Category: English

No one knew I tested my young uncle three times. The first time, he politely rejected me. The second time, he didn’t take my feelings seriously. “You’re still young. You can’t tell the difference between love and dependency. Let’s talk about this when you grow up.” The third time, he couldn’t control his love anymore and pinned me against the wall. My young uncle, who raised me for ten years, and I started a secret relationship. Guilt-ridden over my late mother, he acted as my guardian in public, overseeing my studies and interfering in my social life. In private, we spent every night entangled in passion. I was convinced he loved me. Full of joy, I planned to ask him for a commitment at my birthday party. I even slipped a huge diamond ring into his suit pocket beforehand, waiting for him to put it on my finger. That day, I waited and waited, but he never showed up. Instead, I saw a video of him proposing on one knee. He looked deeply in love, sliding that very same diamond ring onto another woman’s ring finger. Julian’s friends cheered and screamed, whispering to him: “Nice going, Jules! You snagged the beautiful CEO. But what about the princess at home? She can’t live nameless in your house forever, right?” Julian took a deep swig of his drink, eyes glazed over: “She’s impatient. We’ll take it slow. I’ll find her a good family, marry her off. That way, my big sister can rest in peace.” I smiled bitterly through my tears and called my aunt, who was on a business trip overseas: “Auntie, I agree to the arranged marriage you mentioned.” But when Julian discovered my wedding photos, the man who should have been relieved cried and begged me not to leave… 1 Afraid my aunt would sense something wrong, I hung up immediately after agreeing to the marriage. I rushed home to pack. Looking at the rare treasures Julian had collected for me over the years, I decided not to take a single one. Let all the beautiful memories be buried here! Just as the movers took my luggage, Julian returned, his clothes disheveled. “Where are these things going? Why aren’t you staying home? Where are you going to fool around?” Staring at the glaring lipstick mark on his neck, I pretended not to care: “My best friend is home alone and wants me to stay with her for a few days.” Julian nodded, taking off his coat, and thoughtfully negotiated with me: “Why don’t you stay there a bit longer? A business partner is coming over, and I have some matters to handle.” For the first time, I didn’t object and nodded. A loving couple’s life—I, the outsider, would indeed be an eyesore. His eyes gleamed with secret joy. He lowered his head to kiss me, but I subtly dodged. A sickly sweet rose scent mixed with alcohol fumes hit my brain. Before, fearing he saw me as a little girl, I tried wearing sexy lingerie and heavy rose perfume to tease him. But he was furious, dragging me into the shower and yelling: “Look at yourself! What kind of ghost are you pretending to be? You’re young and already learning bad habits! Trying to seduce men? Are you worthy of your mother?” I thought he liked purity, so I threw away all the perfumes and appeared clean and fresh before him. Now I understand. Julian doesn’t dislike sexy and mature women; he just likes other sexy, hot women. From the beginning, he never saw me as his future wife. I struggled to push him away, but he thought I was just throwing a tantrum. Grabbing my wrist, he coaxed patiently: “Is the little princess angry? Blame me for missing your birthday party. I brought you a gift.” But after fumbling in his pockets for a long time, he found nothing. Julian looked embarrassed: “I might have dropped it somewhere. I’ll buy another one tomorrow to make it up to you.” I smiled bitterly. For so many years, he had never forgotten my birthday. But this time, he not only missed my birthday party but also lost my gift. He wanted to say more, but his phone rang urgently. It wasn’t the ringtone I recorded for him; it was a seductive female voice. He answered immediately: “I’m home. What’s wrong, babe?” Suddenly, he pushed me away. I fell hard to the ground, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard: “Don’t panic. I’m coming to pick you up right now.” “Uncle Julian, I…” Watching the man rush away, my heart turned completely cold. Clutching my swollen, bleeding ankle, I slowly looked for medicine. In the past, if I got even a small injury, Julian would rush to apply medicine for me. I realized it was time to be independent! Before long, the door was kicked open. Julian carried a drunk Chloe in, gently placing her on the sofa. Julian ordered me: “Gigi, heat up a bowl of hangover soup.” I didn’t speak, limping to do as told. When I brought it to her lips, she slapped it away. She frowned and cursed: “What is this crap? It’s so hot!” The soup spilled all over me, instantly raising dense red blisters on my arm. 2 Tears welled up in my eyes, but Julian scolded me coldly: “Can’t even do a small thing right? What use are you? Go to your room and stay there!” I wiped away my tears and left without looking back. Julian noticed my stumbling steps and spoke with a hint of concern: “Gigi, what’s wrong?” He started to get up to check my injury, but Chloe grabbed him tightly and wouldn’t let go. “Julian, don’t you want me anymore?” Julian immediately turned back and hugged her: “How could that be possible? I love you the most. How could I not want you?” Then came the rapid breathing of a man and a woman. What they were doing was self-evident. I slammed the bedroom door shut, squatting on the floor, biting my wrist to stifle my sobs. Once upon a time, Julian coaxed me like this, saying the person he loved most in the world was me. Exhausted from crying, I fell into a deep sleep, only to have the door flung open. A sobered-up Chloe looked around my room: “You must be the little girl Julian said is staying at his place, right? He asked me to borrow a set of pajamas.” She rummaged through my closet on her own, mocking: “All these childish cartoons. No wonder Julian said he doesn’t like you. He likes curves like mine!” I remembered how, in the heat of passion, Julian would coax me, saying he liked my innocence. It was all excuses! Then, she casually pulled open my drawer. Alarm bells rang in my head, and I ran to stop her. But she was faster, pulling out that diary and reading aloud: “I like my Uncle Julian the most… He is the person who treats me best in the world… I will definitely marry him and be his bride to repay his kindness…” Chloe laughed clutching her stomach: “So that’s why you’re hostile towards me. You like your uncle! He said you were just an ignorant child and told me not to stoop to your level!” My girlish crush was ruthlessly exposed, and by my rival no less. I blushed furiously, snatching it back recklessly. She lost her balance and fell hard to the floor. “Ouch!” Hearing the noise, Julian ran over. Chloe burst into loud sobs: “Boohoo, sorry Gigi, I was just curious what was in the drawer. I won’t look again next time. I was wrong, I apologize!” Julian’s eyes were full of distress as he anxiously checked her injury. Then he turned to glare at me furiously, slapping me hard across the face! “It’s just looking at your broken notebook! Do you have to be so vicious?” He snatched the notebook and tore it to shreds, as if tearing apart my heart. “If you won’t let Chloe see it, then don’t have it at all!” With a cold snort, he threw the paper scraps in my face and carried Chloe to the hospital. 3 I finally couldn’t hold back and wailed aloud, squatting down to piece together the fragments. Julian knew perfectly well how important this was to me. When I was small, my mother, widowed early, fought her way through business wars alone and accidentally offended a gang. She was tortured for seven days and nights. Julian, as my mom’s youngest brother and the next generation she favored most, bet everything he had to negotiate with the gang. But contrary to his wishes, he only brought back my mother’s ashes. I, understanding nothing then, cried incessantly, rushing at him, demanding my mother back. “You bad man! Give me back my mom!” “Gigi, I’m sorry. As long as you can be happy, hit me however you want.” I cried with red eyes for a long, long time, finally fainting in his arms. When I opened my eyes again, he was bustling around me, driving alone to buy me clothes and cakes, piling them all in front of me. He pinched my cheek, eyes full of heartache, handing me a notebook, telling me to write down all my grievances. “I asked experts. They say writing down emotions can release sadness. Gigi, don’t be afraid. From now on, I’ll protect you.” Julian comforted me awkwardly, but purely and directly. In that moment, helpless me fell completely for him. From that day until today, I loved Julian for ten whole years. Whenever I was unhappy, I would write my love for him in that notebook. I still remember his vows, but he, the one who made them, has long forgotten. I held the pile of fragments, took one last look, and threw them into the trash can. Since it’s come to this, I don’t want the vows or Julian anymore. Never again. Julian didn’t return until daybreak. I mailed my luggage home, left the key on the table in the hall, and bid farewell to the place I had lived for ten years. On the road, Julian sent a message. Sorry, I reflected on myself. I was too harsh. Don’t take it to heart. I’ll make it up to you when I get back. Sitting in the car moving away, I didn’t reply, just exited the chat and unpinned him. Julian sent a few more voice messages. I played them—it was a seductive female voice. Don’t disturb Julian and me tonight. Anyone who bothers me will pay. Julian said he’ll accompany me properly today! Followed by a few suggestive emojis. A moment later, Chloe recalled the message. Ahhh, sorry Miss Bai, who knew I sent it to you using Julian’s WeChat… You didn’t see anything, right? My heart ached. Too tired to play along, I still opened Julian’s social media with my alt account. It was densely packed with photos and videos I hadn’t seen. So Chloe had been back for a long time. In this past month, Julian took her everywhere whenever he could. These sceneries were all beautiful check-in spots I saw in videos, forwarded to Julian, pestering him to go with me. I waited for years, never finding a time when he wasn’t busy. Chloe had been back for only a month, and suddenly he wasn’t busy anymore. Everywhere they went, Julian posed for many photos with Chloe. In all the years Julian and I were together, I was never allowed to point my camera at him. “You don’t know how many rumors are out there, all talking about our relationship.” “I know you love me very much, but I don’t want others to misunderstand, nor do I want them to look at you strangely, and even more… make your mom angry in heaven.” But when you truly love someone, how can you hide it? I was too slow. Julian kept our relationship secret for eight years. I should have understood long ago—he didn’t love me at all! I wanted to exit the interface but saw Julian’s latest post. The two of them cuddling by the sea, chasing each other joyfully, like a couple in love for years. Clicking on it, a familiar “Chloe” drilled into my ears. These affectionate voices were once whispered by Julian into my ear countless times. “Chloe,” “Gigi.” It turned out, the one he was calling was never me. Tears finally flowed uncontrollably, dripping onto Julian’s caption. Turns out only when you are with the right person do you know that every moment in life is meaningful. I wiped away my tears and casually liked the post. Arriving at the hotel and unpacking, my childhood friend Jess sent a message asking why I wasn’t home. I straightforwardly said I was going back to get married soon. Because Julian made me keep our relationship secret all these years, whenever Jess talked about relationships, I would deliberately change the subject. Now that I’m leaving, I should tell her properly and say goodbye. Jess exclaimed in disbelief: “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I’ll throw you a celebration party!” Saying this, she dragged me away. “Gigi, before you always said you were busy with work, and we best friends couldn’t even see your face. Now that you’re leaving, you absolutely cannot flake on me!” I could only let her drag me along, laughing off her questions about me. Before, my life revolved around Julian alone, racking my brains to manage everything for him. I had no time to attend such gatherings, let alone bring him along to have fun. Julian always said, wait for the right opportunity to give me an open identity. Now that I’m leaving, why not enjoy myself thoroughly? 4 Jess invited many people. When we arrived at the hotel, everyone was there. Everyone chattered, asking why I was suddenly getting married and who the lucky guy was. I responded with a smile, but saw Chloe in a stunning gown in the adjacent hall. Standing next to her was Julian in formal wear. Mr. and Mrs. Song sat nearby as celebrities from all walks of life came forward to congratulate them on their engagement. So, this luxurious party was held to announce their engagement. Julian really couldn’t wait to tell the whole world he was marrying Chloe. I instinctively wanted to dodge, but Mrs. Song had already spotted me. “Oh my, isn’t this Gigi? Long time no see, little girl! I just asked Julian why you didn’t come!” “He said you were busy. Look, you came after all!” Mrs. Song’s face lit up with joy as soon as she saw me. Julian froze, slightly loosening his hold on Chloe. Mrs. Song had taken care of me a lot before, often scolding Julian for not taking good care of me. “Gigi has grown into a great beauty, graceful and elegant. I think it’s time for you to get married too.” With that, she pulled me into the middle of the banquet hall, introducing me to other boys. “I know the backgrounds of all these boys. They are all handsome and talented. See who you like?” Before I could refuse, Julian sneered: “She doesn’t need it.” Yes, I don’t need it anymore, after all, I’m going back for an arranged marriage soon. Jess pulled me back: “Auntie, Gigi really doesn’t need this. She’s getting married soon. It’s not appropriate to say these things, right?” Hearing this, Julian’s smug expression froze, and his stare at me became meaningful. I ignored him, apologized to Mrs. Song, and left with Jess. But Julian grabbed me at a corner, pulling me into his arms. His eyes were full of anger, his voice restrained in my ear. “Don’t make up stories about marrying someone else in the future. I get jealous hearing it.” Looking at him, I inexplicably found it funny: “But aren’t you also getting married to another woman soon?” Julian frowned, “Stop it. You know it’s just a business alliance.” After a moment, he softened his attitude to coax me: “Alright, after the banquet, I’ll take you to that newly opened French restaurant. Haven’t you been clamoring to go?” “I’ll find you an apartment in the next few days. You move there. Since Chloe is officially engaged to me, it’s not appropriate for you to live at home anymore.” Because I was sensible, I obediently followed Julian, acting as his bed warmer. Now, does he plan to keep me as a mistress who can never see the light of day for a lifetime? I was about to say “no need,” when Chloe’s crying came from the banquet hall. Julian immediately let go of me and ran over. “What’s wrong, Chloe?” Chloe pointed at her empty neck with red eyes, sobbing uncontrollably. “Julian, the heirloom jade necklace you gave me is gone… That’s passed down through generations of the Song family. It was there when I washed my hands just now…” Seeing me, Chloe cried and pulled at me: “Miss Bai, only you and I were in the restroom just now… I know you’re hostile towards me… but that necklace is really important to Julian and me. If you took it, please, I beg you, give it back!”

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I caught my husband and my best friend in the act. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just coolly dropped a single line: “He’s all yours now.” My friends praised my composure, my ability to let go. They said I was like a badass heroine from a power-fantasy novel, brought to life. But my story didn’t end like a power fantasy. After a brief storm of public opinion, the two of them simply got married. The next year, my ex-best-friend gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. My ex-husband’s startup took off, making him fabulously successful. They became the picture-perfect family everyone envied. And me? Shortly after the divorce, the emotional backlash hit me like a tidal wave. I was incinerated by the trauma of betrayal and the acid of humiliation. My faith that good is rewarded and evil is punished collapsed, and from then on, my career and love life withered. My life hit rock bottom. In a daze of prolonged despair, I was hit by a car while crossing the street. As I lay dying, my ex-best-friend came to see me. Her expression was a mixture of pity and wistful reflection. “I always knew you saw yourself as the bigger person, the ‘main character,’” she said. “That’s why I arranged for you to walk in on us that day…” I died drowning in regret and indignation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the scene of the crime. 1 I was lying in the emergency room, my life fading away. A moment ago, the doctor had delivered the grim news: my injuries were too severe. There was nothing more they could do. So this is it, I thought dimly. Then, the soft click-clack of high heels approached. Beth walked in. She was dressed in expensive clothes, her skin glowing and full, looking even younger than she had eight years ago when I’d caught her in my bed. She looked at me with a sorrowful, pitying gaze. “Stella, I never thought you’d end up like this.” “Fate is a strange thing, isn’t it? After all this time, I’m the one to see you off… Since we have a few minutes, let’s call it a confession, just between us.” I didn’t know why she was here. I tried to turn my head away, too tired to even look at her. But I couldn’t move. I was dying. Beth sat down by my bed and sighed dramatically. “I fell in love with Marc the moment I saw him,” she began. “But for years, all I could do was watch you two date, get married, watch your life get better and better than mine. A bracelet you bought on a whim was my entire month’s salary. I couldn’t understand it. We came from similar families, had similar educations, similar looks. Why? Just because you arrived at that coffee shop ten minutes before I did, Marc fell for you and not me?” “So I decided to correct fate myself.” “I found a way to sleep with him, but when he woke up, he was filled with regret. He actually offered me money to keep it a secret from you. And even though he couldn’t resist sleeping with me a second, then a third time, he was filled with remorse every single time.” She chuckled softly. “That just wouldn’t do, would it?” “I know you always prided yourself on your ‘main character’ energy. You always said that if your husband cheated, you wouldn’t scream and cry like other women. You’d divorce him immediately and never look back. So, I begged Marc to be with me one last time, and I… deliberately made sure you’d walk in on us.” I stared at her, my mind reeling in disbelief. After the divorce, I quickly discovered that the cool, collected demeanor of a ‘heroine’ was fleeting. The emotional backlash hit hard, and I was tormented day and night by the trauma of being betrayed by the two people closest to me, and the crushing social shame. Later, watching them get married, have children, and build a successful business, their lives flourishing while mine crumbled, was a special kind of torture. Because I no longer trusted in love, I couldn’t continue my work as a wedding designer, let alone start a new relationship. The contrast plunged me into a spiral of anxiety, self-loathing, and a shattered belief system. Every day was a fire in my gut, every night sleepless. I thought I was just unlucky, that I was weak. I even despised myself for my inability to recover. I never imagined it was all part of a calculated plot. “So thank you, Stella! You didn’t disappoint me. Your pride and composure gave us the dignity we needed. That’s why Marc and I were able to bounce back so quickly.” “Of course, I should thank myself most of all. I did so much, after all. Imitating your tone and mannerisms for Marc, paying people to get you fired from job after job, and—” She paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “Going to an international sperm bank ahead of time, picking a donor who looked like Marc, and getting pregnant with twins…” My weak body had no strength left. But her words made my eyes fly open. After I had divorced him so cleanly, Marc had still refused to let go. He had knelt before me, crying that he only loved me, begging for another chance, swearing he would never see Beth again. Until Beth told him she was pregnant with his child… “Anyway, over the next few years, especially after our two beautiful babies were born, Marc became better and better to me. He really, truly fell in love with me!” “Stella, I finally have your life. I changed my own destiny with my own two hands. My only regret was that no one knew. Thank heavens for giving me this chance to tell you everything before you die. Stella, for my honesty, I hope you won’t hold it against me in the afterlife. Rest in peace.” She rose gracefully, her face beaming with triumphant satisfaction. “Oh, right. You must be wondering how I ended up here?” “My favorite patisserie closes at nine, and my driver was rushing so I wouldn’t be disappointed. I hope you won’t blame him either. It was an accident. He’ll probably be quite traumatized by this. Of course, I’ll provide you with legal and reasonable compensation. After all, whatever the amount, hah, it’s probably less than the cost of one of my handbags.” “It’s just…” She tilted her head, feigning a dilemma. “You’re all alone now. No family, no one. Who do I even pay the compensation to?” She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips, and walked out, the click-clack of her heels echoing down the hall. My soul screamed as my eyes closed for the last time. … When I woke up, I was standing at the top of a staircase. Downstairs, I could hear the lively chatter of my friends. From inside the bedroom… Two naked bodies were tangled together, their passionate gasps and moans filling the air. I stood frozen for two seconds, then raised my hand and slapped myself across the face. It stung. Good. The sting was real. The next second, I gathered every ounce of strength in my body and shrieked: “YOU SHAMELESS—” “CHEATING SCUMBAGS!” 2 Two flushed, panting faces whipped around to look at me. The moment Marc saw me, his pupils shrank. A tremor went through him as he finished in a panicked rush. Beth let out a sharp gasp, then pulled the covers over both of them. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Stella, wait, don’t do anything rash!” “It’s all my fault! I seduced Marc! Don’t blame him! If you want to hit someone, hit me!” Last time, Beth had said the exact same thing. Back then, I was a successful wedding designer with a happy marriage. For me, love and marriage had to be flawless. If a man was tainted, if his heart had strayed, he was worthless. So, despite my fury, disappointment, and disgust, I had acted like the heroine in a novel. I’d given them a look of pure contempt and coldly tossed out, “He’s all yours now.” I hadn’t even entered the room. I’d just turned and walked away. Now, Beth’s eyes darted towards me, clearly anticipating the same reaction. But this time, I launched myself into the room. First, I grabbed the water kettle from the nightstand and hurled it at Marc’s face. After a dull thud, hot water splashed over him, and he screamed, clutching his head. Simultaneously, with the agility of a monkey, I scrambled to Beth’s side of the bed. My left foot kicked the pile of clothes on the floor under the bed, while my right foot braced against the mattress. With both hands, I grabbed a fistful of Beth’s long hair and yanked with all my might. It was her prized, meticulously cared-for hair. Thick, long, and perfect for getting a good grip. She started this. She would be the first to pay. I twisted my wrist, wrapping her hair tighter, and then, looking at her still-flushed face, I slapped her. Smack, smack, smack, ten times in a row. When one hand started to ache, I switched to the other and delivered ten more. The series of actions was seamless, as if genetically encoded in my very being. Beth was half-dangling off the bed, her earlier seductiveness gone, replaced by a wide-eyed terror as she stared up at me. A continuous, sputtering sound escaped her lips, like a deflating balloon. On so many nights, consumed by the emotional fallout, I had endlessly regretted walking away. Why hadn’t I made them face public humiliation right then and there? Why hadn’t I broadcast their filthy affair to the world? After countless mental rehearsals, I’d concluded that nothing was more satisfying than slapping faces and pulling hair. So, when the sounds of my screaming drew everyone from downstairs, this was the scene that greeted them— I was pulling Beth’s hair like I was in a tug-of-war. Beth, being naked, was desperately clutching the blanket. And Marc, one hand covering his blistering face, was instinctively grabbing the other end of the blanket to cover himself. The three of us were locked in a bizarre, undignified stalemate. Our friends stood at the door, their jaws on the floor. We had all planned a weekend getaway at a rental cabin. I had a last-minute work thing and was supposed to arrive the next day, but Beth had called to tell me Marc had too much to drink. So I’d changed my plans and rushed over. Now, Beth, suspended in mid-air, managed to mumble a plea for help through her swelling, pig-like face. “Help… help me!” No one moved. Disgust and contempt were written all over their faces. It wasn’t like this last time. They hadn’t seen the act itself, only pieced it together from our expressions and clipped words. Seeing it and not seeing it were two completely different things. The visual impact was a whole different beast. The level of disgust was off the charts. In fact, years later in my previous life, when Marc’s business took off and Beth became a wealthy socialite, some of these same people had even sighed in admiration: You two proved that true love conquers all! 3 “Stella, please… just calm down…” Marc’s voice trembled. His face and neck were beet red, the handsome features now covered in shiny, weeping blisters. Steam was literally rising from his hair. He looked like a boiled lobster. Years ago, Beth and I had planned to meet at a coffee shop. She was running late, so I opened my laptop to work on my thesis while I waited. Marc, sitting at the next table, had smiled and asked me: “Are you a design student, too?” Beth was ten minutes late. In those ten minutes, Marc and I became so engrossed in conversation that when she finally arrived, I didn’t even notice the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. Marc was an exhibition designer. Everyone saw him as a kind, gentle, talented man who was sensitive and soft-hearted. He was the type of person who always carried a small bag of cat food for the strays on the street. But his soft heart was his fatal flaw. In my past life, he had knelt before me, sobbing and confessing. He said Beth had gotten drunk one night and told him she’d been secretly in love with him for years, that she had even saved herself for him. She had cried and said she didn’t want a future, just one night. He’d refused her many times, until he found her attempting suicide. In a moment of weakness, he had given in. At the time, the story had filled me with such revulsion that all I wanted was to get as far away from those two as possible. I’d divorced him within a month, splitting our assets quickly and cleanly. Now, however, I only wished I had more than two hands, so I could dig my nails into his face and pop every single one of those blisters. But I couldn’t be hasty. This was Beth’s one big shot. If I let her get away, I might not get another. And Marc… Marc had to come home with me. “Calm down? How?” I snarled, glaring at him. His face flushed a deeper red. “Stella, please, just let her go. Let us get dressed, I’m begging you…” I laughed coldly. “You want to play the hero? Fine. Beth and I once swore an oath that if one of us ever betrayed the other, she would get thirty slaps. I’ve delivered twenty. I’m tired. You can deliver the last ten. Once you’re done, I’ll let her go.” Marc shook his head frantically. “Stella, that’s not what I—” “Do it,” Beth suddenly sobbed. “I seduced him! I drugged him! I’m the shameless, disgusting one! I’m the homewrecker! It has nothing to do with him! Just do it, my stomach… my back… I can’t hold on much longer!” Her voice was pathetic and helpless. It was partly an act for Marc’s benefit, but it was also true that she couldn’t hold that position for long. After all, she was currently pregnant with twins. Our friends were all crowded in the doorway, occasionally murmuring things like “Don’t be rash,” and “Let’s talk this out.” But no one intervened. They were all watching the show with rapt attention. I thought Marc would hesitate. He was, after all, a kind and soft-hearted man. But to my surprise, before Beth had even finished speaking, he shuffled over to her, still wrapped in the blanket. Then, the crisp sound of slapping echoed through the room. One of the slaps was a little too light. I narrowed my eyes, and Marc immediately hit harder. As blood trickled from her nose, Beth’s expression flickered with surprise and a hint of pain. But she had planned for this for a long time. She knew her goal. This was the price of admission. After the ten slaps were done, she managed to squeeze out a smile at the panting Marc from her swollen face. “I don’t blame you,” she mumbled, her words slurred, giving him the look of a tragic heroine being tormented by evil forces. But Marc turned his face away. A few seconds later, he looked at me, his eyes trembling. “Stella… is it enough?” My face was a blank mask. “Of course not. You put this disgusting green hat on my head. If I only punish the other woman and not you, people will think I’m one of those women who only takes it out on her own sex.” Marc immediately nodded, closing his eyes and tilting his face up. “Stella, just do it. I just want you to get your anger out. We can talk about everything else when we get home.” I looked at the increasingly translucent blisters on his face, imagining them popping and spraying God knows what. I changed my mind. I looked down at Beth. “You do it.” She looked shocked, then shook her head miserably. “No… no!” Marc suddenly roared, “Just do it! Get it over with! Anything is better than this!” So, in an awkward, contorted position, Beth began to slap him, her face a mask of sorrow. “Are you two flirting?” I asked. Marc gritted his teeth. “Harder!” When Beth pulled her hand back, I saw it was smeared with a sticky, opaque fluid. The grotesque scene finally ended with Marc and Beth, one wrapped in a blanket and the other in a bedsheet, crawling on the floor to retrieve their clothes from under the bed. My vengeance meter… finally filled up by a tenth. 4 The meltdown was just that—a meltdown. It was about letting out the rage I had suppressed last time for the sake of appearances. But I couldn’t spend this new life just losing my mind, could I? So what if I lost face? People would forget. Marc was an independent designer, respected in the art world for his talent and portfolio. An affair wouldn’t ruin him; it would just become another colorful story people told about him. I knew Marc better than anyone. The most important thing in his life was his career. In my previous life, he had secured angel investment from an arts-focused venture capital group. He’d founded his own company, become a multi-millionaire, and lived a glamorous life. And Beth had become a wealthy socialite right alongside him.

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The day of my wedding, my bride dove into a lake, risking her own life to save the lame Golden Retriever she’d brought as part of her dowry. When I heard, I called the whole thing off, right there at the altar. Her face was a mask of disbelief. “Over a dog?” I just pushed the annulment papers towards her. “Yes. Over a dog.” My new mother-in-law pointed a trembling finger in my face, her voice shrill. “A grown man, jealous of a dog? It would have been a curse for my daughter to marry you!” My own father stormed onto the stage and punched me squarely in the jaw. “You ungrateful whelp! If you go through with this today, you’re no son of mine!” My bride, Seraphina, was shaking with rage. She ripped the papers to shreds. “Daniel, don’t you dare pull this stunt on our wedding day.” I watched her scoop the Golden Retriever into her arms and rush towards the vet’s tent we’d set up, and a cold smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. “Alex, it’s time. Release everything.” “I’m ready for the divorce.” 1. “Daniel, say that again?” My fiancée, Seraphina Raymont, stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. My voice was flat. “Let’s get a divorce.” It was supposed to be the moment we exchanged rings, the pinnacle of the ceremony. Instead, I’d placed the platinum band back in its velvet box and demanded an end to our marriage before it had even legally begun. The officiant, caught completely off-guard, was still trying to salvage the situation with a forced smile, muttering something about a bad joke. But I simply pulled the freshly signed annulment papers from my jacket pocket. “Sign it, Seraphina. Let’s end this with some dignity.” The hand she reached for the document was shaking. “Why?” “Is it really because I saved Milo? He’s just a dog.” “Yes. That’s right.” I frowned, a flicker of impatience crossing my face. “Just sign it. Let’s not make this uglier than it has to be.” “Daniel, I know our marriage was arranged when we were children, but it was never just a business deal! We have a decade of history, we grew up together! You’re throwing that all away?” “For a reason this… this insane? What about all the years I gave you?” I turned my head, too tired to even look at her. Below the stage, the guests erupted in a chorus of whispers. “Classic high-society drama. ‘Boyd Heir Calls Off Wedding Over a Dog?’ That’ll be tomorrow’s headline. What a joke.” “I feel so bad for Seraphina. On her wedding day, of all days, to be humiliated for such a ridiculous reason?” “Daniel Boyd must have someone on the side. This is just a pathetic excuse to dump her, and he had to do it publicly to twist the knife.” Seraphina’s whole body was trembling, a storm of tears gathering in her eyes. Her mother, unable to contain herself any longer, rushed the stage and started hammering her fists against my chest. “What did my daughter ever do to you to deserve this humiliation? It’s a dog! An animal!” “A grown man, jealous of an animal?” I gently pushed her away and stepped towards Seraphina. We had been together for ten years. From school uniforms to this wedding dress. In all that time, I had never made her this miserable. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was sobbing too hard to speak, her knuckles white as she clutched the torn pieces of the annulment papers. Her gaze was fixed on the signature I’d written. “Tell me why,” she choked out. “Is something wrong? Tell me, Daniel. We promised we’d face everything together.” When I remained silent, her grief morphed into a new wave of anger. She tore the papers into smaller and smaller pieces. “Daniel, stop this madness. It’s our wedding day.” “I don’t agree. You’re not divorcing me!” I didn’t waste another look on her. I simply turned and said, “Then I’ll see you in court.” 2. As I started to walk away, my father lunged onto the stage and grabbed me by the collar. “Are you insane? You’re ending your marriage on your wedding day?” My mother was right behind him, her hand on my arm. “Daniel, honey, we’ve known Seraphina since she was a little girl. She’s the perfect daughter-in-law. Don’t you remember when you were kids, you promised you’d marry each other?” “Think of your history, son. Don’t be impulsive. Just finish the ceremony. If Seraphina is upset, I’ll talk to her.” My mother waited, her eyes pleading for a sign of regret. She was sorely disappointed. My expression remained a mask of indifference. “I don’t want to be married anymore. So I’m getting a divorce.” My flippant, callous words ignited the crowd’s anger. “Who the hell does Daniel Boyd think he is? ‘I don’t want to be married anymore.’ Does he think he’s some kind of king?” “Poor Seraphina Raymont. To be insulted like this… what a tragedy.” My father’s face went purple with rage. He backhanded me across the face, the crack echoing through the silent venue. Then he shoved me to my knees in front of Seraphina. “Apologize, you worthless piece of trash.” “You are getting married today, whether you like it or not.” Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. The dashing groom was now a pathetic, beaten mess. Seraphina sobbed. “Daniel… is it because of Milo? Are you angry at him? Do you hate him?” “Milo’s been with me since he was a puppy. He’s my companion, my family. There was a time… a dark time… when he was the only one there for me. In my heart, you are my husband, but Milo is like my child. Why can’t you accept him?” “To be divorced over a dog… how am I supposed to show my face in this city ever again?” Through all her tearful accusations, I said nothing. My silence only enraged my father further. He started kicking me, his dress shoes slamming into my ribs. “If you don’t marry her today, you’re no son of mine!” I clenched my jaw, refusing to even grunt in pain. Seeing that force wasn’t working, my father softened his tone. “Son, I know you. You’ve always been a strong, proud man. You wouldn’t really hold a grudge against a dog.” “Just tell us what’s really going on. We can help you. Don’t do this to Seraphina.” The entire hall held its breath, waiting for my answer. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I don’t want her. Anyone who does is welcome to her.” The words were a lit match in a room full of gasoline. The venue exploded. Seraphina collapsed against my mother, her body wracked with sobs. “Daniel, you can fall out of love with me. You can divorce me. But you can’t insult me, you can’t trample on my dignity like this.” “With those words, you’ve burned everything we ever had to the ground. My heart… it’s dead, Daniel.” “You’re a heartless, scumbag!” My mother held Seraphina tight, her eyes shooting daggers of disappointment at me. My father was winding up for another punch, his face crimson. But I just glanced at Seraphina. Her? Talking to me about love? What a joke. My eyes flickered to the Golden Retriever in the corner. I quickly made a call. “Mr. Boyd, everything you requested is ready. We’re just waiting for the final piece.” “Hurry. I’m running out of time.” 3. After hanging up, I watched Seraphina’s lonely figure as she carried the Golden Retriever away. My mother’s gaze was filled with disappointment. My father’s eyes were blazing with fury. “Daniel, I am disowning you. From this day forward, you are no longer a part of the Boyd family.” “We have no place for a monster like you!” With that, he took my mother’s arm and stormed off. The lavish wedding of the year ended as a farcical train wreck. But the paparazzi smelled blood. The next day, the headline “Boyd Heir Divorces Bride at Altar Over a Dog” went viral. Someone had secretly filmed the entire fiasco. The video of my arrogant, cruel expression as I insulted Seraphina was everywhere. People made memes of my face, their captions dripping with venom. “What a piece of work. A grown man jealous of a dog? Humiliating his bride like that? He’s human garbage.” “Seraphina was crying so hard, she looked so beautiful and broken. And Daniel Boyd did that to her? Is he even human?” “That dog is her emotional support animal! It’s like family! Daniel has a problem with a dog? Pathetic.” My home address and office location were doxxed. Every night, someone would splash paint on my front door. The Boyd Corporation stock plummeted overnight. My father immediately held a press conference, officially announcing that he had disowned me. Relatives and friends blocked my number and unfriended me on social media, terrified of being associated with me. I became a social pariah, the man everyone loved to hate. And me? I was lounging in my apartment, watching television. On the screen, a fragile but defiant Seraphina was speaking to a horde of reporters. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she was still defending me. “Please, believe me, Daniel isn’t that kind of person. I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.” “And we are not getting a divorce. We promised each other a lifetime together.” As microphones were shoved in her face, Seraphina never wavered in her support for me. “Daniel is just… a little unhappy with my dog, Milo. He’s not a dog person. But Milo is my family, he will be with me my entire life. We will not divorce. I believe that he loves me, and he can learn to accept Milo.” Her words earned a round of applause from the reporters. And made me look like even more of a villain. I watched for a while, amused, then dialed her number. She answered, her voice trembling with excitement. “Daniel! You called! Have you come to your senses? Are you done with this nonsense? I don’t blame you for what happened at the wedding. We can pick another date, have another ceremony.” I let her ramble on, then let out a soft chuckle. “You’re dreaming. I was just calling to remind you not to be late for our court date tomorrow.” There was a dead silence. I could almost feel her body stiffen through the phone. She was on speakerphone; the entire press corps heard my cold, merciless words. The public outcry against me intensified. “Poor Seraphina. She’s being so humble, so forgiving, and that scumbag is still treating her like dirt.” “Down with Daniel Boyd! Ten years of love, destroyed by a dog. What kind of man is that? He’s a monster!” Seraphina’s voice was broken by sobs. “Daniel… are we really… getting a divorce?” I laughed, my voice clear and firm. “Of course.” “And not only are we getting a divorce, I’m revoking every share and dissolving every business partnership that my name has ever granted you.” “From now on, we go our separate ways.” 4. Seraphina let out a choked sob and collapsed. The next morning, as soon as I stepped out of my car at the courthouse, a swarm of paparazzi descended on me, shoving microphones in my face. “Mr. Boyd, can you tell us why you’re divorcing your wife simply because she risked her life to save a dog?” “An inside source claims you’ve been having an affair for years, and the dog is just an excuse. Is that true?” “Do you have any respect for women? Do you realize how cruel your actions were? Are you a sociopath?” I ignored them, my face a blank mask as I walked forward. Seraphina was there, dressed in a plain, simple outfit, her eyes still puffy from crying. When she saw me, her voice was a raw whisper. “Daniel…” I acted as if I hadn’t heard her and took my seat at the plaintiff’s table. When the proceedings began, I stated my case simply. “I, Daniel Boyd, am filing to dissolve my marriage to Seraphina Raymont.” “State your reasons,” the judge said. Before I could answer, Seraphina cried out, “Daniel, why are you doing this? We were so in love!” “Was it because I saved Milo’s life? He’s just a dog! If it were you, I would have saved you too! Why?” She slammed her fists on the table, a picture of tragic, desperate grief. The courtroom was filled with murmurs of sympathy. I just smiled faintly. “Yes. It’s because of your dog. It’s that simple.” She stood up, stunned into silence. “It’s… it’s really because of Milo?” “That… what kind of reason is that? Because of a dog?” In the gallery, Seraphina’s mother slammed her hand down on the bench. “Because of a Golden Retriever she’s had for years, you humiliated my daughter at her own wedding! You’re slapping her in the face!” “How did my daughter ever fall for a piece of trash like you?” My father almost fainted from rage. “You ungrateful son! Ruining your life over a dog!” “How could I have raised such an idiot?” The crowd was riled up. “The sole heir to the Boyd fortune, throws away his marriage and his reputation because he’s jealous of a dog. He really is an idiot.” “He’s a scumbag! Worse than an animal!” “And to think Seraphina was so devoted to him. All for nothing. What a joke.” The courtroom was in an uproar. Someone from the gallery hurled an egg. It splattered across my face, dripping yolk down my expensive suit, leaving me looking like a pathetic clown. The judge frowned. “This reason is not sufficient grounds for divorce. Do you have any other evidence?” I glanced at my phone. Still nothing. I could only shake my head. The judge raised his gavel. “As the plaintiff has provided insufficient evidence, this court finds in favor of the defendant. The petition for divorce is deni—” Was I going to lose? My heart hammered in my chest. Faster, faster, I’m out of time! Before he could finish the sentence, my phone vibrated. I glanced down. The final piece had just fallen into place. The weight in my chest vanished. “Wait! I have more evidence to present!”

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My husband, the man who claimed to love me more than life itself, is keeping an eighteen-year-old mistress on the side. His excuse? She looks exactly like I did when we were young. He claims he’s just “letting true love continue.” Ridiculous. The day I found out I was pregnant, I went to his office to surprise him. instead, I walked in on the girl sitting on his lap, feeding him wine mouth-to-mouth. She asked him, “Am I just her replacement?” He pulled her tighter and sneered, “Is she even worthy of being compared to you?” I turned around, walked out, scheduled an abortion, and called my aunt overseas. “Aunt Sarah, I’ve decided. I’m moving to Australia.” Aunt Sarah paused for a second before her voice burst with relief. “Claire! You’ve finally made up your mind! I’ll have your uncle start the paperwork immediately. It should take about ten days. Wait for my update.” I hung up and drove straight home. When I walked through the door, Nathaniel was already sitting in the living room. There was a rare look of panic in his eyes. “You’re back late. Where were you?” I held up the pharmacy bag in my hand, my voice flat. “Nowhere special. My stomach’s been acting up. Went to the doctor, grabbed some prescriptions and herbal supplements.” My health has always been fragile, and getting pregnant was a miracle. After the abortion procedure today, the doctor specifically prescribed these supplements to help my body recover. Seeing my expression remain calm, Nathaniel finally got to the point. “Did you stop by the office today? Why did you leave right after you got there?” I guessed the receptionists had told him they saw me. But he wasn’t sure if I’d seen them. In reality, they were only intimate for those few seconds. The little assistant fed him a sip of wine and then hopped off his lap. “I was just passing by. I saw you were busy with your assistant, so I didn’t want to interrupt.” He visibly exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders. My heart gave a sharp, dull throb. We’ve been married seven years. To everyone around us, we were the power couple, the soulmates. I thought we’d grow old together, but I never expected his heart to wander so quickly. “She was just giving me a report! You know how it is,” he laughed nervously. “She’s young, fresh out of school. She doesn’t know the rules yet, so she stood a little too close.” Nathaniel walked over and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, his tone dripping with tenderness. “Babe, we haven’t been back to our college campus in ages. I’m free tomorrow. Why don’t we go take a walk? Relive the old memories.” He looked relaxed, eager even. We were college sweethearts. From hoodies to wedding gowns. Every anniversary, we’d go back to campus. But this year, Nathaniel said work was too crazy, so we skipped it. Now I realized he wasn’t busy with work. He was busy entertaining an eighteen-year-old. I sighed and shook my head. “Maybe later. The doctor put me on these meds for ten days. I have to brew the herbal tea every night. It’s a hassle.” He hummed an acknowledgement, his fingers gently stroking my long hair. I turned my body slightly, subtly dodging his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. “Claire, you seem… unhappy. Is this about Mia standing too close today?” “Mia’s just a kid. She didn’t mean anything by it. You wouldn’t hold a grudge against an eighteen-year-old girl, would you?” My heart seized painfully. Once upon a time, I was an eighteen-year-old girl, too. I looked up, my eyes empty. “No. I’m not holding a grudge.” His face brightened immediately. “That’s my girl. Hey, there’s a luxury jewelry auction next week. Pick whatever you want; I’ll win it for you.” Just an hour ago, I had seen Mia’s update on Instagram. My Silver Fox said he’s taking me to the auction next week to show me the world. He promised to win the grand finale piece just for me! I love my man so much. <3 Below the caption was a photo of two hands making a heart shape. In the photo, the wedding band on Nathaniel’s ring finger was blindingly obvious. I gave him a cool glance. "No thanks. Win it for someone else." Nathaniel’s eyes darkened. He was about to say something when his phone pinged. It was a message from Mia. Just a photo. A bed covered in various... toys. He glanced down, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob. "Claire, a new deal just popped up. I have to go out of town for a few days." He rushed out the door, unable to hide the excitement in his eyes. I remembered the countless nights before this. The "urgent meetings," the "sudden business trips." Just then, a message from Aunt Sarah popped up on my screen. Claire, your uncle finished the immigration application. Everything is approved. See you next week! Nathaniel came back a week later. I thought he’d go straight to the office, but he came home during the morning rush hour. Mia had been posting non-stop on social media all week. The latest photo showed her in a sheer, white negligee. It was the perfect mix of innocent and provocative. The caption read: My Silver Fox loves the new battle armor. He said he wants to rip it off with his own hands! I laughed dryly and typed a comment: It’s definitely his style. Moments later, the post was deleted. As soon as Nathaniel walked in, he was on the offensive. "Claire, I already explained everything! Mia is just a kid. Why are you targeting her?" I paused, realizing he must have seen the comment on the deleted post. Sure enough, seeing my silence fueled his anger. "She just posted about being lucky to have a good boss, and you leave such a nasty comment? Insulting a little girl?" "Claire, you’re thirty years old. Are you not embarrassed to be bullying a teenager?" I pressed my lips together and didn't defend myself. I let Mia paint me as the villain. I was leaving in three days. I didn't have the energy to care about what he thought anymore. Seeing that I wasn't fighting back like I usually would, Nathaniel’s guilt started to creep in. His tone softened. "Claire, you used to be so understanding. Why are you being so difficult lately? Is it because you’re not feeling well?" He placed a thermos on the dining table and ladled out a bowl of hot porridge. "I had the chef at the family estate make this stomach-soothing porridge just for you. I told them to make it fresh every day. I’ll pick it up for you every morning." He blew on a spoonful and held it to my lips. "Every time you’re sick, I wish I could take the pain for you." I frowned and kept my mouth shut. Nathaniel’s patience snapped. "Claire, enough is enough. You aren't eighteen anymore. Do you really expect me to baby you like we’re teenagers?" "Mia is the granddaughter of an old business partner. He asked me to look after her on his deathbed. Isn’t it normal for me to take care of her? Can’t you be a little more mature?" My lips curled in a sneer. Look after her? "Look after" her right into bed. Nice. Nathaniel always said he loved how sensible and obedient I was. I always put his feelings first. Even when I was hurt, if he offered a tiny olive branch, I’d take it. No drama, no scenes. Just like now. He thought that by lowering himself to feed me porridge, I should be grateful and move on. Fine. I was leaving for Australia anyway. No point in making him suspicious. "It's too hot. Put it down, I'll eat it later." Perhaps sensing my coldness, Nathaniel switched to his charming mode.

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1 I am a Spirit Caller. I can summon the souls of those who died unjustly within 24 hours, granting them seven more days of life. In my past life, I returned joyfully to the Ashworth family as their long-lost son. But tragedy struck: my sister-in-law Elara died in childbirth, and my brother Julian, heartbroken, jumped from the hospital roof. He survived, barely. To save him, I offered to summon Elara’s spirit. But Aiden, the impostor son raised in my place, accused me of causing the death. My parents believed him. They destroyed my altar, broke my hands, and locked me in a scorching sauna where I died. Then I woke up—back at the start, the day I arrived at the Ashworth estate. An old man asked me to summon the soul again. This time, I refused: “You’re mistaken. I’m just from the mountains. How could I be a Spirit Caller? The dead don’t return. We shouldn’t believe such superstition.” Old Mr. Hemlock wasn’t fooled. A sharp glint shone in his cloudy eyes. “I could never be mistaken! Three years ago, when my wife passed, I was so consumed by grief I wanted to follow her. It was you who summoned her spirit for me, giving me seven more days with her.” His voice was thick with memory. “For those seven days, she was just as she’d always been. We did everything we never got the chance to do. She held my hand and promised she’d wait for me at the gates, that we’d be husband and wife in the next life, too. That’s the only reason I’ve held on this long.” He looked at me with profound gratitude. “I’ve been trying to find you ever since to thank you, but you vanished without a trace. I never imagined you were the Ashworths’ lost son!” He spoke with such conviction that the guests murmured amongst themselves. Everyone in the city knew the story of how he’d nearly died of a broken heart. But before I could deny it again, voices of doubt rose from the crowd. “Is old Hemlock going senile? There’s no way a Spirit Caller could be that young.” “Right? He’s a dirt-kicker from the boonies. I’d believe he was a carnival psychic before a Spirit Caller.” “I heard they found him running a fortune-telling stall under a bridge. He probably just used some cheap trick to fool Mr. Hemlock.” “He’s just a poor kid from the sticks. We all know the type—they’ll do anything for money.” All eyes turned to me, filled with contempt. Aiden shot a satisfied glance at his cronies before turning to me, his face a mask of fury. “Leo!” he boomed, his voice dripping with indignation. “Mr. Hemlock is a respected elder in this city! He helped the Ashworth family in our darkest hour. How dare you, an Ashworth by blood, prey on him with your scams? Get on your knees and apologize to him right now!” After his tirade, Aiden turned to Mr. Hemlock with a look of deep empathy. “Mr. Hemlock, whatever amount of money Leo swindled from you, the Ashworth family will repay it in full.” He sighed dramatically. “As you all know, I’ve never had a head for business. But with my brother in a coma and my father hospitalized with a heart attack, I have no choice but to hold this family together. I don’t want to make enemies with anyone. I hope I can count on the guidance of all you seniors in the future.” His speech was a masterful performance of grace and humility, earning him nods of approval from the older guests. I was the only one laughing on the inside. Just like in my last life, my welcome party had been turned into a funeral. My sister-in-law, dead from a hemorrhage. My brother, jumping from a building in despair. The best doctors and the most advanced technology had kept his body alive, but the hospital had already issued several critical condition notices. They said his will to live was gone. He needed a reason to fight. In my previous life, starved for the family I never had and moved by their tragic love story, I had offered my gift. I had revealed myself as a Spirit Caller to summon Elara’s soul. But the moment her spirit began to manifest, Aiden had shattered my altar, screaming that I was a fraud. The ritual was broken, her soul was damaged, and she became a vengeful spirit. In Julian’s dreams, she whispered that I was the one who had destroyed her. I tried to explain, but my parents had grabbed me and broken my hands on the spot. “A Spirit Caller? You’ve destroyed your sister-in-law’s soul! If we had known you were such a curse, we would have never brought you back!” When my brother eventually woke up, he subjected me to endless torture. “My wife told me it’s cold where she is,” he’d whispered. “Go keep her company.” My thoughts were shattered by a sharp force against my legs. A sickening crunch echoed as my knees slammed into the marble floor. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot through me. Aiden loomed over me, his hand clamped on the back of my neck, forcing my head down toward Mr. Hemlock. “You charlatan! If you want to be part of the Ashworth family, you’ll kneel and beg Mr. Hemlock for forgiveness!” Two hulking bodyguards pinned my shoulders, making it impossible to move. Mr. Hemlock waved his hand, trying to protest and help me up, but Aiden cut him off. “Mr. Hemlock, the Ashworth family is facing a crisis from within and without, and now we discover this… this con artist in our midst! It’s a disgrace!” he declared righteously. “As the only man left to manage things, I have to teach Leo a lesson. I have to purge him of this corruption!” He sounded so noble. Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was a saint. I knew his true nature. I had already died by his selfish, cruel hands once before. This time, I wanted no part in their drama. Let them tear each other apart. Whether the Ashworth family lived or died had nothing to do with me. Before the guards could shove me down again, I pushed myself to my feet and spoke, my voice calm and clear. “There’s no need to teach me anything.” My words hung in the air. “The adoption ceremony hasn’t officially happened yet, has it? I’m not an Ashworth now, and I have no intention of ever stepping foot in this house again.” I spoke with a finality that left no room for doubt, no trace of longing. Aiden’s face flickered from confusion to a flash of pure, unadulterated joy. He quickly masked it with a wounded expression. “Leo, I just scolded you a little, and now you’re disowning the family? If word of this gets out, people will think I, the adopted son, bullied you into leaving.” He took it a step further. “You’re reminding me that I’m the one who should go, not you.” Aiden was really getting into character, his eyes welling up with tears. “Aiden is the child I raised for over twenty years! I’d like to see anyone try to make him leave!” The family matriarch, Mrs. Ashworth, finally emerged from a side room where she had been resting. Leaning on a cane, she looked at me. For a second, I saw a flicker of shock in her eyes at my resemblance to her husband, but her attention was quickly drawn back to Aiden. “Mother, Leo is your real son. Now that he’s back, there’s no place for me here anymore,” Aiden sobbed. “Father is in the hospital, my brother is on his deathbed… I shouldn’t abandon the family at a time like this, but some people just won’t have me.” He added, for good measure, “Don’t blame him. I stole his place as the true son for two decades. He has every right to hate me.” He was a better actor than any actress I’d ever seen, his performance dripping with false nobility. The guests, all longtime friends of the family, started murmuring in his defense. “It’s not Aiden’s fault he was switched at birth. He’s a victim in this, too.” “He just got here and he’s already throwing his weight around. Mark my words, if he ever gets his hands on the Ashworth fortune, he’ll run it into the ground.” “Exactly! When did these great families start caring only about bloodlines? It’s about capability! Aiden was raised for twenty years to be an elite. What does some kid from the wilderness have to compete with that?” Mrs. Ashworth’s expression hardened. “Leo, apologize to Aiden immediately,” she commanded. “Out of respect for the fact that you are my biological son, if you behave yourself and don’t cause any more trouble, I will guarantee you a life of ease and comfort.” Aiden’s lips twitched into a triumphant smirk, which he quickly suppressed. I had to laugh. A life of ease and comfort? Given the raw hatred simmering in Aiden’s eyes, I knew the moment he secured his position, he’d have me killed. I had yearned for a family, but I could live without one. As for their money, I had more than enough of my own. Before he could continue his pathetic act, I cut through the chatter. “You’re all right. The Ashworth family is far too grand for someone like me. I’ll see myself out.” Just then, a servant rushed in, his voice tight with panic. “Ma’am, Mr. Aiden, the hospital just called! The young master’s vital signs are plummeting! If we don’t do something now, he’s not going to make it!” The world seemed to tilt for Mrs. Ashworth. She swayed, her face ashen, and collapsed backward. “My son! My poor boy! Someone, please, do something to save him!” she shrieked, clutching at Aiden’s lapels. Her grief quickly turned to desperate, cold calculation. “Your father’s will! He stipulated that only a direct blood heir can inherit the Ashworth estate! Otherwise, everything—everything—goes to charity!” Her voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “Aiden, if your brother dies, and your father is too incapacitated to change the will… we’ll be left with nothing!” A stunned silence fell over the room. Someone, less tactful than the rest, spoke up. “But the Ashworths just found their other son, Leo, right? He’s Mr. Ashworth’s biological child. The fortune is safe; it won’t go to charity.” Aiden’s face showed no trace of relief. His eyes, fixed on me, were dark and venomous. Mrs. Ashworth, too, sized me up with open disapproval, her expression a mask of tragic despair, as if to say, Heaven truly wants to destroy my family. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Seeing me smile, Aiden snapped. “Leo, wipe that smirk off your face! This was your doing, wasn’t it? With your voodoo and fortune-telling, you cursed this family so you could take everything for yourself!” he roared. “How else do you explain it? My sister-in-law suddenly hemorrhages, my brother tries to kill himself, and my father has a stroke, all at the same time! You planned it all, you despicable bastard!” A wave of understanding—or what passed for it—rippled through the crowd. Their expressions shifted from pity to outrage as they turned their furious gazes on me. “Of course! That’s why he suddenly gave up his claim to the family! It was all part of his scheme!” “How terrifying! Those street-corner mystics are the most sinister kind. He should be flayed alive!” “We have to break the curse! Mr. Hemlock, you managed to overcome your grief. Who was the master who helped you? Tell us, so we can save the Ashworths!” Mr. Hemlock, nearly ninety and white-haired, thought for a long, serious moment. Then, he pointed a frail, determined finger right at me. “I am not mistaken. The one who performed the rite at my home was Leo.” Suddenly, his eyes widened as they fell on the small, ornate bell hanging from my waist. “That… That’s a Soul Bell! The sacred tool of a Spirit Caller!” he exclaimed. “And look! There are nine coins hanging from the handle! Nine! Leo is a Master Spirit Caller, one of the most powerful there is!” Every eye in the room swiveled to my waist, a mixture of fear and awe dawning on their faces. Aiden lunged forward and ripped the Soul Bell from my belt. After a quick glance, he slapped me hard across the face. “Not only do you impersonate a Spirit Caller, Leo, but you dare to forge a nine-coin Soul Bell!” he spat. “Don’t you know that the Spirit Callers of the Appalachian mountains do not tolerate blasphemy or impersonation? You’re going to bring a cataclysm down on this family!” “When they find out, not only will they refuse to help us, but the spirits of our ancestors will never know peace! You’ll damn every Ashworth, living and dead!” With that, he threw my Soul Bell to the ground, stomped on it viciously, and kicked it into a decorative fire pit. “No!” I cried out, lunging to retrieve it from the flames, but Aiden grabbed my hands and held me back. The fire bit into my skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as my skin blistered and peeled away, revealing the charred bone beneath. Mrs. Ashworth, her face a mask of horror, raised her cane and began beating me with it, over and over. “You ungrateful whelp! Parading around as a Spirit Caller, bringing this curse upon us! You want to take the entire family down with you!” Aiden held her steady, his eyes burning with malice as he looked at me. “I may not be an Ashworth by blood, but I will not let you destroy this family! According to tradition, tie him to the front gate and bleed him!” he commanded the guards. “Then call a press conference. We will beg the true Spirit Callers for their forgiveness. When they see our sincerity, surely they will agree to help us!” My voice was a raw rasp. “The Spirit Callers live in seclusion. They rarely meddle in mortal affairs, and they are compassionate. What you’re doing is a deliberate, cruel act of revenge!” Aiden’s hand cracked across my face again. This time, he was holding something sharp. A thin line of fire traced across my cheek, and warm blood began to drip down my chin. “Bullshit! First you murder my sister-in-law with your black magic, then you endanger this entire family by impersonating a Spirit Caller. Am I supposed to just stand by and watch you destroy us all?” He gave a sharp nod, and several guards pinned me down, covering my mouth as a sharp blade plunged deep into each of my limbs.

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To scare off the bullies at my new school, I bluffed and claimed the notorious delinquents from the vocational school next door were my “subordinates.” The bullies didn’t buy it. Cornered, I had no choice but to hail a random blonde-haired thug passing by. “Hey! You see the boss and you don’t even say hello?” The blonde thug stared at me. Five seconds later, he smirked. “Hello, Boss.” 1 This blonde guy was hot, but he looked terrifying. He held a cigarette between his fingers and looked at me. “Boss got herself some new minions?” He curled his finger, signaling the rest of his crew. A group of teenagers with dyed hair and tattoos swarmed around us. They towered over me and the girls bullying me. I was so scared I couldn’t make a sound. The blonde guy smiled at his friends. “Hey, why aren’t you greeting the Boss?” The rainbow-haired delinquents were confused. One of them reacted quickly, shouting, “Hello, Boss!” The blonde guy lifted my bruised arm, inspecting it. “Lost a fight? Was it them?” He looked at Jessica and her friends, his eyes cold. Jessica and Sarah burst into tears and ran away. 2 I turned to flee, but a hand grabbed my arm. “Where are you running to? B-o-s-s?” I didn’t dare look at him. I stared at the ground. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to scare them.” He poked my forehead lightly. “Leave your number. You owe me one.” I pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down a fake number. He pulled out his phone and dialed immediately. “We’re sorry, the number you have reached is not in service…” I apologized frantically. “Sorry! I remembered wrong. That’s my mom’s number.” “Liar. Your mom’s number is disconnected?” I didn’t argue. I wrote my real number. If he calls, I’ll block him. The blonde guy smiled, bending down to look me in the eye. “If you dare block me, I’ll find you at the front gate of Central High.” 3 I was terrified all night. Messing with delinquents meant trouble. Protection money? Forced theft? Forced smoking? My allowance was twenty dollars a week. Ten was my limit. I’d just eat buns for lunch and dinner. Stealing and smoking were out of the question. I’d rather die. The next day at school. My desk was clean. No used pads stuck to it, no cigarette burns. Jessica and Sarah looked at me, then quickly looked away. They were already scary enough. The vocational school thugs were even worse. I really ate a bear’s heart and a leopard’s gall to mess with them. 4 Lunchtime. I didn’t dare leave the school. I bought a bun in the cafeteria. Luckily, I have a small appetite. One bun was enough. Halfway through eating, someone grabbed my hair. Three guys. One was Tyler from my class. He was the one who put cigarette butts on my desk. Tyler sneered, “Jessica and those two idiots actually believed you know Leo. You got guts, huh? Acting like someone actually has your back.” The other two guys were impatient. “Hurry up, the gate’s gonna close.” They dragged me to the internet cafe across the street. Tyler knocked on the counter. “Three computers. This chick is paying.” The guy behind the counter looked up. It was the blonde guy from yesterday. 5 Tyler’s swagger vanished. He lowered his head and mumbled, “Brother Leo.” So he was Leo. The two guys sandwiching me smiled and greeted Leo too. Leo looked at me with a complicated expression. Tyler patted my cheek, laughing. “Man, this chick lied to my classmates yesterday, said you knew her.” Leo didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Tyler: “Huh?” “She’s my Boss.” Tyler was dumbfounded, forcing a smile. “You’re kidding, right Leo? You sure?” Leo walked around the counter and put a cap on my head. “Wait outside.”

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On a dating show, I got a call from a scammer. Suddenly, a text stream like a Twitch chat appeared in my vision. [Oh snap. Who’s getting their heart broken tonight?] [Wait, Chloe has a kid?!] [This wasn’t in the script…] But I didn’t have time for that. The person on the other end of the line wasn’t saying anything, just howling: “Mooooom…” I covered the receiver and smiled awkwardly at the camera. “Wrong number. Definitely a wrong number.” But then, chaos erupted on the other end. I heard glass shattering and a very distinct, very loud, beagle-like howl: “Arooooooo! Mom! Why don’t you want me anymore?!” CRASH! Next to me, megastar Julian Stone dropped his glass of water. Then, the howling intensified. “Aroooo! Mom, I miss you…” “Aroooo! Bad man! Don’t take my phone!” “Burp. Wifey, who is this naked guy in our house?” “Wifey! Say something!” Wait. That last voice. That sounds like my childhood friend, Liam. Shouldn’t he be on a film set? Why is he at my house? And who is naked? Julian Stone started wailing like a strangled duck next to me. “Nooo! Chloe! How could you get married behind my back?!” The chat stream floated by again: [LMAO. Is she running a zoo?] [Just add Julian to the harem. They’re missing a duck.] 1 I was on a dating reality show, Heartbeat Connection. The host prompted me to call my “crush.” I was hesitating when my phone rang. The other guests started cheering. “Pick it up! Pick it up!” The host teased, “Maybe your crush couldn’t wait and called you first!” The caller ID was an unknown number. I bit the bullet and answered. A howl blasted through the speaker. “Aroooo! Mom! You finally answered!” I sighed in relief and smiled at the camera. “Wrong number.” But then, something weird happened. Floating text, like a live stream chat, appeared in the air in front of me. [Wait, Chloe has a kid?!] [This wasn’t in the script…] [Oh snap. Who’s getting their heart broken tonight?] What the hell? Am I hallucinating? I rubbed my eyes. The text didn’t disappear; it multiplied. But I had bigger problems. My phone was about to explode. Physically. The person on the other line was howling—a specific, mournful “Aroooo” that sounded exactly like a beagle I used to own. His name was Buster. The first time the cops came to my house was because of him. He screamed so tragically the neighbors thought I was torturing him. He was the most regretful purchase of my life. More than once, I thought about jumping off a bridge with him in my arms. The howling continued. “Aroooo! Mooooom!” “Aroooo! Aroooo! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” The host tried to save me. “Probably a prank call.” I snapped out of it and hung up. I gave an awkward smile to the camera. “Yeah, definitely a scammer.” The host nodded. “Right, right. Our Chloe is so young and beautiful, how could she…” My phone rang again. I smiled awkwardly, stuck my hand in my pocket, and hit decline. Ring. Decline. Ring. Decline. Ring. After a few minutes, the host looked pained. “Maybe you should answer. It might be an emergency.” I pulled out my phone with a grimace, praying to the PR gods. I already have enough haters. My career is just taking off… I pressed answer. A deafening “Aroooooo!” nearly ruptured my eardrum. “Aroooo! Mom, why aren’t you answering? Don’t you want me? Aroooo!” “Aroooo! Mom! Why did you abandon me?!” Besides the howling, there was the sound of destruction. Glass shattering, things falling. Flashbacks of Buster destroying my apartment hit me. Thank god that era is over. Feeling a sudden surge of empathy for whoever owned this chaotic creature, I said, “Baby, be good. Did you break something? Don’t move, you might cut yourself. Wait for Mom to come home.” The noise stopped. Then, sobbing. “Aroooo… so Mom didn’t abandon Buster?” “Aroooo… Buster misses Mom.” The chat stream went wild: [I don’t know what’s happening, but Chloe is so gentle! Love her!] [Does anyone else feel that motherly glow?] Then, CRASH! Next to me, Julian Stone, the A-list actor, dropped his glass. Then, more howling from the phone. “Aroooo! Mom, I miss you…” “Aroooo! Bad man! Don’t take my phone!” The host laughed awkwardly. “Haha…” I laughed awkwardly. “Haha…” The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] So awkward. Help. But the awkwardness broke instantly when a new voice came on the line. “Burp. Wifey, who is this guy? Why is he naked in our living room?” “Wifey! Say something!” Everyone on set perked up. Ears open. The chat exploded: [OMG! Is this content allowed?] [Abs? Did he say naked with abs? Show me!] [Tea! We want the tea!] Someone even yelled, “Chloe, put it on speaker!” I covered the mic with my hand. I didn’t dare hang up, but I couldn’t let them hear any more. Because I recognized the second voice. Liam. My childhood friend. Shouldn’t he be filming a movie? Why is he at my house? And Julian was making it worse, sobbing like a dying duck. “Nooo! Chloe! How could you get married behind my back?!” The chat: [LMAO. Is she running a zoo?] [Just add Julian to the harem. They’re missing a duck.] The host saw my face and cut the feed. She handed me water, then got called away by the director. I scurried to a corner and put the phone to my ear. “Hello? Liam? Is that you?” “It’s me! It’s me! Wifey!” I rubbed my temples. “Liam! How many times? Don’t call me Wifey!” The chat floated by: [Nooo! The angst begins!] [Our puppy Liam is heartbroken. Sad. Childhood friends never win against the new guy.] [Better Liam than the scumbag who cheats on her and gets her killed by the mistress.] [Sob. Julian is okay too. He looks nice.] [Why does Chloe pick the trash men when she has flowers all around her?] 2 A few minutes later, the host came back, looking apologetic. I hung up on Liam, warning him to stop messing around. The chat: [Heartbreak for the puppy tonight.] [He took a ten-hour train in coach just to celebrate her birthday, and she hangs up on him.] [Justice for Liam!] The host scratched her head. “Chloe… Director Zhang wants to adjust the show’s content.” I nodded. “Sure. I’m flexible.” She hesitated. “But… he wants to move the shoot to your house.” “WHAT?!” I yelled. Everyone looked at me. I bowed apologetically and scanned the crowd for Director Zhang. “That’s an extra fee,” I muttered. Director Zhang popped up like a gopher. “Negotiable! As long as we can film there, money is no object.” I slapped my own mouth. Stupid mouth. Then my agent came over to apply pressure. Director Zhang had promised to recommend me to Director Shen for his new movie. Director Shen. Oscar winner. His new film was Oscar bait. Getting an audition with him was impossible for regular actors. If I got the lead role… I could be the youngest Best Actress in history. The temptation was huge. My agent whispered, “Bad press is still press. Even if you have a wild man at home, it doesn’t matter.” “I trust your character. And your acting.” “Chloe, you’ve waited so long for a break like this. You can’t say no.” I thought about it. Director Shen didn’t care about gossip, only talent. Seeing me nod, Director Zhang jumped for joy. Before I knew it, I was in a van heading to my apartment. They confiscated my phone so I couldn’t warn the “wild man” and “wild child” at home. According to a friend on the crew, the show had blown up. Viewership jumped from 5,000 to 120,000 as soon as they announced the location change. My heart was pounding the whole way. 3 Turning the key in the lock, I prayed: Please, nothing R-rated. Please. I pushed the door open. Something dark and heavy flew at my face. I didn’t even see what it was before everything went black. I woke up to two incredibly handsome faces hovering over me, glaring at each other. The noise was unbearable. “Get out! Don’t look at my wife!” “Aroooo! You get out! That’s my Mom!” “Tch. Mom? Does Chloe admit she has a son this big?” “Pfft! Your ‘mom’ doesn’t want you!” The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] [They fight like elementary schoolers.] [Help, my eyes hurt from the beauty but my ears are bleeding.] I opened one eye. One face was Liam. The other… was a stranger. But he was just as hot as Liam. Liam is the youngest Best Actor winner. But this new guy… Wait, if I win Director Shen’s role, I’ll be the youngest Best Actress. So Liam will still be the youngest Best Actor? Whatever. Head hurts. The bickering continued. “Well, my mom didn’t say you were her husband either.” “My mom said men are trash.” I jumped up and covered the howling guy’s mouth. I smiled awkwardly at the camera. “He didn’t mean that! We treat everyone equally here!” I looked around. The crew was hiding in corners, covering their ears. “STOP!” I yelled. They ignored me. I sat between them, grabbing a mouth in each hand to silence them. I slammed a Pringles can on the table like a gavel. “Shut your mouths!” I pointed the can at them. “Freeze. Whoever moves, I hate them.” “I point, you speak.” I pointed at Liam. “You first. Shouldn’t you be on set? Why are you in my house?” Liam rubbed his butt, looking wronged. “I took leave. Not skipping.” I banged the table. “Is that the point? Professionalism! You can’t just leave!” Liam whispered, “But tomorrow is your birthday.” The handsome stranger started howling. “Aroooo! Tomorrow is Buster’s birthday too!” The chat: [Help! The second male lead is such a pure puppy.] [When will she realize he took the train for ten hours just for her birthday?] [Wait… who is the howling hot guy?!] [Is he… the dog? I remember Chloe had a beagle named Buster. His birthday is the same as hers.] My brain rebooted. The chat reminded me. I did have a beagle named Buster. I adopted him from a “Beagle Victims Alliance” group online. His birthday was June 22nd, same as mine. The owner gave him to me immediately when I commented. I tried to refuse, but they just said, “Open the door!” and dropped him off. I adopted him. And then I realized I was the victim. The piercing “Aroooo” brought me back. “Aroooo! Mom, why are you spacing out?” I looked at the 6’1″, eight-pack having man calling me “Mom” and blushed. I looked away. “Don’t call me Mom. Call me Chloe.” He pounced, rubbing his fluffy head on my neck. “Aroooo! Why?! Mom doesn’t want Buster anymore? Buster was good today!” “Buster pooped in the toilet! Didn’t poop on the rug!” “And didn’t steal chocolate!” He looked guilty. He definitely ate chocolate! I grabbed his jaw and tried to pry his mouth open. “Spit it out! Aroooo… barf…” “Aroooo! Mom, stop! Buster is human now! Humans can eat chocolate!” The chat: [He looks so pitiful with red eyes.] [Don’t be fooled! That is the Demon King Beagle reincarnated!] [Too late! Open the door!] I pulled my hand back. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Wait! “So you knew dogs can’t eat chocolate and you ate it anyway?!” I grabbed a slipper. He ran around the room. “Aroooo! Don’t hit me! Buster knows he’s wrong!” “It’s not Buster’s fault! Chocolate smells too good!” 4 I sat on the sofa, fuming. Liam on one side, Julian on the other. Yes, Julian Stone was here too. He had joined the chaos. One poured tea, the other fanned me. They told me not to be mad at the “idiot.” I couldn’t tell them the truth—that Buster was my dead dog reincarnated as a human. So I said he was a distant relative with “issues.” The director had fled, leaving only the stationary cameras. The show had turned into a reality TV circus. 1.5 million viewers. Eventually, Buster came over, head hanging low, carrying the slipper I threw. “Aroooo… Sis, I was wrong.” (I made him call me Sis). He knelt and offered his head. “Hit me. Buster won’t hide.” “Just don’t throw Buster away. Buster is scared.” My eyes teared up. I saw the shadow of my dog over this man. I dropped the slipper and hugged him. “Don’t be scared. Sis said she’d never throw Buster away.” Liam crossed his arms, glaring at Julian, then at Buster. The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] [Liam’s eyes are working overtime guarding against two rivals.] [Liam: I leave for work and come back to find my wife stolen.] We sat there until dark. Every time I got up for water, Buster gave me the puppy eyes. “Aroooo! Mom, where are you going? Don’t you want Buster?” Back to “Mom.” Whatever. A dog’s memory is short. I reached out to pat his head but missed because he was taller now. Awkward. Then, I felt fuzzy hair on my palm. Buster had bowed his head, arching his back to fit under my hand. He smiled up at me. “Aroooo! Mom!” I rubbed his head and felt a sob building in my throat. I ran to the bathroom. “Buster wait, Mom needs to pee.” I cried in the bathroom. When Buster died of old age, I thought about getting another beagle. But I couldn’t. Buster was irreplaceable. Unless he came back. But I knew he would leave me again one day. Suddenly, pounding on the door. “Aroooo! Mom, why are you crying? Did Buster make you mad?” Then, a crash. Liam fell. “Ow! Wife, are you okay? Coming!” Crash. “Wife, wait! Ow!” Chat: [LMAO how does someone fall on flat ground?] [Repeatedly!] [Julian: Don’t touch my shirt with your dirty hands!] [Liam: Stingy! Let me grab your arm!] I opened the door. The three of them were wedged in the doorway, fighting to be first. They all looked up. “Arooo/Wife/Chloe, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m getting water…” Buster shot out like a rocket. The sudden loss of mass caused Liam and Julian to collapse into a heap. By the time they scrambled up, Buster was back with water bottles, grinning. “Aroooo! Mom, drink!” I decided to play favorites. I shielded Buster. “Forget it, he’s a child.” Liam glared at Buster. “Fine. For Wifey’s sake.” Julian copied him. “Fine. For Chloe’s sake.” Liam: “?? Why are you copying me?” Julian: “Is your name on the sentence? So bossy. No wonder Chloe doesn’t like you.” They bickered. I tried to sneak away with Buster. Liam grabbed me. “Wife, you judge!” AHHH! Headache! I am never having boys. Chat: [Poor heroine. In the original plot, she meets the scumbag today. He locks her in a basement and forces her to have five sons, and none of them help her.] [Nooo! This is good! Just the four of them living together!] My heart skipped a beat. Was the chat predicting my future? I sat back down. Liam put his head in my hand. “What about me?” I flicked his forehead. “What?” “You pet him. Why not me?” I sighed. “You’re a human. He’s…” “Don’t care. I want pets.” Fine. I rubbed Liam’s hair. He smirked at Buster. Buster headbutted him off the sofa. I ordered takeout. Five dishes. Julian came out of the kitchen in an apron. “Chloe, get chopsticks. Dinner is ready.” I hugged Julian. “You’re so domestic! Some lucky girl is going to snatch you up.” Julian peeled me off. “Stop hugging. Someone’s eyes are literally shooting lasers at me.” I went to wash my hands. When I came back, the plates were licked clean. Buster was on a chair, belly round. Liam was wiping grease off his hands. Julian looked broken. “Are you starving ghosts reincarnated? Did you not eat in your past lives?” I sighed and got a rag. “I’ll take you out, Julian. What do you want?”

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1 My father was suddenly rushed to the ICU. Before they took him in, he clutched my hand, his voice weak, and made me promise I would make things work with Ralph. I smiled and promised I would, just to set his mind at ease. I waited alone outside the ICU, calling Ralph again and again. Finally, around dawn, someone picked up. It was Karina. “Ralph’s busy,” she said, her tone clipped. “He left his phone with me. If you have a message, you can just tell me.” I was silent for a moment. “It’s nothing important,” I finally replied. “Just a divorce.” … My father didn’t make it. From the hospital to the funeral home, I notified relatives, his colleagues at the university, his friends, and his former students. Arranging everything wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. Every step had a clear process, a checklist to follow. I moved like a marionette, getting it all done. The endless stream of condolence texts and murmured sympathies just made me feel numb. Everyone there who knew Ralph had something to say, their whispers laced with disapproval. Professionally, he was my father’s star protégé; he should have been there to help. Personally, he was his son-in-law; he should have been there, in mourning. But he never showed up. A quick glance at his social media showed he was at an academic conference abroad. In the photos, he was radiant, full of energy and pride. And he had every right to be. He was a young associate professor at one of the country’s top universities, juggling several nationally funded research projects. I had told him everything the moment it happened—texts, messages on every app—that Dad was in the ICU, that he was gone. But there was no reply. I tried to make excuses for him. Maybe he had no signal overseas. Maybe his apps weren’t working. Maybe, with the time difference, he just hadn’t seen my messages. Then I saw him like and comment on one of Karina’s posts. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Staring up at the portrait of my father hanging on the wall, it finally hit me. The only person who would ever love me without asking for anything in return was gone. From the moment I first saw Ralph as a teenager, I was captivated. I’d had a silent crush on him for five years and actively pursued him for three before he was finally mine. Chasing him had become a habit, a part of who I was. Three years ago, when I finally married him, I thought I had become the only one who mattered to him. On our wedding day, he told me, “Thank you for always being by my side.” I held those words in my heart. So, after we were married, I continued as I always had—quietly supporting him, making sure never to be a burden. My father was a professor at Westwood University, and the associate dean of his college. Because Ralph didn’t want anyone to accuse him of using connections, I never showed my face around his colleagues. He was always busy, so I waited at home every day, making sure a hot meal was ready the moment he walked through the door, creating a sanctuary where he could relax. I knew Karina was back in the country. I knew they were working on the same project. But I trusted him. He had promised he would be good to me for the rest of his life. But a long pursuit is exhausting. And now, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to keep chasing him anymore. “Here’s my divorce agreement. Can you look it over for me?” I handed the printed document to my best friend, Maya. She was a lawyer and had once joked that if I ever got divorced, I had to hire her. I never thought her words would come true. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen these papers. I’d found a draft in his study once. We fought about it for days. He explained it belonged to a colleague who had asked him for advice. I made him promise then that I would never have to see the words “divorce agreement” again. I never imagined the next time I saw them, I would be the one who had written them. “Don’t you worry,” Maya said, taking the papers with a determined fire in her eyes. “I’ll make sure he walks away with nothing.” She was right. I couldn’t lose my father and my financial security. Now that he was gone, I couldn’t afford to be reckless. I went back to my father’s house to pack up his things. His personal belongings were few and easily sorted. The real challenge was his study, which was filled wall-to-wall with research materials. His illness had come on so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to hand off his many industry-sponsored projects. I realized I barely knew any of his students. Ralph had always been the one to coordinate with them. As my father’s protégé, Ralph had stayed at Westwood after getting his Ph.D., and my father had funneled countless resources and projects his way. It was why, at such a young age, Ralph’s portfolio was more impressive than that of many tenured professors. In fact, the conference he was attending now was for a paper that still had my father’s name on it as a co-author. He was the only person who could handle this transition. After much hesitation, I called him. Still no answer. After the seventh or eighth try, I gave up. The automated voice, “The person you are calling is currently on another call…” was all too familiar. But this time, I didn’t feel the familiar surge of anger. I just felt tired. I ended up calling one of my father’s colleagues to help with the materials. It was from him that I learned the conference Ralph was at was a joint project with the neighboring university. And their lead researcher, who had also traveled abroad for the conference, was Karina. I froze for a second, and then everything clicked into place. Of course. That’s why Karina had answered his phone. Her voice had been thick with arrogance. “Ralph’s busy. He left his phone with me. If you have a message, you can just tell me.” “My father is in the ICU,” I’d said, my voice shaking. “Please tell him to come back as soon as—” “Got it. He’s about to go on stage to give his speech.” She cut me off. “Is there anything else?” she’d asked, her impatience clear. “No, nothing else,” I’d replied, my voice hollow. “Just a divorce. We can talk about it when he’s back.” The next time I saw Ralph was a week later. It was on campus. I was just leaving the Dean’s office when I ran right into him. The Dean had called me in personally, telling me that, per university policy, I was eligible for a position if I wanted one. He had smiled warmly, told me to think it over, and walked me to the door. And there he was. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone neutral. “Good afternoon, Dean,” he said, his eyes moving past me to greet the man standing beside me. “Ralph, my boy. You two are married, if I remember correctly? You should help your wife think about the position. Give her some advice.” Ralph nodded and followed the Dean back into his office. I politely said my goodbyes to the Dean, avoiding Ralph’s gaze. “Wait for me,” he called out suddenly. “We’ll go home together.” I stopped, stunned. A week without seeing him felt like a lifetime, yet here he was, acting as if nothing had changed. His words were meant to be kind, but they landed with a chilling coldness. “Okay,” I agreed. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the Dean, and we did need to talk about the divorce. I waited in his office for half an hour. Finally, exhausted, I texted him that I was just going to take a cab. I had just stepped outside when I realized a torrential downpour had started. As I stood there, wondering whether to go back inside, Ralph and the Dean emerged. “Eliza, you waited for Ralph! That’s wonderful,” the Dean said jovially. “His research group is having a dinner tonight. I hope you don’t mind if I tag along.” I shook my head. It didn’t matter to me; I wasn’t going anyway. After seeing the Dean to his car, Ralph jogged back over to me. “Eliza, I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to reply to your text earlier,” he said, looking down at me. “The Dean will be at the dinner. It wouldn’t look right if you didn’t come.” So that was it. He was worried about his reputation. Seeing him so anxious, I couldn’t bear it. “Fine, I’ll go.” I gave in again. Not for him, but because I wanted this to end peacefully. His career was important to him, and I wasn’t going to be the one to sabotage it. When we got to his car, I saw that Karina was already in the passenger seat. Ralph turned to me, flustered. “Karina has been a huge help with a recent project, so she’s joining us tonight.” He looked from me, standing by the car door, to her, and his discomfort was obvious. “Karina, maybe you could sit in the back…?” “Oh, Eliza, I’m so sorry,” she said with a sweet smile, not moving an inch. “I’m just so used to sitting here. Let me get out and switch with you.” Before they could finish their little dance, I opened the back door and slid in. I glanced at my watch. “Ralph, if we don’t leave now, we’ll lose the Dean’s car.” This had happened once before. I had made a scene, insisting on my right to the passenger seat. The result was a lecture from Ralph when we got home about how I was being childish and immature. It’s just a seat, Eliza. Does it really matter? Now, I realized it didn’t. I sat quietly in the back, watching the rain streak down the window, my mind on the job offer. The Dean had said I could choose between an administrative or a teaching position, but he’d recommended the former, noting that the academic track had much higher standards for review. I understood his subtext. The administrative job was a favor. The teaching job required real qualifications. Ralph would have been the best person to ask for advice. But watching the two of them in the front seat, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Karina was chattering away, trying to make conversation. Uncharacteristically, Ralph ignored her, his eyes frequently darting to me in the rearview mirror, trying to pull me into the conversation. But this time, I was the one who didn’t want to talk. Ralph was objectively handsome, with a clean-cut, youthful look that made him look like a student when he was dressed casually. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans today, and the moment he stepped out of the car on campus, a group of his students surrounded him. I followed a few paces behind, watching them chat animatedly. I didn’t know when it had happened, but following him had become my default. And Karina had become the one who stood by his side. Just like now. At the restaurant, they naturally sat down next to each other. The table was crowded, and suddenly, I was the one left standing, the awkward odd one out. “Professor Miller, is this a new student joining our lab? Welcome, welcome!” one of his grad students said, finally noticing me and pulling up an extra chair. I finally sat down. “That’s not a student, you fool,” the Dean interjected with a laugh. “That’s your professor’s wife.” The table fell silent. Then, a female student whispered, just loud enough for many of us to hear, “Oh. I thought Professor Karina was his wife. They shared a room at the conference hotel…” The silence that followed was deafening. Ralph, sitting directly across from me, looked panicked. He was probably terrified I would cause a scene. The old me might have. But now… I didn’t care. I just lowered my head and started eating, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. “The conference organizers were short one room,” he explained, his eyes fixed on me. “I helped Professor Karina get settled, and then I found another place to stay.” I just smiled a little, a meaningless gesture, and turned the lazy susan to get some more food, acting as if he were talking about someone else entirely. “She wasn’t familiar with the area, so I had to help her get to the hotel.” The other people at the table were starting to look uncomfortable on his behalf. “Eliza, did you hear me?” he pressed. “I know you’re angry, but…” “I’m not angry,” I cut him off. “I understand. She was in a new place, all alone.” I even started making excuses for him. “Don’t you want to ask me anything?” he insisted. Was he trying to provoke me? Did he need me to be angry? I shook my head. Why was he making such a big deal out of this, here of all places? “Let’s just eat,” the Dean said, finally breaking the tension. The conversation quickly shifted to topics I knew nothing about. I just sat there, quietly eating. Karina kept putting food on Ralph’s plate, but he barely touched it. I thought the evening would just fizzle out like that. But then, the Dean brought up my father. “Eliza, it’s such a tragedy about your father. Forgive me for saying so, Ralph, but even if you were overseas, you should have come back.” I nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The raw grief had slowly, painfully, been packed away, thread by thread, deep inside me. “Dean,” Ralph said, his chopsticks frozen in mid-air. “What happened to Professor Hayes?” The table went silent again. “You didn’t know?” the Dean said, his voice full of disbelief. “You didn’t know Professor Hayes passed away from a sudden stroke?”

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At a dinner party, my genius painter husband was peeling crab for his young assistant with his hands—hands insured for millions. Just to coax her into eating something because she had “no appetite.” Meanwhile, I was drinking until I threw up blood, trying to secure investment for him. When I asked him to pass me some stomach medicine, he flatly refused: “My hands are for painting. Don’t you have hands of your own?” For ten years, he hadn’t even bothered to change his excuse for rejection. That night, sobering up in the cold wind, I asked my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. Gavin, this life is long and the road is hard. From now on, we walk it separately. When Gavin was personally peeling crab for his assistant, Trixie, because she didn’t feel like eating, everyone at the table looked at me awkwardly. Just a minute ago, I had been swearing to the investors: “Gavin’s hands are insured for millions. To protect them, he doesn’t even pick up a steak knife.” To smooth things over, I punished myself by downing three shots of liquor. Blood welled up in my throat, but I forced it back down. Just as the tension was easing, Gavin decided to leave early to take Trixie to McDonald’s. He even got into an argument with an investor over it and ended up punching him. To apologize to the investor, I took a slap to the face and paid out compensation. Turning back, I just wanted to check if his hands were okay. But Gavin said coldly, “If you weren’t so obsessed with money, insisting on sucking up to these tacky tycoons, the poor girl wouldn’t be starving.” “I’m taking her to McDonald’s. Don’t follow us. You’ll ruin our appetite.” Trixie, the little assistant, apologized to me with pitiful eyes: “I’m so sorry, Wenny. If I knew Gavin cared about me this much, I would have kept my discomfort to myself.” Gavin rubbed her head disapprovingly. “Little one, what did you do wrong? You’re just innocent.” “She’s the one who’s too calculating. She’d rather drink until she pukes blood than leave.” My heart went cold. It wasn’t that he didn’t see me coughing up blood; he just didn’t care. I stood there in the freezing wind for half an hour before calling my lawyer. “Prepare a divorce agreement for me.” Gavin didn’t come back until the next morning. Scanning the table and seeing no lavish breakfast, and the coat rack missing his freshly ironed suit, he frowned slightly. “Late night?” I nodded. “Had a chat with a lawyer.” I pulled a document from my bag. “Two copies. Sign here.” Gavin didn’t even look at it. He flipped to the last page and signed. After all, in the ten years since his debut and our seven years of marriage, I had handled all his business and logistics. I let out a breath, put the agreement in my bag, and prepared to leave. Gavin blocked the door, his face dark as he grabbed my arm. “Don’t overthink it. After dinner last night, Trixie broke out in hives. I just took her to the hospital. We didn’t do anything.” This was the first time Gavin had explained anything to me since we got married. But he forgot—I used to get hives too. Back then, covered in a red rash, I begged him to take me to the hospital. He said: “Don’t you have legs? If I catch it, how am I supposed to paint?” Seeing my cold expression, Gavin wanted to say more, but Trixie called. “Sob… Gavin, I went to the studio today and everyone laughed at me. It’s so embarrassing, I feel terrible…” “You silly girl! Didn’t I tell you yesterday to rest if you’re sick?” Trixie sobbed, “But if I don’t go, the new exhibition won’t be ready in time. If I delay your career, I’d die of shame…” “Silly girl, how can getting sick be your fault?” Saying this, Gavin glanced back at me with disgust. “It’s all because of some greedy people who only care about money and ignore others’ lives.” “Be a good girl, wait in my office. I’ll drive you home.” Gavin slammed the door and left. From start to finish, he ignored the swelling on my face. I lowered my eyes and contacted the rising painter in Paris who had been inviting me for a long time. As I was reading through the agency contract on my phone, I received a voice message from Trixie on WeChat. In her baby voice, she said, “I’m so sorry, Wenny. Gavin insisted on coming to my place to take care of me. I’m the one delaying his exhibition progress. Please don’t blame him.” Her intentions were too obvious. Exhausted, I ignored the message but noticed her new profile picture. Zooming in, it was a pair of large hands, faintly stained with paint, tenderly cupping her face flushed red from hives. I knew those hands too well. They were Gavin’s. He really did care about her. I closed the image and quietly changed my profile picture from our wedding photo to a bird flying free. On the last day of the city art exhibition, I stayed backstage handling logistics. When I went out front for the group photo, I saw Gavin already standing center stage with his arm around Trixie. Reporters were gushing: “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling have such a great relationship. Seven years of marriage and still so inseparable.” “Mrs. Sterling looks so young! I heard she manages the studio and planned this entire exhibition single-handedly. Beauty and brains!” Gavin and Trixie heard the praise, but neither spoke up to correct them. Until Trixie saw me. Suddenly, her eyes welled up with tears, and she dropped to her knees in front of me. “Wenny, I didn’t mean to! I just haven’t had a chance to explain! Gavin is where he is today because of you. I wouldn’t dare steal your credit.” The sudden move made the atmosphere weird. The only sound was the clicking of camera shutters. Gavin immediately shielded Trixie. “Wenny, do you have to be so aggressive?” “Trixie contributed a lot to this exhibition. I’m just giving a newcomer some exposure. It’s normal mentorship.” He lowered his voice. “We’re in public. Don’t make a scene.” I wasn’t making a scene. And I never would again. I put on a polite smile, helped Trixie up, and introduced her to the media. The farce ended with a glossed-over peace. After the interviews, I took out my phone to book a flight. Gavin snatched it from my hand. “You’re booking tickets? International? Why didn’t I know about this?” He fired off three questions, brows furrowed in shock. “Since when do I have an exhibition in Paris? Why didn’t you tell me?” Honestly, I didn’t expect Gavin, who usually kept his hands off everything, to react like this. Maybe my recent change in behavior had finally caught his attention. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. He grabbed my hand. “What exactly are you planning?” Before I could tell the truth, a scream came from backstage. Gavin threw my phone aside and sprinted away. I silently picked up my phone, pressed the “Pay” button for the ticket, and then walked backstage. Broken frames littered the floor. Trixie was lying there, her wrist bleeding from wood splinters. “Boo hoo, Gavin, my hand is hurt. What if I can’t paint anymore?” “Wenny asked me to organize this. I really didn’t expect the frames to fall. I was so careful. Did I do something wrong?” Gavin cradled Trixie’s hand delicately, his eyes red. The next second, he turned and roared at me: “Wenny, are you done acting out?” “Trixie is my assistant. She only handles my personal items. Why did you make her do heavy lifting? What is wrong with you?” “I tolerated your behavior at those drinking parties all these years, but have you sunk so low as to frame someone?” Ignoring the suspicious looks around us, I explained calmly: “I didn’t ask her to come here. I was out front the whole time…” Gavin cut me off, patience gone. “Of course you didn’t have to come personally. You run the studio; you can tell anyone to do your dirty work!” “Apologize to Trixie right now, or I’m calling the police!” I forced a self-deprecating smile. Just as I was about to agree to call the cops and check the security footage, Trixie hugged Gavin, begging him not to call. Whatever she said, Gavin agreed to. He gritted his teeth. “Trixie won’t let me call the police. Fine. But I won’t let you off the hook!” With that, he grabbed a painting from the corner and smashed it at my feet. The solid wood frame nearly shattered my shin bone. Sharp edges sliced my skin. Blood gushed out. “This is payback for Trixie! Everyone listen up: from now on, studio business has nothing to do with Wenny! Anyone who listens to her is fired!” “Wenny, don’t come back until you’ve reflected on yourself and apologized to Trixie!” Gavin scooped Trixie up in his arms, shoved past me, and left without looking back. I stood there, tears falling despite my best efforts. They mixed with the blood, dripping onto the ruined canvas at my feet. It was the painting Gavin spent three months on to propose to me. It used to be his most treasured work. Thirty thousand repetitions of my name, forming the future we once promised each other—watching the sunset in Paris. But now, he had shelved that passionate love and personally shattered that promise. I took the canvas out of the frame, tore it 48 times, and threw the shreds into the trash. Gavin was right. His studio had nothing to do with me anymore. I was never his official agent, just managing his career as his wife. But soon, I wouldn’t be that either. The next day, I went to the office to pack my things. I overheard the studio manager trying to reason with Gavin. “Mr. Sterling, you were too impulsive yesterday. Mrs. Sterling has been running everything all these years. If she really quits out of anger, the upcoming exhibition will be chaos.” Gavin snorted. “She was just riding my coattails. The exhibition’s success is due to my talent.” “If she doesn’t come, let Trixie handle her work. It’s just busywork. Anyone can do it!” Then, remembering something, he added: “Trixie is different from her. The little one doesn’t like sucking up to people. Don’t make her go to dinner parties.” I had planned to hand over my work to the manager, but now it seemed unnecessary. Just then, a WeChat notification popped up.

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I woke up as the stepmother to the heroine of a trashy forced-love webnovel. Staring at the male lead—a walking felony—and the drugged-and-baited plotline unfolding before me, my mind went blank. Was the author allergic to the law? It’s the 21st century. Who still writes this kind of coercive garbage? Right now, the story was just beginning. My new stepdaughter, Vivian, was a beautiful, tragic mess, while the male lead, Liam—fresh off an attempted assault—wore a smug smirk that screamed, You can’t escape me. I was about to call the cops, but I stopped myself. No. Following this trashy novel’s logic, the police would just show up and tell us to play nice. Seeing Vivian’s trembling shoulders, a much more permanent solution sparked in my mind. I smiled and pressed a pair of sharp shears into her hand. “Don’t be scared, honey. Mom’s about to teach you the oldest form of revenge in the book.” “Go on. Castrate the bastard. Let’s see what he uses to commit crimes then.” 1. The dean’s office fell into a dead silence. Everyone was stunned, frozen in place by my words. Vivian’s eyes widened in disbelief, her lips parting as if to object. “…Isn’t that a bit much…?” “What’s wrong with it? It’s not like we can’t afford the legal fees.” I shot a dismissive glance at Liam, my tone casual. The words seemed to sting the teenage boy’s pride, but I wasn’t done. I decided to pour a little gasoline on the fire. “Don’t worry about the money. Your father just acquired Liam’s family company. Our net worth just doubled, sweetie.” That was the last straw for Liam. He turned, his eyes red with humiliation, and bolted from the room. Hah. We’re just getting started and he’s already crying? In the novel, Vivian’s father was a titan of industry. After he acquired the floundering Thorne Corporation, Liam’s family was ruined overnight, and Liam blamed Vivian for it all. He and his little gang of delinquents had planned to corner her in the girls’ bathroom and strip her naked, a plot that was only foiled by a passing classmate. “What was it you were saying earlier? ‘No smoke without fire’?” I cornered the dean, my voice dripping with ice. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Teenagers… they horse around. It’s normal…” “How about we lock your daughter in a room with this little punk and let them ‘horse around’ for a while?” I raised an eyebrow. The dean, who had been so eager to smooth things over, immediately fell silent. Because he did, in fact, have a daughter. 2. The farce ended with the expulsion of Liam and his cronies. This was the one advantage of being the heroine of a dark romance—she had the backing of the immensely powerful and wealthy Sterling family. Sure, in the original story, all that wealth just ended up being a stepping stone for the male lead, but for now, the Sterlings were untouchable in this city. Dealing with a few spoiled brats was laughably simple. A single, quiet word from me was all it took for the dean’s office to issue the expulsion notices at lightning speed. “Mom… thank you for helping me.” Vivian gently tugged on my hand. The sweet, fragile girl tilted her pale face up at me, teardrops still clinging to her lashes. Her eyes were filled with a hesitant, hopeful curiosity. That look sent a tremor through my heart, and my voice softened instinctively. “Silly girl. It’s a mother’s duty to protect her daughter, isn’t it?” Truthfully, when I first woke up in this world, I felt no connection to this ready-made daughter. I only intervened because of the original plot. After Vivian was brutalized by the various male leads, her father blamed me, his stepwife, for being negligent. Ignoring the law entirely, he had me dismembered and fed to the dogs. So, until I could find a way back to my own world, my first priority was staying alive. Which meant taking care of Vivian. But after spending these past few days with her, seeing this girl who was so heartbreakingly gentle and good, I couldn’t remain a detached observer any longer. And so, a new item was added to my daily agenda: Keep an eye on the hormone-addled little monsters whose every waking thought revolved around forcing themselves on my daughter. And if necessary, confiscate their ‘tools of the trade.’ 3. After a scene like that, school was out of the question for a while. I decided to take Vivian straight home. As we settled into the car, I noticed her school uniform was so old it had faded. I frowned. This was a private academy; uniforms weren’t mandatory. The campus was full of girls dressed in the latest fashions. But Vivian wore this same old uniform, day in and day out. I understood why. Her whole life, she had attracted unwanted male attention, and so she deliberately avoided anything that might make her stand out. But I refused to accept that retreat. “Come here.” I gently pulled Vivian closer. Her body was frail, almost bird-like. She looked malnourished. The damned novel, in its quest to make the heroine “delicate and easily overpowered,” had made the poor girl far too thin. “Change of plans,” I told the driver. “Take us to the Grandview Plaza.” Vivian looked at me, a flicker of anxiety in her eyes. “Mom, what are we doing there?” “Buying you some new clothes.” I saw her avoid my gaze and took her hand in mine. “You can’t wear that old uniform forever.” Half an hour later, we were in a high-end boutique. Vivian stared at the racks of colorful dresses, a clear longing in her eyes, but she didn’t dare touch a thing. “Try this one.” I took a daffodil-yellow dress from the rack. The collar was adorned with tiny, delicate pearls. She hesitated before taking it and followed the sales associate to the fitting room. When she emerged, shy and uncertain, I couldn’t help but smile. The warm color beautifully complemented her fair skin, and the cut was elegant and classic. But Vivian kept tugging at the hem, her eyes darting around nervously. “It’s too bright… Won’t it attract too much attention?” she whispered. I walked to her side, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “It’s beautiful, Vivian. You deserve all the beautiful things in the world.” “But…” She looked down. “The boys… they always say such awful things…” “Then let them talk.” I placed my hands on her shoulders, making her look at our reflection. “Look. There is nothing wrong with this dress. It is beautiful. The problem is with the people who look at you with filth in their eyes.” Vivian stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes turning red. Suddenly, she spun around and threw her arms around me, her voice choked with sobs. “Mom, I’m scared… I never know what to do…” Feeling her thin frame tremble in my arms, I stroked her hair, a new resolve hardening within me. “Don’t be afraid,” I said softly. “Mom will teach you how to protect yourself.” The next day, I took her to the best combat training gym in the city. If this world was determined to be cruel, then I would teach my daughter how to fight back, beautifully. 4. Things, however, didn’t go exactly as I’d planned. Three times a week, I personally accompanied Vivian to the gym. What started as a way to protect her soon became our special time together. “Mom, am I just stupid?” After her first class, Vivian looked down at the bruises on her knees, her voice heavy with disappointment. The instructor pulled me aside. “Mrs. Sterling, this is really tough for a girl like her. Have you considered something else for Vivian? Dance, or piano, wouldn’t that be more suitable?” Dance? Piano? What good were those? They were just different settings for the male leads to assault her in. I gently applied ointment to her bruises. “Who ever said you have to learn things quickly? We’ll take our time.” I sat on the sidelines during her sessions, watching her fall and get back up, again and again. The instructor, a man named Coach Zhang, kept trying to change my mind. “I’ve been teaching for ten years, and this is the least talented kid I’ve ever seen. She trips over her own feet, her skin bruises if you look at it wrong, and her body is so soft it’s like she doesn’t have bones. At this rate, she’ll never build any muscle tone.” But, mindful of the Sterling family’s wealth, he phrased his suggestion delicately. “Perhaps another hobby would be more… fitting?” I just smiled and handed Vivian a towel and a bottle of water. “As long as she enjoys it.” By the third week, Vivian finally mastered a complete defensive maneuver. She was so happy that night she even linked her arm through mine on the way home. The real change happened in the fourth week. Coach Zhang ran up to me, his face alight with excitement. “Incredible! She’s a natural! No matter how hard I train her, she’s completely recovered by the next day! Her flexibility is off the charts, and her pain tolerance is unreal! This girl is a prodigy!” I had a pretty good idea why. The damned webnovel’s ridiculous heroine-centric logic was finally doing something useful. But for me, the most important thing wasn’t how many moves she learned, but the fact that the light in her eyes shone brighter every day. On the morning of the thirty-third day, I opened her bedroom door and found her standing in front of the mirror, wearing the daffodil-yellow dress we had bought together. “Mom,” she said, turning around with a smile I hadn’t seen in years. “I want to wear this to school today.” In that moment, I knew something had fundamentally changed. But I felt a mix of pride and worry, so I decided to discreetly follow her in my car. And sure enough, getting rid of Liam just meant a new problem would pop up. Just outside the school gates, Male Lead Number Two appeared: John Tank. The Tank family was second only to the Sterlings. John and Vivian had known each other since childhood; they were the classic “childhood friends” trope. When I first read the book, I had even rooted for this “guiding” romance. But seeing it in person, I realized that his “guidance” was just carefully packaged manipulation. All his talk of, “You’re only getting stared at because you dress so flamboyantly,” and “Good girls are more modest…” That kind of rhetoric was probably the real root of Vivian’s chronic lack of confidence. Just as I was thinking this, John walked up to Vivian. 5. John’s brow was furrowed, his eyes fixed on her bright dress. His tone was laced with an undeniable reprimand. “Vivian, why are you wearing something like this again? It’s too flashy. It’s not for you.” The old Vivian would have immediately bowed her head in shame and mumbled an apology. But today, she just looked at him, her spine straight. “John, what I wear is my business.” John was clearly taken aback by her defiance. He paused, then his voice grew harsher. “I’m just looking out for you. Have you forgotten how all your previous troubles started? Dressing like this will only attract more of the wrong kind of attention.” A small crowd of students began to gather, whispering among themselves. “How dare she talk back to John like that…” “Well, he’s not wrong. That dress is a little revealing…” “She only wears those clothes to seduce guys, anyway…” Hearing the murmurs, a flicker of certainty crossed John’s face, as if public opinion was naturally on his side. But Vivian took a deep breath and turned to face the whispering crowd. “Is it my fault that I attract attention? Who is the real source of the trouble? The people with malicious thoughts, or me, for simply wearing a dress?” “If wearing something beautiful is a sin, then that’s a belief I refuse to accept.” John’s face darkened. “Vivian, you’re being childish. Everyone is just saying this because they don’t want you to get hurt. Now, apologize to everyone.” “The real hurt,” Vivian’s voice was quiet but unshakably firm, “comes from people close to me, who criticize and police me under the guise of ‘looking out for me.’ You make me feel like my very existence is a mistake.” She paused, then said, word by word, “John, please stop trying to manipulate me. I don’t need it.” I stood in the shade of a nearby tree, watching my daughter stand her ground against a tide of judgment, and a wave of pride and warmth washed over me. My little girl was all grown up. But John’s expression had turned thunderous. Vivian’s public refusal had humiliated him. He took a step forward, his voice tight with suppressed rage. “Vivian, do you have to be like this? Look at yourself, what have you become?” The whispers from the crowd only fueled his anger. “What’s wrong with her? John’s just trying to help.” “Seriously, so ungrateful.” Believing he still had the crowd on his side, John grew bolder. He lunged forward and grabbed Vivian’s slender wrist, his other hand reaching for the shoulder strap of her dress in a shockingly aggressive move. “Let go of me!” Vivian warned, struggling to break free. “I’m going to make you see sense today! These slutty clothes don’t suit you at all!” Humiliated and enraged, John didn’t let go. He pulled harder, clearly intending to rip her dress off in front of everyone. And not a single person in the crowd moved to stop him. In fact, some were praising him for his “sincere concern.” This goddamn novel and its twisted logic. I pushed my car door open, ready to intervene. John was still spewing venom. “It must be that new stepmother of yours. I knew a social-climbing slut like her would be a bad influence—” “Shut your mouth!” In a flash, Vivian’s eyes sharpened. Her body sank slightly. Using his grip as leverage, she twisted, her hips and core engaged— And executed a clean, sharp shoulder throw.

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