, but I hoped she wouldn’t send me away. This was my only chance to walk down the red carpet with Ian. Hearing Ian belittle me, a look of satisfaction crossed Mia’s face. She huffed. “Forget it. I can’t find anyone else on short notice. Cindy, just follow behind me and don’t cause any trouble, understand?” I nodded quickly, hiding my excitement. Ian looked handsome today. His hair was styled back, revealing his sharp brows. In his white suit, he looked like a prince from a fairy tale. As the wedding march began, I followed closely behind Mia, trying to match my steps with Ian’s. Watching him walk ahead with Mia on his arm, I tasted iron in my throat and swallowed the bitterness. It was fine. My wish had technically come true. 3 The wedding was grand, attended by business tycoons and many of Ian’s friends. After the toasts, I followed Mia to the table where Ian’s friends were seated. They congratulated the couple and then started pushing drinks on them. “It’s your big day! You have to drink up!” Someone handed a bottle of red wine to Ian and Mia. Mia’s face flushed. She demurred. “I’ve already had so much. I’ll get drunk if I have more.” She leaned on Ian’s shoulder. “Honey, drink it for me?” Ian looked at her lovingly, but then handed the glass to me. “You have a bridesmaid. The bridesmaid should drink for you.” Caught off guard, I fumbled and didn’t catch the glass. Or maybe he dropped it on purpose, wanting to see me embarrass myself. Cold wine splashed down my chest, staining the light blue dress a jarring red. I shivered, soaked. The crowd laughed, some asking why they picked such a clumsy bridesmaid. Ian looked at me sideways, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You drink it.” My heart seized. I looked at him in disbelief. Ian pulled a card from his suit pocket and tossed it on the ground. “Drink until we’re happy, and I’ll give you fifty thousand.” I stared blankly at the card on the floor, a bitter smile forming on my lips. We were together for seven years. How could he not know I was allergic to alcohol? He raised an eyebrow, staring at me intently. “If you don’t want to drink, you can do something else to liven things up.” A flicker of hope ignited in my chest, only to be extinguished by his next words. “Strip for us. Since you have no bottom line when it comes to money, I assume this isn’t your first time doing something like this.” Tears welled in my eyes. Every word felt like a knife, stabbing me over and over until I was raw. Drinking would cause an allergic reaction, but if I stripped, he would see the ugly scars left by my foster parents. I didn’t want him to see my miserable past. I didn’t want to expose my scars to him. After a long silence, I picked up the card. “If I drink it all, will you really give me the money?” In that moment, my desire to live outweighed everything else. I was only twenty-six. I really didn’t want to die. Ian frowned, his gaze complicated. I didn’t hesitate. I picked up a glass of red wine and downed it in one gulp. Bitter. Three glasses in, dizziness hit me. I swayed, my skin burning, throat itching. Breathing became difficult. Ian’s friends were the notorious rich kids of Shanghai. They knew about our history. Two years ago, the Ze family business faced bankruptcy due to a broken capital chain. Ian was deep in debt and nearly beaten to death by loan sharks. That was when I left him. He searched for me like a madman and fell into a deep depression. Now that the Ze family had risen again, these people wouldn’t let me off easily. They whistled and jeered, taking videos with their phones. Ian’s frown deepened. “What a money-grubbing woman.” He grabbed my arm, revealing the small “Ian” tattoo on my wrist. Seeing it, he froze. Then he scoffed, shaking my hand off as if it were filthy. While wiping his hands with a napkin, he picked up the entire bottle of wine. “If you finish this bottle and lick the wine off my shoe, you can take the money and get out.” The surrounding mockery was unbearable. I felt like a clown, looking at their sneering faces. Fighting the suffocating pain, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll drink.” As I raised the bottle to my lips, Ian finally snapped. He snatched the bottle and poured it over my head. Wine streamed down my hair, soaking me to the bone. I shivered uncontrollably. Finally, I couldn’t hold it back. I coughed violently, spitting up bright red blood. A figure rushed to my side, catching me as I collapsed. It was my only friend, Vivi. “Cindy!” She helped me up, seeing the wine soaking me and smelling the alcohol on my breath. She slammed her fist on the table. “Ian! Are you even human? Cindy sacrificed so much for you, and you make her drink? Don’t you know she’s allergic to alcohol?” “Don’t you know she has late-stage lung cancer? Contact with allergens could kill her! Are you trying to murder her?” 4 Ian froze. He frowned at Vivi, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. But soon, a cold smile returned. “Cindy Song, you’re really something. You even tricked your best friend? Is there anything you won’t do?” “Do you think I’d believe that?” Vivi didn’t bother arguing. Seeing I was barely conscious, she dragged me to the hospital. I had gone into shock but survived. Lying in the hospital bed, I stared blankly at the ceiling. Vivi looked relieved when I woke up. “Cindy, you’re finally awake!” She burst into tears. “You scared me to death!” Her eyes were red as she looked at me with pity. “Why are you so stupid? Is Ian really worth all this?” I stared at the ceiling. Was it worth it? I asked myself the same thing. I remembered when I met Ian in our senior year of high school. The class needed to buy study materials, and I was the only one who hadn’t paid. Facing the teacher’s questions and my classmates’ disdain, I wanted to disappear. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay; I didn’t have the money. I was an orphan, adopted from a welfare home. I thought I finally had a family. But two years later, they had their own biological daughter. They stopped treating me well. Letting me finish high school was already a mercy in their eyes. Even though I had good grades and a chance at a top university, my foster mother refused to support me. She said raising me was already more than enough. If she knew I’d cost so much, she would have sent me back. Their money was for my sister. I told Ian about my situation, just wanting to vent. I never expected him to help. He paid for my materials and encouraged me not to give up. We promised to apply to Shanghai University together. With his encouragement, I worked harder than ever and got in. But my foster mother wouldn’t let me go. She tried to tear up my acceptance letter, trying to ruin my future. I fought back, refusing to let go. She beat me with a feather duster. “I’ll pay Cindy Song’s tuition.” Ian appeared at my door, frowning, his face serious. From then on, I cut ties with my family. Ian supported me through college. Not long after we started school, Ian confessed his feelings. Fireworks lit up the sky over Shanghai University all night. I became the envy of every girl on campus. Many came to see the girl who had captured the heart of the aloof Ian Ze. He felt like a gift from the heavens. Tears streamed down my face, but I couldn’t say a word. Vivi tried to comfort me. “There’s a misunderstanding between you two. You had a reason for leaving back then. Why don’t you tell him?” I let out a long sigh. “It’s meaningless. From the moment I decided to leave Ian, I wasn’t part of his future anymore.” “Besides, he’s married now. My appearance was a mistake to begin with.” Vivi cried harder. “But why do you have to bear all this pain alone?” I gave a bitter smile. For Ian, this wasn’t pain. Just then, Vivi’s phone rang.

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I lost Ethan. I lost him in the summer of our seventh year. Even when I coughed up blood, he didn’t panic like he used to. Standing outside the clinic, I sent him a message: “Ethan, my throat’s been acting up. Can you take me to the hospital?” His reply was instant. “Your pharyngitis cleared up ages ago.” “Lina, stop faking it.” A coppery tang flooded my throat. I typed back, my fingers trembling slightly. “It’s just a check-up.” A humorless laugh came through in his next text. “Fine. You want to wait? Wait.” So I waited, perched on a plastic chair at the clinic’s entrance, obedient as ever. I waited for a very, very long time. Long enough for the crimson stain to blossom and spread across my palm. Ethan never came. 1 I never imagined I would die so unceremoniously, slumped on a chair outside a small clinic on the south side of town. Before my eyes closed for the last time, all I felt was an overwhelming exhaustion. I just needed to rest for a little while, I told myself. Just a little while, and then I would see Ethan. I pictured him standing before me, scolding me for not taking my medication, for messing around in a place like this. As my vision blurred, I mentally rehearsed the excuses I’d give for needing him. Because you were always the one who took me to my appointments. Because my insurance card is still in your drawer. Because if the doctor asks about my tonsillectomy from when I was a kid, you remember the details better than I do. Yes, those were the reasons. It had nothing to do with how desperately I missed him. Nothing at all. When I opened my eyes again, the world was askew. I saw my own body, limp and twisted in the faded plastic chair. My head was lolled back against the wall, eyelashes resting still and quiet on my cheeks, as if I were in a deep, peaceful sleep. A sudden vibration. My phone, which had been resting on my lap, slid to the ground. Instinctively, I reached for it, but my hand passed right through, grasping at nothing but air. I stared at my translucent fingertips. Slowly, sluggishly, the truth dawned. I was dead. I had died quietly, invisibly, at the entrance of a bustling clinic. Died in the time I had spent waiting for Ethan to come for me. The phone screen lit up, displaying a message from Ethan, sent just a minute ago. 【Still there?】 【Guess you’re not sick after all.】 【Lina. You lied to me again.】 I didn’t lie. My voice was silent, a ghost’s whisper. It really did hurt. I’d had chronic pharyngitis since I was a child, and had my tonsils removed at sixteen. But for the past six months, a persistent lump had formed in my throat, and sometimes, I’d cough up streaks of blood. Before… before that happened, Ethan would have been a wreck with worry. He would have rushed me to the hospital without a second thought. But he didn’t trust me anymore. He was convinced I was a manipulative liar who would do anything to get what I wanted. Because I’d always been frail, Ethan had stepped into a parental role when he turned twenty. He was meticulous, strict, and flawlessly attentive. He worried if I was cold, if I was catching a chill. He personally checked the temperature of my water and measured every dose of my medicine. A single cough, a clearing of my throat, and he would be at my side, his brow furrowed with concern. I basked in his attention, his care. I would cling to him, declaring childishly, “I’m never going to date anyone.” Then I’d tighten my grip on his arm, shaking it for emphasis. “And you’re not allowed to either, Ethan! You have to stay with me forever!” He would just chuckle and flick my forehead gently. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he’d say, his voice soft, never truly sharp. Then, seeing my pout, he’d quickly add, “Alright, alright. I’ll wait until you find a boyfriend. How about that?” I’d fall silent, just gazing up at him, wishing that time could freeze forever, yet simultaneously hoping for something to change. Change did come, but it was nothing like I had imagined. I should have looked at him longer back then, I thought, staring at my own corpse. I never even got to see him one last time. People milled past, their gazes sliding over me without a second glance. A girl sleeping outside a clinic was nothing out of the ordinary. Just as that thought crossed my mind, I saw a tiny hand reach down and pick up my phone. 2 It was the little girl who had been sitting next to me earlier. While I was still lucid, we had chatted for a bit, even trading nicknames. She called me “Pretty Lady,” and I called her “Sweetie.” Sweetie stared at the lit-up screen, her small brow furrowed as she tried to decipher the words. At only six years old, she couldn’t read much. After a moment of concentration, she looked at me, her big eyes full of innocent concern. Carefully, so as not to wake me, she placed the phone back in my hand. “Pretty Lady,” she whispered, “you dropped your phone. You should hold it tight.” When I didn’t respond, she scurried back to her mother. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Another message from Ethan. 【I’m at City General Hospital now.】 【If you want to come, take a cab yourself.】 But you told me to wait. Why did you leave? Are you not feeling well, Ethan? The thought sent my spectral form soaring into the air, and in an instant, I was at City General Hospital. I saw him immediately. He stood at the end of a long corridor, his back to me, clad in a crisp white coat as he spoke on the phone. Tall and lean as ever, he exuded an air of unshakeable calm. I drifted closer, planning to give him a little scare, when I heard him say, “The doctor is checking on Mindy now. It should be nothing serious, don’t worry.” Mindy? What is she doing here? The next second, the examination room door opened. Ethan hung up and walked over. “Everything okay?” he asked the person who emerged. “Ethan, the doctor said I’m fine,” Mindy replied, her brow knitted in a delicate frown as she clutched his sleeve. “But I still feel awful. Will you stay with me, please?” That little actress. She had to be faking it! I seethed, my ghostly fingers itching. I swooped forward to throttle her, but my hands passed straight through her neck. Standing between them, I saw the faintest hint of a smile touch Ethan’s lips. “Of course,” he said, his voice a gentle murmur. Ethan was striking. Tall and refined, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and eyes that held a cool distance. When silent, he seemed unapproachable, a man wrapped in his own world. But when he smiled at me, he became the warmest person on earth. He hadn’t smiled at me in a very long time. “However,” Ethan continued, the warmth in his expression fading slightly, “Lina will be here soon. I need to go with her for a check-up on her throat.” A flash of resentment flickered in Mindy’s eyes before vanishing. She forced a smile. “Ethan, you’re the kindest, most decent man I’ve ever met. Lina isn’t even your real sister, and after how she deceived you, you’re still so good to her.” Her words seemed to trigger a dark memory in Ethan. His face clouded over. “This is the last time,” he said, his voice low and firm. “If she tries to pull another stunt like this, I won’t see her again.” I floated in the sterile-smelling hallway. The hot summer wind gusted through the open window, passing right through me. Strange. Why did my throat still ache? “It really is the last time, Ethan,” I whispered to the empty air. “I won’t bother you anymore.” Because… I think I’m already gone. Mindy, satisfied with his answer, took his arm to lead him away. But before they could leave, Ethan’s phone rang. I drifted to his side as he answered. A woman’s voice came through the receiver. “Dr. Cole? Hello, do you have any news about Lina?” 3 “Lina isn’t my sister anymore.” Recognizing the voice, Ethan’s brow furrowed in irritation. “I hope you’ll stop using her as an excuse to contact my family.” The caller was my biological mother. Whether from the ravages of her illness or the weight of her guilt, she sounded defeated. After a long pause, she spoke again, her voice weak and choked with tears. “It was my fault. I was the one who lost my mind and swapped Lina with Mindy.” “But Lina is innocent. Can’t you… can’t you treat her like you used to?” It was a cliché straight out of a novel. I was the counterfeit daughter of the wealthy Cole family. Born frail and sickly, my birth mother feared I wouldn’t survive, so she secretly switched me with the Coles’ healthy newborn. It wasn’t until she was diagnosed with terminal kidney failure that she confessed the truth. She had dragged Mindy to the gates of the Cole family mansion, kneeling and sobbing. “I was wrong! And now I’m paying for it, I’m dying! I’ve brought Mindy back to you. Please… please just let me see Lina. She’s my real daughter!” But when she finally saw me, her words were not of apology. “The Coles cured your illness, so you didn’t lose out,” she’d said. “You enjoyed twenty years of their fortune. It’s Mindy’s turn now.” I wasn’t hurt, not really. She was telling the truth. The second night after Mindy moved in, she came to my room, feigning reconciliation. She promised she would beg our parents to let me stay. Foolishly, I blushed and confessed, “I want to stay too, but… I don’t want to be Ethan’s sister anymore.” And so, I confessed to Ethan. I told him I was both heartbroken and relieved. I told him I had realized long ago that my feelings for him were far from familial. I told him I wanted to be with him forever. I watched him, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and hope, and saw only cold disappointment in his eyes. “Hah,” he scoffed. “With me forever?” “You mean you want to stay in the Cole family forever, living a life of luxury.” He pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket. My own voice filled the air, speaking words from my conversation with Mindy the day before. But the meaning was twisted, warped. My voice: “I have a plan to stay.” My voice: “If I can get with Ethan, the Coles will never kick me out.” My voice: “I’ve been acting close to him for years. It’s finally time to use him.” The piercing wail of an ambulance from outside shattered my memory. An ER doctor hurried past me, bumping into Ethan by accident. He turned back. “Sorry, we’ve got a sudden death case coming in. Didn’t mean to run into you.” Ethan, momentarily startled, just shook his head. Then he spoke into the phone again, his voice dripping with venom. “You want me to treat her like I used to? You want me to watch her play the victim, feign innocence, and let her use me?” He let out a cold laugh. “Base instincts really must be genetic. Otherwise, how could she think of confessing to her own brother?” From the other end of the line, a nurse’s voice could be heard faintly. “Bed 5, if you don’t pay the hospital fees, we’ll have to stop her medication…” Hearing this, Ethan’s eyes filled with derision. His suspicion hardened into certainty. “Lina didn’t come to me for a check-up,” he said, his tone absolute. “She came to get money for you, didn’t she?” He hung up without waiting for an answer. His fingers flew across his phone screen. He typed: 【Lina, don’t bother coming.】 【You won’t get a single cent from me.】 I wasn’t there for your money. I’ll never ask you for money again. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I recoiled, my spectral form drifting back. I needed to put some distance between us. Because I could feel it, a palpable thing in the air. He truly despised me. And so he painted me as the villain in his mind. “She’s not coming. Let’s go.” Receiving no reply from me, Ethan strode out of the building, a storm cloud of anger around him. As he got into the car, the ambulance screamed past, screeching to a halt at the hospital entrance. A gurney, covered by a stark white sheet, was wheeled inside. Ethan glanced at it in the rearview mirror, then quickly looked away. The Audi began to move, but just as it reached the hospital gates, the driver stopped. Someone was knocking on the rear window. Ethan lowered it to see the same ER doctor who had bumped into him earlier. “Can I help you?” Ethan asked. 4 “Sorry about this, but is this yours?” The doctor held out a single stethoscope earpiece. Matte silver wrapped around soft, fine-grained silicone. It was the birthday gift I had given Ethan last year. He recognized it instantly. “Yes, it is,” he said, taking it. “Must have gotten snagged on my coat when I bumped into you,” the doctor apologized. “Just found it in my pocket.” Ethan closed his hand around the earpiece, nodded his thanks, and raised the window. The Audi pulled away from the curb. During the ride, Mindy chattered on, but Ethan was mostly silent, offering only brief, monosyllabic replies. The hand clutching the earpiece never opened. I sat on the far side of the car, looking past the incessantly talking Mindy at Ethan’s profile. I wondered if he was remembering his birthday last year. The earpieces were custom-designed by a famous medical equipment artisan, and the price was astronomical. I wanted to buy them with my own money. For six months leading up to his birthday, I had taken on countless translation projects, working day and night until I had finally saved enough. At the stroke of midnight, I tiptoed into his room. He was hunched over his desk, writing his thesis, a frown on his face. The moment he saw me, the frown vanished, replaced by a warm smile. “Serious face,” I commanded playfully. “No smiling.” Then I ordered him to close his eyes. He complied, though the corners of his mouth still curved upward, refusing to be tamed. The room fell silent. Gazing at his handsome face, I was mesmerized. A roaring filled my ears—was it his heartbeat, or mine? “Lina?” he murmured, perhaps growing impatient. Flustered, I thrust the velvet box into his view. “You can open your eyes now.” He opened the box, and his eyes lit up with genuine surprise. “Help me put them on,” he said with a grin. I took out the earpieces, my fingertips trembling. Overwhelmed, I shoved them into his hands, mumbled, “Happy birthday,” and fled from his room. Back in my bed, my mind replayed the scene frame by frame, agonizing over whether I had given myself away, whether I had seemed too immature. A soft knock came at my door. Ethan came in and gently pulled me out from under the covers. “Why’d you run?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. I looked up at him, wanting to say, You have no idea, but the words wouldn’t come. He handed me a large gift box. Inside was a complete set of rare, out-of-print medical texts I had been dreaming of, along with an antique fountain pen. Either gift was worth far more than the earpieces. Outside the window, the summer night air of the city drifted in, carrying the sweet, delicate fragrance of jasmine. It wrapped around me, filling my lungs. “Do you like it?” Ethan asked, playfully mussing my hair. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks as he looked at me, his gaze pure and completely open. “I love it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. The Audi drove through the long, tree-lined driveway of the Cole estate and stopped at the front door. Our mother came out to greet them. “How was it? Is Mindy okay?” she asked with concern. Ethan assured her she was fine. Mindy pulled her usual act, hugging Mom and whining that she still felt unwell. Mom, looking slightly uncomfortable, offered a few words of comfort before sending her to her room. Noticing Mom’s own troubled expression, Ethan asked, “Mom, are you feeling alright?” She pressed a hand to her chest, her brow furrowed. “Mindy is fine, but… why do I feel so anxious? I have this terrible feeling. Do you think… do you think something’s happened to Lina? The place she’s staying now is probably damp; that’s terrible for her throat. Please, Ethan, will you go bring her home?” 5 Ethan managed a small smile. “What could happen to her? She’s always been so dramatic. The slightest ache and she acts like the world is ending, just so we’ll all fuss over her. Besides, her pharyngitis was cured a long time ago.” Mom gently shook her head, her worry undiminished. “You were with Lina after her surgery, so you didn’t hear what the doctor told us when she was discharged.” “He said that a successful childhood surgery doesn’t guarantee there won’t be problems later in life. Many children with chronic pharyngitis need regular check-ups as adults to screen for cancer.” Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t see the way Ethan’s expression froze. “Lina has always been a clever girl,” Mom continued. “When she’s feeling fine, she’s mischievous, always making us laugh to put our minds at ease. But when she’s really not well, she becomes so quiet, so obedient.” “I don’t know if you remember, but there was a time she coughed up blood at school. I was terrified. I rushed to the hospital and asked her why on earth she went to school when she was so sick. Do you know what she said?” Tears welled in Mom’s eyes as she looked at Ethan. “That child told me she knew her illness was a lot of trouble, that she might even die from it. And if she was going to die, she hoped it would happen somewhere far away, not at home. That way, we wouldn’t be so sad, and we wouldn’t be afraid to come home…” A sob escaped her. “Such a silly child,” she whispered, “talking about herself like a little stray kitten nobody wanted.” I hovered in the air, wishing I could hug my mother, to wipe away her tears. But I couldn’t. I really had died far from home. Just like a little stray kitten. As much as I disliked Mindy, I couldn’t help but envy her. She had such wonderful birth parents, such a wonderful brother. Even her adoptive mother cared for her so deeply, willing to risk prison just to secure her future. Ethan was silent for a long time, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “She took the bus downtown,” he said, his face grim. “She must have been coming to me for money.” Mom looked at him, astonished. “How could that be? Lina didn’t take the bank card or any of the jewelry we gave her when she left. Why would she come back to ask you for money?” A flicker of doubt crossed Ethan’s eyes, but his voice remained cold. “Her birth mother’s hospital fees ran out. They were about to stop her treatment.” “That’s because she’s being transferred to a better facility, so they didn’t renew the payment. Out of consideration for her raising Mindy, we’ve already prepaid a substantial medical fund for her at the new hospital.” The color drained from Ethan’s face. “Is that true?” “It’s true!” Mom said, a faint smile returning. “Quick, call Lina. Ask her where she is. Tell her that Dad and I are waiting for her at home.” I looked at my mother’s face, feeling a strange mix of fortune and sorrow. My mother was so good. If only I hadn’t died… Ethan took out his phone and finally dialed my number. As I listened to the monotonous ringing, I thought numbly, No one’s ever going to answer that again. But then, to my utter shock, the call was picked up. 6 The other end of the line was filled with muffled background noise, but no one spoke. “Lina, why didn’t you answer my texts?!” Ethan snapped, his patience gone. A soft gasp came from the other side, as if he had startled someone. After a two-second pause, a small, childish voice asked, “Are you the person the Pretty Lady was waiting for?” Ethan was taken aback. He softened his tone. “Who is this?” “I’m Sweetie!” He sighed, exasperated. “Listen carefully,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “Can you please put the owner of the phone on?” “Umm…” Sweetie sounded hesitant. In a tiny whisper, she confided, “But the Pretty Lady is asleep. She seems really, really tired, so she’s been sleeping for a long, long time. Mommy says good kids don’t wake people up when they’re sleeping.” An involuntary, frustrated smile tugged at Ethan’s lips. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “When she wakes up, tell her to stay right where she is. I’m coming to get her.” “Who are you?” Sweetie asked. “Are you the one she was waiting for?” “Yes,” Ethan confirmed. “Nuh-uh,” the little girl said doubtfully. “The Pretty Lady said she was waiting for her brother. She said her brother is super nice and treats her the best, and that he’s the best brother in the whole world.” She added in a smaller voice, “But… you were really mean just now.” You don’t sound like the person she described at all. Ethan froze. A beat passed. “I’m sorry,” he said. After he hung up, Mom chided him gently. “You made Lina wait so long she fell asleep?” Ethan’s stern mask immediately slipped back on. “She needed to learn a lesson. Otherwise, she’ll just keep lying.” Mom looked at him, her expression troubled. “Lina has been the apple of your eye since she was a child. Why have you become so strict with her? Is it just because she’s not your biological sister?” Ethan didn’t answer, only shaking his head. “You’re a deep thinker, Ethan,” Mom continued. “You’re usually so detached. The only people who can make you angry are the ones you truly care about. But Lina is sensitive. Don’t break her heart.” Was my heart broken? A little, I suppose. When Ethan accused me of faking, of lying, of only being there for money, my throat had seized with a sharp, violent pain. Mom didn’t know about my confession to Ethan, so she couldn’t understand the real reason for his anger. How could it be because he cared? How could anyone be so cruel to someone they cared about? I still couldn’t understand it. As Ethan left the house, the sky opened up and a heavy rain began to fall. The streets were gridlocked. The Audi crawled through the traffic, starting and stopping. Ethan rolled down the window twice to check the situation, restraining the urge to hurry the driver. I sat in the passenger seat, not beside him like I used to, but as a ghost, separate and distant. As we neared the clinic, Ethan took out his phone again. 【Can you walk to the entrance?】 A moment later, he sent another message. 【Never mind. Stay put and wait for me. Don’t move.】 By the time the car was parked, he still hadn’t received a reply. He got out of the car, his face a thunderous mask. He walked towards the clinic, muttering under his breath, “Lina, you’ve certainly grown a temper.” “Just wait until I—” But the words died on his lips. His gaze locked onto something, and he froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386198”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The company next door was poaching, their main selling point a salary that was perpetually one hundred dollars higher than whatever I was paying. The signing bonus? An all-expenses-paid luxury travel package to Southeast Asia. My long-time employees were in an uproar, all of them threatening to jump ship. I pleaded with them, trying to explain that this was a classic recruitment scam. I even dug into my own pocket to give a few of my most senior staff a raise to appease them. It worked, for a while. Then, a month later, my intern posted a picture from a tropical beach. The caption read: So grateful that other company didn’t hire me. Now I get to enjoy this tropical paradise for free! The employees who’d stayed behind turned on me, calling me a manipulative bitch, blaming me for costing them a free vacation. They lured me to the factory floor. They deliberately guided me onto a loose metal plate, sending me plummeting into the roaring industrial furnace below. “If it weren’t for you, we’d be on a beach right now!” “You greedy monster! You were just scared you’d have no one left to slave away for you! Rot in hell!” I was burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my employees were clamoring to quit. … “Ms. Warren, we’re resigning!” The office door flew open, and a stampede of familiar faces surged toward my desk. Eagerness was written all over every single one of them. Hannah Miller, the intern, led the charge. “Ms. Warren, the company next door is hiring! And they’re paying a full hundred dollars more a month than you are!” Her expression was a caricature of playful defiance. A violent shudder wracked my body. Only then, feeling the cool draft from the AC vent, did I realize I had been reborn. I was back. “Well, Ms. Warren? Are you going to say yes or no?” Hannah pressed, her voice edged with impatience, clearly annoyed at being ignored. My gaze slowly shifted back to her. Hannah had joined the company as an intern a month ago. In an era where everyone in the workforce called themselves a corporate drone, she was a relentless ray of sunshine. Her energy had quickly infected the whole dreary office. Everyone, young and old, adored her. And it was from her that the news of the job next door, and the idea to stage a mass walkout, had originated. “Why?” My voice trembled as I forced the word out. “Just for a hundred dollars?” My eyes scanned the faces of the veteran employees standing behind her. Most of them had been with me since the very beginning, sticking by me even when the company nearly went under. In my past life, I’d been desperate to keep them. But this time, I needed to know. Why was a measly hundred dollars enough for them to abandon a place they’d dedicated decades of their lives to? Hannah scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. “You’re the boss, Ms. Warren. Of course you wouldn’t understand the needs of us working stiffs.” “What do you mean, a ‘measly’ hundred dollars?” “With an extra hundred a month, every single one of us could afford a decent meal out, you know? Boost our happiness!” She gestured out the window towards the neighboring building. “And they’re giving a Southeast Asia travel package just for signing on!” “This company is all work, work, work. Do you have any idea how many of your employees have their personal lives completely ignored?” “Only a company that’s actually human-centric deserves the hard work of the people standing behind me!” Hannah’s voice was loud, passionate, and it ignited a fire in the employees behind her. “Yeah, Ms. Warren! I’ve been slaving away for you for over a decade, and you’ve never once taken us on a company trip!” one of them yelled. “But these guys give you a vacation to Southeast Asia right off the bat! Don’t you see how pathetic that makes you look?” “Exactly! And what about raises? I’ve asked so many times, and you wouldn’t even bump me a hundred bucks!” “If another company is willing to pay it, why shouldn’t we go?” It was true, I never organized company-wide retreats. But I never shorted them on their two weeks of paid vacation or the thousands of dollars in travel stipends they received every year. Salaries were based on position. You got a raise when you got a promotion. Everyone was already at the top of their pay grade for their current roles. How much more could I add? What really stunned me, though, was that the first to complain were Chris and Kate. Chris was my college buddy. Back then, his family was dirt poor, living in a dilapidated shack, unable to scrape together a thousand dollars. When we started the company, I fronted his entire buy-in, didn’t ask for a cent. When he got married, I gave him a fifty-thousand-dollar check as a wedding gift so he and his wife could have a two-week honeymoon. And Kate… last year, her parents got seriously ill, wiping out their life savings. Without a second thought, I pulled twenty grand out of my own account and gave it to her. I told her to use it, pay me back whenever she could, even pay back less if she needed to. I thought my conscience was clear with them. But now, led by this intern, they were ready to cut me loose for a hundred bucks. I couldn’t stop the question from spilling out. “After everything… how can you do this to me?” Chris’s face hardened. He clenched his fists. “You’ve got it backward, Vera. It’s what you’ve done to us!” “All these years, I’ve busted my ass for you, brought in massive profits. And what do I get? You made me work through the Fourth of July weekend, ruining the vacation my wife and I had planned.” That project had come in on a tight deadline. I’d authorized triple pay for the holiday. I asked for volunteers; it was never mandatory. Chris was the first one to raise his hand, his face lit up with excitement. “This is a goldmine! Who wants to deal with holiday crowds anyway? We can save up and take a real vacation with our annual leave!” I looked at him now, my eyes flooding with disappointment. Kate snorted. “He’s right. You’ve forgotten where you came from, Vera.” “That time Hannah and I took a client out? We spent three thousand dollars on dinner, and you refused to let accounting reimburse us! How could you be so cold?” That time, Hannah, the self-proclaimed “newbie,” had ordered a mountain of appetizers and desserts. Not only did they fail to land the deal, but the client almost terminated their existing contract with us. An expense report that large for a failed meeting was a fireable offense. I went to bat for both of them, saved their jobs. The reimbursement was against policy, so I paid the three thousand out of my own pocket to cover for them. With Chris and Kate leading the charge, the floodgates of complaint opened. No company retreats, just money—so impersonal. Working them to the bone—overtime pay couldn’t compensate for the mental toll. Constantly providing afternoon snacks—it was distracting and kept them from doing their work properly… My heart turned to ice, piece by piece. All these years, what I had considered kindness, consideration for my employees… In their eyes, it was just the mark of a heartless boss. Hannah slapped a stack of resignation forms on my desk. “Let’s get this over with, Ms. Warren.” “We’ve got flights to book and hotels to reserve for our trip. We’re on a schedule!” In my past life, my industry instincts had screamed that something was wrong. I had painstakingly explained to them that this was a common recruitment scam. That when they got off that plane, they wouldn’t find a pristine beach, but a human trafficking compound. To smooth things over, I even paid for their salary increases myself. In the end, only a furious Hannah had left the company. But then, two weeks later, she posted those vacation photos. My employees saw red. They were convinced I had deliberately blocked them, afraid I’d have no one left to exploit. And they led me to the factory and pushed me into the furnace. This time, I wasn’t going to waste my breath on these vipers. Watching Hannah, who was now glancing around impatiently, I smiled and picked up the resignation forms. “No problem.” The employees, who had been bracing for a fight, froze. “What? You agree?” I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, my expression one of feigned confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?” “You want to leave. I can’t exactly chain you to your desks.” With the benefits and salary my company offered, I wasn’t worried about finding replacements. It was probably time for some new blood anyway. I lowered my head, preparing to stamp the company seal on each form they handed me. But before the stamp could fall, Hannah’s expression changed. She suddenly snapped, “Wait!” I frowned. “Now what?” “You’re the ones who wanted to quit. I agree, and now you’re changing your minds?” The employees behind her looked just as confused. “Yeah, Hannah, she agreed!” “The sooner we quit, the sooner we can get on that plane. What’s the problem?” With all eyes on her, Hannah picked up a resignation form and scrutinized it. Then she looked at me and sneered. “Ms. Warren, this contract is wrong.” “There’s no severance clause. Where’s our compensation package?” I stared at her for a few seconds, then let out a laugh that was pure disbelief. “Severance is for when the company terminates an employee.” “Given that you’re all resigning en masse, you should be thanking me for not enforcing your non-compete agreements. And you have the audacity to demand severance?” Even Chris looked uncomfortable. “Hannah, maybe we should just drop it?” But Hannah stood her ground, chest puffed out righteously. “Why did we resign in the first place?” “It’s because the company benefits are subpar! At its core, this is all Ms. Warren’s fault. We’re the victims here, so why can’t we demand compensation?” “With a proper severance package, we’d each get tens of thousands of dollars! That’s what we’re owed! It’s compensation for our suffering!” Her words hung in the air, and the expression on every face in the room shifted. Tens of thousands of dollars. A subtle, greedy tension began to ripple through the crowd. Kate spoke up, her voice ringing with entitlement. “Ms. Warren, we’ve made you a lot of money over the years. A little compensation isn’t too much to ask, is it?” With someone taking the lead, the chorus began. “Yeah, we deserve it!” “You forced us into this! You owe us!” My gaze swept over each person in the office, one by one. Then I pushed the stack of resignation forms back across my desk. My voice was ice. “I may be reasonable, but I’m not a doormat.” “As for severance? Don’t even think about it.” The words had barely left my mouth when a wave of resentful, venomous glares washed over me. So many years of genuine care had cultivated nothing but a pack of insatiable, ungrateful wolves. Seeing my resolve, Hannah nodded, a strange, twisted smile on her face. “Fine, Ms. Warren. We’ll see about that.” She delivered her threat and led the employees out. I didn’t give it another thought. But the next morning, my assistant burst into my office, frantic. “Ms. Warren, it’s bad!” “The company is getting destroyed online! We’re trending for all the wrong reasons!” I pulled up our company’s social media accounts. The comments section was a toxic wasteland. Greedy capitalist. Bitch. Old hag. The insults were everywhere. “What happened?” I demanded, my brow furrowed. It wasn’t until my assistant showed me her phone that I understood. Hannah had organized a live stream with the employees’ families to publicly accuse me of corporate malpractice. Chris’s wife was the first to appear, her voice shrill and piercing. “The day I went into labor was a Saturday! My husband was supposed to be home, but that witch, Warren, deliberately called him in to work overtime! He missed the birth of his own child!” “Holiday overtime, overnight shifts—it never ended!” “I was afraid to speak up before, afraid she’d retaliate against my husband. But now she’s gone too far! She won’t even give him his rightful severance pay!” She held up screenshots of my texts asking Chris to work. The internet erupted in a firestorm of righteous fury. “Have some damn shame!” “We have to boycott this monster! We can’t let her get away with this!” I was shaking with rage. Yes, I had asked Chris to work that day. Because we had a critical system failure. The moment it was fixed, I personally drove him to the hospital. Not only did he make it in time for the birth, but I also gave them a two-thousand-dollar cash gift as an apology. At the time, his wife couldn’t stop smiling, calling me the most conscientious boss she’d ever heard of. Next up were Kate’s parents, two elderly people weeping into the camera. “When we got sick, that heartless capitalist found out. And because she knew our daughter needed the money and couldn’t afford to quit, she exploited her relentlessly!” “She docked her pay, sent her on endless business trips!” “Now our daughter has finally escaped that hellhole, and she refuses to pay what she owes! How can someone so evil exist in this world?” Netizens immediately rallied to their cause, vowing to get justice for the poor old couple. Kate’s paystub was indeed missing one month’s salary. Because that was the month I had fronted the twenty thousand dollars for their medical bills. I still remembered how happily they had smiled when I visited them in the hospital, my arms full of fruit and supplements. My assistant cried out again. “Ms. Warren, it’s worse! Our retail stores… they’re being vandalized!” She showed me the photos. The glass doors were shattered. The walls were covered in spray paint. Scrawled on the ground in black marker were curses directed at me. Capitalist pig, drop dead. Hope your whole family dies in a car crash… The online mob was united. Their one demand was that I pay every single employee their severance. I sat in my office, silent. More than the online vitriol, what truly broke me was the betrayal of the families I had helped. All my support, all my generosity… it meant nothing in the face of greed. The phone rang. “Vera, I had no idea you were this kind of person. This year’s contract is cancelled.” One call after another. Every single one was a partner pulling their business. My eyes drifted back to the screen. Hannah was leading the charge, orchestrating a full-scale assault on my company. They were calling all my clients and partners. Some screamed obscenities, others spread vicious lies. They were systematically destroying every single deal we had in the pipeline. The internet cheered them on. “That’s how you deal with scum like her! Fight fire with fire!” “Yes! Strength in numbers! Post the phone numbers, we’ll all help!” My assistant’s voice trembled. “Ms. Warren, we can’t fight public opinion.” “This company is your life’s work. Losing some money is better than going bankrupt!” I sat in my office all night. The next morning, I released a statement. “The severance applications have been approved.” “Payment will be disbursed in one month, following a final review.” The internet exploded with celebration. Everyone was patting themselves on the back for taking down the evil capitalist.

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Two years after I died, I reincarnated as a stray cat. My cat mom carried me by the scruff of my neck to a familiar house. I looked up at the building I knew by heart, then at my ex-boyfriend—and his eight-pack abs—and swallowed a mouthful of kitty drool. My ex squatted down, scratching my mom’s chin, and muttered to himself, “I really want to adopt it, but she is afraid of cats.” Wow. He moved on that fast? I widened my kitten eyes and glared at him. “Babe, what’s wrong?” A familiar male voice drifted out from behind my ex. Wait a minute. Hold on. His current partner is a guy? 1 It was the second year after my death when I came back as a stray. I was the only kitten in the litter to survive. When I could finally wobble around on my paws, my cat mom stared at me with her big, round eyes for a long time. Then she started grooming me obsessively, meowing while she licked. I understood her. She was saying, You need to be clean. That way, a nice human will adopt you, and you’ll have a good life. I asked her if she would come with me. She didn’t answer. She just grabbed my scruff and dragged me out the door. Even though I was getting used to walking on four legs, I was still terrified of heights. I’d watched cat livestreams before, but experiencing “parkour mode” in first-person view was dizzying. Mom agility-jumped us into a gated community and didn’t drop me until we reached a specific door. My head was spinning. I spun in a few circles and flopped over. Mom scratched at the door until it opened. I looked up. It was the same layout I remembered. And there stood Liam, my ex, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel. “???” I exploded into a fuzzball on the spot. Liam must have just stepped out of the shower. Water droplets were racing down those abs. He crouched down, petting my mom with one hand and opening a can of wet food with the other. “Sorry, got caught up with something today. Didn’t put food out. Starving, huh?” The towel gaped a little as he squatted. Cover your shame, man! I tried to shout, but it came out as a soft, sticky “Meow.” That’s when Liam noticed me. “Is this your baby? It’s so cute. I think we still have some goat milk powder. I’ll go make some.” He headed to the kitchen. I stood at the door, peering inside. The furniture, the clutter—it was exactly how I left it. I wondered how he was doing. Did he still… think of me? While I was lost in thought, Liam came back with the milk. His warm palm covered my head, rubbing gently. I purred involuntarily. The last time we touched like this, I was in a hospital bed. Liam had covered my eyes and whispered, “Don’t be scared. Our Riley is the bravest girl in the world.” Deep-seated emotions bubbled up. I let out a stifled meow, my eyes getting wet. I had planned to find him once I could walk properly, but I didn’t expect my cat mom to bring me straight here. To let him adopt me. Driven by that thought, I stumbled toward him. My cat mom nudged me from behind, encouraging me. Liam paused, seeming to understand her intention. He scratched her chin and whispered, “I really want to adopt it, but she is afraid of cats.” I had just rubbed my face against his ankle. Never mind. Cat head retraction initiated. 2 My cat mom didn’t know what Liam said, but she could read the room. She meowed anxiously, nudging me to rub against him again, trying to show off how clean my fur was. I wanted to speak, but how could I explain? As far as I knew, no one in Liam’s circle was afraid of cats. I loved them. When I was alive, stray cats used to escort me home, and Liam would always smile and give them treats. So who was afraid of cats? His new partner, presumably. It’s been a year. He has his own life. He had to start over. No one stays in the past forever. I looked up at him. He looked tanner than before, with dark circles under his eyes. Only those eyes were as bright as I remembered. Too bad the reflection in them wasn’t me anymore. I wanted to leave, but Mom wouldn’t let me. She grabbed me and dropped me at Liam’s feet again, standing guard outside. Liam sighed. While we were in this standoff, a familiar male voice came from behind him. “Babe, what’s wrong?” Wait. Why is it a guy? Then, my arch-nemesis Wes’s big, stupid face leaned into view. “You’re feeding strays? Remember, don’t bring them inside. They’re full of bacteria. Filthy.” Liam didn’t say anything, but his expression was resigned, like he was used to this. He might be used to it, but I wasn’t. I launched myself at Wes with a combo of fury swipes. Filthy?! Who are you calling filthy?! Wes, you piece of garbage! You fought me when I was alive, and now that I’m dead, you stole my boyfriend?! My paw pads smacked against him with a satisfying thud-thud. Afraid Wes would hurt me, Liam scooped me up. “The kitten knows you’re bad-mouthing it.” Damn straight. I started yelling at Liam in cat language too. If you found a nice girl, I’d accept it. But my nemesis? And a guy? Are you trying to kill me twice? I swung a paw at Liam, but my legs were too short. I missed. Liam laughed and poked my head. I hissed. Wes frowned, looking at the spot where I’d hit him, lost in thought. “If you touch the cat, wash your hands. Or don’t even think about getting in bed tonight.” Wes dropped that bombshell and went to the bathroom. Soon, I heard the shower running. “I know,” Liam replied, good-natured as always. Great. Just great. One year after my death, my boyfriend and my enemy are together. Judging by that tone, they’re sleeping together??? When did this start? After I died? Or were they colluding while I was still here? No matter what, I had to make Liam adopt me. I needed to see what the hell was going on. 3 That night, I patrolled my new territory. Wes, wearing rubber gloves, pointed a finger at me and yelled, “Liam! It’s me or the cat! One of us goes!” Hearing Liam’s footsteps, I immediately flopped over and let out a weak, pathetic meow. Liam panicked, scooped me up, and put me in the cat bed. “Keep your voice down. The kitten is new; it’ll get stressed.” “Then send it back! I’ll buy extra cat food for the strays tomorrow, okay?” Absolutely not. “Meow~” I shivered. I was weak. I was helpless. I wobbled to my feet and put my paws together in a begging motion. Liam immediately blocked me from Wes’s view. “Wes, calm down. We need to talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” Wes turned and slammed the door to the guest bedroom, locking it. I gritted my teeth. I hand-picked every piece of furniture in this apartment. How dare he slam my door? Liam looked upset. He turned to comfort me, then went to the guest room. He knocked and spoke quietly for a long time before Wes opened the door. They both went inside. I hesitated, then tiptoed to the door to eavesdrop. Thanks to my superior cat hearing, I caught bits and pieces. “…Are you crazy? That’s a cat!” “I know, but she might…” “You’re seriously sick. Send it away tomorrow!” “…” It was like they had a censor filter on. I couldn’t hear the keywords. I spun around anxiously, trying different poses to hear better. Suddenly, the door opened. I tumbled into the room, limbs splayed. “Meow?” Wes sneered down at me. “Look at that. Eavesdropping? I thought it was ‘stressed’?” “What does a kitten know?” Liam picked me up and carried me out. “It understood when I insulted it earlier, but now it knows nothing?” “Wes! Listen to yourself. It’s a cat! It’s not even a month old!” “You better hope it’s just a cat.” I didn’t understand what they were arguing about, but I knew Wes was up to no good. Liam carried me away, looking downcast. He was angry. I extended a paw toward Wes, who looked equally annoyed. I stretched my toes, retracted the others, and left one specific claw out. The middle one. Being flipped off by a kitten must be a first for him. But Wes didn’t get mad. He just stared at my claw, stunned. What’s his deal? Is he a masochist? When I’m cute, he hates me. When I abuse him, he shuts up. I was put back in the cat bed. Since I arrived at night, they didn’t have supplies. Liam rummaged around and finally pulled out a big red scarf to cover me. Hey! Liam! It took me half a month to knit that scarf! You’re giving it to a cat? Even though the cat is me, I still felt salty about it. “Have a good sleep. Goodnight.” Liam kissed my head, his tone sickeningly sweet. If I weren’t a cat right now, I’d think I’d traveled back to the old days. 4 My name is Riley (Yan Nannan). I grew up in foster care. Wes was in the same group home, a year younger than me. We fought from day one. The worst time, I broke my arm, and he got his head split open. The director told us if we fought again, we’d be kicked out. So we dialed it back. After high school, I got into a university up North, a thousand miles away. Before I left, we fought again because Wes hid my suitcase. He blocked the door, glaring at me. “Riley! Didn’t you apply to schools in the South?” “Yeah, but my grades slipped, so I got into the Northern one. Are you sick? Give me my suitcase or I’ll pound you!” He didn’t speak. He just stared at me. So I punched him. I grabbed my suitcase and left, nursing a sore hand. Later, I found out Wes got accepted to a school in the South, a thousand miles away from the home. Whatever. It had nothing to do with me. Further the better. Looking at him made me angry. I never went back to the group home. I worked part-time through college to survive. After graduation, I worked days and hustled nights. Because I had to feed myself and my cat. I found the cat by the road, soaking wet like it had been fished out of a river. I wrapped it in my scarf. Just as I was about to leave, I heard splashing from the nearby pond. More cats? I rushed over. I saw a guy clinging to the bank, half his body still in the water, too exhausted to pull himself up. I put the cat on the grass and went to pull him out. He looked up. His dull eyes suddenly lit up when he saw me. “I’ve got you. Don’t let go.” He nodded and scrambled up. Luckily, I’m strong. I yanked him onto the grass in one go. He collapsed on the slope, gasping for air. “Do you need an ambulance?” “Is the cat okay?” We spoke at the same time, then smiled. “No, I just need to rest.” “Okay.” I picked the cat up and sat next to him to show him. The cat was shaking, but conscious, looking at us timidly. The guy drove us to the vet. Luckily, the cat was fine, just scared and had an ear infection. I happily shoved the medical report into his hand. “Good news! Father and son are safe!” He paused, then laughed. “Yeah. Father and son are safe.” My eyes lingered on the wet business card in his hand—”Song Huixun” (Liam).

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I was the definition of the “Unbothered Queen.” When I caught my husband and my best friend in bed together, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t scream. I simply dropped a cold, indifferent line: “You can have him. He’s trash anyway.” My friends praised my dignity. They called me the embodiment of a modern, independent woman—a heroine straight out of a novel. But reality didn’t follow the script of a satisfying revenge story. After a brief storm of public opinion, the two of them simply got married. The following year, my former best friend gave birth to twins—a boy and a girl. My ex-husband’s startup succeeded, and they became the picture-perfect, wealthy family everyone envied. And me? Shortly after the divorce, the facade of strength crumbled. I was consumed by the trauma of betrayal and the humiliation of being discarded. My belief in karma—that good is rewarded and evil punished—shattered. My career tanked, I couldn’t trust anyone to love me, and my life spiraled into the abyss. Living in a constant daze, I was crossing the street one day when a car slammed into me. As I lay dying, my ex-best friend came to visit. She looked at me with a mix of pity and satisfaction. “I knew you always prided yourself on being the ‘cool girl,’ Serena. That’s why I arranged for you to walk in on us that day…” I died swallowing a mouthful of regret and rage. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back at the door of the bedroom. 1 I was lying in the ER, fading fast. Moments ago, the doctor had somberly informed me that my injuries were too severe. There was nothing more they could do. Just as I was thinking, Fine, let it end, the sharp click of high heels echoed on the floor. Lyla walked in. She was dressed in designer silk, her skin glowing with the kind of health that money buys. She looked younger now than she did eight years ago when I caught her in my bed. She looked down at me, shaking her head with feigned sorrow. “Serena, I never thought you’d end up like this.” “Fate is funny, isn’t it? Round and round it goes, and somehow, I’m the one sending you off… Since we’re here, consider this a confession.” I didn’t know why she was here. I wanted to turn my head, to ignore her, but I couldn’t. I was dying. Lyla sat on the edge of my bed, sighing theatrically. “I fell in love with Ethan the moment I saw him.” “But for all those years, I had to watch. I watched you date, watched you marry. I watched your life eclipse mine. You’d buy a bracelet that cost my entire monthly salary without blinking. I couldn’t understand it. We came from similar backgrounds, went to the same schools, had the same looks. Why? Just because you arrived at that coffee shop ten minutes earlier than me, Ethan fell for you instead?” “So, I decided to correct the mistake myself.” “I found a way to get Ethan into bed. But when he woke up, he was so full of regret. He actually paid me to keep it a secret from you. And even though he couldn’t resist the second time, or the third, he hated himself after every single tryst.” She chuckled lightly. “That wouldn’t do, would it?” “I knew your personality. You were the ‘Independent Woman.’ You always said if a man cheated, you wouldn’t be like those desperate women who scream and cry. You’d divorce him immediately and never look back. So, I begged Ethan for one last time… and I made sure you walked in right in the middle of it.” I stared at her, my vision blurring, unable to process the depth of her malice. After the divorce, I realized that the “Cool Girl” persona was just a dam holding back a tidal wave. When it broke, I drowned. The trauma of betrayal by the two people closest to me destroyed my mental health. Watching them thrive—marriage, kids, IPOs—while I couldn’t even design a simple wedding anymore, felt like torture. I thought I was just unlucky. I thought I was weak. I never imagined it was a setup from the start. “Thank you, Serena! You didn’t disappoint. Your pride and your ‘dignity’ gave us dignity. It allowed Ethan and me to bounce back so quickly.” “Of course, I should thank myself, too. I worked hard. I mimicked your mannerisms to please him. I paid people to sabotage your jobs so you’d get fired. And…” She smiled, a cruel, beatific expression. “I went to a sperm bank abroad ahead of time. I picked a donor who looked just like Ethan and got pregnant with twins…” My body was failing, but my eyes snapped wide open. After I divorced him so cleanly, Ethan had refused to let go. He had knelt before me, swearing he only loved me, begging for another chance, promising never to see Lyla again. Until Lyla said she was pregnant with his children. “Anyway, after the twins were born, Ethan treated me better and better. He truly fell in love with me, bit by bit.” “Serena, I finally lived your life. I changed my own destiny with my own hands. The only regret was that no one knew how clever I’d been. Thank God fate gave me this chance to brag before you die. Don’t hold a grudge, okay? Rest in peace.” She stood up gracefully, her face glowing with the thrill of victory. “Oh, you must be wondering why I’m here? My driver was rushing to get to my favorite bakery before it closed. I’d hate for him to feel guilty about hitting you; it was an accident, after all. I’ll pay the compensation, of course. Though, honestly? The price of your life is less than one of my handbags.” She tilted her head, feigning distress. “But… you have no family left. Who do I even pay?” Laughing softly, she turned and clicked her heels out of the room. I died to the sound of my own soul screaming. … When I opened my eyes, I was standing at the door of the second-floor bedroom. Downstairs, I could hear the laughter of our friends. Inside the room, two naked bodies were entangled, the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the air. I froze for two seconds. Then, I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the face. Sting. It hurt. Good. The next second, I gathered every ounce of air in my lungs and shrieked: “You shameless pieces of trash!” “Ethan! Lyla! You filthy animals!” 2 Two flushed faces whipped around in terror. Ethan saw me, and his pupils contracted to pinpoints. He shuddered violently, panic overtaking him. Lyla let out a gasp, then quickly pulled the duvet up to cover them, whispering in a hoarse, desperate voice: “Serena! Wait, don’t be impulsive!” “It’s all my fault! I seduced Ethan! Don’t blame him! If you want to hit someone, hit me!” In my past life, Lyla had said the exact same words. Back then, I was a successful wedding designer. To me, love and marriage were sacred. A flaw meant it was ruined. If a man was dirty, he was garbage. So, despite the anger and nausea, I had looked at them with cold disdain and said, “He’s all yours,” before walking away. This time, Lyla was watching me, eyes flickering, waiting for me to play the role of the dignified saint. Instead, I charged into the room like a bull. I grabbed the electric kettle from the bedside table—thankfully warm, not boiling—and hurled it at Ethan’s face. Clang! Water splashed everywhere. Ethan clutched his face, howling. I didn’t stop. I moved with the agility of a jungle cat to Lyla’s side. With my left foot, I kicked their pile of clothes under the bed. With my right foot, I braced against the bed frame, reached out with both hands, grabbed a fistful of Lyla’s long, luxurious hair, and yanked. That hair she was so proud of. Thick, long, perfect for gripping. She started this game. I was going to finish it. I twisted my wrist to lock her hair in my grip and dragged her halfway off the bed. Then, aiming at her flushed, terrified face, I unleashed hell. Slap! Slap! Slap! I delivered ten backhand slaps in rapid succession. When my right hand stung, I switched to my left. My movements were fluid, driven by a primal rage I had suppressed for a lifetime. Lyla was dangling off the mattress, her earlier seductiveness replaced by sheer terror. She stared up at the ceiling, letting out a continuous, high-pitched wheeze. In the dark nights of my previous life, I had regretted my “dignity” a thousand times. Why didn’t I make a scene? Why didn’t I ruin them then and there? I had played this scenario out in my head a million times. Nothing—nothing—felt as good as the sting of my palm against her face. When the friends from downstairs rushed up, drawn by my screaming, this is the tableau they found: Me, playing tug-of-war with Lyla’s hair. Lyla, naked and desperate, clutching the duvet for dear life. Ethan, one hand covering his bruised face, the other trying to tug the blanket to cover his groin. A perfect, chaotic deadlock. The crowd at the door stood frozen, jaws on the floor. We were at a weekend rental house with a group of friends. I wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow, but Lyla had called me, lying that Ethan was drunk and needed me. I had driven through the night to get here. Lyla, hanging off the bed, her face swelling like a balloon, wheezed for help: “Help… somebody help me!” Nobody moved. Everyone wore expressions of utter disgust. It wasn’t like this last time. Last time, they didn’t see it. They only heard about it. Seeing is believing. The visual impact of two naked traitors is visceral. In my past life, when Ethan became a millionaire and Lyla a trophy wife, these same people had sighed and said, “True love really conquers all obstacles.” Not today. 3 “Serena… please… calm down…” Ethan’s voice trembled. From the neck up, he was lobster-red. The kettle had done its work; blisters were already forming on his handsome face. That day at the coffee shop, years ago, Lyla was late. I was working on my thesis. Ethan, sitting at the next table, had smiled and asked, “Design student?” By the time Lyla arrived ten minutes later, Ethan and I were already in our own world. I hadn’t noticed the jealous glint in her eyes then. Ethan was an exhibition designer. To the world, he was gentle, talented, and sensitive—the kind of man who carried cat food in his car for strays. But his “soft heart” was his greatest weapon. In my past life, he knelt and told me Lyla had threatened suicide because she loved him so much, and he only slept with her to “save” her. I had felt sick then. I just wanted to get away. I divorced him within a month. Now? I only regretted I didn’t have more hands to pop the blisters on his face. I knew Lyla’s plan. This was her one shot. If she escaped now, she might not get another chance to trap him. And Ethan needed to come home with me… “Calm down?” I glared at him, grinding my teeth. He shivered, shame written all over his features. “Serena, please let her go. Let us put on clothes. Please…” I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. “You want to be the hero? Fine. Lyla and I made a pact years ago. We swore that if either of us ever betrayed the other, the penalty was thirty slaps to the face. I just did twenty. I’m tired.” I pointed a shaking finger at him. “You finish the last ten. If you do it, I’ll let go.” Ethan shook his head frantically. “Serena, I can’t hit a woman—” “Do it,” Lyla sobbed abruptly. “It’s my fault. I seduced him. I drugged his drink! I’m a shameless homewrecker! It has nothing to do with him. Serena, please… my stomach… my waist… I can’t hold on…” Her voice was pitiful. She was playing the martyr for Ethan, but she was also telling the truth—she couldn’t hold on. She was pregnant with twins, after all. The friends at the door muttered things like “Don’t be rash” and “Talk it out,” but no one stepped in. They were enjoying the show. I thought Ethan would hesitate. He was the “gentle” one. But before Lyla even finished speaking, he shuffled over, wrapped in the sheet. Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound was crisp. One slap was a little light. I frowned. Ethan immediately hit her harder. Blood trickled from Lyla’s nose. She looked shocked, then resigned. She had planned for this, suffered for this. This was the price of admission. When the ten slaps were done, her face was unrecognizable. Yet, she managed to squeeze out a grotesque smile at Ethan. “I don’t blame you,” she mumbled through swollen lips, looking at him with the eyes of a tragic heroine persecuted by evil forces. Ethan turned his face away. He looked at me, eyes watering. “Serena, is that enough?” My expression remained stone cold. “Of course not. You gave me this disgusting green hat to wear. If I only hit the mistress and not the husband, people will say I’m a pick-me who only targets women.” Ethan nodded quickly, closing his eyes and lifting his chin, acting the part of the repentant sinner. “Serena, do it. Take your anger out on me. Just let us talk afterwards.” I looked at his blistering face. It looked like touching it would cause an explosion of pus. I changed my mind. I looked down at Lyla. “You do it.” She looked horrified. “No… I can’t!” Ethan suddenly roared, “Just do it! Hurry up! Anything is better than this!” And so, Lyla, in an awkward, twisted position, began to slap the man she claimed to love. “Are you two flirting?” I asked dryly. “Harder.” Ethan gritted his teeth. “Hit me harder!” When Lyla finally pulled her hand back, her palm was covered in sticky fluid from his burst blisters. The farce ended with the two of them crawling on the floor, fishing their clothes out from under the bed, wrapped in sheets like toga-wearing clowns. My rage meter had gone down by about ten percent. 4 Going crazy was satisfying. But it was just venting. Getting reborn required more than just a tantrum. Shame? Who cares about shame? Time washes everything away. Ethan was a talented designer. In the art world, this scandal would eventually become nothing more than an anecdote about his “passionate” nature. I knew Ethan well. The thing he cared about most in the world wasn’t women. It was his career. In my past life, shortly after our divorce, he secured angel investment from a major group and launched his own firm. He became a multimillionaire. Lyla became a high-society wife. The irony was that the design concepts he used to win that funding were things we were working on right now. Things we discussed. Designs I helped him refine. Being a “Heroine” doesn’t mean being a doormat who walks away leaving the gold behind. A true Heroine uses every resource available. I would use him. I would take his momentum and make it mine. I was going to rewrite fate. His fate. Lyla’s fate. And mine. … Ethan knelt before me for three days. On the third evening, I stared out the window and sighed, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “Do your knees hurt?” He looked up, disbelief turning into hope. “They hurt. Serena… are you finally willing to talk to me?” That night, he repeated his script: he loved me, he only pitied Lyla, he slipped up because they were too close. I asked with red eyes, “Did she really drug you?” He nodded without hesitation. “Yes.” I was silent for a moment. “I’m going to resign. What happened… it makes me doubt love. I can’t design weddings anymore. I can’t look happy couples in the face.” Ethan looked distressed. “It’s all my fault. But don’t worry, I’ll support you. I’m talking to an investment group. I’m confident.” I looked at him and said slowly, “But I don’t want to give up design. If I can’t do weddings, teach me your industry. Let me help you.” His eyes lit up. “Of course! Serena, I’ll teach you everything. We’ll build the business together. It will be beautiful.” I lowered my eyes to hide the coldness. “Okay.” The next day, he transferred all his files, assets, and notes to me. I wasn’t lying—he was talented. By day, he worked and did all the housework to atone. By night, he poured his heart out, teaching me the secrets of exhibition design. We slept in separate rooms. He was understanding. “It’s okay, Serena. I’ll wait until you trust me again.” I didn’t forget about Lyla. She was working as a teacher at a public kindergarten. I took the recording from that night—specifically the parts where she screamed, “I seduced him! I drugged him! I’m a shameless homewrecker!”—and hired a composer to turn it into a catchy remix. Then, I hired someone to blast it from a boombox across the street from her school during pickup time. The tune was upbeat. Brainwashing. Parents hummed along before realizing the lyrics. Lyla had to sneak out the back door. She was fired the next day. She moved back to her parents’ house, but the boombox followed her there, too. Her parents wanted to call the police, but she stopped them. She was enduring. She was hibernating. Because she held the trump card. Ethan was raised strictly religious. He had told our friends many times that life was sacred and abortion was a moral sin. In my past life, before the car accident, a successful Ethan had visited me in my squalid apartment. “Serena, I still love you,” he had said, handing me a bank card like he was bestowing charity. “But Lyla gave me a son and a daughter. I can’t let my own flesh and blood grow up without a mother. I can buy you a house. I’ll spend weekends with the kids, but I can be with you during the week.” I had chased him out with a mop. Looking back, Lyla had played her hand perfectly. She knew she couldn’t win Ethan with love alone, so she used his “legacy” against him. One day, I came home to find Lyla sitting on my sofa. Ethan stood beside her, frowning and sighing. When I walked in, Lyla feigned terror. I rushed forward as if to hit her. Ethan blocked me. He looked agonized, gritted his teeth, and dropped the bomb: “She’s pregnant with my child!” Lyla sobbed. “Serena, I’m sorry. I had no choice. He’s the father. He had a right to know.” I looked at Ethan. “You believe her?” Ethan lowered his head. “I believe her.” “Why?” His face flushed. “Because… the first time… she was a virgin. I could tell.” Lyla suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud, swearing to the heavens. “Serena, we’ve been friends for years. You know I never dated anyone. If this isn’t Ethan’s child, may I be struck by lightning!” She looked at me, her tears hiding a gleam of triumphant calculation. She was provoking me. She wanted me to snap, to scream “Divorce!” and kick them out. The fact that I hadn’t divorced Ethan yet had confused her. So she played her Ace. She knew the Serena of the past would never tolerate an illegitimate child. Ethan knelt beside her. “Serena, I beg you. I will transfer every cent of my assets, pre-marital and post-marital, to your name. Just please… let these innocent lives be born.” I looked at the two of them kneeling on my rug. I covered my face with my hands, acting as though my heart was breaking. “I’m not a monster… If it’s come to this…” “Let her have the baby.” Lyla’s head snapped up, shock written all over her face.

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I will die at 2:40 AM today. The killer is a man wearing a black hood. Calling the police, hiding, running away, offering money—nothing works. He finds me every time with uncanny precision, then cleanly ends my life. Trapped in the 31st loop of this death day, I finally manage to rip off his hood during our struggle. But under the hood, the face I see is my own. An older, wearier version of me, aged by over a decade. He looks at me, his voice hoarse: “Chen Mo, get out of the way.” 1 My name is Chen Mo. I am an incredibly ordinary convenience store clerk working the night shift. After graduating from college and failing to find a “real” job, I ended up here, in this suburban 24-hour store, just to make ends meet. No family, no friends, not even a pet. That’s probably why no one has noticed I’ve died thirty times. The first time I woke up in the loop, I thought it was a dream, until the searing pain of a blade slicing my skin pulled me back to reality. The second time, I tried to call the police, but the landline was dead, and my cell signal mysteriously vanished. The third time, I hid behind the shelves, but the robber found me effortlessly, as if he knew exactly where I’d be. The fourth time, I grabbed the biggest wine bottle I could find to fight back. He dodged it easily, and the blade pierced my heart just the same. Ten times, twenty times, thirty times… every death was despairingly real. I tried everything: running out the front door only to be intercepted, hiding in the bathroom and being dragged out, playing dead only to be stabbed anyway. I even piled all the cash on the counter. He ignored the money and killed me. The robber’s movements were too precise for an ordinary criminal. He knew every inch of the store like the back of his hand. It was as if he had rehearsed this countless times. This wasn’t a robbery; it was an execution. Why me? Why this store? Why must I die over and over again, only to wake up standing in front of the freezer? Tonight, for the 31st loop, I decided to change my strategy. I would memorize every detail about him. Every movement, every habit. If I can’t stop my death, at least I need to know why I’m dying. 2 Time ticked away. I stood by the freezer, forcing myself to be calm. The loop gave me one advantage: I could predict the immediate future. The robber would enter through the back door, take five steps to the corner of the aisle, then eight steps to the register, and lunges straight for me. He walked with a slight drag in his right foot—maybe an old injury, or just a habit. He always held the knife the same way: left hand in his pocket, right hand holding the blade, edge down—a classic ambush stance. He never spoke. He never took the money. His target was always, only, me. I took out the store’s inventory notebook and quickly jotted down these observations, even though I knew the writing would vanish in the next loop. 2:39 AM. I quietly shifted my position, standing to the side of the register instead of directly behind it. 2:40 AM. A faint noise from the back door… he’s here. I held my breath, pretending to organize the shelves while watching the back entrance out of the corner of my eye. The shadow arrived on schedule. Familiar footsteps, familiar path. But this time, I noticed more. There seemed to be a scar on his left wrist, visible only when his sleeve shifted. He was about my height and build, but his movements were sharper, more decisive. As he approached the counter and realized I wasn’t in my usual spot, he paused for a split second. Now! I grabbed the fire extinguisher I had prepared and sprayed it directly at him. He clearly didn’t expect this. He hesitated for a moment, but then reacted with shocking speed. He dodged sideways, evading most of the spray. That wasn’t a normal human reaction time! Still, the extinguisher bought me a few precious seconds. I dropped it and grabbed the mop next to the counter, charging at him. This was the first time I initiated the attack instead of waiting to die. Amidst the white powder, we grappled. I could feel his strength and technique far surpassed mine. But I had resolve—fueled by the anger and experience of thirty deaths. During a dodge, I saw his sleeve slip again. The scar was clearer now. It was a surgical scar, located precisely over the radial artery. Why did that detail feel so familiar? Before I could process it, the robber regrouped. The blade came at me again. This time, my death was more painful than ever, but I was closer to the truth than ever before. 3 I opened my eyes in front of the freezer again. But this time, the fear was gone. I had a plan. I had a direction. 2:37 AM. I walked straight to the security room and pulled up the camera feeds. I had ignored this before. The store had six cameras; maybe they caught something I missed. The room was tiny, just an old monitor split into six grainy screens. It was enough. I fast-forwarded through yesterday’s footage and noticed something strange. Starting at 2:00 AM, the feed would occasionally jitter or show static, like signal interference. Even stranger, at 2:40 AM, the moment the robber entered, all cameras blacked out for exactly one second. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I switched to the live feed. 2:39 AM. The back door camera caught a shadow lingering outside. He was here. I picked up the landline in the security room and dialed the police. “Hello? South City Convenience Store. A robbery is in progress. Please send someone immediately!” There was a second of silence, then a calm female voice: “What is your specific address?” I rattled off the address while staring at the screen. The figure had pried open the back door and was slipping inside. “Police will arrive in five minutes. Please stay safe.” Five minutes? I didn’t have five minutes. Watching the robber get closer on the screen, I had an idea. There was a panic button in the security room connected to the local precinct. I smashed the red button. A piercing alarm shrieked through the store. On the monitor, the robber flinched, clearly startled. But instead of running, he moved faster. He knew he was running out of time. I grabbed the security baton and hid behind the door. The moment he burst into the room, I swung with everything I had. Whack! The baton hit his shoulder. He stumbled back two steps. First time I had the upper hand. While he was off balance, I swung again, hitting his head. The black hood loosened, revealing a tuft of graying hair. My heart pounded. Finally, I would see the face of the butcher who had tortured me for thirty loops. Seizing his moment of instability, I lunged forward and ripped the hood off. It was a face I knew intimately, yet weathered by time. It was me, but fifteen years older! Sunken eyes, exhausted gaze, a scar on the forehead… even the mole on the chin was identical. The future me looked at me with grim determination: “Don’t get in the way, Chen Mo!” His voice was hoarse, but it was undeniably mine, just worn down by years. I stepped back in shock. “You… you’re me? Why do you want to kill me?” “Our daughter has a rare blood disease. If I don’t get the money… Chen Xi… won’t make it!” Daughter? I don’t even have a girlfriend. How could I have a daughter? Before I could ask, the future me raised the knife, his eyes filled with despair. “I’m sorry. But this is the only way she lives.” As the blade pierced my chest, my brain was still reeling. The robber was my future self. 4 Waking up in front of the freezer again, my heart hammered—not from fear, but shock. The name Chen Xi echoed in my mind. My daughter? My future daughter? Why would my future self go to such lengths, even killing his past self, to save her? 2:20 AM. I sat at the register and opened the store computer. I couldn’t just wait to die. I needed to know more. I searched “Chen Xi” + “Rare Blood Disease.” Too many results. I searched “Extremely expensive blood disease treatments.” Several possibilities popped up. The most severe was a rare genetic condition called “Heiman-Faber Syndrome.” Less than 500 confirmed cases worldwide. Treatment costs could easily exceed a million dollars. Was this it? But even so, why kill his past self? Robbing a convenience store for a few thousand bucks wouldn’t solve a million-dollar problem. Unless… it wasn’t just about money. I searched “Time Travel” + “Ethical Issues” + “Paradoxes,” skimming through sci-fi and physics discussions. 2:39 AM. I shut down the computer and stood behind the counter, waiting for him. This time, I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t fight. I was going to talk. When the black figure entered from the back, I spoke immediately: “Chen Xi has Heiman-Faber Syndrome, doesn’t she?” His steps faltered, but he recovered quickly and kept coming. “I know who you are. I know why you’re here,” I continued. “But killing me won’t help. We should figure this out together.” The future me stopped. Through the hood, I felt his burning gaze. “You know nothing. It’s too late. There is no other way.” “At least tell me the truth!” I shouted. “Why this store? Why tonight? Why must I die?” He didn’t answer, just kept advancing. I noticed he occasionally clutched his chest while walking. It wasn’t just his daughter; he was sick too. “You’re ill too, aren’t you?” I probed. That stopped him. He pulled off the hood. That face—so like mine, yet so full of pain—stared back. “Listen, past me. There are things you will never understand unless you live through what I have,” he said. “Chen Xi needs a bone marrow transplant. But our marrow doesn’t match anymore because…” He suddenly grabbed his chest, doubling over in pain. I stepped forward to help, but he instantly raised the knife, warning me back. “Because of what?” I pressed. “Because time travel changed me. It changed everything.” He gritted his teeth, pulled the hood back on, and charged. As I died this time, my mind was filled with heartache for a daughter I had never met. 5 Waking up again, confusion was gone. Only resolve remained. I had to find a third way. A way for Chen Xi to live without sacrificing either “me.” 1:30 AM. I left the register and started scouring the store for clues. Why did he choose this store? Why this time? There had to be a reason I missed. I checked every shelf, every drawer. I even lifted the floor tiles under the counter. 2:20 AM. Deep in a locker in the staff break room, I found a small safe. I had never seen this safe before. It wasn’t standard store equipment. I tried every code I could think of: my birthday, the last four digits of my ID, even Chen Xi’s initials. Nothing worked. 2:35 AM. I gave up on the safe and returned to the counter, ready to face him again. Maybe I could get more info tonight. 2:40 AM. The footsteps arrived. In this struggle, I noticed he seemed more desperate, his movements rougher. During a grapple, a worn locket fell from his collar. I seized the chance, grabbed the locket, and backed away. He panicked, reaching for it, but I was too fast. I opened it. Inside was a blurry photo of a little girl. She was about six or seven, with my eyes and nose, smiling innocently. Chen Xi. On the back of the photo, a date was scratched in with a fingernail: April 23, 2035. I looked up in shock. “You’re from ten years in the future?!” He didn’t deny it. Painfully, he said, “That’s the day she died. Unless we change the past.” Died? Before I could ask more, he snatched the locket back and drove the knife into my chest. This time, death came with a terrifying realization. He wasn’t just trying to save her life. He was trying to undo a tragedy that had already happened. In subsequent loops, I tried leaving messages. I taped a note under the counter: I know about Chen Xi. I want to help. Please don’t kill me. Let’s work together. 2:40 AM. He came in, saw the note, ripped it up without hesitation, and killed me. Next time, I wrote on the break room mirror in lipstick: For Chen Xi, we must cooperate. He ignored it and rushed the counter. I left a video message on the computer screen. He glanced at it, turned it off, and killed me. Why was he so stubborn? Had he tried everything in his timeline and concluded this was the only way? In one loop, I noticed an anomaly. The store lights began to flicker irregularly. Strange, crack-like shadows flashed on the walls. At first, I thought it was the wiring. But I realized it only happened around the time he appeared. Even stranger, the future me seemed to notice it too. Every time the lights flickered, he moved faster, as if racing against time. Was this a warning?

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When the Doppelgangers invaded, I awakened the “Human Mimic System.” The rules were simple: Do something irrational, and I’d earn Mimic Points. These points could upgrade my body parts, allowing me to perform horrific feats—like popping my eyeballs out of their sockets. One day, a group of Doppelgangers gathered, whispering, “I feel like there’s a human hiding among us.” 1 I’m a horror game junkie. Escape rooms, puzzle solvers, battle royales, spotting the imposter—you name it, I’ve played it. Everyone knows the lore: Doppelgangers mimic, kill, and replace humans. Of course, I never thought I’d see one in real life. It was Saturday, and I was trying to activate my new system. This “cheat code” had been in my head for a week, but I hadn’t figured out how to use it. Today, I decided to stalk a random dog. Would stalking a stray dog count as “irrational behavior”? I had no idea. As I walked out of the campus gate, something felt off. A cold gaze followed me, but I couldn’t pinpoint the source. As long as it wasn’t PETA, I was fine. Shaking off my paranoia, I stuck to the plan. I picked a stray mutt on the street and started following it. If you’ve ever been chased by a dog, you know the drill: you walk past, it watches. You run, it barks and chases. Today, the roles were reversed. The dog stopped; I stopped. The dog walked; I walked. The poor thing kept looking back, clearly terrified. Ding. The system chime rang in my head. [Mimic Points +10. A Doppelganger witnessed this event and experienced a cognitive error.] [Note: The entity chasing the dog is your imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +50.] [When Exposure reaches 100, you will assimilate the Doppelganger.] A chill ran down my spine. Doppelgangers were real. This was definitely not good news. Imagine the anxiety of realizing everything around you is unpredictable. In games, I’ve accidentally let Doppelgangers into safe zones, leading to gruesome massacres. They could be your friends, your neighbors, your RA, your roommate… Terrifying. In games, you can reload a save. In reality, you can’t. Especially now, when the news of the invasion hasn’t broken yet. How many of them are there? No one knows. Putting aside my fear, I had to deal with the imitator first. To do that, I needed to keep racking up Mimic Points. As the dog whimpered and ran away with its tail between its legs, I dumped all 10 points into the “Brain” stat. [Brain +10. You will generate more “human-like” ideas.] A spark of inspiration hit me—I was going to get a manicure for a chicken foot. Wait, that idea made me blush instantly. I should have put 5 points into “Thick Skin.” This was going to be social suicide. With a heavy heart, I bought three braised chicken feet. I accidentally ate two on the way. Resisting the urge to eat the last one, I clutched it in my hand. I scanned the people around me. Do I need new glasses? Why haven’t I spotted the Doppelganger yet? I walked into a nail salon, holding the chicken foot. I took a deep breath. “Hi, can you give my chicken foot a manicure?” The nail tech looked at me blankly, question marks practically floating above her head. Oh god, I wanted to dig a hole and die. After adding, “I’ll pay extra,” she reluctantly agreed. The mechanical voice rang again: [Mimic Points +10. A Doppelganger witnessed this event. Cognitive error deepening.] [Note: The entity manicuring the chicken foot is your imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +50. Total Exposure: 100.] [When you identify the Doppelganger, you will wear its skin.] So it’s basically a skin system? I walked out of the salon holding a glamorized chicken foot. The sun felt exceptionally hot today, burning my face. It felt like my face had been upgraded and reinforced. The nail tech did her best, but my wallet was empty. If my boyfriend didn’t bring me breakfast, I was at risk of eating grass for the next two weeks. Worst case scenario, I could try dumpster diving. Ignoring my wandering thoughts, I dumped the new 10 points into “Eyes.” [Eyes +10. Eye adjustability increased. You can slightly control pupil color, bloodshot level, pupil size, and detachment.] My eyelid twitched. I thought it would boost observation skills. These upgrades were getting weird. At this rate, I wouldn’t know who was more like a Doppelganger—me or them. I opened my front-facing camera. Under my control, red veins crept across my whites, making me look sleep-deprived. Not enough. I tried turning the whole eye white. Just a pale glaze, not quite horror movie level. Shrinking the pupils? Still not pinpoint enough. I needed more points to make it useful. More importantly, I realized something: I only got points when a Doppelganger was watching. Identifying it immediately might be a mistake. I should farm it for points. A new idea popped into my head: “Take a cat to the vet for neutering, then lie on the operating table myself.” I really should have put those 5 points into Thick Skin. After capturing a stray tabby, I dragged it to the vet clinic. “Hi, do you do neutering here?” The cat in my arms started squirming, sensing danger. The nurse nodded and smiled. “Yes, we do.” I put the cat down, kept a straight face, and climbed onto the examination table. “Please neuter me!” The nurse’s eyes widened. Even the cat looked confused. She blurted out, “Huh?” System prompt: [Mimic Points +20. Your behavior has completely distorted the imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +100. Note: It is now purple with confusion.] 2 Under the nurse’s “calling the psych ward” gaze, I rolled off the table. Walking out of the clinic felt like escaping death. Social death is still death. That was terrifying. I almost clawed through the floor with my toes. She even patiently explained why she couldn’t do it, which made me even more ashamed. Taking a deep breath, I noticed the sky was getting dark. I immediately spotted someone casually following a dog. As expected, she was the Doppelganger mimicking me. Looking closely, she did resemble me. In dim light, she would be my twin. Seeming to notice my gaze, she subtly showed off the manicure on the chicken foot she was holding. Like she was saying, Look how beautiful this is. Oblivious to how abstract and insane it was. The moment I recognized her, her death sentence was signed. But I’d spare her for now. I continued my “human” behavior—talking to thin air. “What did you think of the surgery?” Pause. “Seems you rate the doctor highly.” Pause. “I’ll treat you to dinner tonight, don’t argue.” Pause. “Just remember to bring your wallet.” After a string of soliloquies, the system chimed: [Mimic Points +5. The imitator believes it has gathered sufficient information and will attack you in a secluded area. Please identify it before the attack.] Night had fallen. The Doppelganger stopped hiding, its gaze filled with naked hunger. Walking through the deserted streets, the cold feeling grew stronger, like I was about to be flayed alive. I reached a dark alley and stopped. “You are a Doppelganger, aren’t you?” She looked surprised, then smirked cruelly. “When did you figure it out?” System prompt: [Do not use questions when identifying.] Strict. I turned around, pointed at her, and said, “You are a Doppelganger.” [Identification Successful. Urban Legend Unlocked: The Human Mimic.] [In the city’s shadows, Doppelgangers lurk. Among them hides the Human Mimic. Its behavior deviates from the norm, bringing error, chaos, and death to Doppelgangers.] [Tonight, a Doppelganger disturbed the Mimic.] [Legend Unlock Progress: 2%. The Doppelganger fears you.] The Doppelganger before me looked terrified. Inch by inch, it crumbled, turning into a set of summer clothes that the system absorbed. I pulled up the description: [Congratulations, you have acquired Identity 1: Incomplete Doppelganger (Mimic Form). She was a failure even among her kind.] [Note: Identity becomes invalid if exposed.] [But don’t worry. Beneath the Doppelganger skin lies the Human Mimic.] 3 “Did you guys hear? Someone from Room 305 went missing.” As soon as I got back to the dorm, my roommate Sarah brought up the news. “Is it that tall, skinny girl?” Emily asked. Sarah looked at her. “Oh, you knew too?” Jessica put down her study materials. “Is this a big deal? Maya, have you heard?” I shook my head. “Nope.” Thinking to myself, Is this related to the Doppelgangers? Sarah looked at us. “Her sister came to the school demanding answers. It might blow up depending on how the admin handles it.” Emily tutted. “Her RA is weird too. The girl’s been gone for two weeks and he didn’t even think to look for her.” Sarah joked, “Maybe he’s a Doppelganger?” My heart skipped a beat. “It’s possible.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean the ones from your game.” I put my suspicion aside. It wasn’t easy to explain Doppelgangers right now. I could show off my adjustable eyes, but that would probably get me chains in a research lab, not understanding. Before the truth surfaced, I had to be careful. I asked, “What’s the RA’s name again?” Emily recalled, “Something like Lee… Fly?” Jessica added, “Lee Xinfei. He’s the advisor for the music club. He’s a nice guy, don’t spread rumors.” I looked at Jessica. I noticed she was watching a lecture video at 1x speed on her laptop. She had headphones on earlier, so I hadn’t noticed. If I recall correctly, she always watches videos at 2x speed. Noticing my gaze, she asked, “What are you looking at, Maya?” I laughed it off. “Nothing, just spacing out.” If she had already been replaced, the situation was worse than I thought. The invasion might have started a long time ago. After lights out, I put my pillow at the foot of the bed, lay facing the other way, and covered my head completely with the duvet. Basically reversing my sleeping position. A normal person wouldn’t do this. I was just testing. Then, the sound I didn’t want to hear rang out: [Mimic Points +1. A Doppelganger witnessed this. It is confused.] I shivered. This meant one of my roommates was gone forever. I dumped 20 points into my “Arms.” I hoped for a strength boost. I needed to protect myself and get revenge. [Arms +20. Your arm joints can now bend freely. Please ignore the clicking sounds.] [Action Unlocked: Handstand. Movement speed increased by 50% while in a handstand.] [Action Unlocked: Crawl. You can briefly cling to walls while crawling.] [Passive Unlocked: Fear Harvest. Reaching 90% triggers a random effect.] Looking at the list, I pondered. Seems like hitting 20 points triggers a major change. I had 6 points left. I’d save them. I had skills now, but couldn’t use them yet. It was a sleepless night. Excitement, fear, sadness, and hatred mixed together. I decided to text my boyfriend, warning him about the Doppelgangers. At 1 AM, he replied: “My roommate sucks at gaming, he must be a Doppelganger.” How to explain? “Not internet slang. The horror game kind. You streamed those games, you know them.” He understood. “The monsters that mimic humans?” I sent a thumbs-up emoji. “Like the Mandela Catalogue, but maybe worse.” I sent him a graphic: Check for biological inconsistencies. Check for stiff movements or expressions. Check for repetitive speech patterns. Check if they stare at you constantly, causing unease. Look for tiny non-human traits. A while later, he replied, “Actually, it is weird. Star is left-handed, but he smokes with his right hand. Today he used his left.” “Is he a Doppelganger?” I sent several messages after that, but he didn’t reply. My eye twitched. Did something happen? The next morning, he replied, “Fell asleep last night. Tell me more later.” Eating breakfast downstairs, he asked, “You know a lot about this?” Alarm bells rang. Was he replaced? “Not much more than you.” He nodded. “There haven’t been any new Doppelganger games in three years. Why bring it up?” “I’m replaying old ones.” He looked disappointed. “Thought there was a new game to stream. My follower count is dropping.” His logic seemed sound, but I had my own test. “Come with me to the car wash.” He was surprised. “You bought a car? Did you win the lottery? Don’t forget me when you’re rich. I can call you Mom if the breakup fee is high enough.” In my bag were two black rooks from a Xiangqi (Chinese Chess) set. I planned to use them on Jessica, but he was first. At the car wash, he asked, “Where’s the car? We walked here.” I pulled out the two chess pieces (which are called ‘Cars’ in Chinese). “Wash these cars.” He gave me the Nick Young question mark face. ??? “You’re hilarious.” “Find a tap and wash them yourself, don’t prank the workers.” I stared into his eyes, heart pounding. No system prompt. I sighed in relief. “Never mind. Let’s go.” He looked at me. “You’re acting weird. Are you a Doppelganger?” I hesitated, but decided not to reveal my identity. “Just be careful. Some have infiltrated.” He looked down at me. “Are you tired lately?” I felt the difficulty of convincing him. I could convince anyone easily, I just chose not to. Selfishness won over love. “Just keep an eye out.” He smiled. “I’m a horror game streamer. Don’t worry.” After parting ways, I met up with Jessica to go shopping. My next move: buy the same item repeatedly at the same stall. After buying lilies for the sixth time at the corner florist, the prompt chimed: [Mimic Points +10.] [Over ten Doppelgangers witnessed this.] 4 I froze, holding the flowers. I scanned the florist, Jessica, and the bustling street outside. Jessica complained, “If you like them so much, buy more. I’m losing my mind here.” The clerk kept her customer service smile, but her eyes were weird. “Enough. Let’s go back.” Back in the dorm, I threw all the lilies in the trash, put the empty vase on the balcony, and filled it to the brim with water. Jessica stared at me like the screaming marmot meme. “Huh?!” System: [Mimic Points +10. The Doppelganger’s brain has been impacted. It cannot believe what it is seeing is real and not a hallucination.] I smiled at her. Gotcha. As I went to close the door, she quietly locked it. The other two roommates were out and wouldn’t be back soon. She was thinking the same thing I was. I smiled and didn’t call her out. Jessica walked up to me. “Maya, I lied yesterday. I know something about the missing girl.” I feigned surprise. “Why didn’t you say so?” She looked around and whispered, “Because one of the other two is a Doppelganger.” The weasel paying respects to the chicken. I sneered internally but kept a straight face. “How can Doppelgangers be real?” She looked anxious. “You have to believe me. Her death is related to them.” “She died?” Jessica nodded. “I saw it. Two weeks ago, I went to Mr. Lee’s office about the choir. I saw that girl leaving.” “She mentioned our room. She said: ‘Mr. Lee, someone in 301 is following me.’” “Mr. Lee told her to calm down, said it was impossible.” “She said: ‘I’ll find proof!’” I said, “That doesn’t prove she’s dead.” Jessica looked at me. “I have proof. Under Emily’s bed. Go look if you don’t believe me.” Unsure of her game, I shook my head. “I can’t rummage through people’s stuff.” She looked exasperated. “Why are you so stubborn!” Jessica stood up, went to Emily’s bed, and pulled out a human skin. “See? Believe me now?” I looked at her strangely. “But that’s your bed.” She smiled sinisterly. “Yes, it is.” I bent down to look. My two eyeballs popped out like ping pong balls and rolled towards her, staring straight up. I stood up, empty sockets facing her. “My eyes fell out. Can you pick them up for me?”

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My best friend Claire and I had our dream wedding, marrying the Miller brothers. I married Joe, the swimmer; she married Liam, the surgeon. But their childhood sweetheart, Scarlett, crashed our joint honeymoon. During a rafting trip, we were all thrown into the river. The brothers dove in—but swam only to Scarlett, leaving us to the rapids. We were pulled from the water, bleeding heavily. Paramedics called our husbands. Mine snapped, “Sienna, must you be so needy? Scarlett’s in the hospital. Be considerate for once!” Claire’s husband was just as cold: “This better be important.” Told we were miscarrying and needed surgery, they both sneered, “If you’re going to lie, be believable. A honeymoon baby was a mistake anyway.” Signing the consent forms alone, Claire and I made a silent pact. We were done. 1 The first thing I did after waking up from the anesthesia was call Joe to demand a divorce. He finally answered on the seventh call, his voice dripping with impatience. “What do you want now? Are you ever going to stop?” We weren’t even through our honeymoon, and he already despised me this much. I heard a woman’s soft cry in the background, followed by the urgent, caring voices of Joe and Liam. Swallowing the bitterness that rose in my throat, I cut to the chase. “The honeymoon’s over. As soon as we’re back, I’m filing for divorce.” There was a sharp intake of breath on his end, then an explosion of rage. “Sienna, are you insane? I told you, Scarlett is in the hospital! I have to be here for her.” “None of this would have happened if you and Claire hadn’t insisted on sharing our raft! How else would Scarlett have fallen in?” he yelled. “It’s bad enough you don’t give a damn about her, but now you’re pulling this jealous stunt? I married you, just like you always wanted. Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to be so petty?” “You’re right,” he spat. “The honeymoon is over. Take your pathetic best friend and get lost. Just stay the hell away from me and my brother!” He hung up before I could say another word. That’s when I realized. He hadn’t married me because he wanted to. He’d married me to grant my wish. He seemed to have forgotten he was the one who once swore he’d never marry anyone but me. And the rafting trip? It was Scarlett who had insisted on it. All she had to do was say she wanted to go, and Joe and Liam made it happen. If it wasn’t for her, Claire and I would have never set foot in that raft. Besides, a four-person raft was the perfect size. Scarlett was the extra passenger, yet Claire and I were the ones who were thrown away. After falling into the water, the rapids spun us around until we were dizzy and disoriented. We swallowed mouthful after mouthful of river water, our struggles growing weaker. At one point, my head was about to smash against a rock, but Claire managed to pull me away just in time, her own body taking the brunt of the impact. Who could have known that the babies we had longed for would arrive so quietly, only to be torn away just as silently? A tragically perfect mirror of our marriages. Claire woke up after me, only to find she couldn’t even reach Liam. He had blocked her number. We just stared at each other, silent, as tears streamed down our faces. Just then, a notification for a trending video popped up on my phone. I opened it. It was a video of the Miller brothers’ heroic river rescue, and it had gone viral. In the clip, Joe and Liam worked together, lifting a terrified Scarlett out of the raging water. No matter how powerful the current, they refused to let her go. Once on shore, she murmured something about her chest hurting, and Joe immediately began performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Liam was right there beside him, meticulously disinfecting and bandaging a barely visible scratch on her arm. The comments section was flooded. Thousands of women wished they were Scarlett, to be saved so valiantly by two gorgeous men. Scarlett herself commented under the viral video: They saved my life… how can I ever repay them? Taking suggestions! Urgent! Her comment was immediately pinned to the top with a flood of likes. The internet had spoken. A debt like that can only be paid back one way! With your body! Two ridiculously hot heroes? Go for it, girl! Don’t hesitate! You snooze, you lose! Scarlett replied coyly to her new fans: Well, if you all insist! Get the wedding bells ready, everyone! So, a love triangle wasn’t crowded after all. It was our marriages, Claire’s and mine, that had made their perfect trio feel cramped. No one noticed the two other figures in the video, being swept further and further downstream. Just like Joe and Liam, the world only had eyes for Scarlett. Well, if they wanted a show, we would give them one. With a shared, unspoken understanding, Claire and I posted our own comments under the video. Just a heads-up to the two heroes: let us know when you have a free moment to sign divorce papers. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your real honeymoon. Scarlett’s confidence came from the brothers’ blatant favoritism. If they loved her so much, why had they married us in the first place? The moment we posted, our inboxes exploded. Mindless internet trolls told us to get out of the way and let true love run its course. A few kind souls offered their sympathy. And Joe, who hadn’t contacted me in two days, called me instantly, his voice a torrent of fury. “Sienna, who gave you permission to run your mouth online? Can you not survive a single day without throwing a jealous fit?” “Scarlett can’t swim! The situation was critical! Was I supposed to let her drown while you saved her?” “She would be dead if we hadn’t saved her! Would you have given your life for hers? Is that what you wanted?” “The rescue team got to you. You’re perfectly fine, so stop your whining. And you paid a doctor to fake a miscarriage? There’s a limit, Sienna.” “You and Claire are going to delete those comments, and then you’re going to record a public apology to Scarlett. If one more person calls her a homewrecker because of you, I’ll make you regret it.” This was the first time he had reached out to me since the accident. Not to ask if we were hurt—he assumed that since we could swim and the professionals had arrived, the worst we’d suffered was swallowing a little dirty water. He didn’t care that his demand for an apology would only fuel the online mob calling for our heads. His only concern was protecting Scarlett’s reputation. But wasn’t forcing her way into two marriages the very definition of a homewrecker? The man I had loved for five years truly had no heart for me. A five-year marathon, finally ending with the wedding he’d promised. And now, not even two weeks later, the happy marriage I’d dreamed of was ending with the death of my child. Maybe our babies knew. Maybe they decided to leave the moment they realized their fathers wouldn’t choose their mothers. The brothers had been clear: they would have made us get rid of a honeymoon baby anyway. Even without the accident, our children were never meant to be. Joe was still on the line, waiting for me to break down, to apologize, to beg. His impatience was palpable. “I’m talking to you! Are you mute?” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Are you deaf? I said, we’re getting a divorce.” 2 With me, Joe was usually a man of few words. Even during arguments, he preferred to let things cool down. The only exception was Scarlett. When it came to her, he could unleash a firestorm of rage at me. And it always ended with me being the one to apologize. I loved him, so I always gave in. I believed that since he had promised to marry me, he would honor it. Looking back, a clean break would have been kinder. On the other end of the line, Joe’s breathing grew heavy. He was clearly enraged by my defiance. “Sienna, I hate being threatened. I brought you on this honeymoon as a courtesy, not so you could compete with Scarlett like some catty teenager. Why do you have to be so damn insecure? My own brother is at his wit’s end because of your brainless friend. If you keep this up, don’t blame me when this is all over.” “Oh, it’ll be over, Joe,” I said calmly. “The moment the divorce is final.” He was stunned into silence for a second, then he hung up and immediately video-called me. His face was a thundercloud, a clear sign he was at the end of his rope. “Say that again. You want a divorce?” he snarled. “Did you think marriage was a game? You were the one rushing to the altar, and now you’re the one screaming for a divorce. Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” “You’re almost thirty, throwing tantrums and getting jealous over nothing. Who else would have married you? No one wants a woman like you!” He had spent five years emotionally manipulating me about my desire to get married. He knew exactly where to stick the knife. “What’s wrong with being almost thirty? It’s not a death sentence. And it’s not like you’re the last man on earth. And even if you were, I’d still divorce you.” Because of them, because of their choice, Claire and I had almost died, taking our unborn children with us. I would rather die than stay married to him. Marrying Joe had once been my greatest dream. I’d ignored my parents’ warnings, determined to have him. If I could be stubborn enough to marry him, I could be resolute enough to leave him. He was the wall I had to run into. Now, bruised and broken, I finally understood: marrying a man who doesn’t truly love you is a lifetime of misery. Before the wedding, no matter how much I fought with him over Scarlett, I never once considered leaving. I foolishly believed that being his first real love made me special. It wasn’t until he swam toward her, watching me get swept away without a flicker of concern, that I finally understood my place. I was just something to keep his bed warm. “Sienna, you’re not a child anymore. Are you really going to throw away our marriage over something so trivial?” Trivial. Watching me nearly die was trivial. “Yes,” I said. “For this one, trivial thing.” He once draped his swimming medal around my neck and joked that if my mother and I were drowning, he was fast enough to save us both. I was so touched at the time. I didn’t need him to lie and say he’d save me first; those were just words. But I never imagined that when a real-life drowning scenario played out, he would swim to his childhood sweetheart without a second thought. For him, there had only ever been one right answer. I was the wrong one. Two weeks ago, at our wedding, he took my hand from my father and promised to protect me for the rest of his life. His ‘rest of his life’ was short. It lasted fifteen days. “Fine! Have it your way! We’ll get a divorce. But don’t you come crawling back to me, because I never go back for seconds.” He ended the video call abruptly. I knew why. In the background, I’d heard Scarlett’s sweet voice, telling him she was thirsty. One word from her, and Joe would give her the world. He was an expert in the water, yet he hadn’t noticed that Claire and I were in real trouble. He didn’t even notice I was lying pale in a hospital bed on his video screen. Before Scarlett returned, he had been lukewarm, but he would at least stay up all night with me if I had a fever. We had been in love once, for a little while. Now, that love was gone, washed away. All it took was one look from Scarlett, and I lost everything. Joe’s voice had been loud. Claire, lying in the bed next to me, had heard every word. She crawled onto my bed and hugged me, her body shaking with angry sobs. “Sienna, we were so blind. How could we have mistaken those scumbags for the loves of our lives?” Before I could comfort her, her phone started ringing incessantly. Liam, apparently willing to unblock her just to give Scarlett a victory, was calling. Tears streamed down Claire’s face. She meant to reject the call, but a teardrop landed on the screen, and her swipe accidentally answered the video chat. “Why are you crying, Claire? Do you think red, puffy eyes are going to make me forgive your monumental screw-up?” Liam’s face filled the screen, twisted with contempt. “If you and Sienna are so bored, go find your own fun. Go to a club, hire a male stripper for all I care. But you do not get to drag Scarlett’s name through the mud online!” “She poured her heart and soul into planning this trip for us, and this is how you repay her? By getting her torn apart by strangers online? Do you have any conscience at all?” Claire’s tears became a torrent. 3 Her crying didn’t stop Liam. It only fueled his tirade, as if he and his brother wouldn’t rest until they had verbally beaten us into submission. “Don’t just sit there and cry. If you weren’t my wife, I’d give you a taste of your own medicine. With my brother’s and my reputation, turning the internet against you would take minutes.” “If I were you, I’d be crawling over here to beg for Scarlett’s forgiveness, and then I’d get the hell out of sight. Crying won’t solve anything.” Claire hadn’t even wanted to answer. Seeing her get ripped to shreds without saying a single word, a protective fury surged through me. I snatched the phone. “Liam, you’re a bastard, just like your brother. Go file the damn papers!” Claire found her voice, a choked sob. “Liam, I want a divorce!” After the call, she was a wreck, trembling with a mixture of grief and anger. I held her tight, and we cried together, letting it all out. Who would have thought? A celebrated swimming prodigy and a life-saving surgeon, leaving their own wives to die. Their polished public images had charmed everyone, including us. But we were the only ones who knew the ugliness that lay beneath the surface. “Sienna, maybe this is a blessing in disguise,” Claire whispered, her voice raw. “At least we see them for who they are now. We don’t have to waste our lives, or bring children into a loveless marriage.” “Claire, I’m so glad you can see it that way. I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to let Liam go…” She had chased after him since she was a teenager. That kind of first love is hard to forget. She had dedicated more than a decade of her life to him, only for it to end like this. “Sienna, a heart doesn’t turn to ice in one day. I don’t regret marrying him, and I certainly don’t regret divorcing him. It was my choice, and now I’m choosing to cut my losses.” We held each other again, drawing strength from one another. Our marriages were over. We had accepted that the moment we woke up from surgery. Our only regret was for the two small lives that had flickered briefly inside us, sacrifices on the altar of our failed relationships. We prayed they would find happier homes next time. Composing ourselves, we began preparing for the divorces. Being newlyweds, there were no complicated assets to divide. All we needed were their signatures and a trip to the courthouse. Just as we finished drafting the agreements, we both received notifications on our phones. It was from a social media app. Our husbands, using their verified public accounts, had replied directly to our comments under the viral video. Joe Miller: My wife gets a little jealous sometimes and likes to make a big deal out of small things. If you have questions, ask me. Please don’t attack an innocent person! Liam Miller: My wife and sister-in-law are both excellent swimmers, and they were immediately picked up by the professional rescue team. They weren’t hurt. Please don’t get carried away by their little joke. They even posted a group photo of the four of us from earlier in the trip, trying to prove we were fine. Their posts ignited a firestorm. The internet collectively decided we were manipulative drama queens, trying to piggyback on Scarlett’s newfound fame. After all, she had leaned into the viral moment, building a brand and gaining hundreds of thousands of followers. I checked my messages and saw Joe had been demanding my login credentials. Because I hadn’t deleted the comment and apologized, he was going to log in as me and do it himself. I had to laugh. He would literally walk through fire for Scarlett. For me, there wasn’t an ounce of sincerity. All my passwords were our anniversary dates. He had forgotten. Thank god he forgot. I can’t imagine the ways he would have publicly humiliated me to appease her. Their self-righteous declarations online showed a complete disregard for the torrent of abuse we would face. It was just like in the river—they had left us to drown. You two bitches should just die. Threatening divorce like it’s a joke. You think you’re so special? Get a real divorce then, or I’ll curse you out myself! What did your husbands do wrong, you psycho? They saved someone! You’re fine, so stop being so bitter! Attention-seeking whores, get a divorce and leave those poor men alone. I can picture your ugly, jealous faces. You two are so obsessed with each other, why don’t you just get together and make room for the real queen! The internet may have rules, but online mobs don’t need a reason to attack. The pain of the drowning, the miscarriage, the decision to divorce… it was a private agony that only Claire and I could understand. Joe and Liam couldn’t see the hospital beds we were lying in, but their indifference was one thing. To actively lie and paint us as villains was pure poison. We looked at the flood of hate pouring into our phones. We were done being punching bags. If the brothers wanted to weaponize the internet to protect Scarlett, we weren’t going to just lie down and take it. We took a picture of our surgery consent forms—the ones detailing the procedures for our miscarriages—and sent them directly to our husbands.

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When I lost the baby, Ethan wept outside the delivery room. Even the nurses were touched, whispering enviably, “Your husband loves you so much. You’re lucky.” I looked at Ethan, who was carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down for me. “Yeah, I am.” But later, I saw a field of red roses covering an entire hillside. And I saw him standing there, shouting, “I love you!” to the girl who killed our child. 01 Ethan had been incredibly busy lately. Busy meeting clients, busy with board meetings, busy with “networking.” He’d come home in the middle of the night, reeking of alcohol. “Chloe, I’m so tired.” He would kiss me on the forehead. “But when I think of you and the baby, it’s all worth it.” I would gently stroke my belly, looking at him with heartache as he passed out from exhaustion. This was our third year of marriage. Finally, we were having a child. Ethan and I met in college. Relying on his sharp business acumen and my unwavering backend support, we built our startup from a garage project into a thriving company. Two years ago, we actually conceived. But back then, the company was in a critical growth phase. We were running ourselves ragged, flying across the country every other day. “Let’s not keep it,” I had said, cupping Ethan’s face, my voice firm but shaking. “We can have children later. But this opportunity for the company… it’s once in a lifetime.” Ethan’s eyes had turned red. I knew how hungry he was for success. We had poured our blood and sweat into this business. I couldn’t let my personal desires destroy the hard work of so many employees. Even though I loved kids, for the sake of our future, I gave up that first pregnancy. Now, “Ethan & Co.” was stable. We were finally getting our wish—soon to be a family of three. Even though I was only four months along, Ethan had banned me from doing any work or chores since the day the stick turned pink. Buzz. My phone lit up on the nightstand. I quickly silenced it, terrified of waking Ethan. It was a picture message. I clicked it open. It was a photo, taken at a tilted, secretive angle. Across a candlelit table sat a man. The photographer was clearly a woman—her hand was visible in the corner, slender, with an intricate manicure and a distinctive crystal charm bracelet. But my eyes were glued to the man’s hand across from her. On his wrist was the diamond-encrusted Cartier watch I had given Ethan for his birthday just days ago. My heart started hammering against my ribs. I zoomed in. On the man’s index finger, there was a faint, white scar. It was Ethan. That scar was from our first year of marriage. I couldn’t mistake it. Back then, the company was just starting, and we needed every penny for capital. We lived in a cramped studio apartment on the outskirts of the city to save on rent. The building was ancient, and the wiring was shot. One night, the power cut out while Ethan was chopping vegetables. He sliced his finger open in the dark. I scrambled to find the first aid kit by the light of my phone screen, bandaging him up with trembling hands. We sat in the dark, eating cold sandwiches because the electric stove wouldn’t work. “Chloe,” his voice had been dry and raspy. “I’m sorry I’m making you suffer like this.” “One day, I promise, I’ll give you the happiest life imaginable.” I had leaned my head on his shoulder. “I know.” I believed in that future. And true to his word, we eventually got that life. Until that hand appeared in another woman’s photo. 02 When Ethan woke up the next morning, I had already made oatmeal. Watching him scroll through his phone with a faint smile, I asked, casually as I could, “Who was the dinner with last night?” Ethan glanced at me. “The General Manager of OmniCorp. You’ve met her.” I had met her. The GM of OmniCorp was indeed a young woman. I nodded and didn’t say anything else. Ethan put down his spoon. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I said softly. “Just try not to drink so much next time.” “I know. The Omni contract is still up in the air. I have to go meet her again today to finalize terms.” I cleared the table. “Okay. I have my prenatal checkup this afternoon. Are you free?” Ethan walked over, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and kissed my cheek. “Babe, this partnership is make-or-break. Can you drive yourself to the clinic this one time? I’ll go with you next month, I promise.” I looked up at him. “But the doctor said these first few months are crucial. I really wanted you there.” Ethan looked me in the eye. “Chloe, please. Be reasonable.” That phrase. It sounded so familiar. A few months ago, when we found out I was pregnant, he used that same tone. “Chloe, I want you to step back from the company for a while.” “The stress is too much. I’m worried about you.” I was surprised. I had weathered the stormiest days of our startup; I wasn’t fragile. “It’s fine, I can—” “Chloe,” he had looked at me with intense seriousness. “I don’t want anything to happen to our baby.” “Please. Be reasonable.” Seeing his determination, I had agreed. Just like today. He smiled, coaxed me into eating a few more bites, and left for the office. I got dressed and headed to the hospital. That drive would change my life forever. 03 I was waiting at a red light when the car behind me slammed into my bumper without braking. The impact was massive. Inertia threw me forward, and despite the seatbelt, my lower abdomen slammed hard against the steering wheel console. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through me. My vision blurred. The driver of the other car ran up and tapped on my window. I used every ounce of strength to pop the door open. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking at the light…” It was a young, pretty girl. Her sweet, apologetic smile vanished instantly, replaced by horror. “Oh my god… you’re bleeding…” she shrieked. I looked down. Blood was soaking the beige car seat. My baby! Panic, cold and sharp, woke me up. “Call 911! Now!” I screamed. “No, wait, the ambulance will take too long. Get in my car, I’ll drive you to the ER! It’s two blocks away!” The girl hesitated, looking terrified. “I… I’m scared to move you…” I roared at her, “Drive! My baby is dying!” Frightened by my hysteria, she helped me into her passenger seat. She was sobbing as she started the car, but instead of focusing, she called her boyfriend. “Babe, I accidentally hit a pregnant lady’s car… she’s bleeding a lot… I’m driving her to the hospital, what do I do? I’m so scared…” She listened to the voice on the other end, calming down slightly. I was frantically trying to call Ethan. Line busy. Again. Line busy. Pick up, Ethan! Our baby! I dialed the office line in desperation. “Put Ethan on the phone! It’s an emergency!” My assistant sounded confused. “One second… wait, he was just here. Where did he go? He literally just vanished.” “Find him and tell him to call me!” I yelled and hung up. We arrived at the ER. Nurses rushed me onto a gurney. The diagnosis came quickly: severe trauma caused a placental abruption. I had lost the baby. Lying on the hospital bed, moments before surgery to remove the tissue, I heard the girl whining to her boyfriend on the phone in the hallway. “Can you hurry up? I’m really scared. What if she tries to sue me for everything?” The anesthesia kicked in. A single tear rolled down my temple. I’m sorry, baby. 04 When I opened my eyes, Ethan was sitting by my bed, eyes rimmed with red. “Ethan…” My voice was a croak. He quickly poured me water. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I was in a meeting…” I paused for a long time before finding the strength to speak. “The baby… the baby is gone.” Ethan took a deep breath and forced a pained smile. “I know. Chloe, it was an accident. Nobody wanted this. Don’t worry, we can have another one.” “Where is she?” I suddenly remembered the driver. “The girl who rear-ended me.” Ethan stroked my hair. “I told her to go home. The police contacted me about the accident report. It’ll depend on their investigation. Having her here would just upset you, so I sent her away.” Tears began to fall again, soaking the pillow. “Why? She should pay for this!” Ethan was silent for a moment. “In these cases, it’s usually just financial compensation.” I closed my eyes. “I wish she could go to jail…” “Chloe, jail won’t bring the baby back. It’s pointless to fixate on punishment.” I opened my eyes, looking at him in disbelief. “Pointless? She killed my child! She just pays a fine and walks away? What about me? Can money fix this?” Ethan frowned. “That’s how the law works. Chloe, listen to me. We will have other children. That girl is in her early twenties. A criminal record would ruin her entire life.” He sighed. “I know you’re grieving. I’m hurting too. Just focus on getting better. Don’t think about the messy stuff.” I stared at Ethan, trying to find the man I married. He looked the same. But his words… they didn’t sound like him. Was I just overwhelmed with grief? Was I being unreasonable to want someone to pay for their mistake? Seeing my expression shift, Ethan gently took my hand. “Chloe, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

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