Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The day after my mom’s latest marriage ultimatum, I dumped my boyfriend of five years and, armed with my resume, stormed the park’s matchmaking corner. My best friend was baffled. “I thought you said Alex was your rock? Why wouldn’t you marry him?” I scanned the single men’s profiles, not even looking up. “That rock is only steady for the new girl. As his ex, I’m just old news.” A second later, Alex caught up to me, his voice tight with anger. “I told you I just see her as a little sister. You’re breaking up with me over this?” 1 I ignored him, reaching for the resume in his hand. It was the only “normal” one I’d found after two hours of searching. 32 years old, university professor, no bad habits, stable family, and most importantly: an only child. No little sister in need of constant emotional support. Alex lifted his hand just out of my reach. The silver cufflinks on his wrist were a birthday gift from me last year. “Nora, stop messing around.” His jaw was clenched, a clear sign he was reining in his temper. I smiled, pointing to the park’s entrance sign. “Mr. Hayes, this is a matchmaking event. It’s all about first impressions and efficiency. You’re scaring off my future husband.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the thin sheet of paper. “You’d throw away five years for a man you don’t even know?” “It’s not for him. It’s for me.” My smile vanished. I looked at him calmly. “Alex, I’m done getting 3 AM calls because Kathy got harassed at a bar again and needs you to come ‘rescue’ her.” “I’m done with you ditching me at a restaurant on our anniversary to go comfort a heartbroken Kathy.” “And I’m especially done hearing you say, over and over, that she’s just a sister, that she’s fragile, that you’re all she has.” The color drained from Alex’s face. He opened his mouth, his throat working, but no words came out. A few of the older folks nearby had already pulled out their phones, whispering amongst themselves. “Such a handsome young man. What’s wrong with him that his girlfriend is leaving?” “Girls these days have such high standards.” Alex’s fist tightened. He valued his reputation above all else. And I wanted him to taste what it felt like to lose it, right here, where it mattered most to him. “Nora, let’s talk about this at home.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. I didn’t fight him. I just looked past him. A girl in a white dress was running toward us, her eyes red and puffy with tears. “Alex, don’t be mad at Nora! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have called you again!” Kathy had arrived. The switch for Alex’s “emotional stability” was flipped. He let go of me instantly, turning to steady her. “What’s wrong? I told you to wait for me at home.” “I was worried you and Nora would fight.” Kathy lowered her head, her voice choked with sobs, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault.” As she spoke, she shot a glance at me from the corner of her eye. There was no apology in it. Only victory. I crossed my arms, a cold spectator to this masterclass in manipulative sisterly affection. Alex didn’t disappoint. He patted Kathy’s back gently, his voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it in five years. “It has nothing to do with you. This is between her and me.” He didn’t even look at me again before turning and leading Kathy away. The resume of the “normal man” was crumpled in his fist and tossed into a nearby trash can. Just like our five years together. 2 My best friend’s call came while I was supervising a locksmith. “You’re seriously changing the locks? Aren’t you afraid Alex’s going to lose his mind when he gets back?” “He has a home, and a sister who needs her emotions stabilized. Why would he come back here?” I said into the phone, then to the locksmith, “Change everything—the keypad, the deadbolt, the whole system. I don’t want so much as a fly getting in here from now on.” The line was silent for a moment. “Nora, are you sure about this? It’s been five years…” I watched the locksmith remove the old cylinder, a sense of calm settling over me. Five years? What finally broke me wasn’t the length of our relationship. It was a night two weeks ago when my fever hit 102 degrees. I’d gotten food poisoning from some bad takeout. I was completely drained, vomiting, and felt like my brain was boiling. Shaking, I called Alex, my voice trembling. “Alex, I feel awful. I have a fever. Can you please take me to the hospital?” He was quick to agree. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there. Leave the door unlocked for me.” I used my last ounce of strength to wait for him on the sofa. Just as I was about to pass out, my phone rang. It was Alex. Thinking he had arrived, I answered eagerly, only to be met with his apologetic tone. “Nora, listen… something’s come up with Kathy. She was watching a horror movie alone and got terrified. There’s a thunderstorm, and she called me, crying so hard she could barely breathe. You know how scared she gets.” In that moment, my heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, freezing over inch by inch. “And?” I heard myself ask, my voice eerily calm and foreign. “I have to go check on her. I can’t leave her alone like that.” He paused, then said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “You need to be strong. Can you just grab a cab to the ER and check in? I’ll come find you as soon as she’s settled.” Be strong. Those two words were like a poisoned dagger, twisting deep into my heart. I hung up without another word. That night, I took a cab to the hospital alone, waited in line to register alone, and sat in the cold, sterile infusion room alone, watching the IV fluid drip, drip, drip. I was surrounded by patients with family and friends. I was the only one on my own. Alex never showed up. The next morning, a text finally arrived, accompanied by a picture of Kathy, sleeping peacefully. “Hey babe, Kathy was a wreck last night. I stayed with her to calm her down, just got her to sleep. How are you? Still at the hospital?” Staring at the screen, a new kind of clarity washed over me. Five years, and I was the one who always had to “be strong.” Kathy, on the other hand, was the fragile one who deserved unconditional comfort and care. My mother’s pressure to get married was just the spark. The bomb that obliterated every last fantasy and lingering attachment was that long, cold, six-hour night I spent alone in the hospital. “Nora? Are you still there?” my friend’s voice pulled me back. I snapped a picture of the old lock cylinder, posted it online with the caption: Out with the old, in with the new. Then I spoke into the phone. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I put the phone on speaker and started gathering Alex’s things: his toothbrush, his towel, a few changes of clothes, and the cufflinks he was wearing yesterday. I stuffed everything into a black trash bag. Whether he did it on purpose or not didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that I had chosen myself. That was enough. The doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. Alex was standing there, with a tear-streaked Kathy by his side. I didn’t open the door. Alex started punching in the passcode. The electronic lock beeped, “INCORRECT CODE,” over and over. His face grew darker with each failed attempt. Finally, he started pounding on the door. “Nora! Open the door! What the hell did you do to the lock?” I started recording a video through the peephole. Kathy pulled at his arm, crying. “Alex, don’t do this! She’s just angry. Let’s go for now.” “Go? She threw my stuff out! She’s trying to cut me off for good?” Alex kicked the door, the sound echoing through the hall. I calmly walked to the door and spoke through it. “Mr. Hayes, one more kick and I’m sending this video to your company’s HR department. I’ve even thought of a title: Rising Star Throws Public Tantrum. What’s the Story?” He froze. Silence. A few seconds later, Kathy’s tearful voice came through. “Nora, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at Alex. He just cares about you so much. I… I made you some homemade soup. I’ll just leave it here for you.” Their footsteps faded away. I opened the door. A thermos sat on the mat with a sticky note attached. Nora, five years is a long time. Don’t give up so easily. —Kathy Her handwriting was delicate, radiating a sweet, cloying scent of manipulation. I picked up the thermos, walked to the window, and opened it. I aimed for the dumpster below and let go. It soared in a perfect arc. Bullseye. Done. I dusted off my hands and went to take a shower. As the hot water washed over me, my phone buzzed incessantly on the counter. I didn’t need to look to know it was Alex. I let it ring. When I came out, toweling my hair, there were over twenty missed calls. The latest message was from Kathy. “Nora, how could you throw out the soup? It took me three hours to make. I know you don’t like me, but you can’t just trample on my feelings like that. Alex saw, and he’s really upset.” I stared at the message and laughed. Of course he was upset. I’d just destroyed the evidence he was going to use to prove his “innocence.” I didn’t reply. I just blocked both of them. And just like that, the world was quiet again. 3 The next day, with an updated personal profile in hand, I returned to the matchmaking corner. Alex had destroyed the professor’s resume, so today, I had to find someone even better. A man with gold-rimmed glasses and a gentle demeanor stopped me. “Excuse me, are you Nora Croft?” I nodded. “Hello, my name is Miles Archer. I was the, uh… the university professor whose resume was destroyed yesterday.” He gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “After I left, I got your number from Mrs. Gable, the event organizer, but my calls wouldn’t go through.” I remembered then that in my effort to avoid Alex, I had blocked all unknown numbers. “Oh, I’m sorry about that.” “It’s alright.” Miles’s gaze fell to the paper in my hand. “Back for another try?” I waved the sheet. “Looking for an efficient exit from singledom. Serious inquiries only.” He laughed. “Funny, so am I.” He gestured to a nearby café. “Would you mind talking in there? I have to admit, standing out here is making me a little nervous.” I saw the tips of his ears turn red and smiled. “Sure.” Miles was fascinating. He taught classical literature and spoke with a calm, measured cadence, but he had a way of saying things that hit my funny bone perfectly. We talked about everything from poetry to the philosophy of life, and it wasn’t awkward at all. “I get it, you know,” he said with a sigh when we got on the topic of the matchmaking event. “My family’s been pushing me too. Coming here myself is just more efficient.” He continued with a self-deprecating smile, “The last woman my mother set me up with insisted she was a ‘demure, traditional lady.’ When we met, she brought her entire extended family to ‘interview’ me.” “We’d barely spoken for two minutes before her aunt asked if I’d be willing to hand over my paycheck, and her cousin asked where I was planning to buy a house in the best school district.” “It felt like an interrogation. At the end, the ‘demure lady’ concluded that I was a nice guy, but my only flaw was that I seemed too quiet, and she was worried I wouldn’t be able to ‘keep her troublemaker brother in line’.” He mimicked their tones perfectly, making me laugh out loud. His story made him feel less like a set of qualifications on paper and more like a real person. We were both just two people, worn down by the bizarre logic of the modern dating world, trying to find a kindred spirit in the most direct way possible. My phone vibrated. I glanced at it. It was a picture message from an unknown number. It was a photo of Alex in a hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, his face pale. Kathy was sitting beside him, dutifully peeling an apple. A picture of domestic harmony. Beneath it was a line of text. “Nora, Alex was distracted looking for you and got into a car accident. The doctor said his arm is broken. Can you please come see him?” My face remained blank as I placed the phone screen-down on the table. Miles noticed the change in my expression. “Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing. Just spam.” I took a sip of my coffee, hiding the cold fury in my eyes. Alex, you really outdid yourself. You’d resort to faking an injury just to guilt me into coming back. “Miss Croft,” Miles said suddenly. “This may be forward of me, but I get the sense that you’re under a dark cloud right now.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I can see you’re not happy.” His gaze was sincere. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.” A warmth spread through my chest. Unlike Alex’s overbearing “I’ll fix this for you” attitude, Miles offered respect and equality. “Thank you, Miles,” I said, and I meant it. “But don’t worry. That cloud is about to disappear.” I was going to rip it apart myself. We talked until the café was about to close. Miles walked me to the entrance of my apartment complex. “I had a really wonderful time talking with you today,” he said, his figure elongated by the streetlight. “Me too.” “So… could we perhaps see each other again tomorrow?” he asked, a hopeful hesitation in his voice. I nodded. “Of course.” After saying goodbye, I turned and walked into the complex. Just as I reached my building, a dark figure lunged from the shadows and grabbed my arm. It was Alex. His right hand gripped me tightly, while his left was, indeed, in a cast, held in a sling around his neck. “Nora, you’ve really grown some claws,” he hissed, his eyes bloodshot. “I get in a car crash for you, and you’re out on a date with another man?”

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I’m a B-list actress with a benefactor. And recently, my benefactor ran into a little trouble. He was outed as the wrong baby, swapped at birth—a fake heir to a fortune. The day the news broke, his adoptive parents kicked him out. He had to move in with his biological family. Seeing him so lost, I couldn’t stand it. In a moment of grand, heartfelt impulse, I threw my arms wide and declared, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Later, after I’d graduated from benefactor-protégée to actual girlfriend, I went with him to meet his parents. That’s when I finally understood what “moving” meant for him. It meant leaving his adoptive father’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills… for his biological parents’ sprawling, gated estate in Montecito. That son of a bitch. He played me. 1 I first saw the news about Ethan being switched at birth where everyone sees everything: online. The gossip blogs were ruthless, claiming in breathless, self-assured posts that Ethan Prescott, the “fake heir,” had been cast out of the family, left with nothing. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I waited at home until late, and when Ethan finally walked through the door, the exhaustion was written all over him. He moved like a man carrying an invisible weight, his usual confidence replaced by a hollowed-out look in his eyes. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I softened my voice. “What’s wrong? Rough day?” He folded onto the couch beside me and leaned his head on my shoulder. It was a gesture of pure vulnerability, a silent plea for support I had never, not once, seen from him before. “I moved,” he said, his voice flat. Those two words were all the confirmation I needed. The tabloid headlines flashed in my mind. “Is it true?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What they’re saying online… about the mix-up at the hospital?” “Yeah,” he murmured into my shoulder. “I guess my last name is Hayes now.” His voice was so deflated, so unlike him. I could feel the blow this had dealt to his entire world. And who could blame him? The people who had raised you for over two decades suddenly weren’t your parents. It was a seismic shift that would shatter anyone. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, trying to offer some small comfort. “You know,” I said, forcing a light tone, “Ethan Hayes has a nice ring to it. Maybe even better than Ethan Prescott.” He managed a weak, fleeting smile. “Maybe.” Seeing him struggle to keep it together, I swallowed the hundred other questions I wanted to ask. It wasn’t the time. “Go get some sleep,” I said softly. “Try not to think about it too much.” Ethan nodded and pushed himself up, heading for the bedroom. But after a few steps, he stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of a raw uncertainty. “Chloe,” he said. “Can you… stay with me?” “Of course.” I crossed the room in a heartbeat. He took my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine, and led me into the bedroom. 2 Ethan likes to hold me when he sleeps. Tonight was no different. Except it was. Tonight, he held me tighter, with a desperation that felt like he was trying to meld me into his own body, as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid thing in a world that had turned to liquid. My face was pressed against his chest, the familiar scent of him all around me. On any other night, I would have been blissfully nuzzling into him, drunk on the closeness. But tonight, I just wrapped my arms around his waist and gently patted his back, trying to soothe him into sleep. I understood. His life had been upended. He needed comfort, a pillar to lean on. And seeing him in so much pain made my own heart ache. Which was a problem. He was my benefactor, not my boyfriend. He was now the “fake heir.” The smart thing to do would be to worry about my career in this cutthroat town, not his emotional state. My future in Hollywood, which he had so carefully paved, was now a dead end. That’s what I should have been thinking. But instead, I found myself gently smoothing the frown lines from his forehead with my thumb. My career was built on Ethan’s influence—I’ll be the first to admit it. Yes, I worked hard. I’m tenacious and I don’t give up. But Hollywood is a place where hard work alone gets you nowhere. You need opportunities. You need luck. And if you don’t have those, you need a powerful patron. When I started, I had nothing but raw energy and a burning ambition. Then, at the wrap party for some forgettable film, someone with a grudge slipped something into my drink. The next thing I knew, I was being led into the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel—Ethan’s suite. I was dizzy, my limbs felt like lead. A single, foggy thought, It’s over, drifted through my mind, but I was powerless to fight it. Sometime later, Ethan came back to his room. As fate would have it, he was drunk too. He apparently mistook me for a body pillow and slept soundly, holding me all night. The next morning, I woke up in the arms of a strange man and nearly screamed the hotel down. But before the scream could escape, I was struck by the impossibly handsome face just inches from mine. Well… damn. It wasn’t that I was opposed to him, specifically. I was just, you know, morally against the whole predatory casting-couch culture of the industry. I studied his face. His eyes were closed, framed by impossibly long lashes. That strong jawline, that perfect nose… how did all the best features end up on one person? As I was lost in my critical analysis, his eyelashes fluttered. A moment later, his eyes opened, meeting mine directly. My heart stopped. 3 Ethan sat up, rubbing his temples. He seemed to be replaying the night, and after a moment, he said with absolute certainty, “I was drunk. I wouldn’t have… done anything.” I looked at his wrinkled shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth skin of his chest and the faint outline of abs beneath. I nodded. “I know. You just held me all night.” We showered separately and then sat on opposite ends of the sofa, observing each other in the quiet morning light. With his hair still damp and dressed in fresh clothes, he looked sharp and serious. He broke the silence. “I’ll find out who was behind last night. As for us… I’m sorry. I’d like to offer you some form of compensation for the trouble.” “It’s okay if it’s not long,” I blurted out. Ethan just stared at me. “?” My brain caught up with my mouth. “Oh! Compensation. Right.” To be fair, Ethan was blameless in this. He was just a drunk guy who came back to his own room to sleep. I was the one who shouldn’t have been there, even if it wasn’t my choice. But he felt he had wronged me and wanted to make it right. Who was I to refuse a helping hand? Sometimes, the right stepping stone is worth more than a thousand steps taken on your own. I thought for a moment. “There’s a TV series I want to audition for.” 4 I told him the name of the show and the director. Ethan was efficient. “That’s easy. I’ll call the director.” And just like that, I was on the cast list. I wasn’t even a top-three character, but I was ecstatic. I packed my bags and moved onto the set, ready to work. Ethan, probably worried I was just some freeloader wasting his recommendation, started showing up on set to “supervise.” He’d ask the director how my performance was, if I was being cooperative. He’d ask me if I was surviving the director’s notoriously tough style. Terrified he’d change his mind and have me replaced, my answers were always a variation of, “The set is great, the director is great, and the director says I’m great, too!” I’d put extra emphasis on that last part. Ethan would just give a little “hmph” and say, “Keep it up.” It was only later that I found out he was the show’s executive producer. During that shoot, Ethan’s visits became more frequent, and his attitude toward me softened. He started asking about my day, sent flowers and a gift for my birthday, and even started driving me home after late-night shoots. I knew this wasn’t just about making sure I was working hard. He wanted to make me his mistress. His kept woman. So, being me, I decided to just ask him. Ethan was silent for a long time, then looked at me with a baffled expression. “Is that what you think this is?” “Just tell me if I’m right or wrong.” I was so sure of my own deduction that I didn’t even wait for his answer. “Look, I’m not that kind of girl… unless you let me feel them first.” Ethan looked completely lost. “?” He smirked, a real smile finally breaking through his serious exterior. “Feel what?” “Your abs, obviously. Got to inspect the goods first.” He actually laughed, a real, throaty laugh. “I have to say, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a benefactor having to pass a physical inspection.” But even as he said it, he took my hand and guided it to his stomach, pressing it against his shirt. The sudden warmth and hardness of the muscle beneath the fabric made my hand tremble. I was all talk; when it came to actually doing anything, I was a complete coward. He took a slow breath, his voice dropping low. “Well? Are you satisfied?” I gave a tentative press and nodded wildly. “Very satisfied. We’re good.” I mean, look, I’m a person of principle. I can’t be bought with money or swayed by power. But. Everyone has their exceptions. And apparently, mine were a killer set of abs and a handsome face. 5 Ethan was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. He meticulously planned my career path, guiding me from an unknown nobody to a solid B-lister. I wasn’t a viral sensation, but I was a working actress who never lacked for quality roles. It was only after I was with him that I realized what it was like to be treated fairly, to not have to constantly fight off petty attacks or backhanded sabotage. For the first time, I was filled with a genuine confidence, a hope for the future. I even started to believe I could make a real run for an Oscar someday. And then, just as I was getting ready to really hit my stride, my foundation crumbled. My Oscar dream shattered with a silent, sickening crack. 6 Mourning the death of my Oscar dream, I eventually drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, Ethan was already out of bed. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, another one ruffling his dark hair. God, he was beautiful. That body, that face. Lying there on my side, watching him, I realized with a jolt that I had no desire to cut him loose and save myself. So I said it. “Ethan… from now on, let me take care of you.” He froze, towel in hand. “What?” “I said, I’ll take care of you,” I repeated, sitting up and making a grand, sweeping gesture. “So what if you’re not a Prescott anymore? So what if you’re broke? Don’t be scared. I can make money. I’ll support you!” Ethan just stood there, silent. He was probably overwhelmed with emotion, touched by my loyalty. Finally, after a long moment, he raised an eyebrow. “You’ll support me?” he asked, a strange glint in his eye. “You’re sure you don’t want to break up with me? After all, I’m just your benefactor. Not your boyfriend.” My eyes darted away. Okay, so maybe the thought had crossed my mind for a second. To cover my guilt, I raised my voice. “What kind of question is that? I’ll have you know, Ethan Hayes, you are seriously underestimating me! I’m not the kind of person who only sticks around for the good times!” A slow smile spread across his face. “So?” “So! From now on, I’ll be out there making a living, and you can stay home and be beautiful!” He tossed the towel aside and walked toward me. In one smooth motion, he lifted me out of the bed and settled me onto his lap, so I was straddling him. He peppered my face with soft kisses—my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. “You’re really something,” he murmured against my skin. “Like a princess from a fairy tale. How could I ever repay you?” I was genuinely trying to think of what I wanted in return, but his lips found mine again, deep and consuming. He kissed my eyes, the tip of my nose, and returned to my mouth. His hand tangled in my hair, giving a gentle tug that made me tilt my head back, surrendering completely to the kiss. By the time he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my face flushed and my eyelashes damp with involuntary tears. Through the haze, I heard him whisper with a low chuckle. “My good, kind-hearted girl. How about I offer myself in return, hmm?” 7 After breakfast, I transferred one hundred thousand dollars to Ethan’s account. My heart ached with every zero. It wasn’t that I wanted to give him that much. But when I thought about everything he’d done for me—the roles, the jewelry, the designer dresses—it was the least I could do. He had been generous with me, and I couldn’t be stingy with him now. Still, it hurt. “You have to be careful with this,” I lectured, channeling my inner financial advisor. “You know I’m a very frugal person. From now on, we need to spend wisely.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “Those old friends of yours, the ones who still treat you like a brother? Take them out for a decent meal, keep those connections alive. You never know who might be able to help you down the line. But the ones who ghosted you, who kicked you when you were down? Forget them. You got that?” I was trying to think of what other sage advice I could offer when he leaned in and kissed me again, cutting me off mid-sentence. I went still, my brain short-circuiting. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Hey—mmph—you need to listen to me.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression utterly sincere. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re earnestly planning my future. I couldn’t help myself.” I… damn it. He was a cunning bastard. He knew I was a shallow creature, that a single piece of praise could turn my brain to mush. I tried to look stern. “Even if you say that, I’m still going to be a little bit mad at you.” A girl had to maintain her authority as head of the household, after all. 8 Even though I was pretending to be mad, seeing the familiar light back in Ethan’s eyes made me genuinely happy. With his mood lifted, I could head to work without worrying. I was currently filming a major historical drama. The director was a legend in his late fifties, at the peak of his creative powers. There are no secrets on a film set. Everyone more or less knew about my connection to Ethan. He’d never tried to hide it, visiting me openly on set before. But because he was so young and handsome, no one was quite sure what our relationship was. Some guessed we were dating, others thought we might be cousins. The ones who guessed correctly—that I was a gold-digger who’d landed a powerful benefactor—kept it to themselves. Whatever they thought, they had always treated me with a polite, professional distance. But now, with the scandal swirling around Ethan, the whispers were getting louder. As soon as I arrived on set, I heard them. “Is it really true? I saw the story trending and then it just… vanished.” “The Prescotts must have killed it. A family like that controls the narrative.” “I wonder what’s happening with Ethan now.” “It’s Ethan Hayes now. And what do you think is happening? He got kicked to the curb, obviously.” “My money’s on Chloe dumping him by the end of the week.” I pretended not to hear, walking past with my head held high. But inside, I was fuming. Why did everyone assume the worst of me? Not only had I not dumped him, I had pledged to support him! Ethan himself said I was like a fairy-tale princess! Just as I was mentally defending my honor, a particularly sharp voice cut through the chatter. “Well, well. So the golden boy of Hollywood turns out to be a cheap knock-off.” I stopped and looked up. Rick Donovan. In all my years in the industry, I’d lived by a simple code: don’t start trouble, and always be polite. I didn’t have many enemies. Except for one. Rick Donovan. 10 The year I broke into the business, I landed the fourth female lead in a fantasy series. “Fourth lead” was a generous title; I was basically a glorified extra. Rick, a veteran actor, was playing the main villain. He had a decent reputation—good actor, no scandals. Since we had scenes together, we got to know each other. At first, he was kind, like a mentor. He gave me tips on finding my light and connecting with the camera. I respected him and saw him as a kind-hearted senior colleague. Toward the end of the shoot, we had a stunt scene on wires. My character, a reformed demoness, was supposed to die with his villain. The script called for us to fall from a height onto a crash pad below. The visual effects team would handle the “souls dissipating” part in post. But as we fell, just as we hit the mat, Rick’s hands squeezed me. Twice. On my lower back, just above my ass. Our costumes were bulky, and he must have thought no one would see. But I felt it. Crystal clear. I’ve always had a short fuse, and back then, I was young and reckless. In a flash of pure humiliation and rage, I shot up from the mat and swung my arm, slapping him square across the face. The crack echoed through the suddenly silent set. Rick, utterly humiliated, has held a grudge against me ever since. Funny. I never even complained that he made me hurt my hand on his thick-skinned face. Later, I found out he was the one who had me drugged and sent to Ethan’s room. He probably thought someone of Ethan’s status would ruin me for the intrusion. He never imagined I’d grab onto that golden branch and soar. Instead, his own career nosedived. His roles dried up, his fame faded. Now, he was stuck taking bit parts in other people’s projects, like this one. I knew Ethan was behind it. He was a fiercely protective man. If someone tried to screw me over like that and he did nothing… he’d have to be possessed. 11 I hadn’t seen Rick in years before starting this film. It never even occurred to me we’d end up on the same set. Here, he was playing a minor character who gets killed off in a few episodes. I get it. Directors don’t usually care about actors’ personal beefs as long as they can do the job. And I didn’t care either. Now, my name carried more weight than his. I wasn’t afraid. And in our history, he was the one in the wrong. I had the moral high ground. If anyone was going to be forced out, it shouldn’t be me. He wasn’t scared, so why should I be? So we coexisted on set, ignoring each other. It was a kind of cold peace. But now he was insulting Ethan, and that, I could not tolerate. I stared him down, my voice laced with ice. “It’s always the dogs in the cheapest kennels that bark the loudest.” Rick blinked, then his face flushed with anger. “What did you just say?” I clicked my tongue. “I’m talking to you. Who else? Have you really fallen so far that the only way you can feel good about yourself is by mocking someone else? That’s just sad.” That shut him up. 12 Seeing Rick speechless put me in a great mood. I had a fantastic day of shooting, and even went out for amazing Korean barbecue with Ava, the actress playing the female lead. When I got home that night, Ethan had already cooked dinner. After washing my hands, I sat down at the table and saw all my favorite dishes laid out. I couldn’t help but tease him. “So this is the life of a kept man? Do you actually know how to cook all this? Or is it just fancy takeout? It’s not poisoned, is it?” Ethan placed a glass of warm milk in front of me. “One hundred percent homemade, organic, and gluten-free. Care to try?” I cautiously picked up a piece of slow-braised short rib. After a few chews, I gave him a big thumbs-up. “Delicious!” After a long day at work, coming home to a delicious meal served by a handsome man was exactly what I deserved. As I ate, I asked, “So, what did you do all day?” “Checking up on me?” Ethan smirked. It had been a casual question, but his response made me feel a flicker of benefactor-like power. “Yep!” I said, getting into the role. “I’m exercising my rights as your provider. Report on your daily activities, stat!” Ethan laughed. “Alright, here’s the summary. I met with Liam Prescott.” “Liam Prescott?” “The real Prescott son.” I immediately tensed up. “He asked to see you? What did you guys do? He didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” Ethan propped his chin on his hand, a playful smile on his lips. “And if he did? What would you do?” 12 I was baffled. What kind of question was that? “What else could I do? Swallow my pride and take it, of course.” Ethan just stared at me. “?” “I mean, we can’t afford to make enemies with people like that right now,” I explained reasonably. “If he looks down on you, you just have to… look down at the floor and walk away.” Not wanting to crush his spirit entirely, I added, “Revenge is a dish best served cold, you know.” Seeing the frustrated look on his face, I circled back to the original question. “So, what did you and Liam talk about?” “Just… family stuff,” Ethan said. “I wanted to get a better sense of my biological parents, to make it easier to fit in with the new family.” “And did you? Have you met them yet? What are they like? Are they easy to get along with?” Ethan seemed unsure. “They seem… okay? My father is very serious, doesn’t say much. My mother is more of a politician, very smooth. Every word is carefully chosen.” They both sounded like a handful. I couldn’t help but worry. “You need to be on your best behavior with them. Keep that temper of yours in check, you hear me? But if they’re not good to you, don’t force it. You still have me,” I said, patting my chest proudly. “If you get tired, you can always rest on my broad, supportive bosom.” 13 I finished my speech and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to praise my beautiful, kind soul. But that idiot Ethan completely missed the point. He raised an eyebrow. “Keep my temper in check? What temper, exactly?” I started to think. What temper did Ethan have? I honestly couldn’t think of anything. I chewed on my fork, racking my brain. The only scenarios that came to mind were the ones in bed where I’d end up cursing at him and kicking him away playfully. Or the countless nights he’d driven to pick me up from the airport or a remote set in the middle of the night. Or that one time I’d tried to cook for him and ended up breaking three plates and two bowls, and he just cleaned up the mess without a word of complaint. The more I thought about it, the more shocked I was. How was this possible? I couldn’t remember him having a temper, but I could suddenly recall plenty of instances of my own. This was not how the power dynamic was supposed to work! Feeling a wave of guilt, I shot him a few sheepish glances. “You know what? Let’s just drop it,” I said, my voice suddenly much smaller. “I’ll save you the embarrassment. Let’s just eat.” Ethan just smiled and, with a swift move of his fork, stole the last piece of my favorite short rib. 14 That weekend, I had to attend a gala hosted by my agency’s CEO. At these kinds of events, swarming with industry moguls and investors, actors and pop stars aren’t the main characters. We’re just part of the decor, adding a bit of color to an otherwise boring affair. As far as I could tell, I had about as much functional purpose as the floral arrangements at the entrance. I couldn’t participate in the conversations about investments, market trends, or IPOs, nor could I just relax and enjoy the food. All I could do was stand there, holding a glass of champagne with my back straight, drifting through the crowd and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with familiar faces. After a few rounds of forced small talk, I found a quiet corner to hide in and texted Ethan. “Everyone here is talking about such complicated stuff. I don’t get any of it, but I can’t leave. I’m so bored.” He replied almost instantly. “Seriously. Don’t they know that a princess has to shower, do her makeup, curl her hair, and pick out a gown? Such a boring party is hardly worth all of Princess Chloe’s effort.” I frowned at the screen. That was a weird thing to say. It felt… sarcastic. Was he making fun of me for being high-maintenance? I sent back a GIF of a cat throwing punches. “I’m docking your allowance!” Ethan: “?” Ethan: “What time can you leave? I’ll come pick you up.” I estimated the time. “Another hour, maybe.” 15 I kept checking my phone, and after about an hour, people started to trickle out. Figuring Ethan must be close, I started walking toward the exit. Just as I neared the ballroom doors, a foot shot out from the side. My long dress blocked my view, and my high heels made me unsteady. Before I could even register what was happening, I was crashing to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot through my knee and elbow. The only saving grace was the thin carpet covering the floor, which probably saved me from a broken bone. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, but I looked up, my voice fierce. “Who the hell did that?” Rick and his manager, Angela, were standing over me, covering their mouths as they snickered. “Oh my, what a klutz,” Angela said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Did you hurt yourself?” Angela was a middle-aged woman who had been with Rick since the beginning of his career. I used to admire her loyalty for sticking with him through his decline. It’s easy to find people who will celebrate with you, but hard to find those who will weather the storm. But tonight, that same woman had just tripped me and was now taunting me. I blinked back the tears and spat back, “What bad luck. Feels like I just stepped in something nasty.” 16 Rick’s face contorted with rage. “What did you just say?” Angela put a restraining hand on his arm. In the process, her wine glass “accidentally” tilted, spilling red wine all over my dress. “Chloe, this isn’t the place for you to throw a tantrum,” she said coolly. “This may look like a big party, but there’s only one person who really matters here tonight: Liam Prescott.” She gestured around the room. “Since taking over the Prescott empire, he’s been managing some massive projects. Everyone here tonight is trying to get on his good side, hoping for a piece of the pie. And you, who’s been playing house with the fake heir, have the nerve to show your face here?” She looked down at my stained dress and laughed. “Look at her, Rick. She’s a mess.” I’m not a patient person by nature. I’m impulsive and I hold grudges. Being with Ethan, who constantly coddled and praised me, had only made my temper worse. And okay, maybe Ethan wasn’t a powerful heir anymore. But I was still a B-list actress, wasn’t I? Did they think they could humiliate me like this without consequences? Normally, after a fall like that, I would have just stayed on the floor and waited for Ethan to come rescue me. It really, really hurt. But I couldn’t let them get away with this. In my book, the headline “Actress Gets in Fight at Gala” was ten times better than “Actress Gets Bullied at Gala.” Fueled by pure rage, I forced myself to my feet. I walked right up to Rick and Angela and, with all my strength, slapped each of them across the face. “You’re nothing,” I seethed. “But you sure act like you’re something special. I was trying to ignore you, but you just had to push it. You’re trash. You should try being decent people for a change. You wouldn’t want your bad karma passed down to your kids, would you?” Angela, clutching her cheek, lunged at me. But Rick held her back, his face a mask of fury, his voice low and menacing. “Chloe, this is Liam Prescott’s event. Don’t push your luck. Get out of here while you still can, before Mr. Prescott has security throw you out.” His words grated on me. I opened my mouth to fire back, but a calm voice cut in from behind me. “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

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I woke up as the villain in someone else’s love story. The plot was supposed to be simple, really. A tragedy wrapped in romance. The devoted husband, Ethan, loved his wife, my sister, Lydia. But Lydia was sick, a fragile beauty with a failing heart, and she wasn’t long for this world. This is where I, or rather, the original owner of this body, was supposed to make her grand, ruinous entrance. She was to crawl into her brother-in-law’s bed in a moment of weakness. And Lydia, ever the saint, wouldn’t just forgive her little sister. No, she would make Ethan promise to marry her after she was gone. A dying wish. An inescapable trap. Of course, all of that was just the prologue to the real story. The main event was a new woman arriving in Ethan’s life, a vibrant soul who would teach him to open his heart again, to heal from the grief. They would get their happy ending. As for the inconvenient placeholder wife? She would be driven to suicide by public humiliation and her husband’s cold shoulder, conveniently clearing the stage for the true heroine. 1 And the timing of my arrival? Just perfect. I came to consciousness on my sister and brother-in-law’s bed, arranged like a sacrifice waiting for the slaughter. But it was the fire raging under my skin, a thick, chemical heat, that told me this wasn’t part of the original script. I tried to push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the plush carpet, a jolt of something sharp and ugly shooting up my spine. My purse had been tossed near the bed. Inside, among the usual clutter, was my phone and, surprisingly, a digital voice recorder. Fighting the rising tide of heat and nausea, I flicked the recorder on, slid it under the lip of the nightstand, and stumbled toward the bathroom, my phone clutched in a sweaty palm. I locked the door behind me. A woman about to seduce her brother-in-law wouldn’t drug herself. She wouldn’t need to. This was sabotage. The question was, who was the saboteur? My fingers felt like sausages as I dialed. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Someone drugged me,” I rasped, my voice cracking. “I think… I think they’re going to try and rape me. Please, you have to get here. Now.” Next, my mother. “Mom,” I whispered, the effort immense. “Can you come get me? I feel… really sick. I don’t want to worry Lydia.” I hung up before she could ask too many questions. My consciousness was fraying at the edges. I turned on the tub, fumbling with the faucet, and collapsed into the basin before it was even a quarter full. The shock of the ice-cold water was a brutal, welcome relief, a temporary dam against the inferno inside me. God, this was a mess. My memory of what happened next is a collage of broken sounds. Someone shouting my name. “Audrey? Audrey, where are you?” The heavy thud of a shoulder hitting the bathroom door. Raised, frantic voices. And then, nothing. Just the silent, welcoming dark. 2 Things got interesting. Apparently, my picture-perfect sister and her doting husband had been invited downtown for a little chat with the police. Their story was smooth. After dinner, they realized I was missing. Worried, they started searching. They found my bedroom empty and their own master bathroom locked from the inside. They had no idea why I would be in their room, and fearing the worst, they tried to break down the door. A date-rape drug? What was that? They had no idea. With no cameras in the bedroom and no witnesses, it was their word against… well, no one’s. “We’re tracing the source of the drug,” the detective told me, his voice a low rumble. “You just rest. Don’t worry.” His name was Ryan, and he’d been here since I woke up. He watched me with a focused, analytical gaze that felt like it could see right through my skin. A cop’s sixth sense, maybe. “I left a voice recorder by the bed in the master bedroom,” I said, my own voice still hoarse. “Maybe it picked up something useful.” Ryan gave a curt nod. “Got it. I’ll have someone check.” He turned to my mother. “Ma’am, you should stay with Audrey. I’ll check back in later tonight.” “You go on, Ryan. You have work to do. I’ll be here with her. Don’t you worry.” After Ryan left, my mother’s face crumpled with anxiety. “Do you think he’s angry?” Oh, right. Ryan was my boyfriend. We were supposed to get married at the end of the year. I raised an eyebrow. “Angry? About what? That I was drugged?” “How could this happen?” she lamented, her hands twisting in her lap. “How could something like this happen?” “You should ask Lydia,” I said flatly. Her head snapped up, her expression instantly defensive. “That’s impossible. Your sister would never do something like that.” “The three of us ate the same dinner,” I reasoned, keeping my tone level. “The only difference was the glass of milk Lydia handed me afterward. Unless the milk itself was poisonous, that’s our variable.” I held up a hand to stop her protest. “Look, I’m not accusing her in a court of law. I don’t have proof. But some things are obvious to anyone who isn’t willfully blind. Even if Lydia didn’t physically put the pill in the glass, she knew about it.” My mother stared at me, her mind clearly reeling. “Then… why did you tell me you were just feeling sick? Why did you say you didn’t want to worry her?” I shrugged. “What was the alternative? Calling you and screaming that Lydia drugged me? What would have been the first thing you did?” Silence. I answered for her. “You would have called Lydia to ask if it was true. You would have walked me right into the fire. Sometimes, a well-placed lie is a lifeline.” My mother wasn’t the type to play favorites. Even with Lydia’s congenital heart condition, she had always been fair to her younger daughter. In the original story, my mother was one of the witnesses who found me in Ethan’s bed. She had slapped me, dragged me home, and only relented to the marriage because of Lydia’s tearful begging. When I—the original me—had finally jumped from that building, my mother’s grief was the most profound. As the shock began to subside, she reached out and brushed the hair from my forehead. Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a new, steely resolve. “I will not let you suffer this injustice, Audrey. I promise you.” 3 They found the recorder. The contents were, to put it mildly, explosive. Lydia: What happened? I put her on the bed. Where did she go? Ethan: Maybe she woke up and went back to her room. Lydia: I’ll go check. … Lydia: She’s not there. I’ve looked everywhere. She’s gone. Ethan: The bathroom. Lydia: It’s locked. A sharp rapping sound. Lydia: Audrey? Audrey, are you in there? Are you not feeling well? Open the door, sweetie. Let me in. Ethan: She must have passed out. Lydia: Break it down. Ethan: Lydia, let’s just stop. This is crazy. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Lydia: But I’m dying! What will you do when I’m gone? What about Leo? The only person in the world who could love Leo like her own son is Audrey. Ethan: But she clearly knows something’s wrong, or she wouldn’t have hidden. Lydia: It doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ll be the victim. Everyone will believe me. And Audrey… she’d never do anything to jeopardize my health. … Wow. That happy couple really showed me the sheer diversity of the human species. Ryan was watching me again, a deep frown line creasing his forehead. I cupped my face in my hands and gave him a small smile. “Like what you see?” His expression didn’t change as he dropped his gaze. My mother was the one who looked truly devastated. Her face was ashen, and she seemed to be swaying on her feet. “How could she?” she whispered. Whether she could or couldn’t, she did. “We’ve got a lead on the source of the drug,” Ryan said, his voice all business. “As it stands, this looks like a conspiracy between the two of them. Ethan’s lawyer wants to speak with you. He’s hoping you’ll sign a settlement agreement and drop the charges.” “Never!” my mother snapped. “I’ll do it,” I said. They both looked at me. My mother’s eyes filled with pain. “Audrey, you don’t have to consider my feelings. From this day forward, I don’t have that daughter.” I wasn’t planning on being a saint. Lydia was on death’s door, and Ethan’s family had deep pockets. He probably wouldn’t see much jail time anyway. Besides, for a crime like this, you don’t just want justice. You want to destroy the soul. “Is there really no cure for Lydia’s condition?” I asked. My mother shook her head. Her congenital heart disease meant she was never meant to live a long life. But she had tempted fate. Against all medical advice, she had insisted on having a child for the great love of her life. She’d barely survived giving birth to Leo, and her body had paid the price. For the last six months, her heart failure had been getting progressively worse. She was practically living at the hospital. Her doctors had already told her to get her affairs in order. She was dying. What a shame. If only she could live another couple of years, she could meet her husband’s real true love face-to-face. Now that would be a spectacle. I was genuinely disappointed to miss it. I turned back to Ryan. “I’m willing to drop the charges, but on one condition. They both have to get on their knees and apologize to me.” The woman whose life I now inhabited, Audrey, had been drowned in shame and abandoned by everyone she knew. She only survived a year after Lydia’s death. It was a year of pure, unadulterated agony that ended with a final, desperate leap. That couple owed her an apology. Ryan nodded once, his face unreadable. He turned and left without another word. Watching his strong, steady back, I remembered his fate in the original story. When the whole world had turned on Audrey, Ryan was the only one who believed her. But she, broken and ashamed, felt she was no longer worthy of him. She ended their engagement. A month later, Ryan died during a high-risk operation. Audrey secretly attended his funeral. She overheard his captain saying, “He wasn’t even supposed to be on that mission. He volunteered, insisted on it. He hadn’t been himself lately, so much anger bottled up inside him. It’s my fault. I never should have approved it.” Boom. Audrey’s world shattered. From that day on, she was just a walking corpse.

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My little brother, Leo, had a thing for secrets. In ninth grade, he found out our cousin Brandon was gay. He was about to blast it in the family group chat. I stopped him. A year later, he found out our Aunt Jenna was cheating. He was about to tell her husband. I snatched his phone. Then, he live-streamed our parents having sex. I called the cops. I told them he was a minor being coerced. I thought I was saving him. Five years later, he got out of juvie. I got him a good, high-paying job. At his welcome-home dinner, he stabbed me. “You stupid bitch,” he hissed, twisting the knife. “You just had to interfere. You cost me five years.” I was dying. I begged my cousin, my aunt, my parents to help me. They just backed away, hands up. “Leo, please,” my aunt whimpered. “If you kill her, you don’t have to kill us, right?” I blacked out. And woke up, back in the private room of a noisy restaurant. In ninth grade. Leo was jiggling his leg, his eyes wide and manic. He held up his phone. “Nora! You are not gonna believe this! Brandon is gay!” … The AC was blasting, but I was sweating. When I didn’t respond, Leo pinched me, hard. “Did you hear me?” The sharp pain on my arm was real. I wasn’t dead. I was back. I forced down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, Leo. I heard you.” He let go, a nasty smirk on his face as he looked across the table. “Just one spot in the magnet school. That’s all we’re asking. And they’re acting like this. Fucking assholes. Serves them right their son’s a…” I looked up. My Uncle Rob was red-faced, jabbing a finger at my dad. “I’m not saying you’re a bad guy, but look at your family. My sister married you, and what’s she got to show for it? You’re all wearing clothes from Walmart. Is that whole outfit even fifty bucks?” Aunt Cindy, his wife, giggled. “And Leo’s grades… two hundred on his pre-SATs? You seriously think you can buy your way into prep school with that?” My parents just sat there, smiling, their backs bent. “We just really appreciate you looking into it, Rob.” Leo seethed. “He thinks he’s so high and mighty. Well, his precious family line is about to end.” His thumb was moving, fast. Tap. Tap. Snap. Last time, I stopped him. I begged him. “We need them right now. Just let it go. Do you want to end up flipping burgers for the rest of your life?” I’d argued until my throat was raw. He finally agreed. He got into the school, hated it, flunked, and blamed me for “forcing” him to be a failure. When he stabbed me, his first words were, “If you’d just let me be, I’d be famous on TikTok by now, driving a Lambo.” So this time, I didn’t say a word. I just quietly ate my stale bread roll. Then came the shouting. “What the hell?” Brandon, my cousin, had thrown his napkin on the floor. “Are you blind? You got sauce on me!” The young waitress was terrified. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’ll get a cloth—” “A cloth? This is a three-thousand-dollar shirt! You’ll pay for it! You know what? You couldn’t even make three grand if you sold yourself on the street.” No one said a word. Aunt Cindy was taking photos of her new nails. I couldn’t help it. “Brandon, chill. It’s a drop of soy sauce.” He sneered at me. “Who are you? You’re just the down payment for your brother’s college tuition. A breeding machine.” He shoved the waitress away. “Don’t touch me! You’re filthy!” The table was silent. Then, suddenly, a cascade of dings. Ping. Ping. Pingpingping. The family group chat. I looked at Leo. His eyes were bright red, a sick, happy red. “Jesus,” Uncle Rob said, pulling out his phone. “The family chat’s been dead for months. What is this?” My parents, always following, pulled out their phones, too. Brandon, looking bored, took out his. The smile melted off his face. The photos were… graphic. Brandon and his boyfriend. The angles were… creative. CRASH. The whole table flipped. Hot soup and glass showered down, covering the stain on Brandon’s shirt. He screamed, “Dad! Are you crazy?” Uncle Rob was hyperventilating, his finger shaking at the phone. “You… you abomination! What is this?!” I just smiled. Leo couldn’t hold it in. “Wow, Uncle Rob. Guess I finally know why Brandon never brings a girlfriend home.” Aunt Cindy spun around and slapped Leo, hard. “You little bastard! You posted that?” “Cindy!” My dad shot up. “We’re family, don’t hit my kid!” She slapped my dad, too. “Family? After this? You’ll be lucky if you ever work in this city again!” Leo jumped up and kicked Aunt Cindy in the shins. “You don’t get to hit my dad!” He was high on the chaos. “You think that’s bad? I’ve got his other account. The stuff on there… you wanna see?” The blood drained from Aunt Cindy’s face. Brandon, in a blind rage, grabbed a chair and smashed it over Leo’s leg. “I’LL KILL YOU! YOU LITTLE PEST! YOU THINK YOU’RE PART OF THIS FAMILY?” Leo screamed. My parents tried to grab Brandon, but Uncle Rob and Aunt Cindy held them back. It was chaos. I just stood by a pillar, watching. Leo was on the ground, spitting blood. He saw me. “Nora! Help me! Nora!” Not this time. The restaurant manager finally called the police. It was too late. Leo’s leg was broken. At the hospital, Mom cried. Dad smoked. “If we sue, he’ll never get into that school.” Mom snapped. “He just posted those pictures! You think they’re gonna let him in anyway?” They both turned on me. Smack. Dad’s handprint stung my face. “You’re the older sister! Why didn’t you stop him? What good are you?” Mom just said, “Peel him a grape. That’s all you’re useful for.” I just stood there. “Do you want your high school allowance or not?” Dad threatened. I took the grape.

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