Category: English

My mom suspected I was underdeveloped because of my chest size, so she kidnapped me and dragged me to a doctor. The doctor turned out to be my ex-boyfriend, whom I had just broken up with. He looked cold and distant: “Pull your shirt down to your collarbone, unhook your bra.” Then he deliberately teased me: “It is pretty small.” I gritted my teeth and shifted the blame: “Small chest? Blame the ex-boyfriend for not working hard enough.” The next second, I was pinned against the exam table, his voice dangerous: “Seems the examination wasn’t thorough enough. “Looks like I need to keep working hard.” 1 “Patient number 52, Chloe Miller, please proceed to Exam Room 2.” The moment the automated voice announced my name. I stared at the sign reading [Thoracic Surgery: Dr. Ethan Black], grinding my teeth so hard they might crack. I glanced sideways at the lean figure behind the glass door. The hint of his waistline under the white coat reminded me of certain unspeakable scenes. A month ago, that waist was pressing down on me, whispering “last time.” Now he looked like a refined scumbag. “Why are you zoning out?” My mom slapped my back. “Dr. Black is a top expert who returned from overseas. Getting an appointment with him is like winning the lottery! I only got one because his mom and I are best friends.” Before I could ask how my mom knew his mom, I heard a cold voice: “Next.” When the exam room door opened. The man I hadn’t seen for a month wore a blue mask, the cuffs of his white coat slightly rolled up. His eyes were indifferent, eyebrows slightly raised: “Want to get back together?” “Here for a checkup.” I stiffened my neck, catching a glimpse of his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Where does it hurt?” Before I could answer, my mom rushed in: “Ethan, I’m your Auntie Lin. Take a look at my daughter. Her chest is so small, is it developmental issues?” My mom’s loud voice echoed in the exam room. My toes were actively constructing a magical castle in my shoes. “Auntie.” Ethan pushed up his glasses. “Chest size is related to genetics, nutrition…” “Exactly!” My mom nodded repeatedly. “Do you think it’s because she drank the wrong formula milk as a kid?” When Ethan wrote [Patient’s family suspects formula caused underdeveloped chest] in the medical record. My toes had finished Phase 2 of the castle. If I have sinned, let the law punish me. Not by having my own mother suspect I’m underdeveloped because of a small chest and force me to see a doctor. And the doctor is my ex-boyfriend from a month ago. “Palpation required.” Ethan stood up, flashing a professional smile at my mom. “Family members, please wait outside.” I clutched the registration slip, smiling without humor. “Can I change doctors?” He didn’t even look up, his tone distant and indifferent: “Turn right out the door, re-register, and queue up again.” “Oh, no need, the queue is so long.” My mom immediately pressed me onto the exam table. “What’s wrong with a male doctor? You young people are so conservative. In a doctor’s eyes, there is no gender.” I felt lifeless. No gender in a doctor’s eyes, but what about in an ex-boyfriend’s? Besides, since when does a thoracic expert handle developmental issues??? 2 Ethan raised his hand to close the privacy curtain, adjusted his glasses, and signaled me: “Pull your shirt up, unhook your bra.” I clutched the hem of my shirt tightly, glaring at him. “You… you’re abusing your power for personal revenge!” He put his hands in his coat pockets, looking composed, and coldly reminded me: “Miss Miller, first, you registered for my clinic. “Second, I am a doctor. Treating patients is my job. “Finally, is there any part of you I haven’t seen?” Me: … Fine, you win… I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and unhooked my bra. Heart pounding, eyes closed, I pulled my shirt up. His hands were a bit cold, making me shiver when they touched my skin. “Don’t be nervous.” “Who… who’s nervous…” “High heart rate.” The corner of his mouth hooked into an imperceptible smile. Head down, checking very seriously. “Any sensation?” I turned my head to the side, huffing: “No!” “No?” He frowned, puzzled. “No sensation means no sensation. Dr. Black’s technique is too poor. We broke up, do you expect me to fake it?” Since I couldn’t win physically, I chose to win verbally. “Heh, my technique is poor?” He lowered his eyes slightly, locking gazes with me through his lenses, voice cold and deep. “Chloe, speak with your conscience.” I cursed silently, Isn’t my conscience being touched by you right now? He applied a bit more pressure. “How about now?” Me: “Feels like you’re pinching me…” He looked up, staring straight at me, and sighed. “Any pain?” “No!” “Distention pain?” “No!” “Is it itchy usually?” “Oh right, it’s not here that itches.” Me: !!! “Ethan Black, have you touched enough!” Blushing, I abruptly propped myself up, almost hitting his chin: “Don’t you know if I’m sick or not?” “So far, there doesn’t seem to be any problem, but…” His hands finally let go of me. His low laugh suddenly rang in the air: “It is pretty small.” I gritted my teeth, retorting defiantly: “Small chest? Blame the ex-boyfriend for not working hard enough!” Suddenly, he grabbed my waist, and I fell into his arms by inertia. The scent of faint woody cologne wafted from his white coat. His breathing was heavy, his voice dangerous: “What, want me to work harder? Trying the same trick again?” His face wore undisguised mockery. 3 Yes, we got together purely because I stalked him relentlessly until he had no choice but to give in. Back then, I accompanied my best friend to the doctor and fell for Ethan’s devastating looks at first sight. White coat, gold-rimmed glasses, broad shoulders, long legs—the ascetic vibe was maxed out. I have a thing for hands. Watching his slender, distinct knuckles typing on the keyboard beat a drum in my heart. I clung to the doorframe, swallowing hard, heart rate soaring. Finally understood the suspension bridge effect. Give me a heart bypass right now! My best friend was hospitalized for a month due to arrhythmia from looking at male models. I became an unofficial staff member of the thoracic surgery department. Morning bubble tea delivery? Criticized for excessive sugar. Lunch bento delivery? Criticized for nutritional imbalance. Evening stakeouts? Lectured on irregular sleep schedules. After I faked low blood sugar and fell into his arms for thirty consecutive days, Ethan finally cornered me in the stairwell: “Chloe, what exactly do you want?” “You.” I gritted my teeth, tiptoeing to pull his tie: “Okay? “Dr. Black, my heart races whenever I see you. What should I do?” Later, when he pinned me against the wall and kissed me. I realized even high-altitude flowers bite when provoked. But soon I discovered this man was a monk. Three months to hold hands, six months to kiss. Every time I wanted to deepen the exchange, he rejected me firmly with those enchanting eyes: “This is too fast.” I played tug-of-war for six months before using a honey trap to push him down. However, the high-altitude flower wasn’t cold in bed at all. He wore me out every time. Love should be sweet, but his job was special. He practically lived on the operating table. Leaving at 7 AM and returning at 8 or 9 PM was normal. I wanted some action when he got home, but he had to review cases, write papers, take exams. Even a workhorse would call him brother. At a vigorous age, I craved him. Couldn’t stand this feast-or-famine life. On my birthday, I hadn’t had any for half a month. I swore I would push him down. But the movie just started when a phone call sent him running back to the hospital. I finished the movie alone, ate hot pot alone, feeling incredibly lonely and wronged. Sent him WeChat messages, no reply. When I brought food to the hospital to see him, he was sitting with a female doctor, discussing a case intently. Their faces showed undisguised admiration. Indescribably compatible. In an instant, my enthusiasm deflated. Someone like Ethan is fine for sleeping with. Not suitable for marriage. He’s an excellent doctor at a top hospital; I’m a broke writer who loves pretty faces. Truly mismatched. And at that moment, I suddenly didn’t want to sleep with him anymore. So, I proposed a breakup. He asked why. I gave a reason that would kill any man’s heart: “Your technique sucks.” Then I blocked all his contact info. After the breakup, he never looked for me. Anyway, I dumped him. Now that I accidentally registered for his clinic, it looks like I regretted it and came back to chase him. 4 I hurriedly reached back to fasten my bra hook. “Dr. Black, you’re overthinking it. My mom registered me. “Also, I don’t play with the same man twice.” I retorted defiantly. But I couldn’t fasten the hook. He pressed close to me, suddenly wrapping his arms around my waist. Deftly helping me hook my bra. Caught off guard by his sudden move, I was flustered. He spoke first, voice cool: “No need to thank me. “Practice makes perfect.” I used to tease him about his dexterous hands, good for scalpels and unhooking bras with one hand. I gritted my teeth, deliberately sarcastic: “Dr. Black is so considerate, even hooking bras for female patients.” He smiled faintly, composed: “You’re welcome. “It’s also my first time encountering a female patient seeking treatment for a small chest.” Me: … After a moment of silence, I was still thinking of a comeback. My mom knocked and entered. Seeing my bad expression, she hurriedly asked Ethan: “Dr. Black, does my daughter have some problem?” Ethan stepped back to a safe distance: “Auntie, don’t worry, no problems.” My mom exhaled a long breath: “That’s good, that’s good…” Then she asked heartbrokenly: “But her sister and I are both Ds. Why is she an A?” I silently buried my face in my hands. “Maybe—” Holding back laughter, he pushed up his glasses: “She takes after her uncle.” Dead silence. My mom still wouldn’t give up: “So my daughter’s chest really has no hope?” “Suggest eating more papaya.” Ethan’s gaze swept over me, seemingly unintentional, a distinct smile on his lips: “Of course, auxiliary massage is also effective. “Some women may experience secondary development during lactation.” My mom slapped her thigh, enlightened: “Got it, she just needs to find a man.” Her eyes lit up, looking at him: “Ethan, heard from your mom you just broke up. What do you think of my daughter?” My head buzzed. Hurriedly stopping my mom, whispering: “Mom, don’t matchmake randomly…” My mom stomped her foot anxiously: “I saw Dr. Black’s profile outside. PhD, Deputy Chief Physician, young and promising. And handsome! Perfect for our genes. If your mom were 20 years younger, I’d have made a move already. “He just broke up, the rebound period needs comfort most. Hurry up and take advantage! “Um, Dr. Black, how about adding WeChat? If Chloe feels uncomfortable later, she can consult you online?” Ethan looked up at me. I blinked frantically. Because he was still on my blacklist. “Sure.” But he took out his phone, QR code directly in my face: “Please scan it yourself, Miss Miller.” I bit the bullet and scanned the code. Beep. Ethan’s avatar appeared on the screen. Below the message box was a small line of text: Added to blacklist. You will no longer receive messages from this person. “Haven’t received the friend request yet.” He reminded me. I gritted my teeth, secretly removing him from the blacklist: “Done.” He nodded with a smile: “Good, I’ll send the medical advice to Miss Miller.” I silently rolled my eyes. Bullshit, what medical advice for a small chest? A few minutes later, Ethan sent a WeChat message: [Chest Massage Techniques Complete Guide.pdf] [Proper massage can promote development and prevent breast hyperplasia.] I smiled through gritted teeth: “Dr. Black truly has a healer’s heart.” Dr. Black: “Free medical guidance available.”

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I was supposed to be the strategic infiltrator. The System, my handler in this absurd mission, had a target: a difficult, emotionally distant CEO. The plan? Get close to him through the one soft spot he had—his mildly autistic son. I, Anya Reed, am a natural cheerleader, the kind of person who sees the glass half-full, then asks if you need help finding a matching coaster. A single bite of a despised carrot? “That’s fantastic!” The boy speaks a new word? “You’re amazing!” So, the breakthrough was bound to happen. What I hadn’t prepared for was the fallout. When I had to request a single day off for a family event, the little boy panicked. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” “Please don’t go. If you do, take me with you.” “I don’t want Dad anymore. I’m only going to be with you from now on.” Callan Finch, who had just walked in hoping for a quiet, long-overdue bonding moment with his son: Wait, what? 1 My System and I are, collectively, Team Procrastination. When it first paired me with this mission—to capture the heart of the notoriously icy, ruthlessly powerful, and legendarily bad-tempered CEO, Callan Finch—we both froze. We heard tales of his cold indifference and the potential for a career-ending, soul-crushing revenge if I messed up. So, we stalled. One day turned into another. Finally, under pressure from the System’s upper management, we devised a plan: The Curveball Strategy. Callan had a son, Archie, who had been diagnosed with mild autism. If I could win over the boy first, it would be my golden ticket to getting closer to the father. The next day, with the System’s help, I was successfully hired as Archie’s new governess. I said a cheerful, professional “Hello” to the small, unsmiling figure standing before me. He ignored me completely and walked out. 2 As a professional layabout, I was thrilled. What’s better than a paycheck for doing virtually nothing? The System, citing Archie’s diagnosis, managed to extend my deadline, giving me a few more weeks of blissful, low-effort living. It was late summer. Archie wasn’t in school. My duties consisted of making three meals a day, light tidying, and making sure the small human didn’t set the mansion on fire. Day One: Archie quietly built an epic LEGO structure. I, perched on the plush sofa, devoured five romance novels on my tablet. Day Two: Archie spent the entire day reading. I meticulously recreated every complicated, late-night food craving I’d scrolled past on Instagram. Day Three: Archie spent the afternoon examining bugs beneath a massive old oak tree in the backyard. I happily sunbathed on the lawn. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke, the sun was sinking. I called Archie to come in, promising him a decadent dessert. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but Archie dropped the rock he was holding so fast it looked like a cartoon. His pace quickened significantly as we headed inside. Kids loved sugar. And honestly, this one was a breeze—quiet, calm, and zero drama. Nothing like the “mini-tyrant, ruthlessly stubborn” version of his father the System had warned me about. System: “Hey, I only read the job description! But seriously, the kid seems fine. Host, maybe pick up the pace a little?” Right. Back to the mission. 3 At lunch, I gave Archie bite-sized steak and some sautéed vegetables. It was the first time I saw him pick at his food. He meticulously separated the small squares of carrots. “Don’t like those?” I asked. He looked up, met my eye for a split second, and went back to his task. I figured it was a dumb question. Obviously, he didn’t like them. I hate waste, though. “Okay, you know what? I’ll take care of these. And I promise I won’t put any carrots in your stir-fry tomorrow. Deal?” This time, he didn’t ignore me. His lashes fluttered a few times, and he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. The System and I screamed internally. The kid is adorable! I wanted to scoop him up and squeeze him, but I restrained myself to avoid being labeled the “weird governess.” I genuinely like carrots—sweet, crunchy, satisfying. I was enjoying them so much I was already on my second helping of pasta. Suddenly, Archie reached out with his fork and tentatively picked up a piece of carrot. I held my breath. He ate it. In my family, eating something you hate earns a standing ovation. I gave him a massive thumbs-up. “Archie, that is absolutely amazing! I’m so proud of you!” A faint, surprised blush crept across his cheeks. Seconds later, he picked up a second piece. Ate it. “Archie, you are absolutely fantastic!” A third piece. “Archie, you’re brilliant.” A fourth and a fifth. Facing his slightly expectant eyes, I tested the waters: “Amazing?” The spark of expectation in his eyes was instantly snuffed out. He finished the rest of his pasta but didn’t touch another carrot. I spent the rest of the afternoon in intense internal debate with the System. Did Archie love my praise, or did he hate it? 4 Later that evening, I was tidying his play area. Archie silently started putting his books and blocks back in place. “Archie, you are so thoughtful,” I said casually. He visibly brightened, working harder, putting an entire corner away by himself, even breaking a light sweat. The System had a sudden revelation. “Host, he doesn’t just like praise—he craves it. And it has to be sincere, specific, and totally unreserved.” Aha. The next day, I made a deal. I baked a massive batch of cookies and brownies. For every correct, clearly spoken word, he got a dessert and a round of applause. Under my expectant gaze, Archie whispered his first word to me: “An…ya…” I nearly tackled him. “Archie, that is FANTASTIC!” The combination of sugar and adoration was irresistible. He quickly began naming objects. For every successful identification, I called him “brilliant,” “smart,” and “amazing.” When it was bedtime, I knelt down to say goodnight. Archie gave me a shy, tentative smile. “Anya, goodnight.” I hugged him, keeping it brief and appropriate. Honestly, Archie was melting my heart. If Callan’s son was this gorgeous, the CEO himself must be ridiculously handsome. System: “Host, are you getting antsy to meet the big boss? We nailed the son quickly. Maybe the father will be just as easy?” I rolled my eyes. “Dream on, System. He only just said my name. Kids’ affections are quick to arrive and even quicker to disappear.” Unfortunately, I was right. A few days later, Archie started school. When the driver brought him home, he’d rush straight to his room without even looking at me. 5 A week later, I got a frantic call from Archie’s school counselor. Archie had gotten into an altercation with another student. The counselor was highly critical of me, the parent, for being unavailable. He mentioned he’d only ever reached an assistant, and chastised me for letting work consume my attention to the point of neglecting my child. An assistant? That must be someone from Callan’s side. If they were calling me, did that mean Callan was completely checked out? The thought of Archie alone and vulnerable sent me rushing out the door. “Counselor, I’m here. What happened to Archie?” A male teacher pointed to a large boy and his furious-looking parents standing nearby. “That child was scratched by Archie. They are demanding an apology and payment for medical expenses.” The other boy looked twice Archie’s size. Archie scratched him? “You must be the parent,” the other boy’s mother sneered. “No wonder the child has poor socialization skills. The apple doesn’t fall far from the criminally irresponsible tree.” Her son, a fleshy little bully, yelled over his mother. “Archie Finch is a psychopath! A worthless punk who needs to be locked up! I’m calling the police, and I hope they throw you both in a cell!” Archie, hearing the abuse, stood with his hands clenched, his small body shaking with furious indignation. I saw red. “Hey! You watch your mouth, kid!” I snapped. “Who started this is anyone’s guess. You want to call the police? Go ahead! Call them!” “My Archie doesn’t lay a finger on anyone unless he’s provoked. We are checking the surveillance footage, and until I know the full story, none of you are leaving.” The parents, predictably, were ready for a fight. The three of us were immediately locked in a shouting match. But as I yelled on his behalf, defending him fiercely, I saw the anger and distress drain from Archie’s face. It was replaced by a look I hadn’t seen before—deep affection mixed with a kind of relieved joy. 6 The surveillance footage was definitive. The larger boy, using his size advantage, had maliciously squeezed Archie against a desk. When Archie was pinned, the bully started shoving him. Archie fought back. I lifted Archie’s pant leg. Sure enough, there was a nasty bruise on his shin from where he’d been kicked. My heart ached with a mix of fury and empathy. Pointing at the other parents, I said, “Your son will apologize to Archie, and you will pay for all medical treatment—every penny.” Their bravado vanished. They forced an apology, paid me a few thousand dollars in cash, and slunk away. I took Archie to a clinic. After the ointment was applied, I gently rubbed his head. “Archie, if you ever get picked on at school, you have to tell someone—me, Mr. Davies, your father—anyone.” He didn’t answer. I guessed he just didn’t want to talk about it. If his dad actually cared, I wouldn’t be here, I thought. I quickly changed the subject. “Archie, why did you ignore Anya for so many days? It made me sad. I missed you.” He bit his lip, hesitating for a long moment before finally whispering the reason. “Scared… scared you wouldn’t like me.” I thought about it. “Were you scared I’d think you were a mean kid for fighting, and then I’d stop liking you? Is that it?” He nodded. My soft heart broke a little. I pulled him into a gentle embrace. “Archie, you don’t ever have to worry about me not liking you. No matter what, I love you, okay?” Archie’s eyes lit up. He wrapped his small arms around me and whispered, tiny and soft, “Mama.” 7 I froze. The System went completely offline. It wasn’t until a newly reconciled child nearby started crying and calling for his mother that I realized: He must have just been reflecting what he saw. He was simply longing for a mother figure. The System, now rebooted, urged me to ask what he’d just called me. Archie shook his head and repeated, “Anya.” “See? I told you. It was a fleeting moment of misplaced longing. This mission is still tough. The kid isn’t easily won over.” System: “Fair point. But guess what? I just successfully petitioned for another six months’ extension on the deadline. Happy now?” I gave the System a mental high-five. Being slackers together was a special kind of happiness. Another blissful half-month passed. It was time for my cousin Melody’s wedding. I had to go. She was the kind of person who, even when broke, would spend their last dollar on a ridiculous pair of designer heels for my birthday. That kind of devotion deserved my presence. I told Mr. Davies, the butler, and Archie that I would be taking three days off. But as I zipped up my overnight bag, Archie panicked. “Anya, where are you going?” “Archie, I’m taking a three-day leave. I have a family event at home.” Archie frowned. “Leave. What does that mean?” 8 Ah, so the little guy didn’t understand the concept of a ‘day off.’ I knelt to explain. “It means I’m temporarily pausing my job. I won’t be your governess for three days. I have to go do something else.” “What do you have to go do?” “Uh… go to someone’s wedding.” Archie was still processing this. Assuming he understood, I turned to walk toward the door. He darted forward, throwing his arms around my waist. His voice was thick with panic and insecurity. “Anya, you’re leaving me, aren’t you?” “Please don’t go. If you do, take me with you.” “I don’t want Dad anymore. I’m only going to be with you from now on.” I was stunned. His eyes were actually turning pink with unshed tears. I wiped his eyes, ready to soothe him. At that moment, the front door swung open. The first person through was Callan Finch. Hair slicked back, a custom-tailored suit that looked unfairly expensive, and those eyes—narrow, cool, and carrying a distinct air of command. System: “Target sighted. Commence Operation Act Cool.” Before I could process my reaction, a woman strode past Callan and marched toward me. “Let go of Archie! What are you trying to achieve by putting those words in his mouth?” I was baffled. The System was equally clueless. She reached for Archie, but he only clung to me tighter, clearly recoiling from her touch. The woman adopted a sickly sweet smile. “Archie, it’s Veronica. Daddy’s Executive Assistant. Don’t you remember me?” It clicked. “So, you’re the assistant?” Veronica Hale straightened, giving me a dismissive sneer. “The assistant? Who are you to address me like that?” “Don’t think I don’t know your type. You’re trying to use the child to get a leg up with the boss, right? Look at yourself. Do you really think you’re even in the same league?” I was about to fire back when Archie suddenly shouted, “You’re ugly!” “Dad, she’s not good enough for Anya.” Veronica’s eyes went wide. She’d just been insulted by a five-year-old. Standing nearby, Callan’s eyes widened sharply. “Archie, you spoke?”

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The office was buzzing after my colleague Mark won a gold bar from a “heir’s mystery box.” Out of curiosity, I bought one too. My hands trembled as I opened it to find a set of lavender lace lingerie, carrying a scent I knew all too well—the exact set I had gifted my wife, Anna, for our anniversary. That evening, I casually asked Anna about the lingerie. She quickly claimed it had been ruined in the wash and thrown away, her eyes welling up with apology. I held her close, comforting her while my heart froze over. The next day, I discovered her cloud backup—texts with an unknown number discussing hiding that very lingerie. The sender was my boss, Arthur Donovan. 1. The air at the breakfast table felt thick, like syrup. Anna sat across from me, her head bent over her oatmeal, her hair pinned up loosely with a few strands falling around her ears. She was beautiful. If it weren’t for that damned mystery box, I would have looked at her, like I always did, and thought she was the purest woman in the world. “Anna,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence. Her hand jolted, spattering a few drops of oatmeal on the table. “Yes, Alex?” She looked up, but her smile was strained, her eyes refusing to meet mine. “That lingerie set,” I began, carefully peeling an egg, my tone so level it even surprised me. “Are you sure it was ruined in the wash?” Anna put her spoon down, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “Ugh, why are you still on about that?” Her voice was a mix of a pout and a complaint. “I told you, the lace was cheap. It just shredded in the machine, it was completely unwearable, so I tossed it.” “Alex, you don’t believe me, do you?” She stood up and walked around the table. Her arms wrapped around my neck from behind, her cheek pressing against mine. The familiar warmth of her skin. It used to feel like home. Now, it just felt… reptilian. “Of course I believe you,” I lied, patting the back of her hand. “It’s just a shame. I spent a long time picking it out.” “I’ll buy you a better one next time,” I added, a hollow promise. Anna let out a breath she’d clearly been holding and planted a loud, wet kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best, honey! I’m running late for work, got to go!” She grabbed her purse and practically fled towards the door, not even bothering to change into the heels she always wore. The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face. I pulled out my phone and opened the cloud backup I’d made. The text messages burned on the screen like acid. [Don’t worry, it’s taken care of. What, can’t wait to have me again?] The timestamp on that reply was from a time when I was in the kitchen, cutting up fruit for her. Just a minute before, she had been complaining to me about how exhausting her job was, how her back ached. Now I knew how she got those aches. I walked over to the balcony and looked down. A familiar figure emerged from our building’s entrance. She didn’t head for the subway station. A black Maybach, sleek and silent as a shark, was parked by the curb. The driver’s window was halfway down, an arm resting on the frame, a cigarette dangling from two fingers. It was Donovan’s car. Anna glanced around furtively, like a thief in the night, before yanking the door open and sliding inside. The car peeled away from the curb, disappearing down the street. I lit a cigarette of my own, taking a long, hard drag. The smoke clawed at my lungs, a welcome, searing pain. Arthur Donovan. Heir to the Donovan Corp fortune. And the only son of my mentor, Richard Donovan. Years ago, Richard had paid for my entire university education. To repay that kindness, I turned down countless lucrative offers to stay at Donovan Corp, becoming their nameless, faceless lead engineer. Their workhorse. I rebuilt their entire backend architecture three times, secured them dozens of patents. Richard used to say, “Alex, you’re the cornerstone of this company. When Arthur takes over, he’ll take good care of you.” This was him taking care of me? Sleeping with my wife, then packaging his trophy and sending it to me as a joke? I crushed the cigarette butt into the ashtray. The ember hissed and died. Fine. If that’s how they wanted to play it, I wouldn’t disappoint them either. 2. The atmosphere in the office was strange. The interns, who usually greeted me with a cheerful “Morning, Alex!”, suddenly found the floor fascinating whenever I walked by. Whispers followed me from the break room. “Did you hear? The announcement came down from corporate.” “Something about a restructuring in the tech department…” I pushed open the door to my department without a change in expression. My desk had been moved. It used to be in the prime spot by the window, with the best view. Now it was crammed in a dark corner, wedged between the screaming industrial printer and the paper shredder. And sitting in my old chair, with his feet propped up on my old desk, was some kid with bleached-blond hair, furiously tapping away at a game on his phone. It was Donovan’s cousin, a moron who couldn’t tell the difference between Java and JavaScript. “Alex. Just the man I wanted to see,” Donovan said, stepping out of the director’s office. He had that smug, condescending smirk that only old money can truly perfect. “Mr. Donovan. What is the meaning of this?” I asked, gesturing to the sad little desk in the corner. “Oh, just a little company restructuring,” he said breezily. “The tech department needs some fresh blood. You’re not getting any younger, Alex. All that complex code must be a strain.” “Starting today, you’re being reassigned to the Facilities Support team. Your new duties will include… hmm, let’s see… fixing printers for the tech department, changing the water cooler jugs, that sort of thing.” The entire office fell silent. Everyone knew that the core of Donovan Corp’s technology existed solely inside my head. Asking me to fix printers wasn’t a demotion; it was a public execution. They were skinning me alive and stomping on my pride for everyone to see. “Donovan, this isn’t by the book,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice dangerously calm. “The book?” He chuckled, a low, nasty sound. He walked over and clapped a hand on my shoulder, leaning in close so only I could hear. “At Donovan Corp, I am the book.” “Look, Alex, I know you were my dad’s golden boy. But my dad’s old news. This company might still have my family name on it, but it’s my company now.” He paused, his smirk widening. “And one more thing. Your wife? She’s got some real fire in her. For a woman who’s been married a few years… damn.” A roar of blood filled my ears. I felt the veins on the back of my hand bulge, my knuckles turning white. He was doing this on purpose. The mystery box, the public humiliation—it was all a game to him. “What’s the matter? Want to take a swing?” Donovan stepped back, spreading his hands in mock surrender. “Go on. Right here.” He tapped his cheek. “But that one punch will cost you everything. Your mother’s medical care, the house you bought for your parents, your reputation in this entire industry… all gone.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the murderous rage back down into the pit of my stomach. I was an adult. And in the adult world, violence was the last resort of the powerless. I was going to make him pay a price a thousand times more painful than a broken jaw. “You have a point, Mr. Donovan,” I said, unclenching my fists and forcing a smile. “I’ll follow the company’s arrangements.” Donovan blinked, clearly surprised by my compliance. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face; the show was over too soon. “Well, alright then. Since you’re being so cooperative, I have the perfect first assignment for you.” He picked up a folder from his desk and tossed it at my chest. “We’re having some issues at the new data center out west. We need someone on-site to oversee things.” “Your flight leaves tonight. I already had my assistant book the ticket.” The western data center. The middle of nowhere. It was a construction project, a job for civil engineers, not for a lead software architect. He was getting me out of the way. And it was painfully obvious what he planned to do with his free time. I bent down, picked up the folder, and brushed the dust from the cover. “Alright. I’ll go.” Donovan grinned, a triumphant, predatory expression. “That’s the spirit, Alex. You’ve got to learn your place.” He leaned in again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And don’t worry. I’ll be sure to ‘take good care’ of your dear wife while you’re away.” A few snickers echoed from his cronies nearby. I turned and walked away without looking back. 3. When I got home, the lights were off, but the apartment was flickering with candlelight. The dining table was covered with a lace tablecloth we rarely used, set with steak and a bottle of red wine. Anna was wearing a backless black evening gown, her makeup done to perfection. The moment she saw me, she rushed over and took my briefcase. “Honey, you’re home!” she chirped. “I know you’ve been so stressed at work lately, so I thought I’d make us a special candlelit dinner.” She led me to the table, eagerly pouring me a glass of wine. The flickering candlelight danced across the face I had loved for five years. Before yesterday, this gesture might have moved me to tears. “What’s the special occasion?” I asked, cutting into my steak. It was rare, bleeding onto the plate. “I just… felt like I’ve been neglecting you lately,” she said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, her movements just a little too jerky. “Alex, I know you’re still upset about the lingerie. I promise you, I will only ever love you. No matter what happens, my heart is always yours.” She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. Her palm was damp, and I could feel a slight tremor. She was scared. Scared of what? That I’d find out the truth? Or that Donovan was putting too much pressure on her? I stared at her for a long moment. “Anna, what if…” I was about to test the waters when my phone, sitting on the table, buzzed. Anna snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned, grabbing her own phone instantly. The moment she saw the caller ID, the color drained from her face. She declined the call. A second later, it buzzed again. A video call this time. “Who is it? Why aren’t you answering?” I asked, putting down my fork, playing dumb. “Oh… it’s, uh, a telemarketer. So annoying,” she stammered, fumbling to silence the call and flipping the phone face down on the table. “Honey, my stomach suddenly feels a little upset. I’m just going to use the restroom.” She grabbed her phone and bolted for the bathroom. I couldn’t hear what she was saying through the closed door, but I didn’t need to. I knew it was Donovan. I pulled out my own phone and opened an app. It was for the drone I’d bought a few weeks back, a high-end model with night vision and auto-follow capabilities. Five minutes later, Anna emerged from the bathroom. She had already changed out of the evening gown and was now in a tracksuit and a baseball cap. “Alex, my… my friend Sarah just texted. She broke up with her boyfriend and is getting wasted at a bar. She needs me to go pick her up.” Her acting was atrocious. She couldn’t even look me in the eye. “It’s late. I’ll drive you,” I said, standing up. “No, no!” Her reaction was visceral; she actually took a step back. “I can just get an Uber. You have work tomorrow, you should get some rest.” Before I could protest further, she grabbed her keys from the entryway and hurried out the door. I didn’t move. I just sat there at the table, alone with the dying candles, and picked up the drone controller. The drone on the balcony lifted silently into the night sky. On the screen, I watched her familiar figure jog out of the complex. She didn’t call an Uber. The same black Maybach was waiting in the shadows behind our building. Anna pulled open the door and climbed in. The car didn’t leave right away. Through the night-vision lens, I could see two blurry silhouettes tangling together inside. My wife, the woman I had cherished, was straddling another man’s lap, kissing him with a desperate hunger. I switched off the screen. My heart, what was left of it, was officially dead. 4. I stood up and scraped the entire, meticulously prepared candlelit dinner into the trash can. Garbage belongs in the garbage. I went into our bedroom and opened Anna’s closet. I’d always respected her privacy, never snooping through her things. Now I realized what a complete and utter fool I’d been. Tucked away in the back, behind a pile of old clothes, were several bright orange boxes. Hermès. I didn’t know much about handbags, but I knew that brand. A single one of those bags was worth my entire yearly salary. I opened her jewelry box. A Cartier bracelet. A Bulgari necklace. A Van Cleef & Arpels clover pendant. All told, there had to be hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of merchandise here. Things we could never afford on our salaries. So, this was her “working overtime.” This was her “performance bonus.” This was her fighting so hard “for our family.” Oh, she was fighting hard, alright. On her back in Donovan’s bed. I took everything out, piece by piece, and laid it all on our bed. It felt like I was curating an exhibition on the art of betrayal. How ironic. I worked myself to the bone for Donovan Corp for a respectable, but ultimately modest, salary. My boss slept with my wife and casually tossed her trinkets worth more than years of my sweat and blood. What was I in all this? A pawn in their sick game? The clueless husband in a twisted joke? Two in the morning. The sound of a key in the lock. Anna was back. She tiptoed into the dark apartment, trying to slip into the bedroom unnoticed. Click. I hit the switch for the living room lights. The sudden brightness made her flinch, throwing a hand up to shield her eyes. I was sitting on the sofa. In front of me, on the coffee table, was the collection of designer bags and jewelry. And next to them, a printed copy of my business trip itinerary. “A-Alex?” she stammered, the flush of passion still visible on her cheeks. She was wearing a different set of clothes. Her hair was damp and smelled of hotel shampoo. “Why are you still awake?” Her eyes darted to the pile of luxury goods, and her pupils constricted in terror. “Th-those are Sarah’s! She’s moving and didn’t have space, so she asked me to store them here!” The lies came so easily to her now. I didn’t call her on it. If she wanted to act, we would act. “I know,” I said, standing up and picking up the itinerary. “Donovan just called me. There’s an emergency at the western site. He wants me on the first flight out.” “I was about to leave, but I wanted to see you one last time.” Anna was stunned into silence. This was clearly not the confrontation she had been expecting. As she looked at my calm face, the panic in her eyes slowly morphed into something else. Guilt? Or was it relief? “It’s that urgent…?” she murmured, stepping forward, reaching out as if to straighten my collar. I subtly sidestepped her touch. “Yes. Very.” “You take care of yourself while I’m gone.” I picked up the suitcase I’d already packed and walked toward the door. “Alex!” she called out from behind me. I paused, my hand on the doorknob, but I didn’t turn around. “What is it?” “Be safe… and come home soon.” Her voice was trembling. A cold, humorless smile touched my lips. Come home soon? To watch more of your little show? “Don’t worry,” I said as I opened the door and stepped into the darkness of the hallway. “By the time I get back, everything will be over.” Behind me, Anna suddenly clutched her chest, a wave of inexplicable dread washing over her. I didn’t go to the airport. I hailed a cab and went straight to a 24-hour gaming cafe downtown. I got a private booth and booted up the computer. The moment my fingers touched the keyboard, I felt alive again. You want to corner me? Fine. I’ll leave you with nowhere to run. I took out a burner phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. It was Richard Donovan’s private line. “Hello? Who is this?” Richard’s voice, though aged, was still full of authority. “Mr. Donovan, it’s Alex.” “Alex? What’s going on this late at night?” “Nothing major,” I said, my eyes fixed on the streams of code scrolling rapidly down the monitor, my voice as cold as the hum of the machine. “I’m just calling to inform you of something.” “The money you gave me for my education, plus ten years of interest… I’ve paid it back a hundredfold with my work over the last decade.” “As of this moment, I owe the Donovan family nothing.” “And for what I’m about to do next… I sincerely hope you’re prepared.”

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In the third year of being kept by Liam Sterling, I got pregnant. Lying in his arms, I asked, “Do you want a child?” He looked at me with disdain. “No, I hate kids.” “I’m with a man, why would I want a child?” “I will never have children in my life.” Disappointed, I hid the ultrasound report. He didn’t know that intersex people could get pregnant too. To keep the child, I ran away. While I was nursing my pregnancy in a rental apartment, Liam smashed the door open, his eyes red as he questioned me: “We have a child, such a joyous thing, why did you hide it from me?” 1 Liam was excessively rough tonight. Fierce beyond reason. The cause was a party he took me to earlier in the evening. At the party, someone offered me a drink. Not knowing his true intentions and thinking he was Liam’s friend, I chatted with him for a bit. I took the drink and was about to sip it. Liam appeared just in time and splashed the drink on the guy’s face. Only then did I know the drink was drugged. “Baby, you drink whatever anyone hands you?” “I saw you chatting so happily with him. What were you talking about?” “Were you going to leave with him?” “Hmm? Answer me.” Liam wasn’t rushing, thrusting with each question. My hands gripped the sheets tightly. I couldn’t form a complete sentence. Tears soaked my cheeks. Liam wiped them away, kissed my lips, and asked, “Why are you crying?” “If I hadn’t been watching, do you know what would have happened to you tonight?” A flash of ruthlessness passed through his eyes. Actually, I was scared too. But also very wronged. I turned my head and defended myself, “I thought he was your friend.” “People at these gatherings are not easily offended.” Liam chuckled lightly and turned my chin to face him. “You belong to Liam Sterling. You don’t need to fear offending anyone.” “Understood?” I nodded slightly. Liam lowered his head to kiss me as a reward. The kiss traveled down from my collarbone. The coldness was wrapped in heat. Liam suddenly looked up in surprise, “Baby, do you feel they’ve gotten bigger recently?” I closed my eyes in shame. Liam noticed it after all. Will he be disgusted? My already abnormal body had started undergoing some strange changes recently. I asked nervously in a small voice, “Do… do you not like it?” He turned up the lights and examined me carefully. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I curled my toes. He suddenly reached out. I gasped. He looked up, smiling ambiguously, “Baby, who said I didn’t like it?” “Our Zhen really gives surprises.” 2 When I woke up the next day, Liam had already left for work. My T-shirt rubbed against the swollen skin on my chest. It hurt. My legs were sore as if I had run an 800-meter race. I lay on the bed, not wanting to move. I opened my phone and scrolled randomly. A local news item popped up on the homepage. The young master of a certain group was arrested for suspected illegal activities. Looking closely at the photo, wasn’t this the guy who offered me a drink last night? It was obvious Liam was behind this. Whenever this happens, I get the illusion that Liam loves me. But I know clearly. He doesn’t. He just hates others coveting his things. Even if it’s just a thought without action, it’s not allowed. Like a pet, I am his possession. When Liam came home from work, he scooped me into his arms. When his hand touched a certain spot, I grunted. Liam: “Does it hurt a lot?” I nodded. Liam turned up the AC temperature and commanded: “The fabric of your clothes is too rough. Take it off.” I refused to move. He doesn’t really care about me. It’s just to satisfy his bad taste. He said slowly, “Do you want me to help you personally?” Reluctantly, I took it off. Liam stared at me with burning eyes. I turned my back to him awkwardly. A minute later, he held my shoulders and turned me around. He held a tube of ointment: “Applying medicine for you.” The process was tormenting and slow. Finally, it ended, and I was sweating all over. Just as I wanted to get up, a wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the toilet. Retched for a while but nothing came out. Liam followed, pulled out a tissue to wipe my mouth: “Ate something bad?” “Probably.” At night, Liam just simply held me to sleep. Thinking of the recent body changes, I became more and more panicked and uneasy. I didn’t eat anything bad. But recently I always felt nauseous. The next day, I went to the hospital for a checkup. The doctor calmly told me: You are pregnant. This news was like a bolt from the blue, leaving me stunned on the spot. Couldn’t move a muscle. The doctor said solemnly: “Early pregnancy, intercourse is dangerous.” Walking out of the hospital, my steps were unsteady. I am a man. I actually got pregnant. Can intersex people get pregnant too? I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. Laughing and laughing, tears flowed out. I really am becoming more and more like a monster. 3 Liam came home before getting off work. He pushed open the bedroom door hurriedly: “Yu Zhen, did you go to the hospital? Where are you uncomfortable?” I poked my head out of the quilt and replied: “Gastroenteritis, the doctor prescribed medicine.” Liam frowned and took out his phone: “I’ll ask the family doctor to come and have a look.” I quickly stopped him: “I’m fine, I’m sleepy, want to sleep.” Liam took a shower and got into bed to hold me. His warm hand rubbed my belly gently. A pang of sorrow in my heart. What if Liam knew I was pregnant? I dare not tell him. After all, we are in an improper relationship. I was raised by my grandma. Since birth, my parents said I was a monster, neither male nor female. Grandma didn’t despise me, raised me up, and supported my schooling. She held the thin me and said pityingly: “Our Zhen is not a child without promise.” I was diligent and hardworking in my studies. Swearing to make something of myself in the future and repay Grandma well. But in my sophomore year, Grandma suddenly fell seriously ill. Surgery and follow-up treatment required a huge sum of money. I found my parents, they were traveling with my healthy and normal younger brother. Seeing me, Dad took a few steps back. Impatiently said: “We don’t have that much money, figure it out yourself.” “Your grandma raised you so big, it’s time for you to repay her.” To earn money, I did various part-time jobs. Tutoring, handing out flyers, delivering food. Finally found out that being a waiter in a clubhouse makes money fast. Because when rich people are happy, they give a lot of tips. But even if they are happy, they won’t treat us as human beings. That night shift. I was dragged into an empty private room by a pot-bellied middle-aged man. When he tried to force his dirty thing into my mouth. Liam broke in and beat the guy to a pulp. His friend joked: “What a hero saving the beauty.” “Liam, weren’t you looking for a man to piss off your old man? I think this one is quite suitable.” Liam looked down at me and asked: “Will you follow me?” I shook my head vigorously. “One million a month.” My eyes widened instantly. Grandma couldn’t wait any longer. With one million. She could have the surgery and stay in a better ward. I nodded. 4 Liam paid quickly. The money arrived the next day. Our first time was at Liam’s house. I dawdled in the shower, unwilling to come out. I was afraid he would regret it after seeing my body. Would make me return the one million. While I was lost and bewildered in the bathroom, Liam pushed the door open impatiently. I hurriedly covered myself. But Liam saw it. His gaze was surprised and inquiring. “You…” I apologized frantically: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you.” “That one million, can I pay back in installments…” In desperation, I grabbed a piece of clothing to cover myself. Putting it on, I realized it was Liam’s white shirt. His gaze lingered on my white legs. Adam’s apple bobbed. “Take it off.” … Liam didn’t despise me, didn’t think I was a monster. On the contrary, he caressed me like a treasure. He always said my body was beautiful. Besides the monthly one million, I often received expensive gifts from him. I was overwhelmed by the favor. Unable to repay, I could only be very cooperative with him every time. This went on for three years. I went from a college student to a full-time manga artist. Along the way, Liam has always been helping and encouraging me. We are much like the loving couple in my manga. But I know the gap between us is like heaven and earth. Someone like me only deserves to stay by his side as a canary. Now that I’m pregnant, what should I do? Abort it? 5 Pregnancy symptoms became more obvious. Besides lethargy and vomiting. Changes in certain parts became bigger. I was uncomfortable, so Liam only held me to sleep recently. But his hands were not honest. “Baby, why did they get bigger again?” His expression turned serious, staring at me: “Hmm?” “Did you take any medicine?” “No random intake.” “Did you hear me?” I nodded repeatedly. I didn’t take any medicine. The doctor said this is a normal reaction to pregnancy. And different changes will occur with the pregnancy. I struggled every day. To my surprise, apart from the initial panic and uneasiness. I started talking to the little life in my belly. This is my child. Apart from Grandma, the person closest to me in this world. I started looking forward to its arrival. I was uncomfortable these days, so Liam turned down social engagements. Came home early every day to accompany me. He is so good to me, maybe he will accept this child? I planned to probe him indirectly after he came home. Unfortunately, he called me saying he had a social engagement he couldn’t push tonight. I was used to him holding me to sleep. He wasn’t here tonight, I tossed and turned. Took out my phone to scroll through Moments, just happened to see a video. Caption: Someone rekindling old romance with their white moonlight! This person is Liam’s friend, added me at a gathering once. In the video, Liam was talking to a man I hadn’t seen before. That man looked noble, smiling brightly. His brows and eyes looked a bit like mine at first glance. What does rekindling old romance mean? I watched the video twice. When preparing to watch the third time, found the video deleted. Liam came home at 2 AM. Smelling of alcohol. After showering, he scooped me into his arms as usual. I pretended to be asleep. My lips were lightly touched by Liam’s.

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The Annual Gala was underway when the CEO suddenly announced an extra segment. “Time for the Department Showdown! The team that lands at the bottom of the rankings gets a little… incentive!” The huge screen lit up, and the year-end performance metrics scrolled down. Sales was first, Operations second, Marketing third… The Administrative Department: Not listed. Because Admin didn’t have a sales quota. Our CEO, Victor Albright, smiled broadly as he looked toward our table. “My Admin team, come on up to claim your prize!” Two guys in tuxedos walked out, hauling a wicker basket filled with old-school straw brooms. The entire room erupted in laughter. “Time to sweep out the cobwebs from last year, folks! Let’s try not to land at the bottom next year, shall we?” Victor personally handed a broom to each of us. The stage lights flashed and dozens of phones were held up. The Sales Director, Brent, laughed the loudest. “The Admin team finally has a spotlight moment! Hilarious!” 1 Back at our table, Devon slammed her broom onto the linen cloth. “Are you kidding me? A public shaming for the entire department?” Patrice, our most senior staffer, hissed, “Keep it down, Devon.” “Why should I?” Devon’s eyes were red. “I’m getting married in the spring, and I was counting on that bonus. Instead, I get a goddamn broom?” Tess, the youngest, kept her head down, her shoulders shaking. Patrice sighed, running a hand over her head. “My husband’s checkup is next month. I was hoping…” She didn’t finish the thought. My phone buzzed. A private message from Victor. [Joss, don’t overthink it. Just trying to lighten the mood. You’re a veteran here, you need to have a little perspective. Manage your team’s mindset, and try not to come in last next year.] Perspective. There were five of us in Admin. We handled everything from high-stakes vendor negotiations and regulatory compliance to booking flights, managing deliveries, and fixing the damn office printer. Who processed the contracts for Sales? Who spent all night coordinating materials for Marketing’s biggest launch? Who managed Victor’s chaotic travel itinerary? We did the dirty work. And for what? “No quota,” and a cheap broom as a reward. Devon glared at me. “Boss, are we going to let this slide?” I placed my broom gently on the table. “No. This is not over.” The gala ended, and I walked straight to Victor’s office. The door was open. It was packed and noisy. The Sales Director, the Marketing Director, the CFO—all of them were gathered around Victor, practically bowing, their faces flushed with success and expensive scotch. “Victor, the performance jump this year is all thanks to your leadership!” “Next year, we’ll double the numbers, I promise!” Victor’s smile froze for a split second when he saw me. “Alright, everyone, wrap it up. We’ll hit the ground running after the holidays.” As the crowd dispersed, Victor gestured for me to sit down, slowly lighting a cigarette. “What’s with the scowl? Did someone forget to pay you?” I fought to keep my voice even. “Victor, the segment tonight—was it necessary?” “Which segment?” “The brooms.” He blew out a plume of smoke and chuckled. “Joss. You’re too sensitive. It was just a harmless gag. Look, everyone else was having fun.” “That’s because the brooms weren’t handed to them.” “Oh, you’re seriously upset about this?” Victor stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back. “Fine. I’ll ask you this: Based on what metrics should Admin not be at the bottom? Sales closed three hundred million in deals. Ops cut client acquisition costs by forty percent. Marketing tripled our exposure—what data, Joss, can you present for Admin?” A blinding rage flared up inside me. Data. Data. Always data. In the middle of the year, when the company issued raises, every department got a bump except ours. When I asked why: [Admin salaries are fixed, Joss. Unlike the business departments, you don’t have performance fluctuations. Raises for your team have to be prioritized later.] [You’re a veteran, Joss. Show some perspective.] [Wait until the end of the year. I’ll make it up to you on the annual bonus. I won’t let you down.] Our salaries were fixed, yes—fixed for three years, while the cost of living and rent kept climbing. Year after year, he painted a future that never arrived. But because he’d promised a larger year-end bonus, my team had endured. I spoke through clenched teeth. “We accepted no raise mid-year because you promised to compensate us with the year-end bonus!” BANG! His coffee mug hit the desk hard. “Jocelyn! Watch your tone!” “The company has a clearly defined assessment model. Admin doesn’t generate revenue, so by the contribution metric, you’re at the bottom. What’s the problem?” “But in previous years—” “Previous years are previous years!” Victor cut me off. “For the company to grow, we need to reform. Admin needs to learn to absorb its own costs and stop relying on the company to bail you out!” I stood up. “I understand. You see the Admin Department as completely disposable.” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to. Your actions speak volumes.” I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” Victor’s voice dropped, cold and dangerous. “Joss Riley, you’ve been an Admin Manager for eight years. How can you be so utterly lacking in perspective? You throw a tantrum because your bonus is smaller? What message does that send to the rest of the company about the Admin function?” I looked back, locking eyes with him. “Victor, I can afford to lack perspective. But my staff are relying on those bonuses to get by. Patrice’s husband needs a medical checkup. Devon is getting married. Tess promised to take her mother to the coast for her arthritis—” “That is their personal business. What does that have to do with the company?” Victor waved his hand dismissively. “This company is not a charity. We can’t overpay employees just because they have family problems. If you’re unhappy, go ahead and sue us. See if the Labor Board will even hear your case!” I froze. He wasn’t going to show me even a shred of respect. “Fine. Then I will go ask them.” Victor smirked. “Be my guest. But a word of caution: if you burn this bridge, you won’t be working in this city again.” I didn’t reply. I slammed the door behind me. 2 Walking out of Victor’s office, I ran right into Tori Bell, the HR Director, in the hallway. She smiled sweetly and took my arm. “Joss, perfect timing. I was just looking for you. Come sit in my office?” I didn’t resist. Tori poured me a glass of water, sat opposite me, and sighed, frowning. “Why the fuss?” I looked up, utterly astonished. “Why the fuss? Tori, my staff—they are all banking on that bonus!” “Patrice’s husband has a tumor on his liver. She needs to take him to a specialist in New York.” “Devon is over thirty and finally getting married. She was counting on that money for the reception.” “Tess’s mother has rheumatism. She promised her she’d take her down to Miami for the winter… She can’t take another Northern winter.” “But the company is not a charity, Joss. We have to follow procedure. We can’t increase compensation just because an employee is struggling.” Tori said it so casually, as if she were talking about the weather. “Fine, I won’t talk about struggle!” I pulled my chair closer, opened my phone, and slapped it on the desk. “Let’s talk about contribution!” “The Admin Department came in last, which means we contributed nothing? Let’s run the numbers and see what Admin actually contributed!” I scrolled through my work emails. “This year, the company signed sixty-three major contracts. Every single one of those contracts—the flow, the signing, the archiving—was managed by Admin. If we outsourced that legal-admin work, the filing fee alone would be about $3,000 per contract. Sixty-three contracts? That’s nearly $190,000 in costs we saved the company.” “The company passed the Environmental Safety audit last year because Admin ran to the regulatory center over twenty times, prepared hundreds of pages of documentation, and spent three months getting it right. Outsourced to a consultant? That’s $150,000, minimum.” “And vendor management—we maintained relationships with forty-seven long-term suppliers. We renegotiated payment terms from Net-30 to Net-60 for twelve of them. Just that one change saved the company hundreds of thousands in cash flow costs!” “Our five-person Admin team averages $6,000 a month. That’s an annual payroll of $360,000. Any one of the things I just listed easily covers that cost! You’re calling that ‘no contribution’?” Tori was momentarily speechless. After a long pause, she said, “We didn’t say no contribution. But Admin is overhead. On the financial statements, it’s a pure expenditure…” I scoffed. “Then let’s talk about the workload.” I pulled up the attendance records. “Last year, the Admin department averaged forty-two hours of overtime per person, per month. When we relocated the office on Labor Day weekend, my entire team worked seventy-two straight hours without sleep. During the Thanksgiving rush, when a major client flew in unexpectedly, we handled everything from airport pickup to lodging to conference room setup—a full-service operation—and didn’t even get a dinner break!” “Did we get overtime pay? No. Comp time? No. Any kind of bonus? No!” “What does that work break down to hourly? Eighteen dollars an hour! The convenience store clerk across the street makes twenty-two dollars an hour!” I leaned in, delivering each word deliberately. “Eighteen dollars an hour, doing all the grunt work, just to be handed a broom at the end of the year and told to sweep away bad luck—Tori, do you honestly think that’s fair?” Tori’s face hardened. “Joss, you can’t just focus on your own small contribution. You have to compare horizontally. Sales and Marketing contributed far more than you.” I stood up, giving her a look of utter contempt. “Contributed what? Delayed expense reports?” “Admin has covered eighty thousand dollars in outstanding expense reports for other departments, which Finance is still refusing to process! They claim the procedures aren’t compliant! What procedures? We used the exact same process last year!” “And what about the Planning Department, Victor’s nephew’s little team? They produced three proposals all year. One of them was flagged for plagiarism and cost us a $50,000 PR settlement, which, by the way, was deducted from the Admin budget!” “That’s the contribution, right?” The more I spoke, the greater my sense of injustice. “And your HR department—all you do is process attendance and issue penalty notices! Fifty dollars for one minute late, a hundred for forgetting to clock in, fifty for a messy desk! You collected over thirty thousand dollars in fines last year! Where did that money go?” I let out a sharp, cold laugh. “You’re all true heroes, aren’t you? The great contributors!” “If the company genuinely believes Admin has no contribution, then don’t expect us to work for free anymore!” “We might be loyal, but we’re not stupid! We’ve eaten enough stale cake to know when the party’s over.” Ignoring Tori’s purple face, I walked out. Behind me, I heard the sound of the glass of water shattering on the floor. Her “good intentions” were nothing more than a sales pitch for Victor. Ultimately, I knew Tori had signed off on that embarrassing gala stunt. 3 When I got back to the Admin department, four pairs of eyes snapped up, staring at me. My throat tightened, and my nose stung. I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak. Devon managed a bitter smile. “From Boss’s expression, I guess we’re out of luck. Fine. I’ll figure out the wedding somehow.” Tess wiped away a tear. “Everyone pooled some cash for me. I can get my mom a general practitioner appointment now. The specialist will have to wait.” Patrice was silent, texting, likely telling her husband the checkup had to be postponed. All of their anger and frustration were swallowed whole, mixed with their tears. I clenched my fists tighter. “Patrice, didn’t you have a good contact in HR?” Patrice nodded. “Young Maya. Why?” “Go ask her if the company has any big moves planned.” Patrice immediately sent a text. A few minutes later, her face drained of color. “Boss, Maya says… Victor has been wanting to replace our entire department for a while. He’s annoyed that our salaries haven’t budged in three years, and he wants to bring in a batch of cheaper, fresh college grads.” “And,” Patrice gritted her teeth, “Tori has asked Legal to prepare materials. She said if we dare to make a fuss, they’ll audit our books—vendor kickbacks, expense report fraud—they’ll find enough to bury us.” “This time,” I said, my voice hoarse, the desperation in my eyes turning to steel, “we are not letting this go.” Patrice looked up. “Boss, remember Graham Hastings at Aegis Group? He called me last week. Said Aegis is expanding, needs staff for their Admin systems, and asked if I was interested.” “What did you tell him?” “I didn’t commit. Just said I’d think about it.” Patrice offered a rueful smile. “If I’d known this was coming, I’d have said yes immediately.” “It’s not too late.” I said. “Go ask him how many people he can take.” “Are you suggesting… we all jump ship together?” “Let’s try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll rethink.” Patrice instantly pulled out her phone. “I’m calling him now.” Devon’s eyes lit up. “Boss, Aegis is one of the biggest names in the industry! If we could land there…” “Don’t celebrate yet,” I cautioned. “This has to be top secret. Victor cannot know where we’re going until we officially resign.” “Why?” “Victor is petty and vindictive. He started his company by poaching talent from Graham’s previous firm, and they have bad blood. If he knows we’re jumping as a unit to Aegis, he will try to sabotage us.” “Understood.” Devon nodded. “Boss, tell us what to do.” Patrice’s call lasted half an hour. When she emerged, a genuine smile was finally on her face. “Graham said Aegis is setting up a new Admin Hub and needs a complete, experienced team. If we’re willing, we can all go.” “What about compensation?” “Base salary is 30% higher than here, year-end bonus paid quarterly, maxed-out 401k and benefits. He can arrange the interviews for next week.” Tess jumped up, excited. “Seriously?” “Graham’s word. It’s solid.” Devon slapped her thigh. “What are we waiting for!” “Hold on.” I raised a hand to calm them. “We have a few things to take care of first.” “First, organize all our documents. Back up everything that needs backing up. Take pictures of everything that matters.” “Second, work as normal. Don’t show any signs of change. Wait until the interviews are done and the offers are confirmed.” “Third, we need to secure a written commitment for severance—N+1 is the legal minimum, and we’re taking every cent.” “Fourth,” I paused, “the company’s books are dirty. And we have the proof.” All four heads turned toward me. “Remember the expense reports last year? Victor was using company funds to cover private dinners. We had to find receipts to match. Remember those business trips where he took his mistress to Aruba? The tickets and hotels were all billed to the company.” Devon inhaled sharply. “Falsifying invoices…” “More than that,” I continued. “Three of the vendors on our approved list are shell companies owned by Victor’s brother-in-law. Millions of dollars processed annually, with zero actual work delivered. That’s a conflict of interest and potential corporate asset misappropriation.” Patrice’s face changed. “Boss, are you suggesting…” “I’m not suggesting anything.” I looked at them pointedly. “I’m reminding you to keep those files safe. Just in case, you know, we ever need to set the record straight.” The team nodded, a silent, grim understanding passing between us. 4 The next week, the job transition proceeded smoothly. Graham at Aegis took the matter seriously. He personally interviewed us, and all five of us passed. The formal offers arrived quickly. Our start date was set for the beginning of next month, perfectly aligned with our projected departure. I thought everything was going to plan. Until Friday afternoon, when Victor suddenly messaged the company-wide chat. [All-Hands Meeting at 3 PM. Admin Team must attend. Important Personnel Announcement.] My heart sank. At 3 PM sharp, the conference room was packed. Victor stood at the front next to a strange young man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and an impeccably tailored suit—a classic, entitled MBA type. “I’ve called you all here today to announce an important change.”

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At 28, Victor wrapped his arms around me, his voice a low, sweet murmur in my ear. “Aria, my love, will you have my baby?” At 35, while I was fighting for my life in a hospital bed, Victor was caught by the paparazzi having a tryst with his young secretary in the hospital’s underground parking garage. Afterward, Victor was silent for a long time. He lit a cigarette, and through the veil of smoke, his voice was flat, detached. “Aria, don’t go after her. She’s young, she doesn’t know any better.” “I’ll make it up to you.” I stared at the miscarriage report on my phone, a numb smile twisting my lips. “Don’t bother, Victor.” “Let’s… get a divorce.” The hand holding his cigarette paused mid-air. “Aria, you’re not a child anymore.” “You need to think about the consequences before you act.” Consequences? Oh, I’d thought about them very, very clearly. 1. I placed the divorce papers on the table, wanting nothing more to do with him. I turned to leave. Victor stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed my arm. “Aria, it was just a baby.” “If you want one, we can always have another.” “Don’t throw the word ‘divorce’ around every time we have a problem.” A bitter sting filled my nose. I blinked hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “Victor, he was eight months old. He was a fully formed person!” Victor sighed, a sound heavy with impatience. “Until it’s born, it’s just an embryo. Can you please stop being so emotional?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Is that what you were thinking when you were sleeping with Tessa, Victor?” His grip on my wrist tightened, his eyes narrowing. “What man doesn’t do this?” “It was a one-time thing. It’s not a big deal. I promise you, you will never see Tessa again.” “Aria, we don’t have to go down this road.” Looking at his smug, self-assured face, I closed my eyes. The bitterness was a physical ache in my chest. A one-time thing? Victor thought he’d hidden it so well. The truth was, I had known for a long time. He had told me he was on a business trip, but he was really in Bali with Tessa, watching the sunset she’d always dreamed of seeing. The girl was brazen, sending me a photo as a taunt. Her message read: Mrs. Marsden, the sunset is beautiful. Mr. Marsden is just a little rough, though. In the photo, against the fiery backdrop of the setting sun, Victor was kissing her passionately, the golden light bathing them in a lover’s glow. The pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe. I called him. He answered almost immediately, his voice husky with desire. “What is it, Ari?” I fought to keep my own voice steady. “What are you doing?” There was a muffled groan on his end, followed by a faint, sticky, wet sound that made my stomach churn. The phone in my hand began to tremble. I prayed, I begged the universe for him to tell me Tessa was lying. “Working out,” he said. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m busy. I’ll call you back when I’m done.” The line went dead. My heart turned to ice. With his actions, Victor had confirmed everything. He really was cheating on me with Tessa. My lungs seized. I couldn’t get enough air. My hands twisted together, my entire body going numb. I was rushed to the hospital. There, the doctor told me I was pregnant. I clutched the positive test and cried for hours. When Victor finally came home, I didn’t even have the courage to confront him. A tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. Victor gently wiped it away with his thumb. “Aria, can’t you just turn a blind eye this once?” My voice trembled with rage. “The only option for us is divorce, Victor! There is nothing else!” His chest rose and fell in a frustrated rhythm. He took a few deep breaths, trying to rein in his anger. “I am not divorcing you, Aria.” “So you can just get that idea out of your head.” “Calm down and think about what you’re doing.” He snatched the divorce agreement and threw it in the trash, then slammed the door to his study with a force that shook the entire house. 2. The snow was coming down hard outside. Victor’s words kept replaying in my mind. He’d said, “It’s just an embryo.” He’d said, “Aria, are you completely blameless in this?” A sharp, cramping pain shot through my lower abdomen. Tears splattered onto the steering wheel. I couldn’t tell if I felt more sorrow or more hatred. There was a time when I was the center of Victor’s universe. Once, just because I told him I missed him, he dropped everything, flew halfway across the country, and showed up at my door in the middle of the night with a bouquet of my favorite flowers. In our second year together, I fell gravely ill. Victor, a man born with a silver spoon who had never believed in anything he couldn’t see, crawled up the hundreds of stone steps to the old chapel on his knees, his skin raw and bleeding, just to pray for my recovery. From priceless jewels to his constant presence, Victor spoiled me rotten. He truly cherished me. When we first married, the other wives in his social circle looked down on me. I was younger, and they whispered behind my back that I was a nobody from a working-class family who didn’t belong. I became so self-conscious that I refused to attend any important events with him. When Victor found out why, he made them all pay. A man who rarely showed his emotions, he called a press conference just to publicly defend my honor. After that, no one ever dared to disrespect me to my face again. Everyone in our circle envied me for marrying a man who loved me so deeply. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Until Tessa appeared. She was an undergrad at his alma mater. A sophomore. At first, he just started mentioning her more and more. I got jealous. “Are you falling for her?” I asked. He would kiss me. “Sweetheart, why are you always so jealous? She’s just a kid, with a terrible temper at that. Why would I ever like her?” Perhaps, even then, his heart was already leaning toward her. He just hadn’t realized it himself. Our fights about Tessa became more frequent, our love worn down with each argument. The tender embraces were replaced by weary sighs. “Aria, she’s a child. Why are you getting so worked up over her?” “I’m exhausted. Can you please just be mature about this?” And then came Tessa’s blatant provocations, one after another. The man who once loved me so fiercely was now allowing the new object of his affection to hurt me whenever she pleased. 3. I returned to our villa. The nursery, which I had spent months preparing, was quiet and still. The small, empty crib rocked gently with a push. I stared at it for a long time, and then the dam of my emotions broke. An eight-month-old child. How was that different from a newborn? The doctor had said my due date was just next month. I had planned everything. I’d read dozens of parenting books. I’d bought him a silver locket for protection, hand-stitched a quilt for him, and even worked with a designer to custom-build his crib, sanding every edge myself… I had waited for his arrival with so much joy. I wanted to give him all my love, to ensure he would be happy for his entire life. We were so close. So, so close… 4. Tessa came to find me because Victor was trying to break things off with her. He had told her, “Tessa, I’ll give you a generous settlement. After that, I want you to leave Port Sterling and never come back.” She refused. Crying, she asked him if he had ever loved her. Victor kissed away her tears. “Tessa, if I had met you first, I would have loved you. But I already have Aria.” “Don’t cry, Tessa. It hurts me to see you cry.” After that, he refused to see her. Driven by desperation, she somehow found her way to me. The moment she walked in, she pointed at my stomach. “You think having a baby can trap him?!” “Let me tell you, you’re dreaming!” “The person Victor loves is me! Me!” I clutched my belly and backed away, trying to calm her down. But Tessa, blinded by rage, was beyond reason. I called for our housekeeper, hoping she could escort Tessa out. Tessa shoved the older woman to the ground and lunged at me. “Aria Marsden! Why don’t you just die?!” “If you were dead, Victor would be all mine!” I couldn’t dodge in time. She pushed me hard, and my stomach slammed into the sharp corner of a table. A searing pain shot through me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Tessa was like a wild animal. Her stiletto heel kicked my belly, again and again. She was screaming for me to die. I felt a warm gush of blood run down my thighs. Panic seized me. The housekeeper scrambled to her feet, pulled Tessa off me, and called the police, then an ambulance. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I dreamed of a small child waving at me from a distance. No matter how hard I reached, I couldn’t touch him. When I woke up, a doctor was looking at me with pity in his eyes. I opened my mouth, clinging to one last sliver of hope. “Doctor, my baby…” The doctor sighed. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Marsden. We couldn’t save him.” I had expected it. But hearing the words out loud, I shattered. My tears soaked the pillow. The doctor tried to console me. The next day, a gossip site published the story: Victor Marsden, caught in a tryst with his young secretary in the hospital’s underground parking garage.

My roommate, Ashley, was a literalist. She had to get to the bottom of everything, no matter how inappropriate the timing. One night, while I was deep in sleep, she stood by my bed and whispered my name, asking, “Are you asleep?” I woke up groggy and annoyed, glaring at her. She just smiled and said, “See? You weren’t sleeping. Otherwise, how could you answer me?” Once, I noticed she wasn’t in class, so I kindly signed her in on the app. But right before the class ended, she burst in, holding her phone up to the professor. “Professor, I wasn’t even here! Why does the app say I signed in? Is your system broken?” The professor traced the IP address back to me. I got an ‘F’ for academic dishonesty and had to retake the course. Later, during the biggest speech competition of the year, Ashley stood up in front of the entire auditorium and asked why my speech was exactly the same as the thoughts in her head. I was disqualified, lost my scholarship, and was branded a plagiarist. Unable to handle the depression and the ruin of my reputation, I climbed to the roof of the library in the middle of the night. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my dorm room. Back to the night Ashley asked me if I was asleep. 1 “Harper, are you asleep?” Hearing Ashley’s punchable voice, I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or awake. My hand fumbled under the pillow until I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up, and the date confirmed it. I was reborn. Outside my bed curtains, Ashley didn’t give up. She kept calling my name. I immediately turned off my phone, shoved in my earplugs, and squeezed my eyes shut. Predictably, when I didn’t respond, she ripped my curtains open. It was past 1 AM, but our other roommate, Chloe, was still gaming. The glare from Chloe’s monitor hit my eyelids, accompanied by the frantic clicking of a mechanical keyboard. With the curtain open, Ashley leaned in. “Harper? Harper? Are you asleep?” Her voice got louder. Any living person would have woken up by now, but I kept my eyes shut tight. I knew I couldn’t wake up. If I did, she won. In my past life, Ashley loved these obedience tests. If I opened my eyes and asked what she wanted, she’d just say, “Oh, nothing. I just wanted to know if you were sleeping.” I’d be too angry to go back to sleep, while she’d climb into bed, satisfied. Her bizarre behavior wasn’t limited to this. Freshman year, she introduced herself as a “small-town girl” who didn’t understand big city life, claiming she’d need to ask us for help constantly. She was like a newborn baby, her brain smooth as a marble. In college, professors posted everything on the student portal or the group chat. If you read the syllabus, you knew what to do. But she always asked us. “Harper, how do I submit this assignment? I don’t get it.” I’d tell her to check the group chat. She wouldn’t look. “But what format? Word or PDF?” “Either is fine. Just check the syllabus.” She would filter out my words and continue whining. “Harper, why won’t it upload? Come help me.” I’d tell her to read the instructions again. She’d finally listen, only to say, “Where are the instructions? How do I open them? I don’t know how.” I almost died of frustration back then. Since then, I’d kept my guard up. But idiots like her always find a way to blindside you. 2 One morning, a roommate slept in and asked me to sign her in. When I got to class, I realized I was the only one from our dorm who showed up. It was a lecture hall class, and the professor rarely checked faces, so I signed all four of us in on the app. Just as I was feeling good about being a supportive roommate, Ashley burst through the main doors. She marched right up to the lecturer at the podium, phone in hand. “Professor, why does the app say I’m here when I wasn’t? Is your system glitched?” The entire hall stared at her. I broke out in a cold sweat. The professor looked at her, face stony. “You know exactly how you got signed in.” “I really don’t! That’s why I’m asking. Your system must be broken. I didn’t tap anything, but it says ‘Present’.” Ashley looked innocent. The professor laughed in disbelief and quickly traced it back to my account. Because I signed in for three people, I received an automatic failure for the course and had to pay to retake it next semester. The other roommates lost participation points. I was livid. I asked Ashley through gritted teeth why she had to cause trouble. She looked aggrieved. “How was I supposed to know you could sign in for others? Who asked you to be a busybody?” I swore never to help her again and kept my distance. I thought avoiding her would be enough, but I underestimated her insanity. The university held an English speech contest. First place came with a cash prize and a scholarship boost. I signed up, researched, and practiced for weeks. On the day of the finals, as I was delivering my speech with confidence, Ashley stood up in the audience. She interrupted me, asking loudly why my speech content was exactly identical to her thoughts. The auditorium went into an uproar. My speech was cut short. Everyone looked at me with disgust. Later, I confronted her. She hadn’t even entered the competition. How could our ideas be the same? She pointed to her head. “Isn’t it magical? I dreamt about it a few days ago. It was exactly what you said. I was so scared.” Hearing that, I couldn’t breathe. I nearly fainted. My scholarship was gone. Rumors that I was a plagiarist spread like wildfire. My depression spiraled, and eventually, I climbed that roof. Maybe God couldn’t stand it anymore. He gave me a second chance. This time, I wouldn’t let Ashley ruin me. She was going to pay. Ashley called my name a dozen times. I didn’t move. Finally, Chloe, the gamer roommate, snapped. She ripped off her headset. “Harper, Harper! Are you calling hogs? It’s the middle of the night! I can’t even hear footsteps in my game!” Chloe had a rich family and a fiery temper. Ashley was terrified of her, which was why she always targeted me—the soft persimmon. 3 Intimidated by Chloe, Ashley lowered her voice but didn’t stop. “I just wanted to wake her up to ask if she was sleeping.” “Are you an NPC?” Chloe scoffed. “If she’s asleep, why wake her up to ask if she’s asleep? Do you hear yourself? Why don’t you peel her eyelids open to check?” I almost laughed out loud, but the urge vanished quickly. Chloe’s sarcasm gave Ashley an idea. I felt the ladder shake. She was climbing up to my bunk to check. She was determined to wake me up. I clenched my fists under the blanket. As soon as she reached the top and stuck her upper body through my curtains, I swung my fist straight out, screaming, “Die, monster!” Bam. My fist connected solidly with Ashley’s nose. She shrieked in pain, instinctively covering her face with both hands. She lost her balance and fell backward off the ladder. Thud. Even through my earplugs, the impact was loud. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be deep in a nightmare. Ashley hit the floor hard. She stopped pretending. She rushed back to my bed, shaking the frame. “Harper! Why did you hit me?!” I had to wake up now. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, acting groggy. “Huh? Hit you? When did I hit you?” Ashley was clutching her nose, tears streaming. “You just punched me in the face! It hurts! Don’t try to deny it!” I looked confused. “I was sleeping. How could I hit you? And… it’s the middle of the night. Why were you in my bed? Were you trying to…” I let the sentence hang. Ashley panicked. “Of course not! I just wanted to see if you were asleep! You ungrateful witch, you hit me!” I nodded slowly. “Then you better not wake me up next time. I have terrible night terrors. This time it was a punch; next time, who knows what I might do?” “But since I’m a nice person, I’ll forgive you for waking me up this time.” I flopped back onto my pillow. Ashley sat on the floor, stunned into silence. Terrified of getting punched again, she sulked back to her own bed. That punch bought me a few days of peace. But I knew she wouldn’t stop. As long as we lived together, my life would be miserable. I went to the Academic Advisor’s office the next day to request a room transfer. I thought her behavior would be enough grounds, but I miscalculated. “Transfer dorms?” Mr. Henderson, our advisor, leaned back in his chair. “That won’t do. Personalities clash; that’s life. You need to learn to adapt. Ashley hasn’t done anything serious. You’re all classmates. Just communicate.” “Besides, the dorms are full. Where would you go? Be mature. Look at my son—he’s studying in the UK, living with foreigners. He complained at first, but now he’s adapted perfectly. If he can do it, why can’t you?” I rolled my eyes internally. Mr. Henderson loved bragging about his PhD wife and his study-abroad son. It was his way of saying, “I’m better than you, so listen to me.” Realizing the transfer was a dead end, I left the office. 4 A few nights later, the Class Monitor came to our dorm with a stack of papers. “Mental health survey time,” she said. “Mr. Henderson said to just check ‘No’ on everything. You know the drill. It’s just a formality.” We were used to this. It was bureaucratic paperwork. Ashley stared at the paper. “Why check ‘No’? Can’t we check ‘Yes’?” “Checking ‘No’ is faster,” the Monitor explained. “If you check ‘Yes,’ they have to interview you. And if you actually have issues, the school might force you to take a leave of absence. Someone in the Engineering department got sent home for severe depression last year.” Ashley nodded thoughtfully. After the Monitor left, I looked at Ashley and casually said, “It’s not that serious. That’s an exaggeration. If someone has a mental illness, the school has to take responsibility. That’s what the counseling center is for.” Ashley picked up her pen. I finished mine in ten seconds. She was still pondering the third question. The next day, the forms were submitted. A few days later, during a lecture, Mr. Henderson knocked on the classroom door, apologized to the professor, and called Ashley out. Sensing drama, I slipped out the back door to eavesdrop. In an empty classroom down the hall, Henderson threw the survey at Ashley. “Who told you to fill this out randomly?! Didn’t the Monitor tell you to check ‘No’ for everything?” Ashley blinked her innocent, wide eyes. “Why do we have to check ‘No’? Can’t we fill it out according to how we feel?” Henderson looked like he might have a stroke. He couldn’t admit he just wanted to avoid paperwork. “I told you to check ‘No,’ so just listen! Why so many questions?” Ashley, oblivious to his rage, continued, “But some of these apply to me. If I check ‘No,’ isn’t that lying? The form says to be truthful.” Henderson had initially worried she might be suicidal—which would ruin his career. Now he realized she wasn’t mentally ill; she was just an idiot. “Forget it. Here’s a blank one. Fill it out again, check ‘No’ on everything, and bring it to my office after class.” Ashley took the paper. “Oh.” Henderson thought he was safe. He was wrong. After class, Ashley went to the office. Coincidentally, the Dean of the College was there, inspecting student welfare records. “Don’t worry, Dean,” Henderson was saying smoothly. “We take mental health very seriously here.” He signaled Ashley to leave the paper and get out. She didn’t get the hint. She turned to the Dean. “Dean, why do we have to check ‘No’ on every question? Is that a school rule?”

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Julian Reed and I were childhood sweethearts. I had a stepfather, and he had a stepmother. We depended on each other as we grew up. He said he liked to wander, so I wandered with him. I thought we would be together forever. Until, in that dilapidated rental apartment, I saw Julian shirtless with my own eyes, bending down to pick up another woman’s underwear. I asked him why. He didn’t answer, just told the woman to get dressed and leave. After a long time, he said he wanted freedom. And I was his biggest lack of freedom. The day he left, I gave him a kite. I said, “I wish you freedom.” 1 I had imagined the scene of my reunion with Julian countless times. But I never expected it to happen under these circumstances. The hospital called me using Julian’s phone, saying he had been in a car accident and asked if I could come. Only then did I learn that Julian had returned to the city at some point. In the bustling metropolis, the streets were still busy even in the early hours of the morning. I rushed to the hospital, asked for Julian’s bed number, and hurried over. In a not-so-spacious single room, a woman with a good figure stood by the bed with her back to me, her tone coquettish: “Julian, I was the first to rush over to visit you. Aren’t I good to you?” “Yeah, you’re the best to me.” The familiar voice rang out. I stood frozen on the spot, blinking, and withdrew the hand that was about to push the door open. Julian and I hadn’t been in touch for a few years. The breakup was heart-wrenching back then, but time has always been a healing medicine. Now when I think of him, my emotions rarely fluctuate. But hearing that familiar voice suddenly, I realized that maybe it wasn’t that I didn’t love him anymore, but that the feelings were too heavy, forcibly sealed away by me. I didn’t dare enter the ward. I asked the nurse for Julian’s hospitalization number and paid his fees. After leaving the hospital, I parked my car on the roadside and smoked for a long time. I had been a good student and a good girl since childhood. Smoking was the only bad habit I inherited from Julian, learned only after breaking up with him. Work pressure has increased over the years, and so has my addiction to smoking. After finishing half a pack, my mind wasn’t any clearer. Instead, I choked on the last puff and coughed violently. How pathetic. I leaned against the steering wheel and smiled bitterly. Logically, I should have appeared in front of Julian looking glamorous, saying “Long time no see” casually. But I didn’t even dare to look at him with my own eyes. Just hearing his voice made me flee in panic. Maybe I am a bit cheap, loving nothing more than offering my sincere heart to be trampled on. 2 I secretly visited Julian a few more times later and asked his attending physician about his condition. Julian’s ward was lively. No matter when I went, there was always someone by his bed, men or women, chattering away. This was expected. Julian had been popular since childhood. Wherever he went, people would soon gather around him in a circle. He had always been the center of attention. The last time I went to the attending physician, the doctor rubbed his temples with a headache: “Actually, the patient in Bed 2 isn’t seriously injured, just a minor fracture and a mild concussion. He’s recovering very well. “I know you care about him, but can you send a representative to ask about his condition? Otherwise, I have to repeat the same thing five, six, seven, eight times a day. Isn’t it affecting other patients’ families consulting about conditions?” I didn’t dare say I wasn’t actually a family member, so I could only apologize repeatedly and back out of the doctor’s office. Then I made eye contact with Julian, who was walking in the corridor. Three people were with him: one holding the IV drip, one supporting his arm, and another following leisurely. It looked quite like stars surrounding the moon. I also heard Julian say with disdain: “I’m injured, not crippled. Can you let go of me? I can walk by myself!” As soon as he finished speaking, he saw me. I only hated that the hospital corridor was too wide, leaving my panic and awkwardness nowhere to hide. Standing there for a while, I finally spoke first: “Long time no see.” “Julian, who’s this?” Julian looked at me, his expression indifferent: “Someone from my hometown.” “Looking so affectionate, I thought it was your ex-girlfriend.” Julian and I had depended on each other for over twenty years. I wore his only down jacket; he wore my only scarf. We shared a plate of egg fried rice and slept under the same quilt. Now, we were just people from the same hometown. I clutched my phone tightly and turned to leave. Julian stopped me: “Wait.” He asked if I had paid his hospitalization fees. “I saw the call log with you on my phone. The hospital called you, right?” Julian said. “Are you still using that bank card? I’ll transfer it directly to you.” “No need.” I refused. “If anything, I should transfer money to you.” Julian paused. “I spent so much of your money back then, I feel quite embarrassed. Give me a card number, I’ll pay you back.” Hearing this, Julian’s friend laughed: “Thinking of paying back after so many years? So insincere? How much interest do you plan to give?” Julian glared at that person, his expression cold. “Ignore him.” Julian said, “No need to pay back.” I scratched my head and said, “I have to pay it back.” I never had a psychological burden using Julian’s money before. I accepted everything he bought me as a matter of course. At that time, I felt we were family. His money was mine, and when I made money later, it would naturally be his. But since we’ve separated, financial dealings should be settled clearly. 3 Julian didn’t give me his card number, but I still went to the bank to print a statement. The next day, I gathered my courage and went to the hospital with the bank card. But Julian’s ward was empty. Actually, I knew Julian wouldn’t accept it. I just wanted an excuse to see him again. But he didn’t leave me a single chance. Once he discovered my presence, he vanished without a trace. Sometimes I couldn’t help wondering what I did wrong. I never threw tantrums or made scenes with him. Just how much did he hate me to avoid me like the plague? “Compared to manipulative scumbag women, men actually hate submissive love-brains more. Like a plaster you can’t shake off, clingy and disgusting.” In the bar, my friend downed her cocktail in one gulp and poked my forehead: “Talking about you, love-brain! “Sometimes I really want to dissect your brain to see its structure. How can you be so devoted and unrepentant to a man rotten to the core!” I held my glass and refuted her seriously: “First, I’m not a love-brain. Except for Julian, I’ve never loved another man in my life. Second, Julian isn’t a rotten person. He’s especially good.” My friend rolled her eyes in disgust: “Seriously, I thought after so many years you’d at least sober up a bit. Didn’t expect you haven’t changed at all. Hopeless. Suggest burying you alive.” I smiled and stopped refuting her. Every friend of mine has scolded me for not being clear-headed. I also explained to every friend that I’m not unclear-headed; I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not a love-brain. Julian was really, really good to me before. “Every love-brain says that. But look at what Julian did? Cheated, two-timed, hooked up with another woman in your rented apartment, blocked your number. You begged him to reconcile, waited at the bar entrance for a whole week, and he didn’t even show his face.” “You don’t understand. Without Julian, not only would I not have gone to college, I wouldn’t even be alive today.” I downed half a bottle of wine. My alcohol tolerance has grown over the years, but mixing red, white, and beer tonight made me a bit tipsy. I lay on the bar counter, pulling my friend’s arm and pointing at the male dancers dancing hotly in the center of the dance floor: “My tuition and living expenses for four years of college were earned by Julian dancing night after night like that. “He could earn six thousand a month back then. Five hundred for rent, five hundred for living expenses, and the rest was spent on me. “He actually got into college, but my parents didn’t want to pay for my education. Julian said, anyway, the college he got into wasn’t good, so he wouldn’t study. He went to work to support me. “After college graduation, my parents wanted me to marry someone for the dowry. Julian borrowed from all his friends to gather the dowry money. “So I am Julian’s wife. He paid the dowry; I’m going to marry him.” The music was still noisy, but my friend seemed drunk, lying beside me without a word. I was quiet for a long time, then said: “So, actually, it’s normal for Julian to want to leave. I, this burden, dragged him down for too long.” 4 My friend was drunk unconscious. I downed the last half bottle of wine and scanned the code to pay. When I stood up, my gaze accidentally swept across the bar entrance, and my pupils dilated instantly. It was Julian! He wore a low-key black hoodie and a mask, but I still recognized him at a glance. He didn’t see me and walked straight to a lively booth. Someone cleared the center seat for him to sit. I saw Julian take off his mask and casually accept a beer handed to him. A young woman leaned close to Julian with a smile, saying something to him. Julian nodded absently, responding casually. Before, I never got jealous. I was too certain. I felt nothing and no one could separate Julian and me. I knew Julian’s charm clearly, but was also incredibly confident in his loyalty to me. When did it start? The fact that Julian didn’t love me anymore. I still remember after Julian said he wanted to break up, he never returned to the rental apartment. I went to the bar where he worked to find him, called every friend of his, even ran to their homes asking if they knew where Julian went. I sent him many messages, wanting to ask what went wrong with our relationship, if we could talk properly, and I would change whatever needed changing. I said I didn’t mind him playing with other girls, asked him not to be angry. Later, I only worried about his safety. I said he didn’t need to reply to me, just reply once to let me know he was safe. Finally, I really had no choice. At 3 AM at the bar entrance, I sat on the steps cold all over, holding the phone with both hands, typing the message word by word with stiff fingers. [I agree to break up. Go home, let’s deal with the apartment.] Ten minutes later, Julian appeared beside me. So he had been there all along. Standing not too near nor too far, looking at me coldly. At that moment, I felt as if I had never known him. Julian rented that apartment. He said he would leave soon and had prepaid three months’ rent. I could continue to live there or discuss ending the lease with the landlord. He left very decisively. When leaving, he just carried a black backpack containing his wallet and ID. He took nothing else. I walked him downstairs, still wearing the couple pajamas we bought together at the wholesale market. I handed him a small kite charm and said with a smile, “I wish you freedom.” Julian, do you feel free enough now?

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On the night the skies above New York lit up with fireworks spelling my name, Orion called me. “Willa, happy birthday. It’s a shame I can’t be there to celebrate with you again this year.” “Just wait for me, my love. Three days from now, on our eighth anniversary, I promise I’ll be home with you.” The moment he hung up, the woman beneath him coiled around him like a serpent. “Are you really going back?” “What about me?” Seeing the tears welling up in Scarlett’s eyes, he kissed her, his voice thick with a tenderness he’d forgotten was reserved for someone else. “If I don’t go back soon, she’ll start to act up.” But what Orion didn’t know was that I would never throw a tantrum again. Because I had died two years ago. The voice that answered his call was nothing more than a vocal replica AI I had created for him before I passed. Orion shifted, pinning Scarlett beneath him. “We’ll have to be quick. My flight is at ten tonight.” Scarlett stiffened. “You’re leaving tonight? I thought you said three days.” Orion’s voice was casual, distracted. “Yeah, I decided to go back early. Give her a surprise.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her hard, one hand exploring her body with a rough urgency that seemed intent on breaking her. I had never seen Orion like this. The man I remembered was so gentle. I recalled my eighteenth birthday, eavesdropping on a conversation between him and his friends. “Orion, your little princess is finally eighteen. Big plans for tonight?” “Look how thoughtful I am. Brought you the ultra-thins. A whole box of ten.” Orion snatched the box and threw it on the floor. “Willa’s still young. No.” “Get lost with your stupid ideas.” After they’d all left, I watched Orion light a cigarette, his body tense with frustration. I opened the door, and he immediately stubbed it out. I picked up the discarded box and sat across from him. “If you want to,” I said, meeting his gaze, “I’m willing.” “For you, I’m willing to do anything.” I saw the desire flare in his eyes. But in the end, he just pressed the still-glowing ember of the cigarette into the back of his own hand. “I’m not,” he said, his voice strained. “I want to save the best of you for our wedding night.” “So, Willa, let’s get married soon, okay?” I floated beside the bed, a silent observer to their tangled, passionate embrace. It’s a good thing ghosts can’t feel heartbreak. Afterward, Scarlett rested her head in the crook of Orion’s arm. “Does your good little girl at home play like this with you?” Orion stroked her hair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Willa doesn’t know anything about this stuff. Of course not.” “When it comes to the bedroom, you’re the one who really gets me going.” Scarlett tilted her head up, a playful smile on her face. “Then why don’t you divorce her and marry me?” The warmth instantly vanished from Orion’s expression. “When we left for L.A., I made the terms clear, didn’t I? I give you a career, you provide me with… this. No delusions of grandeur.” A flash of jealousy crossed Scarlett’s eyes, but she lowered her head. “I’m sorry.” “I overstepped.” The tense silence was broken by the ringing of a phone. The driver’s voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Sterling, I’m here. Should we head to the airport now?” “Yes, I’m on my way down.” Orion pushed Scarlett off him and got dressed with brisk efficiency. Scarlett bit her lip. “When will you be back?” He pulled on his jacket. “I’m not coming back. You’ve done well these past two years. The resources I’ve provided you will continue, and I’ll wire you another twenty million.” “Take the money, stay here, and focus on your career. Don’t come back to New York. If Willa ever finds out about us, you know what the consequences will be.” He reached out and patted her head. As he turned to leave, she grabbed his arm. “Can’t you stay? Just for today?” Her voice was a desperate whisper. “The charity auction is tomorrow. You promised you’d go with me.” “I’ve been looking forward to it for so long. Think of it as… a proper goodbye.” Orion looked down into her pleading eyes. I remembered the day he left, three years ago. I had begged him in the same way. “What project is so urgent?” “Can’t you wait until after my birthday tomorrow?” My eyes were red as I looked at him, feeling abandoned. In the twelve years we’d been together, he had never missed my birthday. But this time, he just pulled a necklace from his pocket. “I know tomorrow is your birthday, Willa, but this project is critical. It won’t succeed without me there.” “I had this made for you by a designer in France. Let me put it on you. It’ll be like I’m celebrating with you.” He fastened the clasp around my neck, barely glancing at it before pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “You be good, okay? I have to go. I’ll call you when I land.” But that day, I waited from morning until after midnight. No call ever came. At two in the morning, with a storm raging outside, I huddled under the covers and dialed his number. It rang and rang before being sent to voicemail. All I got was a single, cold text message. 【Willa, I’m busy. I’ll get back to you later.】 At the time, I truly believed he was busy. Too busy to even wish me a happy birthday. Now I knew he had simply been too busy with Scarlett. Orion looked at Scarlett, hesitating. Finally, he called his assistant. “Postpone the flight to tomorrow night. I have something to take care of here.” “And tomorrow, check in on Willa. Find out what she’s into lately. I want to pick up some gifts for her at the auction.” He still had me on his mind. A shame I was already dead. At the charity auction, Scarlett, as the event’s ambassador, was a vision. She commanded all the attention, all the cameras. Everything was proceeding smoothly until the final item came up for bid. A rival starlet, who had a well-known feud with Scarlett, spoke up. “All proceeds from tonight’s auction are for a good cause.” “As the ambassador, Miss Vance, we haven’t seen you bid on a single item. Don’t tell me you’re not feeling charitable tonight.” Every eye in the room turned to Scarlett. She smiled, unflustered. “Of course not. I was simply waiting for the final piece.” “The finale is always the most valuable, after all. I wanted to make a more significant contribution.” Right on cue, the final auction began. Scarlett immediately raised her paddle, offering a price three times the item’s worth. “Ten million.” The room fell silent. Only the rival actress slowly raised her paddle. “Twelve million.” Every time Scarlett placed a bid, her rival followed. The price of the necklace climbed until it reached fifty million. Scarlett’s face darkened. She knew her rival wouldn’t back down easily. But she had already made her grand declaration. Not bidding now would make her a laughingstock. As she hesitated, the auctioneer began his final call. “Fifty million going once, going twice…” “Name a price. Any price. It’s mine.” Orion slowly raised his hand. A collective gasp went through the room, mine included, even though I was just a ghost. He met the rival actress’s gaze, his own languid and dismissive. “Care to match it?” Everyone in New York’s high society knew who Orion Sterling was. He bought the necklace without any further challenge. In front of everyone, he fastened it around Scarlett’s neck. “This piece suits you, Miss Vance. A gift from me.” “And the entire sum will be donated in her name.” He had changed so much. I remember when he was just starting out, we couldn’t even afford a decent apartment. We huddled together for warmth in a damp, dark basement. Back then, he had slipped a soda can tab onto my finger and promised me the world. “Willa, I swear, I will claw my way to the top of this city. I’ll make it, and I’ll give you the life you deserve.” Now, he had done it. He could spend millions without batting an eye. All to defend Scarlett’s honor. Predictably, Scarlett became the center of attention. People swarmed her, eager to offer a toast. She didn’t want to drink but couldn’t afford to offend anyone. Just as she was caught in a bind, Orion pulled her from the crowd and into his arms. “She’s allergic to alcohol. She can’t drink.” “I’ll take this one for her.” A sharp pang went through me. There was a time when he would shield me just like that. It wasn’t that I couldn’t drink. Years ago, when his company was on the brink of collapse, I had secretly gone out to network, attending endless dinners and meetings to save him the trouble. I drank myself into the hospital with bleeding ulcers three times. The last time, a perforation nearly killed me. I woke up in a hospital bed to find Orion, who was supposed to be on a business trip, sitting beside me. “What are you doing back…” “Willa, who told you to go out drinking?” “Look at you! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If something had happened to you, what would I have done?” It was the first time in all our years together that he had ever yelled at me. My eyes filled with tears. “I just… I didn’t want to see you struggling so much…” “Did I mess up? I’m sorry, I was only trying to help. I’m so useless, I just made things worse…” Orion raised his hand and slapped himself, hard. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I was just so scared. Scared of losing you.” “I’m the useless one. I couldn’t protect you. I swear, I will never let you touch another drop of alcohol again…” But he never knew. In the countless sleepless nights after he left, I had lost count of how many times I had drunk myself into a stupor. After downing the glass, Orion patted Scarlett’s shoulder. “I’m leaving. From now on, if you need anything, don’t call me. Contact my assistant, Peterson. He’ll handle it.” “I can’t risk Willa getting jealous.” With that, he turned and left. But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard her voice behind him.

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I was the billionaire’s “one that got away,” the girl he supposedly never stopped loving. But as I lay dying in a foreign hospital, desperate to fly home for a life-saving surgery, my own brother did everything in his power to stop me. He was convinced that if I returned, the billionaire would dump his current fiancée—my brother’s precious step-sister. My brother was the ultimate simp for the “replacement.” “If you’re sick, suck it up. It’s not an emergency,” he told me cold-heartedly. “Just wait a few days for the surgery. You won’t die. They’re getting married this weekend, and I won’t let you ruin it.” To survive, I swallowed my pride and called the billionaire myself. “I heard I’m the love of your life. Can you bring me home?” I didn’t know he was standing at the altar when his phone rang. He left his bride and the guests stunned, boarded a private jet, and flew through the night just to get to me. 1 The hospital room was sterile and white. Other patients had families hovering over them with flowers and soup, but I lay alone, hooked up to machines that beeped in a lonely rhythm. My brother, Ethan’s voice was icy through the phone speaker. “Funny how you get ‘deathly ill’ right when Chloe and Julian are about to tie the knot.” “You really haven’t changed, Ava. You’re a pathological liar. Did you think I’d actually buy this?” “Let me be clear: stop the drama. Threatening suicide or faking an illness won’t work on me anymore. Even if you are dying, hold it in. Wait until the wedding is over.” I lay there, weak and trembling, tears streaming down my face. My heart felt like it was encased in ice. “Ethan, I’m not acting. Please… just let me come home.” “The doctors here said Dr. Foster at Hopkins is the only one with enough experience for this surgery. He’s the only chance I have.” “I can’t wait anymore. Ask my doctor. He’s right here.” I hit the speaker button, begging my attending physician to back me up. The doctor explained in urgent, professional English that I wasn’t lying. I was critical. I needed to be transferred immediately. Ethan didn’t flinch. “A few days won’t kill her. The wedding is in two days. She can wait.” My doctor lost his cool. He grabbed the phone. “What kind of brother are you? She is dying! If she waits any longer, she’ll miss the surgical window. Even Dr. Foster won’t be able to save her then. Don’t come crying when she’s dead!” Ethan laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “I won’t regret anything. You doctors should be ashamed, playing along with her little skits. If missing a flight by two days kills her, then so be it. If she’s going to cause this much trouble, maybe she shouldn’t come back at all.” I clutched the fabric over my chest, the pain unbearable. He really didn’t believe me. “Ethan, what will it take? Will you only believe me when you’re picking up my ashes at the airport?” My voice was raspy, broken. For a second, there was silence on the other end. Maybe he felt a pang of guilt. Then, my father’s voice cut in. “Is that Ava? What’s her problem now?” “She says she’s dying and needs surgery in the States.” My dad scoffed. “Since when is American healthcare better than what she can get in Switzerland? She just wants to wreck Chloe’s wedding. She couldn’t even come up with a better lie.” “Ethan, Chloe might be your step-sister, but she’s still family. You can’t play favorites. We can’t have any drama right now. You know how much chaos it would cause if Julian’s ‘first love’ showed up.” Ethan’s hesitation vanished. “I know, Dad. Forget it. Let her throw her tantrum.” Click. The line went dead. The busy signal felt like a slap in the face. It hurt. It hurt so much I couldn’t breathe. The brother who used to carry me on his shoulders, who promised to protect me from the world… he was gone. He was nothing more than Chloe’s lapdog now. He was still the protective big brother, just not for me. Did I really have to die for them to care? But what was the point? I didn’t want to be the tragic heroine in a sob story. I didn’t want their cheap tears at my funeral. I wanted to live. 2 Over the next few days, I contacted every specialist in Europe. I sent them my scans. They all shook their heads. “It’s too complex. Dr. Foster in Baltimore is the authority on this. He’s the only one who has successfully performed this procedure.” “He’s the best hands in the world for this.” I emailed Dr. Foster, begging him to fly to me. He replied quickly: [I’m sorry, due to a pending legal matter, I cannot leave the country. Your condition is critical. You need to come to Hopkins immediately. I can clear my schedule for you.] But I couldn’t leave. My passport was “held for safekeeping” by my security team—guards hired by my father, but loyal to Chloe. I heard Ethan call them to check on me. “Is she really sick?” The guard, standing outside my door, lied through his teeth. “No, sir. She’s fine.” My doctor was frantic. “Ava, you have to go. I’ve coordinated with Dr. Foster. An ambulance will be waiting on the tarmac.” I closed my eyes, tears leaking out. “Do you think I don’t want to go?” Desperate, the doctor suggested a Hail Mary. “Call Julian Blackwood. Everyone says you’re the one that got away, right? If the billionaire ex wants you back, he can get you back. You’re just crossing an ocean, not flying to Mars.” But Julian didn’t love me. I was the one who chased him for years. The whole “white moonlight” narrative—the idea that I was his pure, untouchable first love—was a rumor I couldn’t squash. “If he really wanted me,” I whispered, “he wouldn’t be marrying a copy of me.” The doctor snatched my phone. “We’re calling him. What’s the number?” I rattled it off, but my heart was hollow. I didn’t expect a miracle. 3 “Hello, is this Julian Blackwood? I’m calling about Ava. She’s your… well, she’s supposed to be important to you. Her family is blocking her from returning to the US because they think you’ll dump your fiancée for her.” Julian’s laugh was cold. “She thinks highly of herself. As far as I’m concerned, she died the day she left the country.” I choked back a sob. His words were a physical blow. I shook my head at the doctor. “Hang up. I don’t want to be humiliated anymore.” But the doctor was furious. He yelled into the phone. “What if she’s actually dying?” Julian paused. “What do you mean?” “Literally dying. She has a rare condition. No one here will touch it. She needs Dr. Foster in Baltimore or she’s dead. Her brother won’t let her fly. If you don’t care about her, fine, but tell her brother that so she can come home and not die alone in a foreign country!” Suddenly, Chloe’s voice drifted through the phone, sweet and cloying. “Julian, who are you talking to? The priest is waiting. He asked if you take me to be your wife.” “Everyone is watching, babe. Can the call wait until after the ceremony?” I froze. The Wedding March was playing in the background. Of course. That’s why Ethan said to wait a few days. They were at the altar right now. Me calling him now… it looked exactly like I was trying to crash the wedding. The priest spoke up again. “Julian Blackwood, do you take Chloe to be your lawfully wedded wife? For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health?” I snatched the phone back and hit end. I didn’t want to hear him say “I do.” 4 That night, my fever spiked. I drifted in and out of nightmares. In my dreams, my family was whole again. Dad loved me. Ethan protected me. But then Chloe and her mother arrived. After my mom died, Dad swore he’d never remarry. But then he met her. A woman who looked exactly like my mother did twenty years ago. And Chloe… she looked more like my mother than I did. Dad fell for the “replacement” hard. Even Ethan said, “Just pretend she’s Mom. Pretend Chloe is another sister.” No! How could I? That woman wore my mother’s face and slept in my mother’s bed. She wore the wedding ring my dad gave my mom. I screamed, I cried, I tried to kick them out. And for that, I became the villain. The brat. My phone ringing jerked me awake. It was Ethan. Maybe Julian said “I do” and now I was allowed to come home? I answered, weak but hopeful. Ethan was screaming. “Are you happy now, you toxic witch? Did you have to push Chloe this far?” “You have me and Dad! What does Chloe have?” “She’s insecure! She accepted being a replacement just to be loved! Why did you have to ruin her day?” “Do you know what you did? Julian walked out! He left her at the altar because of your phone call! He humiliated her in front of the entire city!” “Chloe is the laughingstock of New York. She tried to jump off the roof! Are you satisfied?” “If she dies, her blood is on your hands!” I coughed, blood splattering onto the sheets. The monitor by my bed started screaming an alarm. “Ethan,” I gasped, “ask yourself… do I really have you and Dad?” “Who gets loved so much that they’re left to die in a foreign country?” “You care that Chloe is sad. Do you care that I’m dying alone?” “I regret ever loving you as a brother. You don’t have a heart.” Nurses rushed in. “Code Blue! BP is crashing! Get the crash cart!” Ethan heard the chaos. His voice wavered. “Stop it. Is this another act?” “Ava, talk to me! Stop scaring me!” “Put the guard on! I want proof!” It was laughable. I was dying, and he wanted proof. But then… wait. Did he say Julian walked out? In the background of Ethan’s call, I heard his assistant. “Sir, Julian is on a jet. He broke through airport security. He beat up half a dozen guards to get to the tarmac. He’s coming for her.” “Also… Julian never planned to marry Chloe. He was going to expose something at the wedding. He was planning to destroy her.” Destroy her? My vision was fading. The darkness was creeping in from the edges. Was Julian really coming? It felt too late.

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