Category: English

1 I paid a fortune to buy Damian Vance at a private auction. He set three rules for me: an unlimited Amex black card, cleaning up every mess he made without question, and never asking about his personal life. He would only leave with me if I agreed. Everyone thought he was insane, but I simply nodded and said, “Just take good care of that face.” For three years, I spent over a hundred million dollars on him. People called me crazy for a pretty face, but I didn’t care. The day my father died, Damian crashed his race car. As I rushed to handle it, I overheard his friends joking at the door. “Damn, Damian, you’ve got the ice queen trained like a puppy. Marrying her should be easy.” Once her old man’s gone, you marry her and the family fortune is yours, right?” They laughed cruelly. Then Damian’s cool voice came from the center of the group: “Her? Marry me? As if.” The door swung open. Under their stunned stares, I walked calmly to Damian, ignoring the unease in his eyes. I carefully wiped a smudge of dirt from his forehead and sighed in relief. “As long as the face is okay.” … Damian jerked his head away, annoyed. “It was nothing. God, Seraphina, can you be any more annoying?” Sensing the tension, his friends tried to smooth things over, subtly trying to figure out if I’d heard their conversation. Damian watched me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. Looking at that face, still so anxious, I couldn’t bring myself to be cruel. I shook my head. Just as he was breathing a sigh of relief, there was a commotion at the door. It was Isla, Damian’s childhood friend. He shot to his feet, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “What are you doing here? I told you it was nothing. You didn’t have to come all the way out here in this storm.” Isla clutched her umbrella, her eyes filling with tears the moment she saw the scrapes on Damian. “I was so worried about you. And the thunder is so loud, I was scared…” Damian’s heart melted. He gently wiped her tears away. “It’s getting late. I’ll take you home, tuck you in.” With that, they gathered their things to leave. I just watched silently, ignoring the awkward looks from the others. Just as he’d demanded when I bought him. I would not ask about his personal life. Before he left, Damian turned to me without a hint of shame. “My car’s wrecked. I’m taking yours. Figure out your own way home.” Then he carefully draped his jacket over Isla’s shoulders and walked out with his arm around her. It never once crossed his mind what I was supposed to do, alone, in the pouring rain. “Sera, Damian, he…” one of his friends started, stammering. “Don’t bother explaining,” I cut him off. In Damian’s heart, I would never measure up to Isla. What little patience and tenderness he possessed were all reserved for her. I had accepted it long ago. No matter how much this man’s face resembled his, he would never be him. But just to be able to see that face I longed for day and night, I was willing to endure it. I called my driver to pick me up and take me to the funeral home to handle my father’s arrangements. It was past midnight when I finally got home. The living room light was on, which was a surprise. Normally, he would have been asleep hours ago. Damian saw my exhausted face and frowned. “What took you so long?” “I had things to do,” I said flatly. He scoffed, clearly not believing me. “Do you ever get tired of this act?” “So I spent some time with Isla. She’s just a young woman, worried about me, and she came all the way out in a storm to check on me. She’s timid.” “What’s wrong with me taking her home?” He completely ignored the fact that I had also dropped everything, in the middle of the night, to rush to his side. I rubbed my temples, not wanting to argue. Seeing this, Damian stepped forward and tilted my chin up. He leaned in to kiss me, as if bestowing a great favor. I turned my head away. His face darkened. “That’s enough. What’s the attitude for?” “My father died. I’m not in the mood.” Damian froze. I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned and went into the bedroom. Sometime later, Damian slipped into bed beside me, smelling of soap and steam from the shower. He gently took my hand. “I didn’t know.” I didn’t answer. He continued, as if talking to himself. “By the way, Isla’s birthday is coming up. I saw this emerald and diamond necklace in a magazine the other day, it was beautiful.” “I asked about it. It’s an antique, not for sale.” “I remember you have one just like it in your jewelry box. You never wear it anyway. Why not give it to Isla? It would make her happy.” My headache intensified. My voice was ice. “That was my mother’s wedding gift from my grandmother. I will not give it away.” The hand holding mine went rigid. It was the first time I had ever refused him. He clenched his jaw, let go of my hand, and got out of bed. He dressed and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I didn’t move. I just rolled over and fell into a heavy sleep. 2 I drove to my father’s funeral. The moment I got in the car, I saw them on the passenger seat: a pair of lace panties, stained and discarded. The only person who had driven this car recently was Damian, when he took Isla home. Time was short. I took another car. The guests were beginning to arrive when Damian finally showed up, with Isla on his arm. “Isla wasn’t feeling well this morning. Sorry we’re late.” I lowered my eyes. “Take your seats.” Perhaps the room was a bit warm, because Isla took off her trench coat. In an instant, she became the center of attention. Underneath, she was wearing a brilliant, fiery red dress. Noticing the stares, Isla shrank behind Damian. “What’s wrong?” she whimpered. “Why is everyone looking at me?” She clutched his sleeve, and he immediately wrapped her in a protective embrace, murmuring comforting words. That was it. My famous patience finally snapped. “Either take that dress off, or get the hell out,” I said, my eyes like chips of ice. “Wearing bright red to my father’s funeral. You have some nerve, Miss Pearce.” The guests fell silent, watching the scene unfold. Isla looked as though she’d been mortally wounded. She bit her lip, her eyes turning red. “Fine, I’ll go!” She turned and ran. Damian shot me a dark, furious glare, snatched Isla’s coat from her chair, and chased after her. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking several deep breaths. “My apologies. Please, let’s continue.” Everyone snapped back to reality, pretending nothing had happened. I sank into my seat, defeated. I could already imagine the gossip that would spread after this. A bitter sting filled my nose. If only he were here. After the funeral, Damian returned. His clothes were more disheveled than when he had left. He stormed up to me, his voice thick with anger. “Was it really necessary to humiliate Isla like that in front of everyone over something so small?” “She’s a young woman, she doesn’t know any better. Why did you have to attack her?” “Is this because I went to comfort her the other night? That was days ago! Are you still holding onto that?” His accusations were so relentless that a bitter laugh escaped me. Normally, I would have pretended not to see, not to care. But not today. “This is my father’s funeral,” I said with biting sarcasm. “Who exactly is causing the scene here?” He faltered, his gaze shifting away. After a moment, he offered a condescending compromise. “Fine. I’ll talk to her about it later. You have no right to lecture her.” “Isla fell when she ran out. You own that private hospital downtown. Get them to prepare the best suite for her.” “And arrange a full set of check-ups. Then we’ll consider this matter closed.” Without a second thought, I refused. “Impossible.” I might clean up his messes, but I wouldn’t indulge this. “You’re becoming more and more unreasonable.” Damian ripped off his tie and threw it on the ground before storming off. When I got home that night, I found Isla sitting at the dining table, in my seat. In front of her was a bowl of the nourishing soup my private chef prepared for me. Seeing me, Isla’s voice was sickly sweet. “Oh, Sera, you’re back! Damian said Wang’s soup is the best for recovery. It’s just what I need.” “You should have a bowl too.” I glanced at her and walked past without a word. Damian intercepted me, draping an arm over my shoulder. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “I’ve thought about it. If you don’t want her at the hospital, fine. We have a family doctor here anyway. Isla can just stay with us.” “She likes your master bedroom, the one that gets the morning sun. You should let her have it. It will be good for her recovery.” Damian was certain I wouldn’t refuse him again. After all, for years, whatever he wanted, he got. Even a limited-edition supercar worth tens of millions, I would buy for him without blinking, filling an entire garage. 3 Without waiting for my answer, Damian pulled me to the dining table. He pushed a small dish of shredded bamboo shoots in front of me. “That dish you like, from the little place across town. I bought it for you. Eat up.” I stared at the dish. It wasn’t me who liked it. It was him. After his accident, it became my favorite dish too. I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite. It still tasted the same. Seeing me cooperate, Damian’s expression softened. A flash of jealousy crossed Isla’s eyes. She placed a piece of braised pork heart in my bowl. Then she gasped in mock horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sera! I forgot your father’s heart condition…” “I’m always so clumsy. Please don’t be angry.” She shot a helpless look at Damian. He ruffled her hair, his expression doting. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Then he looked at me, his tone flat. “Isla is young. Don’t hold it against her.” With that, he rolled up his sleeves and began expertly peeling shrimp for her. On his wrist, I saw a small hair tie that belonged to Isla. Watching them, I lost my appetite completely. I put down my chopsticks. Seeing that I was “done,” Damian spoke again. “Isla’s lease is up. You should get her an apartment to tide her over.” “That large penthouse you have downtown would be perfect. It’s beautifully furnished, and it would be convenient for her to look for a job.” The penthouse he was talking about was the one I had prepared as our marital home. He had designed the interior himself, all in my favorite style. I found it almost funny. My lack of boundaries with him had spoiled him rotten. He thought I would keep bending for him, time and time again. But when it came to anything related to him, I couldn’t let it go. “Damian, are you asking me to support your mistress too?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Isla shot to her feet, her face a mask of humiliation. “Sera, I know you’ve always been bothered by my relationship with Damian, but we’re innocent!” She turned to Damian, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m the one causing trouble. I’m sorry, Damian. I’ll leave right now.” Damian grabbed her arm, his voice turning to ice as he looked at me. “Apologize to Isla.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Did I say something wrong?” “Or was that pair of panties in the passenger seat of my car not yours?” Isla gasped, her face flushing a deep red. She shook her head. “You’ve really misunderstood. I was ovulating that day, and it was so uncomfortable. Damian just… used his hand to help me.” “We’ve been close since we were kids. It’s not a big deal.” Damian pulled her into his arms, patting her back soothingly. “You don’t have to explain. She’s always suspicious about everything.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Do you really think acting like this will make me pay more attention to you?” “There’s a limit to these tantrums. I’ll spend more time with you later, isn’t that enough?” “Isla can’t handle being upset.” “If you keep this up, I’m moving out with Isla.” I heard the unspoken threat. He was blackmailing me. Usually, whenever Damian said that, I would immediately back down, no matter what the issue was. I would give in to his demands until he was satisfied. Only then would he magnanimously “forgive” me. But this time, my attention was completely captured by the phone that had just vibrated in my hand. It was a text message. From a number I knew by heart, a number I thought was lost to the world forever. 【Sera, wait for me.】 Four simple words. I just stared at my phone, frozen.

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My cousin was locked at home by her parents because she insisted on being with a blond-haired delinquent. I understood immediately: Liking a blondie is a legitimate excuse to be a NEET (Not in Education, Employment, or Training). So I went home and said to my stepbrother: “Brother, I’ve fallen for a blondie.” My stepbrother smiled and poured me a cup of hot water: “Is it cold today? Drink some water to warm up first.” I was a bit disappointed, took a sip of water, and continued my lines persistently: “You can’t look down on him, he’s different from other blondies…” The next second, I lost consciousness. When I woke up, there was a shiny silver chain on my ankle. Julian remained gentle, lightly stroking the chain: “Tori, you don’t know how bad men outside can be. Before you forget that person, I won’t let you out of this room.” I was stunned for a moment, then resolutely lay back on the bed: “I will never forget him even if I die!” 1 I turned my back to him and covered myself with the quilt. Julian didn’t make a sound for a long time, nor did he persuade me. Just when I was wondering if I had overacted, a sigh came from behind. Julian left, and the door was closed. I sat up, feeling a bit soft-hearted. He probably didn’t understand why his sister’s rebellious phase came so late. But the thing is, I don’t want to be the “Doctor Wen” (a character known for loyalty and suffering) working in the snow anymore. The snow was heavy this morning, my life as a worker is so bitter. My phone was taken away by him, and my tablet and laptop were not there either. I went to the closet to find the clothes I wore today, and found my spare phone in the lining. Julian would never have guessed that I bought a men’s jacket. The pockets are deeper than the sea, containing not only a spare phone but also a pack of cookies, a small bread, and three bars of chocolate almost as big as the phone. The spare phone was pressed at the very bottom by these snacks. I turned on the phone and found my cousin on WeChat. “What happens after being locked up? How did you manage to stay locked up?” 2 Cousin: “Sis, are you laughing at me?” Me: “No, I just admire your determination to fight for love. I want to learn from you.” Cousin: “There’s no technique. You don’t understand what love is. Everything I do comes from my heart. For him, what is a hunger strike?” Hunger strike… I looked at the chocolate in my hand. Silently put a piece back. These are rations for the future. 3 I didn’t eat a bite of the food Julian brought. He brought it in, and took it away as it was. When he left, I broke off a piece of chocolate and put it in my mouth, telling myself that the suffering now is for the days without work in the future. Anyway, our parents left a lot of inheritance. Julian insisted on forcing me to work and live a hard life. On the second day of the “hunger strike”, Julian brought in a bowl of seafood porridge. Just smelling it made me drool. He looked down at me: “Still don’t want to eat today?” I kept a straight face: “If you don’t let me out for a day, I won’t eat for a day.” After saying that, I was afraid Julian couldn’t stand the pressure and let me go, so I added: “I’ve decided on him. For love, what’s a little hunger?” He closed his eyes and suddenly laughed. His laughter sent a chill down my spine, and I looked at him in surprise. Please don’t be moved by my love! He silently put the seafood porridge on the bedside table and turned to leave the room. I breathed a sigh of relief, but before I could finish, he came back. Holding a rope in his hand. 4 “Why are you tying me up?” “Open your mouth.” “You are… mmm…” “Shut up, swallow.” I was forced to eat the seafood porridge he fed me spoon by spoon. He wasn’t skilled at first, spilling a lot, and had to stop to wipe my face. Later it became smoother, and the bowl of seafood porridge bottomed out. Only then did he let me go, untied the rope, and said gently to me holding the empty bowl: “If you like this way of eating, we can continue next time.” I looked humiliated: “For him, I will not give in.” But secretly delighted in my heart. It’s not that I don’t want to fast, Julian insisted on feeding me. Julian’s lips were pressed into a straight line, his dark eyes staring at me. I felt goosebumps all over my body, biting the bullet to look at him. “Do you like him that much?” “Brother, you haven’t been in love, you don’t understand what love is at all.” Julian lowered his head, his fingers rubbing the edge of the bowl. I tensed up inexplicably. But he turned back into the good brother, smiling at me: “Rest early. Only with a good body can you continue to resist me, right?” I watched him leave. After the door closed, I immediately collapsed on the bed, as if all my strength had been drained. Julian’s oppression just now was so strong. But nothing is more terrifying than going to work! I got out of bed, holding the ankle chain, tip-toed to the door to listen. After the sound of turning off the lights came from outside, I opened the closet door and took out my phone. “Hunger strike, and then? What to do next?” Cousin: “Then isolate everyone, let them see I’m very disappointed in them!” 6 I refused to talk to Julian. Julian didn’t seem to care much either. He came to deliver meals three times a day as usual. Sometimes I woke up late, opened my eyes and saw Julian sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me. After I woke up, he would unlock the silver chain and let me go to the bathroom in the bedroom to wash up. At this time, he would bring in the heated food. On the third night of my unilateral cold war, he suddenly came in. I hurriedly hid my phone and looked at him vigilantly. Julian’s hair was half wet, wearing only pajamas. The collar was soaked by water dripping from his hair, making a large patch of fabric translucent. My eyes were dazzled for a moment, and I subconsciously looked away. Hearing his helpless voice: “The shower head outside is broken, borrowing your bathroom.” My brain was a bit chaotic, the image of water droplets hanging from his hair still remaining. “Suit yourself.” I seemed to hear a light laugh. Looking over, Julian had already entered the bathroom. Soon the sound of water rang out inside. I pulled a book from the shelf, looking at it casually, ears filled with the sound of splashing water. Looking at the face in the manga, I suddenly thought. Julian went in empty-handed just now. Then! Sure enough, after the water stopped, an embarrassed voice came from inside, low: “Tori, I forgot to bring clothes, can you hand them to me?” 7 I looked down at the chain on my foot. It only allowed me to move within the room. I had to call him to unlock it even to go to the toilet. “I can’t go out, where can I get clothes for you?” Julian: “…Then how can I come out conveniently?” “Wear what you wore in.” He was troubled: “You know, I’m a clean freak.” Does he know he is a man… I opened the closet, rummaged around, and found a pair of Julian’s pants that had been put away by mistake at some point. And picked a bed sheet for him. “Although it will be drafty, it’s better than going out naked. Make do with it.” A hand reached out from inside, steaming hot, and took the bed sheet and pants in. I turned on the video recording on my phone, hid it behind the bedside table, and sat on the bed ready to watch the wonderful scene later. It was quiet inside for a while, the handle finally turned, and Julian came out. I was ready to laugh, but after seeing the person coming out, the laughter got stuck in my throat. Pants were worn properly, but the bed sheet was not wrapped well. The crossed collar was open, revealing a large area of collarbone, deep V downwards, faintly revealing the lines of abdominal muscles. Julian seemed a bit embarrassed. After noticing my gaze, he reached out to pull the bed sheet closer. “I’m leaving.” He said. I felt my consciousness seemed to be half a beat slow, nodding blankly: “Okay, be careful not to catch a cold.” He laughed once, turned and left. A while after the door was closed, I gasped and came back to my senses. Can you care if he is cold during a cold war? 8 I locked the door and urgently took out my phone for help: “What if the cold war doesn’t work? What else can I do?” I am really not a hard-hearted woman. With Julian half-naked in front of me, I couldn’t help but care if he was cold. My cousin became suspicious of me: “Sis, why do you keep asking about this? Do you want to hear my tricks from me and then tip off my parents?” Me: “Am I that kind of disloyal person?” Cousin: “Okay, I believe you. Hunger strike and cold war don’t work, tired of crying, I decided to run away.” Me: “Ah? Aren’t you afraid of really running away?” Cousin: “?” Me: “Oh no no, how do you plan to run?” Cousin: “Don’t mention it, failed already. I cut the bed sheets, wanted to climb down from the second floor, but was discovered by my parents very quickly. They watch me tighter now, but this won’t defeat me. Failed this time, there will be a next time. I love him!” I nodded thoughtfully. Running away will be watched more strictly. 9 The next day I purposely pretended to sleep until noon. Julian came in for about half an hour before I opened my eyes groggily. He unlocked my ankle chain and let me wash up. I went to the bathroom first. He indeed went to the kitchen. I wrapped myself in a jacket casually and tiptoed out of the room. Passed the living room, opened the door. Running slow afraid of acting too fake. Running fast afraid Julian discovered late and couldn’t catch up. I struggled for a while before stepping over the threshold. Hearing footsteps behind, I ran out decisively. “Tori Cole!” Wearing slippers, I considerately ran down the stairs. Afraid he couldn’t catch the elevator. I remember Julian was on the track team in high school, he runs very fast. When I ran down three floors, he grabbed my arm from behind. I gasped heavily, still acting: “Let… let me go.” There was no smile on Julian’s face: “You want to find him that much?” Haven’t exercised for too long, the sudden intense exercise made me feel dizzy. And a bit nauseous. I frowned, enduring the discomfort: “You caught me this time, I will run next time, because I love him!” Julian stared at me expressionlessly, suddenly sneered coldly: “You know s**t about love.” I was stunned, suspecting I had tinnitus just now. The next second, Julian bent down and put his arm around the back of my knees, carrying me over his shoulder. I held his waist upside down: “I’m an adult, what right do you have to say I don’t know what love is?” Julian took three steps at a time, his voice inexplicably hoarse: “If you know what love is, then why can’t you see…”

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Adrian Sterling suffers from severe insomnia. I was sent to his side when we were children to be his cure. I became his human pillow. Over the years, he dated one girlfriend after another. But no matter how wild the nights got, he always sent them away. He habitually held me to fall asleep. I had been by his side for so long that he arrogantly assumed I would never leave. Until the day my ten-year contract with the Sterling family expired. He had fallen completely for a new girl—one who kept him awake for three days straight with late-night joyrides. Mrs. Sterling coldly slid the renewal contract across the table, convinced I would sign it. That day, I remained silent for a long time. Finally, I smiled gently and said: “No. Let’s end it here.” 1 It was late when I arrived at the hotel suite. Adrian’s latest fling hadn’t left yet. The bedding had been changed, but the air still held a lingering, ambiguous scent—evidence of how intense things had been moments before. The girl, cheeks flushed, pouted playfully. “Do you really have to kick me out? Can’t I stay the night?” Before he could answer, she saw me enter. She frowned. “Excuse me? We didn’t order housekeeping.” Adrian let out a short, sharp laugh. “She’s not housekeeping. She’s my… sleep aid.” The girl froze for a second, then looked incredulous. “I wasn’t enough for you? You need a back-to-back shift?” Adrian leaned against the headboard, eyes still hazy with lingering desire. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile. “Any issues sleeping with my little pillow?” He pulled out two checks, scribbled his signature, and handed them to the girl. “Alright, you can go now.” I stood nearby, waiting for her to take the money and leave like all the others. Instead, she slapped the checks back onto the nightstand, chin held high. “I don’t want your dirty money. I was satisfied too. Let’s just call it a mutual transaction.” With that, she walked out without looking back. Adrian fingered the rejected checks, a rare look of surprise in his eyes. But his expression quickly returned to normal. He pulled me into his arms with practiced ease, one arm circling my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck. The scent of her perfume still lingered in the air. I couldn’t ignore it. I looked down and saw a bright red lipstick mark on Adrian’s collar. It was glaring, like a territorial flag. He noticed my gaze. His voice was raspy. “Hm? What is it?” I pointed at his collar, expressionless. “Lipstick.” Adrian seemed to be in a good mood tonight. He spoke with unusual patience. “If you mind, I can go change?” I pressed my lips together and didn’t answer. Seeing this, he thought for a moment. “Then let’s sleep somewhere else. Let’s go to your place tonight, okay?” I was startled. I didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to go to my apartment, but we had shared a bed for ten years. Him coming to my place wasn’t a big deal. I nodded. At my apartment, Adrian changed into the men’s pajamas I kept for him and went straight to my bed. He liked to hold me face-to-face, one arm tight around my waist, the other across my back, locking me into his embrace. It was as if he truly treated me as nothing more than a body pillow. Because of this, I was particular about my bedding. Soft mattress, fluffy pillows, everything washed with lavender detergent. Plushies lined the wall—it wasn’t a large bed, but it felt safe. Adrian, in his dark silk pajamas, looked out of place squeezed onto my pastel pink sheets. He lowered his head, nose brushing the top of my hair. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Elara, why does your bed smell so good?” I was already drifting off. “Everything was just washed.” But Adrian didn’t stop. He wasn’t sleepy at all. He sniffed around until his nose touched the sensitive skin of my neck. He chuckled darkly. “Turns out, this is the best smelling spot.” His hot breath hit my skin, causing a shiver to run down my spine. My heart skipped a beat. I looked up to say something, but my lips accidentally brushed against his chin. We both froze. Nervous, I tried to scoot away, afraid he’d hear my pounding heart. But he yanked me back immediately. “What are you hiding from?” His large hand rested on my shoulder. “Relax. I have no interest in a flat board like you.” 2 I always knew Adrian didn’t like me. In fact, he found me boring. From age 13 to 23, I had been by his side for nearly a decade. When he was 13, he was kidnapped by a rival company. No one knows exactly what happened, but after he was rescued, he suffered severe trauma and chronic insomnia. The doctors suggested a companion to help him feel grounded. That’s how I ended up at the Sterling Estate. There was a long line of candidates. I stood there in my worn-out clothes, exhausted from working odd jobs the day before. While waiting, I crouched in a corner and fell asleep. Adrian, surrounded by staff, walked out looking miserable. He scanned the crowd, pointed at the sleeping girl, and said impatiently, “Her. She’ll do.” Since then, I became his human pillow. As I grew older, Mrs. Sterling’s frowns deepened. She constantly hinted that I shouldn’t get any “wrong ideas.” So, I hid my crush deep inside, letting no one see. Over the years, I watched him date girl after girl. Before he could spend the night with them, I would knock on the door and perform my duty: “Mr. Sterling, it’s time to sleep.” To him, I was no different from those girls—just another person there for the money. But they brought him pleasure; I brought him nothing but dull routine. He eventually grew tired of my existence and tried to sleep without me. But he angrily discovered that after ten years, his body was conditioned to needing me to fall asleep. Doctors said a good mood helped with insomnia, so for ten years, I walked on eggshells, agreeing with everything he said just to keep him content. When he was in a bad mood, he would snap at me: “Stop with the fake concern. You’re just here for the paycheck.” I buried my love deeper and replied numbly, “Yes, just for the paycheck.” I hid it well. Even in my diary, I referred to him distantly as “The Boss.” Until I was 19. He helped me deal with some debt collectors who were harassing me. That night, for the first time, I allowed myself to write his name, Adrian, in my diary. By the time I snapped out of it, the whole page was filled with “I like you” and his name. Panicked, I wanted to tear it out, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I locked the diary in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I thought it was safe. So, when I woke up the next morning and saw Adrian sitting in my chair, the drawer open, pointing at the diary, my world collapsed. He asked coolly, “What is this?” Five years of secret, humble love were stripped bare. “How… how did you open it?” I asked, voice trembling. “Tried all morning. Turns out the password is my birthday.” He held up the notebook, eyes narrowing. “Entries from four years ago… You hide things deep, sweetheart.” His tone was soft, but it terrified me. He tore the page out. Rip. Then he shredded it, piece by piece, tossing the confetti into the trash bin. “What are you fantasizing about?” he mocked. “Elara, did you think a piece of paper would make me settle down? They can do anything to please me. Can you?” 3 After that day, Adrian didn’t contact me for three days. On the fourth night, his assistant knocked on my door, supporting a very drunk Adrian. “Mr. Sterling drank too much tonight. Please take care of him, Miss Grey.” Usually, Adrian had a high tolerance. How much did he drink to get like this? I helped him into bed and went to the kitchen to make hangover soup. While the water boiled, I felt a hot body press against my back. Adrian wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Elara,” he rasped. I froze. He rarely used my name. Usually, it was “Hey,” or mockingly “Baby” when he wanted to tease me. “Are you feeling sick? The soup is almost ready…” Before I could finish, he kissed me. It was warm, gentle, landing on my cheek, the corner of my lips, my neck. The scenario I had dreamed of for years was happening, and it rendered me speechless. I tried to push him away, but he buried his face in my neck, whispering my name over and over with thick desire. “Elara… Elara…” I am not a saint. When he called my name like that, I couldn’t refuse. I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck. It wasn’t our first time. Four years ago, when he found out I was negotiating a raise with his mother, he had stormed into my room. “Just for the money, right? Fine. If I give you enough, will you sleep with me?” That night had been painful and devoid of affection. But tonight, he was gentle. He kissed me, held me, and whispered to me. When it was over, he held me in his arms, pecking my lips. “Your waist is so thin,” he teased softly. “How did you handle that?” I lay in his arms, thinking: Maybe, just maybe, Adrian feels something for me too? He slept deeply until noon. His phone rang. I picked it up to silence it so he wouldn’t wake, but I saw the Caller ID: Lyra. My blood ran cold. A ridiculous, terrible suspicion formed in my mind. Adrian woke up. He took the phone without a hint of his usual morning grumpiness. A familiar, charming female voice drifted from the speaker: “Adrian, I heard you haven’t slept in three days because you were racing cars all night to chase me?” “Hmm, since you’re so sincere, I’ll forgive you. Whatever you want to do tonight, I’m game.” It was the girl from the hotel. Adrian smiled and agreed. He hung up, the smile fading as he looked at me. He frowned. “Why was it you last night?” I dug my nails into my palms. So, the tenderness, the whispers of my name… it was all because he thought I was Lyra? The names sound similar when drunk. Elara… Lyra. “It was me,” I said, closing my eyes. “Who else would it be?” Adrian was silent. Finally, he sighed. “Baby, you really can’t leave me, can you?” He pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and patted it against my cheek. “You were obedient last night. This should cover it. But remember your place—you’re just a pillow. Don’t dream of anything else.” 4 That night, Mrs. Sterling called me to the main estate. She slid a contract across the table. “Adrian’s new girlfriend says she can help him sleep, too. Maybe we don’t need you anymore.” “The salary is cut in half. Sign it if you want.” She was certain I would sign. Five years ago, I had begged for this job to pay for grad school. I looked at the contract. Ten years of memories flashed by. I pushed the paper back and shook my head gently. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling. Let’s end the contract here.” The room went silent. “You’ve thought this through?” she asked slowly. I nodded. “Don’t think you can play hard to get,” she warned. “You’re just a sleep aid. He doesn’t need you.” I stood up and bowed. “Thank you for the Sterling family’s help over the last decade. I won’t regret this, and I won’t pester him.” She relaxed. “You have seven days left on the current contract. Pack your things. Once it expires, disappear. Don’t appear in front of him again.” “I promise.” Leaving the estate, I stood on the street feeling lost. For years, I had prioritized Adrian over everything. I even rejected a prestigious exchange program in New York because I didn’t want to leave him. I pulled out my phone and texted my professor. Is the spot for the New York program still open? She replied instantly: Yes. I’ll secure it for you. I realized then: No one should put their life on hold for someone else. 5 I spent the next few days packing. On the second night, Adrian came to my apartment. Since that night, he preferred my bed to his own luxury suite. He opened the closet. “Where are your pajamas? Two sets are missing.” “They were old. I threw them out,” I lied. He lay on the bed, hand resting on my waist. I flinched. My waist was still bruised from his grip the other night. “Why are you dodging?” he grumbled. He lifted my shirt and saw the bruises. He sighed. “You always say you’re fine when you’re hurt.” He went out, bought ointment, and applied it. The warm light softened his features. It was the most peaceful we’d been in a long time. “Is the contract up soon?” he asked casually. “Go renew it.” He didn’t know. “Adrian, I…” His phone rang. It was Lyra, crying about a paper cut she got while packing for their camping trip. Adrian stood up immediately. “I’m coming over.” He put his jacket on, tossing the ointment aside. At the door, he paused. “What were you going to say?” I looked at him standing in the dark hallway. “Nothing. It wasn’t important. Go.” The seventh night arrived. The Sterling butler called to verify my departure. I told him I was going abroad and would never return. I sat in the living room, waiting for the final “shift.” Midnight passed. Adrian didn’t come. At 1:00 AM, he called. “Mr. Sterling, it’s time to sleep,” I said robotically. On the other end, I heard a girl’s bright laughter. “Wow! The fireworks are beautiful! I love you, Adrian!” He laughed, then spoke into the phone. “Not coming back tonight. I’ll sleep with you tomorrow.” Lyra’s voice chimed in. “No way, you promised to stay! Let me try to lull you to sleep again.” Adrian chuckled. “Fine. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Elara.” I listened quietly. In that moment, the last shred of reluctance in my heart vanished. The next afternoon, I boarded a plane to New York. I took out my SIM card and snapped it in half. Elara, keep walking. Don’t look back.

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The day after I closed on my condo, it vanished. I’d spent ten years surviving on budget meals and packed lunches, squeezing onto overcrowded public transit every morning, all to save up the sixty thousand dollars for the down payment. Finally, I’d secured a small corner unit, 1801, on the top floor of the Sycamores complex, right near my office. But when I got home from work, the entire building was seventeen stories high. The eighteenth floor was simply gone. My condo was gone. I was completely unmoored. I chased down the seller, Mrs. Fion, and my realtor, Mark Jensen. They both swore they had never met me. I went to the County Recorder’s office, then the police. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. They showed me the building plans: all units in the Sycamores topped out at seventeen floors. The eighteenth floor had never existed. But I knew what I had bought! I had walked the unit! I searched. I argued. I caused a scene. The diagnosis was immediate: “She thinks she bought a house in a dream. What’s next, a house that sprouts legs and runs away?” My escalating public meltdowns resulted in multiple involuntary trips to the psychiatric ward. Each time, I managed to escape and went right back to raising hell. I couldn’t stop. That down payment represented a decade of my life, a decade of self-denial. To control me, the hospital staff started with medication, then moved to electroshock therapy—all to make me forget the condo. The last time they caught me, I was being transported back to the ward. I spotted a brief opening when the guard looked away, flung myself out of the moving van, and hit the pavement. I woke up back in the realtor’s office, the day I signed the contract. 1 I pressed my heel into the wooden floorboards, looking around the familiar space with a sense of confused dread. This was Unit 1801. This was where we had signed the papers in my past life. And yet, who could have foreseen that the entire eighteenth floor would inexplicably disappear the very next day? Mark Jensen, my realtor, started to prompt me. “Jenna, if everything looks good, we should wrap this up. I’ve got a couple of other clients waiting to tour this afternoon.” I tried to sound casual. “Sorry, I just need to check the exterior details and the common areas one last time.” I rushed out to the hallway and saw the large, clear number 18 plastered on the wall. It was here. This was the eighteenth floor. I hit the elevator button. It arrived quickly. The digital display above the doors clearly read 18. Ding. The doors opened. I stepped inside, frantically searching. Last time, after the floor vanished, I had ridden this same elevator repeatedly, and the ‘18’ button had been completely missing. But there it was now, clearly labeled. I pressed 1. I had to figure out what was happening before I lost everything again. As the doors started to slide shut, Mark rushed up, yelling, “Jenna, are you buying this place or not? You know that three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit is non-refundable!” Three thousand, five hundred dollars! That was three months of rent and savings for me. I couldn’t just walk away. I had to find the glitch immediately. I made it to the first floor without incident. Then, I rode back up to 17. I got off at 17, found the emergency exit, and climbed the last flight of stairs to 18. Still nothing. The eighteenth floor was sitting right where it should be. Mark and Mrs. Charlotte Fion, the seller, were waiting for me by the elevator bank. Mrs. Fion smiled warmly when she saw me emerge from the fire escape. “A first-time buyer, you should absolutely check out the safety features and the amenities. But I promise you, dear, this building is top-notch.” I studied Mrs. Fion. She seemed kind. She’d even knocked ten thousand dollars off the price to make her moving deadline. She looked nothing like a fraudster. But when I went looking for her in my past life, she had looked me straight in the eye and said she’d never seen me. And she didn’t seem to be acting then, either. Mark Jensen was one of the firm’s top producers; he didn’t need my measly down payment. He also claimed not to know me after the disappearance. Could this be something supernatural? 2 “Jenna, if you back out, I return the fifty-six thousand five hundred, but the three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit is lost.” Mark’s voice broke through my daze. Maybe the whole thing was a nightmare. A house can’t just up and leave. Mrs. Fion was desperate to move abroad to be with her daughter for the birth of her grandchild, which was why I was getting the deal of the century. The unit, the location, the fixtures—it was all perfect. I couldn’t throw away three thousand five hundred dollars over a bad dream. I bit the bullet, pulling out my phone. “This is a huge milestone for me. Do you mind if we take a quick video, just a couple of seconds, for my social media? For the memory?” If the condo vanished again, I needed ironclad proof that Mrs. Fion and Mark had sold it to me. If they were con artists, they’d panic. Mrs. Fion readily agreed. “Oh, I love that! My daughter is the same way. A pretty young woman like you should absolutely document this!” She smiled at the camera. Mark, too, cooperated patiently, showing no signs of guilt. This made no sense. Still, a video was indisputable evidence. If the condo disappeared, I’d have no problem getting my money back. I signed the contract with a flourish. After seeing Mrs. Fion and Mark off, I spent the next hour filming every inch of the condo. I refused to let history repeat itself. Ring. It was my current landlord. “Hello, Leah? Are you renewing the lease for the next quarter?” “Could I possibly rent for just one more month?” In my past life, I’d immediately given notice. When the condo disappeared, I was left homeless. A month would give me time to ensure the new place was solid. Plus, I only had enough cash left over for one extra month’s rent. “Absolutely not! I have people lined up to view it right now. Take the next quarter or get out!” I sighed. “Okay, then I’m out.” “Then get back here and pack your bags now!” the landlord roared, slamming down the phone. I took one last, lingering look at my dream condo before heading back to my rental to collect my belongings. As I opened the door to leave, I bumped into my next-door neighbor arriving home. Last time, I’d signed the contract and rushed off, so this was technically my first time seeing him. He was an older gentleman, wearing sharp glasses—he looked like a retired professor. I offered a friendly greeting. He nodded politely and opened his door. For a split second, I saw a large Golden Retriever inside. I walked down the stairs, counting the floors again. Eighteen. Definitely eighteen. My life was so sparse, ten years of saving meant I could fit all my possessions into a single suitcase. I pulled it behind me, walking toward my new home, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. Please, please, please, I prayed. Don’t vanish this time. But as I reached the complex, I froze. Every building was visibly shorter. My eighteenth floor was gone. 3 I immediately called Mark. “What? You said the condo you just bought disappeared?” “Ma’am, you’ve got to be joking. This is reinforced concrete and steel, not a pop-up tent! A whole floor ran off? Are you sure you’re at the right complex?” How could I be at the wrong complex? I had walked these grounds hundreds of times in my previous life, desperately searching for the missing floor. I could find this place blindfolded! “Look, I’m with a client right now. I’ll call you back after five.” Mark hung up. I was frantic. I had to confront Mrs. Fion. I stationed myself outside the local grocery store, knowing it was her usual route home. Soon enough, she appeared, carrying a bag of fresh produce. “Mrs. Fion, do you remember me?” She paused, looking closely. Then, a puzzled look crossed her face. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Are you one of my daughter’s friends?” I felt the blood drain from my face. We had just signed papers this morning! I grabbed her arm. “Stop playing games! Give me back my sixty thousand dollars!” Mrs. Fion’s eyes widened in terror. “Help! Somebody, please! I’m being robbed!” People rushed over from all directions. “Did you see that girl? She’s got some nerve, trying to mug an elderly woman in broad daylight!” “Call the police! Get her arrested!” First the house, then the robbery accusation. I was consumed by a blinding rage. I pulled out my phone and played the video for the crowd. “Look! This morning, she and her realtor sold me Unit 1801! Now the condo is gone, and she says she doesn’t know me!” Mrs. Fion was still shaking her head and denying everything, swearing she didn’t know me, calling me a thief. The crowd was utterly confused. The woman in the video was clearly Mrs. Fion. “Nobody leaves! We’ll wait for the police and let them sort this out!” I insisted. “Yeah, wait for the police!” I had the video. I had the contract. Let them try and dismiss me this time. A patrol car arrived shortly. The crowd explained the bizarre situation to the officers. “A condo bought in the morning that vanishes by afternoon?” The officers were dumbfounded. I handed over my phone: the video, the pictures of the interior. One officer looked back and forth between Mrs. Fion and the video. “Ma’am, this woman certainly looks identical to you. And the unit in the video appears to be real.” Mrs. Fion shook her head wildly. “I was playing Mahjong with friends all morning! They can vouch for me!” Unable to resolve the chaos, the police brought us all back to the station: me, Mrs. Fion, and even Mark Jensen, who was forced to come in for questioning. Seeing Mark, I exploded. “He’s the realtor! He sold me the unit!” Mark stared at me with an expression of shock and bewilderment. “Wait, you’re the crazy lady who called and said her apartment vanished? Who are you? I’ve never seen you before! Get this lunatic away from me!” 4 Two officers had to physically restrain me. “Jenna, please calm down,” the officer said. “You claim you bought a condo from them. Do you have proof?” I nodded, pulling the sales contract and the realtor’s agreement from my suitcase. I jabbed my finger at the unit number. “Here! Unit 1801! We signed this contract right there!” The officer slammed the contract down in front of Mark. “It’s a valid contract with your firm’s seal. Now tell me you don’t know her!” Mark scrutinized the papers. “The contract is legitimate, and that’s our company seal. But I absolutely did not sign this. I had several client meetings this morning, and they can confirm my schedule.” Mrs. Fion added, “The handwriting looks like mine, but I haven’t owned a condo at the Sycamores in years! My Mahjong group can swear I was nowhere near a contract signing today.” The officers who went out to investigate soon returned with their findings. “They’re not lying. Both have multiple alibis.” I felt the panic rise. “How? Then what about my condo? That’s sixty thousand dollars!” The police took my phone, saying they needed to verify the video’s source and reliability. Mark spoke up immediately. “Don’t just look at us! Look at her! What if her video is deepfaked or AI-generated? She’s clearly unstable—a condo running away? Please, Officer, she needs a psychiatric evaluation. The Sycamores only has seventeen floors. I’m telling you, she’s mentally ill!” Just then, the officer who visited the complex returned. “Jenna, we visited the Sycamores. The tallest building is seventeen stories. We pulled the original blueprints—they only show seventeen stories.” I shot up from my seat. “Impossible! I was in 1801 this morning! I climbed the stairs from the seventeenth floor! It was there!” The officer who had been sympathetic suddenly regarded me as a threat. He yelled, “Jenna! Get back in your seat! Calm down!” “We interviewed the residents! Everyone confirms the buildings only have seventeen stories. There is no eighteenth floor! We’ve called for a specialist from the psychiatric center. They’ll be here shortly to assess you.” Tears streamed down my face. My house was gone, and I was going to be locked up again. Had the universe doomed me to the same fate? “That sixty thousand dollars was ten years of my life! Ten years of eating canned soup and scraping by! I finally bought my home, and now I’m homeless again! How am I supposed to be calm?” At that moment, a tech specialist emerged with my phone. “The video and photos are authentic. They were shot on this device today at 10:20 AM. Zero evidence of editing or deepfaking.” I turned to the others. “See? I’m telling the truth! The condo exists, they sold it to me, and we signed the papers in 1801!” Mark frowned. “But the complex doesn’t have an eighteenth floor, and we don’t know you!” I shook my head, utterly confused. Just then, I saw the kind old man from this morning—my neighbor. Mr. Walter Stone was being escorted into the station. I felt a surge of hope. “Look! He was my neighbor! He lived right next door on the eighteenth floor! He’s here because his condo vanished too!” Mrs. Fion’s face lit up. “Oh, I know Walter! He was my daughter’s middle school teacher. Bring him over!” The officer addressed Mr. Stone. “Sir, do you live in Unit 1802 at the Sycamores?” Mr. Stone shook his head. “I do not.” I felt my heart plummet. “No! You’re right next door! I saw you just this morning!” Mr. Stone looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Mrs. Fion, however, is my neighbor.” Mrs. Fion smiled knowingly. “That’s right. Walter and I have been neighbors for decades.” I refused to give up. We had seen each other! “Please, look at me! Mrs. Fion sold her condo to me this morning! I saw you when I left, and we exchanged greetings! Have you forgotten?” Mr. Stone looked genuinely terrified. “I have never seen you before in my life.” My peripheral vision caught the sight of a group of people in white coats walking towards me. The pure, visceral terror of electroshock therapy from my past life washed over me. I dropped to my knees. “Please, then why are you here? If you’re not looking for your condo, what are you doing at the police station?” “My dog is missing. I’m filing a missing pet report.” Despair set in. Why didn’t they know me? Why did the eighteenth floor disappear? Why was my home gone? Wait. The dog! I suddenly understood everything.

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1 The night of my graduation, the freshman who’d been chasing me for six months got me drunk and lured me to his bed. When I woke up, he was smiling. “You weren’t just with me last night,” he told me. Soon after, photos of me in bed with a group of strange, middle-aged men went viral online. The caption read: “Shared Sugar Baby: Now Taking Appointments.” When I confronted him, his voice was laced with ice. “Isn’t your mother a professional homewrecker? As her daughter, you naturally had to one-up her.” The night my mother saw the news, she had a stroke. When she woke up, her mind was forever trapped at the age of eight. To support her, I became the star attraction at a downtown nightclub, the queen of the midnight stage. Eight years later, as I writhed under the hazy lights, I looked up and saw a pair of familiar eyes in a VIP booth. … Sweat slicked my skin as I danced, the cold metal of the pole a searing line against my inner thigh with every spin. A raw, familiar pain. After eight years, my skin still hadn’t gotten used to the friction. But I couldn’t stop. Every cheer from the crowd was a potential bill paid, another dose of the medication my mother needed tomorrow. I spun, inverted, and split my legs. And then, in the middle of a difficult backbend, my eyes slammed into his. My body faltered. I lost my grip and plummeted from more than six feet up. I hit the stage hard. A sharp, drilling pain shot through my ankle. The crowd erupted in jeers and crude laughter. “What the hell was that?” “If you can’t dance, get off the stage!” The manager rushed forward, bowing and scraping apologies to the audience while grabbing my arm. He hissed through clenched teeth, “Stella! What the hell was that? You trying to get fired?!” “Do you have any idea how many people are watching? If you ruin the club’s reputation, can you afford to pay for it?!” I clutched my swelling ankle, my entire body trembling with pain. I looked back toward the VIP booth, but the familiar eyes were gone. Had I imagined it? “What are you gawking at? Get the hell backstage!” the manager barked, snapping me back to reality. I bit my lip and limped off the stage. Back in the cluttered dressing room, I had just sat down when a busboy shoved the door open. “Manager says because of your screw-up, you’re not getting paid for tonight,” he said flatly. “What?” I looked up, my heart sinking. “Nothing? But my mother has a physical therapy appointment the day after tomorrow.” I grabbed his arm, my voice pleading. “Can you please talk to him for me? I’ll be more careful next time. I swear it will never happen again!” He shook my hand off, his face a mask of disgust. “It’s no use begging. He’s furious. Besides, it was your own damn fault for not paying attention.” He spun around and left, slamming the door behind him. I sank back into the chair, the pain in my ankle mingling with the panic rising in my chest. Therapy bills, medication costs, rent… The numbers spun in my head, suffocating me. If I didn’t get paid tonight, my mother’s therapy would have to be postponed. Just as I was drowning in despair, the door opened again. It was the manager. His expression had softened slightly. “Stella, come with me. A client in a VIP room asked for you. A private performance. Double pay.” My stomach dropped. I knew exactly what a “private performance” meant. A closed room, expensive liquor, and hands that didn’t know boundaries. I had always avoided it. But then I thought of my mother’s therapy, of the bills piling up, and I hesitated. “What? You don’t want to?” The manager raised an eyebrow. “Fine. But if you refuse, you can forget about your base salary for the month, too.” “I’ll do it,” I said, my voice tight. I had already fallen this far. What right did I have to be picky? The manager’s smile was triumphant. “That’s more like it. You’re in this line of work. No need to pretend you’re a saint. Now hurry up and change. Don’t keep the client waiting.” I pulled a conservative black slip dress from the locker, threw a thin jacket over it, and followed him to the VIP section. When he opened the door to the private room, the manager’s face instantly transformed into a fawning grin. “Mr. Wallace, here she is. This is our star, Stella.” I followed his gaze, preparing to force a smile, but my expression froze. 2 Seated in the main armchair was the face I had seen from the stage. Caden. So I hadn’t been imagining things. It had been eight years. He was no longer the fresh-faced freshman who used to follow me around campus. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his eyes sharp and steady, exuding the unmistakable aura of a Hollywood star. And I… I was a nightclub dancer, selling my body for money. The shame lasted only a second. I quickly composed myself. I didn’t have the luxury of feelings anymore. As instructed, I walked to the small stage in the center of the room and began to move to the music. I plastered a seductive smile on my face, even as sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them. When the song ended, there was a smattering of applause. Caden, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke. His voice was laced with a chilling mockery. “Stella. Eight years, and this is what you’ve become. Impressive.” The room fell silent. The others, sensing the tension, chimed in. “Caden, you know her?” Caden picked up his wine glass, his eyes sweeping over me with disdain. “Not really. We went to the same university. I just had the misfortune of hearing about her… glorious achievements back then.” He drew out the words “glorious achievements,” and the men around him chuckled with knowing smirks. “Well, if she’s an old friend of yours, she should give us a proper show, right?” one of them jeered. “How about a striptease to liven things up?” My body went rigid, and the color drained from my face. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t do that.” “Don’t do that?” the man with the gold chain laughed. “We’re all here to have a good time, why the act? You dance well, and we’ll make it worth your while.” He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and slapped it on the glass table. The others followed suit, and soon a small mountain of money was piled on the table. The bills glittered under the dim lights, a tempting, filthy sheen. All I could see were hospital invoices, my mother’s childlike eyes, and the urgent voice of the nurse on the phone. The seconds ticked by. The mood in the room shifted from anticipation to impatience. “Are you gonna dance or not? If not, get the hell out!” someone shouted. Caden just sat there, sipping his wine, a king watching a spectacle from his throne. And I was the sacrifice on the altar. My nails dug into my palms, the pain the only thing keeping me grounded. I gave a slow, deliberate nod. The music started again, slower and more provocative this time. I reached up and untied my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. Then, with trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper on the side of my dress. The sound of it sliding down was quiet but deafening. The dress slipped from my shoulders, revealing the thin, black lace bra underneath. The air conditioning was cold, raising goosebumps on my skin. I moved mechanically, trying to cover myself with my arms, which only earned me more excited whistles. Just as my shaking hand reached for the clasp of my bra— “That’s enough,” Caden said, his brow furrowed. Everything stopped. I stood frozen, the dress half-off, pooled around my elbows. He stood up and looked down at me, his disgust unconcealed. “A leopard never changes its spots. Just like your mother—you’ll do anything for a price.” He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. With Caden gone, the others lost interest and began to leave. I quickly pulled my jacket tight around me, hugging myself as I stood there, stunned. Just then, the producer, Mr. Wallace, walked over to me. He tucked a business card into the top of my dress, his voice greasy. “Stella, right? You’ve got a great body. And you can really move.” He leaned in close, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I’m working on a new project. Looking for actors who are… adventurous. Willing to get creative. Give me a call if you’re interested. The price is negotiable.”

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Everyone in the Upper East Side circle knew I’d been obsessed with Asher Sterling since we were kids. He went to Exeter; I went to Exeter. He learned eight languages; I learned eight languages. He studied finance at Wharton; I studied finance at Wharton. The Sterling and Vance families were destined to merge. Our business empires were too intertwined; one couldn’t survive without the other. But on our wedding day, Asher made a detour on his way to the altar. He flew straight to Paris to save his “one that got away”—the damsel in distress. We were childhood sweethearts, and now, we were the biggest joke in Manhattan. Wearing a custom Vera Wang gown worth eight figures, I walked down the aisle and completed the grand ceremony alone. That day, in the media frenzy that covered every tabloid, my name was placed before his for the first time. Idiot. Men are a dime a dozen in New York City. But a fully formed business empire? There’s only one of those. I didn’t just want his body. I wanted his money. 1 Asher’s private jet had already taken off. I locked myself in the bridal suite at The Plaza and shed exactly one tear. My short-tempered father was cursing up a storm outside. Mr. Sterling, Asher’s father, was furiously making calls, demanding Asher be dragged back the second he landed. My phone buzzed with two messages. Asher: [Summer, wait for me. I’ll explain everything when I get back.] The second message was a photo of Asher. He was walking toward the boarding gate, head down, on the phone. He was wearing the bespoke tuxedo I had spent months perfecting with the designers. The tie I hand-picked hung loosely around his neck. His expression was gentle, his eyes full of that sickeningly sweet indulgence, as if he were softly coaxing the person on the other end of the line. Anyone seeing it would sigh and say, “That lucky girl.” I zoomed in on the photo and stared at it for a long while. It was hard to let go. Truly. But I gave him a chance, and he made his choice. In chess, once you lift your finger from the piece, the move is final. I touched up my makeup, gathered the long train of my gown, opened the door, and flashed a perfect smile at the elders standing outside with their various expressions of horror. “The wedding proceeds as planned.” 2 Asher returned to New York three days later. For the past seventy-two hours, I was the undisputed queen of traffic. From the New York Times to TMZ, everyone was discussing Sloane Vance, the heiress who was abandoned by Asher Sterling on her wedding day but insisted on completing the ceremony solo. Some lamented the coldness of the rich, some fought for justice on my behalf, and naturally, some gloated. Regardless, in the overwhelming press coverage, my name—Sloane Vance—was ranked ahead of Asher Sterling’s for the first time. To apologize to the Vance family, my father-in-law, Chairman Sterling, hosted a private dinner at their Hamptons estate. After the wine flowed, the atmosphere softened. Chairman Sterling raised his glass to me. “Summer, this toast is to you. “You really are Robert’s daughter. Thank you for being decisive and protecting the reputation of both our families. “The Sterling family has wronged you. Rest assured, I will make this right.” I lowered my eyes demurely and raised my glass. Just as I was about to speak, the banquet hall doors swung open. Asher walked in, looking travel-worn and exhausted. My dad saw him and his face darkened. He slammed his glass down on the table. The massive hall went silent. Chairman Sterling glared at my dad, gritted his teeth, and barked at Asher: “On your knees!” Asher walked up to my father, step by step, and bowed slightly. “Dad, I was wrong.” My father scoffed coldly and didn’t respond. Asher straightened up and placed a document on the table. “I’m here to make amends. “While in the States, using my status as the Vance family son-in-law, I represented Vance Corp and signed the acquisition deal with the Bellamy Group.” 3 Vance Corp had been fighting for the Bellamy partnership for six months. All details were finalized, but Bellamy kept stalling the signature. My dad had gone gray worrying about this deal. I had to admit, Asher knew how to play psychological warfare. Presenting this contract was a massive offering to Vance Corp. My dad choked on his anger. Facing Asher now, he couldn’t stay mad, but he couldn’t exactly smile either. Asher stood there, hands clasped, eyes lowered, the picture of calm confidence. Chairman Sterling exhaled in relief and started a slow clap. “Robert, how about that? My son isn’t useless after all, is he? “Helping you secure Bellamy in one go… he deserves some credit.” With Chairman Sterling leading, the guests awkwardly joined in the applause. The atmosphere began to warm up. But, Asher… you humiliated my family on a global stage. Did you really think a contract would wipe the slate clean? I frowned, let my eyes redden, and walked up to him, looking him up and down. “Asher, why are you still wearing your wedding tux? “Was taking care of Miss Rose so exhausting that you didn’t even have time to change?” The hall fell dead silent. Asher’s smile froze. I forced a brave smile and pushed him gently toward the exit. “Go shower, change your clothes, and get some rest. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle things here.” Behind me, a hand slammed onto a table. I didn’t need to look; I knew it was my dad. Chairman Sterling’s voice boomed: “Freeze! You aren’t going anywhere!” In the standoff, a frail figure burst in from the entrance and threw herself between Asher and me. “Don’t make things hard for Asher. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 4 The intruder was the culprit who made Asher abandon me at the altar—his “first love,” Serena Rose. It was late autumn, yet Serena was wearing a thin, white cotton dress, her slender body shivering. In front of everyone, Asher didn’t hesitate. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the car? Why did you come in? “Are you cold?” Serena’s face was ghostly pale. She leaned into Asher’s chest, eyes red. “Asher, don’t fight with your father over me. It’s not worth it. “I don’t have much time left to live. I can’t leave you with a mess.” Before she could finish, Serena began coughing violently. Asher’s brow furrowed deeply. Without a word, he scooped Serena up into his arms. “Rena, don’t be afraid. I’m taking you to Mount Sinai Hospital.” Ignoring everyone in the room, Asher lowered his head, whispering comforts to Serena as he walked out. “Asher Sterling! Stop right there!” Chairman Sterling was shaking with rage. “If you walk out that door, you are cut off from the Sterling family legacy! Everything!” Asher stopped. He turned, looking coldly at his father. “My biggest regret is letting you send Rena to Europe back then. “Do you think you can still control me like you did when I was a teenager?” Chairman Sterling’s face turned purple, but he couldn’t speak. My dad shook his head. “Arthur, it seems you can’t control the Sterling heir anymore.” Asher looked at my dad and smirked. “Dad, the first thing I did upon landing wasn’t checking Rena into the hospital—it was bringing you the Bellamy contract. “That is my sincerity for the future of our families. “Some things are better left unsaid.” He turned to me, his eyes icy. “Sloane, I promised to marry you, and I did. “You have the title of Mrs. Sterling. I guarantee you a life of luxury. “But love? I advise you not to ask for it.” With that, he carried Serena out without looking back. Curled in his arms, Serena glanced back over his shoulder, staring straight at me. The corner of her mouth lifted in a microscopic smirk.

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My boyfriend came home late from working overtime. While tidying up his clothes, I accidentally discovered a proposal document. The title on the cover of the proposal was blinding. “How to PUA Your Girlfriend and Make Her Willingly Become the Other Woman”. But my boyfriend forgot that I am a medical student. One of my senior peers once made it onto the news. She stabbed her cheating scumbag of a boyfriend over 20 times, each stab missing vital organs, ultimately causing him only minor injuries. 1 The thin sheets of paper in my hand felt heavy, weighing me down until my fingers cramped and my breath stopped. I flipped through the pages with trembling hands until I reached the end. My gaze finally fixed on the end of the document. There was a pink lipstick mark there. Beside the lipstick mark was a line of elegant script. [Pregnant women are so ugly. Thanks, Sloane Vance, for being my surrogate.] My fingers tightened instantly: “So that’s how it is. That’s how it is. No wonder Julian Sterling begged me to be a surrogate. “I thought this was a research project for the department. I never imagined it was for me to help carry his child with someone else!” I lowered my eyes, shifting my gaze to the right leg of my pants. The shape of the right trouser leg was a bit bulging. Inside was a prosthetic limb. This leg was broken to save Julian back then. My heart throbbed with pain. I clutched my chest and leaned against the wall. 2 Julian and I met in medical school. Calculating, we have been together for more than ten years. He is the youngest attending physician in the hospital. When mentioning him, no one fails to praise him, calling him “young and promising”. But his title of attending physician should have been mine. If not for the car accident to save him that day. How could I have become disabled? To the extent that he replaced me in the recommendation quota for professional title promotion. But now, he demeans me to the dust. Treating me as a reproductive robot! 3 I tore the paper to shreds and turned my head to look at a closed door inside the house. On the first day moving into the new house. Julian forcibly demanded an empty room. And repeatedly requested that I must not enter this room. If it were before. Out of respect for men, I certainly wouldn’t intrude. But now, hehe… Red-eyed, I burst into the room. 4 The air in the room was turbid, with a smell similar to heather flowers. My brows knitted tightly as I turned on the light. The moment the light came on, photos covering the entire wall came into view. I stared blankly at the girl with a brilliant smile on the white wall. That was a woman who looked five or six parts like me. I recognize her… She is Bella Chen, a resident physician who just transferred here the year before last. My gaze continued to move. I suddenly discovered that the photos on the photo wall were patterned. It clearly recorded the whole process of the woman from childishness, to immaturity, and finally to maturity. “I became a substitute?” My whole body trembled uncontrollably. I, Sloane Vance, loved Julian miserably, but not to the extent of being shameless enough to become someone else’s substitute! Holding back my anger, I scanned the surroundings and suddenly noticed a yellowed diary on the table. The style of the diary was a bit old. It looked quite old. As if possessed, I opened that diary. 5 [January 1, 2014 Sunny. I met someone in university today. A woman who made my heart palpitate. I stepped forward in large strides, only to discover with disappointment. This woman was not Bella Chen, but another woman who looked a bit like her. Her name is Sloane Vance.] A ticking sound came to my ears. I knew it was the sound of my heart bleeding. I continued reading with a wooden face. [January 2, 2014 Rainy day. Miss, really miss Bella Chen so much. I really want to possess her, make her Julian Sterling’s exclusive item! It’s a pity Bella is not in our school. Forget it, I plan to capture that woman named Sloane Vance. I will vent all my love for Bella Chen onto her! After all, if I really get Bella, I wouldn’t bear to see her get hurt.] [February 1, 2014 Sunny. After one month of inquiry. I know the general information about Sloane. She has no father, or rather— She is a test-tube baby! Good, very good. I probably know this woman’s weakness. She lacks love…] [February 14, 2014 Sunny. I found some people from society to block Sloane forcefully. Although the process was a bit tortuous, I could clearly feel. The way the woman looked at me became different. Hahaha, sure enough, the plot of a hero saving a beauty has been an excellent routine since ancient times.] My fingertips holding the paper trembled slightly. I will never forget Valentine’s Day in 2014. Because it was on that day. I was dragged into a small woods by someone and almost lost my virginity. Never imagined. This nightmare that makes me dream back at midnight turned out to be Julian’s handiwork! I took a deep breath and continued flip the pages masochistically. [March 1, 2014 Rainy day. I succeeded. I successfully conquered Sloane. The taste of this woman is delicious. It’s a pity she’s like a log in bed, with no expression. Sure enough, she is just a substitute after all. She is far inferior to Bella. Bella is so sunny, so cute, so positive and upward. Completely two extremes with this wooden beauty Sloane! Sigh, if not for Sloane looking extremely like Bella. And I missed Bella too much. Even if this kind of woman delivered herself to the door. I wouldn’t touch her! Moreover, there is one thing about Sloane that disgusts me very much, that is, she was touched by those hooligans. Although I saw blood on the sheets. But I still feel she is very dirty…] [March 4, 2014 Rainy day. I shared Sloane’s photos with the brothers in the same dorm. They all envied me, saying I am a master of love affairs. Even a cold and aloof woman like Sloane can be obtained. With bursting vanity, I smiled disdainfully. I said Sloane just has a good figure. But playing for a long time is actually quite boring. Her expression in bed is even more stiff as hell. I showed her pleasure photos to the roommates for a browse. They all agreed with me, saying it is indeed so.] [March 5, 2014 Sunny I got up very early today. But none of my roommates got up. I naturally know why. A bunch of losers, only dare to face photos. Unlike me, I even got my hands on the real person. What’s good about Sloane? I crook my finger and she will crawl towards me on her own.] I dared not read the subsequent connecting content. With trembling hands, I flipped the diary directly to the last few pages. [March 30, 2024 Sunny. Good news. Bella actually transferred to our hospital! I thought the secret crush in youth would never see the light of day, didn’t expect extreme misfortune turns into good luck! Regarding Bella. I used to be like a rat in the sewer, only daring to lurk in the dark to secretly record and shoot. Now having the opportunity to meet again. I must grasp it firmly! Speaking of which. So dangerous, really so dangerous. So dangerous that I never publicized my relationship with Sloane! Originally I was thinking about whether to make do with her. Now it seems. Sloane only deserves to be a bed partner!] [April 5, 2024 Sunny. Under my tireless efforts. Bella and I “treated each other with sincerity” in the equipment room. She told me. Her mother committed suicide. Her father drowned his sorrows in alcohol all day for this, not returning home all year round. She longs for a new family, but doesn’t want to give birth to children. Because after giving birth, the stomach will have stretch marks, so ugly. Hearing her say this. My head heated up, I replied to her immediately. We can do in vitro fertilization and let Sloane help us be a surrogate! Honestly speaking. After saying this sentence, I regretted it. Because I was afraid Bella would disdain me. After all, I found a substitute. But didn’t expect her eyes to shine, applauding and cheering. Sure enough, my first love is gentle.] Teeth broke the oral cavity, the taste buds senselessly tasted a bit of bloody sweetness. April 5th was the day my leg was broken. Didn’t expect Julian would be so impatient! My eyes trembling, twisted the last page and opened it. [April 5, 2025 Sunny. Bella started urging. After all, a year has passed. She urges me to quickly let Sloane agree to surrogacy. It’s not that I didn’t PUA Sloane. But this woman has a terribly stubborn temperament! Really, what is there to be pretentious about. The current Sloane is just a cripple. Except for me, who else would want her?] I looked at the fresh handwriting, closed the diary dejectedly, just about to put it down. A photo slipped out from within. I squatted down and looked closely. The content above was blinding. That was exactly the photo of Julian and Bella “treating each other with sincerity”… Just then. I accidentally discovered something seemed to be padded under the table leg. I took out all those things and found it was a stack of photos. And these photos were all photos with my “stiff” expressions! A string seemed to break in my brain. “Julian Sterling, what right do you have to humiliate me like this!” My eyes were red as if bleeding, I strode towards the bedroom.

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The day my husband brought his assistant to her OB-GYN appointment, his eighteen-year-old self had me pinned against the wall, kissing me senseless. “How are you still so sweet, so damn kissable at thirty, baby? I love you so much.” He pulled back for a breath, his eyes sparkling. “Speaking of which, where’s the thirty-year-old me? Why isn’t he here to pick you up from work?” I sighed, gently pushing him away just as my thirty-year-old husband, Jackson, fixed his cold, hard gaze on me from across the hall. “Already got yourself a boy toy, have we? And you still can’t bear to sign the divorce papers?” He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Seraphina, you’re more pathetic than I thought.” As I watched him wrap an arm around his young assistant and walk away, the eighteen-year-old Jack started thrashing in my arms again. “Who does that asshole think he is, talking to my wife like that?” he fumed. “I swear, I’ll bite my tongue off and make him disappear from existence!” 1 The eighteen-year-old Jackson was just as I remembered him: proud, possessive, and nearly impossible to calm down once he was worked up. It wasn’t until I pulled out the old Nintendo I’d kept tucked away in a drawer that he finally settled down, his eyes glued to the screen. I locked him in my office and went downstairs to grab us some dinner. I’d just stepped into the diner when a chilling voice sounded behind me. “Twenty-eight minutes.” I froze, turning to meet the icy stare of the thirty-year-old Jackson. “What are you still doing here? I thought you’d be with Penelope.” He ignored my question, his eyes scanning me with a cold appraisal. “Don’t play dumb. You were in your office with that kid, alone, for a full twenty-eight minutes.” He practically spat out the last few words. A cruel smirk played on his lips. “He looks young. Guess the kid doesn’t have much stamina, huh? At his age, I could go for at least forty minutes, easy.” It took a special kind of venomous wit to come up with a line like that. I shot him a weary look, not bothering to tell him that the “kid” was literally a younger version of himself. I turned back to the counter to order. “A spicy beef chili, no cilantro. A side of steamed greens and a mushroom omelet. And a slice of cherry pie.” Hearing my order, he let out another cold laugh from behind me. “Seraphina, that’s everything I like to eat. Not even trying to cater to your new boy toy’s tastes? Or is he just a temporary distraction, not a permanent replacement?” His barbed words were starting to get under my skin. “Jackson,” I said, my voice tight with frustration, “not everyone is like you, lining up a replacement before the marriage is even over.” That shut him up. He opened his mouth, a reflexive denial on his lips. “I told you, I’m not…” “You used my name to book her appointment. Don’t tell me that wasn’t deliberate.” I cut him off, my voice turning to ice as I picked up the takeout bags. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to disgust me yet again.” “I’ll agree to the divorce. See you at the courthouse next Monday. Don’t be late.” I didn’t wait for his reaction. I brushed past him and walked out of the diner. The moment I stepped outside, the bitter winter wind hit my tear-streaked face like a razor blade. As I fumbled blindly for a tissue, a warm cup was pressed into my hands. It was the hot chocolate I used to love as a teenager. “Silly girl,” a soft voice murmured. “Still so clueless. You’re crying from the cold and you didn’t even think to wear a coat.” Eighteen-year-old Jack gently wiped my tears, then shrugged off his own heavy coat and draped it over my shoulders. The familiar, comforting scent of pine and his body heat wrapped around me, and for a moment, I was completely lost in the past. 2 “So, you’re telling me that even though the thirty-year-old me got his dream of marrying you, he didn’t cherish you at all,” eighteen-year-old Jack said, his eyes wide with horror, a grain of rice still stuck to the corner of his mouth. “Not only did he knock up his assistant, but he’s been pushing you to get a divorce?!” He looked genuinely terrified. “How could I do something so stupid? Did I get swapped with an alien? Or maybe I was in a car crash and got amnesia, totally fried my brain?” I stared down into my coffee, slowly stirring it as a bitter smile touched my lips. “No. There was no accident. You’re perfectly healthy.” “We got married right after graduation,” I continued, my voice hollow. “Things were perfect at first. We were inseparable, just as in love as we’d been for the past decade. But everything changed when Penelope showed up.” Penelope was hired five years into Jackson’s company. It was also the year we hit our seventh anniversary, the infamous seven-year itch. I was on the cusp of a promotion to become the youngest attending physician at the hospital, and Jackson’s business was exploding. The corporate dinners became endless, the meetings ran late into the night. After I turned down his requests to accompany him to a few events, he blew up at me for the first time. “Everyone else has their partner with them, and I’m the only one who looks like a lonely bachelor, even though I’m married!” he had yelled. “My partners are starting to mock me, asking if I’m whipped or if I’m just not making enough money to convince my own wife to support my career!” It was the first time he’d ever spoken to me that way. I was stunned, hurt. He had always treated me like a princess, never raising his voice. But even though I loved him, I couldn’t abandon the medical career I had spent more than a decade building. Neither of us would apologize, and so began the cold war. He moved out of our home and into a luxury penthouse overlooking the river, closer to his office. In a year, I could count the number of times he came home on one hand. Once, on his birthday, I missed him so much that I went to his penthouse unannounced. When I knocked, the door was opened by Penelope, wearing nothing but a slinky slip dress. “Mr. Archer had a bit too much to drink tonight,” she said, looking down shyly. A constellation of faint red marks bloomed on her neck, just visible beneath her hair. “He’s not really available for guests.” She didn’t seem to recognize me. “Can I take a message? I’ll pass it along when he wakes up.” I fought back the tears stinging my eyes and pushed the gift bag into her hands. “I’m Seraphina,” I said, each word a shard of glass. “Tell him to call me the second he wakes up. It’s important.” Penelope nodded sweetly, wished me a good night, and closed the door. I waited for two weeks. He never called. Hearing this, eighteen-year-old Jack slammed a glass on the table, shattering it. “That’s impossible! I would never cheat on you with another woman! It’s not true! There has to be a misunderstanding!” I wiped a tear from my cheek and shook my head silently. No one wished it was a misunderstanding more than I did. But soon after, Penelope got pregnant. Jackson doted on her, both in public and in private. He even brought her to my hospital for a check-up. No matter how much I tried to lie to myself, I couldn’t deny the truth anymore. The eighteen-year-old Jack was clearly having an even harder time accepting it than I was. He chugged down glass after glass of whiskey, curling up on the sofa like a wounded puppy, his face wet with tears. “How could I, Sera? How could I ever hurt you…?” he sobbed. I sighed and draped a blanket over him. Before I could straighten up, the front door opened. I turned, and my eyes met the gaze of the thirty-year-old Jackson. 3 “Seraphina, you just keep surprising me, don’t you?” Seeing me hovering over the younger Jack, my husband’s face contorted into a mask of fury I’d never seen before. “Messing around in your office wasn’t enough? You had to bring him into our home?” His voice rose, cracking with an emotion I couldn’t place. “So inseparable. No wonder you’re in such a hurry to divorce me.” The raw volume of his voice made me flinch. “Keep it down,” I whispered, glancing at the sleeping figure on the couch. “You’ll wake him.” Given the boy’s explosive temper, the last thing I needed was a confrontation between the two of them. I was just trying to avoid more drama, but in Jackson’s ears, my words sounded like something else entirely. He let out a choked, bitter laugh. A glint of moisture appeared in his eyes. “Do I need to remind you, Seraphina, that this is our home? You’re telling me to be quiet in my own house for the sake of your little homewrecker? What do you take me for?” Seeing the boy on the couch begin to stir, I acted on instinct. I grabbed Jackson’s hand and pulled him toward the door. “Not here. Let’s go. We can talk at the coffee shop downstairs.” I held his hand tightly, afraid he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his fingers instinctively curled around mine. He didn’t let go, not even as we stepped out of the elevator. I felt a pang of awkwardness and tried to gently pull my hand back, but he only tightened his grip. “What’s the matter? He can touch you, but I can’t?” he said, his voice laced with acid. “You had no problem betraying me, Seraphina, but you’re saving your fidelity for him?” I couldn’t stand his sarcasm. I ripped my hand from his grasp. “Don’t you dare project your own filthy behavior onto me. Especially when you’re the one who isn’t clean!” He stumbled back a step, a wounded look flashing across his face. Before he could say anything else, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, his expression shifting, and turned away to answer it. I didn’t need to guess. It was Penelope. I tried not to listen, but in the dead quiet of the late-night courtyard, his voice carried clearly. “What’s wrong? … You’re bleeding?! Okay, don’t cry, just lie down on the sofa and stay still. I’m on my way!” He hung up and started to leave, but after a few paces, he spun around, grabbed my arm, and started pulling me with him. “You’re coming with me!” Caught off guard, I stumbled along, trying and failing to break free. “Jackson, are you insane? Why would I go with you?” “Because you’re the best damn OB-GYN at Metropolitan General! The youngest attending physician they’ve ever had!” He forced me into his Maybach, strapping the seatbelt across me himself. “It’s a life-or-death situation, Seraphina. You wouldn’t want to violate your Hippocratic Oath, would you?” As the car sped off, all I could think was that I would rather be in a car crash than deliver my husband’s mistress’s baby. The Maybach didn’t head toward his penthouse, but to a chic apartment building in the next district. After a moment of surprise, I understood. With his company about to go public, he couldn’t risk a scandal. His little mistress would have to be kept hidden away for now. As I suspected, from the moment we parked to navigating the elevator to the correct apartment number, Jackson moved with a fluid ease that spoke of countless previous visits. He even pulled out a key and unlocked the door himself, rushing inside. A moment later, a soft, coquettish voice drifted out. “Jax, you’re finally here! I was so scared…”

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Chapter 1 I spent two years in Switzerland recovering from an illness. On my first day back in New York, my cousin Chloe threw a welcome home party for me in the Hamptons. The guests were all the heirs and heiresses of the city’s elite. Long time no see. The girls who used to hang on my every word were unusually quiet today, sitting in silence. Even my younger half-brother, Vincent Vance, the heir to the Vance Empire who used to follow me around calling me “Sister,” treated me with a distant coldness. At my own party, I, the guest of honor, was being given the cold shoulder. A commotion erupted at the entrance. Gabriel Sterling walked in, holding a woman’s hand. The quiet banquet suddenly sizzled like water dropped into hot oil. My brother was the first to jump up and welcome them. “Gabe, Felicity, you guys finally made it.” The heiresses who were stiff and silent a moment ago suddenly came alive. “Felicity, come sit here!” “We saved a seat just for you.” The young woman surrounded by the crowd smiled brightly, her posture graceful and light. Gabriel, standing beside her, looked at her with such tender eyes. They looked like the perfect couple. If Gabriel wasn’t my fiancé, I might even ship them. My cousin Chloe, ever the gossip, leaned in and whispered, adding fuel to the fire. “Cousin, see that? That woman was the stand-in they found. But she stood in for so long, she started thinking she was the main character.” “If you came back any later, she’d probably be pregnant.” Chloe and I grew up together. My aunt was lazy and often dumped her at our estate to be raised alongside me. My mother couldn’t say no to her sister, and fortunately, our family had the money to raise another child without blinking an eye. Two months ago, Chloe sent me a photo. In the photo, Gabriel was intimately holding a young woman who looked about fifty percent like me. I heard this Felicity Quinn, a newfound daughter of the up-and-coming Quinn family, had been raised in the countryside. She only returned to the New York social scene two years ago, right when I left for Switzerland. At first, Felicity imitated my style and dress. Because she looked like me, she was mocked as a cheap copycat. But later, the circle discovered that while she looked like me, her personality was gentle and submissive—the complete opposite of my arrogant, domineering reputation. Felicity was far more likable. Besides being gentle, Felicity knew how to liven up a party. Summer rafting trips, autumn fishing, winter skiing in Aspen. She quickly became the core of the social circle. My former minions gravitated toward her. My brother Vincent, who initially despised her, eventually started treating her like a real sister, getting the warm sibling affection he never got from me. Even my fiancé, the Sterling heir Gabriel, went from yelling at her not to copy me to looking at her with deep affection, as if she were his real fiancée. Chloe, my real-time scout, sent me every detail. I couldn’t feign ignorance even if I wanted to. “Miss Quinn looks like me?” I looked at her sharply. Felicity trembled, habitually hiding behind Gabriel. I scoffed. “You all need to get your eyes checked. Where is the resemblance?” Today, I wore a white cocktail dress. Felicity also wore white. I wore a priceless pink diamond necklace. She wore pink pearls. Felicity was indeed pretty. But even wearing the same color and similar style, I didn’t see the resemblance in our features. My words silenced the room. People glanced at each other, their expressions complicated. Felicity was the first to react. Her face paled as she said unwillingly, “Miss Vance is known as the most beautiful woman in New York. How could I deserve to be compared to you?” The crowd frowned, displeased by her humility. “Sister, looks are determined at birth. It’s not Felicity’s fault she looks like you. You demand to be unique in everything, but you can’t take your anger out on an innocent person,” Vincent said. I almost laughed out loud. If I were truly taking my anger out, would any of you still be standing here? “Idiot. Did you not realize I was insulting you?” I was speaking to Vincent, but my gaze slowly swept over everyone present. “Two years gone, and the Vance Princess’s temper is still this bad?” “We used to think they looked alike. Seeing them side by side, the sickly Miss Vance really can’t compare to the rosy Felicity.” “Miss Vance just has okay looks. But her personality…” My temper is notorious. Everyone knows it. My father once told me a woman should be like water—gentle and yielding. But a flood is also water. Rather than internalizing the stress, I prefer to burn others. Watching these people, whose fake peace I shattered with one sentence, trembling in fear… It was boring. “You call this a welcome party? You all look at me like you’re at a funeral, but you’re all smiles for the irrelevant Miss Quinn.” “Chloe, thanks for organizing this. But in the future, don’t invite me to any event where these people are present.” I grabbed my clutch, ready to leave. As I passed Felicity, her best friend suddenly screamed. She stumbled, and the gift box in her hand tilted. A massive white crystal geode slid out and smashed onto Felicity’s foot. Her instep instantly turned red. In an instant, Gabriel’s roar filled my ears. “Seraphina Vance, what are you doing!” “Felicity spent ages finding this crystal geode for you! She thought it would purify your aura and help your health. If you didn’t want it, fine, but why smash it?” Gabriel and I grew up together. He was the “flower on the high cliff,” cold to everyone. Even on the day of our engagement, he was expressionless. This was the first time I’d seen him so angry. Right now, he was kneeling on the ground, checking Felicity’s injury. Confirming nothing was broken, he stood up and glared at me. “Everyone came to welcome you back. But you? You spewed cold sarcasm and smashed a gift, making a scene.” “Two years, and you haven’t changed a bit.” Slap. A crisp sound echoed. Gabriel finally shut up. So much talking. I relaxed my wrist and pulled back my bag. The metal studs on it had scraped Gabriel’s shoulder. The crowd watched the show, stunned. Gabriel looked at me in disbelief. “You hit me?” I hit you. Do I need to pick a lucky date for it? I sneered. “You are still my fiancé. Defending another woman in front of me? Did you think I would tolerate this disrespect?” I thought my temper had improved over the years abroad. Anger hurts the liver, after all. If it were the old me, I would have started a brawl. They seemed to have forgotten who I was. Start trouble, get hit. “Miss Vance, it’s all my fault.” “I… I didn’t know the gift was so fragile. If I held it flat, it wouldn’t have fallen.” I laughed coldly. “Of course it’s your fault. Sending me a crystal? Do you think I’m some evil spirit that needs purifying?” Felicity cried. A true beauty, her tears were pitiful. While covering her face, I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward. Smiling for me to see. Only I could see it from this angle. Gabriel’s face darkened further. He stopped rubbing his shoulder and turned to comfort Felicity, throwing harsh words at me. “I didn’t know you were so unreasonable.” My brother also pointed at me. “Sister, what did Felicity do wrong for you to treat her this way?” “When I see Dad tonight, I’m definitely telling him to punish you!” I laughed, waved my hand, and turned to leave. “Go ahead and tattle.” “And ‘Sister Felicity’? Since when can any random cat or dog be your sister?” “Oh right,” I stopped and turned back. “Gabriel, did you forget? Our engagement was something your father brought you to my house to beg for.” “Since you like Felicity so much, I won’t stand in your way. I agree to break the engagement. You can explain it to the Sterling family yourself.” Might as well finish them all off. I turned to Felicity. “As for you, do I look stupid?” “I have a bad temper, but I walk fast. I didn’t even touch your friend. She dropped it herself to frame me.” “Don’t believe me?” I pointed at the garden lamp. “That surveillance camera should have a great angle.” After my tirade, Vincent looked gloomy, Gabriel looked livid. Felicity’s face alternated between red and white. The others looked uncomfortable. They were unhappy, so I was happy. I’m used to it. They gossip about me to my face or behind my back. I’m not a masochist. If someone talks smack, I hit back. “No need for you to tattle. I’ll do it myself. I will send the footage of everyone’s behavior today to the heads of your respective families.” “This place has HD cameras everywhere. Your outfits, expressions,” I waved my phone, “and even what you said, are recorded clearly.” Ignoring their panicked expressions, I turned to walk out. I bumped straight into a man entering the garden. Strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me. I looked up into a flawless, devastatingly handsome face. The man blushed and gently let go. But I wasn’t in the mood for eye candy. I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me. Move!” Instantly, the man’s face turned redder, pink spreading to his ears. I frowned. Does this guy like being scolded? “Cousin,” Chloe said weakly. “Let’s go together.” “Oh, ignore him. He likes getting yelled at.” Does that kink exist? He was so handsome; he must have a unique personality. He felt familiar. Seeing me look at him, the blushing man introduced himself. “Miss Vance, hello. I am Julian Thorne.” Thorne family? A second-tier family, a step below the Vances and Sterlings. Before I could react, Julian shoved a gift box into my hands and ran away. Sitting in the car, I was still confused. “Julian Thorne? Have I met him?” Chloe leaned back comfortably, tapping on her phone. An AI voice spoke: “Julian Thorne, second-in-command of Thorne Corp, second son of the family head. Current net worth in the billions, potential inheritance hundreds of billions. Age 22, unmarried, height 6’2″. Size unknown, but estimated comparable to a water bottle…” My face flushed. What kind of dirty AI is this? “You don’t know him? Had to use AI?” “Uh, should I know him? It’s my first time seeing him too.” I looked at Chloe with amusement. Keep acting. Chloe feigned ignorance. “Cousin, why don’t you see what he gave you?” She quickly grabbed the box and unwrapped it. When the packaging fell away, Chloe gasped. She held up a velvet cushion displaying a glass-texture Imperial Jade bangle. Such a bracelet was rare even at auctions. I examined it and slid it on. It fit perfectly. Chloe tutted. “Cousin, you say you don’t know him, but he knows your wrist size and taste perfectly.” I turned my wrist, watching the emerald light flow within the jade, and smiled. The party was unpleasant, but getting a perfect bracelet wasn’t a bad haul. Maybe the jade had a calming effect; I slept well that night. I woke up early. After finishing my morning Pilates, it was barely 8 AM. Once ready, I had my bodyguards go to The Cloud, the elite restaurant the circle frequented. They set up a massive screen at the entrance and looped the edited video from yesterday’s party. Felicity’s fake fall, Gabriel’s scolding, Vincent’s rage. Everyone else was helpfully subtitled with their names and dialogue. Passersby, customers, and internet sleuths uploaded it online. It went viral instantly. The socialite WeChat groups were buzzing today. A bunch of people tagged me, demanding to know what I meant. I sent a “smile” emoji and left the group. According to my assistant, the heirs tagged in the video were severely punished by their families when they got home. After all, who gave them the guts to mock the Vance heiress to her face? In the afternoon, Father called me to the study. Vincent was standing straight by the coffee table, head down. Seeing me, he glared and whispered, “What are you doing here?” I smiled, ignored him, walked to the sofa, and sat next to Father, acting sweet. “Dad.” Vincent continued his rant. “What are you proud of? You just rely on Grandpa and Dad spoiling you.” “Felicity grew up suffering in the countryside. You targeted her the moment you came back.” Father patted my hand, then grabbed a book and threw it at Vincent. “You helped outsiders mock your sister, and you have the nerve to speak? Get out!” Vincent left the study unwillingly. I watched the door close. “Dad, are you really going to let him inherit the company?” Father returned to his calm demeanor. “Your brother lacks experience, and you’re just causing trouble.” He handed me the documents he was reading. It was a record of the insults from the other families involved today. Just ugly words. “These families all rely on the Vance family for scraps to live this good life, right?” I handed a prepared folder to Father. “Dogs that bite people should die. Dogs that bite their masters should be put down.” With every page he turned, Father’s face grew darker. When he finished, he slammed the file on the table. “Ingrates!” The file detailed how several companies had blocked, price-gouged, and trapped Vance Group’s overseas projects. I was indeed in poor health. But recovering abroad was half-true, half-false. No one guards against a sickly non-heir. While ostensibly recovering in Switzerland, I investigated the Vance family’s overseas assets and hidden pitfalls. There were plenty. And the culprits were the domestic families we had helped. My biological mother died shortly after giving birth to me due to complications. Father later married Linda from the Lane family, and they had Vincent. Among the families conspiring against Vance Group was the Lane family. This made Father even angrier. The Vance Group was meant to be handed to Vincent. But this son was so eager, he wanted to carve out chunks of the company now. “The Lane family has sucked a lot of blood using Vincent’s name these past few years.” “Dad, can you bear to see the Vance Group become Lane property in the future?” Father understood. But Vincent was his only son. He hesitated. The company was still meant for him. Colluding with the Lanes wasn’t enough to disown him completely. “I’ll think about it. You can go.” Expected. So I brought up breaking the engagement with Gabriel. Father agreed. After all, Gabriel slapped the Vance family in the face. The Vance heiress didn’t need to worry about finding a husband. Worst case, I wouldn’t marry and would just enjoy life. A few days later, news of the broken engagement reached the Sterlings. Gabriel couldn’t sit still. When Gabriel stormed over to find me, I was having afternoon tea in the garden with Chloe. Seeing Gabriel from afar, Chloe tried to bail. “You guys chat, I have stuff to do.” She retreated to the corridor, watching from a safe distance. Gabriel didn’t notice. He marched up and sat across from me. “Seraphina, we need to talk.” I was in a good mood, ignoring his rudeness. I pushed the teapot toward him. “Talk about what?” Gabriel’s face was grim. “Why did you break the engagement like that? My father scolded me because of it. Do you know what the rumors are saying?” I leaned back comfortably. “What could they say? That I’m arrogant and willful, unloved by my fiancé?” “Or that Young Master Sterling is engaged to me but hangs out with Felicity all day?” Mentioning Felicity, Gabriel thought I was jealous. “Felicity and I are innocent. I just treat her as a friend I can talk to. Why break the engagement over jealousy?”

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Rumor has it my boss is whipped. He always uses “going home to my wife” as an excuse to skip company parties. At the celebration gala, a colleague gossiped, “Does Mr. Sterling not have to go home to his wife tonight?” The man tilted his chin in my direction: “Not tonight. My wife is right here.” Me: “…” Chapter 1 Approaching the office building, I realized I had the wrong ID badge. Staring at the name “CEO Ethan Sterling” printed on the card, I wanted to cry. Braving the cold wind, I called the culprit. A clear male voice answered quickly, “Hm?” “Um…” I hesitated, “Did you take my badge?” He chuckled softly. Then came his confirmation: “Yeah.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll wait for you downstairs, we can switch…” “No need.” Ethan said, “It’s freezing. Go up first. I’ll swipe in for you today.” I hesitated. “…Is that okay?” “Why wouldn’t it be?” After a few seconds of silence, I caved. “Fine, we’ll swap inside.” “Okay.” He was about to hang up. I stopped him. “Um… do you need me to swipe you in?” “I don’t need to swipe.” He answered, then added, “Also, I have a name. Or if you don’t want to use it, you have another title for me.” The word “Hubby” was on the tip of my tongue. My cheeks burned, and I hung up in a panic. CEO Ethan Sterling is my husband. This unbelievable fact becomes even more taboo inside the corporate walls. I carefully tucked away his badge and took the elevator to the 17th floor. I thought the badge incident was over. But as colleagues trickled into the office, they were all buzzing about something. Jessica, my neighbor and work bestie, was practically vibrating. “Someone saw Mr. Sterling swiping in downstairs this morning!” I froze. She continued, “Big shots like him don’t need to punch a clock, so everyone’s guessing he was swiping in for his wife.” I tried to argue, “Why assume it’s a wife?” She waved me over mysteriously. I leaned in and heard her whisper, “Actually, the rumor is that Mr. Sterling’s wife works right here in the company.” My knuckles turned white gripping the armrest. My heart in my throat, I tried to keep my voice steady. “Really?” “Who knows,” she shrugged. “But that’s the word on the street.” Secret shared, she returned to normal volume, laughing, “This really cements his reputation as being whipped. Waking up early just to swipe his wife in? Hilarious.” “…” I forced a laugh, but inside, I wasn’t smiling. Ethan Sterling being “whipped” is the most absurd rumor I’ve ever heard. I don’t even know how it started. Maybe one day Ethan used “going home to the wife” to dodge a boring dinner, and the reputation stuck. Perhaps he’s usually so cold and unapproachable that nobody questioned it. It made him seem human. Only I, his wife, know how laughable it is. Ethan Sterling, afraid of me? Going home to spend time with me? He just didn’t want to go to the party, so he used me as an excuse. Just like when he didn’t want an arranged marriage, so he hastily married me. I’ve always been just a shield. Chapter 2 The badge incident spiced up our dull work life. Colleagues were already begging the HR assistant to check the logs for whoever swiped in at that exact time to identify the mystery First Lady. While I was panicking, the culprit texted: [Where do we swap?] In the eye of the storm, I didn’t dare meet him. I screenshotted the chat about checking logs and sent it to him, worried: [Will they find out?] Ethan: [Only if they want to get fired.] “…” Such a cold tone. Such strong security. I instantly relaxed and replied to his previous text: [Let’s not swap yet. Talk at home.] I barely used my badge during the day anyway. Aside from entry and the cafeteria, it was useless. But Murphy’s Law struck. Halfway through the morning, my manager called me into his office. “Is your speech ready for later?” We had an internal awards ceremony, and as “Employee of the Month,” I had to say a few words. I nodded. I showed him my draft. He read it carefully, then looked at me. “Usually I wouldn’t check, but I heard Mr. Sterling is attending, so we need to be prepared.” I was stunned. “Mr. Sterling… is coming?” “Yes,” he looked at me again. “Remember to wear your badge on stage. Show some professionalism.” “…” I was speechless. Meeting his probing gaze, I laughed awkwardly. “Do I have to wear it?” “Why? Did you forget it?” “…” I brought it, but I also didn’t bring it. The manager sighed, took off his own badge, and handed it to me. “Just for show. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded fervently and scurried out. At the 10 AM meeting, Ethan was indeed there. Wearing my manager’s badge, I carefully avoided looking at Ethan. He seemed to be just observing, chin in hand, silent. Soon it was my turn. I rehearsed the speech in my head, took the mic, and started speaking. Suddenly, I saw Ethan raise his phone. Like he was taking a picture. The lens was pointed at me. He zoomed in, focusing on something. Then, a bizarre scene unfolded— Following Ethan’s lead, other colleagues started taking pictures of me too. I took a deep breath. Under immense pressure and many lenses, I finished my speech. Applause erupted. I walked off stage and immediately grabbed my phone. Ethan had sent a message. A high-res close-up of my manager’s badge on my chest, with a confused text: [Why isn’t it my badge?] I rolled my eyes to the heavens. Wear his badge on stage? Did I have a death wish? I replied with an ellipsis. Ethan wisely stopped texting. The ceremony ended without disaster. Back at my desk, colleagues surrounded me, demanding I buy a round of drinks. I agreed. Suddenly, someone asked, “Sarah, can I borrow your nail clippers?” I nodded. While digging for my keys, I kept chatting. My fingers touched the cold metal. I pulled them out, about to hand them over— But the keyring had snagged the blue lanyard of the badge I hid in my bag. Clatter. Ethan Sterling’s ID badge fell out, right in front of everyone. Chapter 3 It landed face up. Ethan’s photo and name were staring at everyone. Someone sharp-eyed spotted it. “Why is Mr. Sterling’s badge here?” That sentence drew everyone’s attention instantly. “Oh my god, it really is his!” “It fell out of Sarah’s bag…” They looked at the badge, then at me. Faces full of shock and unspoken questions. The colleague who asked for clippers picked it up and handed it to me, joking, “Sarah, you’re not the CEO’s secret wife, are you?” I froze, about to deny it. The manager’s shout broke the tension. “Why are you all gathered here? Get back to work!” The crowd dispersed. I looked toward the voice and saw Ethan walking over with several department heads. The badge in my hand felt like burning coal. I thought, I can’t let them misunderstand. I have to explain. Even a lie. I was about to speak when Ethan stopped in front of my desk. He looked at me. “You texted me saying you found my badge?” I paused for a second. Then nodded quickly. “Yes, yes.” I handed it over with both hands. He took it easily, chuckling. “Employee of the Month, indeed. Good job.” My ears burned. The manager chimed in, praising my honesty and hard work. When the leaders left, I finally breathed. Jessica leaned in, whispering, “You scared me to death. I thought you and the boss had a thing.” I didn’t dare say I was scared too. I feigned annoyance. “Do you think that’s possible?” She scrutinized me. “Visually, you match. But he’s married.” I nodded. “A married man.” “I really want to know who his wife is.” Jessica gossiped, “She’s so low-key. If I were Mrs. Sterling, I’d tattoo it on my forehead.” I laughed. She showed me her phone. “The group chat is guessing. Sophie from Projects is a top contender.” I made a questioning noise. “Sophie is a rich girl ‘slumming it.’ Her family knows his family.” I nodded along. She continued, “But the favorite is still Chloe from the CEO’s office. Proximity is power.” I agreed. “True.” “And now you’re on the list!” She grabbed my shoulder, teasing, “Since his badge fell out of your bag, people are saying you two spent the night together.” “…” Chapter 4 The badge incident was a wake-up call. I thought nobody would suspect me. But one slip-up almost exposed everything. I decided to be more careful. When Ethan got home, I went up to him and separated our badges on the entry table. “From now on, keep yours away from mine.” He raised an eyebrow. “And keys.” I moved his keys away. “Grabbing the wrong set would be scary. Don’t put them together.” He looked down at me. “What else?” “Is your office mug still that couple’s one? Change it. I’ll buy you a better one.” The mug was a freebie I got. Not a luxury brand, definitely not fitting for a billionaire CEO, but he used it. Right on his desk. If anyone saw we had matching mugs, I’d be done for. “Should we tear the marriage license in half too?” “What?” He sighed. “Sarah, get this straight. We are married.” I pursed my lips. Ethan’s commanding aura works everywhere, including home. I summoned my courage. “We agreed the marriage wouldn’t interfere with my normal life.” He frowned. I said weakly, “Being Mrs. Sterling interferes with my normal life.” “Okay,” he conceded. “How long do you plan to hide it?” “…” I didn’t know. I just wanted to hide. “One year? Two?” Ethan asked. “Forever?” I didn’t dare say it, but I didn’t think we’d last forever. I argued quietly, “Why does everyone have to know?” “Because we are legally married.” Ethan looked me in the eye. “I don’t want to sneak around at work. I don’t want to be treated like a dirty secret. I don’t want to have no right to speak up when other guys chase you…” He took a deep breath. “Are those reasons enough?” Enough, but I didn’t want to compromise. The conversation ended badly. That night, lying in bed, I thought about the lonely look in his eyes. Was this a cold war? But I still didn’t want to go public. Two months in, and we still sleep in separate rooms. Except for a few nights at his parents’, we’ve never shared a bed. A loveless marriage of convenience. How could I claim the title of Mrs. Sterling? I didn’t even know when we’d divorce. Suddenly, a knock on the door. Only Ethan could be knocking at this hour. I cleared my throat. “Yes?” “Hm.” Just a sound. So I got up to open the door. I was shocked. Ethan was holding a pillow. He had just showered, smelling of expensive soap, hair soft and fluffy. He looked innocent, but his words were baffling. “I’m coming to sleep with you.” I watched him walk in. He placed his pillow, got under the covers, hands folded on his stomach. Quiet and obedient. I leaned against the door, confused. “What does this mean?” “It means fulfilling marital duties, wife.” “…”

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