Category: English

My third year with Sebastian Vanderbilt, the Crown Prince of New York, was still strictly transactional. Dinner: $5,000. Date: $20,000. Overnight: $50,000. Then one day, I found out I was pregnant. After a few seconds of buffering, I looked at the aloof, aristocratic man across from me and asked bluntly: “Bro, do you have a hundred million dollars?” Chapter 1 Sebastian was stunned. He was wearing oversized hospital pajamas, but his sharp features showed no sign of illness. His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?” “Why ask that all of a sudden?” He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes that didn’t match his sickly appearance. “Trying to earn a hundred million the hard way?” “Cough, cough.” I almost choked. “Of course not. I mean…” The phrase “If I give you a baby, will you give me a hundred million dollars?” was on the tip of my tongue, but his face darkened. “If it’s not that, don’t say it.” “We have nothing else to talk about.” His coldness sent a chill through my heart. Tsk. I forgot Sebastian was a militant “No Marriage, No Kids” guy. We had an agreement: No feelings, no love, just transactions. If he found out about the baby… He’d assume I trapped him for money. Forget a hundred million; he might sue me for everything I’ve earned so far. Forget it. I quietly crumpled the OB-GYN report in my hand and hid it behind my back. “Oh, never mind then.” Chapter 2 Sebastian didn’t press further. He had no emotional attachment to me. He called me over for one reason: to be his dinner buddy. And his bed buddy. But this month was tricky. He had already used up his $500,000 monthly limit by the 15th. So… The man pinned me to the hospital bed, his kisses trailing down my neck. Just as he was about to undo my button, I jolted. I scrambled three feet away. “You’re out of credit for the month!” “No more of that!” Sebastian looked annoyed. He stared at me, radiating “rich guy” energy. “I’ll pay extra!” “No!” Pay extra?! What if he jostles the baby loose! Usually, I’d jump at money, but this time I refused firmly. Sebastian looked at me suspiciously. My heart raced. I blurted out some nonsense: “I… I’m not feeling well this month.” “Plus, work is crazy. I can only provide companionship when you’re sick. No extras!” I turned to leave, terrified he’d spot the secret in my bag. He grabbed my wrist, his voice icy. “So I have to be sick to see you this month?” Sebastian worked out religiously. He was built like a tank. I nodded vigorously. “Yes! Sick visits only!” Chapter 3 Sebastian’s eyes darkened. He looked like he wanted to argue. Just then, a doctor walked in with a chart. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you just caught a cold from taking a cold shower. Nothing serious. You can be discharged.” Cold shower? In the middle of winter? Is he psycho? I looked at Sebastian like he was an idiot. Silently praying the baby gets his looks but definitely not his brains! “Okay, you’re discharged.” “No more meetings this month!” “See you next month, Mr. Vanderbilt!” See you next month my ass! I fled to my apartment. Packed a bag. Planned to find a place Sebastian couldn’t find to hide and raise the baby. My best friend, Chloe, was shocked. “You… you’re keeping it?” “Yeah!” I stuffed clothes into my suitcase without hesitation. “You know I’m an orphan. No family.” “I was planning to save enough for IVF anyway to make my own family.” “Now, family has arrived naturally!” Plus, with Sebastian’s genes, the kid would be gorgeous. I made up my mind and opened the airline app. Chloe hesitated. “The month isn’t over. What if Sebastian gets ‘sick’ again…” “Impossible,” I waved my hand. “He’s healthy as an ox. How could he get sick twice in a month…” My phone rang. It was Sebastian’s assistant. “Miss Lin, Mr. Vanderbilt has fallen ill again. Please come to the hospital.” As if fearing I wouldn’t come, he added: “This is included in the monthly package. Please hurry.” Chapter 4 Same hospital, same room. I ran there seven times in one week. Yes. Once a day. Fever today, flu tomorrow, rash the next day, sprained ankle after that… After a week of this, I looked at the battered man in the bed. For the first time, I questioned the physical competence of this business titan. “Bro, is your cerebellum okay? Are you uncoordinated?” How do you sprain your ankle three times leaving the hospital? And twist your arm? Sebastian looked at me coldly. “You doubting my ability?” “No,” I said honestly. I was doubting his IQ. Is stupidity hereditary? I stared at him suspiciously. Scanning him from head to toe, my eyes unconsciously stopped at a certain area— He suddenly pulled me hard. His scent overwhelmed me. Before I could react, Sebastian grabbed my chin and kissed me fiercely. “Mmph… mmph…” He was too rough. My morning sickness was bad lately. My stomach churned violently. I struggled to push him away. He held me tighter, crushing my lips while growling: “Can’t even touch you…” “Ugh!” Splash. I threw up. All over Sebastian’s pristine hospital pajamas. “Ava Lin! You hate me that much?!” “You threw up kissing me!”

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I was the zero-loss, top-tier attorney in my field. Then, I transmigrated. The System ordered me to defend a celebrity serial killer—an idol, no less—and, by highlighting his “redeemable qualities,” get him a reduced sentence. Watching the defendant openly provoke the victims’ families in court, I did the only logical thing: I pulled a complete heel turn right there, submitting a key piece of overlooked evidence that sealed his conviction. Before the judge could drop the gavel, that mass of brainwashed fans was still outside, chanting “He’s innocent!” Fine. If they wanted to stand by him so badly, I filed a motion to investigate the fan club for campaign finance fraud and wire fraud, ensuring they’d be sewing prison uniforms for the next decade. Just as I was about to dismantle the entire legal team and ancillary accomplices, the System shrieked and shoved me into the body of the neglected older brother in a saccharine “Golden Child” novel. [WARNING! This time, you are the biological brother of the villain! Blood is thicker than water! You absolutely cannot betray your family!] [SECOND WARNING! You are forbidden from using the law to send the main antagonist to prison!] The System was still shrieking its rules when I turned and made an appointment to take my “golden child” little brother in for a prefrontal lobotomy. If I couldn’t jail him, I’d commit him. A life sentence in a high-security psychiatric ward is still a sentence. A slightly simple brother is quite endearing, as long as he’s not a threat to society. I stood outside the high-security ward, watching Cameron Stone through the one-way glass. He was strapped down in professional restraints, screaming hoarsely into a rubber mouth-guard designed to keep him from biting his own tongue. The doctor stood beside me, holding the surgical consent form. “Mr. Stone, you understand this is a lobotomy? A prefrontal lobotomy is irreversible…” I pushed my glasses up my nose, my tone calm and measured. “Doctor, my brother has been in agony his whole life because he’s too smart—too focused on harming others. As his older brother, I can’t just stand by and watch him walk into a criminal future. Just a small resection. It will turn him into a worry-free little angel, always happy and always with us. Isn’t that the greatest act of love I can give him?” The System’s voice was a sharp, high-pitched alarm in my head. [Atticus Reed! Are you a demon?!] [The original plot required him to frame you, smear your name until you were completely blacklisted, and leave you to die alone in the street!] [I told you to redeem him with love and turn him to the good side, not turn him into a vegetable!] I slowly capped my fountain pen and replied mentally. [System, you need to broaden your perspective.] [Cameron is the antagonist because he has the capacity for high-level, intelligent crime.] [I’m performing a complete root-cause analysis, addressing the source of the problem. A physical reboot is still a reformation.] [Furthermore, I’m not killing him, I’m not sending him to prison, and I’m paying a premium for his treatment. What more could a dedicated older brother do?] My warped logic caused the System to short-circuit for a full two seconds. [But… but the rest of the Stone family is on their way!] [The eldest sister is a CEO, the second is a genius doctor, the third is a superstar, and your parents worship him.] [If they find out you’re having their precious golden child lobotomized, they will literally tear you limb from limb!] As if on cue, a sudden flurry of urgent high-heeled footsteps and an enraged shout echoed down the corridor. “Atticus Reed! What in God’s name are you doing!” I turned to see a formidable crew storming toward me. At the head was Veronica Stone, the matriarch, her face a contorted mask of rage barely concealed by her makeup. Following her closely was Kendall Stone, the eldest, in a tailored power suit, and Dr. Jocelyn Stone, the second sister, in a lab coat over her scrubs. Veronica lunged, her hand raised to strike. “How could you be so wicked! Release Cam, now!” I didn’t flinch from the blow. Instead, just as her hand was about to connect with my cheek, I calmly pulled a leather-bound copy of the Model Penal Code from my briefcase. Her palm slammed into the hard leather cover, and she cried out, clutching her hand in pain. I pocketed the book with a slight smile. “Assaulting an officer of the court doesn’t always lead to incarceration, but I will file a civil suit for intentional battery and request punitive damages. Considering how expensive this ward is, your settlement could cover his medical bills.” Kendall stepped forward, supporting her mother who was now wincing and breathing through her teeth. Her eyes were cold and predatory. “Atticus, have you lost your mind?” “Cam was a little unruly, and you commit him to an asylum? Stop the surgery immediately, or I promise I will make sure you never practice law in this city again!” I looked at the CEO—a woman whose only talent was in mergers and acquisitions—and shook my head with feigned disappointment. “Kendall, how can you call it merely ‘unruly’?” “He’s not willful; he’s fundamentally broken.” I pulled a stack of printed chat logs and security stills from my bag and gently tossed them at her chest. “Last month, he put Paraquat weed killer in my coffee, claiming he was ‘helping with the toxins.’ Last week, he cut your brake lines, saying he was ‘testing the vehicle’s integrity.’ And yesterday, he boiled all of Jocelyn’s lab rats for soup, saying he was ‘making her a tonic.’” I sighed, managing to redden my eyes just enough for the performance. “Sister, does a normal person do these things? This is textbook Severe Antisocial Personality Disorder.” “If I don’t get him treated now, he might decide to boil you or me next. It will be too late then.” Kendall glanced down at the evidence. They knew about these incidents, but every time Cam cried or threw a tantrum, they dismissed it as “our little brother’s playful genius.” Jocelyn picked up the materials, her brow deeply furrowed. “Even if that’s true, you cannot authorize a lobotomy! It’s an archaic, barbaric procedure! I’m a physician; I have the right to intervene in a patient’s treatment plan.” She moved to enter the ward. I stepped to the left, blocking the door. “Jocelyn, this is a psychiatric facility, not your sterile surgical theater.” “I am Cameron’s designated statutory guardian. I have the authority to decide his treatment.” I pushed up my glasses, the lenses flashing with cold light. “Furthermore, under the law regarding patients who pose an immediate, severe threat to themselves or others, a guardian can seek involuntary commitment.” “I have a court-ordered Writ of Involuntary Commitment. The law is on my side. If you forcibly enter this room, I will charge you with Obstruction of Justice and report you to the Medical Board for practicing medicine outside your specialized domain.” Jocelyn froze. She had never seen Atticus like this. The usual compliant, family-pleasing doormat was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp antagonist who gave no quarter. She was the designated “genius” of the family, but she was stunned into silence. She quickly recovered. “Guardian? Mother and Father are here. Since when do you get priority?” Walter Stone, the patriarch, stepped forward, his face dark with disapproval. “Atticus, you have no authority in this house. I am Cameron’s father. I order you to stop this farce immediately.” “Otherwise, I will publish a notice in every major paper, disowning you and retracting everything you currently possess.” The original Atticus would have immediately crumbled, desperate for their approval. But I am not the original. I am a cold-blooded killer of legal proceedings. I looked at Walter with an air of genuine confusion. “Father, are you suffering from a legal delusion? American law does not allow for the ‘disownment’ of biological kin.” “You sound legally illiterate, sir. I suggest you go read a book.” Walter sputtered, his face purpling. “You… you insolent snake!” “And as for retracting ‘everything I possess’?” I looked around at the well-dressed, morally bankrupt family and let out a light laugh. “The condo I live in? I bought it with my own mortgage. The car I drive? Firm-issued. The clothes on my back? Purchased with money I earned.” “Since I turned eighteen, you haven’t given me a single dollar, claiming you were ‘teaching me independence.’ Meanwhile, you bought Cameron a fifty-million-dollar yacht.” “So, Mr. Stone, what exactly are you planning to retract? The nonexistent fatherly love? If so, please do. I consider it contaminated.” The rapid-fire attack of facts hit Walter like a physical blow; he grabbed his chest, swaying slightly. Kendall quickly supported him, rounding on me. “Atticus! Are you trying to kill Dad! Where is your conscience?!” “My conscience is alive and well. It’s your brains, however, that might need a consultation with Cameron’s surgeon.” I checked my watch. “The procedure should have started. The anesthetic is already in the line. Since you’re all here, why not sit down and admire Cameron’s rebirth?” Just then, the ward door burst open. A nurse scrambled out, eyes wide with panic. “Code Red! The patient—the patient broke out of the restraints!” I frowned. Those were specialized maximum-security restraints. Cameron couldn’t possibly possess that much strength unless he was truly fueled by pure, unadulterated evil. The next second, Cameron burst from the room, a scalpel in his hand. He was in a hospital gown, his eyes filled with stark, naked murder. “Atticus! I’m going to kill you!” He screamed, charging straight at me. The System shrieked: [Host, watch out! This is the Villain Aura! He gets a power boost in moments of desperation!] The Stone family, incredibly, looked relieved, even joyful. Veronica yelled, “Cam! Come to Mommy!” Kendall cried, “Don’t be scared, Cam! Sister is here!” They saw their darling boy, traumatized, seeking comfort. But Cameron didn’t even look at them; he was truly trying to murder me. Facing the flashing surgical steel, I didn’t step back. I adjusted my stance, ensuring I was perfectly centered in the ceiling-mounted security camera’s view. “Cameron, put the knife down. It’s dangerous.” “Big brother knows you hate me for bringing you here, but I did it for your own good!” “Die! You bastard!” Cameron roared, lunging the scalpel straight toward my throat. When the tip was five inches from my carotid artery, I moved. I didn’t use a theatrical martial arts move. I just precisely sidestepped and extended my foot, tripping him. Cameron flew, inertia carrying him forward. He landed hard, face-first, on the polished floor. The scalpel spun out of his hand, flying across the tile floor. By chance, it landed point-first, embedding itself in the toe of Kendall’s four-figure Manolos. Two screams ripped through the corridor. One from Cameron, who had likely broken his nose, his face immediately slick with blood. The second from Kendall, whose foot was now pinned to the floor by the blade. The corridor erupted in chaos. I calmly brushed off my trousers, addressing the stunned doctor and security guards. “You all saw that. The patient exhibited extreme aggression and assault with a deadly weapon.” “Had that blade hit me, I would be a corpse. This is severe, homicidal violence. It meets the threshold for maximum-level statutory restraint.” I pointed at Cameron, who was twitching on the floor, then at Kendall, whose foot was bleeding profusely. “Look. He even stabbed his own sister. His condition is clearly extreme.” “Doctor, I believe the initial lobotomy plan was perhaps too conservative.” “I recommend we add Electroconvulsive Therapy. If we can’t cut the water out of his brain, maybe we can shock it out.” Jocelyn, who was frantically trying to stop the bleeding in Kendall’s foot, looked up. For the first time, her eyes held real fear. “Atticus, are you a demon?” I smiled, looking down at her. Behind my glasses, my eyes were utterly devoid of warmth. “No, Jocelyn. I am an attorney. A specialist in handling the incorrigible.” Cameron never made it to surgery. The face-first fall gave him a mild concussion and a fractured nasal bone. The Stone family used the emergency room visit as a pretense to forcefully remove him from the psychiatric hospital. I didn’t try to stop them. The System was screaming: [Cannot kill the villain! Cannot use the law to jail him yet! If you had been any rougher, he would have died!] I stood at the hospital entrance, watching the Stone family’s luxury SUV speed away, a slight, cold smile curving my lips. “Don’t worry, System. I’m going to be a model, law-abiding citizen.” I returned to my firm. I hadn’t been back for long when my phone exploded. It was Stella Stone, the third sibling and the A-list celebrity. She was shrieking on the other end. “Atticus! You hurt Cam and Kendall? I’m going to destroy your life!” “I already posted on my social media! Wait until my tens of millions of followers tear you to shreds!” I opened my news feed. Sure enough, the top trending topic was #AtticusTheEvilBrother. Stella had posted a tearful, long-form accusation, claiming I was jealous and, to seize the family fortune, tried to have my perfectly healthy brother lobotomized. The post included photos of a bloodied, pathetic-looking Cameron in the hospital bed, and a picture of Kendall’s bandaged, “brutalized” foot. There was also a clipped audio file, containing only my line: “Just a small resection… it will turn him into a worry-free little angel.” The comment section exploded: [OMG! What kind of monster is this brother! A lobotomy? That’s attempted murder!] [Rich people drama is terrifying. Poor Cam and Kendall!] [Dox him! Make him pay! This man should be disbarred!] My DMs were instantly full of venom and death threats. Even the firm’s main line was overwhelmed. My assistant ran into my office, crying. “Mr. Reed, so many people are calling to scream at you! Someone sent a funeral wreath to the lobby!” The System was panicked. [It’s happening! This is the original plot!] [You get net-doomed to death, and Cameron will walk over your corpse to victory!] I calmly sipped my coffee and opened my laptop. “System, do you know the best way to fight a public smear campaign?” [Apologize? Shut down your accounts?] “Wrong.” My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing code and legal documents. “It’s to make them realize that I can reach through the network and send them all to federal prison.” “Since Stella wants a war of public opinion, I’ll teach her what a society governed by the rule of law looks like.” I didn’t respond to the online vitriol. Instead, I quietly did three things: First, I compiled the full surveillance video of Cameron’s armed assault in the hospital, along with the evidence of his attempted murder at home (the brake lines and the weed killer). Second, I initiated a deep dive into Stella’s tax records. She’s a top-tier influencer, earning a massive income. Did she pay all her taxes? Any off-the-books deals? Any suspicious shell companies? I knew no one in that industry had clean hands. “System, scan Stella Stone’s financial transactions for the last five years.” The System complained but complied. [Beep! Scan complete! Discovered tax evasion totaling $1.2 million, along with multiple instances of off-the-books wire transfers.] I looked at the dense data on the screen and smiled like a supervillain. “Stella, you brought this on yourself.” “Since you used your ‘illegal fundraising’ product—your fan base—to attack me, I’ll send your fan base into mourning.” Just as I prepared my counter-attack, Mr. Stevens, the firm’s managing partner, walked in, his face grim. “Reed, your personal drama has severely compromised the firm’s reputation.” “The Stone Group just filed a formal letter, demanding we terminate all their corporate advisory contracts unless we fire you.” He threw a termination letter on my desk. “You need to leave. Don’t take the whole firm down with you.” Kendall, the corporate shark, had already started her economic blockade. I picked up the termination letter and shredded it without a glance. “Mr. Stevens, under the terms of the labor agreement, unilateral termination without just cause requires you to pay me two years’ severance.” “Furthermore, the Stone Group’s termination constitutes a breach of contract. Their penalty is significant. Are you sure you don’t want to pursue that?” Stevens was stunned. “You’re worried about money right now?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” I stood up and adjusted my tie. “I’m worried about money, and I’m worried about justice.” “Let me borrow the firm’s private streaming room.” “I’m going to hold a live legal seminar. The topic? The Inevitable Prison Sentence of a High-Profile Celebrity and Her Legally Illiterate Family.”

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It happened at the company holiday gala: I threw up all over the CEO’s most important investor. My colleagues scattered as if a bomb had gone off, and even my boss, Gabe Holloway, had to personally step in and apologize for me. Yet, the investor didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked mildly concerned, telling Gabe, “Her tolerance is terrible. You should keep an eye on her.” Gabe’s jaw practically hit the floor. As soon as the banquet ended, my co-workers swarmed me, desperate for gossip. “That was Cole Grayson,” someone hissed. “The Cole Grayson. How do you know him?” Cole—Grayson—paused mid-stride in the crowd and glanced my way. I looked past him and forced a hollow laugh. “I don’t. We’re not friends.” After all, three years ago when we broke up, the only thing Cole had asked was that I never mention we’d been together. 1 The noisy room fell silent for a beat. A few seconds later, someone spoke up, skepticism thick in their voice. “No way.” “His suit alone was six figures. You’re telling me he wouldn’t raise hell, and he’d actually tell our boss something like that, if you weren’t close?” Tell him what? I had been genuinely drunk and hadn’t quite caught what Cole had said. I could only shake my head and repeat, “We’re really not close.” “Mr. Grayson probably let it slide because of our boss, Gabe.” Everyone knew Gabe Holloway had a wide social circle. His relationship with Cole Grayson was certainly deep enough to warrant a courtesy pass. “Really?” I met the curious gaze of the woman who asked. After studying my face for a long moment, she convinced herself. “You’re right.” “It has to be Gabe. If Rhea Sutton actually knew someone like that, would she be here grinding out hours in a cubicle farm like the rest of us?” “Still, I heard Cole is getting engaged at the end of the month. Maybe he’s just in a good mood.” That tidbit seemed to satisfy most of my colleagues. The only person who didn’t buy it was Gabe himself, who I rarely saw on the floor. He stood with a cigarette between his fingers, his eyebrow arched in a silent challenge—I’ll just stand here and watch you squirm. 2 I calmly shifted my gaze away. I hadn’t exactly lied. Three years was a lifetime; we were strangers now. More to the point, Cole had made his boundaries clear back then. I wasn’t even allowed to speak his name. The party wrapped up. Cole walked toward the exit with Gabe. As he passed me, he turned his head and gave me a long, deliberate look. I maintained the expression of a polite stranger, not even lifting my eyes. Only after the two men left did the atmosphere in the room lighten up again. Gossip about Cole Grayson immediately resurfaced. When someone mentioned his fiancée, a colleague sighed. “Blythe Prescott. The trust fund baby. The only thing she’s ever struggled with is deciding on a coffee order.” “Born with a silver spoon, and Cole’s childhood sweetheart to boot. The diamond in her engagement ring alone is terrifyingly expensive, not to mention the fleet of gifts he’s been showering her with.” “Little bird told me this, so don’t quote me,” a voice lowered conspiratorially, “but apparently, Cole once dated a poor girl for two years. He cut her off the very next day, just because she made the precious Miss Prescott cry once.” “Two years just gone? That brutal?” “Brutal? I heard that to appease Blythe, he even made sure the girl was run out of Westwood. But honestly, the girl came from nothing, had a bad reputation anyway. She was probably just after his money.” A chorus of sighs followed. I lowered my eyes, hearing the fragments of their conversation. The rumors were half-truths. It was true that Cole broke up with me because of Blythe. But he didn’t throw a tantrum that day, and he certainly didn’t run me out of town. He simply decided I was beneath him, flew abroad, and never even looked at me again. Two years of my life ended with a humiliating voicemail. I couldn’t listen anymore. As I picked up my bag to leave, I heard someone ask, “Two years. Didn’t he feel any regret at all?” 3 No. Cole was ruthless. For a long time after we split, I found myself wondering if the polite, warm Cole Grayson I first met was even the same person as the man who dismissed me. Later, I realized. Cole changed around the time Blythe returned to the City. He took me to meet his friends. They were all people he’d known since prep school. I exchanged polite hellos with everyone. Except Blythe. She scanned me from head to toe. It was the first time I’d ever seen her—gorgeous, and utterly unapproachable. We didn’t exchange a single word the entire night. Until the end, when she finally spoke her first words to me: “What a coincidence.” “I heard your mother was sick and you were in desperate need of money right around the time you met Cole. Is that true?” I froze. Cole had helped me pay for a medical bill once. But I had already paid him back. The night I accepted Cole’s proposal, I’d regretted it almost instantly. Cole Grayson, the darling of Westwood society, was never meant to be with a scholarship kid. But then Cole had buried his head into my shoulder, his voice muffled as he asked, “Are you sure you want to break up with me?” All the words I’d prepared disappeared. My heart hammered in my chest. I realized, with devastating clarity, that I had no control over the way I felt about him. After that, I made a conscious effort not to accept gifts from Cole. His gifts were expensive, items I could never hope to repay. But how did Blythe know about the bill? Before I could reply, Blythe smiled again, changing the subject with a flick of her hand. “It doesn’t matter, really. It was only a little money.” “I just said it out loud. Don’t worry about it.” I stood there, watching Blythe. Cole lowered his gaze and gave her a light, dismissive glance. They didn’t speak, but I could feel the silent communication passing between them. Even then, I felt the first faint shift. As Blythe started showing up more frequently, that unspoken, insidious feeling intensified. Later, while shopping with them, I saw a pair of earrings. They were perfect for my mother. I stared, lost in thought, until Blythe called my name. She looked at the earrings and commented, “They’re very pretty.” “Do you like them?” “Then just have Cole buy them for you.” At her words, their tight-knit group—the ones who had grown up together—let out a quiet, shared laugh. The light streamed through the glass, dividing the world into bright and dark. They stood bathed in the light. And I stood alone, outside of it. I distinctly felt the difference this time. I looked up at Cole. I couldn’t describe the feeling, but I was utterly desperate for him to step in, to say one word on my behalf. To say, Rhea has never asked me for anything. To say, Rhea is not the person you think she is. I watched Cole. Blythe watched him, too. Time seemed to freeze for an eon. After what felt like forever, Cole finally spoke. He turned, his eyes casually sweeping over the earrings. He spoke flatly: “If you like something, just ask next time.” “Anything else catch your eye? Go on and choose.” The world tilted. I clutched the counter and stared at him, trying to see the truth behind his unruffled expression. All I saw, eventually, was the same look in his impossibly handsome eyes that I’d seen in Blythe’s. Pitying. Superior. They were no different. 4 After that day, we entered a subtle, cold war. I stopped reaching out to Cole. But Blythe came looking for me. “I forgot to give you the earrings you were looking at last time. Cole asked me to bring them.” Then, she looked past me at my mother and smiled. “So, this is your mother.” “The one you used as an excuse to borrow money from Cole in the first place, isn’t it?” “What will the reason be next time? Surely ‘sickness’ is a little cliché?” “Perhaps you two should discuss it. I’m sure your mother has more experience…” Every single word landed precisely in my mother’s ears. With each sentence, her face grew paler. Before Blythe could finish, I shoved her. “What are you saying?” Blythe stumbled and fell. Her wrist scraped against something, and tears instantly welled up in her eyes. Her friends arrived that very evening. Familiar faces blocked my doorway, demanding an apology. My throat tightened. “Blythe insulted my mother first. Why should I apologize?” “Fine. We can discuss it nicely,” a guy leaned against the wall, sizing me up. “No apology, then pay us.” He laughed at his own joke. “But can you even afford it?” Unlike the first time we met, they were brutally honest. “Look, you’re just after Cole’s money. Was Blythe wrong?” “Just tell us the truth. How much do you and your mother want? We’ll give it to you. Just stop clinging to Cole.” I was shaking with rage. I was about to speak when Cole arrived. The moment he appeared, his friends scattered. As the footsteps faded, the hallway returned to silence. Blythe must have called him. Was Cole here to make me apologize, like them? Or was he here to mock me, too? I gripped my sleeve, staring at him motionlessly. But Cole didn’t mention Blythe. There was no confrontation, no anger. He spoke, his voice unusually gentle, asking, “I heard your mother isn’t well?” “Do you need funds?” The tone was mild, but the underlying cruelty was identical to his friends’ words. At that moment, I wondered if I had never truly known Cole in those two years, or if he had simply changed. Seeing my silence, Cole pressed something cold into my palm. I knew what it was. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.” My mother was sitting on the sofa, listening to every word. Her fingers dug deep into the cushion. My body was rigid. I didn’t dare look back at my mother’s face. I could only squeeze out a single word from my throat: “Get out.” I threw the card and him out the door. The talk ended badly. Cole didn’t send me another card, but he began sending a relentless stream of things via courier. When I got home one night, my door was open. A neighbor, stepping out, remarked, “Your daughter is something else, isn’t she? So pretty, getting all these expensive things. She really is making a good life for you, just like she said.” I froze instantly. I slowly lifted my eyes to the living room. The table was covered with luxury goods and jewelry. The living room was terrifyingly quiet. My mother sat on the sofa. She didn’t ask or speak. She just stared silently at the things. After a long while, she closed her eyes and whispered: “Rhea, I keep thinking, I wish I hadn’t survived that accident all those years ago.” My eyes immediately filled with tears.

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The day I went public with my childhood sweetheart, the genius Go prodigy took his own life. Reporters found his study filled with cabinets of antidepressants and a portrait of my profile, meticulously pieced together with black and white Go stones. His mentor’s voice choked with emotion: “That kid lost his parents when he was twelve. Chloe, you were his last tether to this world…” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I lost a game of Truth or Dare. My childhood friend’s secret boyfriend was excitedly suggesting, “Why don’t you two post a relationship announcement?” Chapter 1 News of Ethan Cole, the genius Go prodigy, winning seven consecutive games and breaking the undefeated record of a legendary master caused a massive stir back in the States. With his signature black trench coat, devastatingly good looks, and an aura of aloof indifference, he was absolutely slaying on every video platform, harvesting a legion of fangirls. During a livestream interview after his return, a young reporter teased, “God-tier Ethan, many of your new female fans are very curious about your relationship status. Care to share?” A staff member tugged at the reporter, whispering, “Did you not do your homework? Don’t ask. He never answers questions unrelated to Go, and he especially hates gossip.” The young reporter visibly tensed up. But unexpectedly, Ethan took the microphone. His pitch-black eyes stared unblinkingly into the camera lens, as if looking through it to lock eyes with someone specific. His clenched fingertips trembled slightly, as if it took every ounce of his strength to say: “I’m sorry. I like you.” It was clearly a confession, yet the desperate sense of putting everything on the line was suffocating. When the camera panned to Ethan’s phone, the lit screen displayed the relationship announcement post from me and my childhood friend on Instagram. But at the time, no one paid attention. The internet was still immersed in the joy of his victory, frantically guessing how excellent the girl must be to make a genius feel inferior. That night, news of Ethan’s suicide due to depression rocketed to the top of the trending list. “I like you” became his final words. The next day, when a reporter approached me, wanting to take me to Ethan’s apartment, my childhood friend, Josh Miller, screeched before I could react: “Lady, you must have the wrong person. How could Chloe Evans have anything to do with God-tier Ethan? She can’t even figure out Ludo, let alone Go. I’m a loyal fan of Ethan’s, the president of his fan club chapter. If you want to know what’s going on, you should take me.” I gently kicked Josh, but I had to agree with him. To me, Ethan was an existence from a completely different dimension. In my eyes, he was just a taciturn genius in a field I knew nothing about. Chapter 2 Ethan’s apartment was in a quiet suburb. Pushing open the study door, the first thing that caught my eye was a massive portrait of a girl’s profile, created entirely from black and white Go stones. Delicate, exquisite, breathtaking. Every detail revealed the creator’s intense, unyielding emotion—a love that endured until death. It made you want to take a picture. If that girl wasn’t me. I walked in, staring at the cabinets filled with antidepressant bottles labeled in foreign languages. Ethan’s mentor, a titan in the Go world, sighed deeply behind me, his voice choking up. “That kid had a hard life. Abused since childhood, and at twelve, he watched his parents beat each other to death. He became an orphan.” “Chloe, you were his last tether to this world.” My gaze shifted to a glass display case nearby. Inside was a broken strawberry hair clip, a half-eaten bag of dried mangoes, and a small note I had accidentally thrown out the window during study hall while chatting with Josh. It read: “Damn, I just realized guys look so hot in black trench coats.” … These pieces of trash I had casually discarded were treasured like precious gems. In contrast, his valuable championship certificates and trophies were carelessly shoved into a corner. “So, he chose to give up on life after seeing my announcement?” The mentor’s eyes were red. “All these years, Ethan was placed on a pedestal. He looked glorious on the surface, but his mental state was getting worse and worse. Every night, he could only sleep briefly while looking at your photo.” I couldn’t help but ask, “Master, why exactly did Ethan like me…” Before I could finish, a sharp pain shot through my brain. Before consciousness faded, I saw the mentor’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear a sound. Chapter 3 When I opened my eyes again, I was at the post-graduation party. We were a few rounds deep into Truth or Dare. Josh was watching Ethan’s livestream interview while discussing the relationship announcement caption with his new secret boyfriend on my phone. I woke as if from a dream and frantically stopped them. “Don’t post that. Pick another punishment.” A guy next to us shoved Josh playfully. “Yo, you got rejected again.” “Chloe, what’s up? Can’t handle the game today?” Seeing my genuine panic, Josh ignored them and stammered, “But I just posted it… Chloe, don’t panic, it’s only been a minute. I’m deleting it now.” On the livestream, Ethan had just put down his phone and was being guided by staff to take questions. Crap. He must have already seen it. I didn’t have time to explain. I immediately got up to catch a cab to the Go club, simultaneously starting a voice call with Ethan on WeChat. Even though I had absolutely no memory of ever adding him. Once connected, his voice carried an imperceptible surprise and cautious probing: “Chloe Evans?” It was the first time I heard Ethan say my name. His voice was naturally deep and bewitching, unexpectedly tugging at my heartstrings. “The relationship post is fake. It was a punishment for losing Truth or Dare. Wait for me, I’m coming to the Go club right now.” Silence on the other end for about five seconds. If not for the sound of his breathing losing its rhythm and the trembling “Okay” at the end… I would have thought I was too late again. After hanging up. I let out a breath, slowly leaning my head back against the seat and closing my eyes. Ethan, I want to see just how crazy you really are. A bright future, the title of a genius, wealth, status, even his bone-deep love for Go. He was willing to abandon it all without a second thought… When I arrived at the Go club, the reporters had already left. On the way, Josh posted on his timeline: “How did he just cancel the interview after one phone call? That’s not Ethan’s style. WTF, which siren bewitched our God-tier Ethan into skipping work?” I commented instantly: “Is it possible you know this siren…” Josh: “Who? Who is it! Is it the school beauty, Sophie? Then it’s fine. Although our preferences differ, we’re both men, I understand him.” Me: “…” The autumn wind was bleak. The boy stood under the streetlamp. Who knows how long he had been waiting? The black trench coat made his skin look even paler. Six-foot-one, broad shoulders, long legs. The fluid lines of his muscles filled out the coat perfectly. He didn’t have to do anything, didn’t have to pose; just standing there was eye-catching enough. No wonder he went viral online. When our eyes met, Ethan’s dark, indifferent eyes suddenly lit up, rippling like water. Subtle dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth, and his gaze glued itself to me. It gave me the feeling of a starving predator in a barren snowfield suddenly spotting food—eyes glowing green. It was intense, almost too much to look at directly. Was he this happy just to see me? Even though I received plenty of love letters at school, Josh always teased me about being a “player” or a “tease.” But when I took the hot drink Ethan handed me, the moment our fingertips touched, my heart still skipped a beat. Jasmine milk tea, 30% sugar. My favorite order from my favorite spot. “Senior…” I lifted my chin, looking up slightly to meet his gaze. “You can call me Chloe.” Ethan’s ears turned crimson at a speed visible to the naked eye. His raven-black eyelashes trembled as if he were trying hard to suppress something. He lowered his head and gave a raspy acknowledgement. It felt like I was the one hitting on him. Josh complained countless times that despite being a top-ten honor student worthy of the honor roll… My face was too glamorous and lacked innocence, and my tone naturally carried a flirtatious lilt. I looked more like a delinquent slacker no matter how you sliced it. I tried to change the subject. “It’s so cold out. Why didn’t you wait inside?” “Forget waiting outside. When he heard you were coming, he clutched his phone and couldn’t even speak. Cancelled the interview. He wanted to fly over to pick you up.” A familiar middle-aged man walked out of the Go club, grinning from ear to ear. It was his mentor. “Ethan, why don’t you invite her inside?” As the mentor tugged at Ethan’s coat… A silver dagger fell from the boy’s person. It hit the pavement with a crisp clang. The atmosphere instantly froze. The mentor’s arm stiffened in mid-air. In that moment, I felt my brain short-circuit. If I hadn’t rushed to the club, hadn’t made that call. Right now, would Ethan have locked himself in his study, stared despairingly at that black and white profile, and turned the blade toward his wrist… A sharp pain pricked my heart. I quickly bent down to pick up the dagger. “Chloe!” Ethan’s cool voice carried a trace of urgency. I didn’t expect the blade to be so sharp. I just barely grazed the edge, and beads of blood rushed out from my fingertip. When Ethan used this to cut his wrist, he must have truly had zero will to live. Chapter 4 Inside the Go club, amidst the misty autumn rain. After disinfecting the cut, Ethan turned to get gauze. I grabbed the hem of his clothes with my good hand. “It’s just a scratch. No need to bandage it. Just blow on it and it’ll heal.” Ethan froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Can I?” “Hm?” The boy leaned down, reverently lifting my injured finger. His pale pink lips slowly moved closer. I realized belatedly that he interpreted “blow on it” as him blowing on it. Our warm breaths mingled, the air heating up rapidly. Just as we were about to touch, the sound of the mentor pushing the door open made me yank my hand back. The mentor waved at me, signaling me to follow him out. Ethan’s eyes darkened. He stared at my nearly healed wound, his gaze heavy. He watched me leave with puppy-dog eyes, a silent, humble plea for me to stay. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again, I mentally grumbled. But then I realized, in Ethan’s eyes, I was just visiting on a whim. Whether I would come back was truly an unknown to him. … “Chloe, were you scared? Getting hurt the first time you officially meet… that kid is going to cry from guilt. Don’t be afraid, he has no ill intentions. That dagger… it’s probably because…” Outside the door, the mentor stopped mid-sentence. I blinked. “It’s okay, Master. I know.” Shock washed over the mentor’s face. “You know? Did Ethan tell you? No, impossible. With his personality, he would never tell you and burden you. I’m going to find out which traitor ran their mouth later.” I answered silently in my heart: Master, you told me yourself. “Chloe, Ethan is really happy that you came. Maybe tonight he can take fewer sleeping pills. I’m not afraid to tell you, his dosage is getting higher and higher. It scares me. Chloe, really, thank you.” When the mentor bowed his head, I saw a few gray hairs. My nose started to sting. … When I returned to the room, Ethan was reviewing a game. His well-defined fingers held a black stone. It was incredibly pleasing to the eye—the image of a gentleman. He radiated a calmness and aloofness that didn’t match his age. I approached silently. My hands were still wet from washing them, so I playfully flicked water at him twice. He turned his head, pupils dilating in shock that I had returned. He didn’t wipe the water off even though I “bullied” him. His eyelashes were wet—I didn’t know if he had cried or if it was my water droplets. Up close, I noticed a cut on his finger in the exact same spot as mine. For a Go player, does he care so little about his hands? I thought it, so I blurted it out. Ethan stood up helplessly, hiding his hand behind his back. “Chloe, I’m sorry.” “Don’t say those two words to me ever again.” I tried to look fierce, but my voice was naturally soft, so it sounded more like flirting. “Why was that in the room?” I pointed at the dagger on the cabinet. “You touched it. It has your scent. I want to keep it.” Ethan whispered his explanation, hiding nothing. I could already picture Ethan taking this knife back to his study and reverently placing it in a glass display case. Even though the heat wasn’t on, my face started to burn. I paused for a moment. “The high school reunion next month. Are you going?” “Chloe, you don’t hate me?” Ethan asked cautiously. “You really want me to hate you?” “No.” I felt mischievous and leaned in closer, smiling. “So you want me to like you, then?” “Chloe…” Ethan gripped the Go stone tightly, his voice hoarse as he said my name. I felt like I was bullying him too much, so I took a step back. “Alright, sleep early tonight. Take fewer sleeping pills. If possible, don’t take any. I’m leaving.” “Okay.” The disappointment in the boy’s eyes was undisguised, like a dog abandoned in a storm by its owner. I couldn’t help but lift my hand. Ethan naturally bent down, making it easy for me to ruffle his soft hair. “So obedient. Will you do anything I ask?” “Yes.” I was just joking. I didn’t expect Ethan to answer so decisively. I didn’t know how to respond. The boy in front of me curved his lips, his tone humble yet serious, tinged with stubbornness. “I am willing to do anything for Chloe.” A cold wind blew in from the window, and my heart missed a beat again. I heard my voice: “In that case, Ethan, I order you to live well.”

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After a car accident, my memory reset to when I was eighteen. When I woke up in the hospital, the first thing I saw was my fiancé, Julian, making out passionately with my sister, Chloe. Finding it hilarious, I snapped a picture and sent it to the family group chat. When Chloe saw it, she screamed at me to delete it. I just laughed, heartless and carefree. “Why hide it, Sis? Brother-in-law is hot. You two should go public!” Julian froze, staring at me like I was a ghost. “What did you call me?” “Brother-in-law? I’m your fiancé, you idiot.” 1 I was woken up by the sound of aggressive kissing. Annoyed by the noise, I cracked my eyes open, only to see my sister straddling a man in the chair next to my hospital bed. They were going at it hard, completely ignoring my presence, making wet, ambiguous noises that made my skin crawl. I was instantly wide awake. Damn, I thought. My innocent, goody-two-shoes sister Chloe has a wild side. I squinted at the guy. Not bad. She eats well. I grabbed my phone and started snapping photos, thinking I’d send them to her later as blackmail material. Flash. Crap. I forgot to turn off the flash. The sudden burst of light terrified them. They scrambled apart, looking at me like deer in headlights. Chloe recovered first, shrieking, “Sarah! Are you crazy? Who are you trying to scare?” … Julian frowned, pushed Chloe aside, straightened his rumpled shirt, and marched over to me. “Since you’re awake, let’s go home.” He reached out to grab my hand. I didn’t know why, but the moment he got close, my chest tightened. It was a visceral reaction. I dodged his touch instinctively. I was still trying to figure out who this guy was when the door burst open. It was my mother. She rushed to the bedside, sobbing. “Oh my god, Sarah! How does a perfectly safe car just crash? Thank god Julian got you here in time. If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t survive it.” The lust in Julian’s eyes had vanished, replaced by the mask of a perfect gentleman. “It was the least I could do, Mrs. Hayes.” Mom nodded approvingly. Seeing me just sitting there, she shot me a look. Be polite, it said. I got the message. I hopped off the bed, gave Julian a theatrical, ninety-degree bow, and shouted, “Thank you, Brother-in-law, for saving my life! I will honor you like my own brother from now on!” Julian’s face went pitch black. A cold draft hit me, and I shivered, scrambling back under the covers. “Brother-in-law isn’t mad at a sick girl, right?” I giggled. “I’m fragile right now.” Julian looked paralyzed. “What did you call me?” Every time I said “Brother-in-law,” his expression darkened another shade. Mom panicked and covered my mouth. “Stop it! What are you saying?” Chloe, who had been standing silently in the corner, suddenly looked terrified. “Sarah, stop talking! Julian is going to get angry. Did you forget what happened the last time you made him mad?” I didn’t understand. Why would he get mad? Why couldn’t I make him mad? And what were the consequences? They were all acting so weird. Julian finally spoke, his voice ice-cold. “What game are you playing now? I’m not in the mood for your drama.” Mom looked at him with pure fear. “Julian, please don’t be mad at Sarah. She’s just… having a moment. You know how she gets. Just humor her, and she’ll come home.” I was completely lost. Under Mom’s pleading, Julian softened. “Fine. I was wrong earlier. Come on, babe. Let’s go home.” He reached out to brush a stray hair from my forehead. Mom looked relieved. But behind him, Chloe’s eyes were filled with venom. Meeting her gaze snapped me back to reality. I leaned back to avoid his hand, lost my balance, and instinctively kicked out to stop myself from hitting the headboard. My foot connected solidly with Julian’s chest. He stumbled back, his lower back hitting the sharp corner of the bedside table. He doubled over in pain. Chloe rushed to him, practically weeping. “Sarah! What is wrong with you?!” Mom ignored him and checked me. “Baby, are you okay? Did you hurt your foot?” Chloe snapped, “Mom! Look at her, she’s fine! She’s faking it!” Julian had lost all patience. “Sarah, you clearly haven’t learned your lesson. If I ever visit you again, I’m a dog!” 2 I had never been yelled at like that in my life. I wasn’t about to take that disrespect. I jumped off the bed and delivered a perfect Taekwondo axe kick to the air in front of him. Black belt, baby. “Who asked you to come? Aren’t you my sister’s boyfriend? What, you trying to have your cake and eat it too?” Mom turned pale. She frantically dialed Dad. “Honey, get here now. Our daughter is broken.” Dad rushed in with a team of doctors. They poked and prodded me for an hour. The diagnosis: Retrograde Amnesia. My memory was stuck at eighteen. When my parents heard this, they actually laughed. “What are the odds she never gets her memory back?” they asked the doctor eagerly. The doctor paused. Usually, families ask about recovery chances. My parents were asking about permanent loss. “About twenty percent. There’s a small blood clot. Once it dissolves, she should remember.” My parents deflated instantly. Julian scoffed. “Amnesia? That’s a new low, even for you. Don’t think this act is going to make me like you again.” The image of him sucking face with my sister flashed in my mind. I shuddered. “Relax, Brother-in-law. I have zero interest in taken men.” Julian gritted his teeth. “Brother-in-law? I. Am. Your. Fiancé.” Mom jumped in, soothing his ego with practiced humility. It was obvious she was terrified of him dumping me. Dad joined in the scolding. “Sarah, stop it. Your sister has a boyfriend, everyone knows that. You’re ruining her reputation.” I snapped. “Mom, Dad, I’m telling the truth! I literally took a picture of them!” My parents looked confused. Chloe lunged for my phone. “Sarah! Haven’t you done enough? Are you trying to make Julian hate you even more?” I sidestepped, and she face-planted onto the bed. She didn’t give up, tackling me. In the struggle, my fingers swiped frantically across the screen. Ding. Ding. Ding. Phones chimed simultaneously in the pockets of Mom, Dad, Chloe, and Julian. Everyone checked their screens. Their brows furrowed in unison. Dad grabbed Chloe and slapped her across the face. “You animal! He is your sister’s fiancé! How could you?” Oops. In the struggle, I had accidentally sent the photo to the “Hayes Family & Friends” group chat. 3 The group chat exploded. Everyone was online, eating popcorn and watching the show. [Cousin Jen]: Wow, Chloe. Didn’t know you were that wild. [Aunt Lisa]: Wait, isn’t that Sarah’s fiancé? Why is he eating Chloe’s face? [Uncle Bob]: Chloe stealing her sister’s man? That’s low. Chloe’s face turned bright red. She looked at Julian helplessly, begging for him to save her. But Julian didn’t even look at her. She turned her rage on me. “Sarah! Delete it! Are you trying to ruin me?” I laughed. “Why? Brother-in-law is handsome! Why hide him? Look at the lighting, it’s romantic. You should save it. It’ll be a great memory when you’re old.” Chloe stomped her foot. “Didn’t you hear Mom and Dad? He is your fiancé!” I chuckled. “Sis, are you gaslighting me too? If he’s mine, why were you kissing him? Or is Uncle Bob right? Are you screwing my man behind my back?” Chloe froze. Then, her eyes darted around, and she dropped to her knees in front of our parents. “It was an emergency! Julian had an asthma attack! He didn’t have his inhaler! I was giving him artificial respiration!” “Sarah loves him so much, I would never steal him! Mom, Dad, believe me!” Wow. Tongue-kissing constitutes CPR now? Only an idiot would believe that. “Julian,” Mom asked, her voice trembling. “Is that true? Was it… medical?” Julian hesitated for a split second, then nodded. Mom let out a huge breath. “Oh, thank god. I knew you two weren’t like that.” Okay, so my mother is the idiot. Dad looked furious. He wanted to say something, but Mom grabbed his arm and shook her head sharply. Dad looked at me, sighed, and swallowed his words. “Sarah,” they said, eyes watering. “It was a misunderstanding. Don’t overthink it. We wouldn’t lie to you.” I looked at them, baffled. Why were they protecting this guy? “Sarah has amnesia,” Mom told Julian apologetically. “Please be patient with her. And when she remembers… please don’t hurt her again.” Jesus. Did this guy save the world or something? Why was my family bowing down to him? 4 My parents made a hasty exit, claiming they had business to attend to. “Julian, take care of Sarah. Maybe if you talk, she’ll remember,” Mom said. They practically shoved Chloe out the door. “Leave them alone.” When the door clicked shut, the room went silent. Julian stared at me, calculating. I smiled awkwardly. “Sarah,” he said slowly. “You really don’t remember me?” I shook my head. “What do you remember?” “I remember getting a 1580 on my SATs and having Ivy League schools fighting over me,” I grinned. That was a good year. Disgust flashed in Julian’s eyes. “A dog really can’t stop eating shit. You lose your memory, and you still can’t stop lying.” My smile vanished. “Excuse me? Who’s lying? The College Board website doesn’t lie.” Julian sneered. “The one with the 1580 was Chloe. You just love stealing her credit.” Excuse me? Chloe? The girl who thought Europe was a country? If Chloe got a 1580, I’ll eat my shoe. My parents threw a party when she broke 1000. “Brother-in-law, you can’t just rewrite history because you’re sleeping with her. Open the portal. Let’s check.” He tried to refuse, but I dragged him onto the bed and opened the verification site on my phone. Julian smirked, confident I was about to be humiliated. The internet was slow. The loading circle spun and spun. I slapped my thigh in frustration. Smack. Julian grunted in pain. “Sarah!” “Oops. Sorry.” The page loaded. Name: Sarah Hayes. Score: 1580. Julian froze. He refreshed the page. He checked the URL. He thought I had built a fake website. I rolled my eyes. “Type in your own info if you don’t believe it.” He snatched the phone and typed fast. He looked nervous. Name: Julian Blackwood. Score: 1510. I burst out laughing. “Hahaha! You scrub! You were just scared I was smarter than you!” Julian stared at the screen, muttering, “So… you weren’t lying back then.” I slapped his thigh again. “Of course not!” He winced, grabbing my wrist. “Use your words, not your hands.” “Sorry, Brother-in-law. I got excited.” His face darkened. “Stop calling me that. I’m your fiancé.” I shoved him off the bed. “Stop joking! Even with amnesia, I know my type. You aren’t it.” He hit the floor hard. He didn’t get up. “Brother-in-law? Stop faking. Chloe isn’t here to pity you.” When the cold sweat started beading on his forehead, I realized he wasn’t acting. I hit the call button. He was carried out on a stretcher. I called my parents. “Mom, Dad… I think I broke him.”

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My mental break started the day Delaney Shaw cheated again—this time, with her assistant. The world had gone blurry, and suddenly, the fruit knife on the kitchen counter looked like the only path to quiet. “Why are you hurting yourself? Doesn’t she love you anymore?” I looked up. Sixteen-year-old Delaney, the girl who was my anchor, was walking toward me, her eyes wide with a familiar, aching concern. “Tell me who she is,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “I’ll take care of her.” I stared into the clear, bright sincerity of her teenage eyes. I couldn’t speak. Silently, I pointed toward her face. Later, it was the older Delaney who checked me into the psychiatric facility. In a brief, lucid space between the heavy doses of stabilizers, the Girl sat beside my bed. She watched the woman outside the window—the woman with her face—and the light in her eyes died, inch by agonizing inch. Then she spoke, her voice strained but lethal: “I don’t care who she is. I’m going to kill her.” Sixteen-year-old Delaney never lied to me. I knew she meant every word. … When Delaney pushed the door open, a faint scent of men’s cologne and cigarette smoke drifted in with her. Her gaze snagged on the fresh gauze wrapped around my wrist, and her expression tightened, a quick flicker of irritation. “Callum Grant, I was gone for ten minutes. Can you not cause trouble for me?” She reached out, yanking the gauze with a motion that was pure, impatient annoyance. I flinched back instinctively, covering my chest with my arms. “Someone already bandaged it for me,” I mumbled, low. Her hand froze mid-air. The look she gave me settled into a deep, weary exhaustion. In the beginning, when I first started talking about someone protecting me, Delaney used to think it was just my condition worsening. She’d hold me tight, her eyes red. Now, my pain was simply a heavy, unwelcome burden. “There’s no one here, Callum. How much longer are you going to keep this lie up?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed my wrist violently. Her fingers didn’t soften at my tremor; they tightened, almost as if punishing me. She ripped the gauze away, tearing the blood-caked scabs clean off. Sweat beaded on my forehead from the pain, but I held my hand steady, displaying the wound. I forced the words out in a shaky whisper: “I haven’t lied to you since I was fifteen, Lan. You know that.” She met my eyes—eyes I knew were filled with a broken, shattered light. Something in her own gaze shifted, a fleeting moment of self-doubt. She turned to leave. “Did you?” I called after her retreating back, a familiar sting in my nose. “Did you lie to me?” Delaney’s back stiffened in the doorway. She wouldn’t turn around. She offered no reply. Sixteen-year-old Delaney was terrible at lying. Thirty-year-old Delaney knew that silence was her deadliest answer. A few seconds later, she barked into the hall. “Ms. Jenkins, take every sharp object in this room and dispose of it. If I see Mr. Grant with anything like this again, you’re out of a job.” Ms. Jenkins, the housekeeper, walked in with a mop. As she gathered the blades, she muttered under her breath, “When will the poor man get better? The mistress is going through so much.” Going through so much? I looked at the weeping, angry red lines on my wrist. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Delaney, I thought, you don’t love me anymore. Why won’t you just let me go? Why drag this out? Before the thought finished, Brooks Jennings, the assistant, walked into the living room without removing his shoes. He moved like the man of the house, raising a hand naturally to straighten Delaney’s collar, which I’d tugged. Even with blood pooled on the carpet, his expression remained perfectly gentle and concerned. “Mr. Grant, if you have a moment of clarity, you need to let Delaney off the hook. She’s suffering. The rest of us can see it.” He spoke, then took a step closer, a false concern on his face. The faint tobacco scent that clung to Delaney earlier grew heavy, making my stomach churn. I bent over, dry-heaving. In my blurred, desperate state, I lunged, trying to grab Delaney’s pant leg. But the instant my fingertips brushed the fabric, Brooks gave an exaggerated gasp and stumbled, clutching his stomach. Seeing me move, Delaney instinctively shoved me hard. I fell backward onto the floor, the fresh wound on my wrist dragging across the coarse carpet. Another blossom of scarlet bled onto the fibers. “Is it your ulcer acting up? I’m taking you to the ER.” They left, Brooks leaning heavily into her. Just before the door closed, Delaney glanced back at me. Backlit, I couldn’t make out her features, but I understood her look. It was a release, the kind of relief you feel when a suffocating weight is finally lifted. Our love was finished. Her new love was just beginning. Perhaps Ms. Jenkins was right. Maybe being with me really had been too much for Delaney. As the thought formed, the Girl in the school uniform appeared before me again. She looked at me, and tears streamed down her face. She reached out to touch me, her fingers shaking in the empty air. “Callum Grant, you are the best man I’ve ever known. Leave her.” I raised my hand, gently covering the Girl’s eyes. My palm met a ghost of cold emptiness. “I’ll go with you.” As the crushing, familiar feeling of suffocation hit, I felt myself truly fall into a spectral embrace. Only there, with sixteen-year-old Delaney, was I safe. Only there, was I still loved. Being loved by Delaney was my proudest superpower in high school. When I was fifteen, the Grant family lost everything. My parents died. The rich kids who used to kiss up to me cornered me outside the school gates, laughing as they ripped my uniform apart. It was sixteen-year-old Delaney who arrived with a phalanx of security, her face cold with rage, pushing through the crowd. The sunset that day was red as blood. She pointed at the bullies, pinned to the ground by her guards, and screamed across the pavement: “Get over here!” “Callum Grant! Don’t be afraid! Get behind me!” When I finally stumbled to her side, her usually arrogant face was etched with a profound tenderness. Her gaze, when it landed on me, was a burning, almost painful heat. “Callum, don’t be afraid. You still have me.” She gently brushed a tear from the corner of my eye. The warmth of her touch lingered, so hot I wanted to cry again. “Callum Grant, I, Delaney Shaw, will never lie to you. I will be loyal to you forever.” The girl’s vow was absolute, making my heart tremble. But I didn’t know then that a promise is only truly genuine the moment it is spoken. The year after our wedding, that love was slowly devoured by the bottomless pit of my family’s inherited debts. She spent almost her entire inheritance. The heat in her eyes vanished, replaced by a bottomless, sunken exhaustion. My mind, after a long drift through memory, became starkly clear. It was our fifth wedding anniversary. I put on the white suit she loved, and I waited from sunset until well past midnight. There were no flowers, no embrace. Only the sterile chill of the room, punctuated by the noisy live stream of the Shaw Group’s annual gala on my phone screen. In the vast crowd, I found her instantly. She was smiling, soft and beautiful. Brooks was carefully fastening a necklace around her throat. The camera zoomed in. It was a pendant, a star and moon design. A crescent of silver cradled by tiny, inlaid diamonds. My breath stopped. It was the exact design I had sketched in my notebook when I was fifteen. The day Delaney confessed her love to me, she pointed at that sketch, her voice trembling. “Callum, when I’m rich, I’m going to have this made.” “The stars never lie to the moon.” “Just like I will never break my word to you.” Now, she had made it. And she was letting another man put it around her neck. On the screen, Delaney touched the pendant at her collarbone, a shy smile gracing her lips. “Thank you, Brooks. This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.” She didn’t say more. But the look she gave Brooks was so doting, so utterly charmed. It was the same look I had only ever seen on her sixteen-year-old face. After that time, I never saw her smile like that again. It seemed even stars could fall. Even the moon could be abandoned. Before the suffocating realization could truly sink in, the live stream moved to the charity auction. The host’s voice boomed: “Next on the block: the ownership of the Grant Family Legacy Fund.” Watching the numbers jump on the screen, I panicked. My fingers were shaking so hard I could barely dial her number. The moment she picked up, my voice was a broken plea, a humiliation: “Delaney, I accept that you don’t love me anymore. I’ll sign the papers, I’ll go.” “Please, just help me one last time. That fund is the last thing my parents left me. I just want to—” A brief silence followed, then her cold voice: “Callum, haven’t I done enough for you?” I tried to beg, but the line clicked dead. On the live feed, the auctioneer’s gavel struck the wood with brutal finality. “Congratulations to Brooks Angel Investments! Sold for thirty million!” The camera cut to Delaney in the audience. She raised her champagne flute calmly, a toast in Brooks’s direction. The lights caught her profile—elegant, indifferent. She sold the last remembrance of my parents just to earn a smile from Brooks. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t even cry. A pressure was building in my chest, a tight, crushing knot that made me cough sharply. A rush of metallic sweetness flooded my throat. I collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the dark stain blooming on the carpet. Delaney, you are ruthless. As my consciousness faded into despair, the soft voice of the Girl returned. She sounded more panicked than I was. “Callum! Run! Don’t look back!” “Leave her! I can’t watch her hurt you anymore!” The long night brought no sleep. Sometime before dawn, Delaney stood by my bed, her expression complicated as she stared at the nightstand. Despite her order to destroy all the blades, there sat a perfectly peeled apple. The peel was one unbroken curl. That kind of careful patience belonged only to the sixteen-year-old Girl. I sat up abruptly, thinking the Girl had visited me in my sleep. I lunged, wrapping my arms around the figure from behind, burying my face in her neck. “You left after peeling the apple. I thought you weren’t going to stay with me today.” Delaney’s body went rigid. My sudden embrace seemed to have thrown her completely off balance. After a long silence, she did something truly unsettling: she tentatively patted my back. The motion was stiff, almost investigative. “Callum, are you having nightmares again?” Hearing Delaney’s voice, I shrieked and shoved her away, scrambling back until my back hit the headboard. “Get away! You aren’t her!” A shadow loomed. Delaney knelt beside the bed. She stared at my terrified eyes, her thumb tracing my cheek, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “It’s just me. There’s no one else here.” “I know you’re upset about the gala. But I swear, as soon as I deliver Brooks’s baby and give him a payout, I’ll come home and stay with you. I’ll make things right.” “Will you come with me to the board dinner tomorrow? Please?” The grip on my wrist loosened, waiting for my consent. I looked up, tears blurring my vision. My voice was a raw plea. “Delaney, let’s get a divorce.” The sudden warmth in her eyes died instantly. I felt her rage, but it morphed instantly into something almost pathologically possessive. As if fearing a loss, she pulled me into a hard embrace. I forgot to fight. Then, a single, hot tear landed on the back of my hand. In the haze, I could almost see the younger Delaney crying for me, whispering desperate words to stop me from leaving. Trembling, I reached up and wiped the tear from the woman’s cheek. My touch was tender, as if soothing a fragile dream. “Okay… I won’t go. I’ll go with you.” “Delaney, stop crying.” The next day, Delaney took me to the high-society dinner. The moment she turned to network, Brooks approached, a glass of champagne in hand. He leaned in, his smile a cruel taunt. “Mr. Grant, I really envy you. You can lose your mind and still get kept by her.” “Oh, and by the way, I never wanted that pathetic little fund. Dead people’s things are bad luck. Delaney found it annoying—a painful relic. She just tossed it my way to deal with.” I focused intently on his thin, moving lips. The taut string of sanity I’d been clinging to finally snapped. “You’re despicable, Brooks.” I couldn’t stand the blatant mockery. I pushed him. It wasn’t a hard shove, but Brooks let out an exaggerated yelp, stumbling backward. The massive champagne tower behind him crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering glass was a deafening explosion, silencing the entire ballroom. “Callum Grant! Have you lost your mind?” Before I could even process what happened, a storm of anger hit me. A vicious slap cracked across my face. The noise of the impact was sharp and final. Total silence descended. The blow was brutal. A rush of blood filled my mouth. A drop of red trickled from the corner of my lip. I landed in the scattered shards, my palms cut and bleeding. But I registered no physical pain. Because Delaney was carefully helping the whimpering Brooks to his feet, her gaze never once falling on me. In front of everyone, the Girl in the school uniform stumbled toward me again. She fell to her knees, desperately trying to pull me up. But her hands passed through my body, again and again. Her voice was a ragged, sobbing scream, lost in the rising murmur of the crowd: “Stop it! Delaney, you bastard, stop hitting him!” “Run! Callum, run!” “The Delaney you knew doesn’t love you anymore! You’re going to die!” I obeyed the Girl. Without thinking, I scrambled to my feet. Ignoring the gasps of the guests, I bolted from the ballroom, running like a frantic animal. I had nowhere to go, but I kept running. Suddenly, a stiff card was pressed into my hand. In the dim light of a streetlamp, I saw it: a one-way ticket to a southern city. The flight time was in two hours. Clutching the ticket—my only lifeline—I raced toward the gate, reaching it just as boarding began. Then, a strong hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Callum Grant!” Delaney had caught up. Brooks was panting next to her. I held up the ticket, which had appeared from nowhere. My voice was a desperate, wet plea. “Delaney, let me go… please.” “If I stay, I’ll die.” Delaney’s eyes widened at the impossible ticket. A flicker of doubt and surprise crossed her face. Perhaps the ticket was too real, or perhaps my desire to leave was too absolute. Her grip on my shoulder actually loosened by an inch. In that instant, she almost turned back into the Girl who cared. “Fine. If you want to leave so badly…” Sensing her regret, Brooks grabbed Delaney’s arm in a panic, his eyes darting to her stomach. “Mr. Grant is hallucinating, Lan. He’s completely unhinged.” “If you let him run off and he circles back, what if he hurts the baby?” At Brooks’s words, the momentary softening in Delaney’s eyes vanished. She looked away from me, snatching the ticket from my hand and tearing it to shreds right in front of my face. The paper confetti drifted down like snow. She didn’t offer an explanation. Her voice dropped, colder than the wind. “You won’t die. Not while I’m here.” … The steel door of the Residential Treatment Center slammed shut, followed by the heavy clank of the deadbolt. I looked straight into her eyes, repeating my grim forecast. “Delaney, I will die here.” She stood outside the visitation window. She didn’t spare me a second glance, offering only a cold promise: “When I give birth to the baby, I’ll come get you.” Her footsteps echoed down the empty corridor, utterly ruthless. I stopped crying and beating on the door. I knew the Girl’s prediction was true. I was going to die here. The sound-activated light in the hallway flickered violently, an electrical hiss filling the air. Before Delaney had gone too far, a deafening crash erupted behind her. The heavy, reinforced steel door to my room was violently kicked inward, torn from its hinges by sheer brute force. The spectral form of the Girl, still in her school uniform, appeared, helping me to my feet. She stepped out, one slow step after another. Delaney spun around. In that single glance, she saw the most terrifying sight of her life…

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I was four when my sister and I both drowned. I was the only one who came back. And for that, my mother has hated me ever since. In the dead of night, she would loom over my bed with a handful of candy-colored pills, trying to force my mouth open. Each time, my father would stop her just in time. So I grew my hair long. I wore faded floral dresses. I tried to become a perfect echo of my sister, just so my mother would grant me a single glance. It worked, until three years later, when Mom got pregnant again. She said it was Lily, my dead sister, coming back to us. I was so happy for her. Lily was coming home. That was wonderful… It meant this family no longer needed a replacement. I found the little bottle of “candy” Mom had tried to give me all those years ago. In the quiet of my room, I swallowed them all. 1 A bitter powder coated my tongue. I doubled over, gagging, a wave of acid and saliva burning my throat. These were the pills Mom had hidden in the deepest corner of her closet three years ago. Back then, she would sit on the edge of my bed late at night, her eyes hollow, and whisper, “Why won’t you just die?” Now, I was finally making her wish come true. I was still wearing the little floral dress, its hem frayed and worn. It was one of Lily’s old ones, and it had been too small for me for a long time. But Mom said… I had to keep wearing it. It was the only way I could look like her. From the living room, I heard my mother’s laugh—a gentle, warm sound I’d never heard directed at me. She was stroking her belly, talking to Dad. “The doctor said it’s definitely a girl this time. See how calm this pregnancy is?” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “Soon… I’ll never have to look at that little curse’s face again.” I wanted to see her smile one last time. I padded to the doorway. Dad saw me first, and his brow furrowed. “Noah, why aren’t you doing your homework?” His gaze flickered over my floral dress and then darted away, as if the sight stung his eyes. Mom turned. The smile on her face froze, then vanished. “Who said you could come out? And your hair’s gotten short again. Didn’t I tell you to grow it long, just like Lily’s?” She marched over, her finger jabbing hard against my forehead. “You’re nothing but trouble. When Lily is born, if you dare to even look at her the wrong way, I will break both your legs.” I flinched back, a throbbing ache blooming where she’d poked me. The “candy” in my stomach began to dissolve, sending waves of fire through my gut. The pain was so sharp it bent me in half. Dad started to move toward me, but Mom threw out an arm to block him. “Don’t touch him. He’s probably just faking it for attention.” I bit my lip to keep from crying out and shuffled back to my room. Each step was agony, like a blade churning inside me. A strange numbness was creeping into my limbs, and my hand trembled as I gripped the doorframe. I collapsed onto my bed, my body beginning to twitch uncontrollably. The door creaked open. It was Dad, holding a glass of warm water. He set it on my nightstand and hesitated for a long moment. “Noah,” he finally said, “your mother… she’s not herself with the pregnancy. Try not to take it to heart.” I tried to shake my head but could only manage a weak groan. His face began to blur, splitting into two. Dad sighed, a heavy, defeated sound. He just pulled the blanket over me. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He closed the door on his way out, plunging the room into silence. I reached under my pillow and pulled out the old rag doll. It had been Lily’s favorite. The fabric was worn smooth and shiny from my constant care. Mom said it was Lily’s, and I had to protect it. The last time a kid at school tried to take it, I fought tooth and nail, letting him beat me until I got it back. My vision grew hazy, a dark fog creeping in from the edges. I hugged the doll tight against my chest and closed my eyes. Mom, Lily’s coming back. You won’t have to suffer looking at this replacement anymore. It’s better this way. 2 Slowly, the pain faded away. I felt weightless, like a dandelion seed caught on the wind, floating gently toward the ceiling. From up here, I could see the small body on the bed clearly. The floral dress was a crumpled mess around him. His face was ashen, his lips a bruised, unnatural violet. A smear of dried bile stained the corner of his mouth. He was still clutching that old rag doll. Mom pushed the door open, but she didn’t look at the bed. She walked straight to the desk and picked up Lily’s photograph, polishing the glass with her sleeve. “Oh, Lily,” she murmured, “Mommy went to look at new cradles for you today. Do you think you’d like pink or blue?” She turned to leave and accidentally kicked the leg of the bed. Her gaze finally fell on me, her brow creasing with annoyance. “Still sleeping? The sun’s up. Get up and make breakfast. Do you want me and your new sister to starve?” I drifted in front of her, trying to speak, but she couldn’t hear me. She just shuffled out of the room, humming a lullaby under her breath. From the living room, I could hear Dad whisking eggs and Mom’s voice directing him. “Add two extra spoons of sugar. Lily always loved her food sweet.” I floated to the kitchen doorway. Dad was placing a pancake on a plate. It was shaped like a heart. I never liked them that way, but ever since Lily died, that was the only way he made them. He said she loved heart shapes. Mom took the plate and set it in the center of the dining table with the reverence of an offering. “Go wake him up,” she said to Dad, her voice sharp with impatience. “Don’t let him make us late for buying the cradle.” Dad put down the milk carton and walked toward my room. I followed him. He stood beside my bed, his hand hovering over me for a moment before he gently rested it on the blanket. “Noah, time to get up,” he said softly. “We’re going to buy the cradle today. You can come with us, okay?” The body on the bed didn’t move. Dad’s fingers trembled. He gave my shoulder a little shake. “Noah?” Mom’s voice cut through the silence from the living room. “What’s taking so long? Is he pretending to be asleep again?” She stormed into the room and saw Dad frozen by the bed. Her temper flared. “I knew it! He’s faking it! He just doesn’t want us to buy a cradle for Lily! Forget him. Let’s go. Lily is waiting.” Dad didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on my still form. “He’s our son, too,” he said, his voice raw. “He is not!” Mom shrieked. “My only child is Lily! He’s the monster who killed her!” She snatched Lily’s photo from the desk and hurled it to the floor. The glass shattered, a shard slicing across Dad’s hand. He didn’t make a sound, just silently gathered the broken pieces and wrapped his bleeding hand in a tissue. The phone rang in the living room. It was my teacher from school. Mom answered, her voice instantly turning warm. “Hello, Mrs. Davis. Is this about Lily… oh, no, I mean, is this about Noah?” When the teacher asked why I hadn’t been in school, Mom’s tone turned to ice. “He’s just skipping. Don’t worry about him, Mrs. Davis. Let him run wild. He’s a lost cause.” After hanging up, she grabbed Dad’s arm. “Come on. We can’t let him ruin our day for Lily.” Dad glanced back at my room, his feet hesitating for a second, but she pulled him away. Just as the front door clicked shut, I saw him quickly wipe his eyes. The house was silent, except for the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall. I drifted back to my bedside and looked down at myself. My face was still round with baby fat, but my frame had become so thin and frail that my chin was a sharp point. My hair had been trimmed recently, not quite long enough to meet Mom’s standards, not flowing and soft like Lily’s. I remembered the last haircut. The barber had accidentally snipped off a little too much, and Mom had screamed at him, accusing him of ruining Lily’s image. When we got home, she made me kneel for two hours, telling me I wasn’t worthy of having hair like my sister’s. Kneeling there on the cold floor, staring at Lily’s picture, I felt a strange sense of detachment. I didn’t even know who that girl was anymore. 3 Dad and Mom came back that afternoon. They were carrying a beautiful pink cradle, embroidered with little princesses. Mom couldn’t stop smiling. She placed it in the center of the living room. “Lily will adore this,” she said to Dad. “She always loved sleeping with her princess dolls.” Dad glanced toward my room. “Shouldn’t we… check on Noah?” he asked quietly. Mom’s face instantly hardened. “Check on him for what? He’ll come out when he’s hungry.” She sat beside the cradle, rocking it gently and humming a lullaby, her eyes filled with a tenderness so deep it seemed to overflow. I floated closer, looking at the pink cradle. It was small and delicate. Lily would have loved it. Mom had promised to buy it for her birthday, but Lily was gone before that day came. Now, the cradle was finally here. And its new owner was on her way back, in a different form. Mom suddenly looked up, as if sensing a presence, her eyes scanning the space where I was. I shot up to the ceiling. Her gaze swept over the empty living room, and she frowned for a moment before turning her attention back to the cradle. “Lily, Mommy is waiting for you,” she whispered. “I’ll never let you go again.” I watched the soft curve of her cheek, and I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness. Mom was finally getting her Lily back. And the replacement could finally disappear. That way, everyone could be happy. 4 On the third morning, a frantic knocking echoed through the apartment, loud enough to splinter the door. I floated into the hall as Mom opened it with an annoyed scowl. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Davis, stood in the doorway. “Mrs. Williams,” she said, her expression grave, “Noah has been absent for three days. My calls have gone unanswered, so I came to check on him.” She tried to peer inside. “Is Noah home?” Mom’s face turned sour. She blocked the doorway. “He’s here. Just throwing a tantrum, refusing to go to school. Don’t you worry about him, I’ll handle it.” “This is about more than a tantrum,” Mrs. Davis insisted, her brow furrowed. “Last week, some of his classmates told me Noah was being bullied. They said the other children were pulling off his clothes and throwing cold water on him. I wanted to discuss it with you, but I couldn’t reach you.” Mom reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Don’t you listen to those children’s lies! I’m sure it was Noah who started trouble! He’s been a malicious child from the start. He killed his own sister, and now he’s trying to play the victim at school!” Mrs. Davis’s face darkened. “Mrs. Williams, I saw the bruises on Noah myself. They were fresh. And from what I understand, Noah was only trying to protect another student. He is a sweet, quiet boy who works very hard. You can’t speak about him that way.” “Sweet?” Mom shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “If he was so sweet, why is my Lily dead? He’s a curse! I should never have let him live!” Mrs. Davis, taken aback by the outburst, took a deep breath. “If this is your attitude, I’ll have no choice but to contact Child Protective Services. Noah is a good child, and he doesn’t deserve this.” She turned and walked away. Mom continued to hurl insults after her until she disappeared down the stairs. Slamming the door shut, Mom trembled with rage. She marched to my room and kicked the door with all her might. “Noah! Look at the trouble you’ve caused! Now you’ve got teachers showing up at our door! Why don’t you just die!” I floated beside her, watching her face contort with fury. I suddenly remembered the river, when I was four. Lily and I were in the water. I had grabbed her hand, holding on for dear life, but the current was too strong. It tore us apart. When they pulled me out, the first thing I saw was Mom, clutching Lily’s lifeless body, her first words to me a broken scream: “Why wasn’t it you?” Dad came out of his study and put a hand on her arm. “That’s enough. The neighbors will hear.” His voice was low and strained. “He hasn’t eaten in three days. Let’s just go in and see him.” Mom shook him off. “See him for what? He’s not going to die!” But this time, Dad didn’t listen. He pushed the door open and went inside. Mom hesitated, then followed him in. Dad walked to the bed and pulled back the covers. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating my pale face, my purplish lips, and the dried stain of blood at the corner of my mouth…

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I just finished a surgery, exhausted and drained, when my fiancé Julian’s assistant, Chloe, sent me several photos of her trying on wedding dresses. “Dr. Xin, which one do you like best?” In the photos, Chloe was beaming, wearing a white wedding gown and clinging to Julian’s arm. They looked lovingly into each other’s eyes, like a couple about to walk down the aisle. If this were the old me, I would have called Julian immediately, demanding to know why another woman was trying on my wedding dress. But now, I was just tired. I replied calmly: “Whichever one you like is fine.” Not long after the message was sent, Julian called: “Vivian, how can you be so rude? Chloe was just trying to help you out by trying on the dresses, and you have to be so sarcastic?” “It’s nothing.” I hung up before he could say anything else. I really felt nothing this time. 1 “Vivian, what is wrong with you today?” “Chloe was crying in the bridal shop after seeing your message. The poor girl was so scared she wanted to quit. It’s just trying on a wedding dress, who cares who wears it?” “I invited her over for dinner tonight. You need to prepare a good meal and apologize to her properly.” I had just gotten home from work and laid down on the bed when Julian came in from outside. The back-to-back surgeries had left me utterly exhausted, my head throbbing. As soon as he walked in, his face was dark as a thundercloud. He loosened his tie and threw it in front of me. The way he spoke to me now was like a boss reprimanding a subordinate who had made a mistake. In the past, I would always listen to Julian to avoid arguments. But now I was really tired, and I didn’t want to say a single word. Not getting the response he expected, Julian frowned: “It’s just trying on your wedding dress, is it worth making such a fuss?” “If it weren’t for your last-minute surgery, I wouldn’t have asked her to help try on the wedding dress. You should be grateful instead of scaring the little girl. You should apologize.” I had made six appointments to try on the wedding dress, but each time he had something come up and canceled, so I had to reschedule. This time, it was me who canceled, and he replaced the bride. I laughed angrily at Julian’s words and turned my back to him: “I don’t think I need to apologize to Chloe, and I won’t.” In our five years of dating, this was the first time I had gone against his decision. A hint of anger flashed across Julian’s face, and he pulled me up from the bed: “I’m talking to you, what kind of attitude is this?” The moment his hand touched my body, a cold sensation spread throughout my body. He suddenly put his hand on my forehead, his tone softening: “Why are you so hot?” “You’re a doctor, and you don’t even know to take medicine when you have a fever.” With that, he turned and brought the medicine box from the living room, handing me a fever reducer. The capsule slid down my throat, painful. Just like after Chloe appeared, the grievances I swallowed time and time again would hurt every now and then, until I could no longer swallow them. After taking the medicine, Julian took the water glass and placed it on the bedside table. Before I could say thank you, he handed me his phone, which showed a physical examination report: “Help Chloe take a look, see if there’s anything wrong with her body?” As I took it, a message popped up at the top from someone nicknamed “Little Trouble Maker.” My hand trembled and I clicked on it. In the chat box was a mirror selfie of Chloe in a maid outfit. “Thanks for the clothes, brother, I love them~” “Please order Daji around, master~” Followed by three little hearts. Seeing me frozen in place, Julian leaned over and saw the chat box on the screen. He suddenly got angry at me and snatched the phone away: “Have you seen enough?” “I asked you to look at the physical examination report, and you took the opportunity to look through my phone. Vivian, you are really terrible.” I watched him blush and smirked. Sure enough, the more guilty people are, the more eager they are to push the blame onto others. And Julian was like a clown now. Meeting my mocking gaze, Julian angrily picked up his jacket and walked out, still trying to justify himself: “I’m going back to the company to work overtime. I’ll come back when you’ve thought it through.” How ridiculous. My husband was impatient to find another woman, but he still wanted to push the blame onto me. “Hmm.” I responded indifferently. Perhaps sensing that I was too obedient, Julian turned around after taking two steps and explained: “I’m really going to the company to work overtime.” My head was getting heavier and heavier. I covered my head with the quilt and didn’t respond until the door slammed shut, and everything returned to tranquility. 2 Maybe it was the effect of the medicine, but I slept very soundly this time. When I woke up again, it was already 4 a.m. I habitually picked up my phone to check if there were any messages from the work group, but I saw a selfie sent by Chloe two hours ago. In the photo, Chloe was sitting on the sofa in a low-cut maid outfit, the red marks on her neck still clearly visible. Behind her sat Julian, frowning slightly at the desk, reading the documents in front of him by the light of a warm yellow desk lamp. “Vivian, isn’t Julian handsome when he’s working?” I suddenly felt my stomach churning. Julian was indeed working overtime, but he also asked Chloe in a maid outfit to accompany him. Now Chloe was provocatively making me a part of their play. I struggled to run to the bathroom and threw up, hugging the toilet until there was nothing left to throw up, just dry heaving. My stomach hurt badly. After a long time, I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. It wasn’t much different from five years ago, but in order to look better on camera when getting married, my originally round face began to have sharp edges. The bathroom door was pushed open, and Julian rubbed his temples wearily: “Why didn’t you prepare anything to eat today?” He looked at my face and softened his tone: “I’m hungry, make me a bowl of egg noodles.” In the past, whenever I wasn’t working the night shift, I would definitely have delicious food ready before he came in. But he had many social engagements, and the food was always heated and cooled, cooled and heated, until it lost its original taste. I wouldn’t wait for him to come home eagerly anymore. I turned to look at Julian. His shirt was loosely hanging on his body, and a few buttons were wrongly fastened. He leaned against the doorframe, looking like he was about to drop dead at any moment. In the past, I would definitely feel distressed that he didn’t cherish his body, distressed to death. Now I turned a deaf ear, turned sideways, and went out to lie back on the bed. Julian looked dissatisfied, strode to the bed and looked down at me: “Vivian, how long are you going to make trouble?” “I work myself to death every day just to give you a happy home, what else are you dissatisfied with?” “When I come home after working overtime at night, I just want a bowl of hot noodles, but you don’t want to make it, what else can I expect from you?” I was puzzled by his self-righteousness and sneered: “President Julian has such a big face, working overtime needs a maid to serve.” “Actually, there’s no need to be so sneaky. Before the wedding, I can make room for her at any time.” Julian looked at me in disbelief, his eyeballs about to pop out. “Vivian, let me say it one last time, Chloe and I are just in a superior-subordinate relationship. It’s just that she is hardworking and motivated, so I take care of her more.” “People still know how to think of ways to make me happy. What about you? You are suspicious all day long, like a resentful woman in a boudoir.” I have to say that Chloe’s monthly salary of 8,000 yuan is still too low. In the company, she not only has to work like a cow and a horse, but also serves as a mistress to provide emotional value to the boss. Even 80,000 yuan is worth it. I didn’t argue with him like before, and sneered: “Say whatever you want.” My indifferent attitude made Julian’s anger seem like it hit a ball of cotton. He took a few deep breaths before barely calming down: “Vivian, I’m very busy and don’t have time to coax you all day long. This time, I’m generous and won’t argue with you. If there is a next time, I won’t be so easy to talk to.” With a “bang”, he slammed the door and left again, but I didn’t care where he went. 3 Since this quarrel, I haven’t seen Julian for three consecutive days. During this period, I only received one message from him: “The customer sent two boxes of mangoes. I asked Chloe to send them home. Remember to eat them.” It seemed that Julian softened and gave me a way out, but I didn’t appreciate it at all. Because I am allergic to mangoes. A little bit of juice will cause red rashes all over my body and itching. I didn’t reply, just pretended not to see it. The next second, a major earthquake occurred in the neighboring city, causing heavy casualties. The hospital temporarily formed a medical team to go to the front line. I also volunteered to step on the bus heading to the disaster area. When I arrived at the scene, I realized that the casualties were far more serious than we imagined. As soon as I got off the bus, I got into the medical tent and was too busy to touch the ground. My phone in my pocket kept vibrating. I took it out and saw it was Julian. He rarely reported to me: “I expect to travel for a week, don’t wait for me to go home for dinner.” At this critical moment of racing against death, I didn’t reply to his message. I put my phone in my backpack and got into the medical tent again. Unexpectedly, the next day, I saw Julian in simple clothes and Chloe dragging two suitcases beside him among the volunteers. “Dr. Xin, these are the volunteers who came today. We’ll pick a few with basic nursing experience to help you later.” Julian was also stunned when he saw me. The rescue leader leaned closer to my ear, “The man in the black shirt in the first row is Julian, who donated materials and wants to advertise. The girl next to him is Chloe, his assistant, who came specifically to take care of him. Avoid the two of them when selecting people.” Even if the leader didn’t say it, I didn’t plan to choose the two of them to work together. But Chloe raised her hands high: “Vivian, I want to work with you!” Hearing this, Julian angrily pressed her hand down: “How can you work in the medical team when you faint at the sight of blood? It’s better to stay in the kitchen and help out.” “Vivian, your medical team works day and night when they are busy, and often can’t even eat. Chloe can’t endure this hardship.” I just listened calmly and didn’t comment. As my fiancé, Julian didn’t remember that I was allergic to mangoes, but remembered that other women fainted at the sight of blood, and felt distressed that she would exhaust her body if she joined the medical team. It’s ironic. Time was tight and the task was heavy. I didn’t have time to chat with them. I picked two capable people and turned away. Just as I was about to arrive at the medical team, a colleague called me. The medical team received a batch of newly sent wounded and urgently needed help, so I had to guide them first. Medical supplies were short, and I was the best candidate because I was close to the village entrance. On the way back, colleagues continued to call and urge me. Among the newly sent wounded was a boy about six or seven years old who was seriously injured and had fallen into a coma, waiting for me to go back for surgery. Just as I was hurrying along, Julian suddenly jumped out from somewhere and pulled me away. “Chloe said her stomach hurts and she can’t get up from the bed. Go take a look.” I threw off his hand fiercely and shouted: “If she’s sick, take her to the medical team. There’s a child lying on the operating table waiting for me to operate. Don’t waste my time.” Julian was unhappy and held me tightly and refused to let go: “Why are you still picking on the patient?” I was furious: “Patients also have priorities! Don’t stop me when human life is at stake.” The disparity in strength between men and women was too great, and I was dragged forward by him: “Chloe is in the tent ahead. It will be quick. Just leave after seeing her.” While pulling, I fell heavily to the ground. When I landed, I unconsciously supported myself with my hand, and severe pain came from my wrist. I raised my hand and found that my wrist was swollen, and I couldn’t do the operation, so I had to change someone else. When I rushed back to the medical team in a hurry, I heard the news that the little boy had died. His whole body was covered with white cloth, lying alone in the corner. Looking at his small body, I slumped on the ground. If Julian hadn’t suddenly jumped out to block the way, he might not have died. And Chloe just wanted to be lazy, so she lay on the bed and pretended to be sick. Of course, Julian didn’t believe it. A part of my heart seemed to be missing. My phone vibrated again. It was a call from the nursing home. I picked it up and listened. “Dr. Xin, your father had a sudden heart attack and died after ineffective rescue efforts…” Great grief welled up in my heart. Dad left forever before he could see me in my wedding dress. I had no scruples anymore and sent a message to Julian with trembling fingers: “Let’s break up.”

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I had been Gemma Hawthorne’s shadow for a decade, her personal coach and confidant as she struggled with her severe stutter. Every day, I sat with her, rehearsing sounds, going over articulation diagrams, and running through psychological grounding exercises. It was my life’s work. Yet, when Beckett Rhodes publicly shamed her, mimicking her speech in front of a crowd, she didn’t turn to me. She walked straight up to him and asked him for help. From me, she only had a single, cold line of gratitude: “Jasper, you’re too patient. So patient that you make me feel like a child who’s never allowed to grow up, like an idiot who’ll be stuck here forever.” In that moment, I realized that the real idiot wasn’t her. It was me—for sacrificing my academic future to stay and save her. 1 “This is the application you’re submitting to the club?” I pointed to the wrinkled sheet of paper on her desk. Gemma’s name was scribbled on it, awkwardly filling the blanks for the Westwood High Debate Team. She didn’t look at me. She was busy in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of her uniform, trying to emulate the sharp, confident look of the senior girls on the team. “Y-Y-Yes. It is.” She managed to force out the words, her face burning crimson with the effort. In the past, when I first saw this form, I had lost it. I tore the paper to shreds and stormed into the Debate Club office, confronting Beckett. He and his cronies had humiliated me, accusing me of stifling Gemma’s freedom. Gemma herself had cried, accusing me of trying to lock her in a cage. This time, I slipped my hands into my pockets and took a deliberate step back. “Good for you.” Gemma froze, looking at me in genuine surprise. “W-W-What did you s-say?” “I said, ‘Good for you.’” I repeated the words, turning to gather the worn books scattered across my desk. The Fluency Handbook. Clinical Anatomy for Speech. The Stutterer’s Guide to Mindful Speaking. The spines were broken, the pages dog-eared. They were dense with my own frantic notes and countless red-ink annotations—a blueprint for every conversation, every panic attack, every step of the decade-long recovery I’d mapped out. “Beckett w-was right,” Gemma rushed to say, suddenly eager to justify her choice. When she hurried, the veins in her neck strained, and her mouth opened wide, but the sound wouldn’t come out. I stood there, not doing what I always did—reaching out to smooth her back or gently guiding her to slow down. I just watched, a quiet, cold observer. “He s-said y-y-your whole slow-and-steady method w-w-was useless.” She finally got the sentence out, exhaling sharply, a hint of triumphant pride even managing to surface on her face. “He c-can force me t-t-to talk.” I walked over to the waste bin and dumped the stack of textbooks inside. “Then I wish you success.” Gemma noticed the movement. She stared for a moment, then scrambled toward the bin. “W-W-What are you d-doing?” “Throwing out the trash.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder. I even bent down to smooth out her Debate Club application and placed it prominently on her desk. “If Beckett’s methods are so much more effective, there’s no point in keeping these things around.” I tapped the desk. “They’re just taking up space.” Gemma’s hands hung suspended in mid-air. She must not have expected this. The Jasper who had once treasured her every tear and triumph was throwing out everything connected to her with such ruthless efficiency. “J-J-Jasper, are you… mad?” She tentatively pulled on the edge of my sleeve. In the old days, that look, that tiny gesture, would have melted me. I would have instantly compromised, apologized, and offered unconditional support. Now, I just found the tug annoying. “No, I’m not mad.” I gently, deliberately, pulled my sleeve from her grasp. “I just feel like it’s time for me to have my own life.” I paused, letting the silence fill the space. “After all, I can’t babysit an adult who chooses to be an idiot for the rest of my life, can I?” That last phrase—an idiot—was what Beckett had called her yesterday. It was also the word she had used to describe how she felt around me. Gemma’s face instantly went white. “I d-didn’t m-m-mean it like t-that.” “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I checked the clock on the wall, cutting her off. “Beckett’s club activity is about to start. Shouldn’t you be going?” The mention of Beckett immediately shifted her focus. She looked frantically at the time, snatched the application, and bolted for the door. She stopped at the threshold, turning back to offer me a dazzling, hopeful smile. “J-Jasper, when I’ve p-p-practiced enough, I’ll talk to you all the t-t-time.” She was radiant with anticipation for a future I was no longer a part of. I watched her retreating back, a blur heading straight toward Beckett. Talk to me all the time? No need. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for my guidance counselor. “Hello, Dr. Evans, I’d like to apply for the closed-door Physics Intensive next month.” “Yes, the one outside the city.” “I won’t need to look after Gemma anymore. She’s found a better coach.” 2 The cafeteria was loud, buzzing with the after-school rush. I took my tray to an empty corner table. I’d barely taken a bite of the tough, overcooked General Tso’s chicken when a burst of laughter erupted from the next table. “Alright, Gemma, let’s hear that tongue twister for the crowd.” Beckett’s voice was loud and laced with a theatrical sneer. “P-P-Peter P-P-Piper picked a p-p-peck…” Gemma stood in the center of the Debate Club table, her face scarlet, her mouth contorted with effort. The club members around her were howling with laughter. Some had their phones out, filming. “Ha, ha, ha! She didn’t pick a peck of peppers, Beckett, she’s choking on the sound!” “Dude, your method is brutal, look how red she is.” Beckett leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up, twirling a pen between his fingers. “It’s called desensitization therapy, you morons. Look it up.” He tapped the end of the pen against Gemma’s forehead. “Keep going, don’t stop. You don’t eat until you finish the whole thing.” Gemma’s eyes were glistening with tears, and her body was visibly trembling. But she didn’t resist. Instead, she pushed herself harder to produce the sound. “P-P-Peppers…” The exertion was too much, and a thin line of saliva traced the corner of her mouth. The old me would have been on my feet, lunging at Beckett, dragging Gemma away. I would have whispered that we’d take it slow. The new me simply lowered my head and chewed the tough chicken. It was getting stuck in my teeth. “Hey, Jasper!” One of Beckett’s lackeys spotted me and yelled across the room. “Your little childhood friend is getting roasted! Aren’t you gonna step in?” All eyes swiveled to me. Gemma looked over too. She quickly wiped the drool from her mouth, a flicker of shame in her eyes. But just as quickly, she straightened her spine. She wanted to prove herself. Beckett gave me a challenging, smug look and draped his arm possessively over Gemma’s shoulder. “Step in? Why would he? Jasper the Great is too busy chasing scholarships. He doesn’t have time for our messy little affairs.” He gave Gemma’s cheek a rough squeeze. “Besides, Gemma’s making progress, right?” Gemma flinched but nodded into his hand. “Y-Y-Yes. B-Beckett is… is d-doing it for my own g-good.” She looked directly at me, the words tumbling out in a rush. “J-Jasper, you… you just m-mind your own business.” Mind your own business. The phrase landed like a slap in the face. A round of jeers and whistles went up around them, mocking my former devotion. I placed my chopsticks down and wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. “Carry on.” I picked up my tray and stood. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt the training regimen.” I walked past their table without even slowing my pace. Gemma’s expression was frozen. She had expected me to be furious, to be jealous, to spring to her defense and cradle her safely away from the danger. But I didn’t. I genuinely didn’t care. Behind me, Beckett’s laughter grew louder and more reckless. “See that? That’s what they call moving on! Alright, Gemma, to celebrate your independence, ten more times. Now!” “T-T-Ten times?” Gemma’s voice was wet with tears. “What? Backing out?” Beckett’s voice dropped, ice-cold. “Then go back to your Jasper-nanny and be a stuttering, useless waste of space.” “N-N-No! I w-w-will do it!” Her desperate cry pierced through the noise of the cafeteria. I dumped my leftover food into the disposal chute, listening to the agonizing, broken, and placating sounds of her struggle. The last sliver of guilt I held in my heart drained away with the spoiled food. Back in the classroom, I pulled out a mock exam for the state Physics Olympiad. The first problem was a beast. I worked through it twice before the solution clicked. The moment I solved it, a profound sense of lightness washed over me. Spending energy on my own life, I realized, was yielding immediate, high-rate returns. Unlike my decade-long investment in Gemma. Ten years of my youth, now a complete write-off. 3 The evening study hall was quiet. Gemma’s desk was empty. This was the third night in a row she’d skipped. Mr. Davies, the head teacher, stopped by my table and tapped his knuckles on the wood. “Jasper, where’s Gemma? Do you know?” I didn’t look up, my pen flying across my scratchpad, working through the derivation of a difficult equation. “No, I don’t.” Mr. Davies paused, clearly taken aback by my curtness. “But you two are inseparable. Her parents can’t reach her. Could you just…” “Mr. Davies.” I put down my pen and looked up at him. “We are not attached at the hip.” “Where she goes is her own business. I am not obligated to monitor her twenty-four hours a day.” He was speechless, sighed, and walked away. In my past life, I faced the same questions. That time, I searched the entire city and found her, drunk and crying, in a back room of a dingy bar. Beckett and his friends were egging her on, forcing her to sing a love song with her stutter. She had cried the whole time, yet when she saw me, she threw a glass at my face. “G-G-Go away! W-W-Who asked y-y-you to come!” That night, I carried her home, reeking of vomit, only to be chastised by her parents for not having watched her closely enough. Thinking back, I was an absolute fool. The final bell rang. I packed my bag and headed out. Just outside the school gate, under the harsh glow of the streetlamp, I saw Gemma and Beckett. Gemma was holding a boba tea, struggling to suck up the last pearls. Beckett was leaning against his motorcycle, a vape pen hanging from his mouth, looking impatient. “Hurry up. Quit stalling.” He took a drag. “Finish that and I’ll take you somewhere fun.” Gemma choked on a pearl and started coughing violently. Beckett didn’t help. He just laughed, doubling over in amusement. “C-C-Cough… Cough…” Gemma’s face was beet red, tears streaming from her eyes. She looked up and saw me. In that instant, her eyes lit up. She instinctively moved toward me—a decade of habit. When she was in pain, I was the one who always had the water and the tissue. I stopped. I reached into the side pocket of my backpack and pulled out a small tin of soothing lozenges. I always carried them; her throat was delicate and prone to inflammation when she coughed. Gemma’s eyes brightened even more when she saw the tin. She took another step toward me. “J-Jas—” I tore the plastic wrapping off the tin and poured the entire contents—a couple dozen sweet, white lozenges—into the nearby public trash can. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. The sound was sharp and final. Gemma stopped dead. She stared at me, her lips trembling with disbelief. “W-W-What are you d-d-doing?” I crushed the empty tin in my hand and tossed it in after the lozenges. “They expired.” They were bought yesterday. “And you probably don’t need them anymore anyway.” I glanced at the vape pen in Beckett’s hand. “Secondhand smoke and sugar. Sounds like a pretty effective new treatment plan.” “It’s the desensitization therapy, right?” Beckett blew a cloud of vapor directly into Gemma’s face. “Hear that? Even Jasper says my method is working. Come on, let’s go for a ride. Really loosen up those vocal cords.” Gemma coughed again, but she didn’t push Beckett away. She just stared at the trash can. “J-J-Jasper, you’ve changed,” she accused, her voice raw. “Y-You never… you never used to l-l-leave me alone l-like this.” “People change.” I tightened the strap on my backpack. “Especially when the investment no longer justifies the return.” “Gemma, you’re an adult now.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Adults have to pay for their own choices.” 4 It was the school’s 50th-anniversary celebration, and they were holding auditions for the event host. Logically, Gemma had no business auditioning. Clear, articulate speech was the primary requirement. But Beckett had signed her up. “This is your chance to break free!” Beckett announced to the entire class. “We are going to fight the discrimination! Who says a stutterer can’t be a host?” “Gemma, you have to prove to everyone that you’re not useless!” The classmates cheered and clapped. Everyone was caught up in the performative, feel-good rhetoric. Only I knew it was a meticulously planned form of psychological warfare. In my past life, she did this, too. On stage, she was so nervous she couldn’t even complete her self-introduction. The hissing, the jeers, the laughter—it drowned her. She had a full-blown panic attack and lost control of her bladder in front of thousands of people. It became her life’s darkest memory, and the moment she completely attached herself to Beckett and began to hate me. Because Beckett told her: “You weren’t brave enough. Jasper protected you too well, and now you can’t handle the real world.” This time, I was still sitting in my corner, doing practice problems. Gemma walked up to me with the audition script. “J-Jasper.” She slapped the pages onto my desk. “Y-You n-need to h-help me edit the s-script.” The request was so entitled, so completely devoid of any acknowledgment of our previous tension. “I don’t have time.” I pushed the papers back. “I have to prep for the Physics Olympiad selection exam.” Gemma’s face crumpled in frustration. “Y-You’re just j-jealous!” “J-Jealous that B-Beckett is n-n-nice to me!” “You w-want me t-to fail!” Her voice was so loud the entire class fell silent. Beckett strolled over and casually draped an arm around Gemma’s shoulders. “Gemma, don’t beg this bookworm. What does a science nerd know about the art of public speaking?” He gave me a condescending look. “I’ll write your script. I guarantee you’ll blow the audience away.” Gemma’s eyes welled up with grateful tears. “B-Beckett, you’re so good to m-me.” She turned her venom on me again, her face contorted with malice. “J-Jasper, you d-don’t deserve to b-be my friend.” “When I get that hosting job, you b-better stay out of my business!” I capped my pen and stood up. My gaze swept over Gemma’s distorted face and settled on Beckett’s gleeful, malevolent smirk. “Duly noted,” I said, giving a curt nod. “Make sure you remember that, Gemma.” “Don’t come near me.” The day of the selection ceremony arrived. The auditorium was packed. I was outside, tossing my packed bag into the trunk of a shuttle van heading for the state-level Physics Intensive. Walking past the rear doors of the auditorium, I heard the announcer’s voice. “Next up, from Grade 12, Class 2, please welcome… Gemma Hawthorne.” A burst of applause. It was the sound of encouragement for the underdog, but underneath it, I could hear the anticipation of a trainwreck. I peered through the door crack. Gemma was wearing an ill-fitting evening dress, and her makeup was overdone. She stood alone on the huge stage, the spotlight making her look small and absurd. Beckett was lurking behind the curtain, filming her on his phone. He was laughing, making mocking hand gestures, mimicking her shaky posture to the friends beside him. Gemma took a shaky breath and grabbed the microphone. She believed this was the start of her new life. She believed this was her moment to prove me wrong. She had no idea that Beckett had rigged the microphone for maximum feedback and ear-splitting squeals. She had no idea the script he’d written was full of complex, tongue-twisting vocabulary and convoluted phrases. “H-H-Hel-Hello… Ev-Everyone…” The piercing feedback scream tore through the auditorium. I let go of the door handle and walked toward the waiting shuttle bus at the main gate. The moment the bus doors hissed shut, a colossal wave of hysterical laughter erupted from the auditorium.

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My boyfriend sent me, five months pregnant, hiking in Death Valley. All because I blacklisted his old flame’s breakfast spot. We had been together for eight years, and he always put me first. Until he took me to her café. His old flame, Stella, deliberately put something I was severely allergic to in my food. My face was nearly ruined, and I was slapped with a massive penalty clause from my modeling agency for breach of contract. When my manager tried to protect my career by warning others away from Stella’s café, my boyfriend’s punishment was swift. He abandoned me in the desert. On the brink of death, I managed to escape, only to overhear him laughing with his friends. “It was just a little lesson for her. Does she still think she’s who she used to be? Pregnant before marriage… who else would want her besides me?” 1 “Her face will never be the same. Her grandfather found a younger wife and cut her off. And in her state, she dares to challenge Stella? So what if her face is scarred and she owes some money? That’s what she gets for messing with my girl.” Standing outside the door, I trembled as I listened to Landon Croft’s words. It had taken me ten days, alone, to escape that hell. When I was close to collapsing, the only thing that kept me conscious was my love for him. The thought of him kept me moving. Now, the dozens of cuts and scratches covering my body felt like a cruel joke. The architect of my suffering had been the man I’d loved for years. “Landon, what if she finds out and breaks up with you? What if she calls off the wedding?” one of his friends asked. Through the crack in the door, I saw Landon sneer. “Her? She won’t leave, whether she knows or not. No one else loves her or cares about her. Besides, she’s pregnant. Who would take her in now?” He was gloating, basking in his victory. “And you all know, I’m the center of her universe. It’s pathetic, really.” His words sent me plunging into an abyss, shattering me on impact. He was so certain I would never leave. I stumbled to the security office and borrowed a phone to call my grandfather. I needed to prove Landon wrong, to hear that someone still loved me. The moment the call connected, the words rushed out. “Grandpa, it’s me, Ingrid.” Before I could say more, his harsh voice cut me off. “Why are you calling? We have no relationship anymore. I’ve thrown out all of your things. I’m sending you the disinheritance papers. Don’t contact me again. I’m not having this family’s name dragged through the mud.” Landon was right. Even my own family didn’t love me. Eight years ago, he had pulled me from the ocean, saving my life. He gave me a new one. He told me my eyes were beautiful. Only later did I learn that my eyes were the one feature I shared with Stella. Rain fell, tracing the bloody scratches on my skin, making them stand out in stark relief. I walked into the hospital’s maternity ward. After the examination, the doctor sighed. “The previous allergic reaction did significant damage to your system, and you’re suffering from severe malnutrition. You’re quite far along. Terminating the pregnancy at this stage would pose a serious risk to your own life.” My face was a mask. My body wouldn’t stop shaking from the pain. “Do it.” “I’ll schedule the procedure for seven days from now. You need to spend this week resting and building up your strength.” When I arrived home, Landon and his friends were in the middle of a boisterous drinking session. “Ingrid, what’s with the ghost act? You should be taking it easy, with the baby and all.” Landon’s face was smug. Shouldn’t I be calling him a master actor? To feign love for a woman for eight years, to turn my eight years of happiness into a lie. I didn’t answer, just turned and went to my room. Our wedding portrait was still on the wall, a monument to irony. The wedding was just a month away. Making sure everyone saw his pregnant-out-of-wedlock bride—that must have been part of his plan, too. A message popped up from my manager. She had successfully negotiated a payment plan for the contract penalty. I smiled bitterly. I had no one in my corner. That night, Landon pressed up against my back, his hand covering my belly. “Are you… and the baby… okay?” “Yes,” I answered, my voice cold. He stiffened, surprised by my tone. “Landon, do you still want to marry me?” He didn’t hesitate. “I do.” The next second, the special ringtone I knew was for Stella chimed. The hand on my belly was instantly withdrawn. “Landon, please don’t leave me, okay? Don’t leave me all alone. I don’t want to lose you.” Stella was sobbing on the other end of the line. “Stella, don’t be scared. I’m always here for you. I’m on my way.” After hanging up, he turned back to me. “Ingrid, you heard her. Stella needs me. You need to put aside your little tantrums for now. I’ll give you what you’re owed. Just take care of yourself.” Perhaps it was guilt. For the first time in a long time, he sounded concerned. Then, without another word, he was gone. I guess it wasn’t the crying child who gets the candy. It’s the beloved child who gets the candy. I looked around our room. The walls were covered with sticky notes he’d written for me, filled with declarations of his love and care. In the early hours of the morning, Stella posted a photo of Landon cooking in her kitchen. He would cross the city for her at a moment’s notice, remembered every little thing she liked. Landon wanted me to be understanding. But the understanding girl never got her candy. I tore every note from the wall, shredding them into tiny pieces. The residual adhesive stung the raw cuts on my hands. The next morning, just as I was taking down our wedding portrait, I heard a key in the lock. It was Stella. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she sneered. “I was wondering who the ugly hag was. So it’s you, Ingrid. Let’s see you try to compete with me now.” She wasn’t even trying to hide it. “What do you want?” My voice was flat, my expression unreadable. “Rory, darling, I only came to take care of you. If my moving in really bothers you, I’ll leave right now. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your life with Landon.” Her voice cracked with a sob. A performance, I realized. For Landon’s benefit. She stepped closer, then jabbed her sharp nails into my pregnant belly. I recoiled, pushing her away instinctively. She stumbled back into a side table. A glass tumbled to the floor, shattering. Shards flew, cutting her arm and leg. Stella let out a piercing shriek, her eyes welling with tears. “Stella!” Landon dropped his luggage and rushed to her side. “It’s okay, Landon. As long as Ingrid feels better, it’s fine. Please, don’t blame her.” A single tear traced a path down Stella’s cheek. Landon exploded. “Ingrid! Stella and I have put up with you because you’re pregnant, but can’t you tolerate her for one second?” His face was dark with fury as he pointed at me, as if I were a hardened criminal. “Landon, it’s not her fault! It’s mine. I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. It’s all my fault. Please, don’t blame Rory because of me,” Stella whimpered, tugging on his sleeve, the perfect picture of a wronged, benevolent victim. “Ingrid, I’m telling you, stop being so paranoid! If there was really something going on between Stella and me, do you think you’d still be here? What do you possibly have to offer?” I listened to him in silence. The old me would have already been apologizing, begging for forgiveness. I had been a fool for eight years. Not anymore. After a long, heavy silence, Landon’s expression shifted from anger to suspicion. He was confused by my lack of reaction, my failure to immediately admit fault. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I turned and walked back to the bedroom. No explanations, no tears. Now that I knew the truth, I no longer had to fear losing him. I had never possessed him in the first place. That night, Landon slipped into bed beside me, sliding his arm under my neck. “Ingrid, be reasonable. Stop going after Stella. I’ve been so tired lately. But don’t worry, I promised you a wedding, and I’ll give you one. You’ll be the most beautiful bride.” The most beautiful? Maybe once. Landon, I don’t want anything from you anymore. And I don’t want to be your bride. The next day, Landon drove Stella and me to a gathering with his friends. He thoughtfully put me in the back seat, saying it would be more comfortable. I stared out the window, my heart twisting as I listened to their flirtatious banter. When we arrived, his friends started whispering, cooking up some scheme. “Well, if it isn’t Landon’s wife number one and wife number two,” one of them smirked, winking at Stella. “Oh, stop it,” Stella said, blushing prettily. “It’s not like that between Landon and me. Besides, Rory is more than five months along. I could never compare.” “Alright, alright,” Landon cut in, not because he found their words inappropriate, but because he was afraid I’d make a scene. “Ingrid, sit here.” He pulled out a chair for me, then one for Stella. When the waiter came to pour wine, Landon stopped him. “Not for her. She’s a lightweight. Even a little bit makes her feel sick.” I looked at the full glass of red wine in front of me, a bitter taste in my mouth. The same gesture, a world of different feelings. After a few rounds of drinks, his friends suggested a game. Spin the bottle, and whoever it landed on had to do a dare. The first spin landed on Stella. The dare was to touch noses with a member of the opposite sex. Her cheeks flushed as she looked at Landon. “Landon, is that okay?” He glanced at me. Seeing no reaction, he nodded. The catcalls grew louder. I grew calmer. After the dare, Landon and Stella were visibly flustered and shy. “You two have to get married, there’s no other way this ends!” a friend shouted. “I always said you were a perfect match. I still remember all the stupid things Landon used to do for you, Stella.” Landon cleared his throat, and the friend fell silent. He reached over and ruffled my hair. “Ingrid, don’t mind them. They’re just joking.” I forced a smile and shook my head. He looked satisfied. The bottle spun again. This time, it stopped in front of me. “Hey, sister-in-law, how about you act like a clown for us? It’s perfect casting, really. Your face after the allergic reaction… just as ugly, just as pathetic as a clown.” The table erupted in laughter. I turned to look at Landon. He showed no sign of discomfort. He acted as if it were completely normal. And why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t the first time his friends had insulted me. I had played the fool for them so many times, just to fit into his world. Today, I finally woke up. “Landon, what do you think?” He looked at me, his patience wearing thin. “Ingrid, can you not make excuses? We’re all here to have fun. Are you going to ruin it for everyone? No one means any harm. And it’s not like this is the first time.” In his eyes, I must have seemed so unreasonable right now. I stood up, poured the expensive red wine onto the table, and then smashed the bottle down in the center. Everyone stared, their eyes wide with shock. Landon was frozen in his seat. I strode towards the door. He grabbed my wrist. “What is your problem? Can’t you take a joke? Ingrid, I’m giving you a chance to apologize. Don’t ruin everyone’s fun.” I yanked my arm free and stared at him with cold eyes. “Landon, I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t want to marry you. I’m done with you.” He burst out laughing. “Ingrid, are you trying to negotiate with me? What leverage do you have? You have nothing. You’re pregnant and alone. You should be grateful I haven’t dumped you yet.” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. He followed me, blocking my path. “Fine, Ingrid. I was too harsh just now. We’ll call it even. You don’t have to apologize. But can you promise me you’ll be more reasonable?” He leaned in, resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around me. He used to say this was the moment when their hearts were closest. My arms hung limply at my sides. Our hearts were miles apart, and they would never be close again. “Ingrid, there’s one more thing. I promised Stella I’d spend these last few days before the wedding with her in Paris. Think of it as compensation, from both of us. You stay home and take care of our baby. When I get back, we’ll get married.” My heart no longer pounded for him. The overwhelming love I once felt had finally calmed. When I didn’t respond, he murmured, “Good girl.” He kissed my forehead, and then he left. I had told him I wanted to honeymoon in Paris. I wanted to walk through the city of romance with him, to attach a lock to a bridge, a symbol of our love. That would never happen now. Landon, this time, I’m really done with you. As soon as I got home, I started packing. I didn’t take a single thing he had ever bought for me. They were all just things Stella didn’t want. I packed a few changes of clothes. As I closed the lid, I realized that my entire eight years with him couldn’t even fill a small suitcase. I left without a backward glance. Just before I was wheeled into the operating room, I received a text from him, letting me know he was at the airport. As the anesthesia flowed into my veins, he was taking Stella’s hand and boarding a flight to the city of romance. As the instruments entered my body, the tiny life inside me was extinguished. Landon, this was the most painful lesson you ever taught me. I woke from a dream to a night that had swallowed all the light. I touched my stomach. It was empty. The little life was gone. I opened my phone. The first thing I saw was Stella’s social media post. A picture of her and Landon holding hands in Paris, a small padlock engraved with their initials hanging from a bridge behind them. After several days of recovery, my phone buzzed with two messages. One was from Landon. The other was from my manager. “Ingrid, that massive penalty fee… you paid it all off in one go?” “Ingrid, I’m coming home. How are you and the baby?”

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