Category: English

After my thesis advisor rejected my paper for the ninety-ninth time, I tearfully messaged my online boyfriend. “Babe, my advisor said if it’s not perfect by tomorrow, he’s going to make me defer my graduation.” He replied instantly. “Your advisor is a f*cking moron. What does that old fossil know anyway!” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll write it for you. You just get your beauty sleep tonight.” The next day, after I handed in the paper my online boyfriend had revised, my advisor went silent for a long time. His eyes grew strange. When he finally spoke, he stammered. “Are you… are you sure this is your work?” 1. In the final year of my Master’s program, my life was an endless cycle of revising my thesis. This latest draft had cost me three all-nighters. The next morning in class, my advisor, Professor Croft, picked up my paper with two disdainful fingers and tossed it aside as if it were contaminated. “Who wrote this garbage? Don’t you dare put my name down as your advisor. That’s pure slander.” Professor Croft was a big deal—a visiting scholar from Cambridge and the scion of some powerful East Coast family. He was brilliant, and to make matters worse, he had the face of a movie star. My best friend was green with envy that I got to stare at that handsome face every day. But only I knew just how venomous his tongue was. One lick and you’d probably drop dead from the poison. I shakily stood up. Instantly, his gaze locked onto me, the kind of look you’d give a particularly slow-witted insect. “How did you even get into this university? Or did you suffer a recent and severe head injury?” Laughter rippled through the classroom. My face burned with humiliation. I wished the floor would swallow me whole. After class, he called my name. “Lily.” “Do you have some alternative timeline in mind for your graduation?” I stood before him like a cornered mouse, too terrified to speak. The next second, he flicked his wrist, and my thesis fluttered to the floor. “This is your last chance. If you hand me this kind of dogsh*t again tomorrow, you can plan on spending another year here.” Biting back tears, I snatched the papers off the floor and fled. 2. I ducked into an empty classroom, and the dam finally broke. I sobbed, fumbling to open the chat with my online boyfriend. “Babe, my advisor said if my paper isn’t perfect by tomorrow, he’s going to make me defer graduation.” I come from a single-parent home. During my first year of grad school, my mom, who worked as a street vendor, was hit by a car while trying to avoid code enforcement. It was a hit-and-run; they never caught the driver. She ended up in the ICU. To pay for her medical bills and stay in school, I started working as a voice-acting streamer. I’d chat with people in a live stream room, my face hidden. I didn’t expect much to come of it. Until he showed up. In a single night, he gifted me three hundred virtual “Galaxies,” the platform’s most expensive gift, becoming my top supporter. That money paid for my mom’s treatment. It saved her life. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I added him on a private messenger. We started talking, and soon, feelings developed. He was incredibly gentle, the complete opposite of my advisor. Every time Professor Croft tore me down, I’d run to my online boyfriend for comfort. And every time, he’d get just as angry as I was, joining me in cursing out my advisor. This time was no different. A string of furious messages appeared. “Your advisor is a f*cking moron. What does that old fossil know anyway!” “My girl is a genius. There’s no way you could have done it wrong.” His comfort was like a shield, making me feel bold. I sent him the latest draft of my thesis. “He said he’s read his share of bad history, but this was the first time he’d ever read dogsht history. He called my thesis a pile of dogsht!” The document status switched to “Read.” The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared several times, but no message came through. I nudged him impatiently. “Babe? Say something! Babe!” This time, a series of cute, head-patting emojis popped up. “…It’s okay. My papers used to get ripped apart too.” “Stop crying, you’re breaking my heart.” “I’ll write it for you. You just get your beauty sleep tonight, sweetheart.” His kindness was a warm blanket. Just as I managed to stop my tears, an icy voice cut through the silence. “Does crying provide you with research data? Or perhaps it lowers your plagiarism score?” I hiccupped in shock. Professor Croft pushed open the slightly ajar door, his face as dark as thunder. “If you can’t handle the pressure, then withdraw from my research group. I have no room for useless people on my team.” As he spoke, a few younger students, all vying for a spot under his supervision, filed in behind him. “I expect to see your revised thesis on my desk at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow.” He gave me a pointed look. “I suggest you get to work.” 3. Fleeing the classroom, I walked back to my dorm, tears streaming down my face again. How could a human being say such cold-hearted things? But besides his terrible temper, Professor Croft was top-tier in every other way—industry reputation, academic expertise, everything. He was the best at the university. And I needed to graduate with honors to get a good job and give my mom a better life. I gritted my teeth, wiped my eyes, and tried to rally. Of course, the moment I entered my dorm, I ran into my roommate, who loved to get under my skin. “Well, well. I hear someone might be enjoying an extra year of school. Guess the standards for getting into this university are really slipping if they’re letting just anyone in.” I didn’t have the energy to deal with her. I ignored her and climbed into my bunk. Even though my boyfriend offered to rewrite the paper, I couldn’t just take it for granted. To thank him, I offered to buy him a coffee. The second I sent the message, a transfer notification popped up on my screen. Fifteen thousand dollars. “No, sweetheart. Let me treat you.” Holy crap. What kind of coffee costs fifteen grand? I stared at the string of zeros, completely floored. I’d only ever seen that many zeros on a price tag in a high-end boutique in Beverly Hills. The day ended as it usually did, with my boyfriend trashing my advisor. “He’s an idiot. He wouldn’t recognize a genius like my baby if she slapped him in the face.” “I bet his home life is a wreck. Wife probably left him for another man, his kids aren’t his. That’s why he’s a bitter bastard who takes it out on everyone else.” Reading his messages was a balm to my soul. I sent back a couple of kissy-face emojis and went to sleep, feeling much better. 4. The next morning, I woke up refreshed. The revised thesis from my boyfriend was waiting in my inbox. Sent at 5 a.m. Attached was a note: “You’re the best, sweetheart!” My heart melted. Professor Croft exploited me, and I exploited my boyfriend. It was the circle of academic life. I spammed him with grateful kissy-face emojis, then scrambled to get ready and head to class. As soon as I walked in, I heard my roommate’s shrill voice. “Tsk, look who dared to show up. She went to bed super early last night, didn’t even touch her paper. She must know it’s dogsh*t no matter how many times she polishes it.” “Look at our poor advisor, though. The dark circles under his eyes are huge. Her paper probably gave him insomnia!” “Let’s just sit back and watch the show.” I ignored her, choosing a seat near the door. But that just egged her on. “Smart move, sitting by the door. Makes for a quicker exit when you’re kicked out.” “Look at her, so arrogant. She’s about to get chewed out and cry again.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Professor Croft walked in. He was yawning, looking like he genuinely hadn’t slept. He strode to the lectern, took a huge gulp of coffee, and scanned the room with a cold gaze that finally landed on me. “Lily Yao. Your paper?” My heart hammered against my ribs as I handed him the printed copy. He took it with the same indifferent expression, flipping it open casually. Suddenly, he froze. His eyes widened slightly as he began flipping through the pages rapidly, his gaze darting up to look at me with a strange expression several times. My roommate’s gleeful whisper cut through the silence. “Look, he’s about to explode.” A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I had read the paper. My boyfriend’s work was brilliant. Why was he reacting like this? Finally, he finished his rapid scan. He slapped the paper down on the lectern and stood there in silence for a very long moment. When he looked up again, he stammered. “Is this… are you sure this is your work?” 5. His stare made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to answer. “Y-yes, Professor.” “I spent a lot of time rethinking my approach last night…” His expression grew even more peculiar, a mix of disbelief and the look one might give a newly discovered, unclassifiable species. He tapped a finger on the cover of the paper. “Come to my office.” In his office, Professor Croft paced back and forth, a restless energy radiating from him. I stood meekly, staring at my own shoes. Suddenly, he stopped. “Lily Yao.” His voice wasn’t cold like it usually was. The way he said my full name had a strange, almost gentle quality to it that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I shook my head, trying to clear it of such a ridiculous thought. “Be honest with me. Who wrote this paper for you?” My breath caught in my throat. He knew? How could he know? My online boyfriend lived in a different state; there was no connection between them. “Professor, I really did write it myself.” I had to stick to my story. “Yourself?” A short, derisive laugh escaped him. The smirk on his handsome face was particularly cutting. “The first draft you submitted was a logical mess, and your data was completely fabricated. And you’re telling me that overnight, you transformed it into this perfectly structured, rigorously argued paper?” “Lily, do you think I’m a fool, or do you see yourself as some kind of academic prodigy?” His words left me speechless, my cheeks burning. “I…” “Just get out,” he said, his face suddenly hardening as he pointed to the door. “Since you have so much ‘potential,’ I want a complete literature review and feasibility analysis on the ‘Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment’ model you mentioned in the paper. Have it on my desk by three p.m.” His eyes were cold as ice. “If you can’t deliver, you know the consequences.” 6. My mind went completely blank. “Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment” was the core theory of the revised paper. The academic principles involved were so complex they gave me a headache just thinking about them. It was impossibly difficult. And three p.m. was less than four hours away. This was an impossible task. He was deliberately trying to make me fail. I clutched the “perfect thesis” like a hot potato and trudged out of his office, my head hanging in defeat. The second I got back to the classroom, my delightful roommate was on me. “Ooh, get another scolding? Told you so. If you don’t have the skills, you just don’t have them. No point in pretending.” I didn’t have the mental space to deal with her. My brain was consumed by one phrase: “Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment.” What was I going to do? There was only one person I could turn to. My all-powerful boyfriend. I pulled out my phone and frantically typed out the situation. “Babe, HELP! I think my advisor knows I didn’t write the paper. He’s making me write a full analysis of the ‘Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment’ model in less than four hours!” “I’m so screwed!” The message was marked as “Read” instantly. “Don’t panic, sweetheart.” “Your advisor is just trying to screw with you. I bet he doesn’t even understand that model himself.” “The key is wastewater pipe centralization and the purification process. Focus on those two aspects.” “I just emailed you the research data. Organize data sets A, B, and F and plug them into the template I sent you.” “For the conclusion, make sure you emphasize ‘high risk, high reward,’ and add a line recommending a ‘small-scale pilot program.’ Your rigid-minded advisor will think you’re being incredibly thorough.” I stared at his detailed instructions, completely stunned. How… how did he know all of this? How did he predict exactly what my advisor would think?

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At a downtown high-society auction, where elites traded vanity and prestige, my private photos were the star lot. My childhood friend Nathaniel Rivers, just to amuse his date, had his friends drive up the bid—forcing me to fight for my dignity. Desperate, I planned to call my other childhood friend Mikkal Thorne for help. But during the auction break, I overheard their call. “You’re the mastermind, Mikkal,” Nate smirked. “Taking Lydia’s photos while she was passed out drunk. Now she’ll never dare cross Stella.” “I hired someone to take them,” Mikkal replied coolly. That’s when it clicked. Two months ago, my abduction, three days of torment and humiliation—it was all their game. A way to leverage me for Stella. “Just photos, no big deal,” Mikkal added. “When Lydia calls, play your part.” A bitter laugh escaped me. I slipped my phone into my purse and returned to the hall. When the auctioneer asked if I’d keep bidding, I glanced at Nate. “I withdraw.” I give up. On everything. I don’t want it anymore. 1. The moment the words left my mouth, the color drained from Nathaniel’s face. He never expected me to fold. “Lydia, do you have no self-respect? Are you really going to let your photos fall into some stranger’s hands?” I looked at him, my expression a mask of pain. “Weren’t you the one who put them up here for everyone to bid on?” My question choked him. His shock morphed instantly into rage. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who has no shame, fooling around, getting yourself photographed like that. And now you’re blaming me?” Stella, the girl beside him, chimed in, her voice dripping with indignation. “Lydia, Nate has been so good to you. How can you slander him like this?” Her tear-filled eyes made Nate’s heart ache with protective tenderness. I couldn’t stand to watch their nauseating performance any longer. I turned and walked away. My phone was vibrating incessantly in my purse. It was Mikkal. Are you that eager to play your part, Mikkal? So eager to join Nate in trampling on what’s left of me? 2. I answered the call just outside the auction hall. “Lydia? I heard what happened. Why didn’t you call me? I would have helped you, you know I would.” Mikkal was still in the dark. He was playing his role to perfection. “How would you have helped?” I asked, my voice flat and cold. He was too wrapped up in his performance to notice the chill in my tone. “I’ll get the photos back for you, don’t worry.” “But… you know Nate and I owe Stella’s mom. We just want to repay that debt.” I knew. They talked about it all the time. When they were kids, they’d been kidnapped, and Stella’s mother had died saving them. That’s what they said. So, ever since, they treated Stella like a princess. If it ever came down to a choice between me and her, I was always the one who had to step aside. They were always repaying that debt, favor after favor. And I was always caught in the fallout, with no choice in the matter. I had worked tirelessly, clawing my way to an opportunity that would finally prove my worth, that would finally set me free from them. A single, coveted position at a prestigious research institute. But Stella had gone to them again, demanding I give it up for her. When I refused, they resorted to this. Maybe I truly couldn’t stay by their side any longer. Mikkal was still talking. “Just give her the spot at the institute. You have me, Lydia. Anything you ever want, I’ll give it to you.” I touched the necklace around my neck, the one my mother gave me before she died. She’d made me promise not to blame Nate and Mikkal. She said she didn’t regret taking a bullet for them, because she knew they would take care of me for the rest of their lives. I fought to keep my voice from trembling. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Mikkal, ecstatic, hung up immediately. I wiped a tear from my eye and sent a text. Dr. Moss, I’ll take the field assignment. I’ll be ready to leave with you on Saturday. 3. I was in my room packing when Nate and Stella got home. Seeing my open suitcase, Nate sneered. “I almost thought you’d grown a spine and were actually leaving. But you’re just as pathetic as ever. You’d rather give up your career than lose the roof over your head, wouldn’t you? Leeching off my family is all you know how to do.” He thought I was unpacking, putting my clothes back. Stella smiled, looping her arm through his. “Oh, Nate, don’t be so harsh. Lydia’s just been in love with you since we were kids. She can’t bear to be away from you.” Nate’s face twisted in disgust. “Being loved by a bitch in heat is nothing to be proud of.” I didn’t understand why he had become so cruel. “What did I ever do to you?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. He didn’t understand it either. This was all supposed to be an act he and Mikkal had cooked up. But the fact that I had called Mikkal for help, not him, had lit a fire of pure resentment in his gut. “Am I wrong? You’ve lived off my family your whole life. Now your wings are grown and you think you can just fly away? You just want to be free to sleep around, don’t you?” He grew more agitated with every word, finally kicking a box I had placed at the foot of my bed. Its contents spilled across the floor. Dolls, trinkets, little keepsakes—all gifts from him and Mikkal. “Pathetic,” he spat. “Pretending you’re so tough, but you can’t even leave without clinging to our things.” He was so focused on humiliating me that he didn’t see the word I had written on the side of the box in black marker: DISCARDS. Stella shot me a contemptuous look, then turned to Nate with a pout. “Mikkal already booked a table for us. We should get ready, we don’t want to keep him waiting.” Nate’s expression softened as he stroked her hair. Stella blushed, then glanced back at me. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Lydia. They’re just celebrating me getting the job at the institute. It’s not like they have feelings for me.” Hearing this, Nate looked at me, waiting for a reaction. I gave him nothing. “Why are you wasting your breath on her?” he said impatiently. “She’s a jobless nobody. From now on, she’ll be groveling at our feet just to survive.” With that, they ignored me, changed their clothes, and left. 4. The next day, while running errands, I bumped into Alex, a colleague from the institute. He looked surprised at the papers in my hand. “I didn’t think you’d go. I’m surprised you agreed to the assignment.” The field mission was notoriously difficult. I had turned it down before, unwilling to leave the only life I’d ever known. But now, I had to be responsible for myself. I needed to discuss some research protocols with Dr. Moss ahead of time, so after finishing my paperwork, I went with Alex to the institute. At the entrance, I ran into Stella and the others. Mikkal looked surprised to see me. “Lydia, you promised me you wouldn’t come here.” I didn’t want to cause a scene. “Dr. Moss has been very kind to me. I just wanted to apologize to her in person.” But Stella wasn’t having it. “The institute is only hiring one person this year. Not just any stray can wander in. I’ve already met with Dr. Moss and we had a lovely chat.” She waved a file folder in the air. Alex, standing beside me, clearly disliked her attitude. “The institute values character as much as it values ability.” His words made Stella’s face burn. Mikkal’s expression soured. “Lydia, since when do you associate with people like this? Tell him to apologize to Stella.” “This is Alex,” I said, my face a blank mask. “He’s one of the lead researchers on a major project here.” Stella’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat. She beamed. “Oh, a senior researcher! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Stella. I’ll be your new colleague.” Alex didn’t even glance at her. He just guided me away. Behind us, Stella stomped her foot in frustration. Mikkal watched me walk away, a thoughtful look on his face. He calmly pulled out his phone and made a call. “The plan is still on. But I want it done fast. All over the internet in thirty minutes.” 5. I stayed at the institute until evening. When I finally checked my phone to note the time, a breaking news notification caught my eye. I clicked on it. And there I was. Photos of me in every degrading position imaginable, humiliated beyond recognition. My blood ran cold. The world froze. I collapsed into my chair. How could this happen? I already gave them what they wanted. Why won’t they just leave me alone? The memories of those three nights came rushing back, a suffocating nightmare. Overwhelmed, I grabbed a utility knife from the desk and, without a second thought, dragged it across my wrist. Just then, Dr. Moss and Alex burst in. Seeing the blood, the photos on my screen, Dr. Moss understood everything. She had been my parents’ colleague; she had watched me grow up. She knew I wasn’t the kind of person they portrayed me to be. She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight. The dam broke. I sobbed into her shoulder, telling her everything. She comforted me, her voice a soothing balm, promising she wouldn’t abandon me, promising we would leave this toxic place behind soon. I returned to the Rivers’ mansion in a daze. Stella opened the door. Her face was a picture of false concern, her eyes dancing with triumph. “Oh, Lydia. Your photos are everywhere. It’s just awful. I feel so, so sorry for you.” As she spoke, she gestured, showing off the ruby necklace and ring she was wearing. Weren’t those my mother’s? The last things she left me? I kept them hidden away, safe. How did she have them? Nate walked up behind her. “Someone leaked your photos. Stella was worried sick about you all afternoon, so I gave them to her to cheer her up.” He said it so casually, as if he’d just given away a cheap trinket. I ignored him and held out my hand. “Give them back.” Nate was taken aback by my defiance. He scoffed. “Your mother’s dead. They’re useless to you anyway. The institute is having a welcome party tomorrow. Stella can wear them and make a good impression.” I didn’t hesitate. I lunged at Stella, my hands closing around her throat. “Give. Them. Back.” 6. My ferocity must have stunned Nate. He just stood there, frozen. But Mikkal, who had just walked in, reacted instantly. He kicked me hard in the small of my back, sending me flying. Stella, gasping for air, scrambled into Mikkal’s arms, sobbing hysterically. Her cries snapped Nate out of his stupor, and he rushed to her side, checking for injuries. The two of them held her, stroking her back, murmuring comforting words. I lay on the floor, coughing up blood. The gash on my wrist had torn open again, blood pooling on the polished hardwood. My vision blurred, the image of the three of them locked in an embrace swimming before my eyes. It was like I was twelve again. The day my mother died. The three of us had clung to each other just like that. They had promised me, promised they would take care of me forever. A bloody laugh bubbled up from my chest, shattering their tender moment. Nate stalked over to me and stomped on my bleeding wrist. “What’s with the act? You almost choked Stella to death, and now you’re spitting up blood for sympathy?” “I’m telling you, even if you die here tonight, this isn’t over.” The pressure on my wrist intensified. A scream of agony tore through me. I could feel the bones grinding, felt his intention to snap my hand in two. Just then, Mikkal spoke. “That’s enough. We need to get Stella to the hospital.” He lifted her into his arms. As he passed me, he leaned down and whispered, his voice laced with venom. “You’re the one who killed your own mother. You don’t deserve to wear her necklace. Stop taking it out on innocent people.” I killed my mom? He was right. If I hadn’t begged her to go save them from the kidnappers, she would still be alive. It was my fault. All of this was my penance. “Hahaha… penance… it’s all my penance…” I struggled to my feet and stumbled out of the house. After a while, I saw lights in the distance. I tried to raise my hand, but the world tilted, and I slammed into the ground. 7. When I woke up, I was alone in a hospital room. A nurse saw I was awake and looked at me with pity. “We saved your hand,” she said softly. “But I’m afraid you may never regain full dexterity.” Her voice was full of regret, but I felt a strange sense of peace. Let this hand be the proof. The proof that the bond between us is finally, irrevocably broken. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, ready to check myself out. A message from Dr. Moss said she was coming to pick me up. I had to go back and get my things. At the payment counter in the lobby, I ran into Mikkal. His face hardened when he saw me. “Didn’t I tell you to leave Stella alone? What are you doing here?” “Nate and I see her as a sister. She has no one else. We’re all she has. What is your problem?” I looked at him, listened to his words, and felt… nothing. The storm inside me had finally passed. “It won’t happen again. Never again.” Mikkal, assuming I was there to cause more trouble, was stunned by my reply. But then he remembered my past “outbursts” and his expression hardened again. “Stella has the welcome party tonight. You hurt her badly. You should give her the necklace and ring as an apology.” I nodded silently. “Fine.” Mikkal froze. He hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. He must have figured I’d finally realized I was in the wrong. “And your parents’ research data,” he added. “Give that to Stella, too. As a congratulatory gift.” That research was my parents’ life’s work. Dr. Moss had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday. And he was telling me to just hand it over. “Fine.” My immediate agreement seemed to unsettle him. He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. “Alright, Lydia. After we celebrate Stella tonight, Nate and I will throw a party for you, too. To wash away all this bad luck. I’ll invite all our friends.” He said it without a hint of irony, completely oblivious to the fact that those “friends” had already passed my photos around, calling me a cheap, used-up whore. He was only thinking of Stella, of how much she loved big, lively parties. He was still talking when another voice cut him off. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing standing here?” 8. Nate saw me behind Mikkal, and his face contorted with rage. “You have the nerve to show your face here? Do you want to lose your other hand, too?” Mikkal quickly stepped between us. “Lydia has realized her mistake. She’s agreed to give Stella the jewelry as an apology, and she’s even giving her your parents’ research data.” Nate’s expression softened slightly. “Then I’ll let it go for now. But last time, Stella spent a fortune at the auction to buy back your photos for you. You may not have kept them safe, but you still owe her the money.” Mikkal said nothing, tacitly agreeing. “I’ve already taken the liberty of transferring all the assets your parents left you into Stella’s name,” Nate continued. “And that house of yours… I had it demolished. We’re rebuilding. So don’t go there anymore. It would upset Stella to see it.” “From now on, you’ll stay at our house. You’ll have food and a roof over your head. No one will mistreat you.” I stared at him, horrified. Was he trying to erase my entire past? To destroy everything my parents had left me? A silent tear rolled down my cheek, and Nate stopped talking. His throat seemed to tighten, as if he couldn’t speak. Mikkal noticed my distress and was about to say something comforting when Stella appeared. Instantly, they were both at her side, fussing over her. I didn’t look back. I turned and walked away. They wanted to say more, but they figured they would have plenty of time to explain everything to me after tonight. They didn’t follow. At eight o’clock that evening, I picked up the suitcase I had left by the door. I placed the house key on the counter and closed the door on the prison that had been my home for fifteen years. Outside the institute, Stella, dressed to the nines, clung to Nate and Mikkal’s arms. Tonight, she was going to be the star. The institute’s director stood at the podium, beaming. He spoke of his pride in the younger generation’s spirit of self-sacrifice and said he wanted to personally praise this year’s brilliant new recruit. In the audience, Stella was trembling with excitement. She had finally surpassed me. She had finally earned their recognition. Nate and Mikkal, beaming with pride, stood ready to cheer when the director announced her name. The director continued. “This year’s new recruit, Miss Lydia Croft, is an exceptional talent. She has already departed with Dr. Moss to the front lines to participate in a new research project.” From their seats, Nate and Mikkal shot to their feet. “What did you just say?”

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The day my sixteen-year-old daughter was assaulted by her tutor, I heard her cries for help. And I did nothing. In fact, I locked the door to her room, leaned against it, and cheered him on. Afterward, my daughter’s spirit shattered. She stood on the edge of our rooftop, her dress torn, the wind whipping around her. But when the first responders rushed up, I was the one who screamed at them. “She wanted it!” “She dresses like that, what does she expect? She was asking for it!” “What are you even doing here? If she was going to jump, she’d have done it by now!” Everyone just stared, frozen in shock. My husband, Mark, lost his mind. The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed in the rooftop air, sending me stumbling to the ground. “How can you call yourself a mother?! You bitch. I’m divorcing you!” A firefighter held our daughter, Sophie, in his arms. She was sobbing, overwhelmed with grief and confusion. Even then, she was the good daughter. The thoughtful one. “If Mom just testifies for me in court,” she wept, “I’ll forgive her!” I met the weight of all their judgmental stares and let a cold smile spread across my face. “Sorry,” I said. “No deal.” 1 My parents, arriving in a frantic rush, heard that last part. They looked at me, their faces masks of disbelief, as I continued my tirade. “Are you insane? Anna, that is your daughter!” my father roared. “What kind of animal are you? How could you say something like that?” Sophie struggled out of the firefighter’s arms and collapsed into my mother’s embrace, her composure finally breaking. “Grandma, Grandpa, what’s wrong with Mom?” she cried, her voice ragged. “My tutor… he hurt me… and she just brought him a plate of fruit! She didn’t want to help me!” “Did I do something wrong? Did I embarrass her?” Every word was a shard of glass, tearing at the hearts of everyone who listened. The crowd’s gaze on me hardened, turning from disgust to pure loathing. My father, a man who hadn’t cried in thirty years, had red-rimmed eyes. He fought for control, his voice strained. “Anna, I don’t know what’s going through your head, but you need to take Sophie to the police station. Now.” “You’re her mother. It’s your responsibility. She’s just a child!” I touched the stinging red handprint on my cheek and shrugged, a picture of pure indifference. “She can go if she wants. I’m not going.” “And if any of you lay another hand on me,” I added, my voice dangerously low, “I’ll press charges for assault.” A wave of murmurs rippled through the onlookers. They started pointing, condemning me for being a monster, for abandoning my daughter in her hour of need. A police officer stepped forward, his expression grim. “Ma’am, the victim is a minor. A guardian needs to be present. As her mother, you need to come with us.” Sophie reached for the hem of my shirt, her small hand trembling. I slapped it away. My eyes were like ice as I looked down at her. “You’re sixteen years old. That’s practically an adult. If you want to go to the police, go by yourself. This isn’t my problem.” Her lips quivered, her face a canvas of terror. “Mommy, I’m scared,” she whispered. “Please, Mommy? You love me more than anyone, remember?” Mark couldn’t take it anymore. He wrapped his suit jacket around her shivering shoulders, then turned on me, his voice a raw roar. “Anna! What the hell is wrong with you?” “She’s not stable! If she tries to kill herself again, can you live with that?!” I remained unmoved. My mother was the first to break. Wiping away tears of pure disappointment, she took Sophie’s hand, her voice soft and soothing. “Sweetheart, will you come with Grandma to the station? Is that okay? Grandma will be with you.” “We’ll protect you. We’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.” But as they took a single step, Sophie shrieked. Her body shook violently, tears streaming down her face. “I want my mommy! Mommy, save me! Please, save me!” “Get away from me! I want my mom to protect me!” Anyone could see it—the profound, primal bond a child has with her mother. It only made my parents more confused. For her entire life, Sophie had been the center of my universe. She was a fragile baby, born premature, and we nearly lost her. Doctors advised us to try for another child. Instead, I went to a clinic and had my tubes tied, determined that no other child would ever steal an ounce of love meant for her. I researched diets, therapies, and holistic treatments, running myself into the ground to build up her health until my own body gave out and I was diagnosed with stress-induced heart failure. When she started middle school, I threw myself back into my career, not for myself, but to build a fortress of security and capital for her future. The bond between us was legendary in our family. But today, watching this heartbreakingly pathetic scene unfold, I just threw my head back and laughed. I pointed a finger at my daughter, speaking to the entire crowd of onlookers. “You know,” I said, my voice ringing with amusement, “this is the same way she cried for help when she was flirting with her tutor!” For a second, there was absolute silence. No one could process that a mother would use those words to describe her own child. My husband lunged for me again, his hand raised, but Sophie instantly threw herself in front of me, sobbing. “Daddy, don’t hit Mom. Please.” “I must have done something to make her angry. That’s why she’s saying these things.” Mark let out a long, defeated sigh. “Anna, do you see this? Do you have any idea how much your daughter loves you?” “How can you be so cold?” I gave a dismissive sneer. “If you’re taking her to the station, then go. Stop wasting my time.” But Sophie shook her head fiercely. Ignoring my repeated rejections, she took my hand again, her touch as tentative as a butterfly’s wing. “Mommy,” she choked out, “I only want you. I’m so scared…” The crowd started whispering again. “That poor girl must have PTSD. I heard they were close. Her mom must have really manipulated her.” “Totally! What kind of mother is this? She’s worse than a wicked stepmother!” Listening to their insults, my parents’ faces were etched with desperation. They were practically begging me now. “Anna, we don’t understand what’s going on. But Sophie was hurt. That’s a fact. We have to get justice for her!” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “No matter what, I will not be testifying for Sophie.” Just then, a detective’s calm voice cut through the noise from behind me. “Mrs. Miller, this is now a criminal investigation. It’s not up to you anymore.” “You will come with us to the hospital, and you will provide a statement for your daughter.” Just when everyone expected me to refuse again, I surprised them all by nodding. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to the hospital.” The results came back quickly. Sophie had clear signs of an assault. There were bruises on her thighs and calves, angry red marks from where she’d been held down. But in her distress afterward, she had taken a shower, scrubbing away any trace of DNA evidence. Now, the only hope for a conviction rested on me. The sole witness. I saw the flicker of pain in my parents’ eyes when they heard the news. Sophie hadn’t stopped crying since we’d arrived at the hospital. Her hand never left the fabric of my sleeve, clinging to me like a baby bird to its mother. Anytime I showed the slightest sign of impatience, of wanting to leave, a police officer would place a firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay. After the examination, a court date was set. My parents, holding on to one last shred of hope, asked me again. “Anna, why are you acting like this? You love Sophie more than life itself.” I lowered my gaze, my expression a frozen mask. “I told you, I won’t testify. And if I’m forced to, I will only say things that will hurt her case.” My parents refused to believe it. They pleaded and reasoned, but their words were wasted. They were destined for disappointment. In the courtroom, the judge’s voice was grave. “Anna Miller, according to the victim, Sophie Miller, you were present at the scene.” “Did you, with your own ears, hear Sophie Miller resisting or calling for help?” I looked at the defendant’s table, at the young and terrified face of the tutor, Ethan. Then I smiled, a provocative, challenging smile aimed right at the courtroom’s live-feed camera. “No.” “Ethan is a college student. He’s handsome, charming. Girls like him.” “My daughter,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt, “is cheap. She throws herself at any man who looks her way.” “I saw it with my own eyes. Sophie lifted her own skirt and sat right on Ethan’s lap. She was the one who seduced him.” The courtroom exploded. Sitting at the plaintiff’s table, Sophie’s face went white as a sheet. She swayed for a moment, her eyes rolling back, and then collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. The judge called for an immediate recess. The moment we were in the hallway, Mark’s hand cracked across my face again, harder this time. His eyes were bloodshot with rage. “You monster! Why would you lie about your own daughter?!” He turned desperately to my parents. “Mom, Dad, you know Sophie! She would never do something like that, right? Right?!” My mother’s eyes were full of a terrible, final disappointment. “Anna, as of this moment, I no longer have a daughter.” “We will raise Sophie from now on. She doesn’t need a mother as venomous as you.” Paramedics revived Sophie. The first thing she saw was the raw, red handprint on my cheek. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. “Don’t hit Mommy.” Her small, soft hand found mine, squeezing it. Her voice was a plea. “Mommy, why? Why would you say those things about me?” “Is it because you think I’m… dirty now? That I’m not good enough to be your daughter anymore?” I could see the pity on my parents’ faces. They rushed to her, hugging her tightly, their own tears flowing. “Oh, sweet girl, how could any of this be your fault? You’re the innocent one here!” But I remained completely unmoved. In fact, I started to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. “You’re right! You are dirty! You’re not fit to be my daughter!” “I wish you’d just end up with that tutor. Since you’ve already been raped, you might as well marry him, right?” Sophie’s face was ashen, her lips trembling. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. My father was shaking with rage. “You… you ungrateful child! Shut your mouth!” He turned to Sophie. “Don’t listen to her, sweetheart. Your mother has lost her mind.” Just then, the doors to the hallway burst open. A swarm of reporters surged in, pointing their cameras at my face, carefully avoiding Sophie’s. Behind them, a detective looked at me, his face grim. He held up our home’s smart security camera. “Mrs. Miller, we found this camera in your living room and are seizing it as evidence.” A knot tightened in my stomach. “That’s useless,” I said quickly. “Ethan and Sophie were in her bedroom for the tutoring session.” Another officer informed me with an air of finality, “We’ve checked the specs on this model. It has audio recording capabilities.” “The feed is linked to your phone’s account. There should be a cloud backup of the video. We’ll need you to cooperate.” I scowled, hiding my phone behind my back. “I turned it off yesterday.” At those words, a look of utter despair crossed Sophie’s face. A reporter couldn’t help himself. “What kind of person are you? Why would you turn off the camera at that exact moment?” The detective’s voice was cold steel. “We deal in facts, ma’am. Hand over the phone.” “If the evidence is on there, it can prove what Ethan really did to your daughter!” They moved in, prying the phone from my grasp. The camera had indeed been turned off. But a technician quickly discovered that the cloud backup was still intact. The recording from that day was still there. They submitted it to the court as new evidence. In the recording’s background, you could hear it all: Sophie’s terrified screams, her voice, raw and desperate, crying my name over and over, begging me to save her. A wave of relief and vindication washed over the room. Then, on the screen, my image appeared. I walked slowly to her bedroom door, holding a plate of sliced fruit. I didn’t help. Instead, I pulled the door shut, locking it from the outside. The room was filled with gasps of shock and fury. Based on the recording, I wasn’t just a witness. I was an accomplice. “What is wrong with this woman? Hiding the truth about her own daughter’s assault.” “I bet she was having an affair with the tutor. That’s why she’s defending him.” “That would make sense. Look at her, you can tell she’s the type.” The way my parents looked at me was beyond disappointment now. It was horror. “Anna,” my father said, his voice trembling, “we raised you. We never knew you were capable of such evil.” Mark’s jaw was clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. He glared at me. “We’re done. You don’t deserve to be my daughter’s mother.” I straightened my shoulders and looked at the police. “Since you’ve copied the recording, I’ll take my phone back now.” Sophie gently tugged on my sleeve. “Mommy? Do you believe me now?” “I really didn’t seduce him. Will you be my witness? Will you testify for me?” “Then… then everyone will stop saying horrible things about you…” I didn’t have to look to know what the comments sections on the news feeds were saying about me. I brushed her hand away and held her gaze for a long moment. Then I turned to my mother. “Mom, I need to talk to you. Alone.” She was still my mother. After a moment of hesitation, she followed me into an empty conference room. I whispered something to her. A few moments later, my mother walked out. Standing in front of all the reporters, her eyes grew red. “Sophie.” “Listen to Grandma. Let’s drop the charges. Let’s just go home.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. My mother took Sophie’s hand, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Sweetheart, please, don’t pursue this anymore!” Sophie stared at her, stunned. Then she screamed. “Grandma, are you crazy too?! Why are you just like Mom? Why won’t you believe me?!” A court officer immediately stepped between them. “Ma’am, this is a criminal proceeding. The charges can’t be withdrawn by the family at this stage.” My mother could only choke back a sob and fall silent. Her face now wore the same expression of grim resolve as mine. Soon, the recess was over. The audio evidence was played again for the court. Mark slammed his fist on the table. “It’s all my fault,” he said, his voice breaking. “If I had been home, this never would have happened to Sophie!” The judge looked at me, his eyes filled with controlled anger. “Mrs. Miller. Do you have anything to say now?” I said nothing. But across the room, at the defendant’s table, Ethan suddenly shouted. “I have something to say!” He shot a quick glance at me, then raised his voice. “Mrs. Miller, you were the one who came on to me! You told me your husband couldn’t get it up anymore!” “I wasn’t interested in an older woman like you, but then you offered me Sophie! You said I could have both of you! That’s the only reason I ever slept with you! And now you’re accusing me of rape?!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of lingerie, holding it high in the air. It was a lacy, risqué style, clearly belonging to a grown woman. “I’m sure this has Anna Miller’s DNA all over it,” he declared to the judge. “I request a forensic analysis!” Under an expedited order, the results came back in record time. It was, indeed, my underwear. The courtroom erupted. But my face remained calm. “A desperate lie from a desperate man,” I said with a sneer. I glanced at the watch on my wrist, as if I were waiting for something. The next second, the courtroom doors opened. My mother rushed in, out of breath. Her face was a storm of pain and conflict, but her hands were steady as she held up a small, pink, hardcover book. “Your Honor,” she announced, her voice ringing with conviction. “I have new evidence to submit!”

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My brother was in the living room with our neighbor, Mark, and I walked in on them. My mom had a complete meltdown. She broke Mark’s… well, let’s just say his days as a man were over. My brother, Kevin, hated me for it. He drugged me, dumped me at an abandoned construction site, and let a group of men destroy me. I died. Now, I’m awake. It’s the day it all happened. The day Kevin left the door open. This time, I’m just going to lock it. They can play all they want. 01 “Ugh… does it have to hurt? Go easy… I-I’ve never…” Hearing my brother’s voice through the door, I realize I’m back. It was this same suffocating afternoon. I was taking out the trash when I heard… noises… from the apartment next door. Mark’s apartment. I don’t know why, but I leaned in. The door was cracked. I saw my brother, Kevin, pinned to the sofa by Mark. They were in a position I didn’t even know was possible. A hot rage filled my head. I thought Kevin was being attacked. Mark was, after all, my dad’s best friend of twenty years. So I screamed and threw the door open. My mom heard me and came running. When she saw them, she just… broke. She grabbed a floor lamp and started beating Mark with it. He was screaming, and by the time it was over, his future was… gone. That’s when my nightmare started. My mom blamed me for everything. “If you were a better sister, if you’d watched him, would that pervert have targeted him?!” They pulled me out of school. They made me take Kevin to therapy. Eventually, the therapists “fixed” him. He could supposedly “react” to women again. Everything seemed to go back to normal. But Kevin never, ever forgave me. He put something in my drink. He stuffed me in a canvas bag and left me on a pile of rubble. That day… My fingernails were all torn out. I heard my own bones snap. Fists, cigarette butts, beer bottles… I was a broken doll, and they tore me apart. I died in agony. As my vision faded, I saw Kevin standing a few feet away, filming it on his phone. “You bitch,” he hissed. “You ruined my life. You deserve this.” After I died, my mother shed a few tears. Then she sighed. “That girl was just born bad. I’ve already lost her; I can’t lose your brother, too.” Because I “died dirty,” they said I brought shame to the family. They wouldn’t even bury me. My mom cashed in the small life insurance policy I’d paid for from my part-time job—at a 70% loss—and used the money to buy Kevin’s way into some scam online college. “Aah… Mark… please…” “Relax, baby. You’ll learn to love it…” The sounds from the apartment yank me back to the present. I step forward. I quietly reach for the handle. I gently push the door shut until I hear it click. This time, my dear brother, you can leave that door as wide open as you want. 02 I just get back to our apartment when my mom twists my ear, hard. “Sarah! Where the hell were you? Taking out the trash or trying to get hit by a car? You’re so damn lazy!” Her eyes are full of disgust. “What are you standing there for?” She shoves me. “Go make dinner! Your brother is a growing boy. If he’s hungry, I’ll skin you alive!” On the sofa, my dad, Mike, is smoking, his feet up on the table. He blows a cloud of smoke in my face as I pass. “Told you, girls don’t need college. Wastes time. My buddy Leo’s daughter dropped out, works in a factory, sends him three grand a month! Just got her engaged. Twenty grand, cash. That’s a good daughter.” I don’t listen. I go to the kitchen. On the cutting board is a mountain of bright red habanero peppers. My brother loves spicy food. I’m violently allergic. If the juice touches my skin, I break out in welts. But in this house, there has never, not once, been a meal I could eat without pain. I tried to protest, once. My mom just laughed. “Allergic? You’re just dramatic. Good. Maybe you’ll stop eating. You’re fat as a pig.” I look down at my arms. My wrist bones stick out. I’m five-foot-one and ninety pounds. I think about what I just saw. Mark is a gym teacher. He’s all muscle. My brother… he’s a twig. His first time… he’s probably in a lot of pain. He’s probably torn. A terrible, wonderful idea starts to grow in my mind. I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. You like it spicy, do you, Kevin? Then sister is going to cook you a meal you will never, ever forget. I turn on the tap, pull on a pair of rubber gloves, and grab a handful of peppers three times bigger than usual. The air in the kitchen is already starting to burn. 03 Because no one interrupted him, Kevin doesn’t get home until 7 PM. We’re all waiting at the table. He’s walking… strangely. His legs are stiff, his knees bent. Every step looks like agony. My mom sees him and shoots out of her chair. “My baby! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” “N-nothing… I’m fine.” He waves her off, his voice weak. “I just… I fell.” “You fell?!” Mom’s voice goes up an octave. “Where? Let me see! Is it bad?” She lunges for his pants, trying to check him right there. Kevin flinches back, which clearly pulls at the… injury. He sucks in a breath, and fresh sweat pops out on his forehead. He’s humiliated. “Mom, stop! I’m not a baby! Get off me!” She’s offended. “You’ll always be my baby! I’ve seen every part of you! Now let me see if you’re hurt!” “It’s fine! Really! It doesn’t even hurt!” “Really?” she says, still eyeing his ass. “Really! See?” To prove it, Kevin grits his teeth and does two tiny, agonizing hops. His face twitches, and he quickly changes the subject. “I’m starving, Mom. Let’s just eat!” That works. “Yes, yes! My poor boy! We have to eat!” She pulls him to his chair and shoves him down onto the hard wood. I watch his whole body go rigid. He tries to shift his weight, balancing on the absolute edge of the chair, his legs taking most of his weight. Mom, oblivious, starts piling his plate high. “Here, baby, your favorite spicy stir-fry! I told Sarah to put in extra habaneros! And the spicy sausage! Eat! It’s all extra hot tonight!” Kevin stares at the mountain of food. His hand is shaking. He takes one, slow, agonizing bite. He swallows, his throat working. The slower he eats, the more Mom piles on. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it? Is it where you fell? Does it hurt?” He just shakes his head, forcing the food down. I sit across from him, quietly eating my plain white rice, hiding my smile behind the rim of my bowl. 04 Later, I’m washing dishes when the doorbell rings. It’s a delivery. I open the bag. Inside is an education. A tube of prescription-strength ointment for… tears. A bottle of high-end lube. And a rather uniquely-shaped… toy. The note says: [Use this to practice. It’ll get easier. –M] Mark is just so thoughtful. I’m putting things back when Kevin shuffles out, one hand on his butt. He glares at me. “Sarah! Who said you could touch my stuff? You’re such a bitch!” He snatches the bag and limps back to his room, slamming the door. I have to admit, the ointment must be good. Kevin is “recovered” in no time. Now he’s over at Mark’s every day, “working on his core strength.” My parents are thrilled. My mom just keeps making him stews and muttering about how muscular he’s getting, even as I watch the new, purple-red hickeys appear on his neck. This goes on for a month. And then, my mom finally finds it. In the back of the bathroom cabinet, she finds the half-empty bottle of lube and the… toy. She explodes.

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Chapter 1 “Honestly, you’re kind of ugly,” my husband of seven years said, staring at my tear-stained face. “And when you cry, you look even worse.” With that, he walked out and slept in his study again. But his wife—the one who cried too much—had already swallowed a bottle of Paraquat and exited this world. I am the new Strategy AI sent to take her place. “System,” I asked, “how many points did the last host leave me?” [One.] “Fine,” I said. “Put it all into physical attributes.” That night, transformed into a 6’2″ powerhouse, I walked into the study. And absolutely wrecked my husband. The next morning, I sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, swinging my legs and pretending to smoke a cigarette. Smoking is bad for you, and considering this body just ingested poison yesterday, I decided to just chew on the filter. “Ugh…” A groan came from under the desk. Liam woke up. His usually cold, sculptured face was a mask of confusion. His silk robe was hanging off one shoulder, revealing a neck and chest covered in bruises and bite marks. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looked like a beautiful, broken mess. Liam blinked, then winced as the soreness hit him. Especially there. He scrambled back like he’d been bitten by a snake, face red with rage, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Gwen! Have you lost your mind?! That was… that was marital r*pe! And how the hell did you… have… that?!” At the same time, the System, which had been blocked all night, started screaming in my head. [AHHHHH! You stupid AI! What did you do?!] [The Male Lead’s affection score just crashed through the floor! It’s almost at -100!] [Do you realize we’re in Hell Mode now?!] Ignoring the noise, I looked back at Liam with a doting smile. “Why so loud? You seemed to enjoy it last night.” Liam froze. Then he snapped. He flipped the heavy desk and grabbed an antique vase, hurling it at me. “Gwen! I’m going to kill you! I’ll kill you!!” Thanks to the National Radio Calisthenics Guide in my database, I hopped off the desk and dodged the vase with a perfect chest expansion move. I closed the distance in two steps, grabbed both his wrists with one hand, and pinned them above his head. With my other hand, I gripped his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Stop it. Be good.” I said flatly, “I’m done with your hard-to-get games. I like obedient men.” [Shut up, you defective AI! What the hell are you saying?!] [Yes, my database contains thousands of “Domineering CEO” novels.] [Who asked you that?! In this world, Liam is the CEO!] [Character overlap? No problem. He can yield to me.] […] While I argued with the System, Liam stared at me, pupils shrinking to pinpoints. He shoved me away violently and started dry heaving. “Urgh! Get out… divorce… you psycho…” I shrugged. “Talk to me when you’ve calmed down, my dear husband.” Hands in my pockets, I walked out of the study, stopping to pet Oreo, our British Shorthair, on the way. Downstairs in the dining room, only one person was seated at the long table. My mother-in-law, Evelyn. She was wearing silk, dripping in Cartier, drinking Moutai, and eating crawfish for breakfast. Her phone was on speaker, broadcasting a conversation with other rich wives. “I know, right? Gwen’s been here seven years and her stomach is still flat. She’s wasting my Liam’s time. I think there’s something wrong with her.” The voice on the phone agreed, “Exactly. If a woman can’t keep her man interested, what use is she? It’s a lack of charm.” “If only she had charm! Liam comes home late every night, and even when he’s here, he sleeps in the study. If she weren’t slightly more obedient than that fox Clara, I would’ve made him divorce her ages ago!” [Oh my god, I’m so mad.] [That old hag sees you standing there! She’s saying it loud on purpose!] [Get her, AI! Use the most vicious insults in your database!] [If you slap her down, the audience will give you 10 points!] The System was howling for blood. I nodded slightly. [Understood.] I walked to the table, my temporarily male body casting a large shadow. Evelyn’s fake smile froze. She glanced at me sideways. “What? See your elders and don’t even say hello? Is this how you were raised?” I stared at her blankly, took the unlit cigarette from my mouth, dropped it on the floor, and crushed it with my pink slipper. Evelyn frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” “There are minors present. No smoking.” Evelyn: ? System: [?] Evelyn’s frown deepened. “Gwen, what nonsense are you spouting this early? Are you still asleep?” I shook my head and looked around the luxurious villa. “I thought the Pearl of the Orient was in Shanghai. I didn’t know we had one here.” I bent down, took her hand with the jade ring, and pressed a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “Good morning, my beautiful Pearl. May your day be as dazzling as you are.” Then I turned and walked to the foyer, leaving a petrified Evelyn behind. [????] [Defective AI, what kind of database did you download?!] After I left, Evelyn sat there in a daze. Her friend’s voice crackled from the phone. “Hello? Evelyn? What happened? Did I just hear a man’s voice?” Evelyn stared at her hand, then at the door. “I… I think my daughter-in-law just… grew a pair?” “Huh?” [Audience Satisfaction: +20] [Available Points: 20] Chapter 2 The moment I stepped outside, I shrank. Liam’s shirt, which had fit perfectly a second ago, now hung off me like a tent. I looked down at my wrists—thin, pale, veins visible under the skin. Weak. [System, the gender swap wore off already?] [Duh!] The System sounded exasperated. [You’re supposed to use points for beauty or talent! Who wastes points on a one-night gender swap?!] [But I earned 20 points.] The System choked. [That… that was just luck! The audience probably hasn’t seen anything this weird before. Next time it won’t work! They want angst! Romance! Stop messing around!] Angst… I nodded thoughtfully. [Understood.] [Wait, when you say ‘understood’, I get a bad feeling…] Before the System could finish, a sneering voice called out from the driveway. “Well, well. If it isn’t my sister-in-law. Strutting around in my brother’s shirt? Trying to advertise that you finally got laid?” I looked up. It was Lucas. Liam’s twin brother. My brother-in-law. They looked alike, but their vibes were polar opposites. If Liam was a glacier, Lucas was a heatwave. Dyed red hair, black studs, eyes that always seemed to be flirting or mocking. He walked over, eyeing me up and down. “Where are your ugly glasses today? They made you look dumb, but at least they hid those swollen eyes. Now that I can see them… yikes. Even uglier.” I stayed silent. Lucas took that as encouragement. “Honestly, I don’t get why my brother married you. You’re plain, boring, and embarrassing to take out. Just furniture gathering dust.” [System.] [Yeah?] [Put all 20 points into Grip Strength.] [Um… wait, you’re not going to—] “No wonder my brother still pines for Clara after seven years,” Lucas scoffed. “A dry, tasteless woman like you isn’t worth a single finger on Clara’s ha—ACK!” I didn’t let him finish. Smack! I slapped him so hard he stumbled sideways three steps. His brain rattled. He looked at me, stunned. “You…” He clutched his swelling cheek. “You hit me?!” I answered with a front kick to his stomach. Lucas folded like a lawn chair, dropping to his knees and gasping for air. “Ahh—you crazy bitch! Do you know who I am?!” I grabbed a handful of his red hair and smashed his face into my knee. “AHH! My nose! Gwen, you whore! I—AH!” He tried to fight back, but I grabbed his arm and flipped him over my shoulder. I sat on his chest, pinning his limbs, and started slapping him. Smack! Smack! Left and right. [System, is this enough angst?] [You idiot! Not this kind of angst!! This is a romance novel, not a Kung Fu movie! Stop it!!] [Audience Satisfaction: +35] [Available Points: 35] The System went silent. […Actually, never mind. Keep going. No rush.] Finally, Lucas stopped fighting. His handsome face was a palette of blues and purples. “Stop… stop hitting me… Gwen, I’m sorry…” He sobbed. “Please… it hurts… why are you so strong? Did you eat spinach?” I stopped. But the moment I let up, Lucas started squirming, yelling insults. “Just you wait! You violent psycho! I’m telling my brother! He’ll divorce you so fast your head will spin! You’ll leave with nothing!” I pinned him down again and said flatly, “I may be violent, but you are shallow and stupid. Disrespecting your sister-in-law with filth? The famous family education seems lacking.” Lucas sneered, blood on his teeth. “So what? I’m rich and hot. You? A dwarf with no tits trying to act like a wife. It’s pathetic.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you admit you hate me. Hate requires attention. I thought you didn’t care about me at all.” Lucas froze. His eyes darted away, then back, sharper than before. “Who cares about you? Don’t flatter yourself!” Then he laughed maliciously. He pointed a shaking finger at the corner of the courtyard wall. “See that? Security camera. Everything is recorded. I can call the cops right now for assault. You don’t want to go to jail right before my brother dumps you, do you?” I went silent. The System panicked. [Defective AI! I told you not to be reckless! Now you have a record! How can you romance the lead if you’re in jail?!] Lucas saw my silence as fear. “Heh. Scared now? Tell you what. Kneel down, beg me, and maybe I’ll let this slide for the sake of family.” I stood up and stepped aside. Lucas smirked, starting to sit up. Then I stomped on his chest with my pink slipper, slamming him back into the dirt. Thud! His head bounced off the ground. “Ow! F*ck! What are you doing?!” He screamed. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll—” “Call them,” I interrupted, looking down at him. “Call the police. And tell them…” “Tell them you installed a hidden camera in your sister-in-law’s bedroom.” Silence. Lucas stared up at me. The System went quiet. Slowly, Lucas turned a shade of red that eclipsed his bruises. “W-what are you talking about?! Are you delusional?! You’re sex-crazed!” “I found the evidence,” I said calmly. Lucas opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “Lucas, you say you don’t care about me. But you target me constantly. You spy on me illegally. Why?” I leaned down, staring into his eyes. “Because… you have a crush on me.” “You have a crush on your brother’s wife.” “That’s why you rushed over here this morning. You saw on the camera that I wasn’t in my room last night. You thought I slept with Liam. You were terrified we reconciled, so you ran over to check. Right?” Lucas sputtered for a long time before exploding in shame. “No! That’s your fantasy! You crazy woman! Why would I like someone like… like…” “Is that so?” I lifted my foot and stomped down hard. Lucas groaned in pain. “Then take the footage to the police. Let them see how your sister-in-law beat you into the ground…” My gaze drifted lower. “…And how you got hard from it.” I whispered the final verdict. “Pervert.” Lucas froze completely. The red drained from his face, leaving it grey. His eyes went blank. Then, unable to handle the shame, he covered his face with his hands. And started crying again. “Ugh…” This time, the sobbing was full of despair. I squatted next to him and watched him cry. When the sobbing turned to whimpers, I spoke softly. “Lucas, I actually don’t mind that you like me. I won’t tell anyone.” He lowered his hands, looking at me with red, swollen eyes. A tiny spark of hope lit up. “R-really? Gwen… you…” I smiled. “But I’m a married woman. A good woman. I won’t cheat.” “So… you can be my dog instead.” Chapter 3 The light in Lucas’s eyes blazed brighter. Not happiness—rage. He scrambled up as if electrified. “You’re sick! Who wants to be your dog?! Get away from me! Psycho!” He scrambled away on all fours, terrified I’d slap him again. I stood up slowly. [Look how happy he is.] System: […] System: [Sister, your definition of happy is… unique. But he’s definitely broken. You broke his brain.] The heavy oak front door opened. Liam walked out. The soundproofing was excellent; he only just heard the screaming. He was in a charcoal suit, hair perfect, face cold. No trace of the vomiting mess from earlier. I thought he came to defend his brother. But he walked right past me. Didn’t even glance my way. He opened the door of his black Ferrari. Cold war again? I shrugged. I turned to go inside and make some goji berry tea for this poisoned body. “Clara is back,” Liam said to the air. “I’m going to the airport to pick her up.” I stopped. “Oreo hasn’t been eating. Clara studied veterinary medicine abroad. She’s moving in as Oreo’s live-in pet therapist.” “Gwen, this is my last warning. Stop your crazy antics.” “Clara is different from you. She’s kind. She’s fragile. If you scare her…” He paused, emphasizing every word. “Even if you are Mrs. Song, I will personally commit you to a mental institution. I will tell everyone you are insane.” “Trust me. I have the power to make you spend the rest of your life staring at a white wall, regretting today.” He drove off. I stood there in silence. The System was frantic. [It’s over! The White Moonlight is back! The ultimate weapon!] [And the Male Lead hates your guts. He’s going to lock you up! We’re doomed!] [No. Not yet.] I went upstairs, changed into a windbreaker and cargo pants. I went to the garage, picked a silver motorcycle, tucked my hair into a helmet, and mounted up. Key in. Ignition. VROOM. [Loading Database…] [Fast and Furious 1-9, Need for Speed speedrun guides, Bumper Car Tactics…] [Driving Skill: Loaded.] He thinks he’s the only one who can pick someone up? So can I. Chapter 4 Neither of us picked her up. Liam waited at the airport for five hours. A torrential downpour started, hammering the glass roof. For a CEO like Liam, five hours was an eternity. He finally left, exhausted and disappointed. But I was still there. I have patience. [Stupid AI, what are you planning? Are… are you going to assassinate the White Moonlight?!] I ignored it. I saw Clara coming out. I walked up and took her suitcase. “Hi. I’m Gwen. Liam left, so I’m taking you home.” Clara looked up. Doe eyes, confused at first, then horrified. “Gwen… you… you’re Liam’s wife?” She looked me up and down with disgust. She snatched her bag back. “I don’t need your fake kindness!” She turned and walked to the taxi stand. [She doesn’t like me?] [Duh! You’re the wife, she’s the White Moonlight! You are natural enemies!] [Oh. Nemesis. A nemesis cannot become a wife.] […Please stop using the internet. Your database is corrupted.] I watched Clara get into a taxi and noted the license plate. I got on my bike. There was only one road home. The rain was heavy. I rode slowly. Clara must have seen me. She said something to the driver, and the taxi sped up to lose me. I kept my pace. [Idiot AI! Chase her! If she gets away, why did we come?] [Slippery road. Speeding is dangerous. Good kids don’t speed.] […] Then it happened. Maybe the driver panicked. Maybe Clara rushed him. The taxi skidded on a turn, spun out, and slammed into the guardrail. The front end crumpled. Chaos. People screamed, calling 911. The driver was unconscious. Clara was pinned in the back seat. Smoke started pouring from the hood. Fire or explosion imminent. The rescuers hesitated. “Door’s jammed! Too deformed!” “It’s gonna blow! Run!” I parked my bike and pushed through the crowd. “Excuse me.” [System. Convert the remaining 35 points to Grip Strength. And loan me 20 points on credit. I’ll pay back double.] [Loan? Impossible! That’s against the rules… Tsk!] [Just this once.] I grabbed the car door with both hands. Veins popped. SCREEECH. Sharp metal sliced my palms, blood mixing with rain. I didn’t stop. CRACK! I ripped the driver’s door off its hinges with my bare hands. The crowd went silent. “Get him out!” I shouted. They snapped out of it and dragged the driver to safety. I walked to the back door. More blood dripped from my hands. Through the cracked window, Clara stared at me. Her face was white as a sheet. Her eyes held shock, disbelief, relief… and confusion. Her mouth opened, tears rolling down her face. I tore the back door off. The crowd pulled Clara out. As soon as she was safe, she fainted. But right before her eyes closed, she was looking for me. I was already on my bike, heading to the hospital to stitch my hands. Passersby filmed the whole thing.

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I’m the daughter of the wicked stepmother. Unlike the heroine—the kind, noble, beautiful, talented girl all the men fall for—I am the opposite. Vicious, low-class, flashy, and painfully average. Every trait I was given was designed to be a dark reflection of her, of Lila Monroe. So, the moment I became self-aware, the moment I saw the strings, I decided to play my part. To play it to the hilt. I partnered with her father’s biggest rival to run his company into the ground. I drugged the story’s leading man, Ethan Prescott, letting him believe we’d slept together. I stole Lila’s spot in a prestigious design program overseas, studying under the master who was meant to be her mentor. And now, seven years later, I’ve returned as a celebrated designer. I’m a judge on a primetime competition show, and Lila Monroe is just another contestant looking up at me from the stage. I let the full weight of my character settle in, my voice dripping with the poison they wrote for me. “This design is uninspired. You don’t have the gift. It’s better to quit now, before you embarrass yourself further.” 1 A collective gasp swept through the studio. A delicious, scandalized sound. No one expected that from Sloane Cassidy, the judge who was usually so poised, so encouraging. Certainly not on live television. Lila’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a word she couldn’t say. Sister. I ignored her, tossing her portfolio onto the rejection pile with theatrical disinterest and pressing the red button on the console. “You’re eliminated.” The model wearing Lila’s dress, a fiery girl named Zara, stormed off the stage. “You call this uninspired? You think she has no talent? Who here is better than her? Who?!” Every saccharine story has one of these: the loyal, brainless best friend. Zara played her part perfectly. With one sentence, she managed to insult every other designer in the room on Lila’s behalf. “Sloane Cassidy, you’re just jealous! You’re terrified she’s going to steal your spotlight!” “Zara, stop it…” Lila pleaded, reaching for her arm. But Zara was on a roll. “Why should we stop? What makes her qualified to sit up there?!” “If you feel I’m so unqualified, by all means, take my seat. The panel is yours.” I offered them a serene, unbothered smile. Lila’s face flushed with shame. She ducked her head. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Cassidy. We’ll leave right now.” 2 “One moment.” Just as Lila was about to pull Zara away, another voice cut through the tension. And there he is, I thought, a slow, triumphant smile curving my lips. Right on cue. The cameras swiveled, searching for the source of the voice before landing on him. A perfectly sculpted face, all sharp angles and cool indifference, filled the screens, drawing another wave of whispers from the audience. He walked past the line of judges, his steps measured and confident, stopping directly in front of Lila. He gave her a brief, reassuring glance before turning his gaze to me. “This design,” he said, his voice low and challenging. “What, specifically, is wrong with it?” Ethan Prescott. Seven years, and here we were again. His dark eyes held a storm of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher. Was it hatred for how I’d just treated his precious Lila? Or was it for the lie I’d spun seven years ago, the night I let him believe I’d taken something from him? Or maybe it was for the spot I’d stolen, the future that should have been hers. It didn’t matter which. Every single one of them brought me a sick, satisfying pleasure. Their misery was my happiness. I leaned into the microphone, my smile widening. “I don’t like it. That’s my reason.” A stunned silence fell over the studio. Ethan’s jaw tightened, his displeasure radiating like a physical force. Anyone could see he was furious. As the online comments began to fly, speculating on who this man was, he let out a cold, humorless laugh. “In that case, I suppose I should mention… I’m also a judge on this program.” Confusion rippled through the audience. Then, he began to walk toward the panel, his destination clear. [Live Comment: I know him! That’s Ethan Prescott, CEO of The Prescott Group! They’re the main investor in this show. I can’t believe they got him here in person!] [Live Comment: I don’t think the show *got* him. I think that contestant, Lila, did.] [Live Comment: They obviously know each other. He’s totally her safety net. Is he about to get revenge on Sloane for what she said?] The energy in the room crackled. Everyone leaned forward, hungry for a fight. I remained perfectly still in my chair, watching him approach. He sat in the empty seat beside me, and a familiar scent—sandalwood and cold ambition—enveloped me. It was suffocating. I disliked it intensely, shifting away with a slight, deliberate wrinkle of my nose. I saw his body tense, a barely perceptible hitch in his breath. For a second, I wondered if the air conditioning had kicked up a notch. Then, he reached forward and slammed the green button. “I think this design is exceptional. It should advance to the finals.” It was a blatant, public declaration. He was undermining me, shielding her. Lila, who had been struggling to maintain her composure, finally let her eyes well up with tears. Beside her, Zara shot me a look of pure, childish triumph. I simply raised an eyebrow, utterly unfazed. Ethan Prescott, playing the hero. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. From the moment I heard Lila was competing, I knew he wouldn’t be far behind. Where the damsel is, the white knight is never far behind. 3 “I’ve never liked Sloane Cassidy. Her clothes are ugly and overpriced. I don’t know why she’s so arrogant.” “This is so embarrassing. Ethan Prescott is clearly furious with her. How is she going to recover from this in the industry?” “Recover? She just crossed Ethan Prescott’s girl. She’s going to get blacklisted!” The whispers started around me, a chorus of gleeful speculation. People have always been good at kicking someone when they’re down. The director, sensing a viral moment, zoomed the camera in tight on my face, waiting for my reaction. So I gave them one. I unclipped my microphone, set it on the table, and stood up. The entire studio fell silent. Ethan froze, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line as he watched me. A production assistant rushed over, trying to block my path. The show’s golden-ticket controversy was about to walk out the door. “Ms. Cassidy, is there something you need? We can get it for you.” I smiled, a sharp, knowing smile. “I’m done.” “Wh-what?” My gaze flickered toward a specific camera. “If you’d told me the winner was already chosen, I never would have come. I’m not interested in being a prop in someone else’s fairytale. Someone else can play that part.” “Ms. Cassidy, that’s not what’s happening here,” the producer insisted, trying to save face. “Find another judge. I don’t participate in cheating.” I found a camera lens and spoke directly to the viewers at home, my expression a mask of righteous integrity. “Even if it means making powerful enemies, I refuse to betray the trust of the other designers. They are all hardworking, talented kids who deserve a fair shot!” The live chat exploded. [Live Comment: OMG I feel that so hard. Down with corporate favoritism! Stop playing with the lives of regular people!] [Live Comment: Okay, I take back everything I said about Sloane. She’s got principles!] [Live Comment: #ProtectSloaneCassidy!] My words lit a fire. The other contestants, suddenly emboldened, started ripping off their number tags and microphones, shouting that they were quitting too. The set descended into chaos. The director screamed at someone to cut the live feed. In the confusion, Zara appeared out of nowhere. She got right in my face and slapped me, hard. “You manipulative bitch!” The room went still. “Zara!” Lila cried, rushing over to pull her back. Ethan shot to his feet, his face a thundercloud. But then he did something completely unexpected. Maybe it was the glare of the studio lights, or maybe he’d gone temporarily blind, but he pulled me behind him, shielding me. He glared at Zara. “What the hell are you doing?” “Can’t you see what she’s doing, Ethan? She’s playing the victim to make everyone hate Lila!” “What did I say that wasn’t true?” I asked, stepping out from behind him. “Are you and Mr. Prescott not acquainted? Is he not an investor in this show? And did he, or did he not, just force you into the finals?” “Lila got into the finals because she’s talented! She earned it!” Zara screamed. “Hah…” I let out a soft, mocking laugh. I didn’t have to say another word. Someone in the crowd, a true connoisseur of drama, had started a new livestream on their phone the second the official broadcast ended. The gossip-hungry viewers were flooding in. Zara pointed a shaking finger at me. “Don’t think we don’t remember how you used to be obsessed with Ethan!” [Live Comment: Wait, what? They all know each other from way back?] [Live Comment: So this is just a bunch of rich kids fighting? And the model says Sloane was into Ethan?] [Live Comment: My guess: Sloane loves Ethan, but Ethan loves Lila. Oh, this is juicy!] Just as the audience was leaning in for more, my phone rang. I answered it, right there in the middle of the chaos. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” … “Annie misses Mommy? Okay, Mommy’s coming home right now.” I hung up, ignoring the shocked and confused faces around me. “I’m officially withdrawing from the show. Send the bill for breach of contract to my assistant.” Money wasn’t an issue anymore. I turned to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Ethan. His face was a mask of tension, his eyes locked on mine. “Who were you just talking to?” His grip was painfully tight. I winced and tried to pull away, but he held fast. My voice went cold. “Mr. Prescott, there are a lot of people here. I suggest you let go of me.” “Whose child is it?!” he suddenly roared, startling everyone. “I’m asking you, whose child is it?” Lila stared at him, then at me, completely bewildered. “Mr. Prescott, does it matter whose child it is? It certainly isn’t yours.” I glanced around at the sea of phones recording us and smiled sweetly. “You know, a scene like this could easily be misinterpreted. If you don’t let go, the rumor tomorrow might be that the child…” I paused, holding his gaze. “…is yours.” I watched his eyelashes flutter, saw him rendered speechless, and felt a surge of satisfaction. I yanked my arm free, gave him one last smirk, and walked away. Let him choke on that. 4 My assistant was waiting with the car at the studio’s back entrance. Just as I was about to get in, Zara ran up to us. “Sloane Cassidy, you’re disgusting. A baby out of wedlock?!” I didn’t hesitate. I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. A perfect, red imprint bloomed on her cheek. She stood there, stunned for a few seconds, before her face contorted with rage. “You hit me?!” So I slapped her other cheek. Symmetrical. Much better. “That’s for the one you gave me. Consider this one a freebie. You’re welcome.” “Sloane! I’ll kill you—!” My assistant quickly jumped out of the car to hold her back. I watched the screaming, frantic girl with detached amusement. “All this shouting. So uncivilized.” “You’re so high and mighty? You, who forged Lila’s application and stole her spot at the academy? If you hadn’t stolen her portfolio, do you really think Master Renaud would have ever taken you as his apprentice?” “Sloane earned her apprenticeship with Jean-Pierre Renaud on her own merit! It had nothing to do with you people. Stop trying to claim credit for her success!” my assistant shot back. I just laughed. “Why bother explaining? She’s right. I stole it. I’m just that awful. If you’re so upset, go ahead and call the police.” Goodness is a luxury, an accessory for people who already have everything. What use did I have for it? Zara’s eyes darted to something behind me, and she sneered. “What do you have to be so proud of? You were nothing but a charity case living in Lila’s house. Lila is prettier than you, her family is better than yours, she’s more talented than you, and people actually like her!” “I’m a person, not a puppy. I don’t need to know how to be ‘liked.’” “You! We all remember how you used to throw yourself at Ethan! A man like him would never, ever love someone like you!” “Tsk. You can question my morals, but don’t you dare insult my taste. Who ever said I liked Ethan Prescott?” “Sloane.” Lila’s soft voice came from behind me. I turned. Ethan was with her, his expression cold and accusatory, as if I owed him a million dollars.

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At dinner, my husband suddenly asked me, “What would you do if I met someone… better than you?” I was quiet for a moment. “Then you should be with her. We can get a divorce.” What he didn’t know was that I had already seen him. I had already watched him frantically comfort that other girl, her eyes red from crying. I had already heard him say, “Don’t cry. I’ll give you a future.” 1 He put his fork down, his face suddenly pale. He struggled to produce a laugh. “Tessa, I was just kidding.” It wasn’t a joke. I knew. I had lived in the warmth of his love for eight years. I knew what it looked like. And I knew that what he felt for that girl was real. Earlier that day, at the hospital, the doctor’s bored expression softened when he read my chart. He leaned in. “Don’t be scared. It’s not late-stage. With aggressive treatment, this is manageable.” I was walking out with the diagnosis in my hand when I saw them. My husband, Liam. His arm was bandaged. The girl was looking at it, her eyes filling with tears. “Why did I meet you so late?” she whispered. “I don’t even have the right to take care of you.” Liam looked frantic. “Annie, don’t cry…” He reached for her, and blood seeped through his new bandage. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I’ll give you a future.” The words hung in the air. He froze, as if he’d surprised himself. But the girl believed him. She looked up, her nose red. “Really?” Liam just frowned, and said nothing. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I know Liam. As long as we were married, he wouldn’t physically cheat. But his heart? I can’t control his heart. I was two months pregnant. He made me give blood to his childhood sweetheart. Because I was already anemic, I refused, my eyes red. But his friends all ganged up on me. [“Annie’s in surgery, Tessa! You’re the only one with her blood type! What’s the big deal? It’s just a little blood!”] They grabbed me. They physically dragged me into the room. Liam looked away, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But he still held the door. [“It’s just blood, Tess. The baby will be fine.”] I stopped struggling. A single tear slid down my temple. After the transfusion, I dragged my weak body to the OB/GYN floor and scheduled an abortion. 2 I spent three days in the hospital, alone. Liam, I knew, was at Annie’s bedside, doting on her. My stomach was empty. But it was my heart that ached. When I was discharged, I ran right into them. Liam, Annie, and their whole group of friends. I was carrying my single, small backpack. Annie was being held up by Liam, as if she might break. When he saw me, Liam froze. “Tessa? You’re still here?” “I’m fine,” I said. I couldn’t tell him. I just started walking. “We’ll go together.” He grabbed my arm, his voice firm. At the car, Annie slipped past him and got into the front passenger seat. She looked at me, her big, innocent eyes pleading. “Tessa, I just had surgery. I get really carsick. Do you mind?” I wasn’t going to fight. I opened the back door. But Liam’s friends—Ben, Josh, and Mike—all piled in, three grown men squeezing into the backseat, leaving no room. They stared at me, their expressions hostile. “Sorry, ‘Mrs. L,’” Ben said, not sounding sorry at all. “Annie’s still really weak. We’re all gonna crash at your place for a bit, make sure she’s okay.” I looked at Liam. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. He said nothing. I almost laughed. The sound of the cicadas was deafening. Why was I still expecting anything from this man? His friends had always hated me. In their story, I was the villain. I was the bitch who had trapped their golden boy, Liam, and kept him from his “true love,” Annie. When they were at our house, they treated me like the help. And Liam… Liam never said a word. Even after I gave my blood for her. My blood, while I was carrying his child. Not one “thank you.” Just: [“You’re lucky you got to help.”] I shut the car door. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll find my own way.” It was rush hour. I couldn’t get a cab. It was the peak of a Denver summer. Ninety-eight degrees. I had just had an abortion. I walked home. It took an hour. The moment I opened the door, the accusations started. “Tessa, what took you so long? We’ve been here for ages!” “We’re starving, Tessa. Can you whip something up?” I looked at Liam. He was sitting on the sofa, fanning Annie. The AC was off. They were afraid she’d “catch a chill.” Liam’s own forehead was beaded with sweat, but he just kept fanning her. “Liam,” Ben called out. “We’re hungry. Can you get your wife to make some food?” Liam finally looked up. He didn’t seem to notice my pale face, or the sweat plastering my hair to my skin. “Tessa, be good. Just make us something simple.” His eyes drifted to Annie. “And maybe make some soup for Annie. It’s good for her recovery.” The dull ache in my chest became a sharp, twisting knife. I couldn’t breathe. I went into the kitchen, shutting the door on their laughter. I was the outsider. I used to fight back. I used to scream and cry, trying to make them see. I thought it was defending my dignity. But all it did was make them double down. My “hysteria” only made Annie look sweeter, calmer, and more reasonable. I wasn’t going to fight anymore. When I brought the food out, I was drenched in sweat. Annie reached for the soup tureen. “Let me help, Tessa.” The second my fingers left the bowl, her hands flew back. It shattered on the tile floor. “Watch out!” Liam yelled, diving to pull Annie away from the spill. Scalding hot broth splashed across my bare legs. “Tessa! I know you don’t like me, but you didn’t have to throw it at me!” Not a drop had touched her. But she was already in Liam’s arms, sobbing, as if she’d been assaulted. “Tessa, what the hell?” “That’s going too far, man!” “It’s not Annie’s fault! Why are you always attacking her?” “She let go,” I said, my voice flat, staring at the men yelling at me. Liam cut them all off. His voice was like ice. “Tessa. Apologize.” “This is too much. You scared her, and she just got out of the hospital.” In the middle of summer, I was freezing. My shins were burning, but the pain was nothing. This man. My husband. My protector. He was my executioner. The last thread holding me together just… snapped. “Okay,” I whispered, a hysterical little laugh bubbling in my throat. “I’m sorry.” Liam stared, surprised by my quick surrender. He started to reach for me, but I flinched away.

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After I was forced to give my heart to my husband’s old flame, I died in the hallway of the private hospital he founded. Before I died, my six-year-old son begged him three times. The first time, Leo grabbed the man’s hand and said I was spitting up blood. The man sneered. “Finally getting smart, are we? Teaching your kid to lie for you?” He had his bodyguards drag Leo out of the room. The second time, Leo grabbed his sleeve, saying I was in so much pain I was delirious. The man frowned. “It’s just a heart transplant. The doctor said she won’t die.” The bodyguards dragged Leo out again. The third time, Leo collapsed on the floor, clutching his pant leg, sobbing that I was unconscious. The man finally snapped. He grabbed Leo by the neck and threw him out of the room. “I told you, Chloe won’t die. If you bother Ava’s rest again, I’ll throw you both out of this hospital.” To save me, Leo offered his most treasured possession to a nurse—his baptismal locket. “Auntie, I don’t want a long life anymore. I just want my mommy to live.” The nurse took his locket, preparing to move me to the last available room. But Ava, my husband’s old flame, had someone block the door with her pet dog’s carrier. “Sorry, kid. Ethan was worried I’d get bored without my baby, so this room is for my dog.” To make room for Ava’s dog, my hospital bed was pushed into the hallway. As the door closed, Leo clutched the locket he’d just taken off. He balled his little fist, already turning purple, and pounded on the door. “Auntie, please give the room back to my mommy!” “Auntie, Leo is begging you, please open the door!” His small voice echoed down the hall, but it couldn’t move Ava, who was busy playing with her dog inside. The more Leo cried, the louder she cooed. “Good boy, we don’t pay attention to dirty things.” Leo’s voice grew hoarse. This was the same child who would cry for me to kiss a scraped knee. Now, he just wiped the blood from his knuckles on his shirt. With tears streaming, he said, “Bad lady! Leo traded his locket for that room! Why does your dog get it?!” “You’re a bad lady!” His voice was so raw you could barely understand him, his questions laced with a heartbreaking fragility. I lay on the gurney, tears and blood mixing on my face. I’m sorry, Leo. Mommy couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The door never opened. Leo walked back to me, his eyes swollen shut. “Mommy, I’m sorry. I’m useless. I let the bad lady take your room.” “Mommy, I’m sorry.” I could feel my life slipping away. I knew I was dying. But I couldn’t scare my Leo. With my last bit of strength, I forced a smile. “Leo, sweetie, Mommy’s a little cold. Can you go get me a blanket? Please?” He stared for a second, then frantically wiped his tears and nodded. “Okay! I’ll go get one right now!” “Mommy, you have to wait for me! You have to wait!” As I watched his little back run away, I closed my eyes. “Leo, I’m sorry. Mommy can’t wait.” When I opened my eyes again, I was a ghost, following my son. He was smart. He knew going home would take too long, so when he saw an open door, he ran right in. A young woman was lying in that bed. Her husband was carefully tucking her in, not missing a single corner. Beside them, a little boy, maybe five, was holding a cup of warm water. “Mommy,” he said sweetly. For some reason, Leo looked like he was about to cry. But he couldn’t. He had to get a blanket for his mom. The couple was startled. The man gently brushed the dust off Leo. “Are you okay, little guy? Where’s your mom?” Leo nervously picked at his hands, then worked up the courage. “Mister, my mommy is sick. She’s really cold. Can I please borrow a blanket?” “I can give you my locket for it. Please, help my mommy.” The man’s expression softened. He immediately pulled a new, sealed blanket from the cabinet and handed it to Leo. “Take it. I hope your mom feels better soon.” After so much cruelty, this one act of kindness made Leo speechless. He hugged the blanket, bowing over and over. “Thank you, mister. Thank you, auntie. Thank you.” The man waved his hands. “Don’t thank me. We didn’t even buy it.” “The founder of this hospital, Mr. Stone, gave one to every family. He’s celebrating his wife’s successful surgery.” “See? His picture and his wife’s are printed right on it.” “If you really want to thank someone, just wish Mr. Stone and his wife a long, happy life together.” Leo froze. He remembered Ethan throwing him out of the room. He also remembered… a time when Ethan (Ethan Stone) would lift him onto his shoulders, laughing as they ran across the lawn. The tears just wouldn’t stop. “I will. I’ll thank… Mr. Stone.” My heart ached more than it did on the operating table. Looking at Leo’s dull eyes, I remembered. Ethan used to love us. He’d stay up all night trying to pick the perfect name for Leo. He’d buy out entire toy stores for his birthday. When I had a cold, he’d hold Leo and read him silly fairy tales. But that all ended the day Ava came back. She used her “weak heart” to frame me and Leo, over and over. Playing the victim, faking helplessness, she won all of Ethan’s sympathy. Then she tricked Leo into putting a caterpillar on her bed, faked a heart attack, and made sure Ethan walked in to see it. Everything changed after that. In the hospital room, the man nodded, pleased. “By the way, where’s your dad? Why isn’t he with you?” Leo looked down. His tears dripped onto the plastic bag, onto the smiling photo of Ethan and Ava. His voice was a whisper. “My daddy… he’s dead.” After saying goodbye, Leo ran back to the main building, clutching the blanket. He slammed right into Ava, who was holding her little dog. She scowled, her perfect makeup twisting in disgust. “Get out of my way, you little bastard.” “Do you know how expensive this dress is? I could sell you and you still couldn’t afford to clean it.” “You’re just like your mother. Fucking trash.” Ava, her face dark, kicked him. Hard. Leo, caught off guard, flew backward. The blanket went flying. He ignored the pain and scrambled for it, but Ava stepped on his hand. She ground her stiletto heel into his fingers, looking down at him. “I’m warning you, you little bastard. If you ever pull that pathetic act in front of Ethan again, I’ll have you and your slut mother thrown out.” “Do you hear me?” Her eyes were vicious, like she wanted him to disappear. I bit my lip, rage and pain drowning me. I lunged, trying to pull her foot off him, screaming. Get off my son! Do anything you want to me! Don’t you dare touch my son! I screamed until I had no voice, but she couldn’t hear me. She was enjoying the sight of Leo’s face, red with pain, and pressed down harder. Leo’s arm started to spasm, but he refused to cry. He looked up, his swollen eyes staring at the glamorous Ava. “My mommy is not trash. She’s the best mommy in the world.” “You’re a bad lady. I won’t let you hurt my mommy.” With that, he opened his mouth and bit her ankle, hoping she’d move. Ava, already furious, was enraged. Her sharp heel slammed into his fragile stomach. “You little bastard!” I shrieked, diving to shield him. But he passed right through me, his head cracking against the wall. He coughed up a mouthful of blood. He still didn’t cry. He just stubbornly reached out, feeling along the floor. “Blanket… blanket… Mommy needs the blanket…” Ava wasn’t done. She put her dog down, walked over, and slapped him hard across the face. “Ava?” Ethan’s disbelieving voice cut through the air, startling everyone. Leo’s empty eyes suddenly lit up. He tried to speak through his split lip.

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After I was cast as the other woman, I had the wife eating out of the palm of my hand. Not only did she start calling me a friend, she practically gift-wrapped her husband and pushed him in my direction. Unfortunately, she had a brother who was a human lie detector. Every time I’d successfully driven a wedge between the happy couple, I’d look up and meet his knowing, heavy-lidded gaze. It was enough to make my blood run cold. Later, I overheard her ask him, “Why are you always so cold to Mia?” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Because every time I see her, she hits me with that wide-eyed, damsel-in-distress look. She’s trying to reel me in.” He paused. “I’m just giving her some space. You can’t make it too easy for them. They don’t appreciate what they don’t have to work for.” She just stared at him, completely baffled. 1 The shouting match inside the sprawling Palisades mansion was escalating again. Declan’s voice was dark and obsessive, the sound of a man completely unhinged. “Audrey, the only way you’re getting a divorce is over my dead body.” The declaration was followed by the sharp shatter of glass and a choked-back sob. That was my cue. I pressed the doorbell. After a moment of charged silence, the heavy oak door creaked open. Declan stood there, a mess. A fresh cut split his lower lip, and angry red scratches snaked up his neck. It wasn’t hard to guess what had just happened. I lowered my gaze, pretending not to notice a thing. “Declan,” I said, my voice soft. “Thank you again for the job at the firm. I… I made you some congee.” His stormy eyes fell to the pink thermos in my hands, and the rage in his features seemed to soften, just a fraction. “It was nothing. Don’t mention it.” He attempted a smile, but it was a grim, tight-lipped thing. He made no move to take the thermos. “Sorry, something’s come up at work. I have to go.” As Declan brushed past me and disappeared down the driveway, I stepped into the foyer. Audrey was perched on the edge of a white sofa, her back ramrod straight. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but her spine was steel. When she saw me, a flicker of light returned to her defiant gaze. A pair of dimples appeared as she managed a small, sad smile. “Mia. You’re here.” I nodded, lifting the thermos with a deliberately bright smile. “Audrey, I brought…” My voice caught. I changed course mid-sentence. “I brought you some congee. I remember you said your stomach was bothering you last time. It’s supposed to be very soothing.” A nagging voice, the one I call my ‘script,’ buzzed in my head. That was for the husband. You’re lying again. I wrinkled my nose, lowering my voice to a whisper only it could hear. But he didn’t want it. Are you really going to let the first thing I’ve ever successfully cooked go to waste? Before I was dropped into this life, I couldn’t even boil water. Even with the script’s guidance, this simple rice porridge was the only thing I could manage. As if to prove my point, I subtly angled my hand, revealing a patch of red skin on my wrist from a careless burn. The voice faltered. Fine. But you still have to say the lines. You have to drive them apart. A small, triumphant smile played on my lips. 2 The script had bent the rules. I couldn’t push it. My eyes fell on the elaborate, untouched breakfast spread on the marble island—avocado toast, fresh fruit, a silver pot of coffee. I let out a wistful sigh. “You’re such a natural at this, Audrey. Not like me. All I can do is make porridge, and even then, I just end up being a bother to… Declan.” My breath hitched. Spencer had materialized behind me, silent as a ghost. Damn it all. It was always like this. The moment the poison left my lips, I’d find myself pinned by his clear, piercing eyes. He was like a radar custom-built to detect my specific brand of bullshit. I pressed my lips together. Audrey, oblivious, was already ladling the congee into a bowl. “Spencer! What are you doing here?” she asked, her smile genuine for the first time. “Have you eaten?” He stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, the top button of his shirt fastened, radiating a cool, almost severe elegance. His gaze landed on the thick, white porridge. “I have,” he said flatly. Audrey shrugged, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “Your loss. It’s Mia’s first time cooking. She made it for me.” A flicker of surprise—or something like it—crossed Spencer’s face. His eyes then moved, with unnerving precision, to the red burn mark on my wrist. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, his dark eyes clouding over with a subtle displeasure. “Is that so?” I instinctively hid my hand behind my back. It might have been my imagination, but Spencer’s expression seemed to darken further. He gave me one last, deep look before striding over and plucking the bowl from Audrey’s hands. She swatted at his arm, indignant. “Hey! You said you weren’t hungry! Why are you stealing my congee?” “Suddenly thirsty,” Spencer replied, his tone casual, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Is that a problem?” His question was for his sister, but his gaze was a challenge meant only for me. I just stood there, completely frozen. 3 My problem with Spencer wasn’t personal, not at first. It started a few weeks ago, on my first attempt to execute the ‘late-night chat’ scene. The script demanded I show up at the husband’s door in a silk nightgown. Except, I went to the wrong room. The thought of discussing nonexistent feelings with Declan was excruciating, so I improvised. I turned the seduction scene into a job interview. For thirty minutes, I sat in the dark and cried to the shadowy figure on the sofa about how hard it was to find a job in this economy. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. The lamp clicked on. Spencer was lounging on the sofa, looking impossibly relaxed and rumpled. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was far more captivating than it had any right to be. He looked… amused. “Is it really that hard to find a job?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, thick with sleep. I was momentarily stunned. Then, scrambling to my feet, the hem of my short nightgown fluttered up, offering a fleeting glimpse of pale thigh. Spencer’s eyes darkened. “Are you done crying?” he asked, his voice suddenly raspy. His gaze felt predatory, and a strange flutter of panic went through me. I stammered an apology and fled. Ever since, I’d run into him everywhere. And every time I mentioned Declan’s name, Spencer’s face would turn to stone. I couldn’t tell if he’d figured out my whole act, but the uncertainty made me nervous. “Audrey, it’s my first day at Declan’s firm, so I should probably get going.” I stood up, desperate to escape. “Wait,” Audrey called out. “How are you getting there? Do you have a car?” I froze. My plan had been to hitch a ride with Declan—a perfect opportunity to stir the pot and save on an Uber. But he’d stormed out before he’d even had his coffee. I was stuck. “It’s fine, Audrey. I’ll just call a car.” Getting a ride-share out here in the hills was a nightmare, but for the right price, someone would eventually show. She shook her head, her brow furrowed with concern. “Absolutely not.” Her eyes scanned the room, landing on Spencer. They lit up. A sense of dread washed over me. Sure enough, before I could protest, she said, “My brother is the safest driver I know. He can take you.” Years of practice kicked in. I bit my lip, forcing my eyes to well up with manufactured vulnerability as I glanced at Spencer’s stoic face. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly trouble him… Spencer.” “It’s no trouble,” Spencer said, his voice flat. He didn’t even look at me. “It’s on my way.” Audrey frowned. “Your office is downtown, Spence. Declan’s is on the Westside. Are you sure you’re not getting your directions mixed up?” The skepticism in her voice was palpable. For a split second, I saw a muscle twitch in Spencer’s jaw. “I have a meeting with Declan,” he said, the words sounding like they were ground between his teeth. He paused, his eyes finally flicking to me. “It’s just a ride. Don’t read into it.” “I-I wasn’t,” I stammered. 4 Under Spencer’s heavy gaze, I buckled myself into the passenger seat of his immaculate sedan. The silence was thick enough to cut with a knife. Suddenly, the car pulled over on an unfamiliar street. “This isn’t the office,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I know,” Spencer said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Wait here.” I watched him walk into a pharmacy. A few minutes later, he was back, pressing a small tube of burn cream into my palm. “If you don’t know how to cook, don’t,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “You’ll just hurt yourself. And the result is… hard to swallow.” I barely managed to keep my expression neutral. He was the one who insisted on eating it. “And another thing,” he said, turning to face me fully. I instinctively shrank back against the window. Spencer let out an exasperated sound. “Am I that terrifying?” He sounded genuinely baffled. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no! It’s just… you turned so fast, your handsomeness startled me.” I did my best to blush, clasping my hands in my lap, trying to look as sincere as humanly possible. His own hands, which had been reaching for his phone, clenched into a fist. The tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. He cleared his throat. Then he tossed his phone into my lap. His expression was dead serious. “Why did you send me this?” When did I send him a photo? Confused, I picked up the phone. My blood ran cold. 5 On the screen was the photo the script had forced me to send to Declan. Me, in a tight-fitting dress that hugged every curve, with a ridiculously flashy diamond necklace drawing attention to my collarbone. The script’s prompt was to ask his opinion on the necklace—a classic, manipulative move. I’d cringed, sent it, and then, overcome with regret, unsent it moments later. I never imagined I’d sent it to Spencer by mistake. And he’d saved it. My first instinct was to delete it. He snatched the phone back before I could, his movements whip-fast. He checked to make sure the photo was still there, then let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. His eyes, dark and intense, were back on me. “Care to explain?” My mind raced. “I’m so sorry! I meant to send that to Audrey, to get her opinion on the necklace. I must have… clicked on your name by accident.” My voice dwindled as his stare grew more piercing. It was a pathetic excuse. His contact photo was nothing like Audrey’s. It was, however, almost identical to Declan’s. I thought about the original story, about how Spencer, upon discovering Audrey had given me her kidney, had me thrown into the ocean. Adrenaline surged through me. My cheeks flushed, and a genuine mist of fear clouded my eyes. He clearly didn’t believe my flimsy lie. To avoid being completely exposed, I decided to surrender. “I’m sorry.” His hand came up, and his thumb brushed gently, quickly, against my lower eyelid. It was the lightest of touches. His eyes were shadowed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “You just love to reel me in, don’t you?” “What?” I hadn’t heard him clearly. His words were fast, almost angry. Meeting my wide, innocent eyes, I saw the tension leave his shoulders, the fists at his sides unclenching. The car started moving again. “Just try not to send things to the wrong person again,” Spencer said. From his low, strained voice, I understood the warning. He must have seen how terrified I was and decided to let it go. A wave of relief washed over me. “Okay,” I nodded, trying to look as docile as possible. “I won’t.” When he dropped me at the entrance to the office building, he didn’t even wait for me to get out before driving away. My mouth, which had opened to say thank you, closed. Maybe the meeting with Declan was just an excuse. An excuse to warn me not to send him suggestive photos. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Spencer could see right through me. I made a mental note: stay as far away from him as possible. 6 My new position was Declan’s executive assistant. It came with a built-in office rival. From the moment I sat down, I could feel her eyes on me, sharp and possessive. I nudged the script with a mental question. Who’s that? The system scanned and delivered. That’s Jenna, Declan’s classmate and longtime assistant. Capable, but she’s in love with him. She not only tries to seduce him but also frames the wife for having an affair. She’s also the one who drugs him later in the story. So, it was her. Reading the original story, Jenna was the character I despised the most. She hid behind the “best friend” and “loyal colleague” titles, secretly pining for Declan but never having the courage to confess. She was fine with the status quo as long as he was single. But the moment Declan showed the slightest interest in Audrey, Jenna panicked. At a company gala, she drugged his drink and tipped off the press, hoping to force his hand. But through a twist of fate, Audrey stumbled into the room instead. It happened to be right when Audrey’s family business was going through a crisis. Declan, betrayed and furious, assumed Audrey had set the whole thing up to trap him. That flicker of love he’d started to feel was crushed under the weight of his anger. He married her anyway, but from that day forward, their marriage was a cold war of unspoken resentment and pain. The script added, Declan actually loves Audrey deeply. The deeper the love, the more he couldn’t accept her “betrayal.” Once the truth comes out, the groveling will begin. I almost scoffed. By the time the truth came out, Audrey would be missing a kidney and I’d be sleeping with the fishes, courtesy of Spencer. Declan’s redemption arc could go to hell. I was more interested in helping Audrey get a divorce. The script seemed to read my mind. Don’t waste your time. The bond between the main characters isn’t that easy to break. I couldn’t stand its smug tone. I mentally hit the mute button, cutting it off mid-sentence. Its tinny, indignant curses echoed in my head, and for the first time all day, I felt a genuine sense of satisfaction. 7 As Declan’s assistant, I had a front-row seat to Jenna’s masterclass in manipulation. Business trips, client meetings, contract negotiations—she was always by his side. But it didn’t stop there. A common cold, a headache, cramps—every minor ailment was an emergency that required Declan’s personal attention. I watched in silence as he, the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, personally brewed her a cup of ginger tea with brown sugar. The script’s voice resurfaced, dripping with sarcasm. If only I’d been assigned to Jenna. You’re an amateur compared to her. I ignored it and pulled out my phone. I was just about to “accidentally” send a picture of the cozy scene to Audrey when she appeared in the doorway. She stood there, her face pale, staring at Declan and Jenna. Her eyes, usually so bright, looked like dull, lifeless stones. It was heartbreaking. I silently cursed them both. My body moved before my brain could catch up. “Audrey,” I said, rushing to her side. I took her hand; it was ice-cold. I tried to pour some of my own warmth into her. She forced a smile. “I’m okay.” But the dimples in her cheeks were filled with bitterness. The moment he saw Audrey, Declan instinctively pushed Jenna away. “It’s not what it looks like…” he started to explain. But Jenna cut him off before he could finish. “Audrey, please don’t be angry,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “My cramps were just really bad, and Declan was just being a good friend.” The way she lowered her eyes, playing the victim, made my teeth ache. I couldn’t help but ask myself a question. Hey, script. Am I this annoying? I feel like Audrey can see right through Jenna’s act. Why is she always so nice to me? The script’s voice was flat, deadpan. Because all of your manipulations are aimed at the husband. The wife has no reason to be mad at you. Right now, Jenna is aiming at her. Of course she’s angry. She’s not an idiot. Even the script could see how furious Audrey was. Declan, however, seemed to be completely blind. The fact that he’d almost explained himself to Audrey seemed to infuriate him. His face hardened. “Stop being so dramatic. We’re just friends.” The last glimmer of hope in Audrey’s eyes died. She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Dramatic?” She was too heartbroken to even argue. 8 Audrey turned and walked away, her movements sharp and final. She looked fragile, like a single gust of wind could shatter her. I started to go after her, but Declan was faster. He grabbed her arm, his face a mask of rare, unfiltered panic. “Stop making a scene. There’s nothing going on between us.” Audrey ripped her arm from his grasp. “Think whatever you want.” She met his frantic gaze, her voice weary and cold. “Declan, I’m tired. I don’t care what your relationship is with her. Let’s just get a divorce.” Divorce. The word was music to my ears. I almost jumped for joy. But for Declan, it was like a lit match to a barrel of gunpowder. His face went rigid, his eyes like chips of ice. “Don’t even think about it.” He grabbed her arm again, so tightly I could see her wince. “You think I’m going to let you run off to that doctor of yours, to Leo?” His voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. “You started this, Audrey. You’re stuck with me for life.” Even from several feet away, the intensity of his rage was suffocating. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like for Audrey, trapped in his orbit. The script piped up again, smug as ever. See? He’s completely in love with her. He gets jealous when she even talks to another doctor, he just doesn’t realize it yet. After the truth comes out and he grovels, they’ll get their happy ending. To hell with their happy ending. A hot wave of anger washed over me, so strong it burned away my carefully constructed persona. I marched over and threw myself at Declan. “Let her go!” I yelled, pulling at his arm. “Stop bullying her!” Seeing me jump in, Audrey started to struggle again, afraid I would get hurt. Out of nowhere, Jenna appeared. In the chaos, she lunged forward and slapped Audrey. Hard. Twice. I saw red. “You son of a bitch, Declan! You just stood there and let her do it!” 9 Jenna had moved so fast, Declan didn’t have time to react. By the time he finally let go of Audrey’s arm, looking utterly stunned, it was too late. “I’m sorry, I…” CRACK. Audrey, her expression shattered, swung her hand across his face with all her might. “Get out,” she screamed, her voice raw with pain. “Both of you, just get out!” A flicker of malicious satisfaction crossed Jenna’s face before she quickly replaced it with a mask of pathetic sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Audrey, I didn’t mean to. I just saw you two fighting and I… I got scared for Declan.” She cast a pleading, tear-filled glance in his direction. “If you’re going to divorce him over this, then… then you can hit me back. I won’t mind. I don’t feel pain.” She bit her lip, looking for all the world like she was on the verge of collapsing. Audrey was raised better than to get into a physical fight. I, however, was not. I slapped Jenna across the face. She froze, stunned, for two full seconds before she launched herself at me like a wild animal. She was coming at me with everything she had. The world seemed to shift into slow motion. I could see Audrey’s horrified face, her hand reaching out to pull me back. But my body was already falling, stumbling backward. The back of my head hit something hard. And then, everything went dark.

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The day I died, my killer fell apart. To be precise, my indirect killer, who, in reality, was the one who directly signed my death warrant. My mother always hated me. She said I was trash, nothing but a tramp who lived to seduce men. She first said that when I was in elementary school. This Christmas, she left me at home with three of our neighbors—three men—while she went to the mall with my aunt and cousin. I cried. I told her I was scared and begged her to take me with her. She just laughed at me, her voice full of contempt. “They’re adults, Lily. Your father’s friends. What are they gonna do, hurt you? Besides, with a body like yours, who’d even want you?” After she left, I was raped. Then murdered. My body was cut up and flushed down the toilet. When they realized I was missing, my relatives wanted to call the police. My mother stopped them. She insisted I’d obviously just run off to “mess around” with some boy. And then, finally, they learned the truth… Mom was holding a bright red dress up to my cousin, Chloe, her face glowing with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. She beamed, “This color is just perfect for my Chloe.” My cousin tried to refuse, but Mom insisted, “It’s the holidays! You have to wear something festive.” My aunt, Carol, looked uncomfortable. “Sarah,” she said, “since we’re here, we should get something for Lily, too.” I really did need new clothes. The winter coat I was wearing—well, the one my body was wearing—was from two years ago, when I was 15. Dad bought it for me. I’d grown so fast I couldn’t even zip it up anymore. But Mom’s face soured. “Buy her something? Why?” “So she can look even more like a tramp to lure in men? Besides, Lily’s always been cheap trash. She doesn’t deserve nice clothes.” Chloe and Aunt Carol looked embarrassed, even though they were used to hearing her talk like this. All our relatives knew Mom didn’t like me. She’d been spoiled her whole life. First by my grandparents, then by my dad, who treated her like a princess. Chloe told me that when Mom was pregnant with me, she was actually excited. She kept saying she hoped I’d be a boy, so I could protect her alongside Dad. Too bad. I was a girl. I was born premature, weak, and sickly. Grandpa, Grandma, and Dad started giving me some of the attention they used to give her. Mom decided I’d stolen their love. From then on, she hated me. The less she cared, the guiltier they felt, and the more they doted on me. Which just made her hate me more. It was fine when they were around. But when they were gone, she was a monster. She once stared at me, her eyes full of pure venom, and whispered, “I regret not killing you in the womb.” I still shiver when I remember that look. I snapped out of the memory. Mom was already dragging Aunt Carol out of the store, as if she was afraid my aunt would actually buy me something. I suddenly felt so sad. But Mom… even if you wanted to buy me clothes now, I can’t wear them anymore. I followed them as they kept shopping. Dad, who was away on a business trip, called. He warned her, “Lily’s a young woman now, Sarah. Don’t leave her home alone when you and Carol go out.” Mom pouted, instantly annoyed that he cared about me. “Lily, Lily, that’s all you care about! What about me? I’m your wife~” I heard Dad’s good-natured laugh on the phone. “Of course I care about you. I care about you the most.” After they cooed at each other for a few seconds, Dad repeated, “Seriously, Sarah. Keep Lily with you. Men who’ve been drinking are dangerous.” She mumbled “uh-huh” and hung up. She kicked at a pile of dirty snow on the curb. “They really mean it when they say a daughter is her father’s lover from a past life,” she muttered. “Little tramp.” I just watched, feeling that weird, familiar sting behind my eyes. Dad knew what Mom was like. He texted my cousin, Chloe. Mom heard the ping and looked at Chloe, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “My, my. Aren’t we popular? Who’s texting our little Chloe during the holidays?” Chloe didn’t dare say it was Dad. She made up a quick lie. But she took Dad’s warning seriously. A minute later, she said, “Aunt Sarah, maybe we should head back? It’s freezing out here. And it’s no fun for Lily to be all alone.” Mom hated when anyone showed me an ounce of sympathy. “She’s not alone, is she? She’s got Mr. Henderson and his sons with her.” Aunt Carol chimed in, “Sarah, they’re all men, and they’ve been drinking. Lily’s a grown girl now. It’s not safe.” Mom just scoffed. “Not safe? They’re adults! They’re our neighbors! And besides, look at Lily. All skin and bones. What man would even want her?” I listened, and my heart physically ached. How strange. My heart had been carved out of my chest, so how could it still hurt? Two hours ago, Mom had said the exact same thing to me. Today was December 27th. Our neighbor, Mr. Henderson, had come over with his two adult sons, Mark and Ben. My aunt and cousin were there too, so it was a full house. Everyone was drinking. The women were fine, but the men got wasted. After lunch, Mom suggested she, Aunt Carol, and Chloe go shopping, leaving me behind. I saw the way the men were looking at me. Their eyes were… slimy. I started to tremble. They weren’t the nice, friendly neighbors I knew. They looked like animals. I grabbed Mom’s sleeve, pleading. “Mom, I want to go with you. I don’t want to stay here… I’m scared!” She yanked her arm away and sneered. “Lily, they’re practically your uncles! And stop being dramatic. You think they’d be interested in you?” Before I could say another word, she pushed me into my bedroom, locked the door from the outside, and left the key and my phone on the coffee table. She didn’t know. The second she was gone, they unlocked the door. They came in. They… they did it. It was brutal. I tried to scream, to fight, to call for help, but they clamped their hands over my mouth and nose so hard I couldn’t breathe. By the time they were finished, I was dead. Mom, if you had just listened to Dad… if you had even just called me, you would have known. While you were at the mall, saying those things… Mr. Henderson and his sons were frantically cutting my body into pieces and flushing me down the toilet. Mom… the bathroom floor was so cold. It hurt so much. Mom took Chloe and Aunt Carol to get their nails done. I watched from the side, a little envious. I’d only been with her to a nail salon once. The little gems and sparkles were so pretty, glinting under the lights like crystals from a fairy tale. I was leaning on the counter, just staring at them, and Mom saw me. She slapped me. Right there in the salon. “What are you looking at? Want to get your nails done so you can be a better hooker?” I was stunned, just holding my cheek. Everyone stared. Mom didn’t even look at me again. But now, she was telling Chloe, “Chloe, your fingers are so long and white. Any color would look beautiful on you.” I lowered my head. Chloe texted me. No reply. She was starting to look really worried. While Mom was getting a top coat, she snuck outside to call me. Of course, I couldn’t answer. She looked even more panicked, pacing back and forth. I wanted to comfort her, but when I reached out, my hand passed right through her. I went silent. My eyes burned. Just then, another mother and daughter walked in. The daughter was helping her mom pick out charms. “Mom, this big one! It’s so pretty!” The mom tapped her on the nose. “My baby has the best taste!” They were so happy together. I stared, my eyes cold with envy. When I finally looked away, I saw Mom was watching them, too. Aunt Carol noticed. “What’s wrong, Sarah? Jealous?” My heart jumped. Yeah, Mom. Are you jealous? Do you wish we were like that? But she just clicked her tongue and looked away. “I am. That little girl is so sweet. Not like Lily.” Her voice was full of disgust. “Carol, you don’t know the half of it. Lily is so manipulative. She only acts pitiful around my parents and my husband, making it look like I’m the bad guy! She’s always sucking up to them, trying to steal everything that’s mine!” Aunt Carol just sighed. She knew Mom’s mind was set. But for some reason, Mom seemed agitated. She pushed the expensive charms away. “Forget it. Just give me a plain color.” A minute later, she stood up. “This is boring. Let’s just go home. God knows what kind of trouble that brat is stirring up.” My chest felt tight. Mom… did seeing them make you think of me? The daughter you left at home? But it was too late, Mom. The blood and hair I left in the bathroom… it was all cleaned up by then. When they got home, they went straight to my room. It was spotless. As if nothing had happened. If I hadn’t lived it, even I would have thought it was all a bad dream. Chloe was even more worried. She looked at Mr. Henderson and his sons, who were pretending to watch TV. They saw her looking and quickly looked away. Chloe knew something was wrong. She tugged on Aunt Carol’s sleeve. Aunt Carol caught on and asked them, “Where’s Lily?” “Oh,” Mark stammered, forcing a laugh. “I think she went out. Saw her take a call and leave.” Ben chimed in, “Yeah, yeah, you know kids her age. Probably wanted to hang out with her friends.” But Chloe knew I wouldn’t just leave, and my phone shouldn’t be off. She and Aunt Carol looked at each other. “We need to call the police.” The men flinched. But Mom stopped them. She was furious. “Call the police? For what?” Her voice was cold, certain. “You don’t know Lily. I do. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows my parents are coming tomorrow! She wants to use this to tell them I… I abused her!” Aunt Carol and Chloe were speechless. “Sarah, what are you saying…” Mom just snorted, her eyes flashing. “I’ll show her. I’ll show her who they care about more! That little bitch! Nobody go looking for her! When she comes crawling back, I’m going to break her legs!” Chloe was frantic. “Aunt Sarah! Lily’s not like that!” Mom just sneered. “You’ve all been fooled by her act! I saw her just the other day at the mall with some boy. She’s been dating behind our backs. She’s definitely out messing around with her boyfriend right now!” This finally convinced them to wait. The next day, I still wasn’t back. Mom got up early, made pancakes for Chloe, and braided her hair. I watched her hands weave through Chloe’s dark hair, so gentle, as if she was afraid of pulling a single strand. The winter sun streamed in, landing on them. It was a perfect, peaceful picture. Like they were the real mother and daughter. I felt a pang. Mom… if Chloe were your daughter, would you treat her like me? Is it me you hate, or just… the girl who is your daughter?

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